The rest of what people wrote covered the extra blank space on the paper. While he didn't recognize anyone else's handwriting, he could pretty easily infer whose was whose. Not that it particularly mattered, since most of the answers were fairly typical besides the colorful language of Chuuya's.
INJUSTICE and IT'S NOT FAIR
DISBELIEF
LONELY and ABANDONED
GUILT RIDDEN and another GUILTY in different handwriting
MISSING THEM
HOPELESS
As well as, of course, Dazai and Chuuya's lovely contributions.
Kunikida, after recovering from the grief he probably felt over Chuuya's dirty curse words on his pretty white board, straightened up and turned back to face the group. Despite the disgruntlement, he seemed mostly pleased.
"Nice work everyone. As you can see, there are numerous stages of grief and all different kinds of experiences with it. The whole process doesn't have a standard timeline either. For some people, the grieving process takes years, but for others, it can take only a few weeks. Even though we all process differently, the end goal is always acceptance." Kunikida was doing his darndest to explain it clearly, but some of the faces in their little circle were still scrunched up in blatant confusion.
Seriously, did none of them have a single brain cell to comprehend such basic concepts? It was times like this that Dazai lamented the failure of their educational system. He knew better than to voice these thoughts aloud however, as the last time he did that he'd been slapped and called a 'pretentious know-it-all' which to him just sounded like they were jealous of his intellect.
Seeing their lost expressions, the doctor sat back down in his chair with the rest of the group, "Maybe if we talk about our grief together, it could help everyone understand the concept better. Does anybody want to share a moment in their life where they experienced grief, and how or if they finally reached acceptance?"
Silence. It was quite a sensitive topic.
While Dazai already understood everything Kunikida said, he was in no rush to share his own personal journey.
Like most people over the age of a toddler, he'd obviously experienced grief before. Whether or not he accepted what happened was another thing.
Acceptance was overrated anyhow, in his opinion. What could acceptance possibly offer him? He would be miserable either way; unable to move on regardless of how he felt about it.
His personal feelings on the matter didn't do anything to change the event itself, so they were irrelevant.
When the quiet lingered on enough to become uncomfortable, Fukuzawa surprisingly spoke up. The doctor didn't seem thrilled that the only other authoritative figure was answering his call, rather than one of the patients, but he let it slide easily enough.
"Grief is most often associated with loss, so I will share a story of my own on that theme," The social worker began, hands hidden in his kimono, "My story happens to do with the loss of a dear friend."
Dazai tilted his head curiously. There was a lot of mystery surrounding Fukuzawa, especially intriguing because some of the mystery seemed directly related to himself, through Mori.
He was glad that he'd gotten out of whatever state he'd been in, and was now able to give all of his attention to the man. Any ammunition he could gain against Mori would be valuable.
To be the one with the most facts, especially if your opponent wasn't aware of your knowledge, was one of the first lessons Mori had taught him after all. He didn't necessarily want to make his father proud by overcoming the master, but he looked forward to the possibility of seeing that shrewd face of his sharpen as he would be put on the defensive for once.
"We were very close for a time. We watched each other's backs, and understood each other better than anyone else. This was why it was so difficult to accept when he severed that trust," Fukuzawa closed his eyes, "The man I once knew is no more. My grief was actually very similar to the standard five stages. At first I was in denial that he would do what he did. Then, angry at both him and myself. After a failed attempt at reconciliation, all I felt was a deep depression that persisted as I mourned him. It took a long time for me to accept what happened and who he became. It was very difficult to accept that I could do nothing about it, and that we would never return to what we once had."
He could only assume that this was about Mori, otherwise why would he be glancing at Dazai so frequently during his confession? The description of what happened was so vague though. Dazai learned pretty much nothing more than what he already knew.
They knew each other. They had a falling out. That was the extent of his knowledge on the matter.
Supposedly he had done something that made them 'break up', which didn't narrow anything down because Mori was known to do all sorts of reprehensible things.
All was history that he had already easily deduced based on the few widgets of information he gained during his personal session. Besides the fact that they were supposedly close friends, which Dazai found very hard to believe.
Mori? Friends? The two did not correlate.
If the vague retelling didn't help Dazai, who at least knew of the connection to Mori, it was even less clear to the rest of the circle who, if anything, seemed even more confused after that story. Dazai hid a snort of amusement. It was always entertaining when the supposed adults were bad at their jobs.
Atsushi slowly raised his hand, a befuddled look on his face, "Wait so… did he die…?"
The old man blinked, "No. My perception of who he was died, but the man is still alive."
"Then how is that loss?" Atsushi looked more frustrated than Dazai had ever seen him. Usually the boy was too anxious to ever be upset with someone else, but it seemed like his patience left the building with Akutagawa.
"Loss can be very broad Atsushi-kun," Kunikida interjected with his disarming doctor voice in full effect, "It isn't always the loss of life. It can be any number of things."
Fyodor hummed, "I have a story with a similar kind of loss. If I may-?"
The gentleness of his tone was really starting to irk Dazai.
Could really nobody else see that he was a phony?
And the way everything he said was a question- it was a basic manipulation tactic. Mori had made him an expert in the practice when he was only four years old. Didn't anyone else learn these things from their own fathers?
Regardless of his own misgivings, no one else seemed to find any fault with the filthy rat, so Kunikida nodded his head for him to continue.
Fyodor smiled sadly, meant to evoke pity which Dazai would absolutely never give, "My biological parents were both in prison for years. They are alive, but were not allowed in my life as a child. I've had to grieve their loss, even if they are still alive."
Despite clearly being evil, his story did seem to help Atsushi understand the concept better as the white haired boy hesitated only a second before nodding and leaning back in his chair.
Imprisoned? That was intriguing, and also meant it was more likely that Fyodor himself would be a criminal too. Obviously not everyone with criminal parents followed in their footsteps, but the statistics were not on their side.
Also, even though he was legally an adult, he was still young. The younger the kids were, the more likely they were to emulate their parents.
Dazai knew from personal experience, being uncomfortably similar to Mori in every way that mattered. As much as he despised the man, he followed closely to his enforced teachings with the unwilling motions of a marionette puppet. And oh,how he resented that fact.
"If you don't mind sharing, what did your grieving process look like?" Kunikida politely asked, for the benefit of the group.
Dostoevsky didn't even have to think for a second before answering, "They were wrongly imprisoned, so I was very angry at first. Then, I was heartbroken about how unfair it all was, and in denial that the justice system had made such a fatal mistake. I only accepted that this was my reality a few months after I was placed into foster care," This time, a wistful smile appeared on his face, "Luckily, they were released on good behavior recently, and were able to find me again."
For some reason, that made Dazai's stomach turn like he'd just swallowed the wrong kind of pills.
He wasn't afraid of potential reoffenders being on the loose, well aware that there were all kinds of people everywhere. In fact, several of the guests that visited Mori when he was younger were probably narrowly dodging their own incarceration.
The unease had more to do with the gleam in Fyodor's eyes. Something about it bordered on mania, but it was so carefully hidden that it was almost invisible to the naked eye.
The only reason Dazai noticed it at all was because he'd seen the same look before; in his own eyes, Mori's, servants, bullies, and doctors… It was something hauntingly familiar and continuously dreaded. It was the igniting spark of a sadistic flame.
With the way Fyodor looked lazily over to him, he could easily guess exactly which direction that specific malintent would be directed, and made sure to maintain his composure while fully broadcasting his own disdain. Even though he suddenly felt like he was about to throw up, he kept his posture relaxed and face expressionless, thankfully under the same control he'd always held before this facility had shaken it slightly.
"You grieved and reached acceptance. Then they came back."
Surprisingly, Kyouka spoke up in response, face as impassive as always. But a slight trembling in her fists betrayed her true feelings, "How is that grief? You didn't really lose them. They didn't die."
"I think what Dostoevsky meant was that he lost a childhood growing up with them," Kunikida intercepted placatingly, "Like I said before, everyone experiences and interprets grief differently; both in what causes grief and how the grieving process looks. It is possible for people to accept a loss, any kind of loss, only for it to resurface sometime in the future. What people feel at one time is not how they feel forever."
"The process is more of a circle than a straight line," Ranpo spoke up, bored but apparently willing to help out.
Both Kunikida and Fukuzawa nodded, giving a small smile to the boy. It seemed that to everyone else, Ranpo was endearing in spite of his narcissism in believing his words to be law.
Why couldn't people feel the same about Dazai? He was just as self righteous as Ranpo was, and just as much of an asshole too.
He tried not to resent the other boy for that. It wasn't the first time he'd felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy in this aspect.
As privileged as he acknowledged that he was, there was the smallest part of him that whined and complained that it still wasn't fair.
Fuck every material or service he had in life, why were other people forgiven so easily for things he could never get away with?
It would happen often when he was younger, that both he and another child would be involved in a scheme, but he was always the one to be punished. The other child was coddled for being influenced by a monster such as himself. Every time.
But maybe that was just it. He was always the one to blame because he was the problem.
It was always his fault, because it wasn't something he did, it was something he was. Ranpo was praised while he was scolded, not because of their individual actions, but because Dazai was fundamentally bad.
"Like much of life, grief and loss are complex and sometimes beyond our understanding."
Fukuzawa pulled him out of his thoughts before he could get sucked in any deeper, to both his relief and disappointment. Continuing along that path of thinking surely would have led to unsavory results, but they were the exact extreme responses that he craved so much.
"Then why are we talking about it?" Chuuya demanded, speaking up for the first time since they started on this topic.
Even just the sound of his voice made Dazai subconsciously relax his shoulders and soften the clench in his jaw.
How predictably aggressive his chibi was!
"Because as difficult as it is, it is an unavoidable fact of life. It will exist and you will experience it, whether you understand it or not," Kunikida might've sounded a bit cold when he said it, but he didn't seem to have any bad intentions with his words. He was simply telling them the honest truth, "Our job is to help you accept what you have no control over, and move on with your lives despite it."
The room was uncomfortably quiet after that. It wasn't exactly a happy thing they were talking about, but it wasn't supposed to be.
Therapy wasn't meant to coddle you or make you feel better, it was to show you how to make yourselffeel better.
And sometimes it really fucking hurt.
A fire couldn't be built without burning a few logs. None of them could fully recover painlessly or without scorch marks. Yosano said many times before that pain was necessary for healing.
Likewise, Mori constantly reminded him that pain was an unavoidable fact of life that he would have to learn to endure if he wanted to survive. As if he hadn't already been enduring since birth, also with the incorrect assumption that he wanted to survive at all.
There were an infinite number of things that could've been said on this specific topic, but group session could only last so long.
It was a huge subject that Kunikida had chosen for them to discuss, and they didn't have enough time to cover even half of what could've been said. Afternoon therapy ended, leaving everyone highly dissatisfied and exhausted from the events of the day.
Dazai wanted to spend his free time back with Chuuya, who he hadn't had a moment alone with in days, but unfortunately he was immediately ushered back to pack his things and move them into his new room with Fyodor. Ugh.
The rat didn't need to be there for the process, getting to hang out with the others and take up all of Chuuya's time. He utilized that days lesson by being angry about it (already at step two in the grieving process!).
Kunikida followed him, keeping watch as he put his things back in his bag (which didn't take long seeing as he hadn't really unpacked to begin with, naively believing that this would be a short stay), and ensuring that he didn't mess with Chuuya or Fyodor's stuff when he moved.
There wasn't anything significant in the new room that could help him glean any more information about the Russian. The rooms themselves all looked the same, and he once again was stuck with the bed closest to the door.
Every little thing that annoyed him seemed to be enlarged tenfold with his current mood, and the mere fact that he'd have to sleep in the same room as that snake was enough to make him want to scream. He didn't, but god, did he want to.
Returning to the main room, Dazai withheld a deep sigh at the sight of Chuuya sitting with Dostoevskyagain. Thankfully, Ranpo was there as well, so he wouldn't be completely at the mercy of two insufferable bastards, even if one of those insufferable bastards was his precious Chuuya.
"Chibi-kun~" He sang, slipping languidly into the seat across from him.
He always preferred to sit on opposite sides of the table when he wanted to talk to someone. It was easier to lie looking directly into someone's eyes, contrary to popular belief. It made the deception into something more concrete; more believable.
If he was looking into someone's eyes, then whatever he was saying must've been said with his whole heart, for the eyes were the windows to the soul and so revealed such things. What most people who had conversations with Dazai didn't know was that he had no such soul to peer into.
Not that he planned on lying to Chuuya, he would never do such a thing!
Despite their brief argument earlier in the day, all had been forgiven. He could tell by the way Chuuya's eyebrow merely twitched in annoyance.
Had he truly been upset, he would have shown a more obvious sign of disgruntlement. He truly wore his emotions on his sleeve that way. Unlike Dazai, he seemed to want everyone to know exactly what he was feeling.
It was a fascinating concept, and Dazai still couldn't think of a single reasonable explanation for such a desire. Another thing that made Chuuya so attractive: his irrational rationale.
"What? You shitty mackerel…" Chuuya grumbled, but pointedly didn't further the provocation.
How boring, Dazai pouted.
"Did you hear we've been separated? I don't know how I'll be able to sleep without your wonderful snoring in my ears all night!" He held a hand to his heart mockingly.
A growl came from the other boy, "I don't snore," He immediately snapped back, before averting his gaze as the tips of his ears glowed to match the red of his hair, "... but do I?"
"It's as thunderous as a rampaging herd of bison," Dazai solemnly stated.
That absolute ass of a human being interrupted their friendly banter, souring Dazai's mood significantly as he was forced to acknowledge that they were not alone together in a world made just for them.
"Does Dazai-kun have any nighttime quirks of his own that I should prepare myself for?" Fyodor intoned, seemingly amused at their dynamic.
Dazai held back a hiss. That man did not have permission to witness their relationship so obnoxiously, nor to address him so casually.
Instead of openly glaring at him, Dazai settled for ignoring his presence completely, keeping his attention fully devoted to the only one of them that deserved his consideration (sorry Ranpo).
Unfortunately, both Chuuya and Ranpo dove upon the opportunity to complain about Dazai's many habits, with the added bonus of having him right there to reap the rotten fruits of their teasing.
"Oh my god, he never shuts up-"
"We hear his voice all the way down the hallway-"
"He hogs the bathroom and he's so messy-"
"The word 'cleanliness' isn't even in his vocabulary-"
"And for such a disgusting mackerel he's such a fucking princess-"
"Hey!" Dazai put a stop to all of this slander, electing to pretend hearing Chuuya call him 'princess' did not make him blush in the slightest, "Mean! No bullying allowed!"
Ranpo smirked humorously, the traitor, "That wasn't one of the rules they gave me when I came in."
Supposedly unable to let him talk to his friends without rudely budging in, Fyodor seemed endlessly curious and full of questions.
"How long have you all been here?"
Chuuya answered, though for the first time in their conversation seeming genuinely uncomfortable with having to tell him something.
Dazai should've eviscerated Fyodor for making Chuuya uncomfortable for even a second. Only hewas allowed to make Chuuya uncomfortable.
"I've been inpatient for about three weeks. Ranpo and this bastard arrived on the same day a week ago," The insight nearly made him do a double take.
Same day? Ranpo had been here just as long as he had. His head swiveled to Ranpo in what he hoped was an aloof manner.
"You never told me that," He accused.
Ranpo shrugged, as if it wasn't that big of a deal. Which maybe it wasn't, and Dazai was just overthinking this as he did everything, "You never asked."
And didn't that make him feel like an asshole.
It was fine. He was an asshole, so it was entirely in character for him. It didn't phase him at all to have so blatantly disregarded someone he was growing to consider a friend. Truly.
Although it did remind him of Akutagawa and Atsushi's hidden relationship that he'd only learned at the last possible second, and only due to necessity.
Was he really so selfish as to never inquire into his supposed 'friends' lives? He would have to get better at that, if he wanted to maintain their friendships.
That thought made his head spin so hard he had to pinch his thigh through his jeans for a second, letting the sudden sting of pain ground him.
Since when did he care about such things? Since when did he have friends? That was horribly unwise, especially when they were made in this place. And to desire to be better for them? What was becoming of him?
Dazai was a monster. This, he had always known. To wish to be anything else was futile. A fools errand that he would not partake in, because he was no fool. There were very few irrefutable facts of life, but 'Dazai is a monster' was definitely one of them. It was an unwavering constant, and unfortunately something that was completely out of his control. It wasn't a decision or an act, it was a physical and corporeal fact.
He could not be 'better' for these people. He could only hurt them.
The desire to do that very thing at this moment hit him so strongly and suddenly that he missed the next bits of conversation. He didn't really want to hurt them, but the want was programmed into his very being. It would only make him feel worse, to see their upset faces. Doing so would hurt himself, which he did want to do, but for once not at the expense of his friends.
That was such a dizzying thought.
With nowhere else to aim his bloodthirsty want for destruction, it inevitably turned unto himself.
Self harm, while always lingering in his brain, purposefully chose weaker moments like these to jump down his throat, clogging it with unavoidable miasma and forcing him to either choke on it or swallow the hunger whole, taking it in completely and digesting it into his physiology. Like the absolute attention whore it was.
It was beginning to become annoying how often he thought about it; self harm.
Nothing changed his situation here, so the constant plaguing desire was completely useless. Yet it persisted, ignorant or simply negligent of how badly he wanted to strangle his own thoughts.
There were few things Dazai hated more than pointless cravings. They did nothing but exaggerate the empty cavern of nothingness he felt inhabiting himself, yearning for something, anything, to fill the space.
In an astounding show of maturity, Dazai decided to tell his thoughts to fuck off, letting the ache in his recently irritated wrist be enough of a satisfying pain to focus on.
Now without the constant presence of a suicide watch dog at his shoulder, he was able to put pressure on the wound beneath his bandages with his other hand. It wasn't the same as cutting obviously, but it was a nice reminder of what would be waiting for him when he finally did escape this terrible place.
"Chuuya's been here for so long!" He exclaimed, instead of voicing the thoughts that were actually occupying his mind at the moment, "Do you have a favorite moment? Was it when I arrived?"
"Ew no," Chuuya scrunched his nose up in disgust, which did not at all send a stab of pain through Dazai's heart, "Can you even have a 'favorite moment' in a place like this?"
"Of course!" Dazai perked up, "My favorite moment was when you confessed your love and kissed me sopassionately during group and-"
"That never happened!" Chuuya shrilled, voice cracking and face turning a lovely shade of pink.
Ah, he'd missed making Chuuya all flustered like this!
Since he'd gone through the stages of grief (thanks Kunikida for the lesson!) and accepted his attraction to the other boy, Dazai had nearly forgotten how wonderful it felt to mess with him.
Besides the thrill of his anger, embarrassment might be the next best emotion he could evoke from Chuuya. Whatever increased his heartbeat, raising his temperature to a flame warm enough to melt even Dazai's iced over heart.
"Yes it did. I was there." Ranpo smirked, backing him up. Dazai subtly high-fived his partner in crime, to the utter betrayal of Chuuya.
Fyodor hummed, the reminder of his presence ruining Dazai's brief good mood. He stayed resolute in his decision not to let it bother him though, keeping the teasing smile frozen on his face no matter how much it begged to fracture apart into a scowl.
"I can't see Nakahara ever doing that with you."
Fyodor intoned, with a hint of bitterness that only Dazai could taste. He wanted to smash a glass against Dostoevsky's face.
"But he did! We could always do a reenactment~"
"Hell no, get the fuck away from me!"
While he leaned in with kissy lips, he had no intent of following through. As much as the thought of them kissing made his lips tingle in anticipation, he knew that he'd never get away with that kind of thing in here.
Also, he didn't want to forcefully crush his lips against Chuuya's. He wanted Chuuya to force his lips onto Dazai's.
"No touching!" Kunikida barked, suddenly appearing next to them and shoving a book in front of his exaggerated pouty lips before they could reach Chuuya, "It's against the rules, as you know."
Even though they all were very much aware and nothing was gonna happen anyway, they all groaned at the medical personnel interference. Except Fyodor, that slimy rat only smiled politely at the doctor.
"We know Kunikiiida," Dazai said his name with the same amount of teasing he put in every time he spoke to the doctor, "We were just joking around."
Which seemed to be his excuse for a lot of the things he did in here. It was usually true though. Akutagawa wasn't exactly wrong when he'd said that humor was one of Dazai's coping mechanisms. Didn't mean it was a good one, but a coping mechanism nonetheless.
"Well don't 'joke around' so close to each other," The doctor again repeated, "You know the rules."
They all groaned in unison again, this time with an additional eye roll, which Kunkida bravely ignored. One last look of warning and they were alone again, but only for so long before it was time to go to bed.
They took their afternoon meds, and Dazai made a mental note to talk to Fukuzawa later about possibly adjusting his to successfully deal with the dissociative episodes.
There were many symptoms that he was mildly okay with, as bothersome as they were, but dissociation was not one of them. Unlike the others, dissociation troubled him on a core level. As stated many times before, he didn't like not being in total control of himself, and dissociation tipped far too close to the edge of impulsivity and absence of thought.
It also wasn't exactly something he could 'use his coping skills' to manage. The faster he got this under control, the faster he would be able to get out of this facility.
For the time being, he had no choice but to take the meds he was already prescribed for the afternoon- a fantastic concoction of mood stabilizers and antidepressants that at the very least gave him the energy to get out of bed in the mornings.
He never asked what anyone else was on, it didn't really matter. Even if people had the same moods and behaviors that he did, their biology could be completely incompatible. It was interesting to catalogue the side effects different people had with a drug.
Bidding adieu to Chuuya with a cheeky blown kiss, he sauntered over to his new room further down the hall than where he used to be, not looking forward to his first night alone with Fyodor Dostoevsky.
They settled in fairly quietly, each brushing their teeth and changing into pajamas without a word spoken to each other. Dazai would've happily stayed that way the whole night and the rest of his stay, but after lights out were called and they were each in their respective beds, Dostoevsky just had to initiate a conversation.
"Da~zai~kun~" Fyodor sang softly from the other side of the room, too quiet for the nurses down the hall to hear from the open door.
Sucks for him but Dazai was not about to indulge in this clown's taunting.
He ignored the call and pulled the paper thin blanket further over his head, ready to play the long game. Chuuya always fell asleep first, so he'd never had to deal with a roommate that wanted to talk to him longer. For Dazai though, sleep was never a guarantee, and so he would stay awake silently fuming on his twin bed for the entire night if he had too. It was no contest.
"You're awake, aren't you?" There he went with those annoying redundant questions again, "Don't you want to know more about me?"
He spoke as if he were someone worth getting to know, which Dazai found both presumptuous and cringe.
The best course of action for this type of person though, was complete dismissal. It was the same with Q, who had never gotten the hint no matter how many times he'd told them he didn't like or want to know them. It were those that were more mentally ill than himself, that were beyond all reason.
"That's fine, you don't need to ask. How about we talk about you instead?"
Dazai cursed his brain for having such trouble falling asleep. It was beginning to look like he'd have to suffer through this asshole monologuing all night long.
"Dazai Osamu~"
Dazai tensed, though he made sure it could not be seen under the blanket he hid beneath. He couldn't remember saying his full name in the other's presence.
"Born with a silver spoon, weren't you? Another privileged little boy doing whatever he wants with no consequence."
Everything in Dazai wanted to snap, turn around and demand how he knew about such things, but years of training under Mori rendered him immobile. His breathing continued steadily, and anyone else would've believed he'd fallen asleep.
The other boy saw right through his act, and ignored the clear message to fuck off.
Who was this guy?
The night nurse came by the room for their hourly check-in. Dazai didn't open his eyes to check exactly who it was, preferring to retain the illusion that he was fast asleep, even if it wasn't fooling anyone.
Fyodor wisely shut his mouth until the footsteps faded down the hallway yet again.
"I'm going to kill you, Dazai Osamu."
Fyodor simpered into the dark and haunted forest that was their shared room.
This probably required some response.
It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, even from a roommate, but he had no patience for homicidal idiots that thought they could scare him into submission. People who thought that threatening his demise would fear him, annoyed the hell out of him.
They thought that the grasp over life and death was the highest control a person could have. They were wrong.
The physical body meant nothing, absolutely nothing,in comparison to the mind.
"Go ahead," He whispered back, just as softly but with the full knowledge that Fyodor could hear him anyway, "I want to die anyway."
A harrumph from the other boy.
"It's not as fun when you don't fight back, now is it?"
Their one sided conversation did not pick up again for the rest of the night.
Although Dazai had fully admitted his willingness to be murdered, he stayed vigilant all night, laying on his side and facing the wall closest to the door. He felt eyes staring daggers into his back the entire time the moon commanded the outside sky.
Neither of them slept, and neither of them yielded.
This certainly meant that there were going to be some interesting times ahead for him, but unlike the excitement he'd felt as Chuuya's adversary, Dazai felt nothing but unease and seething hatred for whatever his new roommate would concoct for him.
Fyodor made a very bold statement the night before, seemingly out of nowhere, but Dazai remained unbothered by it. If that worm wanted to kill him, he could try his best.
It's not like Dazai cared in the slightest, except for the fact that it might mean Fyodor would try to get physically closer to him. Like a viper coiling its neck, only able to strike at prey within range. Dazai had no desire to be near that slimy basilisk.
Making the best of his situation, Dazai spent the sleepless night brainstorming how to work around this, brewing something incredibly genius that he pinched himself for not already thinking of.
He wanted Chuuya and Fyodor to stop hanging around each other so much, but it was difficult when they apparently had so much to talk about (which he chalked up to Chuuya just having a very approachable personality).
So in order to separate the two, he would simply have to talk to Chuuya about things he wouldn't want to openly share with other people. Dazai was an expert in talking taboo subjects after all, and he knew precisely the one that Chuuya would not necessarily want discussed in front of people that weren't already involved; the blackouts.
The mystery of them still plagued Chuuya. He could see it in the way he'd stopped writing his precious poetry in favor of distracting himself with other activities, ones that looked as if they physically pained him to be a part of.
To be quite honest, the blackouts still intrigued Dazai as well.
Thanks to Ranpo's collaboration, they now knew that the blackouts were entirely psychosomatic. Or at least, they hypothesized it, and Dazai's predictions were rarely false.
However, they still had no breakthroughs on what triggered them in the first place, why Chuuya couldn't remember his own childhood, or why Dazai's touch was able to stop one.
The… distractions of the past few days had put their discussions on temporary hiatus, but perhaps this was the perfect opportunity for them to return with a vengeance.
Besides, Dazai wasn't sure how long Chuuya (or himself for that matter) had left in the facility. He'd found out for regrettably the first time yesterday that Chuuya had been here for three weeks already, which was a pretty significant length of time.
There were stints in the past when Dazai spent months in a facility, so he wasn't too worried about his own release, but it was only a matter of time before Chuuya, foolishly eager to recover Chuuya, was able to leave the confines of this place. That meant that they had a limited and undetermined amount of time before they'd be separated and unlikely to ever see each other again.
Even if they did exchange contact information and actually kept in touch, Dazai was still planning on killing himself when he got discharged, despite how the thought of doing it without helping Chuuya first now left a bit of a sour taste on his tongue.
That was an entirely different beast to slaughter though, so Dazai decided not to let himself think about how for the first time in his life, he wanted to live just a little while longer.
Especially when it was for the benefit of someone else, as Dazai had always been a disgustingly narcissistic creature. He reasoned that it wasn't necessarily because he wanted to help Chuuya, but more so because he was curious to see where this investigation led.
Also, his recent admission of his crush on Chuuya did help the tiniest bit.
If he stayed alive, perhaps he could trick Chuuya into caring about him too, so maybe one person would mourn him when he's lgone. It was an entirely selfish thought, but Dazai was an entirely selfish person.
With all this in mind, his nonchalance over Fyodor's threat the previous night might have technically been a bluff, but at least it seemed to be a successful one. The best lies were veiled in truth after all.
Luckily his roommate did not try to kill him during the night, although it was clear that neither of them slept a wink, and in the morning they went from vitals to breakfast separately. Breakfast for the day was waffles; homemade ones. It would've been a pleasant surprise, if Dazai cared about food at all, but he didn't.
His relationship with food was complicated, but not as much as someone with an actual eating disorder. Most of the time he just simply forgot to eat, the void in his stomach nearly indistinguishable from his already chronic emptiness. Still, it was a nice gesture from the staff.
The barely-contained enthusiasm Chuuya displayed as he inhaled the waffles whole did more to feed his barren soul than any food ever could.
He sat down next to the blue eyed black hole, his own plate filled to at least satiate the nurses who would've glared at him accusatorially if he refused to eat. They pretended like they could read him with a single glance, calculating a desire not to eat and equating it to a sign of something much larger than it actually was.
Chuuya looked up with a close-mouthed grin of unbridled joy as he sat down, cheeks stuffed like a chibi chipmunk.
It was hilariously out of place given how dreary it's been lately, but maybe it was exactly what they needed. A deliberate change in their own moods despite the depression that surrounded them; some almost textbook recovery techniques.
It was just a smile, but as with everything else in his life, Dazai couldn't help but think deeply about it.
After all, Chuuya was expertly using the very techniques that therapists had drilled into him for years but which he never listened to. A paragon of recovery and salvation.
Dazai marveled at what he saw as the last flickering ember in a dying fire. The spark was being blown away with the wind, but that same wind only made it burn brighter... Wow, he should've really left the poetry to Chuuya.
"What's got you in such a cheerful mood? Could it be that the chibi missed me so much that just seeing my face excites him?" Dazai gasped, unceasingly enamored by the other boy.
Chuuya could barely contain himself, talking with his mouth still full of waffles, which would have disgusted Dazai had it been anyone else, "Tch- as if. More like I finally got a good night's sleep without your annoying chatter to keep me up."
Chuuya scoffed, remaining the same feisty chibi he always was, even if he was the most happy that Dazai had seen him since arriving here. It made his stomach flutter in the way it increasingly was nowadays, whenever he was around Chuuya.
That having a crush on someone could give him such a physical reaction was equally horrifying and invigorating.
"No. It's not always about you, shitty Dazai," Chuuya continued, rolling his eyes before that same eagerness from before reemerged, "A therapy dog is coming in today!"
Whatever brief high spirits he had been in before quickly disappeared, that last ember abruptly dying out.
"Oh," He replied, much less enthused about the idea than Chuuya was, "I hate dogs."
"What!? How can you hate dogs?! You call me one all the time!"
Chuuya seemed more insulted by this than anything else he'd ever said to him.
Before he could respond, Yosano called out to warn them that breakfast was over, and he escaped with that excuse. As much as he enjoyed talking to Chuuya, he was thankful that the conversation ended when it did. He wasn't quite ready to explain his strange relationship with dogs.
He took the opportunity back at his new room to steal a shower before Fyodor could, only realizing that he hadn't taken one in a while when he got a whiff of his underarms. It was one of the less romanticized symptoms of depression; the lack of sufficient hygiene.
The shower in this room took slightly longer to warm up, but it was fine because Dazai preferred cold showers anyway. They didn't allow him to feel even a moment of faux safety.
With the knowledge that a dog was coming in, he made sure to bring his least favorite clothes, so that he could burn them if the stench of the beast attached itself to the fabric. Dark jeans and a turtleneck sweater that covered all of his bandages, hopefully preventing them from retaining any slobber or dog hair as well.
It would also ensure that the dog's claws couldn't pull anything undone if it jumped on him. It was unlikely, given that this was a therapy dog and probably trained to be docile, but one could never be too prepared, especially when it came to wild animals like that.
Fyodor was standing directly behind the curtain when he exited the bathroom.
If Dazai were a weaker boy, he probably would've screamed, but instead he simply raised an eyebrow to mock him for the D-list horror movie jump scare attempt.
Apparently he wasn't just trying to frighten him like a juvenile bully though, because after a mere second of blocking his exit, Fyodor lifted his hands and wrapped them around Dazai's throat, squeezing in all the wrong places.
It was revolting.
It made his skin crawl like there were maggots wriggling underneath.
The attempt to strangle him didn't even register beyond the fury he felt because someone that wasn't Chuuya had their hands around his throat.
Every muscle in his sad excuse for a body wanted to leap away and scrub the ghostly touch off, but he left himself limp, forcing Fyodor to hold him up by the neck with his hands alone.
Used to a little chokehold every now and then, though usually in the form of a nice hemp rope, he barely even registered that his breathing was being cut off. His face remained empty of emotion, but he couldn't control his body's natural reactions as it attempted to gasp in air. Black spots started appearing in his vision. A worrying ringing was heard in his ears, almost blocking out all other sound.
In forcing his weight into Fyodor's hands, he'd tightened the grip on his throat, cutting his airway off further and surely planting some bruises. Luckily his turtleneck and bandages formed a thin barrier to keep that rat's pale and grubby hands off his skin, but it did nothing to lessen the pressure on his windpipe and recent scar.
He really couldn't even think straight enough to wonder why Fyodor was so unbelievably strong, a smile gracing his face as he breathlessly opened his mouth for air that wouldn't reach his lungs.
He was probably dying right now and Fyodor's expression was as empty as his own, another sign of how similar they were.
It wasn't exactly the way he wanted to go, but he was willing to accept the unexpected gift. It made things easier for him at the very least; meaning he didn't have to wait any longer or bother himself with planning a complex suicide attempt. His eyes fluttered to the ceiling so that ugly rat wouldn't be the last thing he saw.
"You really aren't going to fight back, are you?" The hands around his neck fell away, and he immediately started gasping in breaths of air, the world beyond his body finally coming back into focus with a burst of colors. He automatically reached for his throat, but it did nothing to alleviate the pain. It was unwelcome, since it wasn't inflicted by himself, "How boring."
Dazai didn't bother trying to respond, massaging the pain in his neck and lamenting how his voice would be a little raspy for a while. Luckily the wrappings and fabric covering his skin hid the bruises that were most definitely fully bloomed by now. Hopefully it hadn't irritated his still healing throat.
It could be pretty damning evidence that his roommate had just tried to murder him, but…
How boring, indeed.
There was something nefarious hiding behind his roommate's painted exterior, and Dazai wouldn't be able to find out what it was if Fyodor was separated from him. They'd probably still be in the same adolescent ward as physical assaults weren't exactly uncommon here, but there would be even more unwanted surveillance on both of them.
Hopefully the next attempt wouldn't be so painful though, he didn't like when it came from someone else.
Fyodor looked unworried that he would tell anyone about this, simply walking past him to begin his own morning routine. As if nothing happened and he'd simply imagined the attack.
Somehow he seemed to know that Dazai would keep quiet. The sanctimonious bastard. Dazai hated him so much.
He went back to the main room in a near identical manner, giving a wink and a smile to Ango's suspicious face as he passed.
Almost everyone else was already there, all looking quite excited at the prospect of a dog coming, and eagerly speculating between each other what breed of dog it would be. None of them aware of what could've happened just minutes before.
Dazai sat daintily next to Chuuya again, not even bothering to think he might be acting a bit clingy in always sitting with him lately. Hopefully the other boy would write it off as Dazai just trying to annoy him more. That was partially true after all.
Everyone was sitting at the same table, the small number of them left only unifying them further as a group. But he didn't want to try speaking quite yet, hoping to put off any questions about his voice for long enough to think of a believable excuse. Instead of a greeting, he bumped Chuuya's shoulder with his own, receiving a lighthearted glare in return.
"What do you think the dog will look like Dazai?" Atsushi included him in the conversation before he could spend even a second relaxing as a mute.
Dazai cleared his throat painfully, "It's going to be a labradoodle," Luckily it only sounded slightly hoarse, enough for him to play it off as allergies or a cold.
"I thought you didn't like dogs?" Chuuya accused, his absolutely beautiful idiot.
"I hate them- but I know enough about them. Labradoodles are hypoallergenic, friendly, and docile; perfect for a hospital. It's simply a prediction, chibi-kun, and my predictions are never wrong," His voice hitched a bit on the last word, turning into a brief cough. He made sure to put on a convincing smile, avoiding the direction in which Fyodor sat.
"I love labradoodles!" Lucy butted in, reminding him that she existed, "I have one at home! Her name is Anne."
There was a collective 'aawwwww' spread around, as was customary when someone shared news of their pets. Dazai only scrunched his nose.
An uncreative name and a slobbery monstrosity. That fit in perfectly with his idea of Lucy.
"There aren't any dogs waiting for me at home," Poe spoke up, "Just my raccoon, Karl."
"Raccoon?!"
At least three of the group said it at the same time, prompting a nurse to cut in and remind them not to be too loud. The more humorous of them all snickered at the scolding, but acquiesced like good little patients.
"Is that even legal?" Chuuya took them back to the topic at hand, although with a noticeably quieter voice than before.
It was a shame. Dazai loved how loud Chuuya was. The blaring noise surrounding Chuuya constantly was wonderful for grounding him in the present, his voice drowning out the less likable ones inside Dazai's head.
"Yes! Karl is my emotional support raccoon. He keeps the ravens away."
Dazai didn't have the time or energy to unpack that but he didn't need to as Atsushi spoke again.
He was glad to see the boy being social with everyone, even though he must still be hurting from Akutagawa. He had more strength than most at his age, although Dazai supposed that the type of kids that ended up in this place were all similar in that way.
"Dazai, do you have any pets?" The white haired boy looked genuinely interested to know, and it was absolutely adorable.
Dazai couldn't help but make the joke, "You mean besides Chuuya?"
A sharp elbow immediately dug into his side, but he regretted nothing, grinning cheekily at the boy next to him and sticking out his tongue.
This was exactly what the past few days had been missing. This was the reason he'd been under a shroud of darkness for so long; a critical lack of teasing Chuuya.
Chuuya's face turned as red as his hair and he looked positively outraged, "I'm not your fucking dog, you imbecile!"
"Imbecile?" Dazai burst out into laughter at the fancy word choice, the suddenness of it startling him.
He hadn't meant to laugh. It just bubbled up without his consent.
It was weird, but in a good way. For the briefest second, it almost felt like he was human. Like a normal kid.
"Oh my~ how rude my dog is! I'll have to train him better."
He strained out between his giggles, the breathlessness of his laughter reminding him of the pain in his throat, slightly dampening his joy. He coughed a bit more than he should have as he tampered down the laughs.
It was almost reminiscent of Akutagawa. Maybe he'd contracted the same fatal illness. One could only hope.
"Fuck off," Chuuya flashed his middle finger with purpose, "If you hate dogs then 'woof woof' you lanky, flat ass, zero bitches, dumbass, mackerel, mummy."
Everyone else at the table guffawed as Dazai pouted dramatically.
Perhaps he would've been more insulted if those roasts sounded at all genuine, but the smirk twitching on Chuuya's lips told him everything he needed to know. He let his dull eyes shine with mirth as he appropriately whined about how rude Chuuya still was.
Sitting here, surrounded by his friends and talking about absolutely nothing important; this was where he wanted to spend eternity.
When he finally met the void he'd been pursuing all his life, he hoped that the afterlife would be like this. Laughter in his stomach, pain in his body, warmth on his side, closest to Chuuya.
It couldn't last forever though. Not in the constantly storming sea that was life.
Soon enough, a nurse prompted them into the morning's group therapy circle like a farmer corralling cows to the slaughterhouse.
Desperate for the reprieve not to end, he remained sitting next to Chuuya, which thankfully the other boy did not comment on.
"Hey," He whispered before the session began, quiet for a reason he couldn't say, "You never said if you had any pets."
It seemed completely irrelevant. A meaningless question that didn't need to be asked. It requested nothing and yet it felt like it held the weight of everything.
"Arahabaki," Chuuya whispered conspiratorially back, if genuine or to mock him, Dazai wasn't quite sure, "He's a bearded dragon and he's a menace."
Dazai huffed out a chuckle that turned into cough, making Chuuya finally furrow his brows at the frequent coughing bits.
It looked like he was going to ask about it, and Dazai could not have that, now could he?
"You named your pet… after an ancient mythological god…" He said, more incredulous than he actually was.
"That's what I just said, isn't it?" Chuuya's tone dared him to tease further, "Do you have bandages covering your ears too?"
"I'm not Van Gogh, Chuuya"
"Then fucking use them and listen when I tell you shit."
So sensitive! Usually that would turn Dazai off of someone, but on Chuuya it was just too cute.
There was probably very little Chuuya could ever do to bother him, and that was a terrifying realization. For someone to have such power over him made his heart race.
"I always listen to you," Dazai breathed out, the raspiness in his voice making it sound way more sensual than he'd intended.
He couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it though, not with how it caused a beautiful pink dusting over Chuuya's cheeks.
It was strange how flawlessly their conversations swerved between serious and silly. He hadn't meant to say it that way, but alas it had come out dreamily rather than indignant.
Chuuya, although he had a combustion always raging in the blue of his eyes, was gentle as a wisp when he responded, "I'd listen to you too, if you let me."
A heat he hadn't felt in ages crawled its way onto his own face, and he quickly brought up his hand to cover the color that was surely spreading, feigning a cough behind his hand.
God, he was so embarrassing.
Dazai had the sudden urge to squeal like a little girl and bury his face in his sweater.
Having a crush was insane.
Like seeing a dangerous animal in the wild and being woefully under prepared for whatever it would decide to do.
He felt crazier in that moment than he'd ever felt in his entire life, despite the fact that he'd technically done much crazier things as a byproduct of his mental illness.
These feelings that Chuuya gave him overturned any logical response, forcing him to abandon all thought in favor of just bathing in it.
Maybe the heart was more powerful than the brain. It wasn't something he ever would've thought before coming here, but being with Chuuya made his head spin in unpredictable ways he could not control.
The feeling Chuuya gave him was better than any medication or drug he'd ever been on. Maybe better than cutting, which he'd thought was impossible.
If he were less of a coward, he might've even said that he felt more alive with Chuuya than he did in that blissful euphoria right before death.
A desire for something other than death and pain was dangerous. Everything good he could ever have would be destined to be taken away. Always.
In surrounding himself with nothing but misery, he'd avoided losing that happiness and saved himself from the agony of it being ripped from his grasp. The ache of joy lost was far worse than the everlasting pull of despair.
Dazai didn't want to get better because he knew he would also get worse.
It was better this way, living in a perpetual purgatory. Apathetic to the world because if he wasn't, it would only continue to hurt him.
It was- not comfortable, but familiar. It wasn't something new, with an infinite number of possibilities. It was ol' reliable, like Oda in that it would remain an anchor in the turbulent waters. It would never grow, never change, never become anything more than what it already was. There was no fluctuation in it. No slap of elation followed by the lasting red mark of depression.
Mood thoroughly dampened by his thoughts (proof that nothing good lasts!), he missed the chance to say anything more to Chuuya before the group session began.
Hopefully his blush had gone away before Chuuya could notice it. The last thing he needed was for the other boy to discover his little crush and decide to shatter any relationship that had been forming between them, because he absolutely would.
It was highly unlikely that someone as glimmering and bright as Chuuya would be anything but horrified that a monster such as Dazai deigned to worship him.
"Good morning! How is everyone feeling today?" Yosano's unusually chipper voice shattered the glass between his mind and reality, bringing him back to the present again.
He would really need to talk to someone about changing his meds. These wandering thoughts could become rather troublesome if left unchecked.
Spending too much time in his own head was never a good thing.
The group let out some scattered 'good morning's as Ranpo mused, "You're in a good mood today, Dr. Yosano."
"I'm happy, Ranpo."
The doctor's smile was radiant. She was absolutely beautiful in a way Dazai hadn't ever noticed before.
Objectively, of course. He had no feelings beyond the general observation of her being traditionally gorgeous. This, for once, was not a lie he told himself.
"Are you excited for the dog too?" Atsushi restlessly fiddled with his fingers, looking as if he was about to burst out of his chair.
Yosano sweetly hummed, "I am, but that's not why I'm happy."
"Then why are you?" Dazai asked, genuinely curious.
It was rare for the doctor to not remain emotionally neutral when leading group.
"Well, Dazai, I suppose this is just how I woke up," Even to him, she smiled, "Sometimes I look outside and become absolutely entranced by the beauty of this world and the people in it. I feel so blessed to be alive."
Almost everyone in the group looked at her like she was the one institutionalized.
If he wasn't as confident in his view of her character, he would've said she seemed to have smoked a bit of the old ganja before coming in. But she was not the type to come into work as anything but sober and prepared.
What she was saying didn't make any sense. Being happy without putting in the conscious effort to force yourself to be? It seemed impossible. Completely unrealistic.
And blessed? To be alive?
She must've been joking.
"Are you high?" Chuuya was the only one of them brave (and stupid) enough to ask.
Thankfully the question put a familiarly piqued expression on her face, giving Dazai some relief as this didn't seem to be a permanent change.
Back to normal and no longer concerning the group, although they seemed to collectively hold their breath as she raised her eyebrow, ready to chew Chuuya out.
"No, Nakahara. I am not high," She sighed, apparently willing to let him go just this once in her moods favor, "I'm just happy. Everyone has those days where they're in an awful mood for no reason; it can work the other way too."
"Doubtful," Dazai commented under his breath, but in the orchestrated silence of the room, of course she heard him.
"The bad days always seem to be remembered more than the good," Yosano crossed her legs and rested her hands on her clipboard, entering therapist mode, "But you have them nonetheless. Some people may have fewer or more than you, but there are things you can do to make it more likely to happen."
Fukuzawa took over, "I'm sure some of you recall the day we discussed healthy coping mechanisms. When practiced regularly, they have the ability to improve your general wellbeing. Showering every day, exercising, eating healthy, balanced meals, maintaining a sleep schedule; these are all little things that can help increase the amount of good days."
Which sounded all well and good, except Dazai did not have the energy to do any of those things, even if they were supposed to be simple daily tasks. He rarely did things that he didn't want to do, and most of the time he didn't really want to do any of that, no matter how rank or haggard he could get.
Yosano straightened up, "For now though, lets move on. How is everyone today? Is there anything anyone wants to address before we begin?"
And thus the actual session started, as monotonous and repetitive as ever.
It wasn't too bad, sitting next to Chuuya. The energetic aura around him and Yosano seemed to be contagious, because Dazai finally felt settled and eager within his own frame.
He had the overwhelming urge to grab hold of Chuuya's hand, lying innocently on his leg, for something to ground him even further.
He resisted the temptation.
The session was, surprisingly, a continuation of Kunikida's grief lecture. He was right in saying that it would take much more than a single conversation to cover such a huge topic. It was just unexpected that Yosano would continue from where he left off. Sessions didn't typically bleed into each other like this.
Although to be fair, usually there would be a few more new people by now and a continuation would've been unwarranted. With the same exact people every session, besides of course the ones that were discharged and the addition of (barf) Fyodor, it was much easier to personalize the meetings.
Grief was an enormous topic though, so it wasn't exactly shocking that they would have to discuss it over several sessions.
The only interesting thing was that the two doctors had collaborated enough to know what the other was talking about. All those years listening in on Mori's bureaucratic meetings had taught him that almost every single adult problem could be attributed to some form of miscommunication. People simply could not work together.
Although grief was an emotion Dazai was intimately familiar with, it was not one he liked to linger on.
They could talk about it all they wanted, but he would not participate. Despite his agreement with Fukuzawa to at least attempt to recover, this was a topic he wouldn't touch.
Not because he was grieving anything. No, of course not.
It was purely because grief was a useless emotion. There was nothing productive about it. Even self harm at least gave him pain and clarity. Grieving didn't do anything for him, and so he would not allow himself to exhibit such a ridiculous reaction to irrelevant stimuli.
After all, emotions were nothing more than a chemical response that, with enough training, could be easily controlled. And he'd had more than enough training in that.
Despite the topic of the day's lesson being a fairly depressing one, Yosano led them through it with a certain lightheartedness. It didn't make any sense to Dazai.
What happened overnight that made everyone go from pretty terrible to seemingly great?
Maybe it was that thing Yosano had been talking about; that they'd all just woken up in good moods. Or maybe the planets were aligned in a particular way. At this point, the scope of what he was willing to believe had expanded significantly.
As fascinating as it was to hear all the fun facts about grief that he already knew though, Dazai couldn't wait for it to be over.
He wanted to possess his beloved Chuuya's time before it would be stolen by a certain attention-seeking snake later on.
"Yesterday, Dr. Kunikida should've gone through the stages of grief with you all," Yosano began after the typical morning introductions were over, "Although, if you were paying attention, it was rather about the lack of stages. With the exception of acceptance as a necessary final step, which you should've also discussed as being unique to each person."
Although she kept the same attitude, it was clear she had switched into her professional persona, both with the way she held back her shoulders and tapped her pen on her clipboard, as well as the tonal change from casual to a carefully constructed steadiness.
"However, I don't believe that you got the chance to talk about how to reach acceptance. It is a difficult concept to teach, and even more difficult to learn. As with most psychological processes, it is almost entirely dependent on an individual's efforts. Some people may choose to never accept their grief, and would prefer to continue living with their pain. Can anyone think of any reasons a person might do this? Why they would choose to suffer?"
It was a loaded question and surely Yosano knew that. She didn't specifically address the question to Dazai, but he felt personally attacked by it regardless.
After all, who else in the room was so openly against improving, besides himself?
Lucy's hand shot up, though she didn't wait to be called on before she responded, "Maybe they're a masochist!"
Yosano blinked, "Um. Th-that is certainly a possibility," in typical fashion though, she quickly recovered, "but that's more associated with physical pain. I'd like us to focus on mental and emotional pain."
It was quiet for a moment until Kyouka spoke, her shy voice barely audible over the ambient tone of the room, "If you grieve over someone's death, accepting it and moving on can feel like a betrayal. Like you're forgetting them."
Forgetting, or repressing.
Would people forget him when he died?
Not forget- since many of them would never forget the trauma he'd inflicted on them, and he could admit he'd traumatized many. What a great way to be remembered.
Whether with intention to or not, the things he did impacted other people's lives.
Atsushi's leg started bouncing and he added on, "Sometimes it feels like, if I spend even a second not grieving for them, then they didn't m-matter... But they did! I have to carry around that weight. I have to carry around them."
Then Poe continued on-
"Some just don't want to accept the truth because acceptance would make the loss real."
Apparently the awkwardness that used to come with morning therapy disappeared, because now everyone was speaking up and listening to each other. Dazai glanced at Yosano and was unsurprised to see the proud shine in her eyes and gentle smile on her lips.
"These are all great examples, thank you for speaking," Despite her excitement about the participation, her voice was level, "I know everyone here has probably experienced exactly what they've shared, and I'd like to ask for everyone else to think about their own stories as well. Think of who or what you've grieved over in your life, and then think of whether you reached acceptance or are still in the process. Let's go in a circle and start off with everyone simply saying either 'I'm still grieving' or 'I've accepted my grief.'" The doctor nodded to Chuuya to begin, as he was in the adjacent seat.
Chuuya looked to the ceiling in a deep concentration. He always took everything so seriously.
"I'm still grieving."
It wasn't an unexpected response, after all he was still having blackouts and clearly repressing something.
Still, hearing him say it aloud made Dazai want to grab Chuuya and hide him away from whatever was troubling him, so it would only be the two of them, far from the rest of the world and it's poison.
As the one to go next though, Dazai made sure not to give any inclination of his desires.
"I've accepted my grief."
Not that there really was anything he'd ever fully grieved.
Had he experienced loss? Maybe. His childhood, his innocence, the mother he never knew. The better question would be what hadn't he lost?
The thing about losing so much though, was that it made you numb to anything more. He'd accepted his 'grief' by learning to always expect the loss. He would never get anything he lost back, so he accepted it, because there was nothing else he wanted to feel about it.
Accepting it meant being done with it, so yes, he'd accepted it.
Yosano gracefully said nothing, barely even made a face, which was progress in her ability to hide emotions since there was no way she actually believed him. Ranpo spoke next before anyone could think too hard on his response.
The other boy accepted it, as did Fyodor, but they were the only ones in addition to himself. Everyone else answered that they were still grieving.
Still grieving, and still here. He wondered if there was a correlation there; or could've wondered, so long as he ignored that he was also there.
Seeing as Dazai was content with having no guilt holding him back at all from his ultimate goal (committing suicide), he instead spent the session daydreaming about Chuuya.
…
Dazai attached himself to Chuuya even as they were just putting the chairs back for free time. It was also visiting hours, but blessedly there was no sign of Mori.
Speaking of his loving father, Dazai hadn't been graced with a visit since before he was sedated. Surely the one person so invested in his survival would want to visit after an 'attempt', if for nothing else then at least to chide him for continuing to be such a disappointment.
It was suspicious, and Dazai learned long ago to be wary of any good things happening in his life, which this lack of a visit certainly was.
Despite his unease, it wasn't a top priority issue, so he elected to dismiss the lack of presence as something to address only when unavoidable, focusing instead on the object of his desires and subject of his dreams.
"Chuuuuuyya~" Dazai cooed, leaning closer into his personal space and being met with a hand pushing his face away, "Why don't you write poetry anymore?"
"Hah?" The redhead startled, immediately caught off guard, "How did you know that? Are you some kind of stalker?!"
Dazai stared at him, "Chuuya. We are literally stuck in a room together 24/7."
"... Right," Chuuya blushed, but didn't allow himself to be embarrassed for long, "I guess I just… haven't been inspired lately."
Those crystal blue eyes wouldn't meet his own though, darting away too quickly to be natural.
He was a terrible liar.
To call him out on it or not, that was the question. Dazai lied all the time so he understood, but it was okay when he was the one doing it.
With Chuuya, he wanted to know the real reason.
It ended up not being his choice, as even though he'd again blocked Fyodor from his vision, the rat remained in the same space as them.
"I didn't know you wrote poetry Chuuya," That fucking Russian saying his name was sacrilegious and it made Dazai want to smack it out of his mouth, "I'm a bit of a writer myself."
If he were more childish he would've mocked gagging behind his back, but his hatred manifested into impassivity as always. His face lost expression when the man spoke.
"Yeah…" Luckily it seemed that this was a subject Chuuya wasn't keen on talking about, "Oh! Ane-san is visiting- Ibettergobye!"
The rapidly spit out excuse was anything but subtle, but it did its job nonetheless.
Chuuya left for visiting hours and Dazai was left alone with his thoughts.
And Fyodor. But he was intent on ignoring his psychotic roommate.
Instead of acknowledging anyone else's existence, Dazai grabbed a marker and a notebook, and sat at the arts and crafts table. Last time he was doodling it didn't exactly go well, but he deliberately avoided using a red marker this time. That was progress, right?
He was in the middle of a crude drawing of himself and Chuuya kissing inside a giant heart when the muse of his work came back into the room.
Fyodor had fucked off to usurp another patient's time and thankfully Chuuya decided to sit with Dazai instead. Being chosen over someone else sent a rush through him, his throat nearly closing up and he had to cough harshly into his sleeve again.
He'd never been someone's first choice.
"That was a quick visit." Dazai remarked casually, hoping to ease the tension visibly emanating off the other boy and distract from his own blunder.
"Yeah, Kouyou has work. She could only see me for a little bit," Despite that, Chuuya had a fond smile on his face, shoulders relaxing slightly as he glanced at Dazai's doodles, which made him scrunch his nose.
"She must really care for you."
Dazai was extremely careful not to put any hint of resentment into his words, hoping to sound as sincere as possible, but Chuuya squinted knowingly at him. Why did his deceptions never work on the other boy?
"We care for each other. That's how love works."
Ah. Love.
What a concept.
Even his juvenile crush on Chuuya wasn't love to Dazai. The only love he'd ever known was the unrequited one for death herself. His inner devil told him to respond with a snide comment, something mirroring his pessimistic thoughts, but he had a feeling that would upset Chuuya in a bad way, so he held back.
Even if he couldn't feel love, that didn't mean that Chuuya couldn't. Clearly, it came to him in abundance.
The thought of Chuuya directing some of that love towards Dazai had his stomach swarming with butterflies, once again eliciting a throaty cough that he just barely covered. His body begged him to use his fingers to massage his sore neck a bit, but he'd been ignoring his basic instincts for years.
Still, restraining from bringing attention to his neck did nothing to stop Chuuya from noticing it. Those gorgeous eyes of his lit up with suspicion.
"By the way, what's wrong with you? You've been hacking up your lungs like a chainsmoker all day." He played uninterested, idly tapping his fingers on the table.
Minimizing wasn't an interrogation tactic he'd expect from someone with as big a presence as Chuuya. It didn't work well.
"Oh, that," Dazai waved his hand, "I woke up with it. Must be allergic to Russians."
It was clear that Chuuya didn't seem to think so as he raised an eyebrow incredulously. Having those eyes pierce into him like a blue steel blade made him swallow down another cough, his throat spasming painfully but him refusing to let it to come out.
The direct eye contact was making his heart beat faster, which he promptly slowed down because absolutely not. Chuuya had already gotten so many involuntary reactions out of Dazai's body today. He would not be affecting the one Dazai could actually control with some skill.
"Hmph," Chuuya tilted his chin up, still maintaining their now blatant staring contest. The angle made his unfairly defined jawline stand out, elongating his flawlessly unblemished neck. Dazai swallowed. "I don't believe you, but I doubt you'll tell me the truth. Compulsive ass liar. Whatever,"
He finally broke their stare, and Dazai could not stop himself from letting out a shaky breath. He couldn't be sure whether he was disappointed or relieved that it was over.
"Believe what you want, chibi," His voice came out only slightly raspy, "Fair is fair, since you won't tell me why you stopped writing."
Redirect. Divert. Remove Dazai as the subject of their conversation and reverse it onto Chuuya.
That at least worked, the other boy's shoulders tensing up. Rather than backing down from the challenge though, as Dazai expected, Chuuya sneered at him as if he wouldn't dream of backing down from the dare.
Really, he should've known Chuuya wouldn't give in that easily.
"I stopped because I don't want to fuck up and trigger myself. It's called self awareness bitch. Now you tell me the real reason you're coughing like you have the fucking black plague."
And well, Dazai didn't really have a clever comeback for that. It both irked and enticed him how Chuuya always threw him off his feet.
"Dostoevsky choked me."
The words tumbled out of his mouth without his control, which alarmed him much more than the regular blushes and heart palpitations that Chuuya gave him.
He did not mean to say that.
It was just something about his face, or maybe he was weak after his attempt, or still not on the right meds, or any number of reasons. Whichever it was, this was a response so beyond his control that he barely registered that it even happened, so shocked at himself that he almost didn't hear Chuuya's response.
"This again?" Chuuya fumed. Why was he mad? Even if it wasn't on purpose, Dazai had told the truth, "I don't know what your deal is with Fyodor but you need to get over yourself. He's just like the rest of us."
It was like the lump that had been clattering around his throat all morning dropped suddenly to the very bottom of all his organs, tearing through any others that got in its way. He felt frozen in place.
Despite the torrent growing inside of him, he knew his face was completely emotionless, as it often became in times like these. Older therapists called it a defense mechanism, but Dazai knew better. It was just him.
Chuuya didn't believe him.
Unsurprising, right? He hadn't given Chuuya a single reason to trust him. Nearly every word out of his mouth was a lie or a half-truth.
His vision abruptly flashed to the first time he'd mentioned to Mori what those servants had done to him. How his own father had scolded him for making up lies for attention before he'd been forced to give him humiliating proof in hopes of saving any other kids they violated. It paralyzed him for barely a second before he shoved it away; deep inside of him so that he would never have to see or acknowledge it again.
It was fine. It was fine. It was fine.
It wasn't as if it was a big deal anyway.
Fyodor hadn't succeeded in his attempt to kill him, even though he easily could have. Marks would fade, as would memories. It didn't really matter.
But Chuuya didn't believe him.
The event itself was insubstantial compared to the absolute anguish that Chuuya just suckerpunched him with.
This was why he never accepted good things such as a crush. They would always come back to bite him for being foolish enough to let his guard down and want.
It felt like his heart had frozen over suddenly; a shield going up without his permission but also without opposition.
This all happened in mere seconds, as his response to Chuuya was given after the appropriate pause.
"Yeah. Just like the rest of us," His voice sounded robotic even to himself so he quickly adjusted the timbre, even though he wasn't quite sure why.
What use would pretending be now? He wouldn't be believed either way.
"Why can't you just tell me the actual truth?" Chuuya had a look of hurt hidden under the anger, after telling his own vulnerability and supposedly not getting anything in return.
It pained him in turn. He didn't want to hurt Chuuya like this. But he was a monster, and monsters could only destroy.
Well, Dazai could at least try to give him a believably honest answer to that question.
"I lie because the truth doesn't matter. If you don't understand that, then I can't explain it to you."
Those who didn't already know this fact would never be able to comprehend it. Sure they could try and deconstruct the concept, but they would never be able to sympathize with it. He wasn't even sure if it was something that could be explained through words alone.
Dazai turned away, wanting to be done with the conversation even if it was one with his beloved Chuuya.
He'd rather be miserable alone than with an audience.
"I do understand that. But it's wrong," Chuuya looked completely serious as he said it, if not gentle, and a little sad.
That was not the response Dazai had expected, and he didn't know what to do with himself in the face of it.
He wasn't supposed to understand it. He wasn't like Dazai. He still had faith in hope.
And wrong? Dazai was never wrong.
His prolonged silence must've clued Chuuya in on his inability to process whatever was happening right now. Was he dissociating again? He wasn't a second ago. Chuuya opened his mouth to elaborate but was interrupted by a squeal from across the room.
Both of their attentions swerved quickly, you never knew if it was a good or bad squeal in a place like this. Luckily though, nobody seemed to be breaking down.
No, it was something much worse than that.
The dog had arrived.