When he was younger things were easier. Less complicated. Dazai's world had been so small. It was, uncomfortably, confined to the few he had lived around.
It was easier to wear a mask when you knew your audience.
Behind his mask, Dazai wore his fears. 'What were humans?' He would wonder but never ask aloud. Not him, certainly, for humans' actions were... incomprehensible to say the least. He could see humans only of beings built purely of selfish want and practicality. If they knew behind his mask was a creature wholly unlike them...
Mori knew his mask to be something childish and covering the evil within, and he could call Dazai out on his antics because of this. (Dazai could have told the man that what he was had little to do with evil and much to do with a general dissonance with society, but why bother when humans are so set on their ideas and opinions?). Mori said he wanted to take Dazai in. Train him. Raise him. Corrupt the empty vessel before him.
Dazai was being punished, see? For pretending to be what he wasn't. Humankind was nothing if not proud (often in strange ways that Dazai couldn't comprehend), and masking himself as a part of such a species was foolish to begin with. He should have known (he had, but acted anyway) that wearing a poorly constructed human mask to hide his terror would anger the exact ones he was imitating.
The port mafia was... kind. Well, that was rather a lie, but Dazai wasn't entirely sure what it meant to be 'kind.' Mori seemed pleased with his advancements, at least.
Surrounded by the darkest of people, Dazai adapted their beliefs as his own. He didn't believe what they spoke of ("such a powerful organization!" "What a corrupt world!" "We can rule the city!"), though he certainly acted as though he did. Many looked up to Dazai as a sort of inspiration given this warped loyalty he held for the mafia.
(They wouldn't if they knew he wasn't human. They would turn against him if they discovered he found some vague amusement in their childish behavior. But they'd have to turn his mask around to know what he really thought of them all. Dazai had stapled the mask on years past.)
Mori was most pleased with Dazai's ability. Nullification. With just a touch, Dazai could stop any other ability from functioning. The man was thrilled (in his own, slightly detached way) at the prospect of storming through feuds with other ability users.
(Even in ability, Dazai was disconnected from humanity. Why couldn't he have some normal ability, like Chuuya? Or no ability at all? No Longer Human was the only thing that could slip past Dazai's mask; plainly proclaiming to a world of people unlike him, "I am wrong! Incorrect! Unlike you humans! Read it clearly in my power!")
The ADA was a different sort of kind. They based themselves on morals of a different base than what Dazai had been raised on, but he'd adapted well enough (it didn't take long at all, actually. All humans were rather the same if you watched them enough).
Dazai was cheerful and joking to distract from his fear of the humans that surrounded him (more than ever he was cautious. Ranpo was watchful, that was for sure). Kunikida's exasperation and Atsushi (the child Dazai had quite grown to like. He was far too innocent to suspect Dazai) had become something of a staple in Dazai's fake human life. Their misunderstanding of his personality was almost a comfort if he were capable of feeling such a thing.
But Kunikida's eyes would linger on Dazai's clowning form more and more as time passed between them, and Dazai began to wonder if maybe he'd stretched the mask too thin.
"Are you okay?"
It was Atsushi, Dazai knew from his meek voice. He reached up to feel his mask to check for some mistake that may have slipped his notice (only then reminded of its invisible and non-existent nature) and found a frown (the dull kind as opposed to the saddened one) affixed to his face.
He moaned dramatically, whining about work in the faux cheerful deception he always used, but internally, Dazai was checking his mask for cracks, wondering just what had alerted Atsushi (when had his mask slipped up? Damn...). He didn't have the patience to work it out. Dazai was rooted in a reality ten steps ahead of everyone else, so how hadn't he seen this coming? His mask should have been flawless; holding until Dazai found escape from human eyes.
What had he let slip?
When he got home, free from human watch, Dazai took a moment to examine the mental shield, the mask, he'd created to hide such an empty man.
There were too many cracks to count.
Dazai twitched at the thick silence. His partner ran a hand through his long blonde locks with a throaty sigh.
"You need to see a therapist," Kunikida edged back into Dazai's inner turmoil, "this isn't funny. At first... when we first met I thought the suicide attempts were a joke or something but... Dazai there are people who care about you."
(A pause. It wasn't necessary, though, because Dazai already knew he'd pushed the man too far. Said too much. Done too little. Worn a mask covered in cracks and pretended the world was crazy for offering tape.)
"I care about you."
But Dazai just laughed. It was the childish sort that he tacked onto sentences when the emptiness built up heavily in his chest (they'd know he was faking if he let it out). Kunikida's frown deepened, but he didn't move to speak.
"Ah~! Kunikida worries too much!" He replied to the silence, feeling its weight more pressing than before, "I just want to die a pleasant death. You've never had a problem with that before."
"Damn it, Dazai! I just—" groaning in something closer to rage than compassion (what else to expect of humankind than anger?). Kunikida passed his hand through his ponytail again, "Listen. Just... everyone at the ADA cares about you. It's about time that you show them you care back."
He stormed away, huffing loudly but saying nothing of human worth. Dazai was left to stare at the man's back, once more contemplating the fault in his human disguise.
(It wasn't that he didn't want to do what Kunikida had told him to but... seeing a therapist was too much. Someone whose express purpose would be to drag out the real Dazai from below his mask? The ADA thinking he was depressed was enough of a problem. Dazai didn't need them knowing the mask was hiding something far less human and infinitely more hollow.)
But Kunikida was persistent. His concerns for Dazai's mental state didn't waver, seemingly fueled by Dazai's attempts to mend the same problem. Dazai had started joking more, and generally clowning about all of reality to prevent his partner's prying. Apparently, that was more Kunikida's problem than a suicidal Dazai was.
"At least talk to me," he'd say, "this isn't healthy."
Dazai re-ran all the options and all the futures until he was ten—no, twenty—steps ahead to reply rather neatly, "Okay. Just for Kunikida, I'll see a doctor."
"Therapist," the blonde corrected, looking somewhat relieved, "and good. I'll book your appointment. Of course, you would just put this off if I didn't do it for you."
"You know me so well!" Dazai smile was sharp like the electric lie it was. (Know him so well? It would have been laughable if Dazai understood humor beyond it being some form of human... thing. His lies all ran together now, hiding behind a mask that cracked long ago.)
Dazai smiled like the clown everyone knew he was.
"Mr. Dazai, take a seat."
He did, plopping down rather energetically. "Just Dazai s'fine," he replied, watching the doctor closely.
She smiled, "Okay, Dazai. Is there anything on your mind?"
Watching the doctor curiously, Dazai hummed cheerily but overall opted for conversational silence.
"Well," the doctor said after pause, "your partner booked this appointment. He said you've been unhappy with work?"
'Unhappy with work,' huh? What did those people actually think about him, saying he was 'unhappy with work?' Dazai wasn't 'unhappy' with anything, really. What bothered him most was simply a lack of understanding humankind. He'd never had particular trouble with the ADA (if anything, it was an easy job filled with people just unique enough that he didn't feel entirely isolated).
His therapist seemed to want Dazai to speak, but for the life of him, Dazai wasn't sure what to say. There wasn't anything notable that bothered him save the evident crack in his mask, but that wasn't something he was wholly willing to spread around (curse his fear of these humans; things would be much easier if he wasn't worried about how they'd react all the time). But Dazai was steps ahead of all the humans around him (they didn't know it was a game, after all), so he began to speak the part of willing patient.
His therapist, in the long run, had actually been rather useful. She was talented enough to break through his mask rather quickly, but Dazai was less concerned with this than he'd expected. She was a human so naturally his fear held, but there was something ever so enlightening about having his mask broken.
Maybe subconsciously? Or—no, that didn't make sense. Regardless, the doctor could look through Dazai's clowning to see a man dulled by existence. But she... she still couldn't see the real him, could she? Because without his knowing, Dazai had been crafting another mask for years. He wore it under a cracked clown to hide further his disconnect from humanity.
This was Dazai's mask of depression.
(It was surprising with how pedestrian this all felt.)
Kunikida flashed him a gentle grin and Atsushi's mouth twitched pleasantly. Even the director looked rather contented with Dazai's state. Dazai wasn't smiling, though. It was a small change from his usual, but maybe that was what the others wanted. They certainly seemed to like it.
Similarly, the ADA acted rather pleased when Dazai joked less. He stopped rambling about unusual interests or singing sweetly under his breath. Instead, he'd quietly nod along and stare out windows for no reason other than to watch the world turn.
Improvement. Accepting he's not happy. Showing them the real him.
Dazai was pretty sure they didn't understand what improvement was either.
There was, truly, an infinity of possibilities behind the ADA's relief at Dazai's lack of suicidal rants. Dazai didn't much dwell on such things though.
Because the mask Dazai made when he was a child was just that—a child's creation based on an innocent view of humanity. But he'd been places now and met people unknown before. Certainly, the mask of a child fit him well then, but now (he knew with certainty, bless that doctor for pointing out his flaws) Dazai could craft a new mask. If the world wanted him depressed, then so he would be.
The therapist had said for him to be more open about his emotions, but what did Dazai feel but a general discontentedness with reality? His old mask was quite the joker, but given his age most found it quite ill fitting. That mask wasn't (couldn't be!) a clown anymore. He was aged to look like a twisted sort of fake clown. If the humans saw him as a sad man behind a foolish façade then so be it. Dazai was looking for some new inspiration anyway.
So onward Dazai looked out that cursed window with a frown fixed in place (he wasn't sad, of course! Bored, maybe? Or perhaps just tired? Maybe he would ask the doctor what sort of emotions a depressed man such as himself should be feeling? All for his research, that was. Fitting in was easier than ever, but that didn't mean he should build up his defenses). Kunikida watched him with a frown. But he wore the gentle sort of frown that encouraged Dazai's unsmiling form.
The next day, Dazai idly toyed with a pen instead of doing his paperwork. Atsushi took pity and wrote the reports himself.
On Wednesday, he found interest in napping quietly about the office. There wasn't any distraction about his sleep. Dazai awoke to find Kunikida's curious frown.
And the next day Dazai went unsmiling.
And the next.
And the next.