Work Text:
I. eighteen
April 29th, 2018
To my dearest Chuu-Chuu,
Happy birthday! I hope that wherever you are, you’re having the worst day possible. No really, like the worst possible series of events that could ever happen to anybody. I hope a bird shits on your head and then you get evicted from your house (≧∇≦)/ If you ever get evicted, I have a spare room! You should come live with me! *wink wink nudge nudge*
Okay, okay, I’ll be serious. Happy birthday, Chuuya. Are you turning twenty-two or twenty-three? I can’t really remember, which is problematic because we’re the same age, which means I can’t even remember how old I am. Ah, well, whichever one it is, I hope you have a big cake and lots of wine! Whatever happened to that 1989 bottle of Petrus you loved so much? I hope you drank it at this point, and if you haven’t, because you’re just a shitty collector, then I hope a raccoon breaks into your house and drinks it for you. Are you doing anything special for your birthday? I can’t imagine birthday celebrations are much fun in France, if that’s still where you are. I sure hope it is, because that’s where I’m mailing this letter.
Speaking of letters, you might be wondering to yourself why on earth I’m writing you a letter like a Victorian lady. For that, I have two answers: one, you still have me blocked, and two, I broke my phone yesterday and I still haven’t fixed it yet. I’m like a new man! Uncontrolled by the claws of technology and free to live my life as I please! Do you like technology, Chuuya? I bet you have a secret computer that you play stupid video games on, like League of Legends. You’ve always been weird, and I bet video games are no different. So? Am I right, Chuu-ya? Do you play LoL like a loser?
Ah, who am I kidding? You’re probably way too busy to play LoL. I’m sure you spend all your days cooped up inside, writing poems like some kind of weird hunchback ghost. Do you even make appearances in society, or do you just churn out poetry and then sleep?
(Not that I read your poetry. Not at all. And this letter is getting stupid so I’m ending this rudely because I can.)
Sincerely not yours,
Dazai Osamu
II. twenty-one
April 30th, 2018
To Dazai,
What the fuck is wrong with you. No, genuinely, like—what the fuck is wrong with you? Who the hell just writes somebody else a happy birthday letter after three years of silence and the letter isn’t even nice and you’re still such an asshole and this response is only to let you know that we’re still not speaking to each other.
(I don’t play LoL, you bastard. And I make appearances in society. Unlike you.)
Fuck you,
Nakahara Chuuya
III. thirteen
October 3rd, 2015
“Oh,” Kunikida says, peering at the newspaper in surprise. “Nakahara-san published another poem.”
“Really?” Yosano says, leaning over his shoulder for a better look. “Well, is it any good?”
“It’s not in the paper… looks like to read it, you have to buy it.”
“Probably the French influence,” Ranpo says. “Fucking money-grabbers. Don’t worry, I’ll have it pirated by tonight, and then we can have a reading party.”
“Who’s Nakahara-san?” Atsushi asks, eyes wide. “Is he a poet?”
“Yeah, a bad one,” Dazai says with a chuckle. “Don’t bother pirating it, Ranpo. I already purchased it, and it’s garbage! Chuuya’s not going to write anything of quality ever again.”
...
Dazai’s always been a good liar.
IV. twenty-three
May 4th, 2018
To my pet slug,
Are you sure that’s the only reason you replied? You seem kinda heated for somebody who ‘doesn’t care’ \(^o^)/
Also, nothing’s wrong with me! The only problem I have is that I’m speaking to you, ew! Can’t believe we’re keeping up this correspondence! I’m only replying to you because I can’t let you have the final laugh, can I? It’s practically my duty in life to beat you in everything I do, even letter-writing. Which you’re clearly shit at, alongside good grammatical sentence structure. Just because you’re a poet doesn’t mean you get to break grammar rules (*￣m￣)
What are you still doing in France, Chuuya? Who likes the French anyways? The only good thing they’ve ever done is make croissants, and wasn’t that Austria? They didn’t even make croissants! Totally lame, if you ask me, which you totally should. Because I’m ultra smart and cool. I’ve only gotten cooler since the last time we saw each other, can you believe? Also, can you please confirm in your next letter whether you’re twenty-two or twenty-three? I think I’m spiraling into an existential crisis over not knowing.
Lastly, who said it was up to you whether we spoke or not? I think I get a say, don’t I? I say we speak! Speak to the wind, for who else will? Look at me go, so poetic and cool! You should totally write back, Chuuya. I’m looking forward to making fun of your terrible grammar again (≧∇≦)/
(Also, I appear in society all the time! The ladies love me~)
You’re still shorter than me,
Dazai Osamu
V. twenty-two
May 1st, 2018
“He actually responded…” Dazai says in amazement. The paper between his fingers is weirdly thin, and suddenly, he’s scared of tearing it. “What do I do about that? Akiko??? I need help, what do I do about that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Reply back? What else would you do?”
“I don’t know! But I can’t just reply, then I seem desperate! I can’t let him know that I’ve been agonizing over these letters for nearly three years!”
“So don’t. Forget about it, then. Just don’t answer.”
“No, I can’t do that either, because then we’re really done for. What kind of horrifying situation have I gotten myself into?”
VI. twenty-four
May 4th, 2018
Dazai does not, in fact, know how old he is. Slightly concerning, yes, but what can he do about it? He can only sit and wait and hope that Chuuya replies. He’s twenty-two, he thinks, most likely. Twenty-two makes sense, doesn’t it? Twenty-two sounds right. But so does twenty-three, and honestly, he has no sense of time so it could be either—
He lies back down, presses his hands to his eyes, and prays Chuuya writes him back.
VII. twenty-five
May 7th, 2018
Dear Mackerel,
How can you not know how old you are? Geez, I knew you had a bad memory but this is a new low. I just turned twenty-three, jackass, so you’re still twenty-two. There’s your daily reminder that I’m older, and better than you. Also, I have good sentence structure, I just choose not to waste it on you. You don’t deserve my excellent writing. Which one of us has won awards for writing again? Oh right, me.
Next, fuck you, France is actually a great country. And they’ve invented more foods than just croissants, dumbass. Plus, if you had actually been paying attention three years ago, you would know that I’m in the country for an apprenticeship with Rimbaud and Verlaine. And I will not be asking you anything because we are Not Friends and we are still not talking. This is the last letter I will be sending you.
(Stop using those horrible emoticons, they’re disgusting. Don’t write them out on paper, you piece of shit.)
Go crawl into a hole and die,
Nakahara Chuuya
VIII. five
January 14th, 2011
“Am I your best friend, Chuuya?”
“I want to say no, but I’d probably be lying, wouldn’t I?”
“Haha! So you admit it! You’re stuck with me forever, then. No take-backsies!”
“...I take it back.”
Interlude
“I just don’t like ya no more.”
“You do like me.”
“I don’t.”
“But you liked me yesterday.”
“Oh, did I, yeah?”
“I thought you did.”
— The Banshees Of Inisherin, 2022
IX. fourteen
October 4th, 2015
Chuuya’s new poem is very, very good. One of his best works. Dazai doesn’t really want to acknowledge it.
Whoever it’s written about, it’s clearly somebody very dear to Chuuya. Somebody who makes his heart flutter, who brings out his smile on the coldest days, the first person he looks for when he enters the room. Somebody Chuuya looks at the way Dazai once looked at him.
He sighs, tossing the poem across the room, and lies down on his bed. He doesn’t really know what to do without Chuuya in the same building as him, let alone in the same country. It’s already been nearly three months since he left, but this is the first time his absence hurts like a hole in his chest. His heart keens at the memory of Chuuya lying next to him, fingers lazily brushing the bandages on his wrist, red hair wisping around his head like a halo. Dazai hates him. He hates him, wishes he was dead, that stupid dog that can’t even follow simple instructions. Dazai wants to see him again.
It really is a good poem.
X. twenty-six
May 9th, 2018
To Chuuya,
First of all, how dare you insult my genius? Age is just a number after all, I don’t care that much (✿◠‿◠) I’m still smarter than you, slug! And probably taller, too. How tall are you now? Did you finally hit 5 feet? Aw, I’m so proud!
Blah, blah, blah, your whole segment on France was so boring (=_=) and I knew you had an apprenticeship, I just didn’t care! Surely you must be done by now, how much can you really learn from a pair of old, gay geezers who do nothing but sit inside all day and be sad? I mean, come on, you must just be churning out the sad gay poetry. Why not do that back in Japan?
Also, I know you’re going to respond to this (*^3^)/~☆ you always do! We’re talking right now, aren’t we? Plus, I’m still your master, and you’re still my dog, so. I command you to reply.
(The emoticons are soooooo cute! You’re just boring, Chuuya (;—_—) There! See how I wrote another one?)
Yours truly (not),
Dazai Osamu
XI. one
June 19th, 2009
Dazai meets Chuuya on a sunny day.
It happens to be his birthday. This fact is rather irrelevant, but he’s turning fourteen, and they meet at his birthday party, so maybe a little bit more important than he’d anticipated.
Chuuya is the brother of the caterer, a beautiful young woman named Ozaki Kouyou, and Dazai doesn’t know he even exists until Kouyou shows up ten minutes late with him tucked behind her arm. Dazai’s mother is nothing if not charitable, and he spends the afternoon skulking around Dazai’s house, watching with disgust as rich kids throw themselves willy-nilly with no care for their surroundings. His hair is the brightest color of red that Dazai has ever seen, and he fascinates him endlessly.
“Hey,” he says, tapping him on the shoulder once his mother has retreated and the kids (none of whom even like him) have disappeared to another room. “My name’s Dazai. You’re Chuuya.”
He blinks. “I am,” he says, guarded. “What’s it to you?”
Dazai grins, toothy in a way most fourteen-year olds aren’t, and grabs him by the hand. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”
XII. three
September 17th, 2009
“Is this poetry?” Dazai says gleefully, running around his room, eyes flying across the smudged words written down in Chuuya’s worn-out notebook. “This is gold! The best blackmail I could ever find! Man, I’m going to have so much fun with this!”
“Give it back, asshole,” Chuuya growls, chasing him, but there’s no bite behind his words. They both know Dazai would never say anything about this unless Chuuya wanted to. Their fights are all bark, no bite; all lies, no truth. “I’ll step on both your hands!”
“So violent,” Dazai laughs, settling down on the bed and thumbing through the pages. Chuuya drops down beside him and forcibly shakes the bed. “Hey, this isn’t half-bad!”
“Shut up,” Chuuya mumbles, snatching the book back. “Of course it’s not. I’m a great writer.”
“So confident! Chuuya, would you ever write a poem about me?”
A snort. “Are you insane? Never.”
“Ah, well. I would be such a good muse, though! Full of melancholic beauty and an inability to love.”
“Don’t be dramatic, idiot. You’re neither of those things and we both know it.”
Dazai smiles. He may not be getting a poem today, but Chuuya’s words are nice enough, and he’ll treasure them for the rest of the week. Besides, he’s sure he’ll get a poem at some point.
Surely.
XIII. twenty-seven
May 11th, 2018
To Dazai,
I’M FIVE FOOT TWO, YOU ASSHOLE.
And don’t say that stuff about Arthur and Paul! They’re not sad! I mean, they are gay, and they do stay inside all the time, but they’re perfectly happy! Just like me! Without you!
And I don’t. Write. Sad. Gay. Poetry.
ALSO I’M NOT YOUR DOG AND I NEVER WAS.
This is the final letter I’m writing to you.
Good riddance,
Nakahara Chuuya
XIV. sixteen
October 5th, 2015
France is incredible. Amazing. The scenery is beautiful, and the small cottage Chuuya’s staying at (courtesy of Arthur and Paul) is pinterest-worthy. He’s already written some poems about the streams dashing behind his cottage, and the woodpecker that keeps flying around his yard. He published his first French poem two days ago, and it was just the right level of intimacy to appeal to the public without being too overbearing, and already it’s rapidly becoming popular. Everything about this is perfect.
…Except for his stupid, stupid heart. Unfortunately, he seems to have caught a case of Missing-Dazai.
He would rather die than admit he misses Dazai.
But he does, and it’s not going away. He thought publishing that poem (which was so obviously about him, god he hopes he didn’t read it) would help, but it didn’t, and now he just misses him more than ever. He never thought he would miss the bastard waking him up at the crack of the dawn, but their shared apartment had been warm and homey and every single day Chuuya wakes up alone in this cottage is another day he fears he might have made a mistake.
Still, Chuuya is nothing if not resilient. He came here with a goal, and nothing (not even Dazai) is going to keep him from achieving it. So he picks up the pencil, gnaws at the tip a bit, and begins to write.
Again.
XV. nineteen
April 29th, 2018
“How are you doing, lad? How are Arthur and Paul?” Kouyou’s voice is soft over the phone. Chuuya swallows thickly.
“They’re good. They got me a new notebook for my birthday.” He should tell her. He should tell her, right? This is the kind of thing people tell their siblings, right?
“Is something wrong, Chuuya?”
“I, uh. I got some mail this morning.”
“Oh? Anything interesting?”
“...It’s from Dazai.”
A beeping echoes through his ear. She hung up on him.
XVI. twenty
April 30th, 2018
Kouyou’s manicured nails tap against the coffee mug rhythmically. Dazai is terrified.
“I received word yesterday that you resumed correspondence with my brother,” she begins.
Dazai eyes her carefully. “...yeah.”
“Is there a reason why?”
He shrugs. “I guess I just wanted to? Do I need a reason?”
She smiles thinly, and it’s the scariest thing Dazai’s ever seen. “You do if you plan on hurting Chuuya,” she says calmly. “If you manage to bring him back to Japan, I will be forever in your debt. But if you push him even further away, I will not hesitate to exact my revenge. Do I make myself clear?”
Dazai nods vigorously. “Yep, yes ma’am. Definitely.”
Kouyou is one scary lady.
Interlude
“I am afraid because I can so clearly foresee my own life rotting away of itself, like a leaf that rots without falling, while I pursue my round of existence from day to day."
— Dazai Osamu, The Setting Sun
XVII. twenty-eight
May 12th, 2018
Dearest honey-buns Chuuya,
How could you say such hurtful things about… about your fiance? (ToT) (*￣m￣) I’m wounded, my love! Absolutely crushed! You, who I have loved for so many years, are now telling me you have found another woman? How could you do this to me? I have been faithful! I have been patient! I have loved you the way a fiance should love you!
lmaoooooo
You definitely do write sad gay poetry! I see you publish it all the time!
(I DON’T READ IT THOUGH. I’M READING IT OVER AKIKO’S SHOULDER.)
I love writing funny letters to you, it brings me satisfaction to picture your face turning red when you open them (づ￣ ³￣)づ I’m such a lovely friend!
Dreaming of you, love of my life,
Dazai Osamu
XVIII. twenty-nine
May 13th, 2018
To Dazai,
You are the most disgusting person I’ve ever met.
From,
Nakahara Chuuya
XIX. thirty
May 15th, 2018
“I just received word from Ozaki,” Kunikida says irritably, dropping a stack of papers on Dazai’s already overflowing desk. “She told me to tell you to ‘fuck off for the next few weeks’ because Nakahara is coming to visit.”
Dazai’s world stops.
The earth stops spinning. Gravity shifts its axis, and Dazai becomes a magnet, once again tethered to the only person who’s ever made him cry.
Chuuya.
Back.
In Japan.
After he sent all of those embarrassing letters????? What the fuck?????????????
“I think I’m going to puke,” he says faintly. Across the room, Tanizaki turns green.
XX. seven
February 15th, 2011
The first poem Chuuya ever publishes is a shitty romance poem in the back of a library pamphlet.
They had a challenge running, the entire month of January and into February, for a Valentines’ Day pamphlet which would feature a poem of the librarian’s choice. Chuuya definitely doesn’t want to enter (his poems are sacred, damnit) but it’s hard to say no to Dazai, especially when he just wouldn’t. Give. Up. At some point, his deadly puppy eyes win him over, and on the challenge’s final day, Chuuya finds himself dropping a crumpled-up piece of paper into the librarian’s smiling hand. His face burns when he does it, but Dazai is clapping his hands in the background, so he can’t help but smile.
The next day, the pamphlet comes out. Chuuya’s poem is the winner, and he flushes red with embarrassment when Dazai grabs it and reads it with surprising concentration. He flushes even deeper when he tells him, in all seriousness, that it’s the best poem he’s ever read.
What Dazai doesn’t know is that the best friend described in the poem—the one who’s described with such longing and love—is him.
What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?
XXI. six
February 14th, 2011
An excerpt from the Yokohama Library Valentine’s Special ♡ Youth Poetry Awards!
Winner: Nakahara Chuuya, 15 years old
Format: Free Verse
“Of all the colors in the rainbow,
I think I like green the least.
Because it reminds me of you,
And the way you never look at me like I want you to.
Somehow,
That hurts more than anything else.”
XXII. thirty-two
May 17th, 2018
Chuuya returns to Japan at midnight.
Kouyou waits in the airport for him, hands clenched together. When she sees him emerge from the baggage claim, she walks forwards briskly and pulls him into a hug before he can register what’s happening. His arms reach up as well, and he relishes the feeling of her, solid and real beneath his fingers. It’s been three years since he’s seen her, which is immediately three years too long. Japanese air feels clean inside his lungs, and he smiles. He’s missed his home, and he’s infinitely glad to be back.
“We missed you,” she says softly.
“I know,” he replies.
She takes him out for ramen, then he checks into his hotel. He’s jet-lagged and too tired to deal with anything else, so he crashes to bed immediately, phone left unchecked on the bedside table.
It’s not like he’s waiting for any messages, anyways.
XXIII. eleven
August 5, 2015
“Hey.”
“Hey there, slug.”
“How’s everybody doing?”
“Wow, not even a kind word for my heart? You wound me~”
“Shut up, idiot. How’s everybody else doing?”
“They’re good. You don’t call them?”
“Reception is shaky out in the countryside.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“...”
“You know, I probably won’t be able to call you very often, either. You know. Bad reception and all that shit.”
“Right, right. No, I get it. That makes sense. You gotta sacrifice stuff for your dreams, right? Go, Chuuya!”
“Mhm.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, I wanted—”
“I gotta run, sorry. Arthur’s gonna start cooking dinner and he wants me to help. I’ll call you back later, ‘kay?”
“Okay—”
Call Disconnected.
XXIV. twelve
August 11, 2015
Dazai: heyyy chuuya
Dazai: call me back!!!!!!
Dazai: i got some gossip for u d(*⌒▽⌒*)b
User Dazai Osamu has been blocked by User Nakahara Chuuya.
XXV. thirty-one
May 15th, 2018
“There’s more in the email, she didn’t just say that with no context,” Kunikida huffs. “Apparently, Nakahara will be in town because he’s a candidate for the Yomiuri Prize. If he wins, that’ll be another 2 million yen in his pocket.”
“He’s quite the successful little poet, isn’t he?” Yosano hums.
Dazai slumps across his desk, head slamming into the wood with a loud crack. “This is horrible! Awful! The worst thing that could ever happen to me!”
“Surely it won’t be that bad?” Atsushi questions. “From what it sounded like, weren’t you two friends?”
“Yeah, sure, until he dropped me with no context and blocked me,” Dazai grumbles. “And now I’ve gone and written all those embarrassing letters to him! A poet! Writing is literally his thing! Oh, I’m such an idiot, why would I do this to myself?”
“Just calm down,” Kunikida says. “You most likely won’t even have to see him.”
XXVI. thirty-three
May 18th, 2018
Dazai runs into Chuuya the morning after he arrives.
Because he just has such excellent luck.
“Oh,” Chuuya says, blinking stupidly. He looks annoyingly good, dressed in casual business wear with red hair swept over one shoulder. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Dazai says in return. He feels supremely underdressed in his sweatpants and Hello Kitty t-shirt, but they are standing in the aisle of his emotional support convenience store, so he supposes Chuuya’s the overdressed one. “You’re shorter than I remember.”
“Oh, you bastard, I’ll—!”
Dazai can’t help but laugh as Chuuya tries to kick him. For a moment, this feels normal, but then it’s gone and the awkwardness is back in full force. Chuuya stares at him with an almost indecipherable expression. It’s the most painful thing Dazai has ever gone through.
“Bye,” he says quickly, almost tripping over his words as he grabs a bag of chips and runs towards the cash register. Chuuya just stares as he makes his way out of the store.
He has got to get unblocked. Maybe then, he can sort through this mess without supreme embarrassment.
Interlude
“Relationships in life don't really end, even if you never see the person again. Every person you've been close to lives on somewhere inside you. Your past lovers, your parents, your friends, people both alive and dead (symbolically or literally)--all of them evoke memories, conscious or not.”
— Lori Gottlieb, Maybe You Should Talk To Someone
XXVII. two
June 23rd, 2009
“Why’d you even want to talk to me, at your party? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Why, because you’re interesting, Chuuya!”
“...Interesting, huh.”
“Yeah! Everybody else at that party was a stuffy brat whose parents are friends with my mom. I mean, I don’t actually have any real friends, you know? They’re all boring. Except for you.”
“What the fuck is so interesting about me, then?”
“I dunno. Your hair? It’s, like, ginger. Like, is it even real?”
“What— yes, you asshole, of course my hair is real! You think I would dye this shit?!”
“See? That’s what I mean! Interesting!”
XXVIII. thirty-four
May 19th, 2018
“You want me to do what?” Chuuya says incredulously.
“I want you to unblock me!” Dazai repeats. “Did you see how inconvenient it was this morning? I had to call Kouyou, who clearly didn’t want to be bothered, and then she had to call you, and then she had to call me back to confirm things, and only then could we meet up! That would have been so much easier if you hadn’t blocked me.” Dazai’s mouth twists slightly as he finishes speaking. Chuuya pretends he doesn’t see the pain in his gaze at the memory. He also pretends he doesn’t feel the ache in his own heart.
“I bet you don’t even know why I blocked you in the first place,” Chuuya mutters. He leans back on the bench they’re currently sitting on, trying to ignore the discomfort creeping up his spine.
“I don’t, because you didn’t tell me. We stopped speaking, Chuuya. Aren’t you tired of it?” Dazai suddenly sounds tired. His voice sounds almost defeated. It’s embarrassing that that’s all it takes for Chuuya to crumble.
“Tired of what?” He’ll feign confusion for a bit. He doesn’t really know what else to do.
“Of carrying around all that hate. It’s got to be weighing you down. At some point, you just need to let go. I know I have.” Dazai sighs. “Do what you want, unblock me or not. If you don’t, then this will be the last time I bother you, okay? You can consider our friendship dead, left behind in the past. I promise I won’t pester you anymore.”
Then he’s gone, shoes crunching along the gravel of the park trail. Chuuya stays glued to that bench. His chest hurts so bad he doesn’t know if he can move right now. Dazai’s entirely right; he’s spent so long trying so hard to hate him that he’s forgotten what it feels like to be free.
God, he’s such a piece of shit, isn’t he?
XXIX. thirty-five
May 19th, 2018
Chuuya: hey
Chuuya: not saying we’re gonna be besties again. but
Chuuya: you were right about some things
Chuuya: i guess
User Nakahara Chuuya has unblocked User Dazai Osamu.
XXX. thirty-six
May 19th, 2018
“Yes!” A fist pumps in the air. “He unblocked me!”
Yosano smiles. “See? What did I tell you, he missed you as well. I’m proud of you, Dazai.”
Warmth flows through his chest. For the first time since 2015, there’s a bit of hope inside of him.
XXXI. eight
March 3rd, 2011
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I mean, it’s pretty obvious for me. I wanna do poetry, live abroad, you know. All that cool stuff. But I don’t know shit about your interests, which makes me a kinda shitty best friend, don’t you think? So what do you wanna be?”
“...I dunno. I guess I never really thought about it. I don’t have any interests, so—”
“Come on, there’s gotta be something you like.”
“Well, I mean, I spend my time doing two things; thinking about suicide or spending time with you, so I guess those are my passions. Hey, you think I could become a professional suicide counselor??”
“...”
“...”
“If you’re counseling against suicide, then sure.”
“Ah, that’s no good! Maybe I’ll just have to stick to you like a barnacle, then. Since you’re my only interest. I’ll freeload and mooch off of you, ‘kay?”
“Asshole, definitely not! Get your own fucking job!”
XXXII. thirty-seven
May 20th, 2018
Dazai: (`･ω･´)
Dazai: ＼| ￣ヘ￣|／＿＿＿＿＿＿＿θ☆( *o*)/
Dazai: (＃ﾟДﾟ)
Dazai: (´；ω；`)
Dazai: ☜(⌒▽⌒)☞
Dazai: ｷﾀﾜァ*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･゜(n‘∀‘)ηﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* !!!!!
Dazai: ♪┏(・o･)┛♪┗ ( ･o･) ┓
Dazai: (づ￣ ³￣)づ
Chuuya: what the fuck
Dazai: it’s a love story!!!
Chuuya: ……
Dazai: it’s me and you (*°∀°)=3
Chuuya: WHAT THE FUCK
Dazai: you’re the angel who came and rescued me!!
Dazai: kunikida kicked me bc i didn’t do any work (ToT)
Chuuya: good. u deserve it
Dazai: SO MEAN
XXXIII. ten
June 22nd, 2015
“You know how I applied to all of those apprenticeship programs?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t get any of them.”
“Chuuya—”
“But I did get a letter. From Rimbaud and Verlaine. My biological uncles.”
Dazai sucks in a breath. “What did they say?”
“They’re offering me to go stay with them for as long as I want. Just—writing poetry in the French countryside with two world-renowned poets.”
“Wow. Are you going to go?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Dunno,” Chuuya says, and his voice is thick, and Dazai tries desperately to ignore the tears building in his best friend's eyes. “Long enough for you to forget all about me, probably.”
“I would never.”
Chuuya laughs skeptically. “Right.”
XXXIV. seventeen
July 2nd, 2017
Dazai: just so you know
Dazai: i never forgot abt u
Messages failed to send. User Dazai Osamu has been blocked by User Nakahara Chuuya.
Interlude
“Every new discovery is just a reminder—”
“We’re all small and stupid.”
— Everything, Everywhere, All At Once, 2022
XXXV. thirty-eight
May 22nd, 2018
“When’s the Yomiuri Prize getting announced?” Dazai asks, stretching his legs out. They knock into Chuuya’s, knobby knees slamming into high-priced leather pants, and he raises an eyebrow in annoyance.
“Next week,” he says irritably. “Dunno why Arthur was so adamant about me flying out so early. Paul was chill with whatever, but Arthur wanted me to take the first plane over.”
“Maybe he thought you missed Kouyou,” Dazai muses, and something constricts in Chuuya’s chest. It’s true, Arthur has always been perceptive when it came to his feelings, but it definitely wasn’t Kouyou who he had been missing. Arthur had been the one to bring him letters every time Dazai sent them over, and he hadn’t missed the way Chuuya’s fingers would swiftly grab the envelope and tear it open with more force than was strictly necessary.
“Maybe,” he echoes aloud. He doesn’t want to think about—about missing Dazai, not after he spent the last three years trying to pretend he didn’t. “Anyway. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I’m here now.”
“Yeah, and you’re having lunch with me!” Dazai’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “You, who said you would never hang out with me again~ Seems like you’re eating your words, slug!”
“Oh, shut up,” he mutters. “As if this isn’t kinda awkward for you. I was a dick. Dunno why you’re even here.”
“That’s a good question,” Dazai muses. “I guess I just want to be.”
I guess I just want to be.
Dazai’s always been a great deal too good for Chuuya, hasn’t he?
XXXVI. fifteen
October 4th, 2015
“Dazai? Um, are you okay?”
Atsushi’s voice. Atsushi’s frame hovering in the corner of his eyesight. He wipes his eyes, pretends he hasn’t been crying, and prays that his subordinate doesn’t comment on it.
“Fine,” he says, but his voice cracks pathetically, and the tears threaten to spill over again. “You need something, Atsushi? Something your—your super awesome mentor can help with?”
He shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed upset earlier, when we mentioned Nakahara.”
He laughs. It doesn’t have the intended effect. “Ah, don’t worry about me, Atsushi. I’m perfectly fine!”
“If you say so…”
XXXVII. thirty-nine
May 23rd, 2018
Why had Chuuya pushed Dazai away, all those years ago?
He asks himself this question now, twenty-three and sitting alone in a cramped hotel room. He wonders where, exactly, his life went so wrong. When did he lose the only home he’d ever known, and when did he start living as an imposter? Why had he let the boy he loved go?
The truth is, Chuuya Nakahara is scared of commitment. He is scared of being vulnerable, he is scared of opening up, and he is scared of loving. He is too afraid to love somebody and have them leave him, so he keeps himself locked up tight, glowering at anybody who tries to approach him.
Except for Dazai. No matter how much Chuuya had glowered, he had continued smiling, continued breaking down his walls with an easy smile and a soul that looked much too similar. And Chuuya had let him, let him enter until there was no secret he wouldn’t spill. But he was still scared of loving. And as Dazai got closer and closer, the more scared he became, until he placed a buffer between them—a buffer of exactly 9,844 Km.
It had been his own fear that had led to him pulling away. His assumption that as soon as he left, Dazai would forget all about him. But now, he sits in this hotel room, a stack of letters beside him, and the knowledge that Dazai has never stopped caring about him. He has never felt more alone.
He made a mistake. And it’s about time he fixes it.
XXXVIII. nine
March 31st, 2011
Dazai Osamu loves Nakahara Chuuya.
It’s a simple truth, one he’s known for a long, long time. It’s as natural as the process of mitosis. The sun sets every day, and Dazai goes to bed full of love for Chuuya.
Nakahara Chuuya loves Dazai Osamu, too.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
XXXIX. forty
May 23rd, 2018
Chuuya: hey asshole
Chuuya: meet me at the park tmrw at 4
Chuuya: don’t be late or i’ll kick ur ass
Dazai: kk! ヽ(´ー`)人(´∇｀)人(`Д´)ノ
XL. forty-one
May 24th, 2018
“You had something to say, Chuu-ya?”
The park lights paint Dazai’s face in a soft glow. He looks just as beautiful as he did the first day they met, when Chuuya was cold and alone, cowering in the corner of that big mansion. He looks oddly nervous, so different from the confident personality he pretends to have. Chuuya feels his nerves return full force, and he resists the urge to turn and run.
Nakahara Chuuya loves Dazai Osamu, too. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Wanted to apologize,” he says finally. “I was a jackass, and I shouldn’t have cut off contact with you. You were my—friend. You didn’t deserve that.”
Dazai’s silent. Chuuya doesn’t look up at him, just barrels on when it’s clear he’s not going to interrupt.
“I was scared that you would forget about me,” he rushes out. “I was scared you would figure out that I’m not actually interesting. I’m actually just a boring fuck, and you’re—well, you’re you, and why would you spend time with me when you could spend it with interesting people? So I got scared and I cut you off but that was the worst decision of my life, because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t want to lose you even if I already did—”
“Chuuya,” Dazai says softly, and he shuts up. This time, he looks up.
He sees brown eyes, soft and full of love, before arms wrap around him, and Dazai’s hugging him for the first time in years and everything is perfect.
“I love you too, idiot,” he whispers. “We make a dumb pair, don’t we?”
Chuuya sniffles. “I guess we do.”
Interlude
“In a word, tears like this light a modest lamp of human love amid the gathering dusk of human suffering.”
— Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Rashomon and Seventeen Other Stories
XLI. forty-three
June 5th, 2018
“Hey, Chuuya.”
“What, dipshit?”
“Why did you never write any poems about me?”
“...Dazai. They’re all about you.”
“Oh, yeah? I never noticed.”
“Fuck you.”
“No thanks (*^3^)/~☆”
“...”
“...”
“DID YOU JUST SPEAK IN EMOTICON? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?”
XLII. four
January 1st, 2011
“Happy new year, slug.”
“I hope yours is rotten, mackerel.”
“We should hang out like this every new year’s day. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“It sounds like torture, actually.”
“...Oh.”
“Ugh, you’re the worst. Fine. I’ll hang out with you every new year’s day.”
“Really? Even until we’re old and wrinkled?”
“Yes, even until we’re old and wrinkled! Now shut up!”
XLIII. forty-two
May 29th, 2018
Chuuya wins the Yomiuri Prize.
Dazai stands in the corner clapping fiercely, and onstage, Chuuya hides a smile when he spots him.
Dazai drags him, laughing, down the street that night. They return to the apartment they once shared (Dazai never moved) and Chuuya emails Arthur and Paul about his extended return to Japan. Kouyou texts him congratulations, and he stays up late watching The Greatest Showman with Dazai.
He’s never been happier.
XLIV. forty-four
January 1st, 2089
“Happy new year, Chuuya.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I hope yours is terrible.”
“Thanks ^ω^”
“...I love you, mackerel.”
“I love you too, slug.”
FIN