Chapter Text
Dazai can only imagine the amount of mornings he's seen the sun rise this week. It leaves a pit of nothing in his stomach, knowing that he has to get through the day all over again. His body feels paralysed against his futon. No amount of will can make him move his pathetic limbs to stop the alarm clock blaring. It's loud, too loud, but he can't move. He won't. That impressive brain of his, that can deduce almost everything and think of almost every outcome, can't order his stupid body to roll over and switch that goddam alarm off.
So he gives up, let the alarm sound, let the early morning birds sing, let the sun shine so disgustingly on his face that it makes him want to hide under his duvet forever. But again, that requires moving.
Dazai can only help but feel the sweet relief of Chuuya not being here, that small man can do nothing but nag Dazai into oblivion because that is what he does best. There won't ever be someone for him, not like what he once had. An insanely kind and warm person who made Dazai feel as if the world wasn't always against him. That even though Dazai was riddled with flaws and errors, he still deserved something good. But, alas, the world was thrown against him. Ending when he witnessed Oda making his last few struggles breaths.
Dazai can't remember the last time he said Odasakus name out aloud. His mouth simply can't sound those syllables anymore.
How long has it been now? Dazai knows that it's been years, but it feels as if his days have been stretched and blurred together. To him, it was just a couple hours ago he was sprawled in his dingy bathroom, begging for someone to stop the pain of losing Oda. Blood caked up his sleeves and indenting all the crevices on his hands. Tears lay abandoned on his face as he wishes someone to take him. To rid him of this existence that has only ever caused pain. Knives ripping at his throat as he can only sob like the child he was. Dazai never wanted anything but, my god, he needed Oda. Needed him as much as he needed to breathe, as he yearned for that sense of Oda being near him. Oh, how he wishes Oda was the one breathing instead of him.
With a huff, Dazai gathers his strength and sits upright. Pushing away the thought that he must look like a puppet controlled with strings. It wasn't a fast movement but it was still enough to make him feel nauseous.
Dazai’s body is hunched heavily as he sits upwards, pain creeping into his expression. His muscles fight back with stiffness and aching, something that he knows all too well. Glancing down at his hands, he can still feel the blood. The red liquid that was way too dark to be outside of anyone's body. Nothing can ever rid him of that feeling. No matter how much Sake he drinks, how many times he jumps off that God forsaken bridge, how many times he thinks he can change. Just for it to be proven that he'll never have anything, that he is nothing.
He wishes he can blame Odasaku for leaving so suddenly, for being so goddam selfish. He supposes he can't be too hard on him. With him, he finally had some stable times.
Oda is always on his mind, thinking about how he's missing everything Dazai has done and all he'll ever do. That's one of the things that cut so deep into his heart. A strange raw feeling cutting him up inside, laughing at him for forever to come. Oda was his home .
No.
Dazai has never had a home and he never will. It's wrong. Things don't get homes. He was made with tragic black blood that only Mori could know and use. It’s difficult for Dazai to think about. So, he doesn't.
Once again, he breathes a sigh. His dorm has the sunlight piercing through empty alcohol bottles and discarded bandages. There is no law or order in his dorm, this is the only place Dazai can shed the fake parts of himself. So why bother making it so neat and beautifully organised when that is something he can never be.
A faint rush of wind blows and Dazai has thrown his duvet off him, landing carelessly on the floor. His fingers grip at his futon tightly as he manages to lurch himself forward into a standing position. Exhaustion runs through his veins and he makes slow steps towards his bathroom.
Finally making it face to face with himself in his above sink mirror. Its condition is scratched and shattered but still useful. Dazai can see major dark bags sitting under his eyes, something that he hates so much about his looks. No matter if he sleeps 24 hours a day, he will always carry the weight of these bags under his eyes. He supposes he should have his mother to thank for it.
Shakily, Dazai opens the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Bottles of pills fill up the entirety of the shelves. Prescriptions with all different names but definitely not Osamu Dazai. Words like Citalopram catch his attention. In all the months he's been taking these, they have yet to work. But he doesn't want to give up on them just yet, maybe his determination for these to work will develop some sort of placebo.
Dazai spills them onto his hand, no even bothering to count, And then throws them to the back of his throat, groaning quietly at the horrible taste.
Throwing the cabinet door closed in a rush he catches something. A flick of his dark hair combined with the sun rays remind him of a man he would very happily forget. Mori. A man so disturbed that it made Dazai look as if he was sent from the heavens. Dazai knows for a fact that if the devil comes to find him one day, it would come in the form of Mori.
Mori stares grisly back at Dazai, looking into his soulless eyes with darkness. It takes all of his breath away. Leaving his lungs useless and deflated. He can't deal with Mori right now, not when he's this weak and pathetic. Dazai tries to focus his eyes on something else. Anything but Mori, but he can't. His eyes are locked onto him because he knows what happens if you don’t look him in the eyes, Dazai learnt that lesson the hard way far too many times.
There's a ball forming in his throat, he can't swallow it. Mori still hasn't uttered a word. Still fully hypnotised looking into him. Dazai grabs onto the sink in front of him. Squeezing so hard his knuckles are turning white and he swears he will leave an imprint on the porcelain soon. Sweat drips off the very top of his brow and glides down his face.
God. He would rather Mori talk and belittle him. Not just stare at him like this. Because he knows what Mori is trying to say. He knows! Okay! He knows.
Odasaku is dead because of him.
Dazai can feel the lump growing leaving his throat feel as if there's barbed wire wrapped around it. He lets out a choked sob. Knuckles gripping harder.
“Stop! Please just…” He couldn't finish. The choked sobs slowly wracking his body. Dazais breathing becomes unsteady and frantic as he falls to the floor. His entire body convulsing with heart breaking cries.
“Please. I'm sorry!” The words barely recognisable as he cuddles his knees to his chest like a child. Slowly rocking to the sound of his gasping breaths.
He's falling apart, he knows that. He's falling and there's nobody alive that can save him.
Dazais hands clutch his dark locks of hair to pull. Trying desperately to make it seem like it's helping at all.
Time is blurring again. It happens too much. He doesn't know how to stop, so he does nothing. Dazai wishes that when this happens that it would make him feel numb. It doesn't, he feels everything. He feels tired, sick, angry, alone. There's nothing for him in this world. His purpose went the day that Odasaku died. And it was all Dazai’s fault.
He can’t have anything good because it's always taken away from him.
“Dazai?” An unexpected voice sounds from his front door. Sounding already inside of his dorm. He holds his breath in preparation for his uninvited guest.
“Dazai?” Chuuya speaks again as he walks past the bathroom, finally catching sight of Dazai in his state.
Their eyes lock onto each other, neither of them daring to speak first. Chuuya must've just come from work as he was wearing his usual mafia office attire.
“Shit.” Chuuya mutters, loud enough for Dazai to make out.
Shit indeed, Dazai thinks hazily. The last person he wants to be near right now.