Work Text:
His shoes clicking against the marble tiles is the only sound he can hear.
This feels… wrong, somehow. He shouldn’t be here. The hallway is too pristine, too surgical. The walls are a creamy white, and small vases line wooden shelves. It’s strange decor for a place like this, he thinks. The lack of noise is disconcerting. His right calf is itching terribly, but he doesn’t want to bend down and scratch it. This shouldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not ever.
He always knew this day would come. He just didn’t think it would be so soon. It’s only been a few years, hasn’t it? And to think he’d been so excited when the phone had rang. He should have known better.
His shoes are too loud, he realizes. He doesn’t like it. But, then again, the silence has always spoken louder than words, hasn’t it?
…he’s thinking too much. He needs to find Yosano before he gets lost in his own mind. She’ll manage to get him where he needs to be, and get a glass of wine in his hand. God knows he’ll need it.
Stupid little brat with the stupid mean words and stupid smile. Chuuya doesn’t care at all. He totally doesn’t care. At all.
It’s just that it’s his first day of second grade, and he’s at a brand-new-school, and he was really thinking things could have gone better.
Whatever. He doesn’t need friends, anyways. He’s got Kouyou.
“Hey, you’re the short kid from across the street!” Somebody says behind him. He tenses slightly. He’s not in the mood to get teased by two different people in a row.
Surprisingly, though, he recognises the kid behind him. He remembers peering around the door, staring with wide eyes as Arthur accepted a welcome-to-the-neighborhood pie from the smiling man with the greasy hair. He remembers noticing the sullen-looking boy standing behind him, with messy brown hair and weird-looking bandages. There had been a girl with him at the time, a butterfly clip pinned to her hair, around Kouyou’s age. He stands alone, now.
“You’re the doctor’s son,” he says quietly. “Didn’t know you went here.”
The boy laughs. “Where else would I go? That’s a fair question, though. Lots of people think I’m homeschooled, because apparently, my house is haunted .” He mimics a monster, laughing. “I don’t really care. It just keeps their annoying voices and stupid brains away from me.” He frowns, tilts his head to the side. Chuuya finds his own head tilting, too. “Do you have stupid brains, too? You probably do. You’re short, and all that red hair must rot your skull.”
“Hey!” He jumps to his feet, glaring. “My hair does not rot my skull! And I’m not even that short!”
The boy laughs again. He sure likes to laugh, Chuuya notes. “I’m just joking. You seem like the only semi-decent person here.” He extends a hand. “The name’s Dazai. Dazai Osamu. Looking forward to being your friend, Chuuya.”
Really, he should turn around. Ignore him. The kid acts like a snobby asshole, and Chuuya’s doing just fine on his own. Really.
…he takes Dazai’s hand. It's both the best and worst decision he’ll ever make.
“Chuuya?” Yosano taps his shoulder, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Sorry,” he mutters, “Didn’t hear you coming.”
She smiles, sympathetic and pained and miserable all in one. Her hand rests on his shoulder almost as an afterthought. Chuuya’s never known her to be physical, but here she is, clenching his shoulder like it’s a lifeline she needs to stay alive. But at a time like this, he can’t really blame her. It’s not like he’s seen her in years, or anyone in this horrible building, for that matter. “What are you doing out here? Everybody else is already inside, you should join us. There are even snacks.”
He grimaces. “I think I’d only end up throwing up any food. And- I just can’t go in there. Not yet. I don’t want to-” His voice cracks.
God, he really is weak, isn’t he? Breaking down at the mere thought of-
No. He can’t even say it.
“Okay, then.” She smiles again. Somehow, the second one is worse than the first. “Well, we’ll be inside, okay? Join us when you’re ready. We’re starting at three.”
He nods tightly. Her hand slips off his shoulder, and she walks away, heels clacking on those tiles. Those goddamn tiles.
“Hospital floors are ugly,” Dazai says simply.
“What are you even talking about?” Chuuya mutters. He’s clutching his arm, rather tightly, if he might add. “They’re just floors.”
“No, they aren’t, and I’ll stand by this until the day I die!” They proclaim dramatically, jumping to their feet. “They’re gross, and cold, and remind me of pain. The worst ever.”
Chuuya just stares. “You are so weird.”
They’re eleven, and stupid, and sitting in an empty hospital room. Only a half hour earlier, Dazai had dared him to climb the broken tree hanging above the creek behind his house. Obviously, that had been a bad idea, and now his arm is throbbing massively. He gets the feeling it might be broken.
It’s okay, though. Dazai managed to get them ahead of the massive lineup by smoothly and easily manipulating the lady at the front desk, and through his father’s pass. Mori Ougai may be a slithering, creepy asshole, but he has his uses, Chuuya supposes.
“Hey,” Dazai says suddenly. Chuuya looks at him in surprise. “I guess I should say sorry, right? It’s my fault your arm’s hurt.” They’re staring ahead resolutely, but Chuuya can see his chin wobbling slightly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Who else will I annoy at school?”
…and Chuuya comes to the realization that Dazai actually cares about him.
Sure, he knew vaguely, somewhere, in the back of his mind (he thinks). It’s been four years since they first met, and neither of them has any other friends. It’s hard to make them in this rich, cliquey little town they live in, so it’s only natural that the outcasts stick together, isn’t it? But Chuuya had never thought that Dazai had picked him. He’d always thought it was the two of them because there was nobody else. But here they sit, nearly in tears over Chuuya, and he feels a warmth erupt in his chest.
He’s got a friend. A best friend, actually.
“Oh, shut up, you dumb mackerel.” He says, smiling. “I’m the one who accepted your stupid bet, aren’t I? Besides, you don’t annoy me, I annoy you. I’m the strong one.”
Dazai’s lips curl into a smile, real and genuine and everything Chuuya wants to see. “I’m the smart one, though. Everybody knows brains are better than brawns. Try working out your brain one day instead of your arms, hmm? Maybe then you’ll hold a candle to me.”
“Why, you little-!”
The hospital room erupts in laughter. Chuuya can almost (almost, almost) forget about the throbbing pain in his arm.
Everything’s gonna be just fine. Because now? It’s not just him.
He runs into the next person both literally and metaphorically.
“Sorry, sorry!” The person squeaks, bowing profusely. Their silver hair is cut into weird diagonals, and they’re wearing suspenders . Chuuya cringes internally. They look nice, though, with kind eyes and a worried smile.
“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m a bit in the way, aren’t I?”
They shake their head. “No, no, this is my fault! I got lost looking for Yosano-sensei, and I’ve been running the halls like a madman. I’m truly sorry for bumping into you.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen. “You’re looking for Yosano? As in Yosano Akiko?”
They nod. “Do you… know her?”
“Yeah, I’m-” his throat closes up. “-I’m here for- I’m here with her, too. I’m pretty sure she’s inside already.”
Suspenders (well, Chuuya can’t really call them weird diagonal haircut, can he?) nods sorrowfully. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here for the same thing as me. My name’s Atsushi Nakajima. Thank you for the tip, by the way- she told me to meet her by the entrance, but I’m running late.”
Chuuya forces a smile. “No problem. I’m Chuuya Nakahara.”
Now it’s Atsushi’s turn to gasp slightly. “ You’re Chuuya? Oh, I should have known! You’re here, and you have red hair, and you’re short! How did I not realize?”
“Um. What.”
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just- Dazai talks about you all the time, you know? I’ve always wanted to meet you.” They bow their head. “This is the worst possible time, though.”
And goddamnit, if that doesn’t make the writhing mass of emotions in his chest so much more complicated. But he forces it down, like he does everything that has to do with the bastard named Dazai, and nods in agreement. “This timing couldn’t be worse.”
“I can’t believe we missed it!” Dazai’s frown is big, and he crosses his arms dramatically. “First day of high school and we missed the bus! This sucks!”
Chuuya snorts. “It’s your fault entirely. I told you we needed to leave earlier.”
“You wanted to leave at seven in the morning!”
“We’re going to a different city , Dazai, you fucking idiot, it takes over an hour to get there!”
They roll their eyes. “Whatever. I’ll just skip, then, it’s not like it even matters. School is for the weak anyways.”
“Don’t be dumb,” Chuuya frowns, “Kouyou can just drive us.” He pulls his phone out, dialing the number he knows so well. She picks up immediately, grumbling the whole time, but he knows she doesn’t mind. She’ll always pick up for him. After all, that’s what siblings do.
Ten minutes later and she’s pulling up at the curb, glaring at them both. Yosano is riding shotgun already, so Chuuya and Dazai hop in the back, shrinking away from the angry energy their older sisters are radiating. The car ride is dead silent, but not awkward - the four of them have been hanging out for years, ever since that fateful day back in second grade. Kouyou, disregarding safety entirely, gets them to school in record time. They slide into class (together, luckily) with moments to spare.
It’s their first time going to a school that’s not in their tiny little town. Here, nobody knows them. Chuuya isn’t the shrimpy ginger with anger issues, and Dazai isn’t the voodoo doctor’s son with the haunted house. They’re just Chuuya and Dazai, Dazai and Chuuya. It’s as simple as that. Kids are staring at them, but it’s not because of their reputations - in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Chuuya would be scared, except for the fact that Dazai’s at his side. As long as it’s the two of them, he doesn’t need to worry.
They’ll be friends forever.
He wonders when Kouyou will get here.
He’s not going in until she gets here. It’s stupid, and pathetic, he knows. He’s twenty-three, for God’s sake! But staring at those doors, clean and white and pristine, they should be dripping with blood. Painted with the souls of the dead. These are the doors to hell, and Chuuya’s seven years old again, all alone in a brand new town, scared and needing his sister’s hand.
He slumps against the wall. Here, he’ll wait.
(Here, he’ll wait forever.)
Turns out, Chuuya had been scared for nothing.
At high school, he and Dazai had made friends alarmingly fast. They’d never been considered ‘cool’ before, what with their bad reputations, strange personalities and constant bickering, but here, there are people just as weird (if not weirder) as them. He’d been scared that having so many new friends would somehow break the connection he has with Dazai, but honestly? That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“-and then, like, I jumped out from behind the shelf and grabbed them!” Tachihara says, arms flying wildly in the air. “They were totally spooked!”
Gin glares at him. “That is absolutely not what happened.”
Chuuya snorts. “Let me guess, you flipped him the second he touched you, and then he cried like a baby?”
They nod, a smirk dancing on their lips. Dazai claps their shoulder, laughing wildly, as Tachihara stands up, trying to protest. The only one missing from their makeshift friend group is Kajii, who’s stuck cleaning the chem lab after he not-so-accidentally exploded it. They’re all puzzle pieces, rough with uneven edges and chipped paint, not quite fitting together - but they make it work.
(Other than Dazai, he thinks. Their pieces will always interlock perfectly, as long as he has something to say about it.)
“Hey, Chuuya, you gonna eat this?” Dazai says, leaning over with a shit-eating grin. He wiggles his fingers before reaching down, grabbing a piece of sandwich, and cramming it in their mouth. Chuuya cringes in disgust.
“You’re so nasty,” he says, shaking his head. “Now you gotta buy me a donut after school.”
“No, please! Take pity on me! Chuuya knows I have no money!”
“You’re the one who chose to steal my sandwich!”
They throw an arm over their eyes dramatically. “This is bullying. Harassment! I’m calling the police!”
“Oh, shut up, idiot,” Chuuya says, but he’s smiling fondly.
Yeah. High school is gonna be fine.
Kouyou shows up ten minutes later. Her all-black attire is striking against the brightness of her hair. It looks wrong, wrong, wrong. There’s always a splash of color somewhere on her clothing, pink or purple or coral or something. She’s like a walking fashion ad, always flashy, always chic. In fact, the last time Chuuya even saw her wearing black was at their parent’s funerals, all those years ago.
Her gaze had been sorrowful, then. It’s still sorrowful, now.
“How are you holding up?” she asks softly. She’s acting kind, sisterly, the way she hasn’t acted in years. It makes him want to wrap his arms tightly around her stomach and sob into her shirt. It makes him feel like a little kid again.
(In this building, with these people - in a way, he almost is.)
“Fine,” he shrugs, trying to play it off. He’s twenty-three, he’s an adult, and he doesn’t need to cry to Kouyou every time things get hard. He’s okay. He’s fine. He doesn’t need help.
She just smiles, a sad, sad, smile. She knows he’s lying. She always knows he’s lying. She won’t bring it up, though - she’ll just keep smiling, and squeeze his hand, her silent way of letting him know she’s here to talk. She can be a shoulder to lean on. He knows that. He should lean on her. He should find support.
…but then again, support’s never really been his strong suit, has it?
For the first time in four years, Chuuya finds himself counting down the days until graduation.
“He’s just- he’s always here! And he’s always asking me for help, and I want to help him, Chuuya, I want to, but I just can’t! I’m not the person he thinks I am. I’m an impostor! A fake! If he ever knew the real me, he’d hate me, and I don’t think I could take that! He’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that, Chuuya. With- with admiration, you know? With respect. And it hurts, because I don’t deserve any of that, and he doesn’t deserve to be jerked around like this, but it’s too late to back out, and if I do, then Gin’s gonna hate me, and I don’t think I could take that either, and-” they throw their hands up in frustration. “Why is this so complicated?”
Chuuya takes another bite of his sandwich. “I told you, this should have ended before it even began. If I were you, I’d just keep deflecting until we graduate. Then, we’ll go to France, and you can- I dunno, let him down slowly.”
Dazai looks at him, defeat in his eyes and panic in his face. “I know, I know. But I can’t just flat-out ignore him as soon as we graduate, because that’ll mean ruining my friendship with Gin.” They bite their lip. Chuuya resists the urge to walk over and tell him to stop. “But you’re right. I just have to graduate. Then, things will be easier. Maybe he’ll stop idolizing me if he doesn’t ever see me.
“Yeah, that. See? It’ll work out. You’ll be fine.”
Dazai snorts. “Anybody ever told you how bad you are at being reassuring?”
“Yeah. You.”
“Well, I’m right. I’m always right! It’s why Akutagawa idolizes me, you know. Because I’m a genius who’s always right!” A smile is plastered on Dazai’s face. Chuuya knows it’s fake. Dazai knows he knows, but it’s fine. Because they know everything about each other.
They’re Dazai and Chuuya. The unstoppable duo.
Besides, they’ve got their life plan sorted out and everything. Move to France, attend Sorbonne - Chuuya for Humanities, Dazai for Science. Chuuya will reconnect with Verlaine, who divorced Rimbaud four years ago, and Dazai will have the chance to get away from Mori. They’ll room together and everything. It’ll be perfect. It’ll be reality.
They just need to get through this last year. Fix things up with Akutagawa, keep themselves from sabotaging their friendship with Gin, and graduate.
Easy peasy.
“Do you want to go inside?” Kouyou asks.
Chuuya shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “I just- I can’t.”
She nods. She’d expected that, and he knows it. Her hands fall to his shoulders, to his arms, drawing him in tight. He doesn’t shy away. His head turns to fall onto her shoulder, and she begins to run a hand through his hair. It’s soothing.
“I need to go inside,” she whispers. “I need to see Akiko. I need to check on her.”
Chuuya knows. He knows, and he nods. As much as he doesn’t want to ever let go, he’s not the only one who needs Kouyou’s magical hugs. Yosano and Kouyou have always been close, Chuuya thinks, from rooming together in college to visiting each other weekly once they graduated. It’s easy when you live in the same country.
(He wishes it had been so easy for him and Dazai. Maybe then, he could have prevented this - prevented everything.)
“I’ll see you inside,” he whispers, voice thick with unsaid emotions. She gives him one last squeeze, one more stroke to his hair, before joining the others through those horrible, horrible doors.
Dazai doesn’t attend Sorbonne.
Chuuya flies over, alone, staring out the window with a tense jaw and anger in his fists. His phone blows up continuously over the next few weeks. It’s Dazai, of course - who else would it be? But Chuuya is angry, and stubborn, and he knows that if he even heard their voice, he’d break, and he’s not that pathetic. So he ignores every single call.
It only takes a month for Dazai to stop calling.
It’s fine. Chuuya’s not- he doesn’t care. If Dazai’s asshole enough to ditch him without warning, at the very last second, about something as important as fucking university? Chuuya simply doesn’t care anymore. So much for best friends. Besides, he’s doing just fine in France without Dazai - Verlaine is great, funny and kind and not too overbearing, the way Rimbaud is. Not to mention the friends he’s already made. Albatross, Pianoman, Iceman, Lippman and Doc are people he really cares about, even if he won’t admit it. Even if they have the strangest names of all time.
Kouyou calls him, two months into his college experience. She seems sad, something which tugs at Chuuya’s heartstrings. “I saw Dazai the other day,” she begins, subdued and cautious.
He’s immediately on guard. “So what? I don’t care.”
“Don’t lie to me, Chuuya, I know you better than anybody else. Besides, I can hear Cars 2 playing in the background. I thought that was a ‘sacred movie you’d never watch without Dazai’?”
He grits his teeth. “It’s- whatever, okay? I’m fine.”
Kouyou sighs. “You should give him another chance, okay? I’m sure there’s more to the story than what he’s letting on. There always is, isn’t there?”
And Chuuya doesn’t know how to answer, because the truth is, she’s right.
Dazai’s always hidden things, even from Chuuya. He curls away from others and bottles up his emotions, choosing to hurt others before they can hurt him. Chuuya knows this, has always known this. Usually, he’s better at picking up on it, but Dazai broke the news to him over the phone, and, well- he’s prone to getting blinded by his anger. It’s ironic, in a way. Dazai has trouble letting his emotions out, while Chuuya can’t seem to keep them in. It’s fitting.
(Dazai and Chuuya, Chuuya and Dazai. Together forever.)
He calls Dazai the next day. The conversation is awkward, stilted. But Chuuya manages some form of apology, and Dazai somehow reciprocates, and before long, they’re laughing as usual.
But this is only the first crack, isn’t it?
And the gap will only widen.
He really, really hates those doors.
They’re ugly, and they’re way too big for the building they’re in, and the white coloring is so bright it’s nearly blinding. So much for the dark colors of mourning. When all he can see is white, sterile and eerily reminiscent of a hospital, he gets the chills. Dazai would have hated a place like this. He just knows it. He would have hated it.
“Chuuya?” Somebody says behind him, and he nearly jumps. The voice is way too familiar, much too old for his comfort. It’s been years, and he should have kept in touch, he knows, but this is exactly why he didn’t - it’s bringing back painful memories he doesn’t want to remember.
“Gin,” he replies, turning around. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
They stand there, dressed in a sleek black suit, which isn’t as shocking as Kouyou - Gin always wore black, even when they were in high school. It is strange to see them in a suit, though. They were never one for fancy clothes. Clearly, though, they’ve changed over the last three years, since the last time Chuuya saw them. Their hair is cut shorter, and there are streaks of purple in it. It suits them, he thinks. They would look happier, if it weren’t for where they were.
Tachihara stands next to them. He’s also wearing a black suit, only much less professional than Gin’s. His red hair still sticks up in every direction, but the ever-present bandage on his nose is gone, something which greatly shocks - and distresses - Chuuya. He, too, looks older. More put-together. It was naive of Chuuya to just assume that all his school friends would just stay the same, but really, he’s still shocked that they’ve all grown up, continued living, just like he has. His heart swells with love for them. No matter how long it’s been, they’ll always be important to him, he knows. Just like Dazai.
Finally, the third person standing in line is Akutagawa. This is even weirder for Chuuya to see. He’s always been younger than they’ve been, and he’s always been the one tagging along, showing nothing but contempt for everybody but Dazai. They, too, are wearing a black suit, and his eyebrows raise when he realizes just how expensive it looks. Clearly, he’s done well with his life, better than Chuuya, that’s for sure. His hair is still the same as it always was, but there’s something about his face that’s grown, that’s worn. Suddenly, it hits him that he never really knew if Dazai kept in touch with Akutagawa, or Tachihara, or Gin. He never really knew whether their friend group stayed together, or whether it fell apart - whether he was the only one to leave, or if they all went their separate ways. He finds, with nausea rolling in his stomach, that he doesn’t really want to know. Not at all.
“It has,” they reply. “How have you been doing?”
“Alright,” Chuuya replies. The conversation is so stilted and awkward it’s almost painful for him. “You?”
“We’ve been good,” Tachihara replies with an easy smile, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re gonna go in. You wanna join us?”
He looks down, swallows the bile currently rising up his throat, and checks his watch. 2:58. He should probably head inside, shouldn’t he? In all honesty, he’d much rather do anything than attend this stupid thing, but he knows he would hate himself more if he didn’t go. He looks up, giving his three (ex) friends one last look. There’s sympathy in Gin’s eyes, tiredness in Tachihara’s, and something… almost unreadable in Akutagawa’s. He holds the final gaze for longer than he probably should, but he can’t find it within him to look away.
(There’s something about Akutagawa’s eyes that reminds him of Dazai.)
“Yeah. I’ll come.”
After that first fight, things are never the same.
It’s hard, with Dazai off in Japan, while Chuuya studies in France. They call often, he calls all his friends often, but where once Dazai would have been calling once a day, he finds himself picking up the phone once a week. Where once, the two of them would have had a special bond, it seems that all the friendships have evened themselves out, just a little bit. It makes his chest hurt, makes something squeeze inside him until he lies gasping for breath on the floor, shaking, but there’s nothing he can do about it.
They’re different, and things have changed. Forever.
He spends time with the Flags, the stupid club name his friends made up. He’s one of them, and it feels good, and the love he feels for them is equal to the love he feels for his friends back in Japan, even if they’re not here right now. Not to mention Verlaine; it’s taken some time, but they’ve managed to fix themselves. The divorce was hard on Chuuya, an angry teen just bursting with emotions, but he and Verlaine go bowling every weekend, and he drops off leftovers at Chuuya’s apartment sporadically. He flies back to Japan for Christmas, soaking up the time he has left with Kouyou and Rimbaud, hanging out with all his old friends like he used to. He sees Dazai, once. It’s by accident, in the grocery store. Dazai didn’t know he was back. It’s the first time he sees such a shock on his friend (ex-friend?)’s face. It makes him cry until he can’t possibly breathe when he gets back home and locks himself in his room, but that’s okay. Verlaine comes over, too, and for the first time in years, he has a civil conversation with Rimbaud. It’s enough to make Kouyou cry. They spend Christmas all together, like the happy family they used to be.
Then Rimbaud and Verlaine die.
A car crash, they say. Drunk driving, they say. There are no tears until he actually sees their bodies in the coffins, and then they come spilling out, soaking through his shirt and staining the coffin’s wood. Kouyou disappears halfway through, but she comes back for the eulogy. They’re buried in France, so the two of them flew back over, and the funeral is filled with people they don’t know, people they’ve never known. Yosano is here, though, rubbing Kouyou’s back and whispering softly in her ear. Dazai is here, too. Chuuya told him he didn’t need to come. Dazai just shrugged, before walking away. The two of them find themselves in the bathroom after the ceremony, and Chuuya cries so hard that he falls to the floor, head cradled by Dazai’s laugh, broken howls tearing themselves from his throat. For the first time in a year, they feel almost normal.
Chuuya never sees him again.
He doesn’t return to Japan. Why would he? There’s nothing left for him there but bad memories. He keeps in contact, but it doesn’t last, and by the time he’s twenty, Gin, Tachihara, Kajii and Akutagawa are nothing but memories. Dazai is one he holds a little closer to his heart, but they haven’t spoken since their brief, terse call at New Year’s. Kouyou comes to visit him, especially now that she’s working for a fashion magazine in England, and she keeps him sane. He has to stay sane.
It’s all he’s able to do.
He takes a seat in the very back.
Or, tries to, at the very least. Tachihara shoots him a frown when he breaks off from the group. All he does is shake his head sadly, though, and the three of them continue forwards, joining Kajii in a row closer to the front. He manages to stay at the back, silent and out of the way, until Yosano catches sight of him. She sighs, walking over.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a frown on her lips. “There’s a seat for you up front. Come on.”
“No, Yosano, you know what- I think I’m good. Feeling a little sick anyways, so I might just-” she shakes her head, grabbing his wrist. He should have known better than to think she would listen.
“Please, for me, at the very least,” she says. “I need all the support I can get. Dazai does, too. Please?”
And fuck, when she puts it like that, well… he can’t refuse, can he?
Everybody’s watching him as he walks up to the front row. Usually, he’s good with people, but today, he feels like he might faint, and all these eyes are making him tense and anxious. When they get to the seats, he all but falls into it. Kouyou on one side, Atsushi on the other. They must have been really close to Dazai, Chuuya realizes. It makes him strangely sad that he never knew any of this, even though it’s entirely his fault. Atsushi offers him a small smile, and grips his hand tightly. Fuck. Chuuya can see why Dazai liked them so much.
The funeral begins. To be honest, the whole thing feels like a fever dream. Yosano goes up and delivers a eulogy, one she begins to cry midway through. Atsushi’s eyes are constantly running with tears beside him. The entire room is filled with the sound of crying. A lot of people cared about Dazai, he realizes. His eyes stay dry the entire time. He really, really hopes this won’t be a repeat of his parents. That would just feel so, so shitty. He doesn’t deserve to care this much about Dazai. Not after three years of radio silence.
God, he wishes he’d never ignored that stupid phone call. Maybe then, maybe if they’d stayed friends, then-
-then maybe Dazai would still be around.
Maybe, just maybe, Chuuya would have been enough to keep the noose off of their neck.
Just like that, the dam begins to break.
The name’s Dazai. Dazai Osamu. Looking forward to being your friend, Chuuya.
I don’t want you to get hurt. Who else will I annoy at school?
Hey, Chuuya, you gonna eat this?
Anybody ever told you how bad you are at being reassuring?
(Dazai and Chuuya, Chuuya and Dazai. Together forever.)
I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.
Peals of laughter. A hand, ever so soft and so, so familiar, caresses his cheek.
Oh, Chuuya. I was never mad at you.
I’m the one who should be sorry.
I miss you.
He begins to cry.