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Dazai didn’t know when he fell in love with Chuuya. He hadn’t even known he was capable of love.
But if someone asked him to pin point when it happened, his answer would be 16- arguably the most important year of any teens life.
Falling in love with your friend was a unique experience. But falling in love with your best friend, your partner, your twin flame, the only one who came close to understanding you -
Well. That was an entirely different experience that Dazai was subjected to.
—
“Dazai! You little shit! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!” Chuuya screamed, rage evident in his figure as he chased after his partner.
Dazai looped an arm around a lamp pole, spinning himself around before leaping off and turning into the alley. He had Chuuya’s prized hat in his hands and a beaming grin stretched across his face.
“But Chibi, It’s such an ugly hat! Dogs really shouldn’t wear hats anyways~” he taunted, skipping away.
The orange-haired teen felt anger build up inside him and launched himself forward at his partner.
They collided in a tangle of limbs, with Chuuya’s fist in Dazai’s gut, angry screams and yelps flying through the air.
The street lamps illuminated them with a pale yellow light as Chuuya landed on Dazai, who wheezed with the weight of someone one top of him. The dumpster next to them reeked, and the ground was damp and sticky from the humid rain that had fallen earlier. The air felt oppressively warm.
“Give. Me. Back. My. Hat!” Chuuya breathed to him through gritted teeth.
“But where’s the fun in that?”
Chuuya grabbed the arm that held his hat and yanked it towards him. He had a strong grip that squeezed the gap between his hand and wrist bones, causing a painful burning feeling.
Dazai dropped the hat with a whine, complaining that, “Chuuya is so mean... how can I go on living?”
He grabbed Dazai’s brown hair and jerked his head up to expose his bandaged throat.
Sweat beaded on both their foreheads as the air around them seemed to grow hotter.
Chuuya smirked, a feral grin covering his face. “To bad you don’t have a choice.”
Dazai would say that that was the moment. That was when he realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life by Chuuya’s side. Because while Dazai didn’t want to live, his partner made it bearable. No, bearable on the worst days and good on the best. Sometimes life felt like it was worth living, even in the Port Mafia.
Because even when they were sweaty, exhausted both physically and mentally, they had each other.
They had shared beds and takeout and video games and brushing each others hair and watching bad movies and stupid jokes and shared hatred and bad days and good days and-
-it was quite obvious Chuuya and Dazai loved each other in very different ways.
—
Dazai took a deep shuddering breathe, letting his head fall back into Chuuya’s hands.
“Almost done Mackerel. Almost done.”
It had been a rough mission, ending with Chuuya having to come save Dazai from and enemy organization.
He had been drugged with something new on the market, and taken away for torture questioning.
Although Chuuya had gotten to him in time and no information was revealed, Dazai was still a loopy, stumbling mess covered in blood.
Hence why Dazai sat in the bath tub at a cheap hotel, wearing nothing but his boxers.
His partner sat behind him, also in his boxers. Callused fingers massaged shampoo into his scalp as Dazai seemed to calm down just a little from his high.
Scars covered his skin, dotting everywhere he could see and knew they’d be in places he couldn’t.
Chuuya knows to keep Dazai’s boxers on unless it was strictly necessary.
Dazai knows to never take Chuuya to a hospital unless he was dying.
They both had limits that shouldn’t be crossed.
As Dazai rambled about everything under the sky, he kept washing his hair.
“Did you know that 2 cherry pits contain enough cyanide to kill someone under 150 pounds? I only weigh 54kg. I’ve thought about trying it b-“
Chuuya places a hand on his back to lean him forward, warning him, “Close your eyes. I’m going to wash out the soap.”
“Okay Chu-chu! Anything for you.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, angling the detachable shower head on top of Dazai. With one hand he washed the shampoo out, sifting through darkened brown locks.
He set the shower head down when the water ran clear and picked up the bottle of conditioner from where it laid next to his thighs.
Just as he flipped the cap open, Dazai turned around.
His eyes were wide open and glassy, filled with something Chuuya couldn’t place.
“Oh Chuuya. Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya. I’d live for you, y’know. Just for you.” His face adapted an expression that didn’t belong on him.
It was one of... happiness? No. It was love or some mix of the two.
“Whatever. Now hold still.”
It was just the drugs making Dazai a little more crazy than normal. Nothing else.
—
“Hey Odasaku~”
The man sighed. “Yes, Dazai?”
It was a Thursday night and the executive was already on his 5th glass of whiskey. They sat in their usually places at Bar Lupin: Ango on the left, Dazai in the middle, and Oda on the right.
The teen beamed up at his friend, asking, “Have you ever been in looooove?”
Ango snorted as Oda looked at him pensively.
“Can’t say I have. Why do you ask?”
Dazai giggled and stretched out an arm towards his glass, flashes of bandages showing as he downed the rest of his drink.
Jeez. At this rate he’d get alcohol poisoning.
“I’m in love Odasaku! In love, in love, in love!!”
Ango sipped at his tomato juice and rolled his eyes. “Sure, Dazai,” he said. “With who?”
“My partner of course!”
Seeing looks of doubt from the two of his friends, he nodded his head with vigor. His flushed cheeks bobbed up and down and his hair flopped around as well.
“Chibi is my everythingggg~! His hair is so pretty and his eyes are so angry, and he makes really good crab!!” Dazai rambled.
This went on for another minute, surprising both of his drinking buddies. They never expected Dazai to be so... in love.
But then the Dazai dropped forward, face slamming into the bar counter with a wailing, “But he doesn’t love me BACK!”
His moans continued, complaining about how his love would never be requited.
Cautiously, Oda reached out his hand, gently patting the back of his head. One never knew how Dazai might respond to touch, but tonight he seemed to be fine with it.
Ango raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps he’s had a little too much to drink tonight,” he mouthed.
“Yeah. I’ll take him home.”
Ango nodded back. He grabbed his brief case and coat before paying for his drink without delay. He waved over his shoulder as he left the building.
Oda sighed. Getting Dazai back to his shipping container would be a pain.
“Come on Dazai. It’s late, we have to get you home,” he said, trying to sling one of Dazai’s arms over his shoulder.
“Ughhhhh,” he moaned. “I don’t wannaaaaa!”
Shaking his head at him, Oda pulled Dazai to his feet. Dazai continued talking about this and that, recounting this weeks events and dangers, occasionally slipping in a word about how amazing ‘his Chuuya’ was.
This continued as Oda paid for the drinks and left.
There was no way Oda would be walking across town to get to the shipping district, in the dead of night no less. So he hailed a cab and gave out directions on where to go before pulling a seat belt across Dazai’s chest.
He may want to die but Oda greatly preferred his friend alive.
The ride was silent except for the teen’s ramblings.
When they got to the district, Dazai looked to be coming down from his excited buzz.
And as the two of them finally entered Dazai’s living space, he seemed to be mostly calm again.
Things were quiet now, only the occasional shouts penetrating the silence of the night.
The smell of metal filled the air.
Oda laid the brown-haired teen down on his cot, slipping off his shoes and coat. Dazai seemed to be in a dazed-drunken state, rather than a sugar high-type one now. Wonderful.
He turned around and pulled a bottle of water out of his mini fridge. Oda took note of the hardly diminished amount of crab cans and water bottles that had sat in his mini fridge, seemingly untouched since he had last been here.
He placed a bottle of water next to his bed and grabbed a bucket for when he’d throw up in the morning.
As Oda tugged up the thin blanket on his bed to cover Dazai, he heard him whisper, “Sometimes I love him so much I think my heart will break. And sometimes that’s the only proof that I have a heart, not just an empty cavern in my chest.”
The hitman glanced down to see closed eyes scrunched up, face anguished and tired.
Oda sighed again. “You have a heart Dazai. And someday I hope that Chuuya’s love fills it too but until then, take comfort in knowing that you feel love. That you are human.”
—
Odasaku died 2 weeks later.
—
Dazai knew that if he called Chuuya he would have stayed. He would have cast aside Odasaku’s last wish like a snake sheds skin, leaving it forgotten. Because love does this funny thing to you. It whispers promises to you, promises of happy days and warm summer nights, promises of shared meals and showers, promises of being happy together. Just being together .
So Dazai didn’t call his partner who was over in France and would be back tonight.
Instead he placed a bomb under his car.
Yeah. Nothing says ‘I love you but can’t ever tell you because you don’t love me back and now I’m breaking our bond to leave the Port Mafia for a dead man’ like exploding someone’s car.
He threw out most of his things. Not that he had many in the first place, of course.
But Dazai left no note for Chuuya. No confession of his everlasting love. No simple explanation of what happened. After all, he couldn’t have his mon petit mafia coming after him, could he?
Chuuya would hate him. Because what they had was more than a friendship or rivalry. It was understanding each other’s every move, every thought, every shift of the eyes and twitch of muscles. Sure, they both hated each other in a complicated way. They hated one another because to Chuuya, Dazai was human but rejected and dismissed every trace or notion of it. And to Dazai, Chuuya was so unbearably human alive but just couldn’t see it.
Dazai never found out that the redhead cracked open a bottle of his beloved Petrus ‘89 and drunk the night away. He never found out how many cigarettes he smoked as he laid there, half slumped on a chair. Chuuya had laughed that night, laughed at the absurdity for it all.
The Demon Prodigy leaving? The man who’s blood is mafia black?
No, that couldn’t be right.
Yet here he was- on his floor with an almost empty pack of cigs after having fallen from his chair.
And Dazai would never know.
—
The next time they saw each other, Dazai was reminded of all the things he loved about him.
Chuuya’s curls were still the same flaming red.
His eyes were still the same mesmerizing blue.
The punches still left bruises that burned with remnants of a touch he craved.
The day after they first worked together again, Dazai couldn’t focus. He tried to put on his usual persona but Kunikida saw straight through it.
“Are you... okay? I’m aware that I usually leave you alone when you space out, but today you seem worse,” he asked.
And that was true. Kunikida rarely outright asked Dazai if we was okay. Instead he preferred to do subtle acts of kindness and ease up on his many rules. It usually made his shifts more bearable when Kunikida went out of his way to help in little ways.
He must really be slipping if his partner brought it up directly.
“Of course, my dear Kunikida! Just didn’t sleep well after yesterday’s events.”
Dazai never slept well. They both know that.
Kunikida sighed. “Sure. Don’t forget to eat lunch.” He then looked back down at his paper work and resumed his signing and reading of the documents.
Ah yes, lunch. Dazai always did have the habit of forgetting to eat.
When he was in the mafia, his little chibi had the wonderful idea to work cooking for him into his routine. For a while he had been healthier. Not healthy. But healthier.
Dazai hummed. “Okay!! Whatever you say.”
The afternoon progressed on at a snails pace, and he had to pretend not to notice the concerned looks Atsushi threw his way as his hands would randomly pause typing.
His mind betrayed him, letting in all sorts of thoughts. Unwanted thoughts. The kind of thoughts that brought him back to torture rooms where he lay both on the table and above it.
At some point, Dazai slipped his headphones on in an attempt to use classical music to drown out the screams in his head.
Baroque-era music was quite nice.
—
Both of them sat together on the couch in casual clothing. It was nearing 2am, but they weren’t done yet.
Yosano passed him the bottle of sake.
“Y’...Y’know love? Yeah. It’s a bitchhhhh.”
She nodded back, her hair becoming a little more tousled as she flopped against the couch.
“Oh yeah. Totally. Definitely,” she said.
Yosano had come over to his dorm after Dazai failed to turn up at the agency or even text someone for 4 days. Him disappearing was normal, but he usually left some indication of why he was absent.
Them drinking together is a somewhat normal thing. They get drunk, insult Mori, confess their deepest fears, and get a solid 7 or 8 hours of sleep. Sometimes longer.
“Who’re you in love with?” she questioned, her words slurring a bit.
Dazai slowly fell onto her shoulder. His dorm had nothing more than the lamp on to provide light. It was comfortable- sitting next to a person that is
“Chuuya. Chuuya goddamn Nakahara, one of the most feared members of the Port Mafia.“ He took in a deep, shuddering breath.
She drunkenly petted his hair and nodded her head.
“I would live a thousand more life times if I just got this one with him.”
Silence.
“Oh honey,” she said, “you’re down baddd.”
Dazai sullenly nodded. His brain was fuzzy from the bottles of sake that had been drunk, and it left a pleasantly warm buzz in his brain.
For a few minutes neither of them said anything.
Yosano took a swig from the bottle before questioning, “Does he know? Hell, does anyone know?”
He shook his head. Well, Ranpo probably knew but that was a given. He knew everything.
“Kouyou might know. She always give me weird looks,” snorted Dazai. “Maybe Hirotsu too.”
His drinking buddy hummed and kept petting his hair. “I think we’ve had enough for tonight. Want me to go get the sleeping pills?”
The alcohol wasn’t quite enough to get either of them to sleep, so they compensated by adding sleeping pills. Probably not the safest thing, but Dazai trusted Yosano to not mess up. And if she did, who was he to complain?
She got up to get the bottle after his affirmation.
The pills they each take are different kinds; one type for Yosano and one type for Dazai.
Dazai’s were a bit stronger than her’s, although Yosano’s weren’t something to scoff at. They could put most to sleep, but neither of them happened to be most people.
She handed him 3 pills and had 4 in her own hand.
“Ready?”
Dazai nodded, and swallowed them all at once.
At some point his futon had been pulled out for Yosano to sleep on. She sat on it now as she took her pills.
“Mhmm... goodnight,” he mumbled.
She said something back, but Dazai was already asleep before he had the chance to decipher it.
—
Dazai swung his legs back and forth, letting the cool breeze push his hair back. Currently, he’s sitting on one of the less populated bridges and is contemplating calling someone.
It’s what he should do. Right? People are supposed to call someone when they’re suicidal, right?
“Hmm. I’d probably only be bothering Kunikida at this point, seeing as it’s 1am,” he reasoned. “And poor Atsushi needs his sleep. Oh well! Guess I’ll have to jump!!”
But before he could jump, the light clack of shoes echoed out from behind him.
“Don’t.”
Ranpo plopped down right behind him. His hair looked disheveled as if he had been in a rush to get here. Hell, he probably had been.
The pleasantly warm air of the night was beginning to cool down, and combined with the dark it left a calming atmosphere.
“Ah, Ranpo! How are you this fine evening?”
“Y’know, it’s technically morning now.” He pulled out a lollipop, crumpling the wrapper into a ball.
“Meh,” Dazai replied, “who cares?”
For a few long moments, all was silent. It truly is a beautiful night.
Ranpo sucked on his candy as he turned towards Dazai. His eyes were a sharp green, even in the dim light.
Then his eyes widened. “Oh. You love him, don’t you?”
Leave it to Ranpo to figure him out , thought Dazai. He didn’t even use his classes. Still, someone saying it out loud felt like a violation of his soul- a confession of some great sin. And perhaps it is. Love itself is not a sin. But falling in love with someone so fiery, so ablaze, and daring to want more than he could ever have surely is one. What else could it be?
Dazai had sinned all his life- if you count sins in the same way the ordinary public would.
But here he is. Trying to do good.
“Yes, Ranpo. I do love him.”
“Hm. Then you know he’ll never love back, too?”
Dazai let out a brittle laugh. “Of course, who do you take me for?” he questioned.
Silence resumed. Dazai’s thoughts returned to the height of the bridge how easy it would be to jump and fall into the dark churning waters that would suffocate him into silence.
Some days he didn’t want to die. He had good days. Occasionally they were great days. Life did get better- but not all the time. Bad days, days where Dazai wanted nothing more than to cease to exist still dominated his life.
Today had been one of those. Hence his current position on the bridge at 1 am.
All day long, he had felt this intense desire to call his ex-partner. To tell Chuuya that he loved him. Because Chuuya would always be his sun- so bright, so scorching, so far away and out of reach. And like the sun, Dazai could only ever escape Chuuya during the night when he drunk away his memories.
Ranpo looked at him. “Come on. It’s late- we should go home.”
Home. What a funny word.
The detective tugged at his sleeve, motioning with his other hand to get up.
Oh well. Guess he wouldn’t be killing himself tonight.
—
Atsushi occasionally shook with invisible chills as parts of his nightmare came back to him.
The headmaster driving a nail through his foot as he screams and shrieks for help-
Akutagawa slowly bleeding out in front of him and oh my god there’s so much blood, whatcanhedowhatcanhedowhatcanhedo-
“You’re not good enough,” they say, “you’ll never be enough-“
“Die in a ditch. No one would even look for you! No one would miss you, not a single person would spare a thought for you, you miserable child-“
He had woken up in a cold sweat and immediately made his way to the rooftop so his oncoming panic attack didn’t wake Kyouka up. He always felt so guilty when that happened.
He had woken up from his nightmare almost 2 hours ago but was still plagued by the after affects of it. That was often how it was. His mind searched for a distraction, trying to think of something to ask the man who sat beside him.
“Dazai... what does it feel like to be in love?” asked Atsushi.
“Well,” he began, “it’s a little different for everyone. To me, it’s like an ache. Sometimes it fades, sometimes it strengthens. I even forget about it at times. But it never leaves. Never.”
For a minute, Atsushi paused.
“Oh. That sounds more painful than anything.”
It was unexpectedly honest as well.
“Hm. It certainly can be.”
“Then why do you still love her? O-or him, it doesn’t matter.”
Dazai stretched backwards to crack his back. “If it was that simple, don’t you think I would’ve by now?”
Atsushi nodded thoughtfully. That was true, after all.
Few things would ever compare to the peace that settled over them in those moments- it was the kind that you could feel deep in your bones. It’s the kind that almost overwhelms you because of how perfect it is. It settled in your throat and lungs so that even breathing felt like a surreal experience. What could ever compare to just existing in those blissfully slow moments?
Atsushi wished it would last forever. Yes, he was tired and still felt tremors go through him from time to time. But it was getting better.
His mentor tilted his head to one side as he looked at him, amusement in his voice as he questioned, “Sooooo, what brought on the question of love? It seems a bit random- unless a special someone has captured your eye!”
Atsushi felt his cheeks redden as he stared at his hands in his lap. Okay, so maybe Akutagawa had something to do with this. But Dazai didn’t need to know that.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Hmm, what a shame.”
Something in Dazai’s tone of voice caused him to look up. Atsushi felt something click as he kept talking.
“Just be sure to tell them you like ‘em before it’s too late! That’s the most important step.”
Oh. They didn’t love Dazai back. Dazai’s feelings for this mystery person must be one-sided, then.
As he looked at him, Atsushi could see the regret in his eyes- what scared him the most was that it was one of the few genuine emotions that he had seen the man portray. He was someone wrapped in layer after layer of mystery and unanswered questions.
“Don’t worry. I won’t wait too long,” said Atsushi before leaning his head against Dazai’s shoulder.
Atsushi could feel Dazai’s muscles tense and his back stiffened before relaxing once more. A hand came up to pat him on the head, as one would do to a cat and Atsushi had to fight the urge to lean into it.
Yeah, they were definitely a little touch starved. But that was okay. Everything would be okay.
—
“So, Odasaku. Would you be proud of me? Personally I don’t think you would. What have I actually done other than try to be better?”
His foot tapped against the grave before him.
“I suppose I’ve done a few good things. I think I’ve helped Atsushi, and I’ve solved a good amount of cases.”
He takes a sip of his drink before setting it back down.
“I’ve protected a lot of orphans, y’know. Definitely more than I ever thought I would.”
The wind blows his hair out of his face.
“You were the best friend I ever had. Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to save you.”
—
The ADA and Port Mafia’s truce meant meetings had to be planned and attended every time a stronger than average enemy threatened the city. This might seem like overkill to most people but this was not the case. Even a minor miscommunication could be the end of their truce.
An unfortunately, Dazai was in one of those meeting right now.
“So, Fukuzawa. What do you say to having Dazai and Chuuya take care of our little threat?”
The President leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands together before settling them in his lap.
“That could work,” he replied, calm and level. “Dazai, what do you think?”
Never let it be said that Dazai wasn’t selfish. The man didn’t think he could take it if he had to partner with Chuuya again. Dazai wasn’t in the best place right now- in fact, by most people it would be defined as a horrible place and he should immediately seek help. But that was what happened around Odasaku’s anniversary. His mental health was in shambles -his physical health too- and even his somewhat regular suicide attempt routine was off. Some days he made attempts, art lets that almost worked. Other days he would be a model citizen who barely drank and didn’t try to off himself.
“Hmm... Actually, I think that it would be better to have Atsushi and Akutagawa handle this. They need the experience,” he said.
The two opposing leaders considered his words. It was true that Atsushi and Akutagawa needed to improve their partnership. But having the more experienced duo take care of the rampant ability user would be more efficient and safe.
A silent compromise was agreed on.
Fukuzawa nodded. “Double Black will supervise them should the need arise, but will otherwise stand in the sidelines. Is that agreeable, Mori?”
“Yes,” Mori said, a pleased smile in his face. “Yes that should be fine.”
—
Dazai and Chuuya watched as the young partners engaged in battle with the ability user.
The two of them handled the threat well, balancing each other’s attacks out while squabbling at each other like deranged chickens who fought over the last bit of feed. Shin Soukoku was a success for now.
Dazai shuffled a bit closer to his temporary partner to use him as an armrest, a tactic that never failed to piss him off.
He plucked Chuuya’s hat off with one hand before dropping an elbow on his beautiful curls.
“Hey! Fuck off you slimy bastard. Don’t touch my hair!”
“Oh, is the little chibi sad? Such a shame.” Dazai shook his head and made sure to ground his elbow in a little harder.
Chuuya scowled before grabbing his arm and twisting to throw Dazai over his hip. He let out and oof as he hit the ground, wincing when the shorter male stepped in his arm before picking up the stolen hat.
Dazai stuck out his tongue and whined, “My Chuuya is so mean and evil!! What a bad dog.”
He laughed when the red-head let out a screech of rage.
A hand gripped his hair and pulled his face towards Chuuya’s as he crouched down, the battle in the background completely forgotten. Fingers gripped his fluffy brown(yes he used more than 3-in-1 shampoo, contrary to popular belief) at the roots. He met his blue eyes with equal fire and didn’t look away.
“Listen here you little shit,” he said, “I am not your dog. I am not ANYONE’S dog. And I will never be your dog. I hate you and your slimy bandages ass so why don’t you ju-“
“I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?” Came Atsushi’s voice.
Bless his little heart for picking up on the slightly homoerotic situation.
Chuuya dropped him before wiping his gloved fingers across his pants. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I take it that the enemy is subdued?”
Akutagawa nodded. “Of course.”
“Alright then,” Chuuya says with such finality in his voice that it feels like he’s bringing an end to a age-old conflict instead of an awkward situation and battle. “We’ll take our leave now.”
—
Dazai lay awake into the early hours of the morning. Oh god. It hurt . The desire, the wanting, the yearning need to be held by Chuuya was overwhelming. He craved his presence like a drought-ridden desert screamed for water.
He didn’t necessarily want to be held, either. It was more of a desire of not wanting to be alone anymore. because he couldn’t do it anymore he couldn’t be alone he couldn’t be empty no no no nononono
Just a warm body lying beside his would be enough. That was all he needed. A back to lean against or someone’s hand in his. The feeling of arms wrapped around him. Being able to wake up to something other than the ghosts of his past was something Dazai felt an intense want for.
But instead he was alone in his apartment. Sake bottles cast strange looking shadows on his walls from the moonlight that streamed in.
Dazai didn’t have the energy to check the time but knew it had to be sometime in the early morning.
He rolled over. The ache persisted. He shifted again. The ache didn’t leave. He got up and took a shower. It still hurt. He stared at his razor from inside the glass.
No.
It wouldn’t fix this.
Some part of Dazai craved the feeling of a blade against his skin, yet he knew that it wouldn’t make this pain go away. It hadn’t work in the past and it wouldn’t work now.
So instead of climbing out of the ice cold water, he sank to the floor, back against the wall. It hurt .
Hurt was such a simple word, but it described it perfectly. The never ending throb of missing some part of yourself that might have never been yours to begin with.
Yes. That was it. Chuuya was someone that Dazai needed, needed to survive, someone he couldn’t bear to be without. Yet Chuuya didn’t need Dazai- not in the way Dazai needed him. It was so unfair, so unreasonable that words couldn’t describe it. More and more of late that was something Dazai had experienced- a lack of words that described his sometimes raging and sometimes mute emotions.
Oh god, he thought as the cold water washed over him. I wish I was dead .
—
Yosano was the one to find him, still in his clothes at the bottom of his shower.
Ranpo has approached her shortly after work started, completely silent. She looks up from her desk, raising an eyebrow in inquisition.
”Go help Dazai. Get Atsushi, I’ll get the president.”
—
She had done as he said, and now they had Dazai bundled up with blankets on his bed. His hair fanned out around his head like some sort of reverse halo. The man had not quite come close to dying, but rather close to severe hypothermia which would have knocked him out in the end.
He had been cold, terrifyingly so when they found him. Atsushi looked shaken when he had to pick up his too-light mentor to carry him out. Dazai was thin -they all knew that- but he was just so... light. It was jarring.
Now just Yosano sat by his bedside. She had sent Atsushi home a few hours ago so he could get some sleep, which left just her to keep watch over him.
He had been stripped of his bandages, something he had only reluctantly given Yosano permission to do in emergency circumstances. An IV fed into his wrist.
Yosano would never get over how he looked after his attempts- so pale and empty.
Dazai was an empty person, or so he liked to believe. He had said so himself on some drunken night. Empty of love, empty of emotion, lacking everything that mad one human.
For once, Yosano Akiko hated Nakahara Chuuya. She hated him for not being able to love Dazai back.
—
When Dazai was 15, he held Chuuya’s hand. This was the first time, and not the best, but god was it memorable.
One might say that holding your crush’s hand was the first step into developing a relationship. Many would mark holding hands as a sign of love. And most people would start holding hands on the 1st or 2nd date.
But not for these mafiosos! Fighting against the reanimated old boss, just Dazai and his dog- it would be forever ingrained in his mind like 2 names carved into a tree, because that was when they first held hands. It made his stomach buzz and later he tried to vomit up the wasps (or was it butterflies?) inside of him. It didn’t work.
Dazai held Chuuya’s hand after corruption many times as well. His hand was always warm, slightly bigger than his. Years of martial arts had given Chuuya strong hands that were hard with calluses. They felt firm and muscled.
Despite wearing bandages all the time, Dazai was actually pretty cold. So on one mission in the snowy countryside after he had complained about being “frozen by the elements”, Chuuya had seized his gloveless hand, and then immediately dropped it before holding it again.
“Jesus fuck, you bastard! It’s freezing out here, you’re gonna get frostbite!”
Dazai rolled his eyes. “Yes, Chibi. I believe I had tried to say that but someone refused to listen~!”
“I thought you were joking! Here, give more your hand.”
He grabbed Dazai’s left hand, the one closest to him before going for his other hand it holding that one, too.
Now Chuuya had linked hands with Dazai as if he were about to form a circle, so they could keep moving forward in the cold.
Dazai, who at this point hadn’t figured out he was in love, felt a strange feeling in his chest. In the coming years, he would come to know it as being hopelessly in love.
But for now he just said, “Aww, thanks Chuuya! My perfect little dog, always taking care of me!” And pretended that was it.
They ended up holding hands many times over the years. During missions. During panic attacks. To put on an act. While watching a movie. A number of reasons, all with different circumstances leading up to that wonderful moment when Chuuya’s hand would make contact with his, and suddenly everything was okay. Contact with Chuuya didn’t burn like others did. It was warm, as hot as fire, but instead of it being a forest fire of a strangers touch, it was the hot camp fire people sat next to.
Dazai would always end up lightly tapping his thumb against his partner’s when they linked hands. It wasn’t exactly a nervous habit- more of an unconscious one, really- and they never said anything about it.
Chuuya would also never say how whenever he tried to hold hands with anyone else, it wasn’t the same. It didn’t make him feel like everyone else. It didn’t make him feel human.
—
Dazai stared at his wall, eyes completely unblinking. He was clad in an too-big white t-shirt and a pair of loose dark gray pants. Contrary to popular belief, he did have clothes other than his agency ones. People just never saw him wear them.
And no one saw him now. He was glad. Dazai didn’t think he could take it if people saw him crying.
Chuuya had once described his eyes as lifeless, like those of a dead fish. And for the most part, they were lifeless and empty. Dazai was an empty person. Empty of everything except pain, as fate had seemed to decree in some cruel twist.
He wanted love. He wanted to be held. Dazai wanted what he could never have.
It built up inside him like boiling water. The feelings started off as lukewarm but now boiled and steamed like the pits of hell itself heated it. If he looked in a mirror, Dazai was sure he’d see steam rising from him.
It was too much. He couldn’t take it. So Dazai flung himself out of bed in one singular movement that disrupted the quiet of the room. He didn’t pause to grab anything but his coat and a pack of cigarettes from off the counter. The door closed behind him with a noise hopefully not loud enough to wake anyone up.
Dazai didn’t even know where he was going. He just didn’t stop.
He walked and walked before coming to his favorite bridge.
God. How many people could honestly say that they had a favorite bridge for a reason other than going sightseeing? How pitiful was it that Dazai couldn’t even kill himself right? Did he even want to die?
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just wanted it to stop. Hell if he knew.
Shaking fingers lit a cigarette with a lighter dug from his coat pocket.
The flame burned red. Chuuya.
The ash fell to the wind. It was the same shade as Chuuya’s hair.
Dazai pulled back the bandages on his left wrist and put the cig out, depending on the burn to ground him.
He hated pain, yet he was constantly in it. He couldn’t escape it. It haunted him in his dreams, his nightmares, his life, it all revolved around it.
Every action only brought more pain.
Running from pain brought it on. Trying to fix it made it hurt more.
He was trapped in some horrifying limbo of wanted to die so bad that it consumed him and wanting to live so he could fulfill his promise to Odasaku but not being able to do either.
He was useless. It was good that Chuuya didn’t live Dazai, because who’d want a bastard as fucked up as him?
Why would anyone come within ten feet of him?
Why would anyone ever care for him?
He didn’t deserve to live. He didn’t deserve to breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Oh god, he couldn’t breathe-
Dazai began to choke on his own breath as he leaned over the edge of the bridge. He felt invisible claws reaching down his throat, trying to snatch whatever remained of his heart.
He could breathe. He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t- just couldn’t.
It was all too much.
Dazai placed one foot on the lower bar of the railing and clambered over so he was standing on the thin strip off concrete between the nothingness of the water and the bridge.
Life… it was too much. He couldn’t anymore. Dazai shouldn’t exist. He shouldn’t breathe he shouldn’t think he shouldn’t eat he shouldn’t love he shouldn’t live.
Maybe this time would take him out.
One could only hope, after all.
—
Ranpo and Dazai sat back to back on the roof of the ADA at 2am.
It seemed that the night was slowly becoming more and more of a home than it already was to the bandaged man.
He hadn’t expected him to show up, but here he was.
No words had been exchanged. Ranpo had just sat down and leaned against him. Dazai had his knees pulled up to his chest and his forehead rested on top of his crossed arms.
The stars were just barely visible through the clouds, and they appeared as nothing more than little pinpricks of light.
Dazai hadn’t been able to sleep. It hurt too much. Everything burned with this sort of… fakeness. It wasn’t real. Nothing felt human on his skin.
His blankets felt unnatural against his skin. The air felt oppressive. Only his bandages felt bearable and even that texture was on thin ice.
So Dazai made the decision to leave his room and spend the rest of the night on top of the ADA building, because anything would be better than staying trapped in his room.
Then Ranpo had shown up with a lollipop in in his mouth and sleep tousled hair, not saying anything.
But it felt… good. The feeling of warmth against his back made him feel human again.
Heat had always been something Dazai craved.
The heat of Chuuya’s hand in his, the warm feeling of an actual home instead of that shipping container, or even just someone standing next to him. One might call it the warmth of humanity, because while many creatures carried that spark of life it only burned as a flame in humans. Except for Dazai. He seemed to be completely devoid of that spark, even on his best days. He was just as empty as a dead man.
That was an accurate comparison for Dazai. He was a dead man walking.
“No. You’re not,” came Ranpo’s voice, startling him out of his thoughts.
“And before you ask, yes, you did say that out loud.”
Dazai let out a bitter laugh. It would be almost funny to listen to Ranpo try and convince him that he was human when it was obviously that he was so utterly not.
“Ranpo, we both know I lack that ever-referenced spark that makes you human. People have always speculated on what it is that makes you a person. But all of that, doesn’t matter. Because you either have it or you don’t.”
The shorter man just sighed. “That may be true. Some people may be born without that ‘spark of humanity’ or whatever you wanna name it, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t care if some random person doesn’t have it. I care that you think you don’t have it.”
Oh.
He actually cared.
Ranpo really believed that Dazai was human.
In shock, his lips parted just a sliver and he had to blink twice.
Ranpo really cared?
Before Dazai had the chance to think anymore, Ranpo pulled away from his position at Dazai’s back, robbing him of his warmth.
He then pulled Dazai into him so the taller man was being held and hugged from behind.
A small “oomph” noise escaped him and then he was leaning into Ranpo’s touch like he had been frozen for 10,000 years and the other man was the last fire in 100 miles.
Dazai was stiff for only a moment before melting into him. It was… nice. He was warm.
For whatever reason, Ranpo’s touch didn’t burn as he twirled his brown hair around his fingers. Dazai took in a shuddering breath before closing his eyes.
It took him an hour to fall asleep like that, but when he woke up with Ranpo still clinging on to him hours later, he thought that maybe he was a little human.
—
No one really knows what a bone deep kind of tiredness is until they’ve felt it. It’s like thorny vines wrapping around you, slowly sinking into your skin until you feel so trapped that it hurts to breathe. You couldn’t move. You could barely think.
Dazai was currently being crushed by that feeling.
It was honestly pathetic in his opinion. He couldn’t even open his eyes. Just how useless was he?
His phone had been buzzing with notifications and although it probably wasn’t, the sounds coming from it felt almost constant.
Dazai was grateful that he had had the forethought to plug his phone in before the episode really hit him.
He still felt like shit though. He was tired and a little hungry and achey and cold. The good thing about being so exhausted was that he’d more likely than not fall asleep soon.
—-
Dazai sluggishly groaned as the knocking at his door woke him up.
“Dazai!” called Kunikida. “I’m coming in.”
He heard the door creak open and heard the sound of Kunikida slipping off his shoes. When he got like this, his partner always came to check on him, even going as far as to bring him food and occasionally volunteering to brush his hair.
He felt the man’s stare on him and made a brave attempt to open his eyes. They slowly fluttered open to meet Kunikida’s concerned gaze.
“Can you shower? If not, that’s fine.”
Dazai gave the tiniest shake of his head.
“Alright. That’s fine. Do you want me to help you sit up so I can brush your hair?”
He thought for a moment before nodding.
With the goal to sit up, if became slightly more easier to move. There was probably a psychological reason for it, but if there was then Dazai didn’t know about it.
He started to sit up and Kunikida offered his arm. The brunette clasped it loosely and used it to scoot back against his bed frame so he was sitting in an upright position.
Kunikida brings out a small brush from his bag and Dazai can’t help but roll his eyes at how prepared he is.
As he slowly works through the knots he talks about all the cases at the agency.
“We haven’t had any high level cases as of late, so everyone’s been doing make up work. There are rumors of a mafia member gone rogue, though. President Fukuzawa thinks that we may be called on by the Port Mafia to help track him down. He believes it’ll be brought up at the night on Monday.”
Dazai manages to croak out, “What day is it?”
“Friday,” he says. “And I’m getting you water as soon as I’m done with this. You sound like a dying frog.”
Dazai lips twitch up into a small smile, and Kunikida smiles too. He’s infinitely grateful for his partner at times like this. His depressive episodes had been happening since he was 16 or so, and he had been there for him since his first one at the ADA. Because even though they tease and bicker a lot, they are exceptionally good partners. Dazai had taken care of Kunikida and innumerable amount of times as he felt sick quite frequently(something that annoyed the pony-tailed man to no end) and in turn, Kunikida did this.
He showed up, did whatever he could to make Dazai feel a little more clean, cooked for him if Dazai could stomach it, and just talked.
It helped immensely.
Kunikida got up and for a moment Dazai was confused before realizing he was just going to get him some water.
Ha. Good luck with that. Dazai didn’t live in the dorms, instead opting to get an apartment in a worse part of town. So the tap water came out a little brown, but that was fine. Dazai usually bought a pack of bottled water and that lasted him a month or so.
But he didn’t think he had any left. Or maybe he did. Who knows!
Dazai heard Kunikida’s grumbling as he came back, a mug with a plastic straw sticking out of it in hand.
“You need more water. All you have left is half a bottle in your fridge.”
“Hey! Don’t give me that look,” he says when he catches Dazai rolling his eyes.
He hands the mug of water to Dazai who slowly sipped it for a minute before setting it on his cluttered nightstand that was covered in stacks of books.
“Are you hungry?” asked Kunikida.
He thought for a moment. Did hunger feel like nausea? Because he wasn’t nauseous, so maybe that meant he wasn’t hungry. But he had felt a little hungry earlier. He could rarely tell the difference between the two feelings. But it couldn’t hurt to eat, right? Unless it made him sick-
“Let me put it this way: do you want to eat? Or feel like? You still have canned crab in your kitchen so I could make something.”
Dazai nodded slowly and then more surely. He felt like eating.
Kunikida smiled a little as he exited the room. It was good to see his partner eating.
He tried to cook as quick as possible just in case Dazai changed his mind about eating. He had serious doubts that he had eaten at all since he had visited roughly 50 hours ago. Kunikida usually came every other day at the request of Dazai, and he had only eaten a watery soup the last time he came. Sometimes that was all the man could stomach.
Kunikida wasn’t mad at him for this, no not at all. He just wished he could help more.
Little did he know, but just by coming to help made Dazai feel so much better.
—
Dazai sat across from Chuuya at the meeting.
The taller of the two still wasn’t at 100% and looked like shit, but he was there. He was scaring the shit out of Mori and pretending that simply being in Mori’s presence didn’t greatly unnerve him.
To be honest, he didn’t pay attention to most of what was discussed. But he knew his dear Kunikida took notes so Dazai figured he’d just look over those.
But as the meeting ended and he made his way out, Chuuya stopped him.
Oh no.
Not good.
Very bad.
He could hardly deal with his feelings for Chuuya on a decent day, much less when he was still recovering from a whole slew of bad ones.
So when Chuuya grabbed him by the upper and pulled him off to the side, Dazai developed one goal: end this as quick as possible.
“You look like shit,” announced Chuuya.
Dazai let the smirk he knew would annoy the redhead take over his face as he replied, “Ah, my little Chibi is so blunt! It makes sense of course, dogs have no tact.”
He watched as rage welled up in the man and the saw it quelled.
It seemed he was getting better at anger management, most likely thanks to Kouyou. That woman had done everything she could to stop Chuuya from beating whoever pissed him off in the slightest.
Chuuya scowled. “Shut it, bastard. Just make sure you’ve got someone to look after you during episodes, yeah?”
He turned and left.
For a long moment, Dazai just stood there.
Chuuya still knew. He knew what the aftermath of an episode looked like.
He cared enough to approach him about it.
And he asked if someone could look after him.
Dazai walked forward and out of the building. He kept walking. Down the stairs, on the streets.
Off the bridge.
—
Dazai did his best to tone down the suicide jokes in front of Kenji and Kyouka.
He was sure they knew what suicide was and that he desired it, but he never made any attempts in front of them.
That was something Dazai had always done. It started with Odasaku’s orphans, and just never stopped.
Chuuya once commented on it:
“Why d’you stop the suicide shit in front of kids? I thought you hated children.”
“Meh,” he said. “They’re still kids. I might as well do my best not to taint them before the world does.”
His Chibi had never mentioned it again.
To be perfectly honest, Dazai didn’t know why he stopped in front of children either. It wasn’t like him to attempt to spare the youth of this city, but here he is.
Kyouka herself had been ready to commit. Atsushi had brought up how concerned he was for her after the train incident where she had plans to kill herself, only to be saved by Atsushi at the last minute. He was so… honest. Not quite in a bad way, although it could easily evolve into that, but honest in a good way. Honest in a refreshing way. Atsushi had approached him after work and asked if he could do absolutely anything to help.
So Dazai gave him the basic suicidal person advice:
- Be there for them.
- Don’t call someone a coward for not doing it.
- Don’t be shitty.
Rather basic advice, really.
But Dazai had to condense a life time of suicidal thoughts and actions down into a few sentences, and this was the best he could do.
It was pathetic.
He’s the self-proclaimed expert on suicide and still doesn’t know how to stop someone other than himself from committing. Because when Dazai got close, too close to the serious attempts he would tend to cycle back to one reason to either stay alive or go out: Chuuya.
That man seemed to be able to rule his entire collection of thoughts without even knowing.
Chuuya had so much control over Dazai without even knowing it.
Dazai would live for him.
He would try to be better.
Try to get better.
But Chuuya didn’t love him back and that was enough to send Dazai spiraling over the edge and into the madness he called his mind.
The edge that which Dazai tread upon was simple.
When he could bear existing, he took a step back from the edge. When he couldn’t, he took a step closer. Sometimes too close. Sometimes not close enough.
He had gone over or attempted to go over the edge many times, but someone always seemed to yank him back at the last moment.
Of course, not many people realized that Dazai had actually died. His heart stopped beating, his brain stopped working, only for him to be resuscitated at the last minute so he could be yanked back into the land of the living. Dazai was a smart man and knew what he wanted. Well. Most of the time. But he mainly wanted to stop it all.
Stop the pain.
The suffering.
The existing.
His love.
He just need it to end, and death happened to be the quickest way possible.
It sounded like a cliche, now that Dazai thought about it.
The tortured main character who had a life of suffering seeks a way to end it all, and his love of someone whom he can never kiss pushes him over the edge.
It was almost funny.
—
Mori only booked one bed. Again.
The cheap bastard always payed for a single bed in one hotel room.
This was not good for Dazai.
Chuuya was lying literal inches away from him and he couldn’t even do anything! He was right next to him asleep, just snoring away obliviously. He’d occasionally mumble out a few unintelligible words then roll over or shift slightly to reveal the drool on the corner of his chin.
Dazai was sure he had a red flush in his cheeks. Absolutely positive.
But he couldn’t even check because Chuuya was right. there.
What was he supposed to do?? Panic and be gay??
Dazai was normally unflappable but now he was just a mess. His mind couldn’t seem to process that Chuuya was just… there.
They weren’t cuddling in the twin-sized bed or anything, yet the close proximity still set his heart racing.
He… he just wanted to reach out and wrap an arm around him. But he couldn’t and it was maddening.
Chuuya rolled over so he was facing Dazai and his arm flopped onto Dazai’s thighs, hand too close to his groin for comfort. He tensed underneath his arm and shimmied until his arm rested comfortably on Dazai’s stomach.
There. That was better.
Dazai groaned. This is going to be a long night.
—
Sometimes Chuuya and Dazai argued for hours. They fought. They taunted.
Chuuya had once pushed Dazai off a bridge after he pissed him off to much.
They definitely hated each other, but the two teens did enjoy each other’s company. When you’re 15 and stuck in the mafia, there’s not many people you can connect with on a personal level. And even less people are options when you have a high position in the hierarchy of the Port Mafia.
So Dazai and Chuuya became each other’s best friends. Of course they still hated each other, because they’d always have what the other wants.
Dazai was stuck watching Chuuya be so full of life, so undeniably human.
Chuuya was stuck watching Dazai deny any spark of humanity in him as he tried to extinguish the flame of life inside of himself.
——
Chuuya almost walked them into a pole.
“This… t-this guy… is my best friend!” laughed Chuuya.
Dazai had been called by one of the bar tenders at a popular bar to come pick up his Chibi. And now, one of the red head’s arms was sling over his shoulder as they staggered through the dark empty streets.
The moon was out tonight, appearing in a pleasant white-gold. The weather had been fantastic lately: every day was a mix of warm, empty skys and a light breeze that blue away the heat before it could become unbearable. So now, even at night, the air held nothing but a slight chill and the sounds of Chuuya talking loudly about Dazai.
“Hey- hey Fish Eyes! Why won’t you say I’m your best friend?? I said it, now you have to!” claimed Chuuya, his words slurring on every ‘S’ syllable.
Dazai looked at him in the eyes for the first time tonight.
He saw nothing but love and a little bit of hurt. Hurt because Dazai hadn’t said it back yet, and because of course he was right. Dazai was Chuuya’s best friend. Chuuya loved his friend.
Friend.
Nothing more, nothing else.
“Alright Chuuya,” says Dazai slowly. “You’re my best friend.”
His words came slow and crafted without any hint of the wrong emotion- no fear, no hurt, no hatred, no anger, no pain. He couldn’t let him know how much those four simple words practically caused him physical pain.
Pain was so funny.
It could come from a scalpel. From an enemy. From a friend. A blow could be dealt by both a comment and a fist, and the pain that followed was rarely similar.
Chuuya would be in pain tomorrow from the hangover he was sure to have, but now he was perfectly happy as Dazai had confirmed they were best friends. And truly, in every sense of the word, they were.
People forgot that Soukoku did more than than fight with eachother and against the enemy. They breathed the same breath of suffering, even though they refused to admit it.
It was what made them one and the same.
—
It was amazing.
It is being perfectly in sync with someone, down to the very atom, but because you were that close you never noticed. When you’re so close to something, you can’t see the whole picture. That was exactly how they functioned. So close that they couldn’t fully see what they had until they lost it.
Waking up every day, completely alone only deepened the already gaping wound in Dazai to the point where it constantly ached much more than what it used to.
The pain seemed to be almost inescapable, only fading on the good days and completely disappearing on the very best days when living wasn’t a chore.
Those days didn’t come often enough to take the near-ceaseless agony away, which directed him to the other cure for his suffering: Chuuya.
Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya.
The whole world seemed to revolve around him.
Spending time with Chuuya made it so much better, and then worse.
The withdrawal from him was t as bad as you’d think, but it still hurt a little more after he had to leave every joint mission with him.
Withdrawal was an apt term. Dazai craved him like a drug until his hands shook and his mind raced and his thoughts stopped and his hands were all too steady with a blade and suddenly it was good and bad and up and down and he couldn’t even think because it consumed his every sense that something or maybe someone was missing.
That was Chuuya.
An addiction to being okay.
—
Dying brought Dazai something akin to comfort most if the time.
Dying with someone brought him even more comfort.
And dying with Chuuya- it was a dream so utterly unrealistic that it was more likely for the Earth to turn backwards than for Chuuya to agree to a double suicide.
Dazai tilted his head back and shifted where his back met the off-white porcelain of the bathtub in his apartment room.
It had been a long night. All long couple of weeks, really.
The increasingly frequent meetings with Chuuya had only reminded him of things he tried to run away from. Life grew more and more dull every day until the only colors he saw were the red of Arahabaki, the clearest blue of Chuuya’s eyes, the orange of his hair- his world was colored in Chuuya. The man pushed his way into Dazai’s thoughts at night, leaving no escape in sleep. Dazai saw him in every couple he passed, every act of friendship people displayed in public. It was impossible to escape the pull of him.
Gravity had always been Chuuya’s speciality, and Dazai could live with this. But now, now it was like being sucked in every moment of the day. The sweet irony of it lay in the fact that only Dazai had ever been able to turn off his pull.
And that was what he had to do now.
Only Dazai could make this end.
Chuuya couldn’t stop this one-sided pull.
Dazai could.
He would never be able to end this on his own.
So he had to help. Dazai would get rid of it. He would make it stop in three days time, giving himself just enough time to prepare and set a few things right.
—
The first order of business was the method.
Overdosing, drowning, hanging, bleeding out, chemical poisoning- all were options, but none had ever done the trick. Yet he had a feeling that whatever he chose this time would work.
Dazai settled on carbon monoxide. It was easy to produce, and would kill him slowly. Just like falling asleep.
Maybe he would finally wake up from this nightmare of a world.
—
The second thing to do was set a few things right.
Dazai had briefly thought about what to say to him last night, but his mind came up blank. He knew what he did was wrong. He knew that Akutagawa deserved more than an apology too, but Dazai didn’t know what to give him.
He did feel guilty over it in some sense but it didn’t feel… adequate… for what Dazai had done.
So, he settled in making it up on the spot.
And that was where Dazai was now: standing in front of Akutagawa at a park of all places.
It was such an odd place for everything to come to an end that it almost made Dazai laugh at the absurdity of it. Really, a public park! The cycle of abuse would be confronted right in public.
He had set out from his house with the intention to feed the ducks near the pond there. It was a strange habit, but Dazai enjoyed watching the ducks trail after their mother. So once a week he made the journey to stop there and watch. He sometimes brought seed fo feed them, but not this time.
As Dazai slowly zoned out, a figure caught at the corner of his vision.
Well, he thought. Better now that never.
He has jumped up without a second thought and walked over to where the younger man stood. The wind blew gently and the trees swayed with it too. It was mundane. So desperately ordinary that it felt synthetic in a way living always has.
A deep breathe. “I’m sorry. For it all.”
Akutagawa stood frozen in front of him, mouth slightly parted at what Dazai had just said. His eyes looked conflicted, a raging mess of hatred and loathing and fear and maybe a little bit of hope. Dazai figured he shouldn’t have sprung this all upon him at once, but it was too late for slow fix-its. Dazai was disgusting. This was a fact. Why change it now?
The man had every right to hate him. To despise his former ‘mentor’ with every bone in his body.
Dazai had been…. well, there are no words to describe the actions of monsters. Only witnesses will ever know the true horror of it.
So it took nearly a minute before he closed his mouth and looked up, meeting Dazai’s eyes with a straight back and resolution shining in his eyes.
“I can’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t deserve it.”
“You’re correct.”
“You have hurt me,” he said, a suspicious look in his eyes, like he expected Dazai to burst out into laughter at any moment and say this was all a joke.
“That’s also correct,” Dazai replies.
“Why are you agreeing?”
“I think you deserve to know that you were right. This whole time, you have always been right. I pushed you too far, too hard. I was harsh and cruel and a monster and I have never made any attempts to mend the damage I’ve done. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But something’s going down, and in case I don’t make it- well. You should know.”
Akutagawa’s eyes widened in shock. He didn’t say anything, until the fact that something big was going to happen registered in his head.
“Can I help in any way? With this ‘thing’ of yours?” he inquired.
Dazai slowly shook his head and felt a smile twitch at the corner of his lips. “No, I don’t think you can.”
“Oh.” Akutagawa didn’t look quite upset, more accepting and slightly sad than anything else.
He sunk down against the tree exhaled a shaky laugh.
“I honestly did not think this would ever happen,” whispered Akutagawa.
Dazai moved to sit on the opposite side of the tree.
“I should have done it sooner. I should have tried harder.”
“Yeah,” laughed Akutagawa, voice raspy and with a hint of hysteria in it. “You should have. Fuck, you should have never done it in the first place!”
The brown haired man tilted his head back against the tree. “I’m sorry it took this long.”
He just kept laughing. “Good. You should be sorry, goddamnit.”
Neither of them moved for half an hour, the only noise being the quiet and hysterical laughter Akutagawa let out. Then Dazai stood up, and left with no warning.
He turned around without a word. He left. Just like that.
Akutagawa honestly couldn’t believe it.
It was so… surreal.
It felt fake.
—
Dazai would break if he had to see Chuuya again.
He would crumble and break and shatter just like glass. It would be his final ruin.
So Dazai started the letters. Handwritten, every one of them.
They ended up being of varying lengths, some shorter than others, but they all contained good byes.
I mean, why have one suicide letter when you can have 12?
Some, like Hirotsu’s and Naomi’s contained but a little more than thank you’s for helping him in various ways and a personal tidbit. But for the people close to him- the letters became long. Chuuya’s was the longest in the end, with Kunikida and Atsushi’s being close runner-ups.
Chuuya’s was also the hardest to write but that came as no surprise.
It had taken Dazai almost all evening to come up with an adequate good bye for the man he loved so dearly.
Mugs littered his desk and pens were scattered here and there, but the stack of letters was perfectly undisturbed. Chuuya’s letter was the one he wrote last, and still lay open without a signature.
Dazai let his head drop into his hands as he squeezed his eyes shut. A fountain pen hung limply from fingers that could not be bothered to put it down. Even now he could feel his mental health declining, everything slowly getting worse.
His bones aches with a weariness he wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain with words.
He stayed like that for a few minutes before picking his head up and staring down at the paper.
Dazai’s fingers moved with both the precision of a surgeon and the gentleness of a new mother as he signed his name at the bottom.
There. It was done.
It was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Life could finally be over. He was done. Not just with living, but the pains that constantly plagued his body; the bruises and slashes would stop, the hole in his heart would be filled as it emptied itself of blood.
That, that was the horrible irony. He had to empty his heart of blood before so it could hold something other than hate.
Maybe in death his pain would stop.
Dazai had not been kind to his body, and the evidence lay in his frail limbs. His ribs had been poking out for years, despite the attempts of Kunikida to ‘put some meat on his bones’ before he starved.
His old scars ached with the weather, and he had plenty of those.
Burns- both heat, chemical, and electrical. Slashes. Bullet wounds. Stab wounds. Broken bones.
They all came back to him on a daily basis.
Dazai was in agony, and death would put a stop to it.
His weariness would finally cease.
The cost was high, but he could pay.
He would pay.
Soon.
With the letters done, there was only one more thing to do: have a good last day.
—
“Dazai! You’re late! Again.”
Kunikida looked as angry as ever at Dazai’s never ending avoidance of punctuality.
“Sorry Kunikida,” he grinned, “I overslept and then tried fo seduce a beautiful women on the street!”
His partner was kind enough to never confront him about the lies he told, instead accepting them all with a bit of anger.
Dazai sat down soon enough though, and pretended to do paperwork. Last night he had spent hours making up all of the work he was behind on. He even did all of the work he was scheduled to do over the next week and a half! It was all contained in a file labeled “Whoops, my hand slipped! Here’s the paperwork I didn’t do.” and was scheduled to be emailed to Kunikida the day after he’d died.
Dazai figured it was the least he could do.
His will was also written out last night. He didn’t have much, but what he did have was to be divided among the agency members and Chuuya.
Kunikida and Chuuya would get his book collection, with Chuuya getting most of it.
Atsushi got his paint set. He had noticed that the weretiger looked at art with great reverence and decided that him painting would do some good.
Kunikida also got the ceramic yellow rose he had bought a few years ago on his trip to Poland.
And that was the extent of his possessions.
So it wasn’t much of a will, but it was better than nothing.
As the clock ticked to 11, Ranpo strode in with a bag of candy in one hand and a white paper bag labeled A. Strudels** in messy writing. Kyouka was right behind him with a crepe.
Ranpo usually picked an ADA member for his morning sugar break and then took Kenji to get a light lunch. The boy protested at first, saying he couldn’t eat on the job but Ranpo just shrugged him off to feed him. Kenji would come back, nap for an hour, and resuming working. It was good for the boy to attempt good eating habits.
It was funny how everyone spent a different number of hours at the office.
Naomi was in school a lot of the time but other than her Ranpo worked the least. Kunikida, Fukuzawa and Yosano worked the most hours, with everyone fading into some middle ground.
It was flexible and worked for everyone.
Dazai planned to go home at 6:30, have a drink at Lupin and crab for dinner, and end it.
But as Ranpo’s eyes focused on him, he couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread sink in his stomach. But as long as he avoided Ranpo confronting him, it should be fine. And if Dazai focused on it, he could fix his act. Give no clues of what he was about to do. If he made it seem like he was lining for Chuuya more than usual then Ranpo surely wouldn’t think anything was out of order.
So he fixed himself into what he wanted to be. That was what Dazai is good at, after all. He was the master of changing himself for anything except the better.
The day trickled on, and Kenji and Ranpo left for lunch. Kunikida threw a bento box at his head around 1pm with an order to “Eat it or suffer.”
So Dazai ate lunch, finishing most of it. Kunikida brought him lunch at least twice a week. Dazai didn’t think he could handle it if he had to eat lunch anymore than this, so for now it was the perfect balance.
He ate lunch, and went back to work. Ranpo had stopped staring at him which seemed like a good thing, but one could never know with him.
The day felt so… mundane. There were no incidents, no field missions for him, no trouble. Dazai spent the entire day doing paperwork.
But as it was time to go home, Kunikida stopped him at the door.
“Would you like to go to dinner? I doubt you ate breakfast, and I’d like to ensure you eat something other than a bento box.”
Oh. Well this threw a wrench in his plans.
But getting dinner with Kunikida wouldn’t be too bad, right?
“Sure,” answered Dazai. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked out with his partner before he asked, “Where would you like to go?”
“How does seafood sound to you?”
“Ooh, perfect! Good call Kunikida!”
Seafood really did sound good. And it turned out that the restaurant had an excellent selection of crab, which Dazai was pretty sure the blonde had taken into consideration.
They chatted over dinner. Nothing serious, just light topics. It felt so refreshing to have an honest conversation that demanded nothing of him.
Dazai didn’t tease Kunikida, and Kunikida didn’t lose his temper.
It was perfect. It was. Until he caught the look Kunikida was sending him as they walked out, the one of concern and fondness, mingled in an inseparable swirl. The blonde paused and turned to face him.
“Hey. Call me if you need anything. You know I always say this but really, I’m always there for you.”
The brunette smiled. “Thanks Kuni~! But really, I’ll be alright.”
He sighed as they started moving again. “Alright. Just be careful, I’d hate to have to remove my Ideal’s pages on you.”
Dazai nearly froze. “You have a page on me?” he asked.
“Multiple. I have them for all the important people in my life. Especially the good ones.”
This time he did freeze. Kunikida thought he was good.
Oh.
He cared.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You don’t quite know what that means to me… but thank you.”
They were on the street now. It wasn’t quite empty at 8:12pm, but give it a few more hours and it would all clear out. The rest of their walk was spent in easy silence.
It was another one of those times where nothing felt real. The silence too perfect, the sky too dark.
But if it was fake, then maybe Dazai could live with that. Maybe he would die with that.
They arrived at his apartment all too soon.
“Good night, Dazai. Sleep well,” said Kunikida, before turning to leave, ponytail swishing gently behind him.
“Good night to you too!! Thanks for dinner!”
Dazai entered his apartment, the place absent of noise other than the click of his lock as he closed it.
He was empty once again.
It was strange. When he was with friends, though he was hesitant to even call them that, things felt better. If he wasn’t actively thinking about how he wanted to peel off his skin and pull his hair out strand by strand just to feel something, then it wasn’t as bad. Dazai supposed that was just logic though- if you weren’t thinking about it, it couldn’t affect you as much.
The problem was that his dark thoughts were reflected in every corner of his unlit apartment, every dead plant he had failed to keep alive, the few photos of friends he had lost, and the general emptiness of his living space. It taunted him as much as mirrors did.
Mirrors.
Dazai could feel his feet carrying him there now, but not before he grabbed a bottle of sake from his cabinet. It was like his body knew it was going to experience a breakdown.
Was he disassociating again? It seemed to be happening quite frequently. Maybe life would be ending sooner than he thought.
He clicked on the yellow lights that always seemed to flicker. The face that stared back in his cracked mirror wasn’t his own. It wasn’t real. None of this was real.
His hands found the drawer handle that held his pills. Dazai wasn’t supposed to have them, but even with Yosano’s countless checks it was easy to buy more from dealers and such. He pulled out a baggy of pills, not bothering to check the label. It didn’t matter.
A hand brought the pills to his mouth. Dazai didn’t know if it was his own hand, or someone else. His body was barely his anyways.
Another handful. Dry swallow. Ignore the nausea. No, feed on it. It meant it was working. It was ending.
He poured what was left of the bag into his hand and swallowed that down too.
Dazai stumbled back until he was laying in the tub. Oh. He was sitting. He reached for the bottle, nearly knocking it over with his movement. His muscles wouldn’t listen; it was like he was drunk already. Eventually his short nails did manage to peel off the seal and he drank straight from the bottle. Pills and alcohol, right? It would work?
Overdosing was painful but Dazai wanted to feel it. He had lived his whole life in pain, what was a little more?
Maybe he should cut up that artery on his thigh. He had tried a few times before but it had been tricky to reach. His wrist then. A classic.
His little knife was on the counter though. So Dazai gripped the edge of the tub, and in an attempted smooth movement, he tried to stand before almost instantly toppling forward.
Just barely managing to catch himself on the small counter, he fumbled for his knife. The small little thing had been given to him by Oda. Oda. Would he care? Would he understand? Dazai would like to think he did.
Knife in hand, he sat back down. Well, more like toppled.
With his back against the wall, Dazai pulled back his left sleeve. Upon first meeting him, Mori had remarked that he must have been right handed.
It hurt. It was funny in some demented way, but it hurt.
Dazai lifted his hand to his wrist, resting it upon where he knew his vain are. Not a vein, the vein. The one he aspired to find and cut deep in.
As he dug in, the pain was immediate. It was coming. It was so close. Just a few more minutes until death would claim him.
The man closed his eyes as the end grew near.
Bang
Bang
Bang
“Dazai! I’m coming in, like it or not.”
Dazai opened his eyes, pitying his partner. He would not be a pretty site.
“Hey, Dazai! You never told Chuuya you love him! What’s that about, huh?”
And that would be Ranpo.
His door slammed open, denting the gray-blue walls. Foot steps. /dogs running/ Voices. /run faster/ Hands. /please. I’m so tired./
Dazai flinched as arms wrapped around him and a towel was pressed harshly into his wound. Looking up through the haze, his eyes met Kunikida’s eyes. So pretty. So light. If only-
Maybe in another life.
He called a smile to his shaking lips and it felt more genuine than anything ever had.
“Don’t… don’t worry ‘Kida. I’ll see you again. It’ll just… take a while… make it as long… as you can.” He turned his head to Ranpo who stood frozen. “Tell Chuuya I loved him. He’ll see m-me in his dreams. M-make sure.. he knows it’s.. real. It all was.”
Dazai had seen a lot of things in this life. He knows there’s a next one. Hundreds of them. Some would be spent with Oda-never happy. But better. A few lives with Kunikida. In every life Chuuya would be there though, waiting for him. Romantic. Platonic. It made no difference when your souls were made from the same stars.
Blood leaked despite the pressure. So much blood. So much red. It was coming.
He felt himself shake in Kunikida’s arms and wondered who was shivering more: the dying man, or the one who had to hold him.
Thuds came from the hallway and banging followed until he was standing in the bathroom doorway, hat askew, hair the color of embers in a messy low bun. Right in schedule, even in the end.
“Goodbye… Chuuya. Don’t worry... I’ll wait another lifetime for you.”
He closed his eyes.
Dazai would never hear Chuuya drop to the floor.
He’d never feel his still warm body be passed from one set of arms to another.
The gut wrenching scream of a shattered man would never reach his ears. It would echo upon walls, wake the neighbors, resonate within the souls of everyone who heard it, but him. His soul of stardust would be returned to the Earth instead.
And they’d be buried together. Lover with unknowing lover.
The dates would be almost matching.