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Should all acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
There is a darkness in the corner of Dazai’s eyes, a black hole that is easy to fall into if he looks too close. And so he pretends it isn’t there, he keeps his gaze set forward.
But sometimes the eye wanders.
New Year’s Eve has always felt like a failure, because he’s still here. It’s another year marked by cowardice, succumbing to the fear of pain and oblivion that keeps him here. But one year from today, he came closer than he’s ever been to bravery.
He woke up in a maze of wires, faint beeping in the background, stale air in his throat. The first thing he did when the ceiling was wince, taking a deep breath, letting the sense of disappointment sink in.
The first time Dazai tried to take his life, he woke up in a hospital bed just like this—but with his mother sitting in the corner, her head in her hands. The last few visits he woke up alone, with whatever good Samaritan who called the police having disappeared into the night.
But last year was different.
December 31, 2018
Dazai turned his head to see a familiar mop of red hair, slumped over in a cramped armchair. His arms were wrapped around himself, his (tacky) hat was resting on the floor by his feet. Even when they were closed from sleep, the brunette could see that his eyes were swollen and red.
And looking at him then, it felt like letting out a painful, anxious breath Dazai hadn’t realized that he had been holding.
Chuuya.
They weren’t seeing each other—not really, because in spite of months of flirting, Dazai had never asked. Maybe—despite the fact that he would like to deflect and pretend he was just shy—because Dazai knew that his year was going to end like this.
They met with eyes meeting across the room in a college lecture hall, finding a chance to argue during class discussion every time they could. Then they had mutual friends, bumping into each other in coffee shops with Atsushi or Akutagawa in tow. Dazai learned that the redhead was more than a quick temper—he was thoughtful, and he paid attention when you weren’t expecting it. He was the first to be easier on Dazai on his bad days, responding to his jibes with gentle grumbles instead of angry shouts when he noticed the light in Dazai’s eyes had gone dim.
He was also kind, in a way that Dazai wanted to resent—because it was so reluctant but so genuine. Chuuya didn’t walk around proclaiming to be anyone’s knight in shining armor—but when Atsushi’s apartment flooded in the spring, Chuuya made a bed on his floor. He grumbled the inconvenience—but he told Atsushi to ‘shut-the-fuck-up’ when their friend offered to find a hotel. Chuuya acted like he didn’t care, and it made it more believable when he did.
And Dazai was going to hate Chuuya for this, because watching Chuuya now, it made Dazai want—everything. It was a life preserver that could save him from drowning, believing that Chuuya cared about him this much—and Dazai didn’t want to reach out and take it.
But then wide, brimming ocean eyes opened up and peered out at him, rimmed with red, and Dazai didn’t have a choice.
“Hey,” Chuuya’s voice was deep, roughened with sleep—and crying, Dazai was pretty sure—and it filled the man with a longing that he couldn’t help but feel guilty for. “You’re here.”
Dazai stared into Chuuya’s face for a long moment. He didn’t want to let him in. He didn’t want to care. When he felt the aching, consuming emptiness that Oda had left behind, Dazai didn’t want to love anything. Not now. Not ever again.
But when Chuuya was watching him like that, eyes full of a desperate kind of relief, and—Dazai didn’t have any choice.
“Yeah,” Dazai’s own voice was rough and raw from breathing tubes and morphine, but it was so full of emotions he didn’t realize he knew how to convey—not anymore. He reached out, shaking fingertips brushing over Chuuya’s cheek. He almost didn’t have the strength to keep his hand there, but Chuuya caught it before it could drop back onto the sheets, pressing Dazai’s palm to his cheek. Dazai’s heart broke just a little bit at the sight of it, the quiet act of affection when Chuuya leaned his face into Dazai’s hand, clearly holding back tears. It was almost too much for him to bear.
“I’m here, Chuuya.”
Chuuya looked like he wanted to say more, his lips twitching to form words that didn’t quite have the air behind them to come out. His fingers tightened a little around Dazai’s hand, and he could see something in Chuuya’s eyes, a softness there.
Dazai tried to lean up, only to be stopped by Chuuya’s free hand pressing into his chest gently, keeping him down. “What are you doing?” Chuuya was exasperated, his eyebrows knitting together. “You can’t move yet.”
“Kiss me.” Dazai breathed, staring up into Chuuya’s face. For a moment he was scared that the redhead didn’t want it, that whatever fragile thread of hope he had found, it was all in vain. But the way Chuuya’s eyes sparked, the pink that spreads across his cheeks, and the conflict in his eyes told Dazai everything he needed to know.
“I don’t think we should,” Chuuya muttered reluctantly. Because he thought Dazai was vulnerable.
Dazai didn't care.
He leaned up again, pressing back against Chuuya when he tried to push him back down again, forcing the redhead to choose between letting him sit up or press down on Dazai’s chest harder, neither of which he wanted to do. “Kiss me.” Dazai repeated the request, and Chuuya watched him helplessly.
He leaned in, and when their lips touched, Dazai felt human.
December 31, 2019
It’s been a long, hard year.
Dazai and Chuuya have had as many good days as there have been bad. Dazai has always oscillated wildly between joy and despair—and as frustrated as Chuuya becomes, he’s there for every moment, for better or for worse.
Dazai still has days where he sees that darkness in the corner of his eye, a pit that is so easy to fall into if you look close enough. His demons have always been opportunists, they wait until he’s tired and alone to come out and play.
But this year, things are changing.
The party is filled with sparkling lights, confetti, cameras flashing as friends gather together for their last pictures of the new year. Atsushi has an arm around Akutagawa’s neck, pulling the dark-haired man in as his other hand holds his phone in front of their faces, the light flashing, illuminating Atsushi’s beaming grin and Akutagawa’s sheepish scowl. Yosano is swaying around in a circle, a blindfold tied around her face as she reaches out for Ranpo blindly, the smaller man laughing and constantly dodging out of her way. Gin is smiling quietly from the corner, patting Higuchi’s arm as she watches Atsushi and Akutagawa with dismay.
Dazai’s eyes have only been on one person all evening.
Chuuya is kneeling down by the kotatsu, picking up dirty plates to bring over to the sink for Kouyou. He’s wearing an oversized white sweater that makes Dazai’s heart throb whenever the sleeves slip over his hands, an emerald green scarf that Dazai gave him for his birthday is wrapped around his neck. When he glances up from his work to see Dazai looking at him, Chuuya offers a smile. Small, almost imperceptible—but the quirk of his lips and the softening of his gaze is enough for Dazai, it fills him up and makes him feel warm.
He straightens up and disappears to the kitchen for a moment, bumping hips with Kouyou on his way in, making some stupid joke and laughing with her as she rolls her eyes.
“Did you meet any of your goals this year?” Kunikida speaks up from next to Dazai out of nowhere, prompting him to look up at the blonde curiously. Dazai never would have pegged Kunikida as the sort of man he would have been friends with—but he was there the morning after Dazai woke up in the hospital, laden with notes from their classmates, explaining that Chuuya had texted him after Dazai woke up.
It was an act of kindness that Dazai still hasn’t forgotten.
“…No,” Dazai admitted, smiling wryly up at his friend. “What about you?”
“Of course,” Kunikida replies sternly, pulling his notebook out of the back pocket of his slacks. “It’s important to set a goal and commit to it. First, I dedicated myself to improving my physical fitness—” The rest of it fades into a blur, but Dazai appreciates the space where it’s coming from anyway—wanting to impart some sort of wisdom that he thought would make Dazai happy.
The last minutes to midnight move slowly—a decade is ending, and Dazai couldn’t be finishing it any further from where he started.
He wanders out onto the balcony of Kouyou’s apartment when everyone else gathers to watch the countdown in Shibuya on TV, staring out over Yokohama harbor. With holiday lights still strung everywhere and every building in the city lit up to celebrate the new year, it looks like a sea of stars.
“Osamu, you’re being antisocial again.” The grumbling voice from behind him makes Dazai’s chest ache, but in a good way. Something warm and heavy is being pushed over his shoulders from behind—Chuuya brought him his coat. Dazai smiles in spite of himself, slipping his arms through the sleeves and pulling it around himself, cheeks getting slightly flushed as Chuuya wraps his arms around him from behind. The smaller man presses his face into Dazai’s back and exhales slowly, and Dazai stays still.
“Compared to Chuuya,” Dazai smiles, resting his fingers over Chuuya’s hands where they’re wrapped around his stomach. “I think I’ve been charming.” Chuuya’s grip on him tightens a little, and his face presses closer into the fabric of Dazai’s coat—but he still sounds irritated.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chuuya mutters, his hat almost falling off of his head, forcing him to lift one hand from Dazai’s stomach to reach back and catch it. Dazai takes advantage of the moment to turn around in Chuuya’s hold, wrapping his arms around Chuuya’s waist and pulling him close.
“You’re kind of a grouch, chibi,” Dazai smiles, pulling Chuuya with him as he leans back on the balcony railing. “But that’s okay,” he leans forward until their noses bump together, both flushed and red from the cold, “I don’t mind.” After all—whenever you needed Chuuya, whenever things got hard, he was always there.
They can hear it when people start chanting and counting from inside, faint voices filtering out to them through the sliding door.
Ten…
The end of a decade. On December 31, 2010, Dazai woke up in a hospital bed, watching his mother curl up in her chair in the corner, choked with tears.
Nine…
On December 31, 2011, Dazai was in his room by himself, trying to ignore the sound of a party downstairs, hoping no one would come and check on him—and at the same time, wishing they would, his wrists still aching.
Eight…
On December 31, 2012, Dazai watched as his father left, packing up his backs in a frenzy while his mother sobbed and pleaded, begging him to stay.
Seven…
On December 31, 2013, Dazai was with Oda. They met during their last year of highschool—and Dazai’s friend seemed to be the only person that actually understood what Dazai was feeling. They sat on the roof of Oda’s apartment, passing a ban of beer back and forth as they watched the sun come up, and Dazai almost felt happy.
Six…
On December 31, 2014, Dazai spent the holiday alone in his dorm room, emptying cups of Sake until he was in a haze. His mother had died in March—cancer, slow and untreatable. Oda had offered to have Dazai stay with his family over the holidays, but Dazai wanted to be alone.
Five…
On December 31, 2015, Dazai was with Oda and Ango, their newest friend, sharing drinks in a bar near their university. Laughing with them didn’t feel like living, but it made Dazai want to stick around a little longer.
Four…
On December 31, 2016, Dazai was in the hospital—with Oda, both of them standing over Ango’s hospital bed. It had been a drunk driver, smacking into the back of their car after running an intersection. Oda and Dazai had been unharmed, but Ango—he had been in the backseat. When the monitors stopped, the light in Oda’s eyes faded. He had been the one driving.
Three…
On December 31, 2017, Sakunosuke Oda took his own life, at the very same moment that Ango’s ended. Dazai sat alone in the bar, framed by two empty stools—and he never wanted another year to pass.
Two…
One December 31, 2018, Dazai woke up in a hospital bed, with the man he didn’t wantto be in love with sitting by his side. It was the night that he finally gave in, falling asleep curled up in a hospital bed with Chuuya pressed against, tears slipping into red hair as Dazai admitted it; he wanted to live.
One…
On December 31, 2019, Dazai is leaning against the balcony, surrounded by city lights and stars as Chuuya Nakahara looks up at him, his eyes filled with such naked affection, and Dazai is warm.
As the clock hits midnight, fireworks explode in the air all around them, confetti crackers shoot off from the living room, laughter and cries of ‘Happy New Year!’ fill the air. Chuuya is looking around, taking it all in, the bright reds and golds of the fireworks reflected in the blues of his eyes.
If this is the beauty that one can find in life, Dazai is finally seeing it for the very first time.
He takes Chuuya’s chin in between his fingers, turning the smaller man’s face away from the sky and over to look at him. “What are you—?” Chuuya can’t finish his question, because Dazai is kissing him after that. He dips Chuuya back, kissing the redhead over and over until his hat does slip off, sparks showering around him as fireworks fall from the sky.
Chuuya’s mouth feels like home—it tastes like the first future that Dazai actually wants.
On January 1, 2020, Dazai Osamu begins the decade by saying, “I love you,” for the very first time.
With tear-filled eyes, Chuuya Nakahara says it back.
We’ll take a cup of kindness, yet—for Auld Lang Syne.