Empty Room with No Echoes
Isolation drives anyone insane, and the Port Mafia's Boss is not an exception. As usual, Osamu Dazai follows his own secret ritual for his birthday: trying out different suicide methods to find alternatives to the final step for his plan; just in case something goes wrong.
This year, he decides to self asphyxiate.
It does not go the way he planned, however.
or: BEAST Dazai comes while /kinda/ attempting suicide
—> 3k words
—> Soukoku, M/M
—> Dead Dove Do Not Eat !! CW: NSFW, SUICIDE IDEATION, MINOR SUICIDE ATTEMPT, ASPHYXIA, PANIC ATTACK.
—> Angst and Hurt/Comfort (at least to me)
My piece for @aportmafiazine
June, 19th
Once again, everything is working out fine and going according to plan. Even though I’ve just recently gotten the Boss’ chair, I don’t see any signs of disobedience or rebellions against me. Mori-san was well respected in the Mafia, so inheriting the trust he gained within the personnel is only natural—especially given how smooth the transition went. I hope he’s doing fine while awaiting the orphanage to take him as the new headmaster. The day Atsushi will go back there for his revenge is close, I’m sure of this. It won’t take much longer. Speaking of Atsushi, somehow he found out today was my birthday and gifted me a bottle of my favourite whiskey, alongside a letter thanking me for all I’ve done for him so far. I bet that walking nuisance ratted me out. He must have lied to Atsushi, and said I’d love to have the day remembered just to mess with me and make me uncomfortable. Well done, Chuuya! Mission accomplished! I really pity the guy you choose to take my place as your personal headache once I’m gone. Maybe I should pick some options for you to start building your rivalry from today on! I almost feel as if I’m going to miss plotting things to bother you back
After striking through the last sentence, Dazai pauses his writing for a couple seconds, contemplating the words he has just written in his diary. He takes a sip of the whiskey and faint memories from his parallel self’s time at Lupin Bar—so distanced and blurred from how much time passed ever since he accessed them—flashes before his eyes. Memories from a life he has never lived and neither will. Memories with people he cares for so deeply, trapped eternally in his own mind, never to be cherished with anyone else.
He swallows the drink in a failed attempt to drag with it everything unspoken, clogging his throat; and, then, picks up the pen again.
As you already know, today is another day of testing out another way to kill myself, for I’m still trying to decide on alternatives. It also helps me cope with the anxiety. I can't wait for it all to be over... Overdosing felt blissful, but it’s really hard to guarantee no one will be able to save me nor that I’ll hit the actual deadly dosage. It’s highly dependent on multiple factors, after all. Drowning was really !! uncomfortable, and having some water going down my lungs was insanely excruciating. This one will definitely be kept on the bottom of the list. This year I’m going for asphyxia. I’ll tighten one of my Shibari ropes around my neck; slowly so I can control the process and not risk actually blacking out. Chuuya’s outside, guarding my room, and I don’t wish to trouble him with my death...
He stares at the notebook again, unsure how to conclude the day’s entry. Another sip from the glass strangles further the knot in his chest. With a glance at the door, he imagines his closest subordinate standing on the other side—the nearest he will ever get to company or connection on his darker days such as this one.
If only his sole accomplice wasn’t a notebook filled with words he would rather forget.If only Dazai had another person he could share his deepest thoughts with or create real—no. He can’t afford anyone missing him once he’s gone. His isolation is for everyone else’s sake.
He knows that…
Unfortunately, he knows that.
At last, “wish me luck, dear diary” is written before the pages are shut. He miserably chugs down the rest of the whiskey in his glass, the liquid feeling as though it wants to claw his throat inside out, and stares at the other two tumblers he’s poured for his imaginary drinking buddies. They remain untouched, as they shall from the rest of the night.
After locking the door as silently as possible, Dazai lays down on his bed and stares with an empty gaze at the ceiling while he knots the rope he had previously put aside for today’s experiment. Once it’s folded in four—so the pressure is distributed more evenly onto his skin—his hands automatically tie a Hangman’s Noose, then slip it around his neck, sealing it against his skin.
He takes one last deep breath, vaguely wishing some of the sorrow could be exhaled with the worn air escaping his lungs, and gives the rope its first tug, constricting the arteries and veins running through his neck.
Within a few seconds: his head is throbbing; the skin on his face stings; the pressure inside his ears increases; and his tongue feels faintly numb. Somehow, Dazai finds comfort in these sensations. It’s familiar. The growing heat and weakness embraces him.
“This is good...” Dazai thinks to himself, reeling on the sensations brought upon his body, for they soothe the coldness of his soul. Subconsciously, he’s relieved at the possibility of experiencing a death that doesn’t feel cold, bleak, and...well, extensively lonely.
The rope tightens further around his neck and the same sensations only intensify…but breathing is still too easy of a task. “Not enough”, his mind decides before constricting himself even deeper. His hearing feels clogged, his jaw almost hurts, his limbs grow weaker, and the world wobbles around him…
But his breathing isn’t faltering nearly enough.
Frustrated, he loosens the rope, takes a deep breath, and sighs heavily in dissatisfaction. It was naive of Dazai to hope that maybe—just maybe—if he put enough pressure the rope would crush his respiratory system and cease his air flow. Seems like the human body he inhabits prepared itself in advance to interfere with his wishes.
So, determined to not let this effort end in resentment over his failure, Dazai rolls to his side, now facing down onto the mattress, and swings the knot to his nape. By resting his elbows beside his head and bending his arms backwards, he reaches the rope ends and settles in a more promising position.
Another deep breath and he’s diving in once more, desperate in his need for oxygen deprivation. To his despair, however, the same thing happens again; and again; and again. After the fifth attempt, he untightens the noose and unleashes a guttural exasperated growl, irritated and disappointed in himself. Dazai pants and punches the bed beneath him several times, blaming the vessel holding his soul for this latent defeat.
“Oy, Dazai!” his subordinate calls from outside the door.
“I’m fine!” the superior replies in a growl, desperate to avoid the other from worrying too much and interfering with his own business.
“The fuck are you up to in there?” Chuuya sounds preoccupied—the last thing Dazai needs.
Gathering up all his strength to sound as casual as usual, Dazai replies: “Oh, nothing big! Just…tugging the slug! Would you care to join?”
“Tch,” he complains. “Can’t you say you’re jerking off, dipshit? You know, like a fuckin’ normal person? And how the fuck are you making that big of a mess anyway?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Chuuya...” the name is carried with a tune to annoy the one addressed, as normality would ask for.
“Keep it to yourself, freak…” He pauses for a second before speaking again.“I’m heading off to my room, I’m done with that bloody mission on GTA V.”
“You’re dismissed for today, Chuuya.” A faint gloominess escapes Dazai’s chest when uttering these words, betraying its own speaker.
“Oy…” Chuuya calls in a low, reflexive tone, “If you try summat on your life today, I'll finish the job myself.”
“Hah! Thank you for the offer, Chuuya, but dying by your hands would feel like hell and I want my death to be as heavenly as possible.”
Chuuya scoffs. His voice grows distant while he says “as if, you cunt.” The same happens to his steps as he walks towards his room on the opposite end of the hallway.
Even though those words were said in the attempt of manipulating Chuuya’s attention out of the danger, Dazai can’t ignore how deeply they resonate within him and mess with whatever he buried so deep he almost forgot.
To die by someone’s hands…
The thought consumes Dazai in no time.
Surely, dying with (any) company has to be better than doing so alone…but there’s no one Dazai can think of who would be willing to accompany him in this one way journey. Well, and neither considers anyone close enough for him to feel comfortable by their side during his last moments. Not to mention how hurt he would get if anyone decided their lives (the one he carefully and meticulously planned) was not worth living.
All this aside…does Dazai even deserve to have someone by his side when the day comes? After all his efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length?
To die by someone’s hands…
By far the most realistic option of having his death accompanied.
Although it would, indeed, be nice to finally feel he shares something with a human being, Dazai is not one to have low standards regarding his choice. He is not willing to give anyone he hates or despises the pleasure of feeling his life leaving his body.
So he sighs exasperatedly and buries his face into the mattress below him. There’s no one who could fulfill such a role after all…
Chuuya, on the other hand…
Like a spark initiating a wildfire, an image is formed in the back of his mind and his body grows restless, anxious, with his breathing getting faster and erratic by the second.
Dazai would hate to have his life fully placed in Chuuya’s hand, that’s certain! Especially with the finality of taking it away from him. Even during their wildest missions together, Dazai still held some sort of control over his life or death.
But maybe—just maybe—the raw and primal emotions forced out of his subordinate could be of some entertainment.
Would Chuuya be happy to be entrusted with this task?
Would he be thankful for personally being put in charge of the riddance?
Or would Chuuya’s hate for Dazai only grow?
“Ah!” Dazai sighs in amusement, thinking to himself. “For the first time you’ve got me at a crossroad, Chuuya! I really don’t know for sure how you’d react to being in charge of my death… you really are human, after all! Your eyes brim with life… having someone as lively as you killing me could only be poetic… and I hope you hate me for that. I hope you give me that furious look of yours. I hope you take as much pleasure as possible when you finally don’t have to hold yourself back anymore!” As the image consolidates inside his mind, Dazai tightens the rope on his neck once more and conflicting feelings take over his chest alongside the warmth “…wait, do I? Well, it could be worth witnessing! You keep on blabbering on how you will kill me someday so you should be thrilled for being allowed this privilege!"
Even though his heart dwells on whether giving his nemesis this task is truly his heart’s desire, Dazai can’t help but feel drawn to burn himself in the bright sun-like light before his own fades out for good.
There is something particularly attractive in the intense passion exchanged in those brief but everlasting seconds, when time and space become a weird concept—an experience Dazai knows intimately. Time and again he has put himself in life and death situations with his partner. The thrill, the adrenaline rushing through their bodies, the unbreakable bond fixed and perpetuated through mutual trust and knowledge—only this time, it would be their last.
Would it be even more intense than everything so far?
Would Dazai feel his whole body burn just like when he first met Chuuya…?
It’s possible; and would most definitely be better than the cold hollowness consuming his carcass, which aches for human heat to comfort him as he desperately tightens the rope even further.
His blood flow drops significantly and the pain, the numbness, the constant stinging on his face adds to the dizziness, providing the perfect relief for euphoria to rise. And just like that, a significant question takes up his thoughts entirely:
Would it be as breathtaking as the time they fucked?
Oh.
Yeah, the one time they fucked…
Osamu Dazai already had in mind his ultimate goal for his life, as well as most of his plan sketched when it happened…and he shouldn’t have done that. He knew from the start he shouldn’t have allowed that brief fumbling moment to take place, but…what else can you expect from teenagers?
It was wrong.
Dazai had promised himself he would never get remotely involved with anyone…but when the adrenaline rushed through his body alongside the hormones, the electricity, the pleasure, the warmth; the desperation to feel intimacy, connection…
For someone as cold and rational as him, it felt surreal how his heart took over and controlled him. For the first time in his life, the demon prodigy felt the most human he possibly could.
It was painful to hide from Chuuya the real reason he was not up to lowering himself to be with him again. It’s not as if Dazai didn’t want to once again explore such soft skin decorated with constellations of delicate freckles; or to allow himself to get rid of the power and control, and just rejoice in the trust and intimacy provided by and shared with his partner; or even to listen to that deep voice panting, groaning, moaning, and growling in his ears, shamelessly thriving in the pleasure provided by the body Dazai is so used to hating. It’s just that…he couldn’t.
The adrenaline, anxiety, and shame caused by the wrongness of his thoughts and acts only drives Dazai insane. He can swear the euphoria is giving him physical pleasure as he squirms on the bed.
How can the human mind be so enthralled by the forbidden?
Oh.
This subtle but unique word appears once again.
Dazai lets go of the rope out of shock and, when he pulls in a deep breath, he realises he is panting; his eyes as wide as an owl’s, screaming everything he keeps himself from vocalising. As his body returns to normal from the blood flow constriction, what arose ever so subtly in the turmoil now is more obvious than ever: his length is stiff, throbbing inside his boxers.
How helpless is it possible for a man to feel when facing a sudden loss of control over his own body? He can dictate his heartbeat, goddamnit, but now his cock decides to rebel against him?
That word.
That bloody word echoes once again through whispers in the back of his mind.
Human.
In the face of the abandonment and betrayal felt, he can’t help but surrender himself to deeper distress. “Is this what…it feels like?” Dazai questions, terrified of a voice replying “yes”. Because, if the answer to this question is positive, then it would mean that Chuuya is responsible for his humanity twice.
…
Too much.
Everything is just too much.
Dazai feels dizzy, lost, like he’ll throw up at any moment. Though…it’s not semi digested food that would come out, but something he can’t quite name.
Something is locked behind his face and above his chest and needs to come out; but Dazai is not willing to let it. So, out of instinct, he shuts his eyelids and seals the rope once again around his neck—this time, as he hopes, for the last time.
As he secures the rope as tightly as possible, preventing the unnamed thing from escaping, the silent voices tormenting his mind progressively grow quiet. And once his blood pressure drops, the resulting numbness gets mixed with relaxation.
Dazai is calmer this way. One of the rarest times in his life where silence could be comforting…And in the back of his eyes, Dazai sees what he wishes would be his last sight of this manipulated universe he feels so foreign to.
Chuuya Nakahara, kneeling over his body, with his beautiful hands strangling his throat, crashing his airways; his eyes locked on Dazai’s, brimming with anger and passion… emotions…life, even! And laughing at how pathetic Dazai looks as he dies. So poetic and so…
Perfect.
As euphoria hits Dazai once again, his body starts acting on its own. A faint and hoarse laughter leaves his chest, his hip thrusts ever so shyly against the mattress, his eyes roll from the pleasure, and the heat resulting from all the turmoil melts his insides.
Giving in looks like the only option at this point. Dazai thinks no more, he simply allows himself to submerge in the weird, dark, and aggressive ocean surrounding his conscience, sinking down to the deeper parts of his subconscious he buried so long ago.
There, amidst the darkness, a single light calls him—and he replies: “Chuuya…” in a contained whisper.
The gloved hands reach out and take the place of the rope around his neck.
“Die for me,” he says inside of Dazai’s mind, who obediently pulls the rope even harder.
Complying to his own dog’s order embarrasses him; and even worse: his cock is hard, acting on its own and taking pleasure from it.
Dazai shouldn’t be this much of a mess. He should just die already so he doesn’t have to live with the memory of the present moment haunting him forever.
However… if this is to be his last moment, he might as well enjoy it as much as he can. The pace of his hips increases and, out of desperation, Dazai thrusts his length harder and harder at each time. He wants to moan. He wants to whine. He wants to beg Chuuya to kill him faster, but his image suddenly fades away from his mind. Dazai wants to cry. He wants to feel good in his death. He wants someone to be by his side. He wants–…
In the darkness of his eyelids, a pitch black shadow forms up before him.
It looks like himself, but with no bandages covering either of his eyes.
The words “you did great, Osamu. You can rest now” echoes in the abyss.
Like flipping a switch, his whole body contracts all at once for some seconds, electricity runs underneath his skin, his heart races, all the pain is converted into pleasure. The fear and anxiety dissolves, a heat rushes from his lower abdomen all across his body, and a last prolonged moan leaves his throat until he collapses onto the mattress—he had his release.