Chapter Text
He'd decided to do something even stupider than trying to kill himself, Dazai thought as he walked back to the container.
He went inside and threw the small box he'd brought onto the chair next to his bed, staring at it for far too long.
Why had he bought that? Even now, he didn't understand the impulse that had driven him to buy it.
He'd been thinking about it all week. He'd been in charge of delivering a shipment of drugs, and despite working for the port mafia for a couple of years, he hadn't been involved in any missions on that side. Out of disgust? He didn't know.
It was ridiculous. He'd seen people under the influence, read things online about the damage it did to their bodies, how they couldn't live without using anything afterward. And yet, they did it and didn't stop, and they were idiots.
But now, he was the idiot.
He opened the box with his fingernails and looked inside. He'd ordered different things. There were not only powders, but also weed and injections, even crystals. Everything looked horrifying.
But the mission and his investigation came with a revelation: if he consumed it, he could deteriorate his body enough to then take a large dose and die. It would be slow, but this time he wasn't in a hurry.
Besides, he could always try something else even while still in the process.
He looked at things indecisively. What would be good to start with? If he was honest, for once he had never tried any of this and was slightly lost. He decided to go for something simple, or so he thought.
Cocaine. It wasn't rocket science.
He opened the small bag it came in and let some fall onto the chair. He lay down on the floor and took his wallet out of his pocket, looking for his arcade ticket card. He looked at the powder carefully and began to flatten it slightly, removing any lumps and forming the lines carefully. He had no idea if they were thick or thin, nor did it really matter.
With a rolled-up banknote, he inhaled deeply, the fine powder rising up his nose like an icy fire burning his nostrils. The bitter taste spread down his throat, a metallic aftertaste reminiscent of dried blood. He closed his eyes, feeling the immediate burning, a sharp prick that extended to his sinuses, as if tiny needles were piercing his skull.
He let out a ragged sigh, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and waited. The first few seconds were an unbearable emptiness. His heart beat erratically, like a disjointed drum in his chest, but the world remained the same: gray, oppressive, an echo of nothingness devouring him from within. He sat on the icy floor, legs crossed, head against the wall. The container creaked softly in the wind outside, a reminder of his isolation.
"How long did I have to wait?" He murmured to himself, his voice hoarse and broken. The burning in his nose was subsiding, becoming a subtle numbness, but the effect hadn't yet arrived. His mind wandered on the edge of despair, and everything felt distant, as if he were observing his own life through a frosted pane of glass. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and a faint tingling began to rise up his spine, a harbinger of what was to come. He waited with destructive impatience, longing for the poison to drag him away from himself.
Then it hit like a raging wave.
The initial rush was an electric current that coursed through his veins, accelerating his pulse until his heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to escape. A false euphoria, a chemical ecstasy flooding his brain, blurring the sharp edges of reality. His pupils dilated, the world inside the container became sharper, more vibrant: shadows in the corners danced like specters, metal gleamed with an unreal luster under the dim light of a hanging bulb. He felt a manic energy surge within him, a fire that compelled him to move, to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He leaped to his feet, wobbly slightly, and began pacing in circles around the confined space, his footsteps echoing with a metallic sound.
"Ha! Is this all you've got for me?" he shouted into the void, his voice distorted by the rush. But beneath the euphoria, destruction lurked: thoughts racing like bullets, a whirlwind of suicidal ideas intertwined with grotesque visions—his body floating in the river, broken bones, blood mingled with saltwater. He sweated profusely, the internal heat contrasting sharply with the cold of the container, and a nervous tic made his hands tremble. The pleasure was fleeting, a veil over the abyss, but he embraced it fiercely, inhaling more air as if he could absorb more of the effect, ignoring the mounting pain in his chest and the nausea beginning to churn in his stomach.
When the peak began to fade, the comedown hit him like a hammer. The container seemed to close in on him, the walls more oppressive, the air thicker. He collapsed to the floor, gasping, his heart still racing but now erratic, as if he were on the verge of collapse. Numbness spread through his body, leaving a hollow emptiness where euphoria had once been. His mind, once a whirlwind, was now a mire of fatigue and fleeting regret.
"Again... I knew it would be useless, it was stupid," he murmured, huddled against the wall, the cold metal biting into his skin through his shirt. His nose bled slightly, a trickle of red blood dripping onto his lap, but he didn't care.