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Dazai’s fingers tightly grip the pen in his right hand, making sure each character doesn't look lazily put together.
Everything in this letter has to be perfect. His penmanship, word choice, small details that would go unnoticed unless someone was analyzing it; all of it needs to be flawless as these would be the last words he’d ever give his lover.
A strange feeling bubbles inside of his stomach at the idea, one that he can’t recognize no matter how hard he tries, but he knows that Odasaku would be able to understand and explain his emotions.
When he was still alive, he would concisely describe each and every symptom of love, sadness, or anger — anything that Dazai was supposedly feeling.
Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’d get to see his late friend this evening and experience it again.
The thought makes the corners of his lips turn up while he silently wishes to be graced by the kindness of the universe for once and meet Odasaku in the afterlife, to see his orphans, hear his voice, catch a glimpse of his smile. It’s the only thing he wants and yet, he knows he won’t be able to obtain it. Nothing he ever desires can be kept for long. It’s always lost the moment he’s able to grasp onto it and feel content with his temporary life.
Standing up, he tries to think about the more positive aspects of his miserable world. The most upbeat one being how he’s going to commit suicide tonight.
At the beginning of the day, he decided he’d make an attempt at hanging himself since it was the closest he’d been to death the last time he tried it. He had other reasons for choosing this method: it wouldn't be messy, he already has all of the materials he’ll need, and it would be harder to fail with a rope around his neck.
Therefore, the noose that he’ll use has already been set in place at his dorm along with the chair he'll stand upon.
He wishes his neck snaps when he falls, even if he already understands it’s an impossible craving. He just hopes that it won’t hurt.
Once his note is finished, he places it onto the kitchen’s countertop, hands slightly hesitating when pulling away. Was leaving a letter for Chuuya even a good idea?
They’ve only been dating for a few months and before that, his partner hated his guts, he’s not a hundred percent sure if the other man would come for him.
It doesn't matter too much anymore. He had already spent this long writing the letter, it’d be pointless if he took it with him instead of abandoning it on the counter. Besides, his slug wouldn’t be able to reach him in time for something like leaving a note to matter.
Exiting the penthouse hastily, he walks down the street in darkness, thinking of the different ways people would respond once they realize he’s successfully committed suicide. He only hopes that Atsushi wouldn’t take his death too hard. Seeing the kid upset makes something deep inside of him ache, persisting for days to come.
His imagination conjures up pictures of the mourning period the other would go through, only serving to torture his miserable state even more. He forces himself to stop thinking about this topic, pushing it into the back of his mind.
Eventually, he steps inside of his dreary dorm, locking the door behind him without second thought. Practically vibrating with excitement, he quickly steps onto the chair he positioned this morning, softly pulling the noose closer to his unbandaged neck.
As the rope draws nearer to his throat, a thought occurs to him. He’ll be able to succeed in leaving this monotonous world and possibly meet Odasaku along the way. Finally, he’d be able to hear if his late friend is proud of him or not.
Slightly smiling to himself, he shuts his eyes and steps closer to the edge, embracing death with each soft exhale.
‘I love you, Chuuya.”
His chest constricts in a painfully tight way, no air getting through to his lungs. Dazai had written his emotions down on a single piece of paper. All of his feelings towards the ginger, towards their relationship, the agency, his days in the port mafia.
It’s everything the shorter has wanted him to be more open about. He just never imagined for it to come out like this .
The letter didn’t specifically state it was a suicide note, but he can read the tone. He’s well-aware that the detective would never tell him this unless he was planning on ending it.
Immediately, he runs to his elevator, pressing the button that sends the hunk of metal to his floor. The doors open and he hastily steps inside, stabbing the button to the lobby with his finger. It’s torturous waiting for the elevator to fall to the ground floor, no matter how fast it is. He's instantly darting to the front once the doors reopen.
Reaching the outside, he sprints across the streets towards the agency dorms, using his gravity to make himself even faster.
He rushes up the stairs and across the little outdoor walkway until he’s residing in front of the bruent’s door. He doesn’t waste his time trying to open it normally. Instead, he kicks his foot next to the handle, his knee bent as he thrusts his leg forward. The frame cracks, the hinges slowly twisting the door in. He draws his leg back, immediately pushing on the wood to open it the rest of the way, not caring about the damages as he can fix them later. Chuuya then runs down the short hall which leads to the kitchenette and takes a turn to enter the main room.
He’s already pulling out his knife before he can fully process the scene in front of him.
It’s of Dazai. The chair he, presumably, used to climb to the roof is toppled on the ground behind him, arms dangling with slight twitches while his body is supported by a rope. He looks peaceful up there despite the way he instinctively squirms, trying to catch more air since his oxygen supply is cut off.
It’s a sickening sight to behold, his stomach churning with passing second he just stands there staring at his lover.
A particularly violent jerk of the brunet’s legs stir Chuuya into action. His joints are stiff as he lifts the hand holding the dagger, quickly flinging it across the small room. It’s sharp enough, and his aim is deadly in its precision, that it severs the part of the noose which is connected to the ceiling before embedding itself into the wall.
Dazai’s body falls to the floor with a thud. Empty bottles clink around him and tip over from his uncoordinated limbs smacking them, cans of what used to be crab following with.
The bandaged man chokes out a noise, head lolling to the side as dead irises stare into two-toned ones. They stay there for a few seconds, both of them panting ever so slightly. The ginger can feel the wetness glaze over his eyes and he wills it to go away.
“You idiot!” He yells, running over to his partner, his sorrow turning into falsified anger, “Why would you do that?”
The mackerel just sits there, silently staring at him without saying a word.
He puts the other's head onto his lap, harshly brushing his gloved hands through chocolate hair a few times. Then, he quickly starts to loosen the noose around the uncovered throat, lifting it over the skull and tossing it to the side. He doesn’t mind the way it slams against the wall, probably denting it with the amount of force he accidentally used to throw the damn thing.
He immediately bends down, cupping Dazai’s face with his palms. Chuuya can see little droplets of water drip onto the pale cheeks of his partner. It confuses him for a moment before he realizes that the tears are trailing down from his own face.
It’s weird as he’s seen the brunet in this position countless times. From him lying on the ground with his wrists slit open to the hypothermic state he's been in when he decided to jump into a river in February, even saw the moment the other had a razor digging into his throat. Yet, this attempt is different to his mind for some reason.
He’s crying, something he’s never really done during one of his lover’s suicides. His eyes have gotten wet before, but he’s never let the tears slip down cheeks, especially not in front of Dazai. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re in a relationship now, that the ginger wouldn’t be able to continue on in the same way as before if the fish died.
So, he continues shouting at the man, tone losing whatever malice is in it as he lightly shakes his shoulders to get his point across, “You stupid, fucking idiot! Why would you ever do something like this? Why did you give me that note? I fucking hate you!!”
To his embarrassment, his voice cracks while more tears gush out of his eyes. It’s too much for him to bear looking at the broken expression plastered onto the man’s face, so he elects to pull the younger into a tight embrace.
It’s a little bit of an awkward position, the detective’s head being shoved into the ginger’s collarbone while gloved hands encircle the bandaged man into a bone-crushing hug. The mafioso is bent in a straining position to keep the other close to his chest.
He cries into the brown strands of hair for an unreasonable amount of time. Based on what he’s already seen in his life, he should feel mostly unaffected just like he has been for everyone else, yet his face is still blotchy and his skin is hot.
Eventually, his tears begin to die down and he nuzzles his face in closer.
“I love you,” He whispers into the mackerel’s skull, “I love you so fucking much…”
This seems to be what breaks Dazai out of his numb state as, in less than a second, tears are silently dribbling into his shirt, the fabric soaking up every drop of the liquid.
It’s tacky against his skin, admittedly gross, but he can’t find it in him to care as he places soft kisses across the span of the other’s head. His hair is greasy and tangly, probably from the way he hasn’t showered in a few days, his clothes a tousled mess, while his bandages are layered thicker with dirt splattered around them.
Despite all of this, Chuuya still thinks he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever gotten to date.
He pauses his kisses, lips still pressed against the other’s skin. Instead, he brings a hand up to the locks, playing with them in the way he knows Dazai likes.
“I’ll try to help you through this, ‘kay?”
At the words, the brunet squishes his face further into the shorter’s clavicle, fingers fisting the vest around the older’s torso.
Tears still continue to flow onto clothes while Chuuya whispers hushed words into the bandaged man’s skull, promising a light dinner full of crab, a few days off of work, anything that could make the other feel better, even if it was just a slight change.