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The city was asleep. Yokohama’s restless streets had finally quieted beneath a pale blue fog, and only the distant hum of passing trains broke the silence. The air was cold, heavy, and smelled faintly of rain and sea salt.
Atsushi Nakajima stood at the edge of the riverbank, shoes soaked through, his hands trembling as they gripped the railing. His breath came in shallow bursts. He wasn’t crying anymore—he’d done that hours ago, until his throat was raw and his chest burned.
He just felt tired.
Not the kind of tired that a nap could fix. This was a deep, marrow-aching exhaustion—the kind that seeps into every thought until all that’s left is the desire for it to end.
He’d written a letter. Folded it neatly, even signed his name at the bottom like a professional report. He’d thanked Kunikida for his patience. Apologized to Kyouka for not keeping his promise to live on for her. He’d written something for Dazai, too, but the words had blurred so badly he wasn’t sure if they’d even made sense anymore.
“I’m sorry,” it had said. “I tried. I really did.”
He thought Dazai would understand.
After all, hadn’t Dazai been the first to tell him that death wasn’t something to fear? That maybe, for some, it was even a kind of peace?
Atsushi let the thought drift away with the night wind as he leaned forward. The metal was cold against his stomach. The black river below looked endless.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
“... I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice barely audible over the quiet current.
And then he let go.
He didn’t remember much after that. Only the icy shock of water swallowing him whole, the sting of salt and mud in his throat, and the muffled roar of his own heart beating as the world darkened.
He thought it would be peaceful. That the cold would numb him, that the pain would fade.
But he hadn’t expected the claws—his own, tearing through his arms and chest in a desperate, involuntary attempt to live. He hadn’t expected his body to fight him so violently, as if it refused to obey his final wish.
By the time he was pulled from the river, he wasn’t even conscious enough to see who had done it. He only heard the voice—low, trembling, and unmistakably furious.
“... You idiot.”
When Atsushi woke, it was to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. The ceiling was white. His arm burned where an IV was taped down.
He blinked slowly, vision swimming, until the blurry figure sitting by his bedside sharpened into someone familiar.
“Dazai…?”
The brunet’s hair was damp, plastered to his temples. His coat was crumpled and half-fallen off his shoulders, and his eyes—those usually mischievous, unreadable eyes—were bloodshot.
“Hey,” Dazai said softly.
Atsushi tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his ribs. Dazai immediately leaned forward, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t. You almost drowned, you absolute moron.”
The words were harsh, but his voice wasn’t. It cracked near the end, quiet and strained, and Atsushi saw it then—the trembling in Dazai’s fingers, the wetness clinging to the corners of his eyes.
Atsushi stared at the blanket. “... You found me?”
“Of course I did,” Dazai muttered. “You left a letter in the office, genius. Kunikida nearly had a heart attack. I followed the trail before the police could.”
He let out a humourless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Didn’t think I’d be fishing you out of a river one day. Ironic, huh?”
Atsushi swallowed hard. His throat felt scraped raw. “I didn’t… mean to cause trouble.”
Dazai’s gaze snapped to him. “Trouble? Atsushi, you tried to kill yourself. That’s not ‘trouble.’ That’s—” He broke off, voice shaking. “That’s me almost losing you.”
The silence that followed was heavy. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space between them.
Atsushi turned his head away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… couldn’t keep up anymore. Every time I try to do something right, I ruin it. I thought everyone would be better off without me.”
Dazai sat very still. Then, slowly, he leaned back in the chair, letting out a long, tired breath.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “I used to think that too.”
Atsushi looked at him, startled.
“I used to believe the world would be quieter, simpler, if I just disappeared.” Dazai’s eyes softened as he stared at the window. “But the truth is… the world doesn’t get quieter. It just gets emptier.”
He turned his gaze back to Atsushi, and there was something raw in it. “If you’d died, Atsushi, the world would’ve lost someone who made it a little less dark. I would’ve lost someone who makes me—God, I can’t believe I’m saying this—feel like living might be worth something.”
Atsushi’s breath caught.
Dazai smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not a burden. You never were. You just… forget how much light you carry when it’s dark.”
The younger man’s lips trembled. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”
“Then don’t try to stop,” Dazai murmured. “Just… stay. That’s all you have to do. Stay until it gets better. Until the day you don’t have to fight so hard just to exist.”
For the first time that night, Atsushi let himself cry. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, quietly, brokenly, until his body shook. Dazai said nothing, only reached over and pulled him into a careful embrace, his hand resting on the back of Atsushi’s head.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re still here. That’s enough.”
The river was calm again the next morning. The police had already cleared the area, leaving only ripples and a few fallen leaves drifting on the surface.
Dazai stood there, coat wrapped around his shoulders, watching the water glisten beneath the sunrise. Behind him, Atsushi approached slowly, wrapped in a hospital blanket, IV still taped to his arm.
“I wanted to see it again,” he said quietly.
Dazai didn’t look at him. “Most people don’t come back to the scene that almost killed them.”
“I know,” Atsushi said. “But I wanted to see what it looked like in daylight.”
They stood side by side for a long while. The city stirred awake in the distance—buses, birds, the hum of life continuing.
“Dazai…” Atsushi murmured. “Thank you.”
Dazai’s expression softened, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me. Just keep living. That’ll be thanks enough.”
And for once, Atsushi nodded.
The river didn’t forget but neither did they.