Text"Why did you bring me back?"
For half a second, pure anger flashed in Mori's eyes and Dazai thought for a very sobering moment that the man was about to slap him across the face, right there in front of everyone.
The gleam quickly disappeared though, replaced with the same exhausted grief that he seemed to be wearing a lot nowadays.
"Osamu… Of course I brought you back. You're my only son."
It was the most sincere he'd probably ever heard his father being. His instincts told him to be doubtful but… he knew his father's tells. This sounded earnest in a way he'd never heard before, except for much earlier in his childhood, when the loss of Dazai's mother was still fresh.
"If it weren't for you, she'd still be here. You stole her from me."
Mori had slurred down at Dazai holding a stuffed rabbit to his little chest as they stood in the foyer, with nothing but disdain.
Behind him, the fireplace was lit, and to his young eyes it roared, outlining his father's figure as he towered, emerging from the gates of hell.
"You don't deserve to be alive. Not when you killed her."
-Now that he was older, he realized that Mori had been drinking, but at the time he did not know what being inebriated was.
All young Dazai knew was that for a brief moment, his father's words weren't calculated and dripping with falsehood, though they were just as cold.
That night had never been mentioned again and in the morning Mori was exactly the same absent father as always. Dazai almost convinced himself that it was a dream, but it was far too vivid to never have occurred.
"That never mattered to you before." Dazai aimed to have his voice filled with icy indifference, but it came out more in wonder.
Mori did not look away in shame, that was not in his nature. Their eyes stayed locked so that they were both witness to each other's attempts at clouding their truths. Violet and rose, identical in their deception. Dazai was very clearly his father's son.
Instead of responding to that accusation, Mori surprised him with a small smile. And that's how Dazai knew that whatever he was about to say would be nothing more than manipulative bullshit.
"You look just like your mother."
Dazai felt his breath hitch in his throat.
Of all the things to say, that was not what he was expecting.
Aside from blaming Dazai for her death, saying she deserved to be alive more than he did, and wishing their roles had been reversed so she lived and he died, Mori almost never talked about his deceased wife. Tane Tsushima was an enigma that Dazai had to do all his own research on to know anything about.
He couldn't find the details though, like what her favorite food was, if she would sing in the shower, how she got herself to sleep, what she had been feeling when she was pregnant with Dazai, if she was excited or terrified or... All he knew was that Mori did, and always would, blame him for her death.
Even if he knew what to say, his throat wouldn't open up, and at his lack of response, Mori continued.
"You looked more like me when you were younger, but I suppose the universe decided that was too cruel and you grew into Tane's features instead." Mori still had that strange, small smile on his face, "She never believed that she was beautiful, but maybe seeing herself in her precious son would've convinced her. You have her nose."
Dazai still couldn't find words.
Either Mori was being the most honest he'd ever been in Dazai's life, or his acting had improved far beyond what it had ever been. Not only was it sickeningly emotional enough to make him want to vomit, but it was also more than he had ever heard about his mother.
"When your heart stopped, Osamu, for a second it was like losing her all over again," and Dazai couldn't breathe, "She was in such unimaginable pain when she died, but her face was completely at peace. You had that same expression on your face."
Dazai couldn't breathe.
"I refuse to see that again. You are going to live."
It sounded like a command.
If only Dazai could see the doubtlessly ironclad expression on Mori's face. Unfortunately, black spots filled his vision and the entire room blurred into abstraction.
He still couldn't breathe. Now he couldn't see. He could only vaguely hear but it still came with that unending ringing.
His skin felt prickly all over, like he was a cactus and the desert sun was slowly drying him out, making it impossible to feel anything he was touching.
Ah, he was passing out.
With much effort, Dazai closed his eyelids and forced his body to focus on evening out his breathing.
He couldn't think about what he must've looked like, most likely shaking and pale and pathetic- he had to put all of his effort into not fainting at the visitors table.
Clear your mind. Don't think about anything else. Slow your heart. Get your body under control.
The skills were in the back of his mind. Laying down would be better for this, but he couldn't exactly lay down where he was. Water would also help but asking for a cup would equate to broadcasting his fragility to everyone.
All he could do was try his absolute hardest not to fully pass out.
A hand was on his shoulder, which he could only barely feel through the cold sweat that had taken over his entire body. It was too gentle to be Mori's.
His eyes fluttered open, the sudden spinning room making him nauseous and nearly swaying over in his seat. He stubbornly locked his eyes onto a fire alarm on the wall across the room to have something keep him fortified, refusing to let his body win this battle.
"Dazai, are you okay?"
He hated hearing that damned question.
But it was Yosano's voice, and he felt a little stronger with her standing beside him. Especially facing across Mori.
"I'm fine." He grated out, in what he hoped was a steady enough voice.
Her face didn't even need to be in his line of sight for him to envision the disbelieving expression. It would've made him laugh if he wasn't focusing all of his energy into more important things.
"He'll be okay in a minute." Mori, despite his heartfelt admissions, was still Mori. 'Support' was not a word in his vocabulary. His father knew Dazai didn't need help to get out of this.
After all, he was the one who taught Dazai how to stop himself from passing out; didn't want his son to embarrass him by having a 'moment' when they were out in public.
"Don't speak, sir-" Yosano snapped through gritted teeth, "You are stressing out my patient."
"I'm fine," Dazai insisted. He was not some damsel in distress, "Really, Yosano."
There was no way he could turn his head to look at her without possibly falling out of his chair, so he tried to put as much confidence as he could into his voice.
A brief moment of silence lingered before she huffed, the rush of air displacing the hair at the back of his head. The hand lifted from his shoulder.
"Doctor Yosano," She reminded him. "... I'll get you some water."
At least he didn't have to swallow his pride and ask for that. Across the table, Mori sat patiently waiting for his fit to be over, hands folded over each other. The room was still slightly spinning, but it wasn't quite so blurry any more, so Dazai decided he was good enough to continue, being mindful to keep his breathing at a consistent rate.
"So, you won't let me die in your care." It came out more like a question than what he would've preferred, but he gave himself a pass for still being a little discombobulated.
"I will not." Mori confirmed, tipping his head in acknowledgement.
Water appeared on the table in front of him, but he didn't even remember the doctor setting it there. He disregarded that worrying observation and picked it up anyway, taking a small sip. Small sips were important.
In a shocking turn of events, Mori truly didn't want him to die...
Because he reminded him of his dead wife.
Not because Dazai was his son, or a living human being, or anything deserving of its own life at all. The only reason Mori had brought him back was because Dazai looked like Tane Tsushima.
He thought changing his birth name last second was an effort to separate Dazai from his mother, but apparently that wasn't enough. Apparently he would always be dragging around her corpse, through his hair, and teeth, and hands, and nose- and she would haunt him no matter how much he distanced himself from her image. The genes that made up half of his physiology were too strong to write away.
The last remnants of nearly fainting floated away, though he still felt a little lightheaded. He took another sip of water, numb.
"Okay."
He didn't feel like arguing anymore. He was so tired.
Mori raised an eyebrow, knowing Dazai wasn't conceding defeat, only ending the discussion. The doctor would not let the boy dictate whether or not they continued though, and opened his mouth to say something else, only for Yosano to interrupt him by calling out to the whole room. Thank god.
"Visiting hours are over. Say your goodbyes and make sure to sign out at the front desk before you leave. Kids, back to the activity room." Her voice left no room for arguments.
Mori stood up while Dazai remained in his chair for a moment, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before he attempted standing. It would've looked incredibly stupid if he tilted over as soon as he got up.
Mori leaned down on his way past Dazai, needing to get in the last ominous words, "I know you won't fail me."
Dazai felt the urge to shiver but fought it off, not looking at Mori as he walked out the door.
The room emptied.
A pair of heels clicked on the floor behind him, hesitating briefly before continuing. That same hand from earlier rested on his shoulder.
If Yosano kept treating him like he was made of glass, he would break off a piece of himself to cut her.
He fully expected her to ask if he was okay again, but she was wise enough to sense that would be a pointless question.
"Come back to the group Osamu." She said softly, not removing her hand from him until he finally got up from his chair.
He let himself be led back into the activity room, legs quivering. So much stimulus had been thrown at him recently that he didn't even care anymore if people noticed. He was, in simple terms, overwhelmed.
Free time was still in session, but he was truly exhausted. Instead of rejoining his usual crew, he moved to a table on his own, set his head down in his arms, and drifted off.
…
Of course it was near impossible to sleep in a room bustling with so much activity, but he tried his damndest.
Heat from other people filled the spaces on either side of him, and he felt a finger poke his shoulder, but he refused to acknowledge it. Any energy he had started this day off with (which was already very little) was completely depleted by now.
His father actually did want him to live, just not for any reason that would've mattered to Dazai. Truly, no one in this world wanted him alive.
No one would mourn him if he was gone. There would be no weeping at his grave.
Dazai's entire existence was only given worth because he carried a part of his mother within him. There was nothing about him that was worth keeping alive.
There was not even a point of trying to get out of this hospital anymore.
He'd just end up in another one or dead. Those were his only options. A psychiatric ward or death. And apparently he had already tried death and failed at that. Living out the rest of his life as a vessel for his mother's memory was absolutely not an option and something he refused to entertain.
What's the point?
Even in thinking logically, there wasn't a point. Pretending he was fine? To what end? Everything would finish the same.
Dazai wanted to die. So badly.
A hand smacked against the back of his head, hard enough that he couldn't ignore it.
"Wake the fuck up." A familiar voice crassly interrupted his brooding.
Dazai barely lifted his head, only tilting it up enough to slate his eyes over to the redhead who had probably just had a wonderful visit with his relative, unlike Dazai.
What must it be like, Dazai wondered, to actually be cared about? To have someone visit for only your wellbeing and with no other ulterior motives.
Of course, he couldn't be certain that Chuuya's talk with his visitor didn't go a similar way to his own, but based on the other's unshakable attitude, it had not been nearly as world shattering as his. Besides, he couldn't imagine someone as independent as Chuuya being moved by such little things as family.
"Leave me alone." Dazai grumbled, for once not willing to indulge in the banter they usually shared.
Although, he did have ammunition against the other boy now. He'd nearly forgotten about it after having the worst visitors session ever, but the reminder that he was no longer the only vulnerable one was comforting.
All he'd have to do is wait for the right moment. It wasn't right now, when he still wasn't completely functioning.
A scoffing noise that could only have come from Chuuya sounded above him, from the same direction as the smack. Dazai would've loved to continuously ignore it, if only it weren't getting his attention for a genuine reason. It was lunch time.
Unlike breakfast, which they had just in the activity room, lunch was at a separate building, and if you were well behaved, you got to go out to get a special lunch. By special lunch, he mostly meant something other than readymade garbage.
Unfortunately, because of Dazai's behavior from this morning, he had to stay behind as everyone else went out to the lunch hall. When Yosano took the rest of the patients out of the building, he was stuck in the activity room with Tachihara, the chef, and Q, who for some reason or another was also stuck in the regular room.
Dazai didn't really bother trying to converse with either of them, simply taking his meal of suspiciously wet mac 'n cheese and sitting down at a table in the corner of the room to eat. Of course, since there were only two of them, Q elected to sit at the same table, happily eating their own soggy cheese pasta while Dazai only nudged his around with a fork.
"Dazai-san~" Q sang, staring right at him
With nothing to pull his attention away, Dazai was forced to meet the eyes of the younger kid, although he was really not in the mood. Already normally he didn't want to converse with Q, but that was especially true now.
Dazai gave them a blank stare, putting as much of his disinterest into it as he could. He didn't bother answering, hoping his attitude said enough.
The little monster didn't seem to take the hint, they never did. Q only tilted their head, wide eyes bearing into Dazai's soul.
"When do you get out of here?"
Dazai did not have the energy for this.
"I get picked up tomorrow, but you're probably staying longer, right? Kenji-kun and Naomi-chan are going home today. Do you think they're going to be okay on the outside? I wonder if they can be my friends when I'm free. We can all get ice cream together! Except maybe Kenji-kun, because of the whole food thingy. You got to play with Lucy-chan, that wasn't very nice~" They sang like the whole thing was just a silly little joke, "Why won't you play with me?" They pouted, "You always play with everyone else but not me."
Dazai ignored them, or at least made it look like he was ignoring them. The kid just wanted his attention, and he could relate, but he wouldn't be the one to give it. If anyone knew about begging for attention and not receiving it, it was Dazai; a connoisseur of the art. It just wasn't often that he was the one doing the ignoring.
Q puffed out their cheeks, looking every bit the child they were. Dazai continued to push the food around on his plate.
Dazai had no idea if they said anything more after that. He zoned out, looking down and thinking about how the wet macaroni on his plate was somehow a metaphor for his life. He couldn't figure out how, it just was. He probably should've left the poetic imagery to Chuuya.
Maybe if he asked nicely, Chuuya would write a poem for him. He could explain why Dazai was apparently a 'mackerel' and record everything that was so revolting about him. The list would probably fill up quite a few of those notebooks.
The others eventually came back and Q had gotten tired of being ignored, so they finally (thankfully) left him alone.
It was during this after lunch free time that both Kenji and Naomi were about to be released. Dazai sat at a table in the corner as everyone else traded social media and other contact information, promising to meet up and hang out on the outside. He didn't particularly get along with either of them enough to join in with that exchange.
Chuuya had apparently gotten along really well with Kenji, as he hugged the other boy fiercely right before he was about to leave, tears gathering in his eyes.
For some reason, the sight made Dazai's chest ache.
He wondered what it would be like to hug Chuuya. Would it have the same intensity as when he choked him? Or would it be softer than that?
It didn't really matter. It wasn't like it would ever happen anyway.
The group was quiet after they left. Down two members, they seemed to be spending the afternoon missing them instead of doing their usual bullshit activities. Not that Dazai particularly cared about such a change; he wasn't in the mood to socialize either. Still, the room was weirdly quiet compared to what it usually was.
Dazai stayed in his corner, staring blankly at the wall and imagining a plane crashing into the building and what he would do if that happened.
Because of his behavior earlier in the day, no one bothered him. Not even Ranpo, who hadn't seemed to care what he'd said to Lucy. Perhaps he saw Dazai's overpowering 'I don't want to talk' aura, or maybe he just didn't care.
Either way, Dazai sat alone at his table.
This didn't phase him the slightest. He was used to being alone. It didn't matter.
Instead of doing anything productive, which was hard enough to do in here, Dazai spent the rest of his time making up increasingly absurd scenarios in his head. It was a lot more manageable than letting his thoughts drift to anything genuine.
Dinner came and went much the same as lunch did, and afternoon group therapy breezed by without Dazai uttering a single word. He dutifully took his pills as asked and retreated to his room without even saying goodnight to his favorite nurses (Oda was taking the night off because of staying overtime last night).
Even laying in bed though, he could feel Chuuya's stare on him from his own bed on the other side of their room. The other boy was not being subtle at all. He was unrelenting in his quest to get Dazai to talk about his feelings and what happened last night.
Unfortunately for him, Dazai would not start a conversation on his own and even if Chuuya tried to talk about last night, it would not go the way he was expecting.
The poetry he'd found earlier might not be on the same level of witnessing Dazai at one of his weakest moments, but he couldn't say for sure.
People could be very peculiar about the art they created. It was possible that the flowery words he'd memorized said a lot more than they let on. Enough to measure up to his post-nightmare breakdown.
Truthfully though, his power imbalance with Chuuya was the last thing on his mind. His father had left hours ago, but Mori tended to leave a mark wherever he went.
Since he was a child, he knew that his mother's death was his fault. She died giving childbirth. If she simply hadn't had a child, she would still be here, and Dazai would never have existed.
Even knowing this though, he thought he had at least made himself into his own person.
Sure, he wanted to die and throw it all away, but still. It was his own life he wanted to end, not his already deceased mother's.
But he'd never really been his own person.
Always, he was a product of Tane Tsushima. Beyond that, he was a result of Mori's parenting, of the servant's abuse, of psychologist's meddling… He never got the chance to discover who he was. He had always just been an effect of other people's causes.
Who even was Dazai Osamu?
A suicidal brat. A traumatized child. A troublesome teen.
He wasn't a human being. He was a concept, and he always had been. Nothing about him was wholly his. He had no soul, nothing that was truly and only his.
And beings that had no souls were monsters.
So why couldn't everyone see? Why couldn't they see that he was doing this for them? For their safety?
He was a monster, an inhuman thing that had been created as a mistake. A thing that the universe needed to erase like a typo in the storybook of creation. He was never meant to have made it this far, and now that he was still here, he needed to be reminded of why he shouldn't be here.
A few nights ago, with Chuuya's taught hands around his throat, he had nodded a promise not to try to kill himself while in this hospital.
He might need to break that promise.
The desperation was growing. Recovery would take too long, it would be too difficult, and it wouldn't work. Not on him. You couldn't stop a monster from being a monster. He couldn't be fixed like this.
Even knowing that suicide wasn't likely to work here under constant surveillance, the smallest possibility that it could was enough to keep him persistent.
"Hey, Dazai. Oi, I'm talking to you."
He was dragged out of his thoughts by the annoying tenor of his roommate.
His head rolled lazily to the side to look at Chuuya, sitting towards Dazai and manspreading like a teacher about to tell him he could be so much more successful if he just applied himself.
"Stop avoiding me. What's up with you?" He phrased it like he was uncaring, but his eyebrows were furrowed in poorly hidden concern.
Dazai was so sick of people being concerned about him.
It was infantilizing. He didn't need anyone worrying over him like he was some defenseless baby. He could help himself.
"I'm just mad Chuuya didn't bring me back any crackers from the dining hall." He lied easily.
"You're so full of shit," Chuuya scoffed, "Just be honest with me or shut up. Why are you avoiding me?"
Dazai didn't respond.
Unable to deal with even a second of silence, the redhead groaned, "Answer me."
"You told me to shut up."
"You know I didn't mean that literally."
"How was I supposed to know that?"
'Just- look, are you gonna be real with me?"
"Absolutely not."
"God… I can't fucking stand you."
Dazai scoffed, rolling his head back to resume staring at the ceiling, "Join the club."
Chuuya groaned, seemingly falling back onto his own bed if the soft thump Dazai heard was anything to go by. A few blissful minutes passed before the unrelenting teen continued.
"Why don't you ever talk about what's bothering you?" He whispered, almost to himself with how baffled he sounded.
Dazai couldn't wait for the opportune moment anymore. He'd been strung too taught and did not have enough patience left to keep his discoveries secret anymore.
"Oh, like you're any different." Dazai closed his eyes, shielding himself from being a witness to his own betrayal, "Grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again~ Just say what you're really thinking without those pretentious flowery words,"
Once again the room was silent. He'd expected Chuuya to explode and maybe physically fight him, but the other side of the room was so quiet he could've been convinced he was rooming alone.
Chuuya didn't need to say a word. They both knew the only way Dazai could've known those words was if he'd snooped into Chuuya's personal belongings.
Still, he thought he'd at least get choked again for admitting his invasion of privacy. He was disappointed that he lay there unharmed and still breathing.
Long enough passed that Dazai began to get antsy, worried that he'd read something much more private than he'd thought. He opened his eyes and cautiously glanced over to Chuuya, needing to understand why he was so quiet.
The other boy sat on his bed in almost the same position as earlier, but so still that he must've been tensing every muscle in his body. He didn't even seem to be breathing. His cherry red locks covered his eyes and his head was tilted down, so Dazai couldn't see what his face looked like.
"... Chibi?"
Dazai slowly sat up, careful of making any sudden movement. Chuuya remained frozen.
A wave of unease washed through his body, the air in the room suddenly feeling a lot thicker.
He didn't understand what was going on and he hated not understanding what's going on.
He warily creeped over to the other side of the room. Before he even got there though, Chuuya finally moved.
He got up robotically, walked past Dazai like he didn't even see him. His eyes were completely blank and unseeing, more detached from life than Dazai's own eyes had ever been. He then stepped up to the wall, and began punching it like he was fighting off an entire gang.
"Whoa, Chuuya!?"
Dazai didn't know what to do. Clearly talking didn't work.
While he was internally panicking, Chuuya continued to beat up the poor wall. His knuckles would definitely be bruised later, and if he kept going (which he probably would, he showed no signs of stopping) they'll start bleeding.
Then the screaming started.
And with those ferocious shouts that were identical to what he'd heard mere days ago, Dazai finally understood what was going on.
The nurses would surely be rushing in soon at the sound of his wailing, and they'd be able to stop Chuuya just fine, but for some reason, Dazai desperately did not want them to sedate his roommate.
He didn't want the staff to take care of this in a clinical way and make it all feel too harrowingly real and impersonal.
This was personal. He caused this.
So without really thinking about it, in the seconds before staff came in, Dazai reached out his hand as Chuuya pulled his arm back for another punch. His cool fingers wrapped around the limb before it could swing again and to Dazai's surprise, Chuuya froze again.
He was almost expecting to get punched himself, but Chuuya continued to defy his expectations. The redhead turned his head slightly, eyes much brighter than they had been before, and looked at Dazai in disbelief.
They were both pretty sure that wasn't how to stop a blackout, and yet Chuuya had clarity in his eyes, his mouth rasping out a strangled version of Dazai's name.
Then he promptly collapsed onto the ground.
They didn't really have time to discuss the absolute fuckery that just occured because the nurses came in seconds later and took Chuuya away while he was still staring up at Dazai with a dumbfounded perplexion that mirrored his own.
Minutes passed while Dazai was alone in their now empty room before he finally allowed himself to think about what happened. It was late into the night at this point and every time the hourly nurse checked in with him, they reminded him to go to sleep, as if that was even a possibility considering the day he had.
So… what the fuck?
He'd hoped that the poetry would lightly wound Chuuya, maybe make him lash out and physically hurt Dazai in revenge, which would have been a fantastic way to get the pain he craved without having to get in trouble for self harming. However, saying the words aloud sent Chuuya into... another blackout?
That's what it seemed like. It had the same dissociation and violence that he would've expected from one, but Chuuya's last blackout had taken the nurses more than a few minutes to calm him down from.
With this, it was like Dazai's touch alone ended it. Which didn't make any logistical sense at all.
Dazai was a deep thinker. He liked understanding why things happened the way they did, explaining the science behind it all. He preferred to imagine his mental illness being something genetic rather than a result of the trauma he may or may not have endured. Narrowing reactions down to a chemical basis made them easier to understand. Easier to predict.
This, though, had no scientific explanation, or at least not any that Dazai was privy to. And he was by no means an expert on such topics, but he at least knew that mere physical touch wasn't a cure to a fucking blackout.
Dazai lifted up his hands and observed them with a newfound reverence, as if they were something holy.
He then immediately scoffed at himself for even entertaining such a ridiculous thought and flopped back down onto his bed to stare at the ceiling some more. As if any part of him could be considered anything other than demonic.
What could he even think about what just happened? What was he supposed to think?
None of it made any sense and he didn't have enough information to continue agonizing over it. It wasn't worth the headache anymore. And if he was a functioning human being he would leave it at that and go to sleep.
But because he's Dazai, he spent the rest of the night awake, chasing his thoughts in circles like a dog chasing its tail.
…
The morning began very similarly to the last time Chuuya had a blackout, only instead of being cagey about his condition, he seemed as eager to discuss it as Dazai was.
As soon as the two were seated at the same table for breakfast he began speaking like a colony of bees was swarming underneath his skin, with extreme haste.
"Um, so, what the fuck?!" Chuuya whisper-yelled at Dazai over his bowl of fruit loops.
"I was gonna say the same thing." Dazai mused, trying to come across as cool rather than buzzing with curiosity like he actually was.
"That's never happened before…" Chuuya admitted, looking much more perturbed by this than was probably warranted, "It was like… when I felt your hand on me it was like my entire body was drenched in ice and everything just went quiet. But before that, when you said that, it was like the exact opposite and everything got too hot and too loud and- wait hold on- did you read my fucking journal?!"
Dazai blinked, trying to follow the redhead's swirling thought process, "That's irrelevant chibi-kun, what matters is that you seem to defy all logic."
"No no no, hold on a second-" Chuuya glared at him, his frantic confusion shifting into the kind of defensive wall that Dazai had expected last night, "You went through my shit, you asshole! I thought you couldn't get any worse but holy shit you fucking- why did you do that? What in your sick and deranged mind told you that was a good idea?"
"Okay first of all, we're in a mental asylum. We're all sick and deranged," Dazai tried to bring them back on course, rapidly feeling like they were swerving off of the path he wanted to pursue, "Second off, it wasn't that big a deal. We're even now so you don't need to worry about that-"
"Even?!"
"Yes. You saw the unfortunate aftermath of my bad dream and I saw your trashy middle school level poetry. So we're even."
Chuuya scrunched up his face in both confusion and frustration, squinting at him like Dazai had just told him the meaning of life was whatever was on his last fortune cookie.
It wasn't a difficult concept. He didn't understand what Chuuya was confused about.
"... You make no fucking sense."
Well. Dazai disagreed with that wholeheartedly. In reality he was the only thing that made sense in this world.
Chuuya shook his head, "Whatever, you're right, it's not important now."
Dazai was not kind enough to hold back a smirk at Chuuya losing that battle. The redhead merely lifted his middle finger and plowed on.
"What matters is that you somehow did what several psychiatrists and medications couldn't do. Care to explain that?"
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dazai gracefully brushed over the topic of his very justified snooping as well in order to address the more inexplicable issue.
"You blacked out," Dazai began by simply stating the facts, "I touched your arm and you immediately snapped out of it… I don't know why or how, but this is what happened."
They both took a moment to sit and stew in that. Neither of them could think of a single explanation for it all though.
Breakfast passed much quicker than usual and before they knew it they were back together in free time.
Atsushi and Poe decided to join them, eagerly taking in anything more exciting than what usually went on in this dreary place. It took another few minutes to explain everything to them, with conflicting points of view from Dazai and Chuuya as one of them kept embellishing the details, but they managed to put together a somewhat cohesive reimagining.
"Maybe you two have a connection, like a soul bond!" Atsushi hopped in his seat excitedly. He was apparently not at all bothered about things that defied nature
Chuuya grimaced at that, muttering, "God I hope not."
"Atsushi might be right-" The aforementioned teen beamed a smile at Poe, the traitor, "It doesn't follow the rules of science, so maybe it's magic?"
For once, both Dazai and Chuuya were on the same wavelength as they gave duplicate incredulous expressions to Poe's proposal. Neither were particularly leaning towards the realm of true believers in that aspect of life. It's not like they were children that believed in such fantasies.
As if sensing the metaphysical argument taking place, Ranpo plopped down next to Atsushi, baring a mischievous grin. He and Dazai should team up and unleash double the mayhem he usually caused some time. He made a mental note to propose the alliance later.
Ignoring his presence, Chuuya pushed through with a deadpan expression, "Magic isn't real."
"How do you know for sure?" Ranpo inquired, sounding like a teacher about to give a lecture on something that none of the students actually cared about.
"It just isn't, okay? It's stupid." Chuuya slammed his fist on the table, thoroughly disrupting the calm atmosphere of morning free time. Chibi was such an aggressive boy.
And Dazai, however, wasn't completely in agreement with that one.
There was much science couldn't explain. In addition to that, there were many things science had openly regarded as inconclusive despite the general acceptance of it. Rarely in science was there indisputable facts, because scientists didn't know everything. They only knew the current truth with all the information they had presently.
Magic was something that was used in multiple religions and cults both legitimately and with theatrics. But there was few scientific belief in it. They had more rational explanations. Much like his previous thoughts on his mental illness being genetic rather than situational, Dazai tended to lean towards the scientists in this argument.
Still, he wouldn't claim that it was 'stupid' as Chuuya said. Some people believed in it, and that should be enough.
The power of belief was not something to be underestimated.
Ranpo smirked, opening his mouth to say some more bullshit, but luckily (or unluckily), Yosano barked an order for everyone to pull their chairs into a circle.
It was morning therapy time.
It felt like the day was flying by faster than any other day of his stay here. He barely had time to process one conversation before immediately moving onto the next. The suddenness of everything probably wasn't going to be good for him when he got a second to breathe, but that would be a problem for future-Dazai.
Dazai had vaguely participated the past few days whenever he felt like it, but he didn't particularly feel like talking today, with his thoughts frazzled all over the place and his mental health not being in the best place.
Yosano, apparently, had other plans for him. It's almost like she didn't know anything about his confusing situation with Chuuya. Still, she should've been able to sense the vibes.
"Dazai! Let's start with you," The evil, conniving nurse said after introductions were done, completely ignoring the aforementioned vibes, "What sort of relationships do you have in your life, and how important are they to you?"
"Why, Akiko… are you coming on to me?" Dazai teased, mind completely elsewhere.
The doctor rolled her eyes, once again reminding him, "Dr. Yosano. Different kinds of relationships, Dazai."
"Ah, well," For some reason, his mind went straight to thinking about Chuuya, but he dismissed any possible reasoning for that, "I have a familial relationship with my father. He's my only family," Yosano nodded her encouragement, "and I have a professional relationship with you, darling, although it could be so much more." He smiled flirtatiously, ignoring the groan of annoyance from beside him.
Chuuya was of course the one sitting next to him, and his little noise didn't go unnoticed by Yosano, who quite rudely ignored his flirtations.
"What about you, Nakahara? Describe the relationships you have in your life."
The redhead grumbled about the attention being turned to him, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing as he turned his head to the side. It seemed neither of them were in a mood to talk about such irrelevant things this morning.
"I have a good relationship with my sister. We take care of each other." He eventually bit out after it was clear Yosano wouldn't take silence as an answer. The doctor smiled brightly at such a good example.
"Yes! That is exactly what a relationship is; the way you are connected with another person. How you treat them and how they treat you." Yosano addressed the room as a whole again, "Everyone's lives are filled with different relationships; some good, some bad, and some neutral. This morning we'll focus on your relationships with other people and how they directly affect the recovery process."
And that's when Dazai decided to tune out once again.
None of this was relevant right now, when he was in the middle of a groundbreaking discovery in curing blackouts.
If his touch alone could stop something that psychologists couldn't, maybe he did have some use after all. Maybe Dazai did have a purpose in this life. Although, it would still suck that his purpose would be once again reliant on other people. He would still be defined by his relationship to others…
Perhaps this session actually was relevant to him.
"Chuuya, how has your relationship with your sister helped or disrupted your recovery?" Yosano continued as if Dazai's internal thoughts didn't interrupt the flow of conversation at all.
The aforementioned redhead tilted his head, genuinely pondering the question like a good boy instead of getting caught up in his thoughts like Dazai was.
One of the things that he both admired and detested in Chuuya was his unrelenting focus. He put all of his thoughts into one subject at a time, whereas Dazai's mind was more akin to a conspiracy board with a jumble of different pictures and newspaper articles all connected with red yarn.
"Ane-san encourages me to work on myself," He began hesitantly, his thunderous expression daring anyone to tease him for his closeness with his sister, "She takes care of things like food and shelter for me so I can focus on my own shit. I try to help out when I can but the only thing I can work on while stuck in here is myself."
Yosano nodded, smiling gently despite Chuuya's tense posture, and graciously overlooking his cursing. They'd probably all accepted at this point that Chuuya cursed like a sailor and would never stop.
"And that is the whole point of all of you being in here. To get away from outside distractions and focus on your own recovery. Thank you for sharing Nakahara, I'm glad you have such a strong support in your life. Does anyone else want to talk about their relationships?"
Had this been a few days ago when Dazai decided to start participating in therapy, he would have joined in. However, due to recent events he elected to indefinitely suspend his recovery process.
If it weren't for the excitement of the whole blackout thing, he probably would've tried to do something already. He did try to do something by triggering Chuuya, but that backfired a bit and now instead of getting some pain out of his system, he was thrown into another confusing line of thought regarding the other boy.
Perhaps he would skip the evoking violence and just find a way to cut himself later today. The itch underneath his skin that craved destruction of itself only grew more content to occupy his mind as he put off self harming.
But that wasn't the topic they were discussing today in good old group therapy, and Dazai wasn't about to bring it up himself, so the thoughts stayed heavily breathing over his shoulder as he turned his attention back towards the actual goal of the session.
"I'm in a relationship on the outside," Lucy began, blushing but still somehow seeming like she was bragging as she continued, "I have a boyfriend."
"Romantic relationships are certainly another type of relationship, and those are the ones most people think of first when they hear the word. They are as important as any other relationship, although at your age I'd caution you from putting too much emotional reliance into it."
Dazai very visibly rolled his eyes. Romantic relationships were a myth, and definitely something that didn't matter or compare to other types of relationships.
Sure he was only 16 and had never actually been in a real relationship, but every couple he'd ever witnessed had been toxic and unloving.
It was just a ploy to sell Valentine's day as a capitalistic holiday. Love was nothing but a tool that could be used to further someone's own agenda. He fully believed that.
Lucy's 'boyfriend' was probably a nobody that would mean nothing to her in weeks. He certainly had no impact on her recovery and if he did, that just went to show how naive people could be about so-called 'love.'
Unlike himself, the rest of the group seemed to become blushing shy messes when the topic of romantic relationships came up.
"I had a b-boyfriend too…" Poe surprisingly spoke up, stuttering over the word and nervously looking around the circle from beneath his bangs, "but he wasn't good to me."
He did not elaborate how.
No one in the circle flinched except Chuuya, and Dazai looked over at him curiously. He had a look of disgust on his face and it suddenly occurred to Dazai that they hadn't discussed sexuality or gender identity or anything like that in here yet.
It never crossed his mind that Chuuya could possibly be homophobic, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Poe clearly took note of it, cautiously hunching his shoulders into himself.
The idea twisted something in Dazai's heart and he suddenly found himself needing to defend Poe fiercely for reasons he was not going to look too deep into.
"What's wrong Chuuya?" He goaded, a little more poison in his voice than usual, "dissociative andhomophobic? Pick a struggle."
"I'm not a fucking homophobe, asshole," Chuuya immediately hissed at him before Yosano could scold Dazai for starting discourse, "it's just-" He looked back over at Poe, his face turning more sympathetic than distraught, "same."
Ah, Dazai had misread his reaction. It didn't happen often but apparently it was a regular occurrence with Chuuya.
The knowledge that Chuuya swung that way sat itself a little too comfortably in the front of his mind.
"Yes, relationships are not always positive," Yosano regained control of the discussion, sending a warning glance to Dazai, "Our intimate connections with people are often a double-edged sword. Having a good relationship can be helpful for you mentally, but a bad relationship can do significant damage. It's important to both allow yourself to accept help from other people and not rely on them for your emotional wellbeing. I'm not saying to hold yourself back from letting people close, but just be aware that people are all individuals and giving someone else too much power over your personal feelings can be dangerous. You need to be in control of your own feelings, not someone else."
Dazai had a feeling that this was not necessarily something taught in therapy school, but rather a personal viewpoint of Yosano's. Not that he minded in the least.
The thing people didn't say about therapy was that therapists are human too. Everyone suggested taking meds and seeking help as if it was a panacea to all troubles. If Dazai'd learned anything in his years submerged in psychological institutions, it was that sometimes they didn't know what they were doing at all.
Sometimes a psychiatrist would prescribe him with something that made him worse than he already naturally was. Sometimes they diagnosed him with something that he absolutely did not have and gave him an identity crisis. Sometimes their personal views were horrendously against his own and if he were a more impressionable boy he would have been brainwashed into thinking all kinds of objectively incorrect things.
One of Dazai's favorite therapists over the years had been a man named Herman Melville, and not just because he let Dazai waste his father's money talking about nothing of substance for hours, but also because he was not exactly by the book.
He was an older man, and as old men do, he talked about his own life a lot. Dazai probably listened to that man's entire life story more than he'd told his own, and that was perfectly fine by him. All he had to do once a week was sit through him talking about his life as a fisherman for an hour before giving him a script for lithium that would ultimately end in another hospitalization.
Somehow, that man had a degree in psychology and was a well revered therapist for decades.
To sum up his thinking; not all therapists said the most advisable things.
"I'm sure there are some of you in here for problems stemming from a bad relationship. Would anyone like to share their experience?" Yosano continued, not exactly meaning to be unkind.
Poe, who had brought up bad relationships in the first place, hunched over even further and began writing away in his notebook, clearly not wanting to expand on the ex-boyfriend he had brought up. Chuuya looked equally reluctant to open that particular can of worms.
Luckily for them, and anyone else in the circle unwilling to discuss what was probably a traumatic and toxic relationship, Dazai loved trash-talking his father, and would at every opportunity.
"I have a terrible relationship with my father," He wailed dramatically, startling Atsushi a bit from his seat on the other side of him, "Mori is the source of all my many issues. He is to blame for everything wrong with me."
"Okay, slow down," Yosano put a hand up, "Firstly, there is nothing wrong with you," She turned her head to the rest of the group, "There is nothing wrong with any of you. You are all just experiencing a difficult time, but you will overcome it. And blaming your circumstances on someone else is unproductive. It pushes the responsibility you have towards your own recovery onto someone else, and that would go back to what we said earlier, which was to not have your feelings reliant on the actions of another person."
"Nope!" Dazai immediately chirped, both to be a little shit and because he genuinely disagreed, "It's definitely all Mori's fault!"
Yosano gave him an exasperated look, knowing that he was just being difficult for his own amusement, but before she could try and refute his stance, Poe spoke up as well.
"There are some traits of mine that I attribute to the way my boyfriend treated me," Poe stated hesitantly, "He used to… make me feel guilty, for wanting to go on dates. Like spending time with me was a burden.So now I feel like that with everyone..." He trailed off at the end, hiding his face in his shoulder even though his bangs already covered most of his face.
"Yeah!" Atsushi agreed too, "My… the headmaster at the orphanage always told me I was… but I can't ever get his words out of my head."
Yosano took these words into account as a few others added in their own beliefs. Dazai kinda stopped paying attention when she tried to again tell them that those influences on them would not take responsibility for what they did, and only they had the power to do anything to fix what others had done wrong to them, and blah, blah, blah.
Truthfully, he didn't care what arguments she brought up or how much sense they made. None of it mattered in the face of the monsters of his past.
If he was truly responsible for his own recovery, then he'd be the one paying for all these hospital stays, not Mori.
Group therapy went on for only a short while more, Dazai's day continuing to speed by too fast for him to adjust to.
But after it was over, Chuuya was taken away for individual therapy, so they still didn't get the chance to continue their discussion from before.
Dazai groaned as he sat down next to Ranpo, deciding that the only other intelligent soul in the building had better start helping him with all this.
Before he could open his mouth to complain though, Ranpo began, making up for being interrupted earlier.
"Magic is real, but it's psychological," He immediately went into an explanation, not bothering to start the conversation like a normal person. His fingers tapped and slapped the table in a specific repetitive series, but Dazai ignored the distraction, "If you believe something to be true, like magic, then it's true to youregardless of the scientific truth. So, if Chuuya was brought out of his blackout because he believed your touch alone cured it, then-"
"Then his blackouts aren't chemical," Dazai finished, garnering an annoyed look from Ranpo for the interruption.
"No, they're not. They're based in belief." He confirmed anyways.
And it sorta made sense. Kind of. A little bit.
It brought forth a whole other plethora of questions but at least it made more sense than Dazai having anything special about him that fixed it.
He wasn't quite sure what to do with this information, his brain mostly stuck on why.
Chuuya had supposedly been experiencing these his entire life, or at least a great majority of it. Why were they still happening? He didn't know Dazai before, so why would he believe Dazai could fix him?
It didn't make any more sense than the soul bond theory, but it was at least a little easier to believe. Also, it came from Ranpo, whose intuition Dazai trusted more than any of the other patients.
He didn't bother bringing up any more questions about the blackout with Ranpo, knowing the only questions he could ask were supposed to be directed towards Chuuya. Luckily he didn't have to spend another second thinking about the redhead, because Ranpo changed topics rapidly with no pretense.
"Another patient is coming in later today. A sociopath," He grinned.
Dazai raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He'd met lots of self-proclaimed 'sociopaths' in his time.
"How'd you find that out?"
"I just know things."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
If he had any more information to share, he didn't choose Dazai to share it with.
Much like the rest of the day, their talk ended quickly. Apparently already bored of him, Ranpo got up and skipped over to Poe, who jumped when the bespectacled teen brought his hands down on his shoulders.
Atsushi was with Akutagawa, Q, and Lucy further away, and Dazai didn't particularly like Lucy or Q, so he elected to stay away from that table. Q was leaving today and was sure to be insufferable.
The only other person sitting alone was little Kyouka coloring in a coloring book. He hadn't yet had the pleasure of speaking to the girl, and if he were feeling more like himself, he would've gone over to figure out her story, but he was far too overwhelmed to add another character to the equation right now.
Realizing he'd have to be alone until Chuuya came back, Dazai brought out his own little notebook (all the cool kids had one), and began sorting out his thoughts on paper, of course using a code he'd invented as a kid so no one else could read them. It was a tactic he'd learned very early on if he ever wanted to write down something without Mori knowing.
The first time he'd tried making a little diary with crayons and printer paper was mortifying. Mori read it aloud in front of Dazai and all the maids, making a point to refute every childish complaint Dazai had written down. His father could probably still decode his new language if he really tried, but Dazai counted on him being far too busy to bother with that.
This was his… sixth day in the hospital? Maybe seventh?
So it'd basically been a week already, and he'd only had one individual session. They were reallyunderstaffed here. Apparently he'd be staying for the foreseeable future as well, unless or until he started to show some actual progress.
Three or four days ago was individual therapy with Fukuzawa. Two nights ago was his flashback nightmare breakdown. Yesterday was Mori's visit as well as Chuuya's latest blackout.
Today, in comparison to the past few, was blissfully calm. It was still early, with plenty of time for another outburst or event, especially if a new kid was coming in later. But for now, it was quiet.
For Dazai, the quiet wasn't usually a good thing.
It was a time where he got lost in his own head, spiraling and overthinking until he inevitably had to silence the thoughts with a physical response. Usually self harm.
He couldn't exactly do that in the main room in the middle of free time, but he had no say in the matter. His thoughts unraveled anyway, and he only knew one solution for it.
It's only been a week. It's only been a week.
Nothing had changed. Everything was different but nothing had really changed.
He'd slowly started opening up, at least more than he used to, and everything's only gotten worse and worse. Wasn't recovery supposed to make you feel better? Dazai felt terrible.
Everything just kept sinking. Down and deeper and lower and colder and nothing was getting better.
He must've been doing something wrong. A failure; that's what he was.
The writing in his notebook turned into horrific scribbles. He tried to do art once. It looked a lot like this.
Faces, haunting faces that covered the page in ink so thick he could barely tell where one began and ended. They all morphed together to form one deformed mass of horror straight out of a child's nightmares.
Some of the faces were familiar. Faces he never wanted to remember so vividly. Faces he saw regardless every time he closed his eyes.
The marker he was drawing with wouldn't allow for anything as dark as what he used to draw. The red color of it was too bright, not dark enough for what he wanted.
Blood, red as blood. That's what he needed.
The marker wouldn't be sharp enough to pierce his skin. Where could he get blood?
Himself.
His eyes flickered up, suddenly flooded with paranoia. Everyone kept looking over at him. Their faces weren't red enough.
Too many witnesses.
Dazai (very calmly) stood up and walked over to Yosano, feeling completely detached from himself.
He thought he asked her to go to the bathroom. He thought she said yes.
He was in his room. There was nothing to use. Did Chuuya have something? Probably not.
Please. Anything.
There wasn't much time.
Dazai unwrapped the bandages around his wrist, staring at the stitches still holding his skin together. Not for long.
He watched with a sick fascination as nails, his nails, long from being unable to cut them, dug into the spaces between the string, pulling and tearing until blood began to well up.
That's the color. There wasn't enough to fill his page.
He dug in deeper, unable to hold back a wince as he viciously ripped out the strings holding his skin together. The gap widened and more blood peaked out. His arms violently shook.
It was only when hands grabbed him that the shouting registered, and he started to fight back. There was not enough blood yet.
But the hands grabbing him were bigger and stronger than his.
Being moved and maneuvered was familiar. It reminded him of different hands.
His pants were forcibly ripped down. Not again. No. No no nono no nononono-
A pinch.
A familiar emptiness filled his veins and he stopped struggling so fiercely. The shot brought clarity though, and his brain told him he fucked up big time.
He made sure not to look at anyone's face as he fell unconscious.