Chapter Text
the sea spewed out dazai, its salted tears clinging to his hair and stinging his eyes. another failed attempt that left him choking on sand and water. why did he keep trying, when it was so clear the sea didn't want him? perhaps because he found comfort, in drowning, in sinking. each time, his lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, but each time, he convinces himself it'll fade along with his heartbeat.
yet he always washes up on the beach, reeking of iodine. choking, but breathing, his own body going against his death wish.
he tries to get up, his arms trembling, struggling to lift him up. his hands clench around the sand, little bits of seashells cutting through his fingertips. a bitter smile curves his lips. they're a little chapped, it hurts. it’s not too late yet. he can go home, he can drink himself half-comatose, and wake up tomorrow with only a headache and the sting of dried salt on his skin.
with that thought in mind, he gets up, coughing another splash of seawater. he sighs lightly when his throat feels clear, and idly looks at the sea. clouds are rolling above it, casting their white reflection on the surface. dazai had been able to see it from underneath, and had found it prettier that way, warped by the currents and by his hazy mind. next time the clouds look this pretty, he’ll throw himself at the sea again.
feeling the waves splash the bottom of his legs, he looks down, almost confused. he forgot he didn’t have shoes on, having left them at the pier he jumped off of. a glance to the left and he sees it, maybe two minutes away from him. the waves had made him drift a little, after all, it wasn’t only an impression. so he begins to walk, his steps slow, almost as if he were walking against the tide.
for now, he stays on the beach, his gaze sweeping across the sand because the salted water still clings to his eyelashes. he tries to blink it away, but it only gets into his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. hoping it makes it stop.
a few seconds, and the pain passes. he starts to walk again, his brown eyes half-shut, trying not to let in painful drops of seawater. it’ll drip off him either way, be it from the tips of his dark hair, or the seams of his ragged, tan coat. traces of his passage on the sand, that’ll fade when the tide rises. he can feel the wind on his face, gently blowing on the last drops of water on his cheeks.
a few steps before he reaches the pier, he stops in his tracks, seeing something wash up on the shore. a conch shell, the kind that you can supposedly hear the sea from if you put your ear on them. it’s cream white, with scattered brown streaks, and filled with a mix of sand and water. dazai crouches, and observes the seashell for a few seconds, before hesitantly putting his hand on it. almost like he’s scared it’ll break.
it does not. it lets itself be taken by dazai, cradled in his palm, like something precious, worth bringing home. he isn’t used to having a keepsake for a suicide attempt, but this time, he can make an exception.