Chapter Text
Kunikida said nothing as Dazai flopped down on the couch beside him with a heavy sigh, and rested his head against Kunikida's shoulder. All Dazai had done was walk to the kitchen and back, and yet he looked drained as if he'd run the whole way. He kicked his legs up on the table, whining something about how sleepy he'd been, swirling around a glass of ice water in his hand.
Dazai let his head loll back with a groan. His eyelids were half closed, his eyes gazing listlessly at the ceiling. He lay his hand on Kunikida's lap, his touch gentle and his fingertips clammy.
Kunikida knew what had made Dazai so sick. There was no doubt about the diagnosis. And much to his frustration, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Dazai was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia about a week or two ago. He'd been sick for quite a while, but refused to go to the doctor on account of laziness or maybe just in hopes it was nothing major. This persisted, until it got to the point Kunikida forced him into the passenger seat of his car and drove him to the doctor himself. He couldn't even get Dazai to talk to Yosano about it.
When the diagnosis showed to be cancer, Dazai immediately asserted that, actually, he wanted to go without treatment. Kunikida had tried his very hardest to get him to at least try it, at least give it one shot, one round at the very least. Dazai refused every single time. Kunikida had stopped mentioning it by this point- because why would he? It just made everybody feel so much worse.
With a heavy sigh, Kunikida rested his arm gently around Dazai's shoulder, holding the book he was reading with the other hand. His brows furrowed at his partner's weak smile, those glassy eyes looking back up at Kunikida's own.
Dazai's dark brown hair was an absolute mess and lacked any sort of shine, carelessly falling over his face. His skin was so pale it resembled paper, and the circles under his eyes were so dark they nearly looked like exaggerated makeup.
It was weird for him to be so quiet. Kunikida almost felt disturbed by finally getting a little quiet time to himself to read, because under any normal circumstances, Dazai would never keep his mouth shut. Kunikida appreciated the softer moments, sure, but this wasn't the circumstance he would've wanted to bring them about. Not at all.
Kunikida knew this was one of Dazai's elaborate suicide stunts. This was the perfect shot for him to clamber his way to the afterlife, to achieve what he always fantasized about aloud as if it were something so casual.
Kunikida didn't get it. He didn't understand why Dazai was like this, why he saw no value in living. He wanted to reach into his little bubble of miserable isolation and somehow pull him out, to bring him somewhere lighter, but he was never successful. A small part of him thought maybe Dazai was too far gone to be saved, although he hated to believe that about anyone. Kunikida could've sworn he'd grown adjusted to his coworker by now, all the suicide talk. And yet, seeing him like this caused the hope he didn't know he had for Dazai to slowly dwindle like sand in the top of an hourglass. Not that he expected Dazai to get better, anyway.
Eventually, the suffering of others becomes an inconvenience instead of a tragedy when it drags out for too long. You get tired of them being sick, being tired, being depressed. Then it simmers down to a point where their rash decisions, their worst moments, and their cries for help all become just everyday annoyances.
Kunikida had let that come of Dazai's suicide mania. He encouraged it, really, by letting Dazai play it off as a joke or a flirty little gesture when asking a pretty lady to die with him. Kunikida encouraged it by yelling at Dazai over it like it was spilled coffee or a broken flower vase, not like a cry for help. Kunikida had the feeling Dazai much preferred it this way, but that didn't make it in any way less disturbing. Now that Dazai was so incredibly sick, and yet...still denied treatment.
As he looked at Dazai, a disheveled, sickly mess whose own body was turning against him, he knew Dazai would try to minimize this, too. He'd say, this is no big deal, I'll be fine, and isn't this what I want anyway? He'd make it all just one big, dark-humored joke so nobody cared so much that he had cancer.
Maybe none of it was a cry for help. Maybe Dazai didn't want to be helped. That was just all the more tragic.
"I don't understand why you do this," Kunikida muttered, adjusting the way his glasses sat on his nose.
"Do what?" Dazai's voice came out a little squeaky, dry, raspy. "Why I've been more cuddly lately? You're probably confused about that, right-"
"Why do you want to die so badly? What is it? And why is it so... funny, to you?" If I knew what it was, maybe I could fix this, Kunikida thought, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. If one was an open book, Dazai was a hidden diary slammed shut beneath a dozen locks.
"Ah, that's just how I've always been. You've asked me that before, Kunikida!" Dazai answered with a sort of smile as if it were just a quirky personality trait, to want to die so badly.
"Of course." Kunikida huffed in slight annoyance. He wanted to know..! Damnit, he needed to know! He couldn't just let this keep getting worse, there was still time, and there had to be something he could do. Anything.
Kunikida glanced back over at Dazai. He noted the way he leaned over ever so slightly with his arms curled around his stomach. The bandages he always wore strictly tightened to his skin now draped loosely over his arms like tissue paper streamers left behind after a child's birthday party.
Dazai's beloved trenchcoat was hung up by the door, which was already odd. He rarely was seen without it. Dazai claimed he was just hot. It was believable enough, it was late summer, but it worried Kunikida that Dazai was sitting here beneath the ceiling fan in an air-conditioned house and still had little beads of sweat on his face.
"Dazai-"
"Can we not talk about the cancer thing? Talk about something else."
Kunikida frowned. Dazai knew him too well- not that he kept it any secret how horrified he was of this situation. Whenever Kunikida looked at this sickly, underweight man by his side, he saw someone who was dying. He couldn't think about anything else but the fact that soon, Dazai would no longer be a part of this world.
He knew Dazai knew this too. Was that why he seemed so happy? Why he had this placid look on his face? Maybe it was a thoughtful expression, knowing that soon he'd be freed. Freed from, as Dazai put it himself, an oxidizing world. Kunikida had no way of knowing why he felt this way and it bothered him.
Over and over like ants spiraling to their death, this cycle was all Kunikida could think about. His thought process became a loop; Dazai is dying. He seems to enjoy knowing that. Why? What is it that makes him despise being alive? I dismissed every attempt he took on his life. Dazai is dying, is it my fault? No, it's all Dazai's choice. But I'm not fixing anything, and I could be. Why does he want this so badly? Dazai is dying-
Kunikida knew it was just making things worse. Even when his coworker- no, his companion, his partner, was slowly wasting away, all he could do was be neurotic about it.
Kunikida knew he was making himself the victim in this situation. He hated that, he hated it more than anything. Selfishness was not something that had any place in his idealistic way of life, and yet, here he was. Feeling like this anyway.
He hadn't even noticed he'd completely dropped the book he was reading until he felt Dazai softly place it back on his lap. Kunikida looked down at Dazai's shaking hands, at a tiny cut he'd given himself by mistake that would not stop bleeding. It should've healed by now, shouldn't it? It should've scabbed over a while ago.
"Kunikida, you're getting a little careless. You okay over there? You look...spacey."
Kunikida adjusted his glasses and looked over at Dazai, who'd slowly tugged a blanket up over his lap.
"Just thinking, is all."
"You think too much."
Kunikida didn't agree with that. He thought it was perfectly normal to overthink every little thing when someone you know is dying. No, not just someone he knew, someone he cared very deeply for.
Kunikida flinched a bit when he felt Dazai reach over and begin absentmindedly playing with his hair. Kunikida despised having his ponytail messed with- but as he felt the weakness of Dazai's touch, his pointed glare slowly faded into a low sigh of reluctant acceptance. How could he be mad? He might as well let Dazai do what he wanted a little bit, it's not like he would be around long anyway- no, no, that was a horrible way to think!
Kunikida looked back down at Dazai, who was almost falling asleep on his shoulder. He found himself unable to look away for long, almost as if Dazai would slip right through his fingers if he found his attention elsewhere. The warm yet chilling silence hung in the air for quite some time, only interrupted by a melody from outside. Soft, lifted, childish, yet a little tiny and mechanical like a worn music box.
"Kunikida, look," Dazai practically begged the instant the tune outside came drifting in from the street. He stood up and rushed to look out the window despite his wobbly balance, "It's an ice cream truck."
"Now?" Kunikida couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, watching his sickly partner gaze out the window like a child in whimsy. "What, do you want ice cream or something? I'm not going to pay for th-"
Dazai turned around to look at him, just the miserably lifeless look in his eyes ripping Kunikida apart. It was like looking at a shivering stray cat. Kunikida knew better than to deny Dazai something so simple that could bring him even the briefest moment of joy. With all the suffering Dazai's illness had caused, he deserved this at the very least.
"Fine." Kunikida sighed, fishing around in his pocket. "Just take my wallet."