Work Text:
Dazai is an unfortunate creature. An undeniably cold, lone creature who rests his palm on this world as if he belongs here. As if the ground will not swallow his dead body someday and decay until the only thing of him that remains are his bones.
His eyes fall onto his own figure that is being reflected on the mirror and stares at the scars and all of the imperfections on his body. He smiles at the reflection, trying to make the view less dreadful but his smile fades when he realises it will only make it worse.
“Stop staring so hard in the mirror.”
Dazai turns away and looks at Fyodor who is staring at him with a frown on his face. Dazai chuckles and walks to the bed to lie next to him. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Fyodor shrugs, kicking the blanket off his body and wraps him into a big, warm snuggle. He buries his face at the other’s shoulder and murmurs, “You need to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“I-” Fyodor’s voice disappears into the thin air before he continues, “Nothing. Go to sleep, Dazai. It’s 3 am.”
“Only if you’re staying.” Dazai teases.
“I won’t leave. You’ll know it if I do.” Fyodor softly remarks. It sounds far too soft to be his, Dazai almost thinks it belongs to the wind that keeps on blowing outside as if god is playing a broken trumpet.
Resting his hand at Fyodor’s back, he inhales deeply and tries to ignore the racing thoughts in his mind. If Fyodor notices his hands that are slightly shaking, he doesn’t bring it up.
The moon bleeds through the dark sky the same way his skin bleeds. Dazai cleans the wounds as fast as he could, out of fear of Fyodor waking up suddenly and seeing him in such a state.
Throwing his razor into the rubbish bin, he reaches for the first aid kit at the top shelf in his kitchen and sits at the balcony, admiring the moon for a quick second before he continues to patch himself up.
He never does well in silence. All he hears at the moment, besides the voice that is coming from his good for nothing brain, is the occasional sound of his stomach growling, possibly because the only thing he ate the entire day are crackers and chips.
He doesn’t feel hungry though. It is a weird sensation but it never bothers him.
You are truly disqualified as a human. How pitiful.
Dazai closes his first aid kit and puts it back where it belongs. He lies on the bed next to Fyodor and stares at the ceiling, wishing for the end to come sooner.
He knows it won't. He is convinced that god is playing with him.
Fyodor wraps his arms around his lover’s hip, kissing the other’s shoulder blades softly while he’s at it. Dazai shudders and pushes Fyodor’s face away. “I’m trying to wrap my bandages right now.”
The Russian ignores his complaint and leaves another kiss, so light, so soft, Dazai can’t help but soften his body at the touch. He leans his back on the other and murmurs, “I’m tired.”
Fyodor blinks a few times, staring at Dazai a few moments before he offers to help with his bandages. “No, it’s fine.” Dazai shakes his head and lightly pushes him away to resume his previous work.
They end up sitting on Dazai’s bed, with Fyodor doing the bandaging for him because Fyodor was being an annoying prick, telling him stuff like “I know what you did last night, you don’t have to hide” and “You do a bad bandaging anyway. I’m quite good at it you know.”
Dazai occasionally moves his body around out of discomfort, and it takes Fyodor around 5 minutes to start complaining about it.
“Stop moving so much, Dazai.” Dazai pouts, moving his arms just to spite him more. He giggles and obediently stops moving when he receives a sigh from Fyodor.
Feeling overwhelmed by the silence that fills in the room while Fyodor is bandaging his arm, Dazai decides to ask, “Are you going back after this?”
“You mean, right after you go to work?” Dazai nods. Fyodor hums for a moment before he replies, “I guess so. It’ll be bad if someone spots me here.”
Dazai snorts and playfully remarks, “As if no one has spotted you. You stand out, you know.”
“Oh? Then why hasn’t anyone done something?”
“Maybe because they’re afraid?”
Fyodor huffs a breath, clearly insulting the other’s answer. “Admit it, Dazai. I blend in well.”
Dazai gasps dramatically, frantically moving his body away from Fyodor and exclaims, “Suddenly I’m Jared, 19!”
“You’re not even reading anything right now.”
“Who says that Jared can hear?”
Fyodor jerks one of his eyebrows. “Who says that he can’t? Also, give me your other arm.” He gestures at Dazai's left arm that is still unbandaged. “Or do you want to be late to work?”
The brunette extends his left arm and smirks, “Maybe I can just take a day off and show you just how much I’m in love with you?” He flutters his eyelashes, as if trying to do a poor attempt at seducing Fyodor. If Fyodor is affected, he doesn’t show it.
“Do it next weekend, you horny bastard.” Fyodor says, averting his eyes away from the man.
“Eh?” Dazai grins, taunting him with his annoyingly smug playful voice. “I never said it’s about that?”
Fyodor smirks, “You did imply it.”
Normally, Dazai will come up with hundreds of ways to deny it just to play with Fyodor’s seemingly nonexistent temper. Instead, he smiles and says, “Yeah, I kinda did.”
The first time Fyodor saw Dazai coming back with his clothes drenched and smelling like musky, earthy odour, he realised how easy it is for him to lose the brunette. Any minute, any second, Dazai could take a leap into the river and someday he will succeed.
Nothing has terrified him more than that.
He was reading a book that he found under Dazai’s pillow. Quickly putting the book down to go and get him a towel, a simple phrase never left his mind as he did it.
This I want to believe implicitly: Man was born for love and revolution.
He doesn’t know why the sentence is so eye-catching. Maybe it’s because the sentence is highlighted with a pink highlighter. But, how can it explain the reason as to why the words seem to be lingering in his head from time to time, as if someone has casted a spell upon the sentence.
Such a simple sentence, yet Fyodor felt something akin to admiration upon reading the sentence. Man was born for love and revolution. To think that someone can be so ingenuous despite the horror and misery this world holds baffles him.
He would like to believe it though, deep down. He really did
The real question is, does Dazai believe in it? Or at least, does he want to? Does he want to believe that his life has a meaning behind it, despite his life that resembles the dirty snow on the pavement, having no purpose at all except waiting to melt? Has he not lost any hope yet?
Hope. What a beautiful yet crude thing it is. It is capable of building an empire and also ruining someone’s life with false ideals that will soon do nothing but crumble down like the stacked legos that took hours, even sleepless nights to finish.
His eyes fall onto the beauty who is sleeping in his arms. His face seems so peaceful, you wouldn’t know the terror that lives in the brunette’s mind at all.
Fyodor leaves a soft kiss on his forehead and sighs softly.
Turning the cap of a water bottle he had just bought from the convenience store, Dazai takes a big gulp to quench the thirst he has been feeling for the past few minutes. Exhaling in delight, he exclaims, “I’m refreshed!”
Ranpo furrows his brows at him, possibly out of mockery. “I bet it has been awhile since you drank water, right?”
“Well,” Dazai trails off for a moment, as if he is trying to construct sentences. Ranpo knows he already has one, though. He always does, after all. “Water tastes like shit. Can you blame me?”
Ranpo wheezes, putting back his lollipop into his mouth before he replies in agreement, “Yeah, I can’t.”
Sitting near the playground, the scene that is playing out in front of their eyes are children playing carefreely as if there is no tomorrow. ‘The time is now,’ Dazai can imagine those kids scream as they play skipping rope as a group. They all will jump at the same time, and when one of them accidentally ruins the tempo, the others will just happily yell out, “It’s fine! We can do it better next time!”
One of the kids accidentally trips on the rope and falls down, cutting his thoughts away. He sees a few other children shoot a glare on the kid before they tell her to just sit at the swing and watch them do it instead.
Okay, maybe he had given too much credit on the kids.
“Kids are so demonic, huh.” He hears ranpo mutters under his breath.
“Ranpo-san, you like kids.”
“Not all kids!” He retorts, folding his arms together before he continues, “I like it when they’re being obedient and nice.”
Dazai is suddenly reminded of the group of orphans that Odasaku took care of. He drinks some more of the water and throws it into a rubbish bin next to him. Ranpo hums for a moment, kicking a stone in front of him before asking, “So, what’s with you?”
Dazai looks at him confusingly. “What?”
“Meeting with our enemies almost every day? Like, are y’all married or what?”
Oh.
He swallows down his saliva, and that’s when he realises that his throat is dry again. He curses in his brain for throwing the water bottle away. Trying to remain his composure, he laughs airily. “That’s an exaggeration.”
Ranpo stares at him with no hint of amusement in his eyes, and Dazai thinks he really is fucked.
“Well,” Ranpo turns his face to the playground, eyeing the kids again. “I presume you already know the consequences of this action.”
Dazai remains quiet.
“Did you weigh the pros and cons?”
It takes a few moments for the brunette to reply. “Yeah, yeah.”
Ranpo rubs his forehead and sighs loudly. “Well, if you did then clearly you didn’t follow it.”
“How cruel do you think I am?”
“You can be really cruel when you don’t think.”
“I did. I really did.” Dazai repeats, as if it will convince Ranpo. “You surely know it.”
Ranpo’s mouth rests into a thin line, and Dazai sees something gleam in the other’s eyes before he says, “I really don’t, Dazai. That’s the problem.”
Dazai grips his coat. “Are you going to tell president?”
Death feels like the only option he has left now.
Sitting at the cold floor of the kitchen with the water running on the sink and no one he can turn to, he feels like a sharp sword has been plunged into his very heart. Except there is no sword. There is no blood. There are no injuries that he has to treat.
It is a curse to feel something so deeply, only to see it’s not there. It is the worst curse that has been put on Dazai.
It is weird how you can no longer survive something as soon as you have felt what it’s like to live without it. Dazai was not fine, but he was used to it.
Of course, now that he had felt the warmth of the devil, he sinks further into the abyss that shall lead him nowhere but endless suffering. To be blessed temporarily is a curse. A curse that leaves you wanting more.
Dazai doesn’t want it though. He needs it. Needs Fyodor to be by his side because he is so tired. Exhaustion is a part of him, as if his bones are made out of it.
Someone knocks on his door a few times. He doesn’t bother checking who it is.
“So, what has been going on with you?”
Dazai is sitting on the floor of his living room with a book on his hand. His hair seems messier than usual, as if he spent weeks lying on the bed without doing anything else. Fyodor thinks maybe he did. “What do you mean?”
“You avoided me for weeks.” Fyodor straightens his sitting position. “Did something happen?”
Dazai chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like it belongs to him. “That’s a weird question. Something always happens, Fyodor. Something always happens.”
“Not like this.”
The sound of the fan whirring tirelessly is surely a good representation of the way Dazai’s brain is working right now. Except that his brain never stops from being tired. It’s really a nuisance.
“I think,” Dazai leans on the wall with his eyes on the ground. “I want to rip out god’s teeth.”
He doesn’t receive any response. He turns his head to Fyodor and demands, “At least say something will you?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.” Dazai scratches his head and whines. “Say whatever is on your mind right now.”
Fyodor blurts out, “God is worthless. I think I can take him down.”
Dazai raises one of his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, really? How are you going to do that?”
“I’ll leave that up to your imagination.”
Dazai scoots closer to Fyodor and leans his head on the other’s shoulder. “Ranpo found out.”
It takes him only a few seconds to understand what Dazai is implying.
“So, does that mean the other agency members know too?”
“He won’t tell them. Yet.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” Fyodor asks softly. “Did he threaten you?”
“No, I just,” Dazai fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I was just tired.”
Fyodor pats his head softly. “Then rest, love. I’ll be here for you.”
When Dazai wakes up from his deep sleep, the red clock on the wall shows 4.25 am. He is in his bedroom, lying on the bed next to Fyodor who is still sleeping quietly.
It is so quiet, it is as if there are only both of them in the entire universe.
He holds the other’s hand in his and brings his lips at the back of the palm. This, he thinks, is the hands that will soon end it all. The hands that will end the mockery that is my life and bring the world down to his knees.
He is no worshipper, but he feels like he might want to ask for forgiveness from the god, or whatever entity is out there that is the mightiest of all. But he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, nor he thinks he will receive it.
A certain reddish brown haired man comes to his mind. He wonders if he’s disappointed in him like Ranpo.
Dazai holds his dearest one in the dark while lying on Fyodor’s bed at 3 am. He thinks of the lavender in the living room that Fyodor takes care of like it’s something fragile, something that is worth more value than his expensive boots.
He hears the person in his arms start humming and he is convinced that Fyodor is a god in devil’s clothing. Fyodor will be his ending. A crude, yet lovely ending.
“Do you want to commit double suicide with me?”
It comes out of his mouth smoothly, like pouring tea out of a teapot yet his mouth tastes rusty. His heart sinks and he thinks his body is dissolving because all he can feel is how his body is no longer his. Is he just a puppet with no free will?
Fyodor’s expression is unchanged but Dazai knows. He knows what lies under the piercing eyes and the way his hands soften around Dazai’s alarms him.
Dazai laughs, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “I was just joking! Did you fall for it?”
“You…” Fyodor looks him in the eye and he thinks the world is going to swallow his entire being at this very moment. “Is seeking death your personality?”
The word is an insult but he says it so softly, Dazai is convinced it’s not. Dazai grins and exclaims, “Who knows? Maybe we should try to do it and find out.”
“I don’t mind dying but I think you deserve a happy ending before you die.”
People don’t always get what they deserve, that’s the problem.
Dazai wants to tear off his lungs. He wants to destroy his vocal cord because what is the point of its existence if he can’t scream for help with it? His screams turn into a whisper in a crowded room filled with people chattering about their life and useless matter, insignificant and unheard of.
He looks at his body and he feels like he doesn’t belong in it. It doesn’t feel like him. It doesn’t feel like his. He moves it around, trying to confirm that his worries are just a hoax. It is, but the feeling of estrangement still lingers in him.
He feels like a dead soul being confined in a living body. A walking skeleton. A green apple among the other red ones. A wrong note that jeopardizes the piano performance that was supposed to be legendary. The feeling of trying to walk in a water pool.
He tries to cough out something that’s stuck in his throat. A good 10 minutes pass by and he is convinced it’s not real. Nothing really is.
A ringing noise comes from his cellphone. Wiping his wet hands on his pants, he answers the phone.
“Would you believe me if I tell you that I feel like I’m nothing but a raindrop falling from the gloomy sky, insignificant and not worthy to bat an eyelash at?”
The line from the other side falls silent. Dazai takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he continues. “I’m not normal. Or at least, I don’t think I am.”
“Does,” The person he’s talking to with his phone asks, “Does he make you feel normal?”
Dazai laughs, like it’s the funniest joke he has ever heard of. Wiping his tears away, he replies, “No. No one does.”
“Then, what makes him so different?”
“He understands me, Ranpo. We match our heartbeats and I feel like I am understood, for the first time in awhile.”
“He’s plotting for our downfall, Dazai. For humanity's downfall.” Ranpo spits out. “Maybe he isn’t the last person that’ll understand you. Maybe there’ll be someone even better, someone who’s not on our opposing side-”
“There was a friend. Who was the dearest to me.” Dazai cuts off, his voice comes out as monotonous. “He died, leaving me in this world with nothing but a message.”
It takes Ranpo a while before he murmurs, “And you don’t want to experience the same thing again.”
Dazai doesn’t say anything.
“He was a good man. He didn’t deserve it.”
Dazai slouches his body on his sofa, eyes flickering on his ceiling before he smiles.”People don’t always get what they deserve.”
Ranpo mutters, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Dazai hangs up. He stares at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular except letting the dark, glooming feeling deep inside him slowly take over his body. A meowing sound comes from the balcony, turning his attention to it.
“Oh,” Dazai stares at the cat and blinks. “Why do I feel like I have seen you before?”
The cat meows again for a few times, as if asking for Dazai to open the door and let it in.
Dazai stands up and walks away.
He stands in front of Fyodor’s house. Dazai knocks on the door a few times before the door is opened.
The first word he says after he steps a foot inside Fyodor’s house is, “I’m giving you the permission to kill me right now.”
“What?”
Dazai grins and cheerfully exclaims, “”It will soon happen anyway, so why not make it happen today?”
Fyodor’s eyes meet his, and Dazai thinks that maybe dying from his touch will be a perfect ending for him. The Russian’s eyes flicker around the room before he decides to ask, “What happened?”
Dazai groans and throws himself on the sofa. “You know what happened.”
“Well,” Fyodor sits next to him. “I’m assuming your life is tragically falling apart as we speak.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Fyodor smiles grimly and runs his finger through Dazai’s hair. “Would it still help if we end it now?”
Dazai raises his head, eyes shimmering in delight before he asks, “Are we finally gonna commit double suicide?”
“No.” Fyodor deadpans. “I mean our relationship.”
Dazai’s face turns cold. “You know I would never do it.”
“Our relationship will end badly someday and you know it Dazai.” Fyodor exclaims, his voice sounds hard and stern as he does it.
“Well, maybe I don’t want it to end.” He forms a tight fist, trying to calm himself. “It’s not impossible.”
“It is! It’s reckless and futile because we are not meant to be together!” Fyodor spits it all out as if he has been holding onto them for ages and he’s sick of it, and Dazai really wishes an asteroid is slowly coming towards their direction at the moment to take both of their lives. “It’s not written in god’s little catalog book that we both should be together and live happily ever after!”
Dazai glares at him, ignoring the tears that are threatening to spill from his eyes. “Since when do you care about what god has to say?”
“Since I know you.” Fyodor whispers. Like it’s a secret. Like it’s the worst thing he could ever reveal to him. Dazai pretends that he doesn’t hear the crack in his voice. “I wish I was born as a deity. Because not being able to bring happiness and protection to the person I love hurts.”
Dazai stares at him with tears running down on his cheeks, and Fyodor thinks he will collapse right then and there. He can’t bring any solace and comfort to Dazai. Not him, unfortunately.
Fyodor caresses Dazai’s cheek. “Stay for the night. We shall never see each other again tomorrow.” He stands up and walks away to his room.
The brunette stares at his laps, tears staining his pants as he grips his coat as a weak attempt to hold himself together. He can’t do it, not when he feels like his entire life is crumbling at that very moment. He sobs, “You can’t just tell me that you love me and then end this. Are you insane?”
No reply is received by him. Dazai stares at the lavender in the living room for a moment before he decides to throw it in the rubbish bin and yells strings of curses across the hall before he walks out of the house.
Dazai wakes up on a rooftop and the first thing that appears on his mind is him. Wiping his tears away, he calls a number. A few seconds later, someone across the line says, “hi.”
He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself before he says, “I ended it with him.”
“Oh.” Ranpo clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”
Dazai stares at the clear sky, admiring how calm and serene it looks. He slowly asks, “This was a part of your plan, isn’t it?”
Ranpo’s silence is enough to confirm his suspicions.
Dazai laughs dryly. “Yeah, thought so.”
“I didn’t tell anyone in the agency about your association with him at all.” Ranpo says, as if it will make him feel better.
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dazai scratches his head and ignores his apology. “Tell someone to come and bring me home because I need a shower. And don’t let it be Kunikida-kun.”
“Uhm,” Atsushi stands behind the door, waiting for Dazai to finish showering. “Did you get attacked by someone from Port Mafia?”
Dazai laughs, feeling amused by his guess. “What makes you think that?”
“You don’t seem okay. And it’s weird for Ranpo-san to ask me to bring you home. Did you get kidnapped?”
“It’s not really easy for me to get kidnapped, you know.”
“So, what did-”
“If Ranpo doesn’t tell you the reason, then it means it’s not important.” Dazai simply states. He closes the water and reaches for his towel. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Before Atsushi gets to say something, he tells him to give him his clothes and bandages, out of fear of the younger having to look at the scars on his body. Atsushi complies without any question, as if he knows.
Silence fills the room before Atsushi quietly mutters, “You’ll tell us if something goes wrong, right?”
“Of course.”
Dazai leans on the tombstone, while lighting a cigarette. The night is too cold for him, especially since he is not wearing his coat at all. Taking a puff from the cigarette, he mutters, “I don’t know what to do. Somehow, I feel like you know the answer. But you’re no longer here to help me.”
All he receives is the sound of crickets. He cracks his fingers. “I don’t know why I’m talking to a dead person. Is this foolish of me?”
He traces the name on the tombstone, staring at it for a while before he stands up. He smiles, although there is no reason whatsoever for him to put on a mask. Odasaku is not there, after all.
He’s somewhere far, far away from his grasp and Dazai can never see him again. He can try to travel the entire world, swim across the entire sea and goes to the edge of the universe, trying desperately to see the brown haired man again and give him a hug but he will never succeed.
He is all alone in this world. And he has always been.
“Goodbye, Odasaku.”
Fyodor kisses him, like he can’t live without him. Like Dazai is the drug he’s addicted to and he is far too gone into oblivion to care about the outcome that will happen. He seems happier, calmer than when Dazai last saw him.
Fyodor opens his mouth and mutters something, with his eyes softly looking at him as tears slowly drop.
Dazai opens his eyes, only to find out that it is nothing but a dream. He wakes up on the floor, next to his bed. His back hurts, but there is something else, something far more dreadful, that aches in him. Something that he can’t put into words, but he knows what causes it, or at least who.
Normally, knowing the cause of your pain helps lessen it, even just a little bit.
So, why does he still feel so helpless?
Dazai has never thought about religion. He was raised to believe nothing, that God is nothing but a trifling ideal that doesn’t exist. It is nothing but an imagination that people created because they are desperate for salvation. They are desperate to have someone they can turn to when they have hard times just for the sake of feeling less lonely.
He never really thinks about it, but he thinks the first time he realised that the concept of god is actually real is when he found out Chuuya is the vessel for Arahabaki.
He has seen god, and he decides that god is nothing but bullcrap.
He wonders if that’s the reason why he’s so fucked up. Maybe god favours his worshippers more, which does make sense. It’s like having a member card for a shopping centre will get you tons of discounts compared to the people who don't have one.
“Atsushi-kun.”
Atsushi stops typing something on his laptop and turns to his direction. “What is it, Dazai-san?”
Dazai spins on his chair, eating his chocolate bar as he asks, “What do you think of god?”
Atsushi tilts his head in confusion, as if surprised by the random question. “That’s an unexpected question.”
Dazai demands childishly. “Just answer it.”
Atsushi puts a hand on his chin and makes a face that looks like he is thinking deeply before he replies. “I think He exists. Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere we can’t reach.”
“Of course you believe in him.” Dazai mutters under his breath. “Wait, do you have a religion?”
“Well, no. I don’t worship any god? I guess?”
“Why not?”
Atsushi scratches his head. “It’s possible to believe in god but not be in any religion.”
Dazai rests his chin on his hand. “I guess that’s true.”
“What do you think about god, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asks him back.
“He sucks.” Dazai bites on his chocolate bar and continues. “Doesn’t he seem so entitled?”
“Well.. He’s god after all.” Atsushi tries to reason with him, but Dazai just shrugs. “I get that but, he seems like he’s toying with our lives!”
Kunikida joins into the conversation. “I never knew you have such a harsh opinion on God.”
Dazai screeches dramatically as he frowns. “Do you like god too?”
“Well, no. I’m just neutral about it.”
“Huh, that’s fair.”
“Anyways, don’t slack off!” Kunikida sternly says as he fixes the position of his glasses. “We have so much work to do.”
12 cans of beer, 56 missed calls and 49 voicemails are what it takes for Dazai to get his call answered by the demon itself.
Dazai laughs hysterically when he hears the voice doesn’t belong to a robot. “Fyodor, you answered!”
“You sound… weird. Are you drunk?” Fyodor asks concernedly.
“Pssshhh it’s nothing!” Dazai giggles and finishes his remaining beer before he says, “Anyways, I found a new way to commit double suicide!”
“Dazai, I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t do it or you’ll regret it.” Dazai’s voice that once was cheerful has become dead, with no emotion whatsoever.
It is silent for a moment until Fyodor coughs and asks quietly, “What is it?”
“I shall die tragically.” Dazai professes with his fruity voice, as if he didn’t say anything that’s remotely disturbing a few minutes ago.
Fyodor decides to keep him on the line longer. “That’s not very specific.”
Dazai giggles. “The method doesn’t even matter anymore. Death is the only thing that matters. Look, god has given me so many hints that living is not for someone like me.”
“That’s not true-”
“It is.” Dazai murmurs, his eyes staring outside of the window, staring at the crescent moon as he states, “It simply is.”
Fyodor doesn’t say anything, so Dazai continues. “Do you desire death?”
He receives no response. After a few moments, Dazai speaks up when he is sure that Fyodor isn’t there. “Hello?”
“Not as much as you.” Fyodor simply states. “I don’t think I could ever be like you, to be honest.”
Dazai laughs at the statement. “I wonder why.”
Fyodor snorts. “You know the reason. You know yourself more than anyone else in this world.”
Dazai’s laugh dies down. He opens another can and drinks some of it. “I hope that’s true.”
“I wish I could go and give you a hug right now.”
“You can.”
Fyodor inhales deeply. “I really can’t”
Dazai lies down on his sofa, trying to calm down the throbbing pain on his head. “You’re stupid.” He simply states.
“Okay.”
Dazai grits his teeth, trying to calm himself down. He doesn’t know what he is feeling right now. What he’s been feeling ever since the day he throws the lavender in the rubbish bin. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling most of the time but this is worse.
“Man was born for love and revolution.”
Dazai widens his eyes, surprised from the words that just came out of his mouth. “That-”
“I wonder what you think about it. Since you highlighted the words.”
“Well, I did highlight other stuff in the book too.”
“The only thing you highlight in the book other than the sentence is a very depressing poem. That’s understandable.”
“Tch. You got me there.” Dazai hums for a moment, trying to think for a reason. “It’s just an interesting quote.”
“It must mean something to you.”
“It used to. Now it’s nothing but a lie.”
“Wh-”
“I’m so sleepy.” Dazai yawns.
Fyodor lets out a sigh before he mutters, “Good night, Dazai.”
He stays up and watches as the sun slowly comes out, painting the sky in a bright yellow hue. Throwing the can in his hand down on the floor, he wraps himself with his duvet before he reaches for his phone and calls Atsushi.
The phone rings for a few times before he hears his voice. “Hello?”
“I did not have a good night at all.” Dazai coughs.
“Dazai-san, are you okay?” Atsushi sounds worried.
He laughs, trying to calm him down but it comes out as croaky. “Just a small fever. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you want me to bring you medicine? Or food?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Dazai coughs again a few times before he continues. “I just need rest.”
“Okay. I’ll tell the director.” Atsushi assures him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to -”
“Yeah.”
It takes him 3 days for his fever to subside, and now he’s back to normal. Or at least, normal in the eyes of the public. Behind the curtain, he is still… him. There is no more explanation that needs to be said except that the weight of sorrow inside him is gradually spilling, slowly drowning him inside his suffocated body.
He is still him, Dazai decides. The absence of Fyodor doesn’t affect him at all, Dazai decides.
“We decide nothing.”
Ranpo looks at him weirdly, as if he has grown two heads. “What did you just say?”
Dazai stares at the intersection of the two roads from the window at the agency. A car continues driving despite the red light shown on his road, and Dazai can’t help but think that’s how he’s feeling. He smiles and simply says, “Nothing.”
Ranpo leans on his chair.. He checks something on his computer before he asks, “Where’s everyone else?”
“Atsushi, Tanizaki and Kyouka went somewhere to investigate some case. Yosano said she has some business to attend, I guess?” Dazai shrugs. He walks away from the window and sits back at his table. “Not sure about the others, though.”
Ranpo grins and fixes his hat. “Today there is a sale at a shopping mall not far from the agency. Yosano was seen holding a catalog from the shopping mall a few days ago. It’s possible she’s there right now. So, she is avoiding work. Tell Kunikida-kun later.”
“Oh!” His eyes glimmer in fascination. He sits straight and asks, “What about the others?”
“Kenji-kun is in a toilet currently because he was eating cookies made by Atsushi and Kyouka.” Ranpo laughs. “I knew it was awful, that’s why I refused to eat it when they offered it to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell Kenji that then?”
“Hmm who knows.” Ranpo opens his drawer and takes out a document. “Dazai-kun.” He waves the document in the air, trying to draw Dazai’s attention to it. “Can you guess what’s in this?”
Dazai folds both of his arms together and raises one of his eyebrows. “Isn’t that just a case file?”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not just a case file. It’s the case file.” He hugs it as he rests both of his legs on his table and grins at the younger. “Do you know where Kunikida-kun and the president are right now?”
Dazai shakes his head.
“It has something to do with the contents in this file.” Ranpo explains. “They are currently meeting with someone.”
The realisation finally hits him. He tries to calm his voice as he asks, “Does this have anything to do with Fyodor?” but a slight shift in Ranpo’s posture shows him that he notices it.
“Bingo!” Ranpo grins. He throws the file onto his table. “We discovered their hideout and arrested around 59 of their members. Fyodor wasn’t there when the Gifted Special Operations Division infiltrated the place.”
His tongue suddenly tastes so bitter and his stomach feels like something is slowly moving inside it, messing up the arrangement of his organs. Ranpo continues, “Although we don’t know what they’re up to at the moment, it’s safe to say that something is about to happen. Something awful.”
Dazai stares at him coldly. “Why are you telling this to me? Isn’t this supposed to be a secret if the Ministry is involved?”
“I am merely informing this to you. I just think you deserve to know.”
Dazai knows the truth. He knows the unsaid words in Ranpo’s mouth and he is positive that Ranpo is aware that he knows about it.
Dazai merely stands up from his seat and walks out of the office.
d o n t c o n t a c t m e
That is what’s written in a note that he found on his kitchen table when he comes home from his work. Dazai does nothing but crumples the note and throws it out of his window.
It’s happening. This is the start of the war. Everything crumbles before they rebirthed into something far more magnificent. That is the part of the process, Dazai reminds himself.
He mutters it under his breath over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if he says it again and again, he’ll believe it’s the truth. Because, it is, isn’t it?
He spends another sleepless night doing nothing but thinking, thinking and thinking. What a cruel thing is, for him to be given a brain that doesn’t know when to stop.
He survives another suicide attempt. Lying in the hospital yet again, he feels nothing but boredom. The same question is being asked over and over again. The IV drip on his arm feels familiar. He is getting used to this. No, he has experienced this enough that he is bored.
Death is so far away from his grasp, and yet so close. He can feel it lingering around him wherever he goes, silently provoking him to just do it. It holds his chin and makes him stare at Its eyes as Death says, “Do it. You will die, and your pain will finally disappear.”
Dazai laughs. What a joke. Why is he still here then?”
It is 3.04 pm. You, Dazai, have been discharged by the hospital. You do not remember what day it is, nor do you care enough to ask the others. Knowing it doesn’t make any difference, you conclude.
You wake up with sweat drenching your clothes. Your head hurts and all you can think about is the shooting sound of guns echoing and the sight of blood in your dreams. You go to your bathroom to get your sleeping medicine and that’s when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.
No one knows this, but you see nothing except a despicable monster in yourself.
Almost a month after that, you meet the demon again, this time as enemies and you forget just how serene and bewitching the Russian man is. He stares at you with his piercing eyes and all you can think of is the nights you spent together with him and how utterly lonely you’ve been for all this time.
Of course, you do not say it. Instead, you give him a smirk and greets him the way you always do, with words full of friendliness but threats lie underneath it. Because that’s what Dazai Osamu would do.
But you see, you do not want to be Dazai Osamu. All you want to be is his.
All you want to be is his, and your desire is considered a betrayal.
“I will defeat you, Fyodor.”
“Oh? Can you really do that?”
Dazai cocks his gun and makes a step ahead, looking around the empty building as he exclaims, “I have to do it. It’s the only thing I can do now.”
“I have come close to murdering you countless times. I can do it again.” Fyodor’s voice echoes, sending shivers down his spine.
“I think it’s safe to assume that I’m immortal.” Dazai jokes for a moment before his voice turns vicious. “If I’m not then I’ll gladly bring you down with me. I wouldn’t mind dying if it means you will too.”
“Who would’ve thought you’re a man full of virtue.” Fyodor mocks him. “What good does it make if you die? Is this just an excuse for you to disappear?”
Dazai slowly closes his eyes. “He will hate me if I die, but at least I will fulfill what he has left for me in this world.”
Fyodor is quiet for a moment before he decides to ask, “What is it?”
“Hope.”
“How should we do this?”
Dazai scoffs and simply takes both of his hands out of his pocket. “Isn’t it obvious?”
So many unsaid words. So many truths are hidden under their gazes that are directed towards each other. So many regrets and missed opportunities.
Dazai takes out his gun and points it at the man in front of him. Fyodor simply smirks.
They slowly fall tragically on the ground, having known nothing of the view from the highest sky. But this, he decides, is still a wonderful thing.
“Did you know, Fyodor? Cherry blossoms fall at the speed of five centimetre per second. Aren’t you glad we’re not cherry blossoms?”