Chapter Text
Dazai feels empty. It’s an old, familiar feeling, but he finds that it’s not quite as comfortable as it once was now that he’s known a feeling that could fill the emptiness up so effortlessly. So beautifully. So perfectly.
People say things. Nice things. Sweet things. People cry. They sob. They sniffle. They walk off far away to bawl. It’s a nice wake.
Dazai does neither. He does nothing. He feels nothing.
Dazai doesn’t remember sleeping between the wake and now. He doesn’t remember if he slept or if he got up or if he even moved an inch between the wake and right now, as an urn is placed in front of him.
His neck feels stiff as he slowly tilts his head upwards to a face he knows he recognises, but can’t quite recall through his muddled, cloudy mind. The voice, too, is familiar, but warped.
“This one is for you.”
“But I wasn’t there.” Dazai doesn’t know why he argues. What’s the point? “I didn’t . . . I didn’t help.”
The hand on his shoulder feels like it should be reassuring. It isn’t. It’s not good and it’s not bad. It’s just a weight. Cherry eyes soften as they stare into his own. “This one is for you.”
And then the stranger, whom Dazai knows isn’t really a stranger, leaves. Dazai’s gaze slowly moves back down to the empty spot on the floor that is now occupied by the urn.
Dazai wants to throw it away. He doesn’t want an urn of ash and bones. He doesn’t want any of this. He wants to go back to two days ago. He wants to wake up and find that this has all been a terrible nightmare that his lovely mind has concocted for him, as it so often does.
He takes the urn home and builds a small shrine around it.
Dazai doesn’t remember leaving the shrine and getting into bed. He doesn’t remember if he ate or drank water or even washed his face. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been, but he’s not in his suit anymore.
He thinks it’s cruel that the sun can shine so brightly into his room, so warm and comforting on his face. So reminiscent of a soft hand on his cheek.
Dazai pulls the covers up over his head and hopes that when he wakes up again, it’ll be different.
He wakes up to knocking. Nothing has changed. He doesn’t get up to open the door. Anyone that deserves to be in here can get in. Anyone who can’t, shouldn’t be here.
He pretends he doesn’t hear the door open, or the voice calling out a greeting and his name. He pretends to be asleep when gentle hands peel the covers down and he pretends he doesn’t hear the resigned sigh.
Dazai crawls out from under the covers when he smells food and his stomach growls too loudly for him to pretend he’s still asleep.
It’s dark and the curtains are drawn and a few lights are on. The smell of food wafts out of the kitchen and Dazai follows it.
Kunikida looks up when Dazai trips and almost crashes into the doorframe. Dazai expects a lecture of some kind on how he should be taking better care of himself because he would want Dazai to. He expects to see pity in Kunikida’s eyes, just like all the not-so-subtle gazes he’d caught during the wake.
Instead, Kunikida begins to dish out two servings of food. “When was the last time you remember eating?”
Dazai shrugs when Kunikida looks at him.
“Starvation is certainly one way to go, but I guarantee you it’ll be long and painful.”
“I’m not going to kill myself,” Dazai murmurs, but even as he does, the words feel like a blatant lie to his ears.
Kunikida doesn’t comment. “Go and sit. I’ll bring everything to you.”
Dazai does as he’s told, because following instructions is easier than thinking for himself. If he starts to think, he’ll start to remember. If he starts to remember, he’ll fall apart.
Every piece of Dazai is held together by a taut wire that feels like it will snap at any moment.
He glances at the small table that seats two comfortably before choosing to sit on the floor, in front of one of the couches.
He crosses his legs and his hands fall limp in his lap. He stares at the bandages creeping onto the back of his hands.
“Eat,” Kunikida says when he sets a plate down in front of Dazai.
Dazai eats, because starving himself doesn’t sound pleasant and because Kunikida told him to. The silence isn’t bad, but Dazai is too used to Kunikida always having something to say.
“You’re not gonna tell me you’re sorry?”
“I think you’ve had enough of that. Drink.”
Dazai takes a sip of the water Kunikida set next to his plate.
“Eat,” Kunikida says when Dazai sets the glass down and doesn’t move.
Dazai eats.
“Seconds?” Kunikida asks and Dazai realises he doesn’t remember eating everything on the plate and drinking all the water.
He shakes his head. Kunikida clears the table. When he comes back, he brings Dazai a tea of some kind. It’s unfamiliar. It smells nice. It tastes . . . soothing.
“You look like you haven’t slept in months, even though it’s all you’ve done this week.”
A week, then. Has it really been a week already?
“Have you slept properly at all?”
Dazai shrugs. “Don’t know.”
“You should. Fatigue isn’t a fun way to go either. So I’ve heard, anyway.”
Dazai peers at Kunikida for a moment. “You’re being too nice.”
“You deserve nice for a while.”
“Oh.”
“His sister wanted to see you,” Kunikida says after a few seconds.
His sister. The stranger who wasn’t really a stranger, who gave Dazai the small urn. Dazai knew he knew her.
“Do you want to see her?”
“I don’t really want anything,” Dazai mutters to himself, mostly. Because it’s a lie. There is a lot he wants. But he can’t have any of it.
“Dazai,” Kunikida starts, but he doesn’t finish.
“I’m fine.”
And Kunikida accepts the lie. “I’ll tell her you’re not up to it just yet.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back for dinner,” Kunikida says, and he stands. “Get some proper sleep.”
Dazai doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want Kunikida’s company. The company he wants is out of reach.
Well, not really. Dazai could probably reach it if he tries hard enough.
He goes to bed and tries to sleep.
The headstone is pretty. It’s a soft gray colour and when the early dawn sunlight washes over it, silver specks glitter. There are gentians at the base of the stone. They’re not quite the right colour, but close enough to remind Dazai of what a happy smile looks like. He wonders if he can ever form one again.
There are two dates on the stone. One that Dazai used to look forward to each year. One that was a month ago.
“Dazai.”
“Kouyou.”
“You look better.”
“As do you.”
Kouyou hums as she places a few morning glories with the gentians.
“Let me cook for you,” Kouyou says when she stands again.
She doesn’t look at Dazai, so he keeps looking at the stone.
“I think I’ll take out a bottle of wine. I haven’t had any in a while.”
He knows the wine isn’t for her. It’s not even for him, really. But it’s something the person they both love really enjoyed and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be a little nice.
“Okay.”
Things don’t change. Or they do, but Dazai doesn’t feel them. He has dinner with Kouyou once a week. It’s quiet. They don’t talk much, but he can tell that cooking for him helps Kouyou. Maybe it reminds her of a time when she used to cook for her brother. Maybe she finds pieces of him in Dazai. Or maybe she’s just lonely.
Kunikida takes care of Dazai the rest of the week. He tells Kunikida to go home, but Kunikida never listens. He makes Dazai eat, sleep and shower. He makes Dazai clean his apartment. He makes Dazai do the bare minimum to survive.
Dazai doesn’t talk to anyone else. People talk to him. Atsushi, Tanizaki, Ranpo, Yosano, Kyoka — well, Kyoka doesn’t talk so much as she sits beside him in comfortable silence.
But Dazai still feels empty. Dazai still wants to wake up to pretty blue eyes and loud red hair. He knows he can’t. He still wants to.
He thinks about dying again. Leaving it all behind. If there’s an afterlife, maybe he’ll get what he wants. If there isn’t, then he’ll stop wanting.
He thinks about his options. He thinks about leaving a note. The note had thrown a wrench in his plans last time, and though he’s not complaining about last time, this time is different. This time, if his plans go awry, there is no silver lining in the form of a vicious little brat that Dazai couldn’t help but adore.
Dazai eats when Kunikida tells him to and he drinks wine with Kouyou and he listens to Atsushi’s stories about university and he sleeps with Kyoka tucked against him like a human cuddle bear. But in between, he plans.
He chooses a date. It feels like a random date, until he remembers that it’s the date he received a purpose to live in the form of a lost patient wandering into the psych ward by mistake. It’s oddly fitting, Dazai thinks.
Dazai feels nothing every single day, but today, on the date he’s chosen, there is a blazing fury in him.
For laying in front of his door, possibly slipped under, is an envelope with his name written — or scrawled, is maybe a better term — on the back. It doesn’t matter, because Dazai knows the handwriting like he knows his own.
He’s furious, because this means one of two things.
One, someone thinks it’s funny to fuck with Dazai like this, or, two, his lifeline isn’t dead.
Dazai thinks he’d prefer the first option. He doesn’t mind venting all of this rage on someone who thought it’d be funny to mock a mourner. But mostly because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s the second option.
Dazai takes the envelope back into the apartment and sits on the couch to read.
Dear Dazai, it begins, and like a dam that’s burst after ages of straining to hold the water at bay, Dazai’s wall of empty nothingness shatters and Dazai forgets how to breathe in the face of grief and despair and blame and fear and yearning.
Did you enjoy your birthday yesterday? Well, actually, if I know you well enough, it’s at least four months since. It was yesterday right now. Well, it actually only ended a few hours ago.
I feel like it’s tonight. Maybe after the sun rises. Maybe tomorrow night. Either way, I’m glad I made it to your birthday. I’m glad I managed to come home. Hospitals aren’t exactly built for birthday parties. I still can’t believe you snuck into my room at midnight. But it was nice to see you.
And the party in the cafeteria was nice, too. I particularly liked the bit where three nurses came to tell Ryuu to shut up. Go on, you can laugh, you know. It won’t change anything.
Your hair is so soft. I think I’m most upset about not being able to be here to do this anymore. I’d wake you, but you haven’t slept in days. Forgive me for not waking you?
Dazai thinks it’s unfair. He thinks it’s cruel. He hates it.
It’s kind of a rush to realise that. He hates it. He hates this. He hates that he’s still here. He hates that instead of wishing they could’ve traded places, he just wishes he could’ve gone with. It’s powerful, his hatred. It startles him to realise that he feels something.
The letter is a surprise, but most things always have been when it comes to Nakahara Chuuya.
Dazai prods Chuuya’s cheek in the dark.
“Hey,” he whispers loudly, “wake up.”
Chuuya grumbles something rude under his breath. “It’s not visiting hours yet. Get out.”
“It’s midnight,” Dazai whispers. “Wish me.”
With a sigh, Chuuya forces his eyes open and stares at Dazai. “Happy birthday. Now, get out before the nurses call hospital security.”
Dazai scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Have a little more faith in me, chibi. I got permission.”
Chuuya narrows his eyes at Dazai.
“Okay, fine, I asked Mori to get me permission. He owes me for babysitting Elise last week, which, disclaimer, I will not be doing again ever. Death by Elise is not on my list. Plus, Yosano’s my friend.”
“Why is death by anything still even on your list? I thought you were trying to outlive me.”
“I’m just planning ahead. Y’know, like twenty or thirty years from now. I don’t like to lose, so I guess I can hold back until you die of old age or something, though.”
Chuuya gives him a sad smile that Dazai pretends not to see.
“Scoot over,” Dazai says, motioning with his hands for Chuuya to move.
“What? No. Are you insane? Yosano’s gonna ban you from ever visiting me again.”
Dazai motions again for Chuuya to move. “Then I’ll just ask Ranpo if his sugar daddy boyfriend can fix the problem with money.”
Chuuya wrinkles his nose. “You did not just call Poe a sugar daddy.”
“Chuuya, move. I’m tired and I want to sleep.”
“Then go home!” Chuuya hisses, shoving Dazai’s arms away. “This is a hospital, not a hotel!”
Dazai pouts. Chuuya’s left eye twitches. Dazai somehow pouts harder.
“Okay, fine. But if you get kicked out of the hospital and get banned from visiting, I’ll kill you myself.”
Dazai ignores Chuuya when he shifts over slightly, just enough to make space for Dazai to climb in and slide his arm beneath Chuuya’s neck.
“Admit it,” Dazai whispers, “I’m a better pillow than the crap they gave you.”
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Dazai.”
But he does look more comfortable than he’d been before Dazai woke him.
Dazai wakes up to someone poking him in the face with a pen. When he opens his eyes, Kunikida is glaring at him. Dazai lifts a finger to his lips and pretends to go back to sleep.
Kunikida is courteous of Chuuya and doesn’t make a noise, but he does stab Dazai with his pencil again.
“Can the two of you stop fighting?”
“Look at what you did,” Dazai snaps at Kunikida. “You woke him up.”
“Dazai, you weren’t exactly helping,” Chuuya says before he yawns. It turns into a rattling cough that has Dazai frozen in fear. He’s not ready. “You said you wanted to sleep but you’ve barely closed your eyes for more than ten minutes at a time, haven’t you?”
Dazai brushes Chuuya’s hair back with the hand Chuuya rests on. “You were breathing differently,” he murmurs. “I wanted to make sure you woke up.”
Kunikida stays silent while Dazai plays with Chuuya’s hair.
“I have a lung disease, Dazai. I’m always breathing differently.” Chuuya glances at Kunikida. “It’s not yet visiting hours. How’d you get in?”
“Yosano said I could if I did my best to get Dazai off your bed.”
“Of course she did,” Dazai mutters.
“You’re not doing a good job,” Chuuya points out.
Kunikida shrugs. “You looked very comfortable.”
“Kunikida,” Yosano says as she enters. “I should’ve known you’d cave immediately.”
Dazai wraps his other arm around Chuuya and glares. “I’m not getting out.”
“You’re lucky I like you,” Yosano says. “Relax, I’m just here for some readings before we discharge Chuuya. Kunikida, who’s bringing cake?”
“Cake?” Dazai asks.
“Kenji,” Kunikida says.
“For your birthday,” Yosano clarifies to Dazai after nodding at Kunikida. “We all know you pretty well, Dazai, and you’re going to take Chuuya home after I discharge him and we won’t see you until morning, so we’ll just have to celebrate here before you leave — outside this room, that is. I’m already breaking one too many rules for the two of you.”
Kunikida places a bento on the table. “Dazai, breakfast. Eat.”
“I’m busy.”
“I’ll kick you out,” Yosano threatens.
“Fine. I’ll eat.”
People come in groups of twos and threes to say hi to Chuuya and wish Dazai a happy birthday, because Yosano won’t allow more of them into one room. At least three different nurses pop in to tell Akutagawa to lower his voice, but in his defence, Dazai keeps riling him up about his ‘crush’ on Atsushi — who is already his boyfriend.
It’s late afternoon when Yosano discharges Chuuya and they all gather in the hospital cafeteria to quietly sing for Dazai — who spends the entirety of the time practically glued to Chuuya’s side just in case. He’s not sure exactly what the ‘just in case’ is for, but he’s not letting Chuuya out of his sight when Chuuya was just admitted for a cold that dragged on for a week and a half.
There are no gifts, because Dazai told them all he doesn’t want any. He’s sure they all have something waiting for him, though.
Dazai doesn’t believe in birthday wishes, really, but as he looks at the candles, he thinks about the sound of Chuuya’s breathing that morning and how Yosano makes him wear a mask while the candles are lit. When he blows the candles out, he wishes that he’ll see another birthday with Chuuya by his side.
They sit together and talk and eat cake until Yosano says Chuuya needs his rest and threatens to physically kick each of them out of the hospital. She reminds Dazai to call her even if it’s about a tiny little thing before he leaves with Chuuya.
Kouyou is waiting for them in the apartment. She presents Dazai with a birthday lunch and says he cannot decline, because he forbade her from buying him a gift. The meal is his birthday present and she threatens to cry if he doesn’t eat.
Dazai knows she wouldn’t be crying from hurt. She can cry on command, but Dazai can usually tell because her false crying yields big crocodile tears and loud sniffling. When Kouyou is truly hurt or upset, she’s quiet. Chuuya taught him the difference pretty early on.
Kouyou and Dazai share a drink. Chuuya naps on the couch. They both pretend to be interested in the sake and the conversation they’re having about Kouyou’s restaurant, but both of them are far more focused on Chuuya and watching him to make sure his chest still rises and falls.
When evening rolls around, Kouyou helps Dazai put Chuuya to bed and gratefully accepts the offer to sleep in the spare room.
Dazai intends to get into bed himself eventually, because Kouyou and Chuuya will both yell at him about not sleeping if they find him in the chair at Chuuya’s side in the morning.
But he rests his head on the side of the bed and, half-asleep, Chuuya threads his fingers through Dazai’s hair and Dazai falls asleep.
He wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of Chuuya’s soft voice. He catches Kunikida’s name and something about a gift. He thinks he hears Kunikida mention Oda’s name. He decides to go back to sleep, because Chuuya’s fingers in his hair feel really nice and he’s probably dreaming anyway. Kunikida doesn’t visit when Kouyou is around because he trusts Kouyou to stop Dazai from doing anything stupid.
Dazai wakes up a second time before sunrise to Kouyou’s voice. It’s tight, like a coil wound up as far as it can go. It shakes, like a leaf in an autumn breeze.
“Dazai,” she says, and she chokes on his name. “Dazai, wake up.”
“Hm? What time is it?”
A half-sob escapes Kouyou.
Chuuya’s hand is still resting on Dazai’s head, but it’s unmoving. Chuuya must be asleep.
“Dazai,” Kouyou says again and this time, Dazai notices the state of her.
He lifts his head slowly and blinks at her in the dark. Chuuya’s hand lands limp on the sheets. “What, did you have a nightmare?”
“Dazai, he. . .” Kouyou’s eyes are red and the tears run down her cheeks slowly. She hiccups as she kneels next to Dazai’s chair, lowering her head so Dazai can’t see her face. “Dazai. . .”
“No.” The word comes out too soft to hear. Then slightly louder. “You’re lying.”
Kouyou lets herself cry properly, then. She grips the backrest of Dazai’s chair and her body shakes violently.
Dazai can still feel Chuuya’s fingers against his scalp when his sleepy mind clears and reality hits him like a train.
He wishes a train had actually hit him instead.
I know you wanted me to win in the end, but now you have my sister and you’ll look after her, won’t you? Let her cook for you and sleep over at her place and let her check on you in the middle of the night. I promise you won’t replace me. She just needs someone to take care of and we both know Kunikida could use a break from trying to keep you alive.
I’ll be waiting for you, you lanky mackerel bastard, but I swear on Ane-san’s life that if I see you too soon, I will hit you until you regret it. I have the rest of eternity to wait, so don’t rush, okay? Plus, you have your next letter to wait for. It’ll be a good one. Promise.
Stay alive until then for me? I don’t want all my hard work going unread. There’s seven of them in total. You better read all six remaining letters too, got that?
(And don’t just take care of Ane-san. Take care of yourself, too.)
Love,
Chuuya
Dazai doesn’t know how he got from his apartment to the door he’s staring at now. It’s late. Very late. Dazai’s plans involved disappearing in the middle of the night so no one could stop him. He didn’t account for wanting to see anyone and now he stands at the door, wondering if it’s worth it to wake Kouyou.
“Dazai?” Her voice doesn’t come from inside the apartment. It comes from behind him. “It’s late, what are you — Dazai, what happened?!”
Dazai registers a plastic bag slipping from her grasp and a bottle breaking as Kouyou’s face turns white as a sheet and she takes his face in both of her hands, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure is even there.
“Dazai,” she says softly, passing her thumbs under his eyes, “you’re crying.”
Is he? He hadn’t noticed. It makes sense, though. Now he knows why he can’t make out the golden knocker on Kouyou’s door, or why he can’t make out Kouyou’s features anymore.
“What happened, baby?”
The way she says the endearment is familiar, and Dazai remembers her using it in recent months, but it was never for him. The fact that she uses it on him now makes it easier to decide on what he wants to do right now.
“Can . . . can I sleep here?” Dazai eventually asks. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Of course.”
The plastic bag with its broken bottles lay forgotten on the pathway to Kouyou’s door as she leads Dazai into her home and puts him to bed.