Chapter Text
When Dazai leaves his shabby apartment that day, he’s not looking for a job or a restaurant. He has no interest in bookstores or arcades. The only thing he wants, the only thing he’s looking for, is somewhere to die painlessly.
Daytime in Yokohama is a terrible place to find such a thing. Even knowing that, he ventures out. The world feels dark even as the sun blazes down on him.
On the train, Dazai catalogs the places he could die. A train track seems too painful, as satisfying as it would be to disrupt the people who have made his daily existence an inconvenience.
A river would be nice. Rivers are peaceful. Quiet. The one down by Tsurumi would be perfect. But drowning isn’t painless, and it’s more likely that he’ll be fished out of the river by some benevolent passerby who will, once again, prevent him from dying.
Maybe the bay would be better in that case. But the bay is full of trash. He doesn’t want to die somewhere dirty.
Dazai comes to a point where he wonders if he even wants to die, considering every idea he has, he meets with two or more reasons it wouldn’t work. Poisoning is painful and wouldn’t taste good. Hanging is painful, and it would be worse if he failed. Guns are painful, loud, and illegal. Starving would take too long.
Ah… I can’t die like this. Not on an empty stomach.
He gets off the train at Ishikawacho and wanders to Chinatown, but when he arrives, nothing seems good.
There’s a park there, bustling with customers eating food. It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so most of the people there are tourists. He passes one gazing at the cell phone in her hand with an almost lost expression as if trying to decipher the whole of Yokohama itself. A group of children dart around playing some game while a few wearing the same uniform sit nearby and graze on street food. One child gets up to chase off a begging gull repeatedly while her older brother or father tries to assist.
He doesn’t expect to see anyone he recognizes, not least of all Kunikida Doppo, sitting beneath the gazebo with a book in one hand and a meatbun in the other.
Dazai knows plenty about Kunikida. They shared a dorm room the last two years they were in university. Kunikida always went on about his ideals and barked at Dazai when he showed a lack of motivation. He had a successful job search, meaning unlike Dazai, he does not face the crippling inadequacy of unemployment and a lack of direction. Although he maintained a healthy distance, there were times they felt like friends, like when Dazai had allergies so bad, his eyes wouldn’t stop watering and Kunikida kept him well-fed and well-medicated, or the time Kunikida dropped all his textbooks in the rain, so Dazai loaned the young man his.
Or the time they both accidentally figured out the other had an ability, Kunikida by using Doppo Poet to create some little thing he had broken while Dazai was gone, Dazai by picking up said object and watching it disintegrate.
Kunikida is, as luck would have it, also fun to annoy, so he slides up to the blond and sits down next to him without a word, peering at the bag beside him. Eventually, he taps Kunikida’s shoulder.
Kunikida, without looking away, says, “Yes?”
“I was just wondering what’s in the bag.”
“I already said it was—Dazai, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know…” He forces a smile. “Wandering. You must be working. Did you forget to take a lunch break?”
“It’s my day off,” Kunikida explains, lowering his book. “I always come here to read when it is.”
“Ever the creature of habit, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai smiles. “I’ll bet you’re still a stickler for your ideals, too. How many of them were there again?”
Kunikida lifts his bun to his mouth. Dazai watches. In the end, he lowers it without taking a bite and offers Dazai the bag.
“Huh?”
“Here. I would feel bad eating, knowing you were hungry.”
Dazai peers at the paper bag. “How do you know I’m hungry, Kunikida-kun?”
“I don’t.”
In the end, Dazai takes what he’s offered. There’s a meatbun inside, enormous and still warm to the touch. Beaming, he says, “Thanks for the meal,” and sinks his teeth into it. The first bite makes him feel troublingly alive. “Say, Kunikida-kun…”
“What is it?” he asks, lowering his book again.
“How long has it been since we graduated?”
“Only a couple of months, I guess.” He takes a bite of his own meal and chews thoughtfully. Dazai sees he’s staring at the foreigner. She’s not his type, but she guesses Kunikida sees something pretty about her. “Shouldn’t your ideal relationship involve someone who can speak your language?”
“She can speak a little,” he states. “She ordered soup dumplings in Japanese earlier.”
“That would make for a terrible marriage.”
“Why the hell would I be thinking about that?” In comparison to Kunikida’s voice, everything else sounds quiet. At least one of the kids starts to cry, likely startled by his loud voice. Coughing, Kunikida takes another bite. The meatbun is dwindling quickly.
“We completely lost touch after graduating,” Dazai remarks, swinging his feet and smirking at Kunikida’s obvious fluster. “What kind of job did you get anyway? I remember you wanting to be a math teacher.”
“I work at a junior high school. And yes, I teach mathematics.”
“Ooh, well done, Kunikida-kun.” If he weren’t still holding the meatbun, he would clap. “Congratulations.”
“It was really nothing,” he answers, eating the last of his meatbun. “What about you?”
“Oh.” Dazai smiles. “I’m still looking.”
Kunikida stares at him, then heaves a sigh. “Damn slacker… I told you it would catch up with you.”
Snickering, Dazai says, “I’m actually out right now looking for jobs. I thought about applying to a bookstore nearby.”
Pushing up his glasses, Kunikida hums and says, “I hope it works out for you.”
Maybe Dazai is hearing things, but the disappointment in Kunikida’s tone, imagined or otherwise, suggests that the blond isn’t as oblivious as he lets on. Letting his smile slip a little, Dazai studies his own feet.
“Are you really okay, Dazai?”
“How come you’re asking?” he fires back, nibbling on his meatbun and swinging his feet.
Rather than answer, Kunikida slips his book into the bag on his shoulder and joins Dazai in staring at the pavement. “How about this?”
Dazai looks up.
“You finish your meal and actually go apply somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t actually have to be a bookstore. I’ll take you out for lunch next week on my day off if you do.”
“Really?” Dazai smiles. “Can we get crab?”
Kunikida clicks his tongue. “I… will consult my budget and make that decision later.”
“So stingy,” Dazai whines, pouting. “Come on. We’ve graduated. You can afford something better than meat buns.”
In typical fashion, Kunikida announces, “But meat buns are the ideal meal at this time of day. They’re high in protein, low cost, and filling. With a salad from the convenience store for dinner, and perhaps some fruit—”
By then, Dazai forgets to hold back his laughs, earning a scowl from the blond. “Sorry. I just forgot how much of a nerd you were.”
“Waste of bandages!” Kunikida roars.
“I kind of missed it,” he admits, smiling. Mostly, he says it just to see how Kunikida will react. To his surprise, Kunikida pulls out his phone.
“We should exchange contact information. If you’re serious about applying, that is.”
He just completely ignored it… Blinking, Dazai finds himself pulling out his own phone, and just like that, he and Kunikida are contacts on Line.
“Now that that’s settled…” Kunikida rises. “I have an errand to run. If you have any good book recommendations, text me. I’ve been trying to read more now that I’ve graduated.”
Dazai weighs the possibility that somewhere in Kunikida’s ideas is a line about his ideal wife being well-read. When he feels he has expended enough thought on that, he goes back to his lunch.
Maybe he won’t die just yet. Not until Kunikida buys him crab, at least.