Chapter Text
June 19th, Switzerland.
It was cold on the dawn of Osamu Dazai’s 18th birthday.
They sat together on the edge of the rooftop, snow-capped mountains sprawled as far as the eye could see all around them. The sun had yet to peek its first rays of morning light through the charcoal clouds that hung heavy above their heads. A chocolate cake lay half eaten between them, two white plastic forks stabbed into the middle like makeshift candles.
Dazai kicked his legs childishly in the air while Chuuya rested his chin contentedly on his knee, not looking at each other but rather just enjoying the company.
“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Dazai murmured, breaking the silence. “You could turn around and go back downstairs right now. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“We both know that’s not going to work,” Chuuya responded automatically, shutting him down.
“Hmm,” he hummed, closing his eyes and feeling the wind ruffle his hair.
Chuuya turned his head to look at the boy beside him, eyes dark and an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re not wearing your weird bandages.”
“I didn’t think they’d be necessary today,” Dazai answered lightly.
“I like you better without them,” Chuuya said quietly, eyes still settled on his partner. He ran a hand absently along the worn spine of the book in his lap. The Language of Flowers. “What’s your favourite flower today, Dazai?”
Dazai was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “Crocus,” he decided after a minute. Youthful gladness. He turned to meet Chuuya’s gaze, brown eyes warm and soft like melted dark chocolate in the low lighting. “-and yarrow.” Everlasting love.
Chuuya smiled. “Mine are violets-” loyalty and devotion. "-and roses. Red ones.” I love you.
With a flash of a grin, Dazai stood up in one smooth movement, limbs uncoiling under him like a cat. He offered a hand to help Chuuya up, who took it and interlaced their fingers so they were holding hands as they faced the sky together.
They were both just eighteen, the oldest they’d ever been, yet they’d never felt so young.
Drawing in a deep breath, Chuuya tilted his chin back to look up at the clouds above him. A murder of crows flew overhead, chasing each other to the woods on the other side of the building he and Dazai were teetering on the edge of.
“I want to be reborn as a bird in my next life,” Chuuya thought aloud.
Dazai’s thumb traced idle circles on his palm. “You? You’re more likely to reincarnate as a slug, or a rock.” he laughed when the other boy went to hit him, holding up his free arm in front of his face.
“What do you want to come back as? A beautiful woman? A crab?” Chuuya teased, really only half-joking. He did want to know what the brown haired mystery next to him wanted to become in his next life.
“I’d like to not be reborn at all,” Dazai quipped. Chuuya rolled his eyes.
“Boring. I bet you’ll be reincarnated as some sort of toxic chemical people use to clean their windows,” the ginger drawled. He lifted his arm up so it was parallel to the ground, turning his hand to let the wind blow through his fingers.
They were silent for a long moment, then Dazai said slowly, “I want to become something beautiful. Like a sunset. Or a flower.”
“That is disgustingly poetic,” Chuuya scoffed, but there was no heat behind his words. His blue-grey eyes were swirling with an emotion that Dazai couldn’t quite place. Sadness? Melancholy? Woe? No, none of those seemed to fit.
“I want to meet you again.” Dazai declared suddenly. Chuuya’s head tilted to look at him, surprise written all over his face. “In our next life, I mean.”
It took a moment for Chuuya to process that. “We might not live in the same place,” he deadpanned.
Dazai bit back a laugh. He flicked Chuuya’s forehead, earning a hiss of annoyance out of the shorter boy. Then he said confidently, “I’d find you.”
Three words, spoken with such certainty and delivered with a kind smile was all it took for Chuuya to believe him.
“Not if I find you first,” Chuuya argued, competitive to the end.
But it was that attitude that had drawn Dazai in at first, that attitude that had made him subconsciously look for the other boy wherever he went.
“I’ll bet you on it then. If I come to you first you have to become my dog-” Chuuya promptly flipped him off, making Dazai snicker. “-but if you come to me first I’ll grant you one favour.”
Chuuya eyed him. “A favour?”
“A favour of anything you want.” he nodded, satisfied with his proposal.
“Okay. You’re gonna lose, just so you know,” Chuuya said airily, a smug look on his face as if he’d already won.
His curiosity piqued, Dazai leaned closer so their faces were just inches apart. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’d know you anywhere, in any body. You’re too much of an asshole for me to miss in a crowd.” Chuuya tilted his head so their faces were even closer, noses almost brushing. “That’s what I mean.”
Dazai blew out a laugh, genuinely startled and all too pleased from his partner’s words. He grabbed Chuuya’s other hand, bringing their interlocked fingers up in between their chests and pushing slightly so Chuuya was supporting a little bit of his weight. “Then I’ll be waiting for you, my dear tiny, angry Hat Rack.”
“Let’s just hurry up and get this over with. You can waste time talking when I hunt you down in the next world.” Chuuya groused, pointedly shifting and peering over the edge of the building to the forest floor far, far below. “You’re sure this is high enough?” He already knew it was.
Dazai smirked. “Of course. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Dazai.”
“Chuuya.”
His partner turned to him, gently untangling his hands from Dazai’s to reach up and take Dazai’s face in between his calloused fingers, pulling him in for a single intimate kiss. They stood for a moment, breathing in the scent of each other and drinking in the taste.
Then Chuuya pulled back, grabbed Dazai’s right hand in his left one, and stepped out into open air.
April 29th, Japan.
51 days earlier.
It was hot the day Dazai boarded the plane and set off to Switzerland.
He’d read online that assisted suicide was legal in the Central European country and immediately purchased a ticket from Tokyo, Japan, to Lucerne, Switzerland. After thoroughly concerning the portly woman next to him by enthusiastically showing off his battered copy of the Guide to Suicide, he skipped off the plane and went to hail a taxi that would take him to the Assisted Death Agency hospital.
Successfully securing a taxi with his broken Swiss-German, Dazai watched the city of Lucerne fly by outside the window, taking in the medieval architecture and shimmering water in the distance. The driver pointed out landmarks along the way up the mountain, even explaining some of the history in a mix of English and German.
Once they’d arrived at Dazai’s desired location, the cab driver got out with him and lit a cigarette as he leaned against the car. “You are too young, do not waste life here.” the man said gruffly, jabbing a finger at the ADA hospital as if he held a personal grudge against it.
With a cheerful grin, Dazai thanked the man for his words and paid him, then picked up his leather suitcase and walked inside.
He shivered as he was blasted with AC and breathed in to find not the typical hospital smell but rather a distinct woodsy scent that was oddly comforting. Surveying the lobby, he took in the dark wooden walls and carpeted floors, the soft couches that had blankets stacked in the corners, and the reception desk that was noticeably empty.
Making his way to the desk, Dazai inspected the space for a bell or something that might alert a staff member of his presence. Coming up empty, he blew out a disappointed sigh and went to flop down on one of the couches. Taking out the Guide to Suicide he flipped absently through the pages, occasionally bookmarking a new strategy he hadn’t considered before or found semi interesting.
A few minutes later the door behind the desk opened and a tall man with dirty-blonde hair stepped into the lobby, his gaze fixated on a small notebook in his hands.
Sensing Dazai’s stare, the man looked up and snapped his book shut, gesturing for Dazai to come up to the desk.
“You’re Japanese?” the man asked in German.
“I am.” Dazai confirmed and smiled when the man switched to speaking fluent Japanese.
“I’m Doppo Kunikida with the Assisted Death Agency, how can I help you today?” He tucked his book into his back pocket and sat down, resting his hands on the computer keyboard.
“Besides dying?” Dazai asked, cocking his head. Why else would he be here if not to die? The agency’s headquarters were tucked in the mountains; it wasn’t like he could have just stumbled here by accident.
“We’re getting to that part. What’s your name? Do you have a scheduled appointment or were you hoping to register for a consultation today? ” Kunikida spoke seriously, his expression unchanging.
“My name is Dazai. Osamu Dazai. I heard you can help me die painlessly?” He pressed the tips of his fingers together so his hands formed an upside down V, an excited look on his face.
Kunikida ignored the last part, typing something into the computer and sliding a clipboard over top of the desk. “Fill that out and then I’ll register you for a session with Doctor Akiko Yosano.”
“Will this take long? I was hoping to be able to skip to the whole assisted death bit as soon as possible.” Dazai didn’t even glance at the clipboard.
Narrowing his eyes and sighing through his nose, Kunikida pushed up his glasses and set his chin on the back of his hands, resting his elbows against the desktop. “Dr.Yosano will meet you for a consultation and then she’ll decide whether or not we can assist you in your suicide. This may take anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks depending on when her schedule allows her to see you. Fill out that form and be quiet and I’ll book you in as soon as possible.” His tone of voice left no room for argument, so Dazai took the clipboard and plucked the pen from behind Kunikida’s ear.
Scanning the pages, Dazai suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long day.
---
An hour later he’d thoroughly annoyed Kunikida to the point where the blonde man kicked him out and now he wandered the mountain trails with his suitcase swinging at his side.
Dazai stopped short when he came across a bridge and spotted a boy around his age with a guitar case across his back sitting on the railing, legs dangling over the edge. He wore a soft grey sweatshirt and black jeans that were ripped at the knees, and a maroon backpack leaned on the rusted metal bridge posts next him. He had long ginger hair half tied up in a ponytail on the back of his head and his eyes were fixed on the mountain floor far below them.
“Are you sure this is high enough?” Dazai called out suddenly, tucking his hands into his pockets.
The ginger boy started, head whipping around to fix a cold blue-grey stare on him and legs coming up to rest against the side of the bridge. “I’m not going to kill myself,” he said bluntly.
“Then what are you doing?” Dazai tilted his head to the side, walking forward until he was only a few feet away from the stranger.
“What are you doing?” the boy shot back.
He had to bite his lip in order not to laugh. “I’m enjoying the scenery.”
The boy raised a disbelieving eyebrow, looking Dazai up and down. “You’re not from here,” he stated.
“Neither are you,” Dazai responded. They’d been conversing in Japanese, and the ginger didn’t hold himself like a European.
He shrugged and hopped off the railing so he was standing in front of Dazai with his arms crossed over his chest, tilted ever so slightly forward on the balls of his feet like a bird about to take flight. He was shorter than Dazai had initially thought, only coming up to his shoulders.
“Are you a tourist? There’s a hotel a little ways up the mountain if you follow the trail,” the boy said, pointing behind him.
Dazai stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. Deciding since he had nothing else to do and was rather intrigued by the stranger in front of him, he suggested brightly, “Could you show me the way? I’m afraid I’ll get lost if I go alone.”
Eyes flashing in mild annoyance, he sighed and uncrossed his arms, turning and gesturing for Dazai to follow. “I’ll take you to the edge of the forest, you’ll be able to see the hotel after that and there are signs that’ll point you in the right direction.” Dazai noticed he didn’t go to grab his backpack, which meant he would probably return here after showing him the way.
“Thank you- ah, what was your name again?” Dazai asked with a polite smile.
“I never told you it,” he replied bluntly.
“Allow me to rephrase: what’s your name?” Dazai was surprised to find he liked talking to this kid, even if he was being somewhat rude. There was something about him, a sort of liveliness that drew him in. It was strange, but it wasn’t bad.
He walked alongside the boy, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“Chuuya.” The boy, Chuuya, said finally.
“Just Chuuya?”
“Chuuya Nakahara.” He’d never asked for Dazai’s name, but he told him anyway.
“That sounds like a pen name,” Chuuya remarked placidly, offering a hand to help Dazai over a fallen tree trunk. Taking it, he was curious to find Chuuya’s hand was scarred and calloused and firm like a soldier’s. It didn’t quite fit the whole slim, guitar playing vibe he had going for him.
“Thank you,” Dazai said, well aware it wasn't a compliment. Chuuya sighed through his nose but said nothing.
They continued on for a while in silence until Chuuya’s phone rang and he held up a hand for them to stop for a moment. Dazai remained quiet while Chuuya took out his phone and glanced at the caller id before declining it and tucking the phone back into his pocket.
“You’re not going to answer?”
Chuuya scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, no. Anyway we’re here.” He waved a hand absently toward where the trail opened out into a park. Sure enough, there was a hotel that perched on the edge of a cliff with cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. A sign at the end of the trail had instructions in German and arrows pointing to it.
“Ah, thanks.” Neither moved for a long moment, then Chuuya seemed to shake himself awake and awkwardly stepped back, his arm half raised in a wave.
“Auf wiedersehen, Osamu Dazai” he said, not meeting Dazai’s eyes and quickly turning to walk back the way they’d come.
He blinked, unconsciously raising his hand to wave back. “Ciao, Chuuya Nakahara.”
Oh, how cruel fate can be in moments like these.