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smash.
was that smash from the mirror or his sanity?
click.
did he have a gun? no, it was just his knuckles.
“you don’t need a gun, osamu. the most hurtful weapon is you alone.”
dazai sank down against the bathtub.
how many times has he been in the bathroom again? he’d lost count. he felt embarrassed, knowing going to the bathroom six times in a half hour wasn’t normal, but he needed to escape. even a few seconds to catch his breath felt almost heavenly, before going back downstairs to have all his breath thrown in the trash.
god, if only they’d stop singing that fucking song…
that wasn’t going to happen on his timing. his rhinestone parents? opening their mundane hearts to their son? when pigs fly.
and his parents sang. his parents sang a lot. torture worthy, ear-piercing tones, making his whole body rip softly everytime he stepped in their stratosphere. he could cover his ears, he had two hands (and not the best hearing to begin with) but sometimes he would push his fingers too far, leaving his ears underwater for several hours.
underwater…
his swollen eyes turned back to the bathtub. looming, glooming and empty.
“not tonight, osamu.” he whispered to no one, clenching the soggy bath mat so tight his hand went blue. would this make these feelings drip out of him like a fresh wound? or will they stay in his body, bruising?
he didn’t care. he was simply grateful to feel- after watching his parents not feel anything for years. perhaps he was simply a horror movie to a narcissist, the only thing that will squeeze any portrayal of emotion from them. scaring them was the only way forward in dazai’s mind, which irked him to no end.
fuck, he did it again.
how long had it been? was it acceptable to leave now? was he leaving too fast? maybe he’d been in here too long, it was too late to leave now-
there was no such thing. he was alone here- that’s all that mattered.
this wasn’t safe, this wasn’t acceptable. but he was alone.
footsteps.
footsteps getting closer.
the worst part, a pause. right outside the bathroom door.
‘oh my god oh my fucking god please don’t knock on the door i’m begging you please why is there silence just leave you can’t see me like this even though i want you to wrap me up and tell me it’s alright i know you’ll never let your pride and ego down please please just walk away just leave me here please mom just leave me alone leave me alone oh my god why is there no noise why do my ears hurt please mom oh my god please just do something-’
all he picked up was a muffled sigh.
with that sigh being released into the world, a part of his breath was sucked away with it.
a breath he’ll never get back.
‘osamu why aren’t you breathing stop gasping you are useless if you can’t even breathe please just breathe and don’t you dare fucking cry come on you need to get out of here no i do not i can’t leave i’m trapped here forever but maybe it’s what i deserve why is she singing again it stings oh my god this is hell please someone get me out of my head why is she in my head she’s meant to be good for me why aren’t you fucking good for me i deserve this no i don’t i deserve it stop being an attention whore you are so weak osamu you are so fucking weak…you’re weak...’
“your week of jobs starts next week, right? hey, bubba?”
fuck, he did it again.
dazai’s eyes squeezed shut with dizziness before adjusting to the soft lights, feeling a blanket draped over one arm and a smaller hand squeezing the other.
without hesitation, he grabbed it. not too tightly, but his hold was firm.
his firmness didn’t last long as when he looked up he was faced with the most gentle and soft face, framed messily with equally soft hair, the same colour as a strawberry farm. dazai gazed in eyes that looked like freshly picked blueberries, felt like warmth after a tropical rainfall and touched into his heart like fresh laundry.
and suddenly, looking at that one face, thinking of that two-syllable name, everything melted away.
“...sorry, chibi. you were saying?”
chuuya laughed, dazai absorbing every breath. “i was just making sure it was next week you were working. i was looking at dinner reservations, see?” he pushed the laptop towards dazai, which was open on a restaurant in the city- and by looking at the three chandeliers and real diamonds in the lobby alone, his credit card would soon meet a huge dent.
dazai chuckled, “figures you’d pick somewhere like this.”
chuuya leaned closer, his hand cradling the side of dazai’s face. he hummed through a smile, peeking shyly at dazai’s eyes before planting a soft peck on his lips.
“okay?”
when chuuya uttered that word, he knew it carried weight. it was an unspoken rule- it was more than a simple confirmation. it was a fingertip poking through his blanket of uncomfortable fuzz, a check-in, a ‘if something’s wrong, i’m here,’ ‘anything swirling around in your brain?’
“yes, everything is swirling around in your brain because you are not normally wired, osamu. but no one will ever understand that, apart from me.”
he let that weight sink in.
“...i think so.”
chuuya waited patiently until dazai was ready to meet his gaze- his sparkly, endearing, loving and brilliant gaze.
“one step at a time, right? slowly but surely.” chuuya reassured him in a whisper. dazai stayed put, breathing in chuuya’s lavender scent as he hovered over dazai’s lip, half of which was hidden in his teeth. instead of being grabbed by the collar and faced with cheeks dotted with bruises, he faced an art form. he traced piano chords on chuuya’s cheeks and crafted his own abstract designs inside his brilliant eyes, which were hovering on sleep and consciousness.
dazai chuckled, bringing warmth to both souls. “sleepy baby!”
chuuya rubbed his eye with his sleeve, “you are too, don’t deny it. why don’t i cook us up a quick dinner, then we can head off to bed early?”
i don’t like eating around you.
why do you never finish your meals, osamu?
dazai nodded.
tonight, osamu was trapped in a haunted house.
dazai stood in his corner, waiting for couples clinging onto each other's arms and holding hands to pass so he could jump out and howl and scream and feel the rush of their raw terror.
but they simply walked past.
even if he did manage to leap in front of them, they would still walk numb.
and that terrified him.
dazai sat in the corner of their living room (a room he had not dared entered in months) with the same chest pains, the same uncomfortable bubble wrap of heaviness crawling his skin and his parents still singing that damn song.
they even managed to sing while eating, the same shitty takeout food dribbling down their greasy chins. dazai didn’t mind the food at first- it was takeout. takeout was a luxury.
he never understood how they could eat the same damn meal every night, however. so he had grown to loathe it.
“eat something, please.”
his stomach was making horrific grumble noises. bathroom?
“not hungry.”
still singing. “i think you should eat something.” his mother said, passive.
dazai didn’t answer. the chokehold of tightness devoured his voice.
like the greediest pigs in the pen, like millionaires demanding taxes from the slums, they continued to stuff their rotten lips.
lips who didn’t say anything. lips who stayed silent. lips that hung below eyes that sometimes gave their son a side eye, a side eye to his own eyes that were widened with fear, before turning away.
there was a big and mighty part of him that was devastated when they looked away, the part of him where there was a drop of innocence left. mostly, however, he was relieved- because of them, he despised that feeling. it ripped him away from any possibility of a bond he once had.
because of them, he will never love again.
he will never sing again- that damn song would always creep in. he will never fill the quietness they gave him.
quiet.
where was chuuya?
dazai exhaled for eight seconds, holding every second carefully before breathing in sweet air for four.
okay?
yes, in fact. whispers of safety from moments ago still clung to him and intertwined with the swirling candle smoke, making the entire room shine with sparkles only their eyes have seen.
he will never get tired of those sparkles. or the spark of whatever they had, to be precise. the spark
whenever the little redhead appears in his mind or heart.
his numb flashbacks turned into chuckles. how long has he been in the honeymoon phase? six years?
he might as well make himself at home, then.
his warm laughs made their way up to his eyes as they softened while catching sight of the divine skyline outside their window, only fingertips away. street lights and fast cars blissfully twinkled against the moonlight and if dazai squinted, he could see the backs of people’s heads in cabs and mimics of smiles on fuzzy faces, some arms linked as they stumbled into the night.
he wondered if any of them had been in love.
for the first time in his whole life, he wished for everyone hurting to be in his shoes right now.
“dinner’s ready!” as if on cue, chuuya’s voice echoed like a choir into the living room. dazai stood up, inhaling the now garlic-scented heaven as he padded through to the kitchen.
“gordon ramsay? in our apartment? i’m touched!” dazai giggled happily, pecking his gorgeous chef on the cheek.
chuuya leaned into his side, “better than shitty takeout food.”
dazai felt like gagging. as soon as the words left chuuya’s lips, as simple as they were, he wanted to wretch.
instead, he exhaled gently.
“you bet it is.”
their tummies interrupted, growling furiously as they filled their plates with chuuya’s homemade delights and began to feast.
home made . nothing had ever sounded more right.
“better than shitty takeout food,” dazai stole chuuya’s line from moments ago.
“mm,” chuuya chuckled through a mouthful of potatoes, “you want some wine?”
you’re such a lightweight, osamu.
what do you mean you’re not drinking tonight? i bought all this alcohol for you. are you gonna let it all go to waste?
we told you not to have too much. you’re ruining our evening.
i don’t care if you’re anxious. this night is about my joy, not yours.
“i’ll pass tonight, if that’s okay?”
clenched throat. tight chest.
he was back in the haunted house.
dazai’s eyes darted around, focusing desperately on the third tile along to ground himself.
“please don’t leave me alone-“
“okay.”
dazai was stunned.
he hesitantly looked up, watching chuuya pour himself a glass with a gentle smile.
“you sure?” dazai anticipated an explosion.
“of course, osamu. you should only drink when you want to, never if you feel you need to.”
it was a small answer. an answer that probably meant nothing in chuuya’s head.
but it was important.
the gentle words and tone kept his thoughts full of contentment and on the surface, instead of the sinking anchor that remained at the bottom of the ocean.
even if he did fall back there again, chuuya would dive down to retrieve the anchor. there was no question about that.
“did you like what i did with the potatoes? i tried to boil them for a change. do you like them better roasted or like this?” chuuya asked.
you eat whatever we eat, osamu.
my joy… not yours. remember?
dazai gulped.
“i like them like this, but nothing beats them roasted. maybe we should save the roasted ones for special occasions?” dazai spoke small.
chuuya followed him, giggling small, “good shout! they can be the double black specialty. the boiled ones could do with a little more flavour, don’t you think?”
“like what?” dazai stepped on a possible eggshell, one that did not crack.
“garlic, maybe?”
dazai finally smiled. “sounds perfect, baby.”
chuuya grinned before turning back to the potatoes. “or herbs… should i start frying them?”
“you ask a lot of questions, y’know that?”
chuuya shot him a sharp eye before bursting into laughter, filling up the room with the soul fuelling warmth he loved and adored.
the warmth that clung to their clothes. the warmth that tightened dazai’s stomach in the best possible way, wanting to hold it close and never let it go.
“rude.” chuuya stood up, brushing a hand through dazai’s locks tenderly as he passed him. “speaking of potatoes… lets get this sack of potatoes to bed, hm?”
dazai swooned when chuuya poked his tummy. his full, maybe a little chubby (but very healthy) tummy.
“maybe you’re just built to give, osamu. perhaps receiving isn’t for you.”
as dazai headed to bed, he almost laughed at her voice appearing in his head.
he laughed in understanding.
she had a point- back then, he wasn’t able to receive anything. the world had created a shield for her rhinestones; it wasn’t what he was supposed to receive.
however, in the present, fate claps her hands with joy at her miracles. dazai had finally found what he was meant to receive.
he didn’t have to look far at all. he just had to look down. looking down was an adventure- instead of being met with the cold floor and his fidgety fingertips, he was met with planets.
a planet to his left, where a dusty novel chuuya gave him lay on his arm, and a whole galaxy to his right- a sleepy chuuya, head tucked into dazai’s neck as he traced lines of love wherever he could reach.
“oh, you’re getting to the good bit!” chuuya peered at the pages, “i remember reading that twist for the first time. you’re gonna love it.”
i’m not interested in your silly books. go do something productive.
“i love it so far! it’s so suspenseful, so harrowing. i can barely put it down!” dazai smiled from the heart.
“right?! i’m so glad you’re reading it, i finally have someone to talk to about it.”
dazai kissed his temple, keeping his lips glued to his precious mind for a brief moment while the peaceful breezes of warmth swept them away, transporting them into their safe bubble.
funnily enough, bubbles can never be said in an angry tone.
“hey, sweetheart. we both have the day off tomorrow- is there anything you wanna do?” his galaxy mumbled, pressing sleepy kisses to his jaw.
“just be with you.” he placed the book down, his hand coming up to swirl around chuuya’s hair.
chuuya nuzzled in agreement, “say no more. we can stay in bed if you want- or maybe go get some dinner, maybe a walk along the forest…”
“a forest walk sounds wonderful,” dazai smiled against chuuya’s pearly cheeks, “if that’s what you want.”
“it’s a date, then.”
a hundred kisses were shared after that. none of that hundred were given, all were shared equally as tired lips danced softly, performing their own ondine with hands intertwined.
“moo-moo?”
dazai was lifted into the heavens at his chuuya’s nickname.
“yes?”
“i can’t wait.”
dazai leaned back slightly, looking into the galaxy with confused eyes.
“for what?”
chuuya replied by squeezing his hand and pecking his nose.
“i just can’t wait. for us. for everything.”
dazai dropped the arm squeezed around his own waist to loop around chuuya’s, pulling him in close and blowing another bubble around them.
the anxiety that used to tremble through his fingertips turned into thoughts of a golden band sitting there, shimmering in the moonlight.
the thoughts enthralled him. intoxicated him. stimulated him into an endless spring dream.
as the two drifted off, smiles hurting their cheeks, it was quiet- but not silent. the sounds of chuuya’s little
nose whistling as he inhaled and dazai’s hands running up and down chuuya’s back blessed their ears.
just as the cover of sleepiness was preparing to whisk chuuya away to dreamland, dazai whispered into the glow.
“you’re so exciting. god, i can’t wait for you, sweet angel.”
that night, osamu sang a beautiful song.
-
the memory lane dazai osamu once knew is so heavily flawed, and broken.
but this new memory lane looks a lot lighter. and brighter. he squeezed onto the tiniest hand and held the purest heart, looking a hundred years of agape in the face.
he couldn’t wait to skip down this memory lane.
he couldn’t wait another second.