Chapter Text
If you'd told Dazai at fifteen that in three years he'd leave everyone he knew and loved behind whilst running on adrenaline after Oda's death, he'd of laughed in your face.
When Mori had found him, small and alone, taken him in, raised him, he'd found a family. He has a father, siblings, a mother, so many friends. It was perfect, sure it got messy at times, murder and bloodshed, but all together things were good. So to find himself sitting in the agency, Kunikida tapping away at his computer nearby, Kenji watching his plant grow, Atsushi and Kyoka talking in the background.
It wasn't a bad feeling, just a lonely one. The agency was a place that didn't need him, they had Ranpo. He'd become used to it though, overhearing conversations about having the entire agency together at events he hadn't been at, not joining in on conversations, getting yelled at by Kunikida every time he tried to say something.
Some days he missed it, freedom, laughter, the world where he was needed, where everything he had to say was important, a place where he was important. But he'd made his choice, by Oda's side four years ago. A slit second decision that changed everything, that ripped away his family.
Sometimes he could remember it as if it were still happening around him...
"Osamu you damn bastard! Where the hell are the eggs, I'll kill you!" Chuuya yelled as he waved an empty carton of eggs in Osamu's direction. "I needed breakfast! Rintaro let me have them!" He protested, darting towards the door in an attempt to escape Chuuya's wrath.
"I was going to make cookies, asshole!"
"...I didn't know that. I obviously wouldn't have eaten them if I knew." Osamu grumbled, upset he couldn't have cookies, Chuuya's baking was always good.
He could still remember that cookie recipe, Chuuya had taught them all to make them after that incident with the eggs. It'd been torture, being yelled at by the short ginger version of Gordon Ramsay wasn't fun... Especially when measuring spoons and pans went flying, a red glow framing them. Even Mori had been forced into learning.
Mori. Sometimes it still felt strange to call him that instead of Rintaro or father. As far as he'd been concerned at fifteen Mori was a good enough excuse for a father. Sometimes he wanted to go home, to the place that would undoubtedly welcome him back with open arms, to the people who would wait eternity for him. He'd always have a home there, no matter how strange it sounded, they were his family.
Oda had been family, and he'd believed every word he said, but he'd been thinking recently, maybe Oda was wrong about what he said... Saving people was fine and all, but there were things he'd never found anywhere but there, love without consumption, unconditional care, a door that was always open, propped ajar in silent waiting.
The door was cracked open, warm light streaming through to the dark hallway, laughter echoed from inside as Osamu pushed past the door and into the warm room. Elise was in a particularly frilly dress with Mori cooing over her, Chuuya had Yumeno climbing up his leg as he sat on one of the couches. Ryunosuke nodded politely in greeting and Osamu ruffled his hair as Hirotsu passed him a carefully wrapped box.
"How kind of you, Hirotsu-san!" He said cheerfully, peeling the tape up carefully so as not to rip the paper (there was enough strewn across the room from the younger kids). Once he'd discarded the paper, he pulled a book from the box, something psychology-related. Hirotsu knew him so well. "Ah, just brilliant, here." He murmured, offering his own gift for Hirotsu in return.
Abandoned cups of lukewarm hot chocolate, wrapping paper strewn across the room, neat piles of presents placed by the older ones and a mess of stray toys lay between things, the culprits (Elise, Yumeno, and Gin) were fast asleep. These were the best times...
It was nearing Christmas time again, and Osamu kept noticing little things and getting reminded of Christmases with his family. Whether it be the flickering lights of all colours or toys in the windows of the toy shop near the agency. They used to all spend Christmas in Osamu's childhood home. Mori liked the place, and it was big enough for everyone to fit comfortably.
Christmas with the agency was different, they did give gifts, but there was something different about it. It was colleagues giving small, impersonal gifts, instead of a family who knew everything about one another. He'd noticed it in Kyoka too. She missed it like he did, they'd been her family like they'd been his. And always would be...
Did she want to go back? He wouldn't blame her, even he did sometimes. And she was young, it was understandable to miss them all. Maybe he'd talk to her in the cafe under the agency someday, after the others left. Give Atsushi something to do, talk to Kyoka, share stories of the people they both held close.
It'd be so easy to go home, he was valuable, not only because of what he could do, but also because he was family. And he'd seen how badly Kouyou wanted Kyoka back. The port never left those who tried to find the light, and Osamu was glad they didn't forget. That if he ever found himself going back, he'd be welcomed as if he'd never left.