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It
It had been a difficult week for Dazai. There was no particular trigger for it, aside from bad luck messing with whatever stability he had managed to gain over the past two years. Still, he never resorted to visiting Chuuya unless his mental health had truly hit rock bottom, which was too frequent for either of their likings.
This had been another one of those nights. Dazai had shown up at Chuuya’s penthouse apartment for the fourth time this week, although earlier than usual after leaving work earlier that day.
Dazai knew his redhead usually came home a considerable time later than when he’d arrived, but he’d hoped that things would go his way just this once.
But in another display of his misfortune (or realistically, what he should have expected), Chuuya wasn’t home. But that fact failed to stop him from entering his lover’s apartment by force anyway.
Although the apartment lacked his redhead’s presence, it was better than his apartment back at the agency dorms. A place that didn’t look like nor feel like a home (not that he ever considered it that way either). There was little evidence that anyone even lived there, but that was a topic for another time.
He walked into Chuuya’s kitchen and sat on a bar stool facing the kitchen counter. He leaned forward and laid his head on his arms and sighed lightly. He was tired, in more ways than one. He closed his eyes and his thoughts took hold of his attention.
He noted how empty he felt again. A person shouldn’t feel that way. He was aware of this, but when was he considered a person? Never, that’s when. Not by himself, anyway.
Although Chuuya seemed to think otherwise, not that he had a very clear understanding of his lover’s thoughts or feelings when Dazai himself was involved in the matter (a fact he’d never admit, of course).
Dazai just felt the feeling (if it can even be called that) of emptiness fester as his thoughts continued.
As his train of thoughts progressed down the tracks in his head, he grew restless. He had started spinning the bar stool in an attempt to try to get rid of this feeling, but it wasn’t enough. His nails had dug into his forearm at some point.
He stopped spinning and started simply shaking his arms in jerky-like movements in an attempt to get it all to just stop, if only for just a moment of peace.
The apartment was too quiet. He needed something else.
He fished into his pocket, pulled out his phone, opened the music app, and put on a random song. He didn’t care as long as it was loud enough to keep his head silent, but it still did nothing to quiet the voices screaming at him in his head.
He thought it was almost funny that that was how he’d describe it, yet if he was asked what he was thinking of, he wouldn’t be able to respond (not that he’d want to). It was as if he didn’t fully understand what was being said to him, yet it killed him to have these words thrown at him at all.
Before he had realised it, he had started scratching at his wrists after moving wasn’t enough. It was a reaction he didn’t have to think about twice before acting upon and a reaction he hadn’t even realised he’d given into.
He could feel so much, yet he couldn’t feel anything at the same time. Having so many drowning thoughts yet having no thoughts at all, all at once. Feeling overwhelmed without realising it or knowing what you're thinking or why you're overwhelmed by the build-up of emotions and yet drowning in the emptiness in his chest.
He couldn’t understand it.
He couldn’t deal with it.
He started to sit up and grabbed onto his forearms. He couldn’t tell you when he had changed positions; it all happened without him processing it.
He dug his nails deeply into his skin, just hoping it’d hurt. He didn’t even know if he was doing it to feel something or to numb himself out, but what he did know was that pain was the only resolution he could think of at the moment or in general.
It was Chuuya who’d distract him or have him try something else, so now, being all alone with his mind so full, he simply couldn’t think, and so he fell back onto what he’d known best, pain.
His knuckles began to whiten as his grip tightened on his forearms. His eyes fell in and out of focus as he realised he was shaking.
‘How did he get here...? He was okay before... so what happened...? What went wrong...?’
If he were to honestly ask himself the last question, it would be "what didn’t go wrong?" It’s a question he’d often find himself asking. The answer to his question often changes depending on his state of mind.
But as his eyes fell out of focus again, the buzzing in his head got louder and louder. His shaking was intensifying. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He was panicking. He hadn’t even noticed how his breathing started picking up and increasing in pace.
He tried hitting his thighs. With all his strength, he hit as hard as he could to try just to have the familiar feeling of pain shoot through him again. He was never strong enough, though. He could try for hours and it wouldn’t make much of a difference. He was weak in more ways than one.
His head darted around, looking for a way out. Anything would do. He just needed something.
His eyes landed on a small kitchen knife on the counter nearby. His eyes locked on it without realising it. He stopped moving for a moment and just stared at it for a moment in hesitation. He reached out to grab it but hesitated again.
Did he want to do it like this?
He stared forward for a moment before grabbing the knife, getting off the bar stool and sliding down the counter, rolling his left sleeve up, and undoing the bandages off his wrist and a little of his arm. He could faintly hear keys and a door opening, although no thought was added beyond the bare recognition of the sounds which he had barely managed to register in the first place.
He knew Chuuya wouldn’t be happy if he found out, but he couldn’t (and wouldn’t) bring himself to think about that, not now at least. He could hear footsteps approaching but couldn’t focus his mind on them long enough to have any reaction to them. He didn’t even realise that they were approaching him.
He brought the knife up to his left wrist with a shaky hand, but before he could do anything else, he felt hands hurriedly hold his wrists and softly take the blade from them.
Chuuya had come home.
{–} - {–} - {–} - {–} - {–}
Chuuya had come home earlier than usual because of the newfound frequency of his mackerel’s near-nightly visits. He knew he finished a decent amount of time before him, and since his work schedule lacked tight time guides, he could come in and out the majority of the time on his own accord unless he had incomplete work or a mission he had to get to. And so he decided to come home earlier than usual in case Dazai came to visit.
He walked in to see lights on and shoes, Dazai’s shoes, near the doorway tucked away messily to the side. He hurried inside in fear that he had left Dazai alone for too long already. He waltzed into the kitchen first, only to find his lover huddled in on himself with his back against one of the kitchen counters and a knife up to his wrist with his bandages thrown on the ground next to him.
He walked up to him, to not startle him, and bent down in front of him and caught his wrists. He slipped the knife out of his hand gently. Dazai tensed but didn’t pull away. His hair covered his eyes as his arms went limp in Chuuya’s hand, which was now holding both of his hands.
Chuuya placed the knife on the counter behind Dazai and sat down in front of him.
"You want to talk about it?"
His tone was a well-practised one. One that was made just for situations like these, where if he talked about how he felt, it would cause a great deal of damage to the person he was trying to help. In this case, Dazai.
He was heartbroken to see this scene before him again. This wasn’t his first time seeing something of this sort, which is what broke his heart most of all. Knowing this would likely not be the last time his lover would feel awful enough or hate himself enough to do this to himself hurt him more than he would ever be able to describe.
It made him sick to his stomach to see that the one he loved so much, with all his heart and soul, would do something like that to himself, and Chuuya would often only be there to clean up and help him through the aftermath. He was more often than not unable to stop him before the damage had been dealt, but now he had the chance to stop his lover from hurting himself, so he couldn’t throw that away feeling sorry for how useless he often found himself to be.
And with that thought, he turned his attention back to Dazai, who had yet to move or say anything since letting his arms go limp. Until Dazai turned his head to face the floor for a moment in thought before shaking his head. He swallowed thickly before talking for the first time since Chuuya had arrived.
"...I’m sorry…"
His voice was faint and shaky—like he was about to burst into tears.
Chuuya began softly massaging circles into the back of Dazai’s hands with his thumbs. It was a routine Chuuya had come accustomed to, but it still hurt him to see the one he loved suffering like this. He had to be strong for Dazai right now, so he pushed aside the sickness in his gut and slipped back into his well-rehearsed tone and expression.
"I’ve told you before not to apologise."
Chuuya lifted Dazai’s chin gently so he could look at him. Dazai still refused to meet his eyes, but he could tell how glassy Dazai’s eyes were getting. Chuuya brought his hand up from Dazai’s chin to cup his cheek and softly brush his cheek with his thumb.
"We all have bad days, Osamu. What matters is that we continue going after them and know it’s okay to ask for help and get it when we need it. "
Dazai’s gaze fell to the ground again.
"..."
A small sigh escaped Chuuya’s lips. He gently pushed Dazai’s head so it was against his shoulder, to which Dazai didn’t resist. He began running his fingers through Dazai’s hair the way he knew he liked it. His other arm went to wrap itself around Dazai’s back, rubbing Dazai’s back in the process.
Dazai hesitantly wrapped his arms around Chuuya’s back and started lightly drawing shapes onto it.
They both sat down in silence for a bit. Dazai's phone died a while ago without much notice being taken by either of them, putting the music to a stop, and so they both took the moment to collect their thoughts and process their feelings. They didn’t know how long they stayed like that, not that it mattered much to either of them.
This was the space they felt they could be vulnerable without being judged or taken advantage of. It was a place that represented comfort for both of them. It was their own space, just for the two of them. A place for them and them alone.
It was only after a while that Chuuya turned his head to face Dazai and kissed his cheek. Dazai turned his head to face Chuuya with the side of his head leaning on his lover’s shoulder.
"You want to move to the couch?"
Chuuya’s tone was soft, but Dazai could see something else in his eyes.
Relief? Disappointment? Sadness? He couldn’t tell (or maybe he just didn’t want to). Dazai pushed the thought aside, and just silently nodded.
"Alright, let’s go."
He let go of Dazai and stood up without letting Dazai’s hands go.
"Thank you."
His voice was quiet, but Chuuya still heard it and offered him a smile in return.
"No worries, Makarel."
"I thought you said I was a cat."
That earned a chuckle from Chuuya.
"Or was it because Chuuya secretly possesses some ki- "
"Don’t push it, Mackarel."
Dazai smiled slightly at their bickering but kept his head down as he and Chuuya walked hand in hand slowly to the couch. Chuuya grabbed a fluffy blanket from the couch's armrest and draped it over Dazai before sitting down next to him and pulling it over himself as well.
Dazai huddled closely with Chuuya, then wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned his head on his shoulder. He was drawing shapes into Chuuya’s side as Chuuya ran his fingers through Dazai’s thick dark locks.
Chuuya turned on a random show on low volume that neither he nor Dazai noticed. It was a quiet night for them, in their lover’s arms, where they knew that things would always be better. As they both started dozing off in each other’s arms, they only huddled in closer together as the background noise from the TV lulled them both to sleep.