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Sunlight seeps from behind the curtains and birds chirp in the trees outside. It’s morning already and Dazai didn’t sleep a wink.
He stares at his ceiling fan. It used to spin around, but it doesn’t work anymore and he doesn’t have the energy to get it fixed. Dazai turns to the side and pulls the covers over him. They aren’t as comforting as they were before and smell horrid from not being washed in weeks. He really doesn’t have the energy to care.
Why must he get up? He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know if he can. Maybe Dazai should just stay here, perhaps just a little while longer. He closes his eyes. No one will mind if he’s late to work. He’s always late to work, they’re used to his antics and perhaps they just don’t care anymore. Maybe no one cares anymore. Chuuya never did. That doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t care either.
Dazai should get up. He’s already late. He really should get up, but he doesn’t know how. Dazai lifts his head and pushes up with his arms. They crumble beneath him and he falls back down onto his futon. He’s too weak and tired.
After a while he gets up. Dazai finally manages to get up but as he stands there, his head spins and he feels faint. The small, dark room spinning before him. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. He checks the time. It’s past 12pm. That’s later than usual. Dazai gets ready, stepping carefully around the various empty alcohol bottles he has scattered across his room. Maybe he’ll clean them up later, he just doesn’t have the energy to do it right now.
Dazai stands in front of the detective agency, looking up at it, as it towers over him. It’s so intimidating for some reason, and yet so familiar and comforting. It’s his home. Well at least it’s the place that feels the most homely to him. Dazai never really had a place to call home and he certainly wouldn’t call his dodgy shipping container or his new dingy apartment one.
He doesn’t remember walking up to the fourth floor of the building but he opens the door to the detective agency and walks inside, a strange warm comfort spreading through him and smile plastered across his face.
“Good morn-’
“DAZAI!!” a loud booming voice interrupts him from across the room.
Dazai smirks
“WHERE WERE YOU? WHY ARE YOU SO LATE? DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO GET DONE TODAY!” Kunikida shouts, storming towards him.
“Well you see,” Dazai begins, playing innocent. “There was this new method of suicide that I just had to try! Did you know that if you-”
“STOP TRYING OUT EVERY METHOD OF SUICIDE YOU CAN FIND! AT LEAST DO IT ON A DAY THAT WE AREN’T BUSY,” Kunikida sputters.
“No, but didn’t you know that hanging yourself every once in a while has great health benefits?” Dazai says with a serious look on his face.
“It does?”
“Nope, I’m just messing with you,” Dazai smiles at him innocently.
“WHY YOU-”
Kunikida continues rattling on but Dazai just ignores him and goes to sit down at his desk. He smiles at Atsushi next to him, who returns it with an awkward good morning.
Dazai looks at the work that is piled up onto his desk. He doesn’t want to do it. He’s too tired and doesn’t have the energy. It’s too much work. His vision swims before him. He can’t do this. His skin pickles uncomfortably beneath his bandages.
“Dazai, are you..” Atsushi starts.
Dazai snaps out of it.
“Here you go Atsushi, you can do this for me,” Dazai says lazily, pushing the stack of papers over to Atsushi.
He gapes at Dazai but doesn’t say anything. Dazai puts his head in his arms and closes his eyes. A wave of tiredness hits him. When was the last time he slept? Maybe it’s okay to just sleep for a bit. The warm sunlight from the various windows shines down onto his back. He can hear the faint clickerty clacker of Atsushi working next to him and the faint voices of the rest of his colleagues. Dazai relaxes and fades out of consciousness.
“Dazai~ oi mackerel!” a familiar voice calls out. “Hey! Shitty Dazai!”
Dazai opens his eyes but all he can see is a dark nothingness. It’s pitch black. He looks down at his hands and notices that his bandages are gone. The skin of his arms are pale and smooth. There were no signs of the horrendous mess of scars that he tries so hard to hide. He frowns. That’s strange-
“Dazai!”
Dazai looks up. There’s a figure standing in the distance. A short redhead with a tacky hat. Chuuya…
“What are you doing here, shit-zai!?” growls the figure of Chuuya.
Dazai says nothing, his face blank. Why is his ex-partner here? Chuuya starts walking towards him. Rage filling every step. Even when he’s angry he’s beautiful.
“You can’t just show up here,” he scowls.
“Why can’t I? This is my realm of consciousness, no?” Dazai smirks, but it feels weird. He feels numb.
“You can’t just leave for years and then come scurrying back to me!”
“Did you really miss me that badly?”
There’s a sharp pain in Dazai’s chest.
“No,” replies Chuuya plainly, his eyes glaring and full of hatred. “I’m glad you left,” he smirked. “I celebrated your disappearance!”
Dazai’s face falls. He inhales sharply.
“Why did you have to come back into my life and ruin everything for me again?” Chuuya hisses. “You rely so much on me to come and save you! But what about what I feel!?”
Dazai feels a sting along his arms. He looks down at them. Several cuts have opened up along them and are gushing blood. Oh…
Chuuya doesn’t notice them, or maybe he just can’t bring himself to care anymore. Dazai doesn’t blame him.
“I will never forgive you”
And with that, Chuuya leaves, he fades off into the darkness and Dazai is left all alone. He didn’t strangle him or hold a knife to his throat or even so little as punch him. Chuuya just left and it hurts.
Blood runs down his arms and drips off his fingers. The sound of blood hitting the floor over and over again rings in the empty space. Chuuya hates him. Deep down he had always known. So why did it hurt so much? Dazai loved him. He loved him and he left him. Chuuya isn’t going to chase after him. He isn’t going to come and save him now.
Dazai closes his eyes and lets the pain wash over him. He’s dizzy and his arms sting. his head pounds screaming at him to just do something, anything. It hurts so much, he wants to die. He wants to die. He wants to die. He should just die.
Die die die die die die die die die die die die
“Dazai…” says a distant voice. “The day is over, you can go home now”
Dazai doesn’t know where the voice is coming from. The void slips away from him and suddenly he’s back in the detective agency’s office. His eyes blink open and suddenly everything is blurry. Dazai looks out the window, it's dark, when did it get dark? He looks down at his arms. The bandages are still there, but his skin aches and itches beneath them.
“Dazai?” says the mysterious voice. Maybe Atsushi?
Dazai doesn’t turn to see who it is. He stands up and walks towards the door, his head spinning and his footsteps light and airy.
“See you tomorrow then!” He says cheerfully forcing a smile before then shoving his hands into his pockets and walking out.
Dazai walks down the illuminated streets, past the faceless people, his head hanging low. Cars wizz past him while crowds of people walk along next to him. The bridge is just around the corner. The crowds are thinning out. This time he’s gonna do it.
The bridge is within sight now and there’s no one around. It's quiet. There’s not even any cars. Dazai walks over to the bridge, the one that he's jumped from many times, each attempt unsuccessful. He supposes that deep down he had hope that they would be. That someone would come to fish him out from the water again. This time, he doesn’t. This time he wants to stay underwater until there’s no air left in his lungs, until his vision goes dark and the void consumes him.
Dazai leans over the railing and looks down at the water below. The moon reflects off the soft ripples. It would be beautiful, if today wasn’t such a tragic one. He supposes that he should say his goodbyes but there’s no one that comes to mind. Except one…
Dazai pulls out his phone and dials a number that he knows by heart. He holds it up to his ear and waits for the person on the other end to pick up. It rings. Dazai scratches at his bandages, his skin is so itchy and it buzzes for more. The phone continues to ring. Come on, pick up, please. He digs his nails into his arm. It doesn’t do much to help the buzzing.
“The number that you are calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep,” says an automated voice.
He didn’t pick up. Dazai’s breath hitches in his throat. The phone beeps.
“Chuuya… I…” He tries to say something but his throat is clogged up and no sound comes out.
He grips his phone tightly. Chuuya didn’t pick up. He’s not coming to save him after all. Dazai leans further over the railing and drops his phone into the water, watching as it splashes and disappears forever. Oh how he wishes to follow it. But his skin is burning and only blood will satisfy. He pulls aways and walks off towards his apartment. Death will have to wait a little longer.
The apartment door swings open and Dazai steps inside, closing it behind him. He takes off his coat and chucks it on the floor before then walking into the bathroom. He leans over the sink and looks into the mirror. He looks like a mess. He is a mess. His hair is sticking up everywhere and he has dark circles under his eyes. Dazai doesn’t even recognise himself anymore. He hates that. He hates everything about himself. He hates the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he acts and the way that he just leaves the people he loves most.
Dazai opens the drawer under the sink and rummages through it trying to find one specific thing. The drawer is full of bandages, antiseptic and a box cutter knife. It’s not the best but it will work. He can’t be bothered to go find something bigger. Anything that will make him bleed is enough. He’s desperate and the world doesn't feel real anymore.
The knife shines faintly in the light from the little window. Dazai stares at it. His skin is burning and his arms are aching for the blade to be dug into them. He slowly unwraps his bandages, disgusted with each bit of jagged skin shown. His arms are a slashed canvas, littered with ugly scars from many different periods in his life. He hates them and yet seeing his pretty skin so fucked up is exhilarating. Dazai holds the blade and slices it through his left wrist. It stings. It feels so good. Blood begins to pool in the cut and drip down his arm. Again. He slashes again and again and again leaving deep cuts. He watches as the blood pours down his arm. Dazai brings the blade to his arm again. A gloved hand grabs his wrist tightly stopping him from driving the blade through his arm. Dazai turns his head and there standing next to him, holding his wrist, is Chuuya.
The redhead in the tacky hat glares at him and tightens his grip around Dazai’s wrist but Dazai can barely feel it. Chuuya had come to save him. Is this even real?
“Chuuya…” He croaks weakly.
And then suddenly, he’s crying. Tears flow from his eyes and down his face. Dazai’s head is spinning. He drops the blade and slides down onto the floor, with Chuuya following. He stares at him in disbelief, into those blue eyes. Chuuya doesn’t stare back, and instead reaches for the antiseptic and bandages in the drawer. He doesn’t speak, and neither does Dazai. They were never really any good with words. Chuuya grabs a towel and applies pressure to Dazai’s wounds, mopping up the blood in the process.
They sit there on the cold bathroom floor and wait for the blood to stop gushing out. It feels like ages of just sitting in silence, Chuuya tending to Dazai’s wounds and Dazai staring starry eyed at Chuuya.
“Why did you come…?” Dazai says, breaking the prolonged silence.
Chuuya sighs.
“Because I don’t want your suicidal ass to die here like this,” he replies with a snarl.
Dazai smiles weakly.
“I’m sorry Chuuya,” he says.
“For what?”
“For leaving you”
Chuuya pauses. He looks up at Dazai with an unreadable expression.
“Yeah, well you did”
“You came to save me again”
“Yeah, I did”
He opens the bottle of antiseptic and begins dabbing it over Dazai’s arm with a towel. For some reason he can’t feel the sting of the ointment, perhaps he’s too numb to. He keeps staring at Chuuya as he works.
“Why did you leave?” Chuuya says suddenly.
“I had to,” replies Dazai.
Chuuya falls silent and begins wrapping fresh bandages around Dazai’s arms. Dazai’s vision is blurry. He’s lost a lot of blood.
“Why are you here? You hate me…” Dazai mutters.
“I…I don’t hate you,” says Chuuya, looking up at him with a sad expression. “Sure, I’m mad at you for just leaving me like that,” He grumbles. “But… I don’t… hate you,” says Chuuya with great difficulty.
Dazai’s head hurts. He feels faint. Chuuya doesn’t… hate him? His eyes widen.
“The reason I’m here is because..”
Chuuya stares into Dazai’s eyes and Dazai into his.
“Is because… I love you, stupid Mackerel”.
Dazai stares at him in disbelief. Chuuya doesn’t hate him. He loves him. Chuuya stares back intently. Something’s wrong, but Dazai doesn’t mind. Chuuya loves him. He closes his eyes and smiles. A warmth spreads through his chest and the rest of his body. His head spins and his heartbeat begins to slow down.
“I love you too, Slug,” he croaks.
Dazai opens his eyes and stares into that blue bliss as the edges of his vision go dark. His body goes limp. A genuine smile carved across his face. He finally got what he wanted so dearly. Maybe he could’ve done things differently, but he can’t change anything now. It’s too late. Dazai sits on the cold and bloody bathroom floor, alone. The warmth is gone. His heart doesn’t want to beat. Chuuya isn’t here. Chuuya never came to save him. Maybe another time he will.