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Dazai's goal in life has always been death. Death by suicide, that is. Whether it be by hanging, apples, pills, or jumping off a building, Dazai aims to achieve his dream of leaving this wretched world.
But in order to do this, Dazai has to find himself a beautiful woman he can commit double suicide with. It's quite lonely to die by himself, so why not find a woman who would gladly join him in his attempts to travel to the door of death?
There's only one teeny, tiny problem, however.
Dazai can never find a cooperative woman who's both interested in death and him. On these nights, Dazai laments over himself by drinking.
Dazai practically drags himself through the bar doors, collapsing on one of the stools at the countertop. He crosses his arms, placing his head between them.
"Hirotsu," he mumbles, "give me vodka tonight."
"I doubt someone like you could handle vodka."
Wait. That wasn't Hirotsu.
Dazai peers up from his arms, his eyes squinting at the sudden change in brightness.
Instead of the usual old bartender, in his place was a younger man (roughly at the age of twenty-two, Dazai noted) with ginger hair that brought out his sharp blue eyes. His complexion is striking, if not the least. Dazai's attention falls to his neck, where a black choker encircles the man's throat.
"Where's Hirotsu?" Dazai asks, his voice nothing but a grumble. "I need to rant about my sorrows."
The bartender laughs (a melodic thing really, his voice, but Dazai's mind chooses to neglect the fact), but does nothing to fulfill Dazai's request of an alcoholic drink. "Hirotsu's not here today. I'm covering his shift. Name's Chuuya Nakahara."
"Dazai Osamu." It was proper manners, to introduce yourself to someone after they had done so. Besides, Ane-san would surely chide him for not respecting other people.
"Well, Dazai," Dazai's name rolls off Chuuya's tongue like a piece of candy, sweet and savory, "You could complain about your sorrows to me."
Dazai never liked opening up to other people, especially not ones that he had just met. But Chuuya seems like an honest person.
"Give me my vodka first," he demands.
Chuuya chuckles silently, turning back to the shelf of liquor and takes a cup, getting to work. Dazai can't help but stare at Chuuya, whose motions are as graceful and swift as a courtesan's. Why had he chosen the job as a bartender instead of a higher paying job?
A cup of brown liquor is set before him. Dazai frowns, pointing a finger at the drink
"This isn't vodka."
"Vodka's too strong for the likes of you," Chuuya replies while cleaning a glass.
"Oh," Dazai tilts his head, a grin creeping up his face. "That's bold of you to assume that I'm too weak to drink vodka."
"I never said you're too weak to drink vodka. I only said it was too strong. I don't want to be the one dragging your ass back to wherever you live."
Dazai clicks his tongue, though it's more out of amusement than disappointment. "Profanity."
Chuuya snorts, placing the cup down before facing Dazai. "One thing about me. I use a lot of profanity. Twenty-four seven."
"Well then, let me tell you one thing about me. I like suicide."
So Chuuya wants to play a game, huh? Then a game he will get.
Dazai takes a sip of his whiskey, grimacing at the unfamiliar taste.
"You're suicidal then? Must explain the bandages."
"I prefer double suicide, though." Dazai downs the rest of his liquor, motioning for Chuuya for a refill. "You?"
"I prefer wine more than death, thank you very much." Chuuya places the drink in front of Dazai. It's still whiskey.
"It doesn't surprise you that my hobby is committing suicide?"
"I've seen people weirder than you. You're nothing."
"Ouch." Dazai places a hand over his heart in mock pain.
"So I assume you're here to lament about your failure?" Chuuya takes a seat behind the counter as he pulls out a cigarette.
"I didn't exactly fail. The world's just a shitty place."
Chuuya lights his cigarette, drawing a puff of smoke before replying. "What happened?"
"The woman I wanted to commit suicide with declined." Dazai's voice came out like a whine - slightly slurred.
The whiskey must be getting to him, loosening his tongue. Although he'd only had two cups, he never had a high alcohol tolerance.
"Why?"
This felt more like a therapy session than a rant. Usually, Hirotsu would stay silent and let Dazai blabber about his failures and heartbreaks. But with Chuuya? Chuuya seemed a bit more willing than Hirotsu when it came to listening to Dazai. It was something he should be glad for, but then again, Dazai didn't exactly trust the redhead just yet (despite his rapid heart rate whenever Chuuya makes eye contact with him. Dazai believes it's just the alcohol, though his mind persistently presses that it's something else).
"I don't know." Dazai downs another mouthful of whiskey. "I can never get a woman to commit suicide with me. It's literally impossible."
Dazai knows he's whining now, his voice slurred and high-pitched. But Chuuya doesn't seem to mind, so he continues.
"Even OdaSaku says that I'll be miserable for my whole life! That's just depressing."
Chuuya nods, the red on his cigarette bobbing up and down.
"Am I that bad looking? I'm handsome to say at least. Then why won't any women accept my offer?" Dazai pounds his fist against the marble counter. "Whyyyyyy."
"Have you tried different types of women? Like with different personalities?"
"All women are beautiful!" Dazai throws his hands in the air, then faceplants on the counter, muffling his words. "All I need is a beautiful lady who would gladly end her life with me."
The room's spinning by now, the dim lights swirling like melted gold. Was it him or did Chuuya's face seem more beautiful? God, the whiskey was a bitch.
"Why don't you find one and fight for her instead?"
"Hah?"
"Why not ask a woman out, and if she's the right one, live for her?"
"Find the girl worth fighting for? Nothing's worth fighting for in this world." Dazai exasperates.
Chuuya raises his eyebrow, but doesn't question Dazai's ideals.
Dazai reaches out for his last sip of whiskey, only for his hand to be slapped away.
"I think you've had enough liquor for today," Chuuya stands up, smothering the last of the cigarette's light before tossing it into the trashcan. "Time for you to go home."
"I don't want toooo," Dazai wails, "OdaSaku's not even back yet."
"Up," Chuuya commands, wrapping Dazai's arm around his shoulders. Up close, Chuuya smells of smoke and wine, something oddly soothing for the likes of Dazai. "Give me your phone."
"Are you planning on kidnapping me?" Dazai laughs, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Chuuya fumbles within Dazai's coat, fishing his phone out. "If I were kidnapping you, I would have done it a long time ago, don't you think?"
A grin makes its way up Dazai's face.
He passes out before Chuuya can raise the phone to his ear.
Dazai wakes up the next day with a hangover.
"You should watch how much you drink." A chair pulls up next to his bed. "The bartender had to drive you back home yesterday."
"The bartender?" he rasps.
"The ginger-haired man."
Oh, the abnormally eye-catching bartender. Chuuya, was it not?
"I couldn't find a woman to commit suicide with, so I decided to drink. No big deal."
OdaSaku sighs, handing Dazai two pills and a glass of water. "You've been rambling about this for three months straight. There's no need for you to drag another person down your hell-hole."
"I didn't drag them. They voluntarily allowed me to."
"Have you tried another gender?"
"Gender?" Dazai blinks rapidly at OdaSaku.
"Like male. Not female."
"But I like all women!" Dazai persists.
OdaSaku looks at him with a doubtful glance before turning away. "Whatever you say, then."
The room is drowned in silence when the male leaves. Dazai's left in isolation along with his thoughts.
He's sure he's not attracted to the same gender, but the picture of Chuuya's face in his mind says so otherwise.
He doesn't like males.
He's absolutely sure he's attracted to women.
Or is he?
The following weeks after that, Dazai returns to the bar every day. Sometimes, he drinks until all his troubles spill from his mouth while Chuuya stands by his side and comforts him. Other times, it's just to see Chuuya more often. Of course, Chuuya doesn't know (or at least he thinks).
He's learned more about the bartender, and in return, he shares some facts about himself.
"Hey Chuuya~" Dazai sing-songs one day.
"What the fuck do you want?"
Dazai's grown so used to Chuuya's profuse use of profanity, it doesn't bother him in the slightest anymore.
"Take me on a ride on your motorcycle!"
"My motorcycle? What are you, a kid?"
Dazai points to his brain. "I may be twenty-two, but my mental age is of a five-year-old's." Then, he winks at Chuuya.
If there's one thing he likes more than suicide, it was teasing (or annoying) Chuuya until the brink of death (or maybe he just likes looking at the flustered gaze of the bartender. He neglects that option, too).
Chuuya throws the rag he's using to clean a cup at Dazai, spitting profanities. Dazai evades the attack, humming innocently.
"So will you?"
Chuuya clicks his tongue, averting his gaze from Dazai. "Fine, bastard. But I have to get back within fifteen minutes."
Chuuya's vibrantly pink motorcycle (Chuuya would never tell Dazai why he chose the color) in parked in the back, and this time, Dazai chooses to sit in the back.
"Safety first," Chuuya says, tossing him a black helmet.
"Since when did you care about my well-being?" Dazai smirks, swinging a leg over the motorcycle when he places on his helmet.
"Never. You can either choose to wear it or die. I wouldn't care either way," Chuuya rolls his eyes.
"Or do you?" Dazai says in Chuuya's ear, making sure his breath touches Chuuya's earlobe.
"Fucking bastard. I will push you off the damned motorcycle," Chuuya growls.
Dazai blows a raspberry as the engine starts without further notice.
Dazai's arms wrap around Chuuya's waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of the other's shirt. He presses himself against Chuuya as they ascend onto the highway, the air brushing past his arms. To be honest, he doesn't care about the motorcycle ride at all.
All Dazai wants is to have an excuse to hold onto Chuuya, to hug him without embarrassing himself.
Subconsciously, he places his head on the other's back and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth rather than the scenery. Dazai's mind forgets about all his troubles, all his worries, all his failed suicide attempts. All he hears is his heartbeat, proof that he's alive and enjoying this moment with Chuuya.
And he knows what Chuuya means by finding the girl worth fighting for.
It's not a woman but a man. A man with fiery hair and sapphire eyes that match.
Dazai's finally found the boy worth fighting for.
Chuuya.
At that moment of realization, he doesn't feel like committing suicide.
He doesn't feel like leaving this wretched world.
Dazai, for once, doesn't want to die.