Dazai stands in the rain for what feels like forever after Chuuya leaves, the paper in his hand growing drenched. The ink bleeds until it's no longer legible, the red A, circled, fading until it's just a crimson stain. When he's soaked through to the bone, he turns and leaves too, his hair flattened against his head and dripping with water.
The first thing he does when he walks in the door to his dorm is punch Fyodor Dostoevsky in his traitorous face. The impact leaves Fyodor reeling, and he brings a hand up to his nose to find it bleeding.
"I deserved that." He says, grimacing. Dazai storms past him without waiting for an explanation, shutting the bathroom door behind himself and pressing his back to it before sliding down to the floor. "Dazai… I swear I didn't know. I thought you would have told him by now."
Fyodor's voice comes from the other side of the door, almost pleading. Dazai puts his face in his hands, but no tears leave his eyes. He can't cry.
"Dazai, please. Come out."
"Just leave me alone, Fyodor." Dazai mutters, his voice muffled behind his hands. There's blood on his knuckles, along with ink, where it had leaked on his graded final. It's dirty. "Leave me alone."
"Just…" Fyodor starts. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? Don't do something you'll regret."
He can hear footsteps as Fyodor walks away from the door, and all his breath leaves him in a heavy sigh. Lowering his hands, he takes a good look at them. There's a bruise already forming where his knuckles had collided with Fyodor's face. Overwhelmed with sudden disgust at the ink and blood covering his left hand, he gets to his feet and shoves it under the sink faucet, turning on the water as hot as it can go. He squirts soap into his hands and scrubs at the skin furiously until it's both red from the heat of the water and raw from how rough he's being.
A hiccupping sob leaves his lips, but he's not crying. He's not. His eyes aren't wet at all, so Dazai isn't crying. What is there even to cry over? He'd known this would happen from the start.
It doesn't make it hurt any less.
Eventually the water gets too hot, to the point where he can't feel it anymore. Dazai wishes he could do that to his heart, numb it until there's no pain left. He pulls his hands out from under the faucet and turns it off with shaky fingers. Then he opens the bathroom drawer, searching and searching until he finds what he's looking for.
He shucks off his clothes and steps into the shower, turning on the water to wash away any mess he makes. Then, he makes himself forget.
He avoids mirrors like the plague, because he knows he'll hate what he sees. The bags under his eyes have gotten worse, dark like bruises, and he knows he looks gaunt from not eating. He also knows the few friends he has are worried about him.
"I'll kick his ass." Yosano declares, pulling the lollipop she's been sucking on out of her mouth. "You want me to kick his ass for you? I will."
"Don't." Dazai says, quietly, putting his head down on the table they're sitting at. "I knew this would happen, anyways."
"Why did you do it, then?" Yosano asks. Dazai can tell that she's not doing it to rub it in, she's just genuinely curious. "Lie, I mean."
Dazai huffs out a soft breath of air, too short to be a real laugh.
"Do you really think he would have stuck around if he knew I didn't need him?" He taps his fingers on the table and closes his eyes. He's just so tired.
"But you did need him." Yosano says. "Didn't you?"
"You know what I mean." Dazai mutters.
"Yeah, yeah." Yosano sighs. "I do know. But he doesn't. Not that he deserves to, after what he said."
"He's allowed to be angry." Dazai says, lifting his head off of his arms and meeting Yosano's gaze. "He has every right."
Yosano scoffs.
"After everything you've done for him," She seethes. "He really believes that everything was a lie?"
Dazai sighs again.
"I don't blame him." He breathes. "I would, too."
"I don't care what you say," Yosano says. "Next time I see that motherfucker I'm kicking his ass."
Dazai laughs, then, but it sounds tired and grating to his own ears. When Yosano looks at him next, it's with worry.
"Still not sleeping well?" She asks, her voice softer than it has been.
Dazai shakes his head sluggishly.
"I miss him." He tells her.
"You're going to for a while." Yosano says. "You really loved him, huh?"
"Was I that obvious?" Dazai laughs.
Yosano nods emphatically.
"So obvious." She picks at her newly done nails distractedly. "I don't know how he didn't notice, to be honest. Everyone else did."
"He's kind of dense." Dazai says. Yosano gives him a deadpan look.
"We knew that already." Then, "You should go see a doctor. They'll probably give you something to help you sleep."
Dazai looks at her with eyes that he knows are so tired they look dead.
"What doctor in their right mind wouldn't commit me to a psych ward right now?" He asks.
"Good point." Yosano says. "But I haven't finished my doctorate yet. There's a long way to go until then, and I'm not going to prison for forging a prescription for you. Go to a doctor."
"Alright," Dazai replies. "I'll go to a doctor."
There's only one doctor Dazai knows that won't send him away as soon as they take a look at him. So with a heavy heart, his whole body feeling like lead, and wanting to sink into the floor, he heads to Mori Ougai's office.
"Knock knock," He says, tiredly. "Special delivery."
"Osamu," Mori sounds surprised to see him. "You're back."
His voice makes Dazai's skin crawl.
"You knew I'd be back," Dazai replies. "Don't pretend you didn't."
Mori's mouth curls into a sinister smile.
"I suppose I did." He folds his hands and rests his chin on them. "What do you need this time?"
Dazai shuts the door behind him and locks it. Then he rids himself of his coat, the one he's taken to wearing again. Like armor. Like it could ever protect him. He hangs it on the door handle.
"I need a prescription." He mutters. "Sleeping meds. Something heavy-duty. I can't get any work done. I'll fail out at this rate."
Mori tilts his head where it rests on his hands.
"I thought that was what you wanted?" He asks.
"Not anymore." Dazai says. Because even if Chuuya hates him, he'd promised.
"And what do I get in return?" Mori pushes.
Dazai meets his gaze with dead, cold eyes.
"Whatever you want." His voice is quiet, like he's hoping Mori won't hear him. "Nothing is off the table."
Mori stands from his seat behind his desk and walks around it until he's in front of Dazai. He reaches out to cup Dazai's cheek, and Dazai shudders despite doing his best not to.
"That didn't last very long, did it?" Mori croons.
"You knew it wouldn't."
Mori smiles again.
"I told you I know everything." He says.
"Yeah," Dazai says. "I guess you do."
He doesn't think about Mori's hands on him the whole way home, a new prescription in his pocket. He doesn't think about it in the shower when he scrubs his skin raw. He doesn't think about it.
As the days go by, it gets harder and harder to get up in the mornings. It has nothing to do with his new pills– after all, he hasn't been taking them. He doesn't sleep for much more than three hours a night, either.
But every morning as the sun rises, as Fyodor gets up to get ready, Dazai lays in bed with heavy eyelids and bruises under his eyes. The new cuts under his bandages sting– he hadn't let the old ones heal before taking a blade to his skin again.
He has an hour between the time Fyodor leaves for class and the time that his own classes start, so he picks up his phone from beside him and dials a number he knows won't answer.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system."
Chuuya's voice comes through the speaker briefly just to say his name.
"'Nakahara Chuuya' is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."
Dazai doesn't leave a message. He hangs up and dials the number again. It rings three times.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system."
Dazai knows that no matter how many times he calls, Chuuya won't answer.
"'Nakahara Chuuya' is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."
He calls again anyway. He just wants to hear Chuuya's voice again.
"I need another bottle." Dazai says as pulls his shirt back on. Bruises adorn his chest and neck from Mori's hands and mouth. He hates it. It makes him feel owned, like a thing, like a pet. There might as well be a collar around his throat. "I'm almost out."
"That can't be right." Mori replies. "Those pills are supposed to last you a month. It's been, what, two weeks? You can't possibly have finished that bottle."
"I take two a night." Dazai lies smoothly, doing up his buttons. "I have to for the pills to work. I'm not out yet, but I will be in two days."
Mori watches him, not quite with suspicion, but there's something knowing in his eyes.
"Alright," He says. "I'll write up another prescription. Be careful when taking two at a time, though. I'm not sure what side effects that might have."
"You're a doctor." Dazai points out, his voice flat. He pulls on his coat and turns up the collar despite the heat of early July. "Shouldn't you?"
Mori smiles at him, all teeth. It makes Dazai shiver involuntarily.
"You always were so clever." His voice is soft like honey, sickly sweet, sticks to the roof of Dazai's mouth like molasses. Dazai never wants to hear it again. "You were small, too. I miss that."
"You miss owning me." Dazai scoffs.
Mori cocks his head to the side. Always there, always watching.
"Don't I still own you?" He asks. "You keep coming back to me for more. Is it because you like it? You can pretend you don't, but I know better."
Dazai summons a glare as strong as he can, but it falls flat. He turns it to the floor instead.
"Just write the damn prescription so I can leave." He mutters.
The air conditioning is on, but the air of Mori's office feels stifling against his skin. He's still sweaty from their time together. It's disgusting. He's disgusting.
"I think you like our time together." Mori says again, but he walks to his desk to get a notepad.
Dazai doesn't say what he's thinking: that Mori is just a distraction from missing Chuuya. He has a feeling Mori wouldn't like that much at all. Besides, maybe Mori is right. Maybe Dazai does like the attention, even if it hurts.
"I don't." He chokes out. He doesn't know who he's trying to convince more, Mori or himself. God, he misses Chuuya. Chuuya would fix this. Chuuya would tell him it was wrong and that Mori is hurting him and that Dazai should tell someone. But Chuuya isn't here, and Dazai doesn't know if any of that is true or not.
He doesn't know whether or not he would trust Chuuya's answer, if Chuuya were to say those things to him now. He remembers that night in Paris, how he'd cried in Chuuya's arms, and a small piece of him curls up and dies right then and there.
Mori turns around, having finished writing down the prescription.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Osamu." He says.
"That's what the pills are for." Dazai scoffs.
Nothing helps him. Nothing ever will.
I love you, Dazai scribbles onto sticky note after sticky note. I love you, I love you.
Passenger pigeons. He writes on one, just as a reminder. Then he scratches it out.
I'm sorry. He throws those ones into the wastebin.
He can't write any poetry worth publishing, or worth showing to anyone around him. His trash can is overflowing with yellow paper and notes he'd never managed to give to Chuuya without him noticing.
Dazai rests his head on his arms.
I'm sorry, he writes again later, when he can bring himself to pick up a pen.
He throws that one out, too. What's the point in apologizing if Chuuya doesn't want an apology?
"Osamu," A feminine voice murmurs. "Osamu."
Dazai stands in the dark. He's smaller than he remembers being. His pajamas are too big on him, blue with yellow ducks printed all over them. He practically drowns in them.
He can't tell who's speaking, but the voice is distantly familiar.
"Hello?" He calls, stepping forward. In an instant, he's falling. His stomach swoops and his head spins, and then everything settles again.
Two shadowy figures stand before him. One kneels in front of him.
"Osamu," She says. Dazai can't see her face. "It's me."
It clicks, then. The pajamas he's wearing, how small he is. Oh.
"Mom?" He whispers.
"Oh, Osamu," She whispers. "You've grown up so much while I wasn't watching."
Her shadowy hand reaches out to cup his cheek. He leans into the touch. He's felt this before, somewhere. Dazai places his hand over hers. It's small, in comparison, too small. It can't possibly be his hand. He can't possibly be in his body. He's never been this small before.
He was always big. Big enough to be alone. Big enough to live by himself. Trips out of the country petering off into long periods of silence, with just the servants as company.
Dazai's eyes sting.
"You were never watching, though." He says. "You didn't care."
His mother pauses, her thumb stilling where it had been stroking his cheek.
"You would never touch me like this." Dazai continues, his throat closing up. "You're not my mother."
"Osamu," The other figure says. "It's us. We're here."
"You're not!" Dazai shouts, stepping back. "You never were before, and you're not here now!"
"We did wrong by you," Dazai's mother says. "I'm sorry, Osamu. We're sorry."
"I don't understand." Dazai chokes out. "I don't understand, I don't understand! Why did you dothat?"
"Even if we told you, you still wouldn't understand." His father replies. "It's not something a child should ever have to know."
"That's not fair." Dazai says, his voice cracking. He clenches his hands into fists. "You– you left me, and you won't even tell me why?"
"We can't tell you anything you don't already know." His mother murmurs. "Which is why we can't tell you that it wasn't your fault."
She gets to her feet and turns around, taking his father's shadowy hand in hers.
"Wait," Dazai calls, panicking. "Where are you going?"
He scrambles forward as his parents begin to walk away.
"Stop!" He cries, his eyes beginning to sting. "Wait, don't leave me again! Please, just take me with you!"
He runs after them, but no matter how hard he tries, he isn't fast enough. His lungs feel like they're collapsing inwards, and he crumples to his knees as they disappear into the darkness.
"I don't want to be alone again," Dazai sobs. "I don't want to be here anymore. Take me with you, please. Mom, please. I just want to go home."
There's no answer. There is only suffocating silence, save for the sounds of his own sobs.
Dazai wakes slowly, pulled softly from sleep, unlike the usual jerking awake from nightmares. Tears leak silently from his eyes. He can feel them wet against his temples as they roll down the sides of his face. He doesn't move to wipe them away.
He's too tired. His body feels heavy like lead, like he's sinking into the mattress. It's still dark out. He can't have slept for more than an hour.
"I'm tired." He whispers to no one at all, his voice raspy and hoarse from both disuse and sleep. "I'm so tired."
His entire being aches, his muscles sore and bruised and feeling dirty, sweat sticking to his skin. After laying in bed for what feels like another hour, he hauls himself off of the mattress to take a shower.
The water can't be hot enough to wash off the filth Mori's hands leave behind. Dazai wishes he could drown underneath the showerhead. He wishes he could choke on the steam. He wishes he'd get so dizzy he'd fall over. He wishes he would crack his head open on the tiles and bleed all over the place. That way, it could be called an accident.
He doesn't have the guts to do something that messy again. The stain still hasn't faded from the floor. No amount of bleach could drain the tiles of the rusty brown tinge of Dazai's blood. He wishes it had worked. He wishes he had never met Chuuya at all.
Behind closed eyes, he sees him. Hair red like a fiery halo around his face as he lays peacefully on Dazai's bed, skin glistening with sweat and lips parted as he sleeps. Dazai reaches his hand out and feels only cold tile against his fingers. There is no softness of skin there. Chuuya is gone, and he isn't coming back.
Dazai just has to accept that. Even if he doesn't want to.
When he leaves the shower in only a towel, the sun is just rising, though it can't have been more than thirty minutes. Fyodor is already getting ready, and he pauses to give Dazai a once over.
"That's a lot of bruises." He says, casually.
Dazai stares at him blankly.
"You know, if you're trying to distract yourself, it's not working." Fyodor adds, setting his book bag down on his mattress and taking a seat. "You're just getting hurt."
"What would you know?" Dazai asks, his voice hollow.
"Dazai," Fyodor sighs. "I said I was sorry. I honestly didn't know you hadn't told him."
"What makes you think any of this is about Chuuya?" Dazai tries to keep his voice steady, but it shakes just a little bit on Chuuya's name.
Fyodor throws his hands in the air exasperatedly.
"When is it not about Chuuya?" He counters. "Everything is about Chuuya. What you're doing– it's not healthy. If whoever left those bruises is hurting you… You need to tell someone, Dazai."
Dazai had told Chuuya, hadn't he? Look how that turned out. Dazai can only be grateful that Chuuya didn't use that against him, too.
"It doesn't have to be me." Fyodor adds. "It could be Ranpo, or Yosano, or a school counselor. Just… tell someone. Anyone. Please."
Dazai doesn't answer. His voice sits silent, hidden away in his throat. His eyelids feel heavy. He knows he looks exhausted. He turns away to his dresser.
He ignores the choked sound he hears from Fyodor's mattress. He pretends he doesn't know it's a sob. When he finally turns around, fully clothed and wrapped in bandages to cover the scars and bruises, he holds his arms out. It takes effort. They feel like they're being weighed down by fifty pound bags of sand.
"Better?" He asks, quietly. Fyodor's face crumples.
"Dazai," He chokes out. "Don't let it get that bad again. Okay? Promise me."
Dazai doesn't have the heart to tell him that it already is that bad. He can't promise, so he doesn't say anything at all. He's never seen Fyodor cry before, and he doesn't know how to react. He doesn't react at all.
Realizing that Dazai isn't going to promise, and that he won't answer, Fyodor shakes with another sob.
"Just stay alive, okay?" He tries, hiding his face. "Just stay alive, please stay alive."
Dazai walks to Fyodor's bed and sinks to the floor, bringing his knees up as he positions his back to the bed. He sits there silently as Fyodor cries for him. He doesn't say a word, offering as much silent comfort as he can.
Eventually, Fyodor gets to his feet, wiping his eyes, his crying having quieted.
"I have to go to class." He says, his voice still sounding choked up. "What are your plans for today?"
Dazai stares up at him, unable to speak. He's too tired. He blinks slowly, the quiet sounds of his breathing filling the silence. Fyodor's face pinches like he's about to start crying again. He walks closer to Dazai and crouches down.
"Can you get up for me?" He asks. Dazai's eyes close in response, heavy like the rest of him. Fyodor breathes out shakily. "Okay. I'm going to touch you."
He hooks his arms into Dazai's armpits and lifts him up. It's difficult, because Fyodor is shorter than Dazai is, but they manage. Fyodor practically drags Dazai to his bed.
"How about you just sleep for a while?" Fyodor chokes out. "Yeah, how about that? Just sleep. You look like you need it. I'll call Yosano, and she can check in on you, and you'll be okay. You'll be okay."
Dazai's eyelids flutter open again as Fyodor pulls the covers on his bed up to his chin.
"I need you to tell me that you'll be okay." Fyodor whispers. "Tell me that you'll be okay, Dazai."
When Dazai doesn't answer, he covers his mouth to stifle a sob.
"Please." He tries again. "I'm sorry, I'll do anything, just tell me you'll be okay."
Dazai closes his eyes again.
"Okay." He breathes, finally able to find his voice again. "Okay."
"Good." Fyodor says. "Good. I have to go. Stay here. Sleep. Don't do anything else. Yosano will be by at some point."
Dazai lays in silence, his eyes closed, until Fyodor's footsteps fade, the door shutting behind him. He doesn't sleep.
Dazai hears the door open again, and his first thought is that Fyodor is home a lot earlier than usual. He remembers him crying, and his first thought is to apologize. So he does.
"I'm sorry." He rasps, his eyes still closed.
"Why are those the first words I've heard from you in an actual week?"
Dazai's eyes open as quickly as they can, which isn't much, because they still feel heavy. That isn't Fyodor at all. Yosano stands above him with her hands on her hips.
"What am I going to do with you?" She sighs.
Something in Dazai wants to tell her she could always just participate in a medically assisted death, but he doesn't think Yosano would find that very funny. Not when he's like this.
"Jesus, Dazai." Yosano says, her voice shaky as she looks him over. "What are you doing to yourself?"
And because Dazai has found his voice now, or at least somewhat, he tells her what he hadn't been able to tell Fyodor earlier.
"'M okay." He whispers. Yosano glares at him, her eyes shiny.
"Don't give me that bullshit." She scoffs. "I brought soup, because you probably haven't eaten in days. Look at you. You're all skin and bones."
She helps Dazai sit up, and at this point he's lucid enough that he's able to feel ashamed for being so useless.
"I'm sorry." He says, again.
"Don't." Yosano's voice shakes as she speaks. "Do not ever apologize to me. You have nothing to apologize for."
Dazai stares at his hands in his lap, at his fingers with torn cuticles, at his nails bitten down to the bed and bloody. He looks at his hands in his lap and thinks ugly. No wonder no one wants to be around him.
The thought makes him laugh. It sounds more like wheezing, gasping for air, and he can't stop. He's hysterical.
"I'm sorry." He repeats between wheezes. "I'm sorry."
"Stop." Yosano says. "Just stop it. I don't want to hear it, okay? I don't want to hear it. No apologies."
All at once, Dazai stops laughing, going quiet.
"Okay." He whispers, and tries to smile. From the look on Yosano's face, he doesn't seem to do a good job of it. He can't bear to see it, so he looks down at his hands again. "Soup?" He prods, trying to distract her from his failure. His fingers shake in his lap.
"Yeah, soup." Yosano replies, clearing her throat. "Let me get you a spoon."
He can only finish half of it. Yosano smiles and tells him it's enough, but he knows that she's lying for his sake. She stays for an hour and then leaves to get to one of her classes.
Dazai lays in his bed, his eyes closed again, and waits.
Fyodor comes back hours later. He tries to be quiet, but Dazai can hear the click of the door as it shuts behind him, and the sound of his footsteps as he nears Dazai's bed.
"Dazai?" He whispers. "Are you awake?"
Dazai blinks his eyes open slowly. The room is dark, and Fyodor stands over his bed. His whole body sags in relief when he meets Dazai's gaze.
"Hi." Dazai manages, tiredly.
"Hi." Fyodor replies. "Did you get any sleep?"
Dazai gives him a blank, tired stare.
"Okay," Fyodor says. "Okay. Try to get some sleep tonight, alright? Just… try."
He looks helpless. Dazai closes his eyes.
"Okay," Fyodor repeats, quietly. "Okay."
Okay. Dazai thinks. He can't say it out loud, but he thinks it. Okay.
He manages four hours that night before waking up from nightmares.
The next day is better. Much, much better, because Dazai has a plan. Dazai gets up with the sun again, showers, and changes into a fresh set of clothes.
Fyodor stares at him strangely as he gets dressed, like he can't put together the mess that Dazai was yesterday, and who he is today.
"Good morning." Dazai says, smiling tiredly. It hurts to smile at all, like his face is being split in two, but he manages to make it seem genuine enough.
"Are you feeling better?" Fyodor blurts out, frozen on his mattress. He's still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up at all angles.
"Peachy." Dazai replies, and then grimaces. He knows how to make it look realistic. "Okay, maybe not that good. But we're getting there."
Immediately, Fyodor sags, his face falling into his hands.
"Fuck." He says. "You really, really scared me, you know that?"
"The great Fyodor Dostoevsky, afraid of a depressive episode." Dazai teases, as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. Fyodor looks up and glares.
"Don't even joke about that." He snaps. "That shit is scary. You looked dead, Dazai. I almost checked to see if you were still breathing when I got home, because I didn't know if…"
Dazai blinks.
"Oh." He says, and straightens the collar of his shirt. "I'm sorry."
Then he pauses.
"I meant to say sorry yesterday, too." Fyodor stares at him with wide eyes, like he doesn't get it. "For making you deal with that, I mean. The words just wouldn't come out. It's a pain to handle, so I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." Fyodor says. "Just don't. Instead, promise me you'll talk to someone. Anyone. It doesn't have to be me. It could be Yosano, or Ranpo, or–"
Or Chuuya.
Except it can't be Chuuya. Fyodor pauses, like he's realized. Dazai just smiles.
"I promise that if something happens that I need to talk about, I'll talk to someone." He says.
He's lying through the skin of his teeth.
"Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie."
Chuuya had been right. Chuuya is always right, even when he's not. Fyodor stares at him helplessly, like he knows.
Fyodor has always been able to read him like a book. It's unnerving.
"Hey," Dazai says, to reassure him. "If it gets as bad as it was yesterday, you'll know."
Fyodor nods, seemingly appeased.
"What are your plans for today?" He asks, cautiously. It's a question from yesterday, one Dazai hadn't been able to answer.
Dazai grins.
"I'm visiting my parents!" He says. "Had to get all dressed up, and everything."
Fyodor's eyes narrow.
"Dazai, your parents are dead."
Dazai huffs out a small breath of laughter.
"I know that." He replies. "I'm visiting their graves. At the cemetery. You know, where dead people live."
"Dead people don't live anywhere, that's an oxymoron." Fyodor scoffs.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Human Encyclopedia." Dazai bows in apology. "I did not mean to offend."
"Shut up." Fyodor says, but he's smiling. "When was the last time you went?"
Dazai pauses to think about it.
"Probably eight years ago." He replies, walking to the door to grab his shoes. He crouches down and tugs them onto his feet one at a time. "So the funeral, then."
"You've only been once?" Fyodor asks.
"Fyodor," Dazai says, looking up briefly from where he's tying his laces. "I don't know if you know this, although you know a lot of things you probably shouldn't, legally, but I didn't have the best relationship with my parents. You know, they weren't around. I was on my own a lot. When they died, I was placed in the foster system, and, well, no one wants a kid who doesn't want to live anymore. I guess the police report didn't tell you that, though."
Fyodor looks stunned, like a deer in the headlights.
"Yeah, I put it together." Dazai confirms, standing again. "For what it's worth, it was a nice birthday, while it lasted. Thanks."
"Have you read the police report?" Fyodor blurts.
"No." Dazai says. "Why would I need to do that? I know what happened. I was there."
"Do you know why?" Fyodor presses.
Dazai thinks back to his dream.
"We can't tell you it's not your fault."
"Of course I do." He replies, smiling. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Okay." Fyodor says, sounding faint. "I just wanted to make sure."
Dazai's smile fades.
"No more snooping, okay?" He says. "Even if you think you're helping me. There's some stuff that I don't want anyone to know."
"Right." Fyodor clears his throat. "Do you want me to come with you?"
Dazai pauses.
"You want to come with me to visit my parents?" He repeats.
"Is it that surprising?" Fyodor asks.
"Yes," Dazai says. "It is. Because I don't think you really want to go. I'll be fine on my own, so don't worry. It's just a visit. One long overdue."
He pulls on his coat. It's suffocating.
"In this heat?" Fyodor raises an eyebrow. Dazai copies him.
"If I die, I die." He says, and then pauses. "Sorry, that wasn't funny."
"No, it wasn't." Fyodor mutters.
Dazai grimaces and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"You're going to be gone later, right?" He asks.
"Why do you need to know?" Fyodor fires back. Dazai blinks as unsuspectingly as he can.
"So I know whether or not I need to bring my keys." He replies, like it's obvious. Fyodor's body immediately relaxes.
"Oh." He says. "Yeah, I'll be out. The DOA is throwing an after finals party."
"And it's how many weeks late now?" Dazai teases.
"I don't judge." Fyodor shrugs. "Nikolai was having problems with his visa. Took a while to sort it out."
"Good for him!" Dazai cheers, grabbing his keys. "Okay, I'm off. Have fun at the party."
"You're weird." Fyodor says, but gets up from his bed to see Dazai out. "Be safe. Don't get hit by a truck. I mean it."
Dazai smiles.
"I won't."
On his way to the bus station, Dazai stops at a flower shop. The smell is overwhelming, so many scents at once that it's hard to keep up. There's a whole section for succulents, and there are pre-made bouquets, too. Dazai knows jack-shit about flowers, which means he's going to have to ask.
"Excuse me," He calls. The boy manning the cash register looks up. "I'm looking for two bouquets, but I don't know what any of them mean."
The boy blinks.
"Oh, sure." He says, and walks around the counter. "What kind of meaning are you looking for?"
Dazai hesitates on his next words.
"An apology." He has to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Not a romantic one. It's for my parents."
"Falling out?" The boy guesses, frowning sympathetically. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Jesus, it's hot. How are you wearing that?"
Dazai looks down at the coat he's wearing, and then back up. The boy waves a hand flippantly.
"That doesn't matter, sorry I asked." He says. "I'm Atsushi. I'll be helping you today."
He smiles brightly at Dazai and gestures for him to follow as he walks to a corner of the shop.
"Hyacinths are always a good choice." He says. "Contrary to popular beliefs, most florists don't actually know flower language. I'm just a nerd."
"It's cool." Dazai reassures him. He pinches at the skin of his hand until it breaks. "What do hyacinths mean?"
"Blue ones specifically represent peace and truth," Atsushi says, smiling. "So if you're coming clean about something, they're a good option."
"What about…" Dazai starts. "I didn't apologize for years because I didn't know where to start. Is there a flower that's good for that?"
Atsushi's smile softens.
"Lily of the valley." He murmurs. "I don't have any bouquets, but I do have a few potted ones out back. You could just get one and give it to them as a new houseplant."
"I'll take the one, then." Dazai says.
"I'll get it from the back and ring it up for you, then." Atsushi grins, but then his smile drops. "Oh, your hand. Let me get you a band-aid."
"Oh, no, you don't have to–"
But Atsushi is already running behind the counter and to the back room. Feeling helpless, Dazai walks up to the counter to wait. Atsushi returns a couple minutes later with a potted lily of the valley in one arm, and a band-aid in his free hand. He sets the pot on the counter and holds up the band-aid.
"All we had was Hello Kitty," He says apologetically. "I hope that's okay."
"That's fine." Dazai murmurs, taking the band-aid and tearing it open. "Thank you."
"No problem!" Atsushi chirps, and as Dazai applies the band-aid, he rings up the lily of the valley.
Dazai pays with his card and picks up the pot. It's lighter than he'd thought it would be.
"Thank you." He says again.
"Of course!" Atsushi replies. "Hey, don't worry too much about it, okay? I'm sure your parents will be happy just to hear from you. It's a good day."
Dazai smiles at him, a feeling of peace settling over his shoulders.
"You're right." He says. "It is a good day."
It's not just hot out, but muggy. The clouds are heavy and grey in the sky, but it doesn't smell like rain just yet. Dazai holds the pot in his lap for the entire bus ride, not wanting to risk it spilling soil if it tips over. When he gets off of the bus, he smiles at the driver.
"Thank you." He says. The bus driver tips her head, and he sets off.
He'd had to Google the cemetery, because he couldn't remember where it was located. How pathetic is that? Well, all the more reason to apologize.
He isn't allowed to actually plant the lily of the valley anywhere on cemetery grounds, so it'll have to stay in its pot.
Dazai walks down rows of headstones until he gets to two small marble plaques, low on the ground, unlike the other hulking monuments. He bends over to set the pot in between them, and then sits down on the grass.
"Hi mom." He says, quietly. "Hi dad. How have you been?"
All he gets in return is silence, which is to be expected.
"I've been alright." Dazai continues. "Or I will be, at least. In a couple hours, I think. I just have to get this over with, first. Then it'll be okay."
"I miss you." The wind begins to pick up just a little bit, rustling his hair. "That's what I'm supposed to say, isn't it? Except I don't, because there isn't anything to miss, is there?"
"I think I miss what kind of family we could have been." He says. Then he moves the pot out of the way so he can lay between the plaques. He lays on his back, his face up towards the sky.
"Look." Dazai points a shaky finger up at the cloudy sky. "That one looks like a dragon. A European one."
He drops his hand back to his side.
"That's what Chuuya would have said." He sighs. "But Chuuya's not here right now. He sees things in the clouds, but they all look the same to me."
It's finally beginning to smell like rain.
"What do you see?" Dazai breathes. "Can you see anything at all? Is that a stupid question to ask a dead person?"
"Fyodor thinks I'm getting better." A smile curls at the corner of his lips, and he closes his eyes. "Good. I don't want him to worry, even if he's a pain in the ass. He's a good roommate."
"I'm not." He adds. "I made him cry yesterday. It was an accident, but everything I mess up always is. Except you. But you weren't an accident, were you?"
He breathes out slowly through his nose. He almost feels like he could fall asleep here. Sink into the ground, become one with the earth.
"That was all planned." Dazai murmurs. "Wasn't it?"
He turns his head so that his cheek presses into the grass, and lifts a hand to run it along the engraving on one of the plaques.
"Hi, mom." He says again. "They got you down pretty good."
Loving mother.
"But this part isn't true, is it?"
I love you so much, Osamu.
Dazai's eyes snap open. He didn't actually hear it. It was a memory. But he can't ever remember his mother saying that. He can't ever remember her crying in front of him, either.
Still, her tearful voice echoes in his head. When he closes his eyes, he sees a gap between a door and a wall, and light floods through.
Happy birthday.
Now his brain is just making things up. His parents hadn't celebrated his birthday since he was small. They were always gone, so he shouldn't have memories of that, either.
"If you loved me, you would have stuck around." He points out to the empty cemetery. "Or you would have taken me with you. Win-win situation, in my opinion. Would have made things a hell of a lot easier."
"Oh well." He sighs. "I'll see you again soon. Probably. If there's an afterlife, I'm probably going to hell, but I don't know what kind of people you were, so maybe you'll be there, too."
A drop of rain lands on the cheek that isn't on the grass.
"I'm just tired." Dazai whispers. "I'm so tired. Can't I just sleep forever? Please?"
"I'm hurting, too." His voice keeps breaking when he doesn't want it to. It makes him sound pathetic. "I'm in pain, too. You're not the only ones. You should have just taken me with you. Then I never would have gone blind, and I never would have met Mori, and he wouldn't have hurt me, and I wouldn't have liked it, and it could just be us three again. Just like old times."
"I came to apologize." He says. "What did I want to apologize for? I don't remember. The longer I stay here the angrier I get. But I don't want to be angry when I see you again."
"I don't want to be angry anymore. I just want to be loved. I just want to be loved."
It begins to sprinkle. Drops of water land on Dazai's face and hair, on his clothes, catching in his eyelashes.
"I don't think it's possible for anyone to love me." Dazai says. "I must be unlovable. Because I always mess things up."
"I came here to apologize," He reminds himself again. He should get up. He doesn't want to. He wants to die here, but he can't. "I wanted to get this out of the way before I see you again, but I keep forgetting what I wanted to say."
"I miss you, but I don't." Dazai manages, eventually. "I miss the idea of you. I miss what you should have been. But I don't miss you, so I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry for a lot of things, but most of them sound like a guilt trip, and I don't want to repeat them." He finally manages to sit up, but it takes everything out of him just to move. His fingers smear water droplets across his mother's plaque. "Fuck it. You probably can't hear me anyways."
"I'm sorry…" He starts, and his voice catches in his throat. "I'm sorry you had to put up with me for so long. It must have been a tough eleven years. You weren't there that often, but thanks for sticking around for at least that long. I'm sorry I was a bad son. You were always frowning around me. I tried my best to make you happy, and make you want me, but I guess it didn't work, so I'm sorry for that, too."
"I don't miss you." He concludes. "I think that's the worst one. If it makes you feel better, I feel awful about it. I want to miss you. I should wish that you would have stayed, but instead I wish that you'd just brought me with you."
"Breaking news." Dazai whispers. "Family of three commits triple suicide. Can you imagine the headlines?"
The rain comes down harsher.
"Give them something to talk about when we're gone."
Water runs in rivulets down his face, dripping from the ends of his hair.
"Hey," He breathes. "Do you think Chuuya misses me?"
He wishes it would drown him.
"I don't think he does." Water drips off of the tip of his nose. "I don't think he misses me at all."
"That's good." The words are quiet. "I wouldn't want him to be sad when I'm gone."
His coat feels three times its original weight.
"Should I try calling him again?" He asks. "Do you think he'll answer this time?"
Dazai pulls out his phone from his pocket, the screen quickly growing spotty as water droplets land on it. He wipes it clean on his coat, but it only serves to smear the water around. Oh well. He dials Chuuya's number.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system. 'Nakahara Chuuya' is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."
Dazai smiles even as his eyes sting.
"I thought not."
Thunder rolls in the distance, and he gets to his feet, his boots making squishing noises in the wet grass.
"I think I've overstayed my welcome." Dazai says, and smiles. "Enjoy your flowers. I'll see you soon."
It's pouring by the time he makes it back to campus. The rain comes down heavily, weighing down the coat on his shoulders with how damp it becomes. For some reason, it's unusually crowded today. Students bustle by in crowds, sharing umbrellas as they run to the shelter of their dorms or under the eaves of the main structure.
Dazai thinks back to Paris again, about getting caught in the rain. About Chuuya asking before he kissed him. About the night after. He thinks about Chuuya, and his plan solidifies. Then, in a blink of an eye, it shatters.
His eye catches on something the color of hot embers, and Dazai stiffens.
"Chuuya?" He whispers. He can't help the way his face lights up, the way hope and joy makes his chest swell. He can't help the way he disregards the warning Chuuya had given him.
He breaks into a run in the direction of the color he'd seen, nearly slipping several times on the wet pavement.
"Chuuya!" He calls. "Chuuya, hey, wait! I'm so sorry–"
His hand reaches out, and Chuuya turns around. Except– oh. That's not Chuuya at all.
The boy in front of him has orange hair, sure, but it's short and choppy, and there's a band-aid across his nose. His eyes aren't blue, either. From the back, and under the cover of the umbrella he'd been carrying, Dazai hadn't noticed.
"Sorry, do we know each other?" The boy asks, confused.
"Uhh, no." Dazai says, fidgeting. "Sorry, I mistook you for someone else."
His heart sinks in his chest with every word that leaves his mouth. This had been his only chance to apologize.
"No worries!" Not-Chuuya replies, smiling brightly. It looks more roguish than Chuuya's, anyway, and crooked, though not at all ugly. "You're looking for Chuuya?"
Dazai blinks.
"Do you know him?" He asks, hopefully.
"He's in my patterning class." The boy confirms. "I'm Tachihara Michizou, by the way. If you don't have his number, I can get it for you!"
Dazai's mouth is dry.
You have been forwarded to an automated voice message system.
"No, I'm…" He mumbles. "No, it's alright. I don't need his number."
Tachihara stares at him.
"If you're sure." He says. "I have to get going then. Nice to meet you…"
He trails off, as if realizing he'd never gotten Dazai's name. Dazai smiles tiredly.
"Dazai." He murmurs. "Dazai Osamu."
"Nice to meet you, Dazai." Tachihara checks his watch and hisses. "I really have to go. Try to stay dry, and maybe I'll see you around!"
With that, he's off. Dazai loses him in the crowd.
"No," He says quietly to himself, still smiling as he stands still in the rain. "No, you won't."
When he starts walking again, that earlier peaceful feeling settles back over him with the heavy sheets of rain. His plan is back in place, as if he had never faltered at all.
He doesn't turn the light back on when he gets back to his dorm. He shuts the door behind him and presses his back against it, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to open them.
Alone, he can stop pretending, now. His feet feel like they're sinking in thick mud, dragging him down into the floor the longer he stays still. Moving is hard. He doesn't want to do it. He'd rather curl up and die right here and now. He should really do it where someone won't find him, not here. Somewhere where his skin can shrivel up and rot away with his clothes, leaving behind a perfect skeleton for the sun to bleach white, white like pills in a bottle in the top drawer of his dresser, white like Chuuya's nails in a hospital room in Villejuif.
Today is a good day. Today is a good day to die, Dazai decides, and the thought makes him smile. Has there ever been a better day?
(Lilies of the valley sway on stems broken from the weight of the rain in a plastic pot in a cemetery somewhere in Northern Tokyo. There has never been a better day.)
Slowly, Dazai makes his way to his dresser. He opens the top drawer with shaking hands, fingernails wrapped with band-aids to stop him from biting them. They're slowly peeling off. He reaches into the drawer, rummaging around until he's able to find both bottles of sleeping pills.
He removes them from their hiding spot beneath soft, folded clothes, careful with every movement. He doesn't want to leave his drawers messy.
Pills are so much cleaner than slitting your wrists. He doesn't want to leave a mess again. He doesn't want anyone to have to clean up after him. Guilt has overwhelmed him for too long, and the stains on the tiles of the bathroom floor never really faded.
He should hurry. Fyodor is gone for now, but who knows when the party will be over and he'll be back.
Dazai hopes he won't be. He hopes Fyodor decides to stay the night at Nikolai's again. He hopes Fyodor won't be the one to find him.
It would be too mean, after convincing him that Dazai is fine, that he's healing, moving on, getting better. That yesterday was just a fluke, when in reality it was the turning point that set everything into place.
Because Dazai isn't getting better, and he won't be. He can't move on after Chuuya. He can't heal after this. He knows it's selfish. He thinks that maybe other people like him. He hates that they could never be enough to keep him around. Just like he hadn't been. Dazai pauses.
He hopes Fyodor doesn't blame himself for not noticing. What could he have done, even if he had? Dazai is good at pretending. Too good. He'd fooled Chuuya for that long, after all.
He needs to stop thinking about Chuuya. Thinking about Chuuya is confusing, because it makes him want to live and want to die at the same time, and it's tearing him in two.
Maybe he'll forgive me, is the hope. Maybe he won't, is the fear. The latter seems more likely. Chuuya feels so, so strongly, about everything, and this is no exception.
This is not something that Chuuya is capable of forgiving. Dazai knows that.
Chuuya had broken Dazai's trust just as Dazai had broken his, and it's deserved, it's deserved, he tells himself. He can't bring himself to be angry about something like that.
Dazai trudges to the bathroom and locks the door. Then he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He hates what he sees.
His skin is sunken and pale, clings tight to his frame with hunger, and he wants to claw it all off until he can see his bones underneath. Under his eyes are bruises so dark they're nearly black. He looks every bit the abused boy he was in that shipping container just a few months ago, before he'd moved into his dorm, the black coat he'd always worn draped over his shoulders, remnants of long, thin fingers caging his body against a bare mattress on a birthday he otherwise would have spent alone, uncelebrated.
"I hate you." Dazai says. Who he's talking to, he doesn't know. It could be Mori, the perpetrator, the predator, the one who hurt him and protected him and used him all in one, resulting in confusing feelings that should just be fear and hatred, but end up being the sick relief of finally being wanted by someone, anyone. It could be himself, his own reflection, sickly and pale and ugly in the mirror he's staring into, dried, chapped lips repeating the words back like a silent echo. "I hate you."
I love you, his heart weeps in his chest. He thinks about airplanes and Paris and a carousel and his heart screams I love you, I love you, a tattoo, a brand, an invisible scar across his skin to join the tens of others permanently etched there.
He could never hate Chuuya. Even broken, even hurting, he could never hate Chuuya. He's sure, positive, that if he could just see Chuuya again everything might be alright. He'd had that hope snuffed out when Tachihara Michizou had turned around and been everything that Chuuya wasn't.
He can't see Chuuya again, so with shaky fingers he unscrews the cap of one of the bottles Mori had so graciously given him in return for being ruined over and over, and he pours the contents into one of his hands. Thirty pristine white pills remind him of hospital walls during his overnight stay in an emergency room only a few months ago, before he met Chuuya, before things were good for just a moment before being bad again. He sets them on the sink counter and opens the other bottle.
It's strange how at peace Dazai is with all of this now. He'd had his moments of doubt earlier, meeting someone so friendly as Atsushi by accident, thinking he'd had the chance to see Chuuya just one more time. If Chuuya had looked at him and just known, because he would, because Chuuya can almost always see right through him– (not always, because that's how Dazai got here in the first place)– would he have asked Dazai not to do it?
The thought makes him pause, hands shaking just a bit harder. But no, he wouldn't, would he? Chuuya isn't a bad person, but he's angry. Angry people do bad things, sometimes. Dazai learned that the hard way in too many foster homes gone wrong before he ran away and Mori found him on a bridge. Maybe, if Dazai had seen Chuuya earlier instead of Tachihara, Chuuya would have said something worse.
"Let's just be people." Chuuya had said. "I want to be a person with you."
Now Dazai knows that's impossible, because Chuuya has gone and confirmed it. Dazai isn't human, and Chuuya no longer wants anything to do with him. It's something Dazai has accepted. Still, when it comes down to it, he hesitates, his whole body trembling as he stares at the pills in his hand.
Chuuya hates him.
That's the thought that tips him over into surety, once and for all, that this is the right thing to do. If he's lucky, Chuuya won't even have to know. All he'll think is that Dazai is listening, respecting his boundaries, not hounding him for his forgiveness– he'll never know that Dazai curled up and died in his dorm bathroom after one too many days without Chuuya by his side.
Yeah, that'll do it.
Dazai turns the faucet and runs water into his free hand at the same time that he shoves the handful of pills he's holding into his mouth. Next is the water. He doesn't swallow fast enough, and some of the pills turn chalky in his mouth. He grimaces at the taste as they go down, and then repeats the process with the pills he'd set on the counter.
Two bottles just to be sure, just to guarantee he won't make it. They'll do the trick, Dazai is sure. He's not sure how long it'll take before they kick in, so he does his best to hurry to his desk.
He pulls out two sticky notes, and then pauses. He gets another one. Then he picks up his favorite ballpoint pen. The Kuromi plushie on his bed stares at him silently, and Dazai stares back, for a moment, entranced. He thinks of the lone candle on the birthday cake Chuuya had gotten him. It makes him smile, but it feels strained, like it takes all the effort in his body just to manage that much. Looking back at the notes, he touches his pen to paper.
To: Yosano ♡
When you read this, please don't be too angry that I made your soup go to waste. I promise it was delicious, and if I could eat it one more time, I would. But I can't. Sorry for always worrying you and making you take care of me. I know you didn't ask to have to stitch me up that day– and while I may have been resentful at first, I am glad I got to meet you, and that I could call you my friend. To you I leave my dear Kuromi. Take care of her for me! She was a gift.
Yours, Dazai
Dazai releases a shaky breath and sets that note aside.
To: Ranpo
Hi Mr. RA. So sorry for the mess last time. I tried my best to keep everything as clean as possible this time around so you wouldn't have to clean up after me. I never did stop feeling bad about that. Here's to never having to clean up my messes again! On the bright side of things, you'll probably never have a problem like me again. Thanks for looking out for me. Tell your dad hi for me :)
For some reason, his eyes are stinging, even as he smiles. Something wet lands on the sticky note before he can move it out of the way, and the smiley face at the end bleeds just a bit from the direct contact. Oh well. Dazai doesn't have time to care about something as trivial as that. He starts on the last note.
To: Fyodor
I think I'm most regretful to you, out of everyone else. I love them all very much, and we were never really very close, the two of us, but still. You never asked to have me as your roommate. I was shocked when you didn't ask to change. I probably traumatized you when you found me the first time, and yesterday when I went catatonic, and probably now, too, when you've found me again and are reading this note. I've given you so much trouble, but really, I am grateful. Thank you for putting up with me for so long. You really are the greatest chess partner I've ever had. Don't tell Ranpo I said that.
A few tears land on that one, too.
He should write Chuuya a note. He should. But it seems so hard. He doesn't know if he could ever write any of the words he wants to say without crossing them out. He's a coward through and through. He always has been. He's never been able to tell Chuuya anything when it mattered.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
All the chances he's had and missed run through his head like a film reel, replaying, I love you, you're beautiful, you're sparks, because I said so, you can kiss me, Chuuya, I'm sorry–
Thank you for everything.
Everything he'd said, everything he hadn't, everything he wants to say on paper, on a silly little note, but can't. He wonders if Chuuya would realize, if he were ever to receive the note, that Dazai had written every other note, too. If he would know then that it was never just sex for Dazai, that it was more, that it was everything to him.
Every time Chuuya asked if he was okay, if he wanted it, for verbal consent, every time Chuuya told him it was okay to say no, all of it. All of it meant the world. Dazai wants Chuuya to know that, but he isn't sure how to write it all down.
Aborted attempts at apologies written weeks ago fill his wastebin, still not emptied. He should have cleaned up before he took the pills. The dorm is relatively clean– good. Dazai stands to take off his coat and hang it up, and his head spins at the sudden drop in his blood pressure. But he can't die in it. He won't. It's a prison, and he wants out.
"What's your name?"
"Dazai Osamu."
"Here, Osamu. Take my coat."
Dazai wants that memory gone. The only memories he really wants to keep are the ones he'd made with Chuuya. Even the cruel words Chuuya had spat at him that day– they mean something. Dazai wouldn't forget them for the world. After all, it was the last time he'd ever heard Chuuya's voice, save for over the phone after going straight to voice-mail.
He's getting distracted again. He's getting more and more tired by the minute. At this rate, he won't be able to write Chuuya a note at all. He's tired, so tired, from the pills and the lack of sleep and the general exhaustion that follows him around like a dog on a leash. There's no way he'll be able to write a note worthy enough for Chuuya to read like this.
Disregarding any and all common sense, Dazai pulls his phone out of his coat pocket. He dials a number he knows won't answer. He makes one last phone call. It rings a total of three times.
Click.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system. 'Nakahara Chuuya' is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."