Chapter Text
Dazai Osamu wasn’t ‘troubled’. Regardless of what people seemed to think.
He was, despite the suicide fixation, a pretty well-rounded individual.
He worked for an old foster parent of his, Doctor Mori Ōgai, as a secretary in his clinic, and he had an apartment and never went hungry. He was, as men came, quite well-off in the finance department, though that was more because Mori took a particular liking to him and paid him well, despite his less than mediocre work ethic.
Dazai Osamu wasn’t troubled.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough for some people.
Apparently, Dazai had brought it upon himself; he had been standing on the roof of his apartment building, on the outer side of the railing, looking over the edge.
In his mind, he was calculating how likely imminent death would be if he decided to jump.
There were quite a few factors that played into that, and he found himself taking a good while weighing out the pros and cons, which, admittedly, he probably should’ve done before climbing up over the rails.
A young woman, who had been walking her dog on the other side of the street, noticed him standing there, and began to call attention to him, pointing and screaming frantically for someone to get him down.
Dazai, upon realising the now dozen of eyes on him, made an attempt to turn and hop back over, hoping to disappear down the stairs and into his apartment. However, he did not get far before the police (who had been called by one of the on-lookers) found him and escorted him out of the building.
It had not been his first offence.
So, he had a full psych evaluation, was deemed unstable, and sent off to two weeks in a full psychiatric hospital.
It wasn’t Dazai’s first time there. And, as far as he was concerned, it probably wouldn’t be his last.
However, when he was realised this time, there was a condition.
He was to attend twelve months of mandatory, twice-weekly group therapy sessions. Legally mandatory. And, after weeks of trying to get out of it, he finally gave in, and went in for the first of what would be many appointments.
The room was dull. It had windowless, grey walls and artificial lighting, and there was a circle of small desks in the middle of the room, and a single plant in the far corner.
This was going to be just wonderful, wasn’t it?
All of the other people were already there. They were sitting in their respective seats, talking amongst one another, and only looked up when they heard Dazai’s footsteps on the linoleum flooring.
The small circle of admittedly odd looking people (who stuck out like a sore thumb against the dull room) all turned to gaze at him, before a woman, with bobbed, dark hair and brown eyes, who didn’t seem but ten years older than Dazai, clapped her hands together.
“Everyone. This is Osamu Dazai. He’s new. He’s going to be joining us today.”
The circle muttered greetings, and Dazai scanned the room for an empty seat. The only one was between a woman with long, split-dyed hair that was half-lavender, half-silver, who was looking around nervously, and a man with with straight black hair that fell just above his shoulders, who seemed to be staring at nothing, looking deep in thought, neither seeming older than Dazai.
He sighed internally, taking his seat, and offering a half-smile to the woman besides him, not knowing if he was brave enough to glance at the ravenette besides him. The woman smiled back, but it was clearly a forced action.
“Alright. Let’s welcome our new member. How about we all go around and share our names, and a fact about ourselves? I’ll start.” The doctor says, crossing her legs under her desk. Dazai’s eyes scanned for a clock. There was less than a dozen people here. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long.
“My name is Doctor Yosano. I’m your instructor. A fact about me is that I’ve been helping run groups similar to yours for seven years.”
“Would you like to go next?”
She gestured with her pen to the person besides her, a blonde teenager dressed in blue overalls, who smiles.
“I would! My name is Kenji. A fun fact about me is that I grew up on a farm.”
Dazai can’t help but wonder why this sunshine-y kid was in a place like this, especially compared to the rest of these freaks. However, his train of thought was interrupted when the overalls boy, Kenji, looked to the man besides him.
“Would you like to go next?”
The man nodded.
“Um… my name is Kunikida. I’m Kenji’s older brother. An interesting fact about me is that I play piano.”
He seemed stiff. He had long blonde hair that was neatly tied back, a notebook in his hands, and was the only one in the circle dressed like they just came from work- the man was wearing a suit. Interesting.
As he finished, the person next to him spoke up.
“My name’s Fyodor Dostoevsky.” He says simply. If his name didn’t give away his Eastern European origins, his accent certainly did- Dazai couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but it certainly peaked his interest.
The room sat in silence, until it became clear Fyodor had no intent of listing a fact about himself, so Dazai spoke up.
“I’m Osamu Dazai. An interesting fact I have about myself is that I’m legally required to be participating in this.”
A soft scoff from across the room, as the man with the glasses adjusted the frames against his face with a slender hand.
“We all are. That can’t possibly count.”
Huh. That was news to Dazai.
“…really? Every one of you?”
He looks over the crowd. They seemed.. awkward, yes, maybe a little.. socially inept, but certainly not ‘hazard to society’ level. Hm. Maybe he underestimated the freaks surrounding him.
“Yes, every one of us.” The glasses man- Kunikida, wasn’t it? Yes, Kunikida, continued to speak. The Doctor shrugged her shoulders.
“Fine, then. Would you mind giving us a fact about yourself? It could be anything.” She requests, her tone almost coaxing, as though she was unsure how Dazai would react. It annoyed him a bit, but he supposes it makes sense- he was sent to her because of his repeated suicide attempts, after all.
“…well, then I’d quite like Fyodor over here to go first. He forgot to share one, himself, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t make an attempt to taunt him if I were you.” Remarked the woman with the split-dyed hair, who was nervously looking between the two, her foot tapping anxiously against the ground.
“It’s alright, Sigma.” Dr. Yosano spoke up, attempting to reassure the woman. She was using that same sweet, coaxing tone she used on Dazai, but to an extreme. Jesus. He really was surrounded by basket-cases. Though he couldn’t help but wonder what this Fyodor character, who was sporting that same aloof expression, could have possibly done to elicit such a reaction from the woman.
His thoughts paused when he registered something.
“…your name is Sigma?”
She scoffs.
“…yes. What of it?”
“…just never heard that name, before.”
He shrugged. In reality, that was, by far, one of the worst names he had ever heard. No wonder she was mental. Dazai figured anyone would be, if they had to introduce themselves as ‘Sigma’.
‘Sigma’ gave Dazai a look- it was as if she was assessing how much of a danger she was to him, and it went on for what felt like at least five minutes before Dr. Yosano interrupted them.
“So. Dazai. Do you.. have an interesting fact, then?” She asked, trying to steer the subject away from the strange man sitting besides him and Sigma’s little outburst.
Unfortunately for her (and for most people who had the displeasure of interacting with Dazai for long stretches of time), Osamu Dazai was quite the stubborn man.
“…whaat? But our dear friend Fyodor still has yet to go…” Dazai complains dramatically, looking over at the man sitting next to him, all violet eyes and silky raven hair.
“Dazai, come on, now. It really isn’t that big of a deal-“ The doctor pressed, but before she could finish her statement, she was interrupted-
This time, by none other than Fyodor himself.
“It’s alright, ma’am.”
He turns his head slightly, his eyes locking on Dazai’s. Fyodor’s lips turn upwards in the slightest smirk, barely noticeable.
“My name, as I stated earlier, is Fyodor Dostoevsky.”
A pause. Dazai feels an odd sense of anticipation for whatever the man’s going to say next, despite it being such a trivial thing. He only really pushed for this to be difficult, to waste everyone’s time.
“A fact about myself is that I quite enjoy playing chess. However… I only truly enjoy it when I have an intelligent partner to play against.”
Dazai felt a slight smile twist on his own lips.
Maybe this whole therapy thing wouldn’t be as bad as he had assumed.