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Today is his birthday.
Typical day. The same as all the previous ones. Nothing different from the next. Everything is the same and future birthdays will be the same. Disappear, mix in the mush of monotonous weekdays.
Osamu, with a blank smile, cracks open a bottle of inside-burning liquid; the last thing that can still warm him on such lonely cold evenings in his own apartment, just like now.
With a sip of alcohol, a drop of blood rolls charmingly quickly down the scarred arm. And again. Dazai runs the blade lightly over the skin, playfully, squeezing the hand at the cut for a minute, to then let it go. Hand goes numb.
Dazai no longer smiles, his dead eyes look at the flow of blood that gushed from deep wounds (his heart has long been one big wound anyway). The brunet brings the neck of the bottle to his lips, only to realize that the bottle is empty. It hits the floor with a crash, shattering as Osamu stabs the blade harder into his skin, switching to his other hand. More. More. He needs more, damn it! Enough that he will no longer feel his miserable existence! Shame on how pathetic he is.
It became hard to breathe.
His throat seemed to be tightened with a polyamide rope, although he didn’t seem to be planning anything like that today. Was it a phantom feeling, or was he really getting into a noose now? The chair was very real underfoot.
A bright white spot suddenly flared up in front of a cloudy look, and immediately after that, the tightening feeling on the neck weakened and disappeared altogether.
- Dazai-san! - a hysterical voice broke into the stillness of the evening.
Yes, it is him, a nonentity in all his miserable nature.
- Dazai-san! - the voice did not let up - Wake up, Dazai-san!
Atsushi. This voice belonged to his subordinate. Dazai heard everything as if under water now, but he recognized the voice. He couldn't help but know. No other way.
It seems that the silver-haired boy hastily called someone. Dazai could see nothing but blurry silhouettes and outlines. His subordinate, his beloved, was sitting right in front of him (they were on the floor ..?) and, it seems, was crying. Because of him? What nonsense. But this is Atsushi, his cute tiger cub. He would cry for someone like him.
- Osamu, don't die. I'm begging you.
His name.
The brunet widened his eyes so that he could see everything around him as clearly as he could now.
Atsushi.
From the way the boy shuddered, Dazai could tell that he had called his name out loud. It sounded more like separate sounds, but Nakajima made out.
- The agency will be here soon. Please hold on a little longer.
Osamu was ready to wait. Just for Atsushi. For happy moments next to him. Perhaps, for the sake of him alone, he can try to live longer.