I felt like this story ended too abruptly, so I decided to make it a (short) two-parter!

Friday morning, Fukuzawa was standing outside of Dazai's door.

Dazai awoke by the sound of heavy thumps outside. If it hadn't been for the fact that he knew his boss possessed the keys to all of the dormitories, he would have ignored it. But, there was no use. Before he was even able to hobble his way over to the door, it was unlocked.

The tall man stood with all of his might in his living room, arms crossed and a stern no-nonsense look on his sharp features.

"Coffee?" Dazai asked tiredly.

"No time. Get dressed."

Daza sighed deeply but complied. Arguing was pointless; he had never been able to get the man to so much as arch an eyebrow from his antics. In spite that his actions might sometime speak otherwise, he respected Fukuzawa and didn't really want to let him down.

Pulling his pants on, he reminded himself to remember that more often.

As usual, it was already forgotten an hour later.

Dazai's name was called in the waiting area. He didn't budge from his seat.

Defiantly, he flipped a page of the magazine he was reading, continuing to read the journalistic masterpiece of what some celebrity children ate for breakfast. Also, he craved toast.

Fukuzawa cleared his throat but gave Dazai the opportunity to pull himself together and stop acting like a child and go without being told to.

Dazai didn't particularly give a shit.

His name got called again, so he rolled his shoulders and bobbed his head back and forth, humming satisfyingly as his bones cracked and sank further into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

"He's here," Fukuzawa called, receiving a couple of looks from other patients. He turned to Dazai and stared at him until he looked back.

"So, what are you waiting for, go with the nice lady, Dazai," Dazai said.

"Funny," Fukuzawa mumbled and looked all but amused. Dazai frowned.

"...and stop acting like a defiant brat," Fukuzawa added calmly.

"You're not even my real father," Dazai sulked dramatically, faintly remembering something about being addicted to negative attention.

As he had come to expect (not with the lack of trying), the older man wouldn't humor him, so he rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine on the table he had picked it up from. Exaggeratingly, he moaned and got up from the chair, steadied himself on his crutches and walked over to the woman who had called his name. With one last scowl, he stuck his tongue out to Fukuzawa and followed the woman through the door and into a narrow hallway.

There were closed doors every few feet with name tags and titles on them.

When they eventually got to the office where he was supposed to be, he didn't bother to look at the tag on the front door. It didn't really matter. He was just going to tell the person what they wanted to hear and be done with it.

The office he was left in had a warm feel to it, with wooden panels on the walls and heavy dark furniture. There was a maroon coach and a black armchair. Plants and paintings brightened the room. It looked pleasant.

The woman who greeted him inside seemed nice as well. She looked to be in her forties, with shoulder-length white hair with some darker streaks in it, wearing a stern-looking, patterned suit. The smile lines on her face made her look more approachable, while still looking very much professional.

She smiled when he entered and came towards him with an outstretched arm.

"Osamu, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Patricia Highsmith, but please, call me Patricia."

'Dr. Highsmith it is, then.'

"Please, sit down," she continued, gesturing towards the coach. So, he sat in the chair.

Unfazed, she got her notebook and sat in the coach, placing one leg over the other and got straight to the point.

"Have you ever been to therapy before?"

Dazai shook his head.

"Well, okay. That's fine. I'm mostly just going to ask you some questions today about yourself and what you think I can help you with. Sounds good?"

He shook his head again.

"It doesn't?" she let out a small laugh. "We'll try, I'm sure it will be fine. I always start the first session with the same question; why did you come here today?"

"My boss."

Honesty was easier than he had thought.

"Your boss?"

That was what he had said, so he let the question hang in the air. If she had a doctor's degree she wasn't that dumb.

"...and you're a bit reluctant to be here, would you at least agree to that?"

Dazai shrugged. She looked at him and didn't say anything.

It went on like that for a while. About three minutes, Dazai noted while looking at the clock on the wall. Only 45 minutes to go.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine with me. I'm still getting paid," she said calmly, sliding a cup of coffee that was placed on the small table over to him.

"You do," he agreed, keeping eye contact. He could do this for a lot longer than 45 minutes.

"Fine," she sighed eventually. "I was warned about how stubborn you were, but I thought I would give you a chance."

"And that was your mistake," he cocked his head to the side and smiled brightly.

"Listen, Osamu. I'm a psychologist that specializes in people with abilities and I have 25 years of experience. There is nothing you can say or do to shock me at this point in my life."

Dazai noted that she did sound sincere, but he really didn't want to talk. Instead, he took a sip of the coffee that she had offered him.

"...and I'm also married to your boss," she quickly added. Dazai chocked on the coffee.

Violently, the coughs tore at his chest while he tried to expel the stray fluid from his lungs, while Patricia was patiently waiting for him to gather himself.

"I-I didn't even know the president was married," he spluttered eventually.

"29 years," she said, pointing at her ring finger.

"I thought he lived at the dorms?" Dazai continued in confusion.

"Nope. House with a yard. Three dogs and two kids who have already moved out."

"You're joking, right?"

"No."

"Fukuzawa?"

"That's my husband."

For a moment, Dazai only stared dumbly at her.

"Are you sure?"

She looked tired of him already.

"And how do you feel about that?" he asked with a grin.

"I feel pretty good. How 'bout you?"

Dazai stared into the space in front of him.

"I'm just wondering who's apartment I've been stealing toilet paper from for four years then."

After having digested the idea of this being Fukuzawa's wife for a moment, Dazai finally decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She had to be a nice person if she was married to him. The man might not be a saint, but he was one of the best men Dazai had ever known. That wasn't necessarily a huge compliment, but it was something.

"I'm here because... I'm... not too good with... feelings. And stuff. I think."

"You think?"

"I think. I'm... not sure."

"Would you like to know what was written to me when they made your appointment?"

"Not particularly, no..."

"You are being kind of difficult right now," she stated with a stiff smile and a tightly gripped jaw.

"Well, maybe that's the place to start," Dazai happily suggested and copied the way she sat, legs crossed and resting folded hands on top of the knee.

(A/N: I had some fun finding typical questions that a therapist or counselor might ask their patients, and have mocked around with trying to answer them as Dazai might have. So... I don't know. You can choose for yourself if you want it to be part of the story or not. I just thought some of you might find it funny!)

-What happened to your leg?
-Fell of my horse, Seabiscuit.

-Why are you wearing all of those bandages?
-Fashion statement. Fuck the police and the war on fascism and what-not, ya dig?

-What are you hoping to get out of this meeting?
-Coffee, mainly.

-What is the problem from your point of view?
-I think Kunikida is jealous of my hair. It's pretty damn good hair.

-What do you enjoy to do in your free time?
-Crab.
-Like, fishing for crabs?
-No. Just crab.

-How does your problems make you feel?
-Honestly, if he would just get a haircut, then, I'd stop calling him MacGyver straight away. It's as simple as that.

-What do expect from this process?
-That you're gonna get increasingly annoyed with me.

-Is there anything you'd like to ask me?
-Is Fukuzawa a gentle lover? Or is he more feisty? Like, a giraff... Graur!

"Have you ever thought about committing suicide?" she asked, expecting another half-hearted attempt of a joke as an answer. When she didn't get a reply, she looked up from her form. Dazai was looking suspiciously at her.

"These are just some standard questions," she explained with piqued interest, showing him the form that was scattered with notes of body movements and facial expressions, not his actual answers.

"What did he tell you about me?" Dazai asked. His manner was unreadable to her this time. His body was perfectly still, the same way he had been sitting for the last fifteen minutes or so, his eyes were blank, almost dead while a slight curve to the eyebrow could remind her of someone who was worried or scared, while his voice turned softer and still, intimidating.

It was unsettling.

"I can assure you that my husband and I do not talk business in private," she said serenely as ever, still feeling some nervousness.

"Then why has your heart rate increased?"

She looked at him with confusion, untangling her legs and putting her notes down.

"Your skin has gotten more of a shine the last thirty seconds, which tells me that you're sweating. It might be an age thing, but your handwriting is slightly more crooked now than what it was at the start of the appointment, so you're hands are shaking. Your inhales are also not as deep as they were. Come on, you're the doctor here. I make you uncomfortable," he explained.

"What makes you think that?"

Dazai rolled his eyes as she once again turned the question back at him, but this time he was going to answer honestly.

"You told me you've been working here for 25 years, specializing in people with abilities like myself and your husband. Special ability plus mental health issues don't necessarily make the best combo, so... I think I can rightfully assume that you've met with some wicked people in your lifetime," he paused. "...so why would you be afraid of little ol' me? Someone who your dear husband considers a friend and ally, if, you don't know anything about me?"

She fell silent for a moment, looking intently at him. Then, she smiled.

"Well then, let's start over again. Why do you think you're here?"

"Because every act of evil I've committed, and, I guess, have been committed against me, regularly comes back to haunt me. Kindness is silent and graceful, but blood..." he sighed heavily with a strange smile on his lips before he found the right words.

"...blood makes noise."