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The wind blows against his face. He is standing on the railing of an old bridge in Yokohama, far away from his homeland. He stares blankly as he admire the view of the city lights. No one sees him. Not even the stars, nor the moon. It is a cloudy night, one push short of being a violent, pouring storm.
He is one push short of falling away.
He was one push short of achieving his goal, one push short of cleansing this sinful world, and yet, the push never came. The book burned down. It was destroyed by those who pursued it, in their collective hatred for each other, mixed with the despair that came with never getting their dream.
Murderer.
Demon.
Monster.
That’s what he is. His grand plan? It was all for naught, all for the entertainment of some ruthless God. And he, the false god who thought he could change the world, fell for it. He became the puppet of someone greater when he thought that he was the puppeteer.
He laughs, and wonders if God is watching right now. If He is, then is He laughing? Pitying him? Or is He bored? Perhaps He is, because he has probably bore witness to this scene a million times before.
If fate existed, then is this moment written by it? Would things have gone differently if he chose another path? Are there other paths to begin with?
He has so many questions, too many questions that will never be answered, but at least, he will get the answer to one.
What happens after death?
He leans into nothing. Into air. Into water. And it is cold, so deathly cold that he cannot feel himself anymore. He opens his mouth to gasp, and the water fills his airways.
There is pain, so much of it.
Death is painful. Why wouldn’t it be? One's body is literally screaming at them for ignoring its right to live. It aches, it thirsts, it begs, to keep going, to keep breathing, to keep living, to be saved.
Pain is a sign that one is alive. How laughable, in a person’s dying moments, they are thoroughly reminded that they are alive, and their mind can do nothing but watch as the body decays, until everything it holds slip away.
Maybe they never wanted to die in the first place.
Pain is a sign that something is wrong. Of course something is wrong, everything is wrong. The fact that he is dying is wrong. The world is wrong, he should’ve saved it! He was so willing to sacrifice himself, but in the end, he is nothing but a failed martyr.
And now, the martyr sacrifices himself for nothing.
Dazai was right. This world is wrong, but he should not burn it down, he should set himself aflame instead. That way, he would not ruin the lives of others who have a steady fire warming them while they live in peace with the sunflowers.
But is it really a sin to be alive?
Do monsters have the right to be happy?
Is it wrong to want to live?
Is it wrong to wish for life when you are at the face of death?
('Which you had brought upon yourself,' a distant god from far away reminds him. And he is a child again, on his knees, begging for his father to forgive him.)
Oh, how he regrets it.
The world darkens before his eyes.
———
He coughs, sputters out water and spit. And then he breathes, breathes deeply, like it is the first time he ever got to feel air inside his lungs. Truthfully, feeling something other than oxygen in his lungs certainly made him miss it.
The surroundings are blurred, but he can make out a figure standing over him. In the darkness of the night, it was almost too shady to see who the person was. He sits up, gazing straight at the person who had saved him.
There are seven billion people on the planet, it is likely that a stranger played hero when they saw him floating down the river. However, fate is playful. Out of all the people in the world, it just has to be him.
The man standing over him has chocolate eyes and his hair, which had the same shade as his eyes, is sticking to his face. He wears a beige trench coat that is now soaked in water, like the rest of him. Of course, how could he not forget the signature bandages wrapped around his body. It doesn’t make him look like a mummy, but the raven-haired man supposes that he is lifeless in another way.
He is an enemy. He gets in the way of his plans. He is a pesky obstacle. Hard to kill, like a cockroach. The comparison really fits him.
There was a time when he was cheery though, loved by everyone. Maybe they were important to him in some way. However, for him to save an enemy, it is very uncharacteristic.
“Why…? ”
There is something unreadable in his coffee-colored eyes.
“You were dying.”
Fyodor opens his mouth to say something, but his throat is itchy, and he coughs again.
Dazai looks down at him, slightly amused. He takes off his wet coat and begins to wring it, splattering water all over the grass. “I saved you, aren’t you going to thank me?” he says, trying to sound offended.
“You stopped me.”
Dazai starts to laugh. The sound is oddly pleasant to hear, like wind chimes in the morning. “I know how it feels.”
The black-haired man mutters something. It is heard, but the tone is too soft for the brunette’s liking. So, Dazai asks in a mischievous tone, “Hmm? What was that? Can you say that again?”
“…Thank you.”
Dazai smiles in satisfaction, and plops down on the grass next to him. Fyodor stares out into the river, the blue replaced by the reflection of the dark night sky. However lightless it is right now, it did not seem like the black hole that it was earlier, when he was deciding to jump.
“Why did you save me?” Fyodor asks, voice wavering the slightest bit. The purple of his eyes bore into Dazai's brown ones. The air is tense, filled with longing and so many unanswered question.
“Well, I was also supposed to die tonight,” He gestures to the river nonchalantly, “but guess who got here first?”
Fyodor narrows his eyes at him, clearly not buying it.
Dazai chuckles before his face softens and his eyes glisten like a brand-new universe was held in it, a clear contrast to Fyodor’s soulless ones. They were so similar, and yet that aspect of Dazai is what makes him so uniquely Dazai. He found life. He lived in the light while the rat played in the dark, searching for destruction. He continues, “Believe it or not, I have many reasons to save you.”
“Really?” Fyodor felt the corner of his lips lift a little before he stops himself, plastering a blank look on his face again. Dazai must've seen it, because his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he too, returned to his normal expression.
“Someone told me to be on the side that saves people, and you looked like you needed saving," the bandaged man said as if he was about to tell a terrible sob story. Fyodor wanted none of it, lest he feel pity for the other monster. After all, Dazai stopped someone who wants to escape this painful, cruel world, from dying.
“Death was supposed to be my salvation.”
“It isn’t, now.”
“How are you so sure?”
“It doesn’t suit you, you are death.”
They both laugh at that like old friends.
“Why did you save me?” Fyodor asks again, this time with more resolve in his voice. He clutches Dazai's shoulder, shaking it weakly.
The surroundings are quiet save for the chirping of crickets and the steady flow of the winding river. Most people are asleep at this time, which he assumes is late at night or really early in the morning, he doesn't know.
They are left under the dark, cloudy skies, under a yellow streetlight which flickers from time to time. People are no longer in the streets, opting to stay in their homes, hiding from the dangers of the night, but the two of them are outside, vulnerable. They are two monsters dangerous to each other, and yet, no one chooses to bare their fangs against the other in this moment.
The rain threatens to spill down.
The bandaged man smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He lets out a breath before saying, “There was a boy who saved me once, when I was in your place. It was admirable. He had nothing, but he still had enough care to save some stranger floating down the river.”
Fyodor’s eyes widen. The other man is talking about the tiger kid, isn't he? The one that the purple-eyed rat disposed of like he was just knocking an obstacle out of the way.
Dazai looks like he is about to cry as he talks about the kid. His tears prick at the edge of his beautiful eyes, making it appear glossy, like a doll's, and it almost looks just as lifeless and empty as theirs.
“I want to live on for him, for them. But now that I have nothing to hold on to, how will I-“
Dazai feels cold damp arms wrap around him. Fyodor is close to him, close enough to feel droplets of water dripping on his back, close enough to hear his breathing, close enough to feel his heartbeat thump rapidly inside his chest. He is close enough that it doesn't matter if the embrace comes from a demon.
A green glow radiates around them as Dazai unconsciously nullifies the other man's ability. He decides to place his arms around Fyodor, returning the sentiment. It begins to feel warm, even if they are both soaked in water.
In this world so broken, cruel, and wrong, they are just another thorn among thorns curling up, longing for the sky. But they stopped looking up then, choosing to curl around each other instead. A perfect defense against everything the world offered. And maybe, just maybe, roses will bloom on those broken thorns.
The unspoken answer lingered like a transparent mist in the air.
“Because you are all that I have left in this world.”