3 Works by thepoemsof
Listing Works
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Summary
“I love you,” he resumed, his voice just as heartfelt. “Please put an end to my agony by taking me as your husband.”
At the other side of the room, Chuuya stared at him completely baffled. She hadn’t had time to even remember whom this Dazai Osamu man was when the housekeeper announced he was here to see her before he stepped into the room, and even if she recognized him immediately as one of her father’s aspiring writers, she didn’t know where such a confession of love and marriage proposal were coming from. They had made small talk once or twice in the hallway outside her father’s study, but that was all. They were far from even calling themselves acquaintances.
In 1930, Chuuya receives two marriage proposals.
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“Chuuya,” he called. “You know I would never tell you what to do, right? Not really.”
He heard Chuuya take a deep breath and then sigh, the sound of his position on the bed shifting. “Yes, I know. You haven’t even asked me to leave Ango.”
His words, even if blunt, carried a sense of compassion, and Dazai found himself thankful for them. “No, that I would never,” he affirmed, holding onto that truth as if it proved the selflessness and therefore the very deepness of his love. To never ask him to leave Ango nor any of the lovers he could ever have, meant to never ask to be loved back. It meant he would endure a lifetime of stolen moments and nothing more if that’s what ensured a place by his side, meaningless and fleeting as it may be. Like a stray dog you only greet when you pass by his street, but that’s enough for it to pant and wave its tail and look at you like you were God.
“I know,” Chuuya said again.
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“Would a month be enough?”
He didn’t seem to think about it much. “Yeah, a month is fine.”
“Okay, a month then,” he agreed. He wasn’t in a rush, but he didn’t want to risk him cowering and calling the whole thing off. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall by the counter, next to all the glasses. The bartender was cleaning some cups with ease. “October 22,” he specified.
The red-haired man nodded. They both took a sip of their drinks and with that it was settled. On October 22, exactly a month from now, they were going to kill themselves.