“would you die for me?” dazai asked suddenly as you floated together down the river. you’d taken a spontaneous trip away, just the two of you, and were observing a quaint little river twinkling under artificial lights when dazai fell in. of course, you had to jump in after him.
you hummed, water tickling the sides of your face as you drifted beside him. “better. i’d live for you.”
dazai went quiet. you didn’t trust yourself to look over at him without sinking, but you reached out and tangled your hand in his.
over the gentle rush of water, you heard his breath hitch.
“but,” you said, and there was a slight tease on the tip of your tongue. “when we’re both old and have experienced life to the fullest… perhaps some poison in wine would be a peaceful way to go. i’d even let you pick the type.”
in your peripheral, you watched as dazai let his head fall beneath the quiet current. you counted to five before tugging him back to the surface, listening to him sputter for a few seconds before giving his hand a squeeze. “you can’t get rid of me that easy, my love.”
“i suppose not,” he agreed easily, voice a bit scratchy from the water that trickled in through his nose. “a wine of nightshade berries does sound like an exquisite experiment.”
“it does,” you mused. “an exquisite, future experiment.”
dazai hummed, but he didn’t release your hand. “spending the next few years or so with you doesn’t sound too bad, either…”
your smile was quick and real and painful. it was easy to throw his words back at him. “i suppose not.”
synopsis.: chuuya doesn’t understand why you turn to self-harm every time you feel like you’re at your lowest, but he’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay afterward
pairing.: chuuya nakahara x gn!reader
cw.: sfw, established relationship, heavy trigger warning !! ⇢ explicit self-harm, kinda angsty, hurt / comfort, fluff at the end, mentioning of dazai osamu, sort of suggestive themes
wc.: 1.9k
۶ৎ note.: YAYAYA happy belated birthday to my love!! i actually wanted to post this on his birthday exactly, but i only now found the time to correct everything (had a busy week) so yeah :(( BUT AT LEAST IT’S ONLY THREE DAYS LATE GUYS AND NOT A MONTH (be proud of me please) anyway, hope you enjoy!!
he wasn’t supposed to see this. he wasn’t supposed to find you like this—so utterly broken and messed up.
but then again, it’s chuuya. it’s his apartment. and it’s definitely not his fault that you didn’t check your messages. no, this is your own fault for turning off your phone.
so how could you have known? that he’d be back from the mission early? that he’d stay extra quiet to not disturb you just in case you were sleeping on his side of the bed as usual when he’d be late?
you could have. if you had just looked at your damn phone. then he wouldn’t have had to find you like this—sitting on the ground, leaning against the frame of the bed, totally out of it and fucking miserable.
your body is trembling, fresh blood stains the ends of your sleeves as it trickles down your wrists, drenching the white fabric into a deep crimson color.
he’s at your side before your mind can even register him entering the room, kneeling down in front of you. his eyes are practically flooded with concern and a tinge of frustration.
he knows about your struggles, sort of. even though you never explicitly told him anything, he isn’t blind.
“you idiot… what did you do?” chuuya whispers softly as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
you briefly close your eyes at the contact of his lips against your feverish skin, mumbling something inaudibly. perhaps an apology or just his name—he isn’t quite sure.
the blood loss isn’t severe. he’s seen worse, way worse. yet, you still look like you’re about to faint. it’s probably the adrenaline wearing off, leaving your body in a state of pure exhaustion.
chuuya gently picks you up, being careful not to accidentally brush against any of the deep cuts on your wrists. you whimper anyway.
your body relaxes ever so slightly in his arms, the familiar grip and scent soothing you, just a bit. he carries you toward the bathroom, gingerly helping you settle on the edge of the bathtub.
he makes sure you’re steady, holding you for just a while longer, giving you another kiss on the top of your head. you lean against him, burying your face in his side to shield your eyes from the stinging brightness.
chuuya lets go of you eventually, though, as the pungent smell of copper invades his nose. he grabs a first aid kit and a fresh cloth, which he wets at the sink before returning to you.
he kneels down in front of you again, gently taking your hands in his and squeezing them reassuringly. you can’t bear to look him in the eyes, feeling ashamed as you almost withdraw your hands.
chuuya doesn’t let go, though. instead, he only holds your hands tighter, frowning at the fact that you don’t feel comfortable letting him take care of you. then again, he can’t blame you. he doesn’t burden you with his worries either.
he turns your arms over, revealing your soft skin marred with deep cuts and slashes. they look like you used one of his blades he keeps lying around for safety purposes.
you lower your head, turning more inward as guilt washes over you. “i’m sorry…” you whisper, your voice rough as you swallow thickly.
chuuya doesn’t respond. instead, he takes the wet cloth and dabs at the edges of the cuts you made. you flinch as the rough material grazes your wounds.
he has half a mind to keep everything sharp locked away in the future, and half a mind to never leave your side again. however, he knows both of these options would never work out and would probably make you feel even more uncomfortable around him.
maybe even less like a human but more like an object he wants to protect—and that’s something chuuya would never want to make someone feel, especially not you. for all that, he knows what it’s like to not feel human. to constantly question your own thoughts and feelings, to deal with a sick mind.
he doesn’t understand your pain, not truly anyway. but he relates to it on a level only he can. he just can’t relate to your utterly stupid and awful coping mechanisms. this simply isn’t his cup of tea, and it unfortunately reminds him of another troubled soul.
sometimes he wonders if he’s enough for you. enough for you to cling to your life and keep holding on. in the end, he wasn’t enough for dazai, who keeps craving something more fulfilling and meaningful to his life, even though there probably never will be anything that fills his void.
and chuuya is just so fucking scared that you need that too. that he can’t fill the void you’re so desperately trying to fill.
you glance at chuuya, his quiet and thoughtful demeanor sending another wave of panic through you. is he thinking of leaving you? of never wanting to see or speak to you again?
you know you’re disgusting. you know you can be a lot, especially in these moments. you know you’re difficult to handle. and while chuuya has never in his life expressed even an amount of distaste towards you, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just pretended all along. and you wouldn’t blame him either.
chuuya notices your underlying panic. he can practically feel it from how tense and nervous you look, and he hates that he’s probably the one making you feel like this.
“hold still,” he mumbles, still dabbing away at your cuts. once he decides they look clean enough and all the dried scraps of blood are gone, he applies a thin layer of petroleum jelly around your cuts to keep the area moist.
his movements are tender against your irritated skin, but despite how gentle he is, you still feel a burning sensation whenever he gets too close to a cut.
applying the ointment is sort of tedious and takes chuuya some time. enough time for you to stare at his face and imagine the most gruesome breakup you can think of.
you don’t even realize that he’s already laying out gauze on your wounds and securing it by wrapping bandages somewhat tightly around your wrists.
eventually, chuuya looks up at you with a serious expression before standing up fully again. he stands between your legs and strokes your hair affectionately, pulling you closer against him.
you briefly close your eyes, enjoying the warmth his body radiates. “come on, let’s get you to bed,” chuuya says, picking you up in his arms again. you let him without protest.
he makes sure not to step on any of the medical treatments he left out in the open. he’ll take care of it tomorrow, as well as the bloodstain you left behind on the carpet in his bedroom.
he carefully sets you on top of the bed, your shirt riding up just a little. you don’t mind, though. chuuya looks down at you, his gaze lingering on your bloody sleeves. he walks to the closet and grabs one of his own shirts.
“arms up,” he demands, and you follow through with his request. he takes off your shirt, looking you over just in case you hurt yourself anywhere else. when he doesn’t find any more cuts, he dresses you in his shirt, wiping away your dried tears with the end of his own sleeves.
you simply gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, pulling him closer by his waist. your thumbs begin to trace circles through his clothes, and chuuya regards you with a small chuckle. “what are you doing?”
“nothing,” you answer after a long moment of silence, your hands moving down and along his belt. you tug at it hesitantly, almost testing the waters.
you’re aware this isn’t exactly the best moment to ask for intimacy, especially this kind of intimacy. after all, you definitely don’t look or feel your best right now.
but all of this can be pushed aside. you just want—no, need—this kind of reassurance from him. you need to know he isn’t disgusted by you or mortified by your self-destructiveness.
chuuya’s smile drops as soon as he realizes what you’re asking him for, and he gently takes your hands in his, stopping you from going any further. “we’re not doing this. not tonight,” he says calmly but firmly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
your breath hitches at that, and you look away, feeling just a bit humiliated and pensive at his polite rejection. “is it because… you don’t find me attractive anymore?” you ask quietly, a sense of insecurity washing over you.
you bring your arms closer to your stomach, trying to hide them. you suddenly grow more aware of your surroundings, of what you did, and how much pain you must have inflicted on him.
of course he’s not going to want to sleep with you after that. god, how can you be so foolish? “sorry, that was a stupid question,” you mutter, your voice even quieter than before.
chuuya sits down beside you at that, looking at you with a heavy heart, unsure of what to do. he knows words are useless here and not his strong suit anyway, so he does what makes the most sense to him.
reluctantly, he leans in, stopping just a moment away from your face to think this through again. “fuck it…” he murmurs, exhaling shakily before tilting your head to face him. he rests his hand against your cheek, his thumb grazing the thin skin under your eye as he gently presses his lips against yours.
you’re startled for a moment but instantly return the kiss, practically melting into him. eventually, he brushes your hair out of the way with the hand that’s resting on your face and drags his lips lower.
he begins to plant light kisses along your sensitive skin, his other hand slowly slipping beneath your shirt. it’s warm against your skin, but doesn’t move any further.
“nothing you’d do could ever make me not want you, sweetheart,” chuuya whispers against your throat before moving to press his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling. if he could, he would take you right then and there. but he knows that would be unfair and wrong on so many levels.
“but you don’t want this, at least not right now,” he says reassuringly as he pulls away. “besides, you’re too tired anyway. you’d fall asleep before we even get to the good part.” he laughs softly, the thought of you falling asleep during sex amusing him. it wouldn’t be the first time.
a small smile graces your lips as well, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck. you wrap your arms around him, and he does the same, tracing soothing circles against your back.
“tell you what, if you still feel like this first thing in the morning after a good night full of sleep, i’ll gladly scratch that itch,” he mumbles, making your cheeks heat up.
you just nod and hum in response, your lips grazing his neck ever so slightly. it tickles him just a little. “i love you, chuuya,” you say, your voice laced with deep affection and adoration.
“i love you, too,” chuuya says faintly, tightening his grip around you, and you know he won’t let you go for the rest of the night.
note.: i am actually trying to slowly get back into my writing and i feel like it’s working! might even get into a writer’s rut hihi but yeah- question, how are we guys feeling about some criminal minds content??? maybe in the future
no because what actually happened to good angst fics/any other form of literature??
back in my time we had ACTUAL gut wretching, pain inducing, i-feel-like-im-gonna-throw-up, soul crushing, im-actually-sobbing, toe tickling angst/no comfort
Hello ghost I'd like your hcs and thoughts on something
How would dazai react to his s/o dead from suicide?
(mainly out of morbid curiosity) but can you imagine how badly he would have taken it? Especially considering oda has technically killed himself as soon as he decided to fight gide.
oh, i am more than willing to entertain your morbid curiosity before bed because i think about this sometimes like a depressed psycho. let me add more to the pain: gn!reader was his fiancé and he found you. trigger warning, read at your discretion.
✝︎ when he walks into the bathroom, seeing you laying on the floor, he already knows - it doesn't stop the initial shock, even going into some denial despite it all.
۫ ׅ he shakes you, useless, but he can't rule out the possibility
۫ ׅ his hands tremble
۫ ׅ his eyes are already lining with tears
۫ ׅ wonders if there's enough time to get you to yosano
۫ ׅ he shakes you again - nothing
✝︎ when it hits him you aren't moving, not breathing, his gaze is scanning for the culprit - pills. the simplest way.
۫ ׅ "that's not fair, my darling. we were supposed to go together" - said while on the brink of weeping, unable to breathe properly
۫ ׅ he thinks he had done something wrong, even though he knew you were just as depressed as he was - he will now never get that reassurance
۫ ׅ brushes hair from your face - you're not even cold yet
۫ ׅ wonders if there's enough for him to follow you
۫ ׅ sits down with his back against the wall, staring ahead, zoning out, tears falling that he is unaware about
✝︎ stays in the bathroom with your lifeless body for a while, unmoving.
۫ ׅ his mind is blank
۫ ׅ his phone might ring, he ignores it - doesn't hear it, actually
۫ ׅ has fleeting thoughts here and there on where you got the medication to begin with
۫ ׅ how is he going to break it to your family, your friends, the agency
۫ ׅ should he follow you
✝︎ when he finally starts regaining consciousness, he just breaks down
۫ ׅ he lost another thing he wanted most
۫ ׅ feels hopeless
۫ ׅ believes he will never have the happiness he knows he doesn't deserve
۫ ׅ eventually screams when he remembers you're just lying there - you're there but not and it's driving him crazy
۫ ׅ clutches you in his arms and hates he can't hear your heartbeat
✝︎ he is internally fighting himself whether to follow you to the afterlife like he always promised or abide by oda's dying wish to be better.
۫ ׅ you made him truly feel he had gotten better
۫ ׅ you're gone
۫ ׅ oda's gone
۫ ׅ he misses you both so much already
۫ ׅ he wants to see you two again
✝︎ the neighbor finds him and has to call the emergency number to get the coroner.
۫ ׅ he won't let them take you - they had to rip him off your body
۫ ׅ threatens to crawl into the bag with you - the professional psychologist doesn't know what to do to help soothe him like they're trained to
۫ ׅ begs them to euthanize him - they're planning to admit him
۫ ׅ has to be held back from climbing into the back of the coroner's car
۫ ׅ kunikida somehow ended up there just as the doors closed and has to be the one to console him - he doesn't know what to say other than convincing them not to send him away
✝︎ he misses your funeral.
۫ ׅ he couldn't face your loved ones - he didn't have it in them to tell them he couldn't save you
۫ ׅ he sits at your grave in his suit he had prepared for the wedding that will never happen after everyone else has left and the sun is going down
۫ ׅ he tells your ghost you're selfish for making him love you then leave him
۫ ׅ he's jealous you get to see oda before him
۫ ׅ he sleeps there all night
✝︎ he never fully recovers
۫ ׅ he doesn't bother with sleeping around
۫ ׅ he doesn't bother with flirting
۫ ׅ he wears your engagement ring as a necklace
۫ ׅ brushes off any stranger that tries offering him consolation
۫ ׅ everyone at the agency is secretly on suicide watch rotation - he knows
✝︎ he never comes to a decision on if he wants to follow in your steps.
۫ ׅ you'd be waiting there for him to yell at him if he did - like a hypocrite
۫ ׅ oda might be disappointed too - like a hypocrite
✝︎ he hallucinates you.
۫ ׅ everyone just lets it happen - "he's going through the unimaginable"
✝︎ he isn't ever really the same, honestly.
۫ ׅ he'll never know why you did it - you didn't leave behind a note
these are just my headcanons on what he would do if someone he deeply loved as a significant other, so much so he wanted to marry them, committed. may be out-of-character, but a man put through the worst once already going through it again can only hold himself together so many times.
-ghxst
i love being sad.
dazai masterlist
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i
Can you write Dazai and any other character you’d like with a non-Japanese reader who is feeling homesick? Like, no matter how long it's been. There is always this feeling of missing home dearly.
nonnie, i absolutely LOVED this prompt and i really tried my best to write it ^_^; i hope u enjoy . taglist: @worldussysblog @nefariousnet @irlyluvosamu @formiito @eloblackhole @angelofdarkness2 @reneegremlyn @blizzyblitz @ghostlyvinn @auroratumbles
dazai osamu
you’ve been in yokohama long enough to know your way around, long enough to order the right meals, long enough to laugh at the same little street cats every day. but some nights, when the wind brushes through the streets or when a song floats past a window, you feel it—the tug of somewhere else. home. somewhere you can’t quite reach, no matter how much time passes.
dazai notices first in the quiet moments. when you’re staring out the window, hands clasped around a cup of tea, eyes distant. he doesn’t say anything at first. he just sits beside you, close enough to catch your warmth.
“thinking of home?” he asks gently, voice soft like he’s testing the waters.
you blink, a little embarrassed. “yeah… i mean, i’ve been here for months, but sometimes it just… hits, you know?”
he nods slowly, tilting his head. “i know the feeling. being somewhere new, missing the smells, the people… the way things just feel familiar. it never really goes away, does it?”
you shake your head, voice low. “no. even if i love it here, there’s this… pull. it’s like a ghost that doesn’t leave.”
dazai leans a little closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “then maybe i can help make it a little softer. bring a bit of… comfort from here, maybe.”
he hums, thoughtful, and suddenly your favorite snack from back home is in his hand, wrapped neatly like it’s always meant to be yours.
“i remembered you said this reminded you of the streets back home,” he says quietly. “and the taste, the smell… maybe it’ll take the edge off a little.”
you smile, small and tired. “it already does.”
and when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close on the couch, you feel… almost okay. almost like home is somewhere you can carry with you.
“don’t worry,” he murmurs into your hair. “even if it’s far away, you don’t have to be alone in it. i’ll be here.”
you rest your head against him, eyes closing, and for the first time that night, the tug in your chest eases a little.
because even if home is far, he can make right now feel like it’s enough.
chuuya nakahara
you’re quiet tonight, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped tight around you. even the flickering streetlights outside can’t shake the feeling—you miss home. no matter how long you’ve been here, no matter how much you like it, there’s always that tug at your chest, a hollow little ache.
chuuya notices immediately. he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you for a moment before striding over. his fingers brush your shoulder lightly, just enough to get your attention.
“hey,” he says softly, voice low but steady. “you’re moping again.”
you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “i’m… just thinking.”
“about home, huh?” he guesses, crouching beside you. his hand slides over yours, thumbs brushing lightly. “you don’t have to pretend it’s nothing.”
you glance up at him, lips twitching faintly. “i just… i miss it sometimes. the smells, the sounds… everyone there. it’s hard.”
he nods, like he understands more than he should. “i get it. feels like something’s missing, right? like you’re carrying a weight no one can see.”
you bite your lip, and he reaches out, tilting your chin up with a thumb so your eyes meet his. “i can’t make it all go away,” he says, “but… i can make it a little lighter. let me help.”
before you can respond, he’s tugging you gently into his lap, arms wrapping around you in a firm, comforting embrace. you rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart like a promise.
“smell this,” he murmurs, pressing the collar of his coat closer so you can catch the faint scent of leather and tobacco mixed with him. “i know it’s not home… but maybe it can be something that feels safe.”
you let out a shaky laugh, muffled against his shoulder. “it’s… something, yeah.”
“good,” he whispers, tightening his hold just a little. “home might be far, but you’ve got me. you’re not alone in it. not ever.”
and as the night stretches on, and the world outside hums softly, you let yourself drift a little—feeling the warmth, the presence, the comfort of someone who’s steadfast enough to carry a piece of home for you, even if just for tonight.
nikolai gogol
you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, knees hugged to your chest, staring at the city lights through the window. the hum of cars and the distant chatter don’t reach you—you’re somewhere else entirely, somewhere that smells like home, sounds like home, feels like home.
nikolai notices immediately, leaning casually in the doorway with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “hm… you look like a cat who got stuck on the roof,” he teases lightly, but there’s a softness in his tone.
you glance up, forcing a smile. “i’m fine,” you murmur, though your voice cracks a little.
he pads over, crouching in front of you. “nope. you’re not fine. i can tell. something’s eating at you, and it’s not that sad snack you dropped earlier.”
you frown, shoulders tightening. “i… just miss home. it’s silly.”
“not silly,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you can’t help where your heart wants to be. smells, voices, streets… it’s all part of who you are. being far from it hurts. that’s not silly—it’s human.”
you lean into his touch, feeling a little lighter. “but… it’s been so long. i thought it would get easier.”
he shakes his head, grin softening into something warm. “it never really does. home isn’t just a place, it’s memories, it’s people, it’s the little things that stick to your skin. you carry it with you, even when you can’t touch it.”
he sits behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. his head rests lightly on yours. “but hey,” he murmurs, “i can make a deal with you. if home’s too far away tonight… i’ll be a stand-in. smells bad coffee, terrible jazz records, the whole bit. i’ll make it a little closer. promise.”
you let out a quiet laugh, leaning back into him. “you’re ridiculous.”
“maybe,” he admits, smirking, “but it’s my specialty. keeping you sane when the world feels too big.”
and so, pressed against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the warmth of his presence, home doesn’t feel quite so far away. maybe it’s not the same, but right now… it’s enough.
atsushi nakajima
you’re perched on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, staring at the city outside the window. the lights flicker like tiny stars, but they don’t feel like yours. your fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of a photo tucked under your pillow—faces you miss, streets you miss, the scent of home that never seems to leave your memory.
atsushi’s footsteps are quiet, but he pauses the moment he notices you. he tilts his head, gentle concern in his eyes. “are you… thinking about home again?”
you give a small nod, hiding the photo a little. “i… i just miss it. even after all this time, it still… it still feels so far away.”
he kneels beside you, hands resting lightly on his knees. “i understand,” he says softly. “i… i’ve felt that too. sometimes it’s like there’s a part of you that can’t move forward until you’ve held onto it. it doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”
you let out a quiet sigh. “i thought it would get easier… but it doesn’t. it just… aches sometimes.”
atsushi shifts closer, brushing his hand against yours. “then let me help carry some of that ache,” he murmurs. “you don’t have to be strong alone. if home feels far… then i’ll be here. i’ll try to make it feel closer, even if it’s just for tonight.”
you glance at him, heart warming at the earnestness in his eyes. “you… really mean that?”
he nods, a soft smile spreading across his face. “of course. i… i care about you. and if being near me makes it a little easier, then… i’ll do it. as long as you want me to.”
you lean against him, letting his warmth seep in. the ache doesn’t disappear, but it dulls, softened by the steady presence beside you. and for the first time that night, home doesn’t feel quite so far away.
akutagawa ryunosuke
you’re sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side, staring at the distant city lights. the wind tugs at your hair, carrying the unfamiliar scents of a place that isn’t home. your fingers fidget with the sleeve of your coat, restless, longing for something you can’t have.
he’s silent at first, appearing beside you without a sound. “…you’re thinking about it again,” he says, voice low, clipped, but not unkind.
you shrug, keeping your gaze ahead. “i… i just miss it. even after all this time… it’s like i’m still not really here.”
he doesn’t move immediately. then, after a pause, he shifts closer, the air between you tense but not cold. “…i can’t fix it,” he admits. “i… don’t know what to say. but if it helps, i’ll stay. i’ll… sit here. quiet. just… with you.”
you blink at him, surprised. “…that’s it?”
he nods once, stiffly, shoulders tense. “…that’s all i can offer. but maybe… it’s enough. you’re not alone.”
you let out a small, shaky laugh, leaning slightly toward him. “that… actually helps. more than i expected.”
akutagawa doesn’t smile, not fully, but his presence is grounding. he doesn’t need to speak, doesn’t need to explain. just being there—silent, steady—is enough to tether you to this place, even when your heart aches for somewhere else.
you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the faint warmth through his coat. the city feels less foreign, the night less lonely. and for the first time, it doesn’t hurt so much to be away from home.
18!zai centric (platonic) + hint of my hcs . @grassy-air @totalruinbutidolized @eternaldeceitflour <- ppl who replied to my earlier post #scared
when osamu dazai came to speak to you for the first time, he was bearing bad news.
terrible, horrible news. the worst announcement you had ever recieved.
the boy was only eighteen. your fiancee was only twenty-three. osamu was, in essence, just like a younger brother.
he barely spoke. the words choked out of his bandaged throat, as if they threatened to strangle him. yet somehow, the words also slipped out.
you remember it vividly.
a gloomy day, two desperate knocks to your door, a distressed young boy who was drenched to the core, rain and tears mixed on his face alike. blood washed off of his hands by the harsh storm water, though, the distraught look on his face did not.
and he wasn’t wearing that bandage on his eye.
strike one.
“osamu? what happened?” you open the door a little wider, removing your jacket to dry him off. you usher him inside, but he doesn’t budge past the doorway.
strike two.
“t-there’s something,” he gulps harshly, whispering with a hiss of urgency. “that i need to tell you.”
“it can wait, i’m sure. now come inside before you catch a cold,” you wrap your jacket around his shoulders, trying to bring him inside.
“no, i don’t think you understand—” he doesn’t have the energy to be rough with you.
“i don’t care, osamu. ‘saku wants me to take care of you—”
“odasaku is dead, [name].”
strike three.
for a moment, it feels like the world stopped.
who are you kidding, the moment you found out sakunosuke—your dearest ‘saku—is dead, your world stopped. stopped moving, stop existing, stop living—sakunosuke oda was your world.
and now he’s gone.
it feels like the whole world stopped, but the storm kept raining down. the cars kept honking in traffic, and the couples down the street still ran in the rain under the same umbrella. the kids with their whole lives ahead of them still were devoid of happiness and reason to live.
the world does not stop spinning for anyone. you have come to that realisation brutally, all of a sudden.
“what…?” your mouth doesn’t work as fast as your brain, it seems.
“he was shot. he knew he would die,” and all of a sudden, the boy you never knew could show—let alone feel—emotion was shaking. fear, realisation, a break down… neither of you could tell.
he was stuttering. his hands tremble as they cover his face; they smell like a coin held onto for too long. yuck.
but it’s odasaku’s blood, thus there is something worth cherishing in it, even if it is disgusting.
he is disgusting, but odasaku still found something worth cherishing in him.
and he found something—a lot, apparently—to cherish within you, thus he should be kinder to you. one day, or perhaps under different circumstances.
“what…?” you utter it out again, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.
but it seems osamu needs to talk about it. to talk to you, someone who would listen. someone who would share the same sentiment; the same grief.
“he knew it, [name]. he knew he would die,” osamu’s hands claw at his face, slipping to his neck and finding the ends of his bandages to tug at. pulling at them, with full intention to see odasaku at the gateway between heaven and hell. he knows which man goes to which respective afterlife.
“osamu, stop that,” your voice quivers as you try prying his hands off of his neck.
he slaps your hands off of his own, expression unreadable.
but it switches from unreadable to immediately full of regret in just a second.
“i’m sorry. i’m sorry,” he desperately apologises, hands hesitant to take yours into his own. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so—”
you pull him into a hug. a desperate hug that tells him you understand.
you understand why he acted out, you understand why he’s suddenly unable to speak. you understand that he’s just a kid.
and he just lost his father figure.
sure, you lost your fiancee. husband-to-be.
there’s grief in that. a horrible, hell-ending inducing grief that makes you want to die.
but osamu’s never known anything like that.
not love, not friendship, not companionship—he’s never known familial love.
maybe not even a father figure; there was something less distinct than that. but it was just as strong. like family not by name or blood, but by connection and care.
and now, if oda was “father” in osamu’s dollhouse, you would be the other parent.
that evening, you sat on your couch with osamu’s dissociated figure laying half on your lap, and half on the floor.
you sat in silence together, tenderly stroking his hair.
one day, he will trust you enough to talk about his feelings. one day, he will accept you as a friend or member of “family”. whatever that is to him, anyway.
one day, he will tell you odasaku’s dying wish to him, in a light-hearted manner at a family dinner in a few years time. he’d laugh and nudge your shoulder as he tells you that odasaku said, “be on the side that saves people. if both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person."
one day, osamu will call you by your name without fearing the attachment he would gain to you by addressing you properly.
but for now, he’s staying with you as you both try to navigate this very odd thing called grief.
Dazai sat at the small desk in his room. It was around eight pm, the streets of Yokohama were full of people eager to go back home to their families and loved ones. The stresses of a long workday began to ebb as traffic drifted through the roads. He however sat alone, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
This was around the time you would have rung at his doorbell, a bag of homemade dinner hooked around your arm as you called out to him in your sweet voice. Then he'd answer, even on the worst days because you looked forward to this just as much as he did.
Then sitting on the table, he'd take out a bottle of liquor, didn't matter what, somedays Sake, and when he decided to be fancy it would be Japanese whiskey. Then you'd talk about your day, he mostly listened. You talked a lot, he just liked hearing your voice.
Today however the doorbell stayed quiet. No home-made dinner, no you. He hoped if he took out his fanciest bottle then you'd show up. He could lure you in with a flirty smile. But he wasn't capable of raising the dead was he?
He laughed bitterly to himself, taking a sip of his whiskey. It made its way through his throat in a familiar burn. This was simply the price of letting someone inside he should have seen it coming. He could now go back to being his usual self, keeping everyone at just a little distance from his heart.
But there was still a part of him that missed the warm dinners and warmer company that only you could ever bring.
