The fluorescent lights flickered slightly above, casting a sterile glow over the cramped office space of the Armed Detective Agency.

Papers were scattered everywhere, some neatly stacked while others teetered dangerously close to falling off desks.

The murmur of low conversation and the clack of keyboards filled the air — the background noise of a workplace perpetually in motion, even on the quietest days.

You sat at your desk, fingers lightly brushing through a pile of case files, trying to focus on the tedious paperwork that never seemed to end.

The rhythm was comforting—until the peace shattered.

“Do your goddamn work! It really isn’t that hard!” Kunikida’s voice rang out sharp and authoritative, cutting through the ambient noise like a whip. His eyes were narrowed, brows furrowed, and the tension practically crackled around him.

You glanced sideways at Kenji, who mirrored your confused expression. Both of you turned in unison to see the source of the outburst.

There was Kunikida, standing rigid with an air of exasperated discipline, brandishing a stack of documents like a weapon of law and order.

Across from him, slouched dramatically in his chair, was Dazai Osamu, his signature dark hair disheveled, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a long, theatrical sigh.

“Oh but it is,” Dazai drawled, voice dripping with faux despair, “I’m so desperately in need of a rest. Surely the world will collapse if I do one more form today?”

Kunikida’s jaw twitched, his usual tightly controlled facade threatening to crack.

“You are not going to get away with that excuse this time. We’re behind schedule, and if you don’t finish your reports, the entire agency’s operation will suffer. Again.”

Dazai’s eyes gleamed with mischievous amusement. “And yet, here you are, yelling about it instead of doing the work yourself. You’re not exactly setting the example, Kunikida.”

The verbal sparring was fast becoming an everyday spectacle, one that had a curious effect on the office.

A few of the other detectives were stealing amused glances, while Kenji seemed to be debating internally whether or not to intervene.

You, on the other hand, were starting to appreciate the odd rhythm of this place — a strange harmony built on chaos and banter.

Before anyone could say anything else, Kunikida straightened his tie and marched over to Dazai’s desk, his footsteps echoing with purpose.

“Fine,” he snapped, “I’ll do your paperwork for you, since you’re too busy perfecting the art of lounging.”

Dazai perked up, eyes twinkling with sly delight. “Now that is the spirit! But beware—one day, Kunikida, your soul will tire from this endless work, and I shall be there to catch you… with a flask of sake, naturally.”

The absurdity of the threat made a few of the others chuckle quietly.

You could almost hear the unspoken agreement that despite all this tension, these two were the gears that kept the agency turning.

Kenji finally shook his head with a bemused smile and leaned back in his chair. “You two really are something else,” he said, voice low enough not to attract their attention.

You let out a small laugh, the weight of the day lightening ever so slightly.

As the argument resumed—Kunikida insisting on order, Dazai mocking the very concept of productivity—you returned to your paperwork with a newfound appreciation for the madness that made this place feel like home.

Because here, amid the shouting and the jokes and the endless hustle, you weren’t just working. You were part of something bigger. Something chaotic, unpredictable, and strangely beautiful.

And that was perfectly fine by you.