Chapter Text
—Present Time—
A thin hand holds an even frailer one. Stroking the hand gently, Gin looks down upon her sleeping brother. “Happy Birthday Ryuu. I know you cant hear me right now, but I just wanted to talk to you like we used to.”
A voice is heard from the door. “Ma’am I’m sorry, but visiting hours are ending soon.”
“Oh I see.” She got up from her seat and picked up the cat that was curled up on the hospital bed. “Come on Rashomon, let’s go home.”
Gin walked to the door holding the black cat in a tight embrace. She paused mid-step. “Do you know if he’ll ever wake up?”
”I wish I could say, but if he stays in the condition he is now, I doubt he ever will.”
Gin nods her head whilst holding back tears. At least he was alive, right? She tried to cling to hope, but in all honesty she wishes he were dead. She wishes that he could move on, that they all could.
She sighed. I guess life isn’t that fair after all...
”Hey Gin, are you ready to go?” A voice from outside the doorway said.
”Yeah.” Gin replied. She managed a smile, one that came so easily to her partner. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, Gin was the one who cried the most out of the two of them despite her partner being close with Ryuunoskue. Every so often though, she would find her partner weeping softly behind a closed door. It didn’t matter though, Gin was sure what happened was inevitable. One could say it was fate, or maybe even divine punishment. The only thing that was certain was how this came to be. With old paint brushes and falling cherry blossoms, a tragic tale began two years ago in a small apartment in the middle of spring.
—Two Years Prior—
Disgruntled and exhausted, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa hurried up the stairs of the old red-brick apartment complex. His art supplies were slipping from his grasp. He let out a deep sigh when he reached his apartment. Slipping the key into the key-hole, he opened the door and closed the door before locking it.
”Oh. Hello there Rashomon.” The raven-haired man set his supplies aside so he could pet his cat. Akutagawa wasn’t too fond of pets, but somehow he had managed to take a liking to this cat. Eventually, they were inseparable. Wherever Akutagawa was, Rashoumon was. He would never admit it, but he liked having her with him. He knew she wouldn’t ever leave him, that was comforting.
He walked to his kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. His apartment was modest. It was a one bed, one bath. Many books, papers, paints, or plants were scattered throughout the apartment. Akutagawa, despite being an artist, didn’t quite like color. Although, he does have somewhat of an obsession with the color black. From his bedsheets to his couch, it was all a dull dark shade. He didn’t mind, it was enough.
That’s all anything ever was to him, enough. He wasn’t important in any way, though he strived to be wanted. No one paid him much affection, not that he minded. The only time his father had time for Akutagawa was when he was being reminded of how disgusting he was. No, he was never enough. Not for his father, not for anyone, especially not for Dazai.
All he wants is Dazai’s approval, but he isn’t even worthy of that apparently. He feels weak and vulnerable, so he puts all he can into his art; but, it still isn’t enough.
Akutagawa sighs under his breath.
Ring...Ring...Ring...
“Hello, Akutagawa speaking.”
“Good you answered. Now, I’m calling you to discuss your next work.” The voice on the other line was Dazai’s.
The raven coughs. “Yes. I already have a few ideas-“
”You can scrap those. I already have something in mind for you.”
”Oh, I understand.” Akutagawa clenched his fists.
Dazai carried on. “As you may know, a new artist was invited to start painting for the gallery a few months ago. I would like you do collaborate on a painting together for the big event coming up.”
Akutagawa had heard of this newcomer, but hadn’t met him yet. “Shouldn’t the rookie be working on a project of lesser value?”
Dazai laughs, a haunting laugh. “Don’t be so vain. My new apprentice has greater potential than you ever did.”
Why is he so special? Why am I not enough?, is what he would have said. But, despite being constantly ridiculed by Dazai, he still yearned for his approval. So he bit his tongue and moved on, “When would we collaborate?”
Akutagawa heard a slight laugh on the other end of the line. “So eager. It would be in a few days, on Thursday.”
”I see.”
”I would like to see your other works by the end of the day today. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
The call ended.
The raven-haired male slammed his fists on the counter, hanging his head low. His breathing was staggered. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry. Crying was a sign of weakness, Akutagawa is not weak. No, he couldn’t be weak. He wouldn’t let himself be disgraced like that ever again.
“Damn it! Why aren’t I enough? Am I not worthy of anything!”
Am I not worthy of love?
He stormed off to his bedroom where he kept his painting supplies, Rashoumon followed close behind him. He picked up a canvas and a pack of cigarettes. He drowned his anger and sorrow the only way he knew how.
He sat on a stool in front of an easel that hold his canvas. Taking a lighter from his bedside table and lighting his cigarette, he breathed in the smoke. It was intoxicating. His fury was numbed by the sensation of fumes being breathed in and out. The raven then took his paints and brush, he started to prepare the canvas.
Painting wasn’t just something he did for his job, Akutagawa loved to paint. It was, in a way, a coping mechanism for him. Each stroke of the dark shades tainted the canvas. He had no plan for what it was he was doing, but he hoped it would turn out decent. His mind wandered to places he wanted to seal off. His thoughts transferred onto the canvas.
It was a church. No, it was the church. The one in his hometown, if you could even call it that. In all honesty, Akutagawa has never felt at home anywhere. The house where he was born used to be fine, until he realized he was different. His feelings weren’t normal, weren’t right. Nothing about him was good. No one would even bother to reassure him. No one cared; but that was okay because eventually he learned to not care about them either. His cries were nothing but background noise.
With each stroke, his pain transferred to the canvas. Mixing reds and blacks in contrast with the lighter beiges and greys, the colors glided across the surface. The painted building that rested on the canvas was mocking him.
”It wrong to feel that way.”
Disgusting.
”You should feel ashamed of your self.”
Disgraceful.
”Eww, faggots should burn in hell.”
Worthless.
The ones that preached love, had no love for him. Not even his own parents accepted him. So, he hid away from their judgment. He was weak, no one would tell him otherwise. Counting down the years till he could leave became a habit for him. On the day when he finally could be set free from the chains of his conservative household, he bought a small apartment and began painting. It would be better, he could be free, right?
Wrong. The raven’s hatred of himself grew like a plague deep down in his withering heart. He was undeserving of life, but he wouldn’t give in to that vulnerability. Settling for pain seemed fair, right? That was until he met a man of the name Osamu Dazai, the art gallery owner and manager. It wasn’t inspiring nor would his words even be considered kind, but to Akutagawa it was the first time anyone ever acknowledged his suffering. He remembers what Dazai said in full clarity, “Pitying yourself? You have no right. Don’t settle for the pain, just get it all over with if your truly miserable. But, I know you don’t have the guts.” It was cruel, but the raven now had something, someone, to acknowledge him. If only it were that simple.
Beep...Beep...Beep...
His phone alarm blared throughout his room telling him that hours had passed.
”Fuck! I’m going to be late!” He cursed as he grabbed what he needed whilst hurrying to the door.
The raven-haired man pat his cat on the head before rushing out. Once he arrived at the station, he boarded the train.
How dare someone try to take Dazai away from me! I prove to him, and whoever the rookie is, that I am better...
Thus his story began; although, it would be more accurate to say downfall.