Chapter Text
Living was a matter of condemnation. Ever since Dazai first gained the power of consciousness, the idea of remaining in this world only to die struck him as ridiculous. He watched birds smash against windows and fall dead to the ground; he observed people leaving the hospital in tears, with swollen noses and trembling lips; he noticed the flowers that someone replaced on the corner where a young man had perished in a car accident. The image of the boy, in black and white, with a straight smile and motionless eyes, presented an appearance frozen in time—a simple fragment of what he had been before fulfilling the mandate of his sentence.
Dazai wondered, time after time, what the point was in remaining standing despite knowing the end of his story, just as he knew the end of all those who surrounded him. To laugh despite knowing he would end with a pale face; to cook even though he would end with cold hands and bluish nails; to try to live with the constant reminder of losing to his own biology… Each of these thoughts had invaded Dazai’s existence. During the nights, when distractions diminished and the inner voice he called mind and consciousness increased its volume, that was when the idea of the insignificance of it all attained its maximum authority. It greeted him like an old friend, sliding between the tissues of his experiences and stripping away the colors and feelings that might indicate otherwise and lead him to the conclusion that there was something more in this dismal place called Earth.
Sitting in the passenger seat, he looked ahead to find the irregular movement of the cars being dodged by his partner, who drove with tense hands and eyes darting from one rearview mirror to another. The afternoon sun illuminated the road and the moving metals, the rays sliding in to provide warmth to Dazai’s skin and, in passing, pausing to fall upon the reddish strands of the vehicle’s driver. They settled within the red hair, distracting Dazai from his current task: the furrowed brow, the dust left uncleaned after their last altercation, and the profile that allowed him to linger on the wrinkles formed beside the eye due to tension—each detail capturing his attention and causing the bandages he held in his hands to nearly slip away.
At the sudden movement, his partner’s brow furrowed in a grimace of impatience. He kept his gaze on the road. His voice, however, came out impatient, tinged with that tone of disdain present most of the time in his dealings with Dazai.
"What’s is wrong with you this time? You’re covered in this bandages; applying one shouldn't be that difficult," Chuuya muttered.
Dazai did not respond, preferring to look away with feigned disinterest. Focusing on the bandage, he retraced the final steps, murmuring complaints under his breath about the unstable movement of the car, which Chuuya failed to hear due to the wind and the speed at which they were traveling.
"Now I’m feeling pain because of you," Dazai accused. When he finished with the bandages, he threw them into the glove compartment, closing it with enough force to elicit a huff from Chuuya. He smiled at the expected reaction and, as he leaned back in the seat, pretended to watch the road, occasionally stealing glances at Chuuya’s profile, resplendent in the sun.
For someone who considered his life devoid of color—that is, devoid of positive feelings he could experience regarding his existence—his partner’s vibrant silhouette contradicted that belief. Much like a painting rendered in black and white which, were it not for a single radiant red flower, could deceive the viewer into believing in the painting's absolute melancholy, Chuuya managed to break, at times, when circumstances gave rise to errors, the sentence imposed upon Dazai. If this sentence were a matter of objective vision, it could be debated as much as the feelings evoked by the painting of the flower, varying with each person who, nevertheless, concluded their own interpretation to be certain and irrevocable.
"The plan was yours, don’t drag me into this," Chuuya replied, swerving lanes abruptly in response to the thud Dazai had caused by slamming the glove box. He shot him a look, satisfied with the wince of pain and the hand instinctively reaching for the wound on his arm.
"You arrived three and a half minutes later than I ordered you to," Dazai countered, using that as an excuse to turn toward Chuuya.
"I’m sorry, oh great strategist. Life requires... surprises, you know?" Chuuya spoke, mockery injected into every word, taking his eyes off the road for an instant to see if that had bothered Dazai. Catching no sign of the desired reaction, he continued. "Even you allow imperfections in your plans."
"My plan was perfect," Dazai contradicted again.
"It’ll be perfect when you manage to predict me completely. In fact, good luck with that, genius," Chuuya commented, and just after he finished speaking, he slammed on the brakes for a car that cut in front of them. "Fuck," he muttered, pressing his lips together in discontent and leaning hard on the horn. His gaze shifted toward Dazai; he convinced himself this action was to see if his partner had smashed into the dashboard and to celebrate if so, but, seeing the grimace on his face due to a new hit against his injured arm, he looked away, pinning his eyes back on the road.
Between the warmth of the sun settling in the distance and the noise of the wind hitting the vehicle, Dazai remained in silence after the sudden braking. He directed his gaze toward the window this time, watching the passing cars, the bridges, and the signs. He wandered over the faces of the drivers—some talking and laughing, others, like him, maintaining a neutral gaze, as if they were looking through the road. The faces of people in moments like that, when they believed no one was watching, revealed the state of their mind, or soul, as some believed. The wrinkles beside their mouths deepened, and looking at them, Dazai evoked in them a familiar feeling that, however, he denied immediately; it was impossible for any other person to feel the same as him.
Even though Chuuya had just told him about his lack of omniscience, Dazai had learned to trust his mind enough to dismiss his partner’s words. He knew his own capabilities, his habits, and his noteworthy qualities, and for that reason, he deigned to affirm the perfection of his plans.