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Lost in throes of a life I hardly know. So don’t make it worse, I can’t afford the hearse. Hold my hand as veins run cold.
Dazai begrudgingly opens his eyes. The clock staring back at him, it feels almost mocking. Of course it’s already eight, sleep was never kind to him. No matter how alluring and warm the bed was, he’d always spend hours tossing and turning. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he hesitantly tumbles off his bed and heads to the bathroom. His hair is tousled and messy and his eyebags seem even more prominent. Chuuya compared him to a racoon once after he saw Dazai’s morning appearance. Shoot, maybe he should just stay home today. Dazai would probably be throttled by Kunikida tomorrow but it would be a small price to pay. He sighs, no that won’t work. Not showing up would make the members of the ADA suspicious. He was pretty sure that Ranpo knew somewhat of his…troubling situation. Yet the great detective would always remain silent about it. Dazai, supposes he’s thankful.
He inwardly groans and slips into his usual attire, attempting to calm down his matted hair. The bandages on his arms were starting to itch, perhaps he’ll change them later. When he looks presentable enough he leaves his small apartment and steps onto the streets of Yokohama. There’s quite a large crowd of people mingling around here and there. He supposes that the pleasant weather is a factor of that. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he heads towards the building of the Armed Detective Agency.
“Good Morning!” he shouts, loudly opening the door and distracting everyone in the agency. Such unfortunate souls that have become a victim to his burdens Dazai inwardly muses. Dazai skips over to Kunikida’s desk, ready for today's banter. “Kunikidaaaaaaa,” he playfully says in a singsong voice, poking his shoulder, “Today’s such a wonderful day! Perfect for committing a double suicide with a beautiful lady don’t you think?” He spins in his office chair as the two of them argue about pointless topics. “Oh, Kunikida, did you know that deoxygenized blood is blue?” Dazai asks suddenly.
“Wait, really?” Kunikida raises his eyebrow, intrigued. “I should write that down in case it’s important later,” he mutters to himself, reaching for a pen.
“He’s messing with you Kunikida,” Ranpo says, across from the office.
“You bandage squandering machine!” he says angrily, although everyone in the agency knows it’s not real anger.
“Hehe,” Dazai chuckles as Kunikida shakes him by the shoulders. He hopes that if he keeps joking about suicide like this, no one will believe him when he means it for real. “Kunikida you’re so mean~,” Dazai teases. Atsushi and Yosano watch in amusement.
The day passes quickly. Before he knows it it’s time to clock off. Outside the sun is beginning to make its slow descent. It truly amazes Dazai how time can move so fast. Perhaps it's because he’s empty. Once you’ve been drained, everything passes. He makes his final playful remark at Kunikida for the day before leaving the office. However, he doesn’t head home, not yet. Instead, he trudges to the graveyard. Tracing the same path he always takes, he plops down next to a polished headstone and rests his head on it. To any passerby it may have looked like a disrespectful gesture, being in such an improper position next to the deceased. Oda wouldn’t mind though. Dazai knows this.
He sighs, “Oda, what am I going to do?” No one answers, this is Dazai simply muttering to himself. He probably looks insane like this, ironically this is probably the only thing that’s keeping him sane. The wind rustles through his hair, if Dazai was truly delirious enough, he probably could have mistaken it for Oda rustling his hair. Oh how pitiful he truly has become. If Mori was here, he’d scorn him for being so pathetic. Maybe if he bashed his head hard enough on the headstone he could crack his skull and die. That would be a funny turn of events. Yet Dazai doesn’t do it. He certainly thinks about it. After a bit more musing he gets up and brushes the dust off himself. “Alright,” he declares to himself, somewhat enthusiastic, “Stop this self-pitying Dazai and let’s go home.” He’s gone insane. He must have.
The next day goes the exact same way. Reluctantly drag himself out of bed, look in the mirror and question if he should go to work, go to work, cause a ruckus and bother Kunikida, leave work, visit Oda and repeat. It’s a boresome cycle really. All the days are blurring together and Dazai can’t help but feel a sense of emptiness. He lacks energy for everything but manages to complete them anyways. Even back in the Port Mafia he had some sense of himself. He felt lonely, it wasn’t the greatest emotion but at least it was a constant companion by his side. Now, he felt like he had been thrown into an unending void. Wasn’t the light supposed to make him feel better, Oda made it sound so easy when he’d talk about it. Was this paradise just unreachable for him? He missed the aching loneliness instead of this empty one. Sure, he’d have his fair share of genuine laughs and the occasional sadness, but once it all ended, he was sealed and banished back into the empty void once more. Fate was dangling salvation right in front of him. Dazai laughs to himself as he pulls himself out of bed once more. His body moved on autopilot for the rest of the day. It was an absurd sight really, the once high ranking Port Mafia executive, the Demon Prodigy was in reality a prisoner to themselves.
“Hey Dazai,” a voice snapped him out of his spiral, “Are you alright?” It was Yosano, staring at him with concern. Oh no..they were catching on. He was getting sloppy.
“Of course!” Dazai cheerfully chirped, forcing a smile. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“I..You’ve just been looking under the weather recently.”
“I assure you dear doctor, I’ve never been happier!” he grinned. Yosano shot him a look, she didn’t believe him, yet she didn’t dare push further.
“Alright..just, if you need any help just tell me okay?”
“Aye aye,” Dazai shrugged. That was the end of the conversation. A few more days sped by. Then another, and another. Until half a year had passed by. Most of the leaves had disappeared off the trees and it was slightly colder, nothing too much though. More days passed, more, more and-.
He screwed up. Dazai fucked up so hard. Of course the one solo mission he was finally allowed on aligned with the date of Oda’s death. Normally, this wouldn’t be too much of a deal, sure he’d perhaps be slightly under the weather, but nothing enough to break his composure. That was until the group he’d been assigned to gather intel on started talking about the Port Mafia. All was going fine until the group stumbled onto the topic of Mori’s old ‘demon prodigy.’ From there they spiraled to the topic of the mafia member that wouldn’t kill. Oda. What a coincidence, the world truly hated him. The mention of Oda coming from these foul peoples mouths made his blood boil. So he did the only thing that he was good at. Something he tried to suppress. He killed those motherfuckers. Usually, it wouldn’t be much of a problem. If he killed someone while he was in the Port Mafia as collateral damage, they’d find a way to clean it up. Mori would usually punish him for that but he was used to it. What he wasn’t used to was the ADA. No matter how long he’d been with them, he still didn’t quite understand. So many powerful people working together, perfectly capable of cruelty and ruining him. Yet, they chose to be kind, to him and everyone else. Why? Perhaps, Dazai is not human enough to understand. So when he was ushered into the President's office after the mission he felt an emotion he hadn’t felt in a while. Fear.
“Hello sir,” Dazai respectfully greeted, unlike his usual charming and unserious self.
“Dazai,” he acknowledged with a nod, “Come sit, and there’s no need to refer to me as sir.” He hated this. Feeling like a young child with no power again. It was a dreadful feeling that he wished to banish into the deepest pits of hell. Fukuzawa began to say something, probably lecturing Dazai. He wasn’t sure, all the noise was drowned out by the static in his head.
“Hey Dazai, why do you want to kill yourself?” Oda asked, his eyes alight with something akin to concern and curiosity.
“What do you mean?” Dazai said, spinning on his chair. The bar was mostly deserted, Ango had been too busy to come join them today unfortunately.
“Well, I realized you always talk about wanting to commit suicide but never why. Surely you must have a reason of some sort.” That was a good question. No one had ever asked Dazai that, nor had anyone ever really cared. He pondered for a moment.
“Hmm well, I don’t feel a sense of commitment to my life if that makes sense,” Dazai shrugged as if this was a normal conversation, “There’s nothing that I desire in this life that motivates me to be here. Just like someone needs a reason to die, one also needs a reason to live.” That had been the end of that conversation. No one had really brought up a topic like that ever again, especially since Oda passed there was no one else to trust. It was all Dazai’s fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his-.
“Dazai?”
He opened his eyes to see concerned metallic ones staring back. Oh right, he was still in Fukuzawa’s office.
“Ah, yes?”
“Are you alright?” The question weighed heavy in the air for a moment.
“Of course? What makes you think I wouldn’t be?” Dazai flashes the president a charming grin. Fukuzawa seems to want to say something but decides against it. Dazai wonders what it might be. In the end he was finally let out of the office with a stern reminder to take care of himself or something like that. How funny, why were these people so concerned about his life? Human nature was truly a mystery.
A few more days blurred together. It was the same routine again and again. He was like a broken record, playing the same thing over and over. Dazai faintly wonders if the agency is tired of him, he surely is tired of himself so they must be as well. Perhaps they think if they show him enough care he’ll eventually leave him alone. Yes, that is the only lengthy explanation. More days blur by. He’s like a spectator in his own body. The world around him seemed to be losing color rapidly, until it was monochrome. Black and white swirling together. He was truly pitiful, but what could he do? He was too much of a coward to kill himself was he not? Dazai woke up to another day. He was going to do it.
This day started off like no other. The sun assaulted his bleary eyes through his torn curtains and he rolled himself out of bed. He dragged himself to the bathroom as usual and dressed in his usual attire. Except this time he put slightly more effort into his appearance. Not too much that the agency would notice but enough to make him feel better. Next, he headed to his kitchen. It was a mess but he spent a generous amount of time organizing it. Dazai inwardly laughed at himself. Where was this motivation when he needed it? Again, like the past three years he headed towards the agency. The world was bright. Not exactly full of color and whimsical, it was more of a soft glow. He burst into the office with enthusiasm just as yesterday, although perhaps more genuine. Dazai bothered Kunikida and Atsushi as usual but his gaze lingered with affection, not that they noticed. Ranpo did shoot him a puzzled look, as if he knew something was wrong but couldn’t quite figure it out. Dazai felt a happiness he hadn’t felt in a while, still under all that joy the emptiness clawed. He didn’t mind much though.
It’s time to clock off. Dazai says his insincere goodbyes and heads out. Dazai rushed down the stairs and out the door. Perhaps he should text Chuuya a goodbye, his dog would probably be pissed at him if he didn’t. He doesn’t though. If he did, he would risk getting saved. Exiting the building Dazai walks. However this time he doesn’t head home nor to Oda’s grave. This time he travels through the now more quiet streets of Yokohama, towards the tallest building he can see. Entering the building he realizes that it must be a company that manages finances or some sorts. Although it’s completely desolate at this hour. His lock picking skills really do come handy. Climbing the stairs up Dazai reflects. He wonders if Oda would be proud of him, probably not. Would the ADA miss him, no they’d probably be glad to finally get him off their tails. Chuuya would probably hate him after this. Another friendship goes down the drain he supposes. How would Ango react? He seems like the type of person to be indifferent and move on. The halting realization makes him laugh then and there, he truly is alone. Kunikida would be glad about his new partner, whoever the ADA chooses to replace him with. Atsushi would cry a bit perhaps, but he would pick himself up and become a stronger person. Stronger and more capable than Dazai could ever be. His feet ache, there's only three sets of stairs left to climb.
The wind rustles his hair as he stands on the roof. In the distance the sun slowly sets, casting the world in orange lights and dark silhouettes. Dazai sits at the edge and stares at the horizon. He has many regrets but he feels too tired to make amends. Not when salvation is practically at his feet. So he does what any exhausted soul would do. Contrary to his beliefs he is human, at least right now he is. He reaches down and picks up that salvation, that safe zone. He smiles.
Mine has been a life of such shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.
Dazai blinks and gazes into the horizon. He jumps.