Chapter Text
It was nice while it lasted, Dazai thinks to himself as he stares at the ceiling. His phone vibrates somewhere off to his left, but he hasn’t moved since he woke up and he doesn’t know how long it’s been but that’s no reason to start moving now. It’s probably Kunikida, wondering why he hasn’t come in to work. Worrying. I wish he wouldn’t worry for me of all people.
They’ve been a couple for two months now and Dazai hasn’t tried to kill himself once. Kunikida just brought attention to it yesterday, as the two of them walked back to the dorms together. Dazai has been actually staying there instead of his other apartment. To keep himself accountable. It’s hard to kill yourself with your boyfriend in the room right above you. Your mind wanders to the memory of his face when he’s crying.
There’s a weight on his chest and it’s been there since that last attempt but it’s been gaining pounds by the day. The weight reaches out little grubby hands and takes him by the throat. He feels like he’s barely breathing. He wishes he would stop. He doesn’t deserve Kunikida’s concern, or anyone’s, really. He deserves to be at the bottom of the river, where he can’t waste anyone’s time.
He wishes he knew what brought this on, but honestly, half the time it feels like nothing does. One day he’s alive, and then the next he feels like a corpse being forced to walk around on puppet strings. Or sometimes, the strings are cut, and then he just lays in bed, stagnating, and doesn’t bother to call in sick.
His phone vibrates again. His eyes feel strange and he’s not sure when he last blinked. There’s another buzz, and then a long, long silence. Ah, so Kunikida-kun can give up on things he loves too. The thought puts a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s not sure where it came from and he wishes it would go back.
There’s a knock on his door, and for some reason his brain won’t tell him who it could be. It’s still stuck on that stupid thought. What’s got him thinking like that? The knocking grows more insistent, then stops. Then starts again, accompanied by a voice this time.
“I know you’re in there, Dazai.”
Does he? Bold of him to assume Dazai didn’t flee in the night, running from the near-paralyzing fear that everyone will eventually realize everything about him is fake and write him off as a lost cause.
“Dazai.” The voice repeats his name a few times, and eventually Dazai has the weird distant thought that he doesn’t want to have to pay to repair his door if the voice gets physical, and drags himself out of his futon. He’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Excellent.
He pulls the door open with a limp, tired gesture and is met by Kunikida’s pinched concerned expression, the one that looks like anger if you don’t know what you’re looking for. He is swept up in a rush of relief and guilt so powerful it almost makes him weak in the knees. “Kunikida,” he says, because his tongue hates him just like the rest of his body does.
“Dazai,” Kunikida says again, and gives him a sweeping once-over with his eyes. Evidently he is not pleased with what he finds. “You didn’t answer my texts.” Notably not, You didn’t come into work.
“What texts?” Dazai says, because he’s a liar by nature.
“Can I come in?” Kunikida counters. Dazai nods, and steps aside. Shuts the door behind him. Kunikida moves to take him by the shoulders, brows creasing, and then apparently thinks better of it, his hands falling to his sides. He looks Dazai over again. “Are you okay?” he asks, brows creased, his voice softer than Dazai thinks he’s ever heard it, and suddenly, he very much wants to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Dazai half-whines, stomach lurching in abject horror as he feels tears well up in his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He brushes the tears off his face before they have a chance to run, but the wet sniffle he lets out probably gives it away.
“D-Dazai,” Kunikida gasps, as he should, because Dazai doesn’t cry. Not really. Not without meaning to. “Hey, hold on.” He does take Dazai by the shoulders this time, and Dazai flinches, completely without meaning to. Kunikida guides him over to the futon and then down onto it, sitting hunched with his hands covering his face and muffling his sobs.
And Dazai is mortified, but the tears choke him and keep him from speaking. His silver tongue is useless when his throat won’t give him words. All he can think about is how selfish this is. He’s what--Crying because he’s afraid Kunikida will be mad at him? Crying because he feels guilty for thinking Kunikida would leave him? And now Kunikida will feel bad, and it will be Dazai’s fault, but at least he won’t be yelled at, because his ears can’t take that today.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers again, once he can get his mouth around the words.
“Don’t apologize,” Kunikida says, running his hand softly across Dazai’s back because of course he doesn’t get it. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s--nothing,” Dazai chokes out, haltingly, because there isn’t anything, not really. No reason he’s like this, no reason today he can’t be a human, no reason for him to be crying. Nothing but the tightness in his chest, the strain behind his eyes, and the sins on his shoulders that should’ve been left in the past forever ago. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry for crying,” Kunikida assures him, like it’s fact.
“I know,” Dazai says, although he doesn’t. “It’s stupid.” I’m sorry.
“It’s not stupid,” Kunikida says, with conviction. They can do this all day, Dazai saying things he doesn’t want to and Kunikida telling him he’s wrong.
“It is.” He feels argumentative, in a flimsy, weak way. “I’m being manipulative.”
That causes Kunikida’s hand to still on his spine, where Dazai had forgotten it was moving. “How are you being manipulative?”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me, so I’m crying.” That’s simplifying things, and he knows it, but he says it anyway, because he feels like he wants Kunikida to be mad at him now. That would be easier to deal with than this muddy mess that seems to be slipping through his fingers, pooling at his feet.
“That’s not--” Kunikida cuts himself off with a sigh through his nose, and for a moment Dazai thinks he might be winning. “Dazai, look at me.” Dazai does not exactly feel inclined to do that--his eyes are still streaming after all, he’s sure he looks ugly and messy and out of control--but Kunikida takes him gently by the chin, leading his eyes up. “You’re not okay, and it’s fine to cry if you’re not okay.”
Not where I came from, Dazai thinks, but doesn’t say. “But I--”
“It doesn’t matter that you also don’t want me to be mad at you. That’s not why you’re crying. Trust me, Dazai.” Kunikida smiles, and it warms his eyes. “I’ve been your partner long enough to know when you’re full of shit.”
“Okay,” Dazai says, and God, his throat tightens again, “Then why am I crying?” It’s a genuine question. As with everything, he thinks if he knew why, he could make it stop.
“I don’t know, and I don’t know if you do either.” Unexpectedly, Dazai is pulled into a hug. Kunikida’s chest is warm, and he likes the feeling of arms around him more than he would be willing to admit. He doesn’t know the last time he was just held like this. “It’s fine if you don’t know.”
“It really isn’t.” That argumentativeness hasn’t quite gone away.
“It is, and it’s okay if you don’t know it’s okay.” He can picture his boyfriend’s little grimace at the uncoordinated nature of his words. “I meant it when I said I would be with you through everything, Dazai.”
“I’m such a mess, though,” Dazai protests, his hands clutching the back of Kunikida’s shirt. “What the fuck do you want with all this?”
“You, dumbass, I want you, bad days and all.”
Dazai laughs at that, wetly, and nuzzles into Kunikida’s neck. I love you too then, you big idiot.