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“I never thought I’d be able to love.”
“Dazai, you fool, shut up.” The voice was strained, dark and tainted with stress. It came out through clenched teeth, owner’s hands becoming rich with red.
Dazai hummed, leaning against the brick wall. Slowly bleeding to death in a dark, dreary alleyway. How oddly fitting. Despite the gaping wound spilling metallic crimson, he’s never felt more comfortable.
“Isn’t it odd, Kunikida?” He shifted, groaning in pain as his body flared complaint.
Atsushi fretted nearby, tears glistening brightly in iris-esque eyes. Pupils pulled to a slit, heartbroken sob tearing through his throat.
Kunikida pushed the spare cloth more onto the wound, barely doing anything. It was too late. The damage was too severe. Yosano wouldn’t make it in time.
Ranpo leaned against the other wall, hat hiding his face. Guilt was present in the way his breath shuttered. Ultra-Deduction, the ultimate unbeatable skill, failed. Dazai frowned. It was amazing how much you put yourself out once it doesn’t matter.
“I… I think I understand now. Why families risk their lives for each other. Why people do anything for anything.” He bared his heart for the agency to see, vulnerable and weak. It was rich with hesitancy, a rare appearance for someone so falsely sure-fire. But once he started, the flood gates shattered and every little thing bitten down on suddenly slipped past his tongue and lips. “I didn’t think I deserved it. To have a family, I mean. Somewhere to belong. I always thought I’d be casted aside by society, and I think I was okay with that. I’m not okay with that anymore. I don’t want to leave. Not when I fina-”
“You won’t have to leave, dammit. Just stop talking.” Kunikida was the only one who seemed rational. But Dazai could see it was just a mask. He could hear glass shattering from the detective, heart and brain conflicting.
“I’m happy. I don’t regret anything.” Dazai settled on after a silent moment. It was true. When he danced with death, he always felt the electric intoxication of adrenalin. An addiction that wrapped his bones and whispered promises into his ears. Somewhere he belonged. Dead .
But now that his death was finalized, he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel joy in finally, finally being able to let go. He didn’t feel fear that he’ll face the reaper soon. He didn’t feel anything except an all consuming peace, like his life wasn’t meaningless. Like he, in his final moments, did something he could be proud of.
“... I’m tired.” Dazai could tell the words slurred based off the lazy movement of his tongue. The world was so clear yet so nauseating at the same time.
Atsushi reacted, grabbing his hand. Tears flooded down his face. Why? “Keep your eyes open. Please .”
But he was tired? And he felt so comfortable. Something he never had before. Surrounded by his family, what else would be a better time for a nap? But the little tiger he brought in seemed distraught by the idea, so he could amuse him for just a bit longer. “Tell Chuuya I’m sorry. I had promised that he would be the one to kill me. I’ve broken so many of his promises.” Dazai smiled, micheve shimmering his chocolate eyes. “Not that I regret it, of course.”
Kunikida nodded slowly after a moment, eyes closed tightly. The hand Atsushi grabbed felt distant. “Hmm… I’m also sorry I dragged the agency into my problems, I guess. I didn’t feel anything before. But I guess I feel apologetic now? I should’ve handled it myself.”
Ranpo moved for the first time since the injury. Oh right, Dazai was injured. He forgot. The pain had melted away, leaving only a fuzzy discomfort. “D-Don’t say that…” His voice was cracking as he shifted, pulling his hat down further. “We’re family. That’s what family does.”
Dazai beamed. He felt warm, and that wasn’t from the injury. He thinks. “I like the sound of that.” His laugh was quiet, soft and airy as it echoed in the alleyway. “Family…”
“Hey, hey. Eyes open.”
The brunette groaned, distantly processing a slap across his face. Right, right. He had more to say. It came out as a desperate ramble, heart tightening more painful than the wound at the thought of not spilling his every fiber for three people around him.
“I really hated the Port Mafia. I was always so numb there. I was always numb, but it was worse there. So much blood spilled. It was by me.” Dazai realised he was probably incoherent, mind flicking between time periods and places at rapid speed. “The agency was warm. I didn’t like that either. It was too warm, and I was so cold. Did I deserve to be there?”
“You do deserve to be here, with us.” Kunikida’s voice was a quiet interception to his ramble, slightly starling Dazai. He forgot who he was spilling to. For a moment, he thought the bitter air around him was his only audience.
“The agency…” He paused in thought, thinking hard. His mind was going, curling through his fingers and disappearing without another moment. “Please, make sure the agency is fine. I know it will be… but… please.”
The others sensed the pure desperation coming from the dying man. There wasn’t a hidden message like everything Dazai said. It was raw, bore for all to see in a frantic plea. The two closest to him nodded. Ranpo only curled into him more.
“Yes. I’m glad.” Dazai relaxed against the wall. He hadn’t realised how tense his shoulders were. The wall was like a pillow, and the world opened up under him. He swore he was falling or floating, and realished in the feeling. “Kunikida. Listen to me.”
This caught the blonde’s attention. He opened his eyes, dirty green eyes emotionless. A mask trying to remain strong. “... I’m listening, Dazai.”
He continued after the confirmation, playfulness turning serious. “Do you remember the promise we made, when we teamed up for that one mission?”
It was arbitrary, but he seemed to get it with the way recognition flickered in the void. “Good.” Dazai coughed, ignoring the rancid taste of metal. It was a taste he was so familiar with, especially when it consumed his every sense and created his being. “I won’t break this one.”
“What are you talking about?” The cloth squished, signaling his breaking resolve.
“Your favourite pen. It’s in Atsushi’s locker, under that tiger plushie he had at the bottom.”
The seriousness in the air broke, Dazai smiling smugly. He promised to return that pen… one day. He wasn’t honestly going to, but… what better day than now?
“You bastard.” Kunikida’s voice croaked halfway through, burning tears finally free from his tear duct. Atsushi mumbled something, squeezing his hand. Ranpo shuttered, whether from a chuckle or sob Dazai couldn’t tell.
Was that all he wanted to say? No, there was so much. Everything and nothing tipped his tongue. He wanted to give his piece and being to the agency, whispering secrets and buried feelings to them. But it was too late. He was always too late.
“I’m really tired…” Dazai tore his eyes away from the people, opting to stare at the sky instead. “Can I sleep? Please?”
“Have a good nap…” Ranpo’s small frame stood up, kneeling next to him. “Remember us, okay?”
His eyes seemed to set fire. Such intense emerald, glimmering bright with unspilled tears.
Dazai sighed in content, humming that tune Kunikida hated so much. It was only peace. Acceptance. He wanted to fight. Some small voice defied death, desperate to stay with the family he just embraced. But wishes were nothing more than words. If they held even a smidge of power, he wouldn’t be dying in such a dreary place made bright.
His eyes closed, voices and feelings becoming so small and far. Every feeling seemed to be split from his body and mind, physically and mentally. Dazai felt an exhaustion so deep it crafted his blood and forged his bones. Floating in the void, he forced one last thing before his conscious faded:
“I think I found what love is.”