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Whiskey.
The stench of it fills the apartment in such a way that anyone unfortunate enough to step inside would figure out that too much of it’s been consumed. The various empty bottles litter themselves around the living space, leaving no room for speculation that its occupant needs help but more than likely isn’t receiving it. Yokohama’s night life buzzes with vigour beyond the open window, the unwelcome light pouring into the room and insisting that all of its residents come out to play.
The mass on the couch stirs, tired eyes fruitlessly trying to remain unexposed to the onslaught of light, the attempt ending as soon as it started. Eyelids fluttering open, Dazai immediately regrets having eyeballs, roughly rubbing them with dry hands.
He really should have had his drinks at the bar to at least give himself some semblance of a limit, but he couldn’t keep the urge at bay long enough to make it out of the apartment. Properly awake and repositioning himself, the brunette finally catches a glimpse of the mess he’s made in his home. Cheap bottles of whiskey are toppled over wherever they please, a rude reminder that his liquor cabinet is in dire need of stocking up.
Gritting his teeth, Dazai drags his feet towards the open window to fill his lungs with actual air. His stretching prompts groans from his throat, bandaged arms heavy as they lean themselves against the window sill. The air is crisp, filling his nostrils with something more than the alcohol on his tongue. The city is alive tonight, somewhat even more than usual. The shopping district a few blocks over is packed, leaving the residential areas bare. Well, they should be, considering it’s whatever the fuck o’clock in the morning.
Dazai briefly wonders if Kunikida is looking for him to berate him for missing work and leaving him to do all the paperwork again. There’s no way to confirm his suspicion with his phone out of sight, but he knows the answer anyway; no one is looking for him.
It’s not like it’s unusual for him to disappear for days at a time, anyway. He’ll just show up to the office tomorrow with a cheery smile and darker bags, laughing through his partner’s scolding. Kunikida will ask if he tried out a new way to kill himself (out of malice and not genuine concern), and he’ll say that of course he did and that it clearly didn’t work. Atsushi might give him a bit more than that, but even he’s stopped taking it seriously.
A sigh escapes his dry lips, licking them out of pity. He didn’t need them to ask how he was doing. Nothing would really happen if they did. Maybe they’d genuinely try to get him some help, not that he wanted any, then they’d realise that they wasted their time because some people are just too broken.
His arms leave the window sill, retreating to the couch. The cushions welcome his back the way they do only when he bothers to come home. His hand searches aimlessly, finally stopping when the familiar metal enters his grip. It’s cool to the touch and Dazai wonders if it’ll help soothe his oncoming headache. Pressing the barrel to his temple, he decides against shifting into a better position, knowing it won’t change which part of the couch his brain matter will decorate.
Pulling the hammer back, his lips curl into a smile. It’s relieving, exciting even, to know that it’ll finally be over. It isn’t clean and peaceful like he’d hoped, but years of somehow fucking up every attempt was telling him to suck it up so he places his finger over the trigger. He wishes he wasn’t alone, that he had a pretty lady to go with him. He hopes that Odasaku didn’t feel alone too.
Odasaku.
“Nothing can fill the void inside you.”
Closing his eyes, Dazai can’t help but think he was right; he’ll never find what he’s searching for.
I’ll see you soon, Odasaku.
Click.
Dazai sighs, faintly recalling that the magazine is empty. Looks like it’s time for that trip to the bar.