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One thing about tragedies is that they are never out of nowhere. Not great ones at least. If they were out of nowhere, then they wouldn’t be great to begin with. True tragedy comes broken hope, they come from a fatal human flaw, or simply from waiting for something to happen.
A sudden death is sad. It’s heartbreaking. But at least it came out of nowhere. It didn’t leave you time to wonder, to hope, to think of right and wrong.
It just happened.
It’s sad and shakes you to the core, but at least it didn’t leave you the impression that you could have done something to prevent it.
Which is why Dazai kept his illness away from people. After all, if they didn’t know, they couldn’t try to help, right? They couldn’t dwell on it, they couldn’t hope only to be broken later. If there was nothing one might do, they would be let to their mourning, not dwelling on could-have-beens.
Really now, Dazai was doing them a favour.
Or maybe he was lying to himself about it all. Because, despite everything else, he was scared. Scared that they might not even try, scared that he would ask for help and have it rejected.
It was better not to try.
But the wrench in Dazai’s plans (which should have been a cannon, to be honest, wrenches didn’t cause that much damage, he knew from experience!) was, like many times before, something out of his control.
Dazai had managed to last for months on end hiding his coughing, and his frailer state. His speech never altered, no matter how much his lungs filled with blood or water again and again. Keeping it under check at home, because Atsushi could hear it was harder, but he managed. He masked any ragged breath, any tumble and balance lost with a failed suicide attempt, which always managed to wipe away the worry and replace it with annoyance.
Getting thrown into walls and on the floor by Kunikida hurt a little bit more and it took him longer to get up every time, but he managed. With a dazzling smile and hand waved comment, the blond left the room fuming.
Thankfully, he knew how to sew well enough so that his coat didn’t show the loss of his weight. The old mafia coat he had worn had always been too big for him, hanging too heavy on his narrow shoulders. But it always hid the injuries well.
He didn’t know how much he enjoyed not having to hide his injuries until he returned to the habit. He had hoped it would be at least a little bit harder.
But he remembered way too well.
And it was fine. It was always fine. He was used to the pain, and the prospect of his mere existence having a set expiration date was relieving. Sure, he was in pain, but at least he knew for certain it would end. He was happy! He was ecstatic.
Autosuggestion was a wonderful tool, even if self-manipulation was trickier than he predicted. But he had been lying to himself for as long as he could remember, so this was just another exercise towards improvement!
But, as many things ought to be, it came to an end with the shock of a truck barrelling into him. Well, it was actually a sports car, but Shhhhh, details.
Kunikida scolded both the kid for speeding and Dazai for not looking both ways.
He did look both ways. It just didn’t register.
Kunikida, ever so diligent, yelled at Dazai to go to the hospital, point turned moot by the blond physically dragging Dazai there and throwing him on the bed before telling the doctor to send the bill via e-mail, since Dazai was most likely going to throw it away on his way back.
Dazai didn’t get back.
Not for lack of trying though. But there was a point when one started to wonder: since when did medical personnel became so efficient in keeping patients in place?
Dazai promptly didn’t think of that one member of the medical personnel who went to hell and back to stop him from getting away and reminded him with scalpels why he shouldn’t bother trying.
But he managed to escape. Straightjackets have never been a real problem, and hey, this time he didn’t break any thumbs!
He knew the hospital would call the Agency, so Dazai took a long detour and ate crab on Kunikida’s card, to give the other a good reason to be mad at him when he got back.
He threw it up an hour after. Apparently, his newfound illness didn’t let him keep anything in. He purposefully ignored the blood before he flushed the toilet.
He didn’t return to the dorms What would be the point, it wasn’t like he could sleep, instead, spent the night walking around and taking in all the things he never really got the chance to. High stakes chases were never a good opportunity for sightseeing.
Yokohama was a beautiful city. He understood why some people wanted to protect it, yet way too many took joy in attempting to blow it up.
He returned to the Agency in the morning, after witnessing a beautiful sunrise, the type he never learned to enjoy before. Why didn’t he? They were wonderful.
Dazai strolled in the building with all the confidence the past months didn’t force him fake. Yet this was the habit that got rusty. He smiled and waved, but there was something wrong and foreign on the member’s faces when he entered. The look was vaguely familiar, yet Dazai didn’t know how to point it out.
That look was one of worry, and maybe he would have remembered it, if there had been directed to him more often in the past.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” Kunikida was up in his face, yelling at him and all was once again right in the world.
“Missed my charming personality, Kunikida-kun?” Dazai smiled and opened his arms as if presenting a great show. The vein in the blond’s forehead started to throb.
“You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Dazai threw himself on the couch. He didn’t wince when his insides protested and didn’t only let away a charming smile.
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi said from the other end of the room. Poor kid, he did nothing to hide his emotions. It was unbecoming of a detective. Dazai should really teach him the proper way to do so while he was still there. “You should really return to the hospital. The Director said that it was bad and that you should rest.”
“I am resting,” he pulled out a can of sake, which Kunikida promptly took away from him. “And I’m not going back to the hospital! You all abandoned me there!” He hugged himself and said in an overly whining voice, that really strained on his lung capacity. “It was lonely and cold and they had needles!”
Atsushi, bless his heart, looked down ashamed. Dazai was going to milk that guilt dry.
Kunikida rubbed his forehead and gave away a sigh and Yosano walked in and looked at him disapprovingly. “If you’re not going back to the hospital, at least rest in a proper bed.” She meant the one in the infirmary.
“But I’ll get booored!”
The woman gritted her teeth and opened her mouth when the door to the director’s office opened and the man himself walked out. This time, there was no rock music to accompany him.
He looked grave. He looked older than he had any right to. He looked tired.
“Dazai,” the man said. His tone was soft and caring and the man in tan coat couldn’t remember an instance it had been directed at him. “You really should stay in the hospital. The doctors don’t know what you have and it’s better not to tempt fate.”
Dazai wanted to laugh, but his throat was too dry for that. Instead, he said. “Come on, director, it’s not like you can kill a demon.”
They didn’t laugh.
They didn’t usually laugh at his bad jokes, but this time it felt less like annoyance.
Dazai didn’t like it.
Dazai also protested to being dragged back into the hospital, but they didn’t care about that. Yosano had a terrible chokehold after all and the capacity to carry half his weight while Kunikida dealt with his legs. Maybe he should have kept his weight in check, only so his kicks had a little more momentum behind them.
Atsushi, the little shit he was, kept the door open as they threw him in the car.
He was brought back to the hospital and the nurses glared at him. Yosano remained to make sure that the threatened straightjacket was really necessary and Atsushi told him he would visit before Kunikida drove him away.
Eventually, Yosano left too.
Dazai was left alone and he watched the night as the nurse put the IV in. There were lights from the bridge, but the buildings were blocking them. That was the moment it hit Dazai that he never got to watch the lights.
~O~
Chuuya didn’t notice that something had been wrong with Dazai. But he did notice that something was different.
For once, he stopped breaking into his apartment, choosing instead to pop up at some of his favourite restaurants and breaking into his car only to chew all of the gum he kept to distress himself. At least he had outgrown that phase where he spat out the chewed pieces back in the container.
Later, Chuuya would realise that Dazai stopped breaking in because he didn’t have the force to climb the stairs nor the building since his place didn’t have an elevator.
He also noticed an abundance of annoying messages that at some point suddenly stopped. Dazai used to text him a lot, from memes to nudes to pretty much wall texts of emojis.
Then radio silence.
It didn’t take Chuuya long to notice the absence, but it did take him too long to do something about it. He wasn’t going to look for the bastard, no, who would even do that?
No, it was enough to mention Dazai’s absence to Akutagawa for the young man to barrel over the tiger with questions at their usual play date assigned time. From there, he had found out that Dazai was stuck in the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time.
His first thought was of joy. Of course, why would he wonder what forced Dazai in the hospital for so long? He found out the room number and made sure to have delivered all the possible things that would annoy Dazai. Trashy magazines a few years old that could contain nothing but mindless expired gossip. No intellectual value whatsoever.
He sent him handheld games with outdated players or broken system, as a payback for that time when they were fifteen. He pretty much told Akutagawa to go visit the bastard, because, for the first time, he couldn’t run away.
Chuuya knew there would be retaliation, but self control was never his strong suit and this was one of a time occasion to get back at Dazai.
But retaliation never came.
Dazai didn’t text him to mock him. There was no damage to his apartment or to his wine collection made by a hired assassin. His files remained in place and his bike didn’t get covered in graffiti.
Dazai didn’t respond, didn’t fight back in the game they used to play.
But still, Chuuya didn’t visit. If there was something wrong, then the Jinko would tell Akutagawa and it would doubtlessly come back to him. He didn’t step on his pride, and tried not to think about why.
Eventually, it was Dazai who caved first, and really now, it should have been the first sign that something was wrong. He got a text message from a foreign number.
[Hey, Chibiko! Is that all the love you have to show for your partner? Come visit, but leave that horrendous thing at home]
Chuuya had clicked his tongue and triple checked that his hat was in place before he strolled to the hospital. He was ready to head for the reception and ask the room’s number when he spotted a very familiar silhouette in the garden. He rushed there and cut Dazai’s way.
That was the moment he noticed that Dazai wasn’t walking by himself. He was holding onto the IV like a lifeline. He had also lost a lot of weight. He no longer wore bandages around his neck, his scars and rope burns on display, collarbones sticking through sickly skin and hospital pyjamas hanging off of him like off a hanger.
Dazai looked up. He actually looked up. His form was hunched and he was barely standing. He gave a sickly smile, one that tried too hard to be genuine, but was ruined by the huge eye bags on the sweaty skin.
“Chibi!” Dazai smiled.
“Dazai, what the fuck!?” Chuuya said in a voice louder than he meant to as he took his arm and supported him. “You should be in bed!” Half of Dazai’s weight collapsed onto his shoulders. He was too thin. Chuuya had hauled Dazai’s bloody ass out of too many situations not to be intimately aware of how heavy he should be. He wasn’t. He was thinner than he had been back in the mafia, and that had never been healthy.
“But my room is small and shut in! I want to see the sun!” He threw a hand in the air but the rest of his weight went to hell when he gave up the IV.
“Fuck, Mackarel, stop fucking around!” Chuuya growled and prepared to haul him back.
“Please, Chuuya!” Dazai whined, but there was too much honesty in his voice. “My room has shit view and the sunset is in a few minutes.” His other hand grabbed Chuuya’s arm as he tried to gain more agency in his legs “Just a few more minutes!” Chuuya didn’t seem convinced. “We can sit on that bench there!” he pointed at a bench in front of some flowers that had a good view of Yokohoma. Chuuya sighed and clicked his tongue, but carried his former partner there.
Dazai tried to push him away when they sat, but Chuuya didn’t let him. The taller man’s bones looked like they could crack under the first shock, and the fact that he didn’t have the strength to wrench them out of the redhead’s grip was proof enough.
Chuuya didn’t feel any schadenfreude at the other’s weakness. He knew that at some point, he would have, back in the past. Not now though.
“Akutagawa visited,” Dazai said all of the sudden.
“Did he?”
“Yeah, he convinced Atsushi to bring him.” Dazai looked at his hands “I’m pretty sure he was disappointed.”
“Well of course, you never spend more than a few days in the hospital.”
Dazai smiled, yet there was no effort put to make it look real. “Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything else. Chuuya waited and waited, but Dazai didn’t speak. The man only leaned on his shoulder and intertwined their fingers, looking at the sunset. It was a beautiful sunset, but Chuuya couldn’t focus.
He could only focus on the all but corpse on his shoulder, at the faint pulse he could feel through the cold skin.
Chuuya wanted to say something. His words didn’t work.
The first sounds to break the silence was a cough. It was hard and dry and Chuuya caught Dazai before he was thrown on the ground by the force of it.
There was blood on his palm.
“We have to go inside!” Chuuya said as he stood up to signal the nurse to bring a chair. He wasn’t sure Dazai was able to walk back, and he didn’t want to mess something up by carrying him the wrong way.
“Chuuya” Dazai said, and his voice was so meek, so quiet, it barely broke the veil of the present plane. Chuuya had never heard Dazai’s voice like that. The redhead looked down.
Dazai was looking away, hand holding his with all the force of a dying kitten. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t putting on a font.
“Please sit down,” Dazai said, and it sounded like begging. Why was Dazai begging?!
“No, shit, you’re bad, you’re….”
“I’m not getting better.” Dazai finally looked up and his eyes were dead. Not like dead fish, like they were in the mafia, but dead like glass.
Like something that was never alive in the first place.
Chuuya froze but his legs bent on his own volition. “I don’t have much time left.” Dazai gripped his arm with nowhere enough strength to actually keep him there, but Chuuya didn’t pull away. “They can’t figure out what is happening to me. They don’t know what I have and they didn’t tell it to my face but I know I’ll die soon enough” he looked down.
The blood had gotten sticky on his fingers.
“I asked them not to tell the Agency.”
“Why?” They are your new family, aren’t they?
“Because they’d try to save me.” Dazai smiled, sadder than before. “They’d try to find a cure when there is none and then feel bad when they couldn’t do it.”
“Then why am I here?”
Dazai looked up before he took his hand out of Chuuya’s and placed them neatly in his lap, the same way Koyou did when she didn’t hold something. “I don’t want to die alone, Chuuya.” Dazai said. “And I couldn’t call anyone from the agency because they’d try to convince me to get back inside. And I don’t want to die inside.”
“Then why me?” Chuuya asked, although he knew the answer. Dazai didn’t talk, because he knew it too.
Chuuya sat back.
“I can’t swim,” Dazai said. Chuuya looked up but Dazai wasn’t looking at him. “I wanted to learn, but knowing how to swim would stop me from getting drowned, so it wasn’t worth it.”
Silence for a few moments.
“I wish I could swim.”
I don’t want to die.
Chuuya wanted to say something, but words had never been his forte, and Dazai seemed content to remain silent. The redhead took the other by the shoulders. Dazai leaned his head on his, hair tickling his neck in the places not covered by the choker.
The night took fully over Yokohama and the lights turned on. Chuuya watched how Dazai looked at them, how his features softened and his eyes closed.
He felt the pulse beneath his fingers, steady but too slow.
Chuuya almost fell asleep himself when he heard the steps. He looked up and saw a figure clad in white and wearing an ushanka walking towards them without a care in the world.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
“Huh,” he said “Never thought I’d see the great Demon Prodigy so at ease.” he cocked his head in a mocking manner “He’s almost cute, don’t you think?”
“What do you want?” Chuuya growled. He would have attacked the other, but he was still holding Dazai and couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him sleep.
“Just to pass by and say hi.” the man smiled. He walked on the other side of Dazai and Chuuya couldn’t do a thing to stop him as the white fingers traced the now too defined jaw.
Dazai didn’t wake.
“Even if he gets better, he’ll never be the same, you know?” The man smiled. “The poison was let to fester for too long.” Fyodor stood straight again and tossed something in Chuuya’s lap.
“What’s this?” Chuuya asked.
“The antidote. Dazai may be a pain, but he’s also my most interesting opponent.” He straightened his shoulders as he walked away. “Take care that he survives, I’d hate to lose my rival.”
The rat melted into the night.