What the fuck?
Dazai was up in seconds, as were a few others. At least it seemed that he was not the only one left out of this information. Information that, now that Dazai thought about it, was probably exactly what Chuuya had been hiding from him after his talk with Yuan. Chuuya wasn't lying when he'd said that Dazai would find out his revelation at the same time as everyone else.
The accursed muscle in his chest spasmed at being so carelessly put in with the rest of the rabble. Had he not earned the right to be the first to know?
No, clearly, he hadn't.
Chuuya was already on his way out the door.
"Chuuya is leaving without a goodbye kiss?" He tried to say it in a joking manner, but it came out just as panicked as he felt.
Chuuya couldn't leave.
He couldn't leave Dazai. He couldn't leave Dazai here alone.
The redhead looked back at him with a smile, as if this wasn't affecting him nearly as much as it was shattering Dazai, which only made his heart clench further.
Surely this agony was mutual. It had to be.
"Gross," Chuuya sniffed, as if that was a satisfactory answer, "I'll maybe see you again some day."
Dazai almost let out a hysterical laugh, but held it in at the last second when he remembered there were other people watching their exchange.
How was he supposed to see Chuuya again if he just left with no trace, as if he never existed?
His friend seemed to read his mind though, a teasing shine in his eyes that felt like an affront to Dazai's feelings, "You'll probably end up finding me somehow, like the stalker you are."
The way he said it was not a compliment, though Dazai decided to take it as one. He would take anything he could get at this moment. And Chuuya wasn't necessarily wrong. It would not be too hard to stalk him down as soon as he got access to a computer.
"-if you really try."
His statement was accompanied by a warning glare, as if he was daring Dazai to try more than just that. To get out. Not to escape, but to leave as willfully as he was, with hope on the horizon.
Again though, Dazai took a helpless breath, his chest aching, "Not even a hug?"
Chuuya turned back towards who must've been his sister, waving a hand over his shoulder as if that could possibly suffice as a farewell.
"Hell no. Good luck though!"
With that most inconsiderate of goodbye's Chuuya left the hospital.
Dazai followed him up to the doors, which were locked with only special keycard access. The guard blocked him from following them out, but he couldn't help but stare through the window as the redhead smiled brightly at his sister, not even looking back once as he fully escaped the building and subsequently Dazai's line of sight.
The rest of the patients went back to their positions in the day room, gossiping and sharing their opinions of Chuuya's departure and him as a person. Dazai remained by the door until Yosano came up to him and led his pliant body back to the group. He couldn't move his limbs correctly.
It felt once again like he was outside of his body. It was almost like dissociating, but it hurt.
The only difference with that was that dissociating just felt numb, and this felt as if his body was a shaken bottle of soda and that would explode as soon as it opened.
What Dazai found most unsettling was that he had no idea what the explosion would look like. Something he couldn't properly predict was dangerous.
Normally when he had these feelings, he would cut.
He couldn't do that now.
He could have, but now he couldn't.
The rage at his former self for choosing the healthy route for once in flushing the blade was almost as strong as the barren hole of loneliness in him that Chuuya left behind.
He couldn't think properly.
Which was extremely concerning, because if there was one thing Dazai excelled at (and there were many things) it was thinking.
Atsushi was talking to him, but he was not listening. He was staring straight ahead, as if in a trance, unblinking and unresponsive.
They moved their chairs into a circle for group and he followed mechanically, face utterly devoid of emotion.
Yosano looked apprehensive, as if she could read his mind. He did not appreciate her assumption that she could read him so well. As if she knew anythingabout him.
She did, but he didn't like that fact.
They talked. Dazai couldn't say what the topic was about. Everything went in one ear and out the other, as if spoken in an alien language he just could not comprehend.
Even when the doctor tried to ask him questions directly, or if they were going around the circle and each having to say something, Dazai stayed silent. Nonverbal.
His actions, or rather inaction, displeased the nurses; he could tell. But what could they do? They could move him however they wished, drug him, any number of things. But they could not make him speak. They could not take that away from him.
Chuuya would've agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. He was a fan of speaking his mind (silently or loudly), regardless of the rules. Sometimes deliberately in spite of the rules.
A voice was something so personal that it could not be silenced by anything; it could not be muzzled, no matter what they tried to cage it with.
But sometimes silence said more than words could.
In Dazai's case however, it was not an act of defiance.
He simply. Couldn't speak. Even if he tried.
What would he possibly have to say if it couldn't be heard by his reason for living?
Going nonverbal wasn't something he did often, though some people probably wished he did. It was rare. Usually he had a lot to say, a lot going on in his head that couldn't possibly stay trapped there, lest the thoughts consumed him.
It did happen though, more when he was a kid.
In fact, he spent the first five years of his life in silence. When he did finally speak in front of another person, he spoke in full sentences, not baby words. Truthfully, he'd been spending those years perfecting speech before daring to have others witness what was going on in his head. He wanted to be understood more than he wanted to be heard.
But that was a long time ago.
Going nonverbal now, because of Chuuya, didn't sit right with him.
But what else could he do? Say something? Absolutely not.
So he continued his day in quiet, lonely misery.
Atsushi and Kyouka sat at the table with him during free time, but he did not respond when they tried to engage them. Still, they sat next to him. It was a comfort, though he despised it on principle.
He did not need anyone's sympathy or special treatment. Nothing was wrong.
Chuuya left. So what?
Was he really going to break down over such a stupid little thing?
…
He chose not to answer that, willing the hours to pass until he could isolate and be left alone. Well, as alone as he could be in a place like this.
Fyodor would surely try to strike while he's down, it's what Dazai would do if he was in that position. Although, he still wasn't quite sure what that position was.
A vendetta against Dazai just for the hell of it? Some convoluted plot to actually get to Mori? From what the rat whined on about in therapy, it seemed like he held a grudge against rich people like him.
If Dazai ended up being just a shortcut to Mori, then he would definitely have to kill himself.
He had always been nothing more than an empty vessel made solely for others to use.
Why couldn't anyone want to threaten just Dazai? Why was he always used to get to other people?
Well, hopefully Dostoevsky's grudge was against Dazai then, and not Mori or anyone else.
That thought process might have been a little fucked up though, so he would never confess it out loud.
As the day neared its end, Dazai went to the front desk for a towel, deciding to take a shower so he could at least pretend that he was alone.
It had been days since he last showered, an unfortunate symptom of depression. He often forgot to take care of his body in the way other humans did with ease. It had resulted in some disgusted looks.
He did like the shower though, regardless of how often he ignored it. It was the perfect place to be. He was clean, and nothing existed beyond the shower curtain.
So with that in mind, he stripped his clothes, except his underwear and bandages, because he couldn't allow himself to be completely vulnerable at the moment (he was a little too fragile for that), and closed the shower curtain.
Perhaps Fyodor wasn't wrong about the bandages holding him together, because Dazai felt that if he unwound them now, his limbs would all fall off and he wouldn't be able to put his body back together. The self loathing Dazai already felt only deepened at proving the bastard right.
The water was as uncomfortably piercing and cold as ever, but it was some relief. It hurt, which was what he needed right now. A little pain and discomfort to substitute for a more literal form of self harm.
It was only in this tiny square of isolated space that he finally allowed himself to think.
How could Chuuya have left so easily? As if separating himself from Dazai was something benign. As if he hadn't left a giant tumor on Dazai's abandoned heart.
And without even saying anything before, leaving him completely unprepared! Would he even have said goodbye if Dazai didn't stop him on his way out?
He had a sickening feeling that the answer to that was no.
Well, if he cared so little for Dazai, then Dazai would erase all semblance of feeling for him.
An anger so indescribable flooded his chest. He wanted to destroy something. Himself or Chuuya or someone else, it didn't matter. All he wanted was to tear something apart and rip it to shreds and burn it and break it and-
But he was fine.
Chuuya meant nothing to him, because clearly, he meant nothing to Chuuya.
The feeling was mutual, and Dazai was not upset at all.
Dazai slapped himself hard, hoping to knock some sense into his brain. He couldn't let this distract him from trying to get out. Because the timeline for discharge had just shortened.
He needed to get out even quicker, before Chuuya forgot about him.
They still needed to reconnect on the outside, if only to sate Dazai's curiosity about his blackouts and maybe to torture him a bit for making Dazai feel this way. There was no chance in hell that he would allow Chuuya to get away with this unscathed.
When it had been long enough that he worried a nurse would come in and make sure he didn't kill himself, Dazai pulled back the curtain.
Fyodor was standing directly in front of it again, though this time Dazai was dripping wet, not wearing clothes, and backed into a very small corner.
This was precisely why he kept on his bandages and underwear.
"Doing the same trick twice? And you call me boring." Dazai teased, raising an eyebrow to show that he was not phased in the slightest.
His voice was as smooth as if he never stopped talking. Perhaps because it finally had rest after all the abuse Dazai had been giving it.
This time though, Fyodor did not choke him.
The rat bastard tilted his head, unashamedly looking Dazai up and down, assessing him the same way the nurses would. Not with lust, but with judgment.
"Wearing bandages even in the shower, hmm?" Fyodor ignored his jab, "You must be quite paranoid."
Dazai narrowed his eyes, "Not paranoid. Just cold."
And that was not even a lie. It was freezing in the whole hospital, but particularly the shower.
Especially now, as he stood in the cold air still dripping water. His body uncontrollably shivered. If Fyodor didn't move out of the way soon, Dazai would turn into an icicle.
"Can I help you? Or did you just come in here to judge me?"
Fyodor opened his mouth to say something but was luckily interrupted by a nurse knocking on the wall outside of the bathroom.
"Everything alright in there?"
It was Odasaku, always Dazai's savior. His knight in shining white scrubs. He didn't even open the curtain to the bathroom, polite enough to allow Dazai to answer on his own instead of barging in like the other nurses would have by now. Oda was respectful like that.
"Fine and dandy~!" Dazai sang back, which should've been a red flag as it was the first thing someone other than Fyodor heard from him in hours, and it was a blatant lie.
Anyone with eyes and ears could tell he was not fine, and especially not dandy.
Oda paused, but his shadow could still be seen in front of the curtain. He was debating checking in on Dazai anyway, which meant he would find Fyodor being a creep. That would mean they would be under closer surveillance though, and Dazai internally sneered at that. As much as he hated Fyodor, he hated the lack of freedom more.
"Really, Odasaku." He tried to put some faux sincerity into his words. It was harder than usual, but he did it. "I'm just getting dressed."
The nurse seemed to take his word for it this time, foolish enough to trust someone like Dazai.
"Okay. Get to bed soon though. Lights out is in twenty minutes."
With that, his footsteps exited the room, and Fyodor and Dazai once again had the illusion of privacy. He slid his dark eyes back to the Russian distastefully.
"Now, would you mind kindly fucking off?" He smiled, all fuck off and no kindness.
Fyodor's lips quirked in amusement, but he did leave. Dazai couldn't hold in the sigh of relief when the curtain closed behind him.
He was fine. Everything was fine. He just didn't love being basically naked in front of someone he despised. That was a normal feeling to have. His shaking was from the cold.
He quickly changed into the clothes he'd brought in, sweatpants and the biggest hoodie he owned. The extra fabric did not provide him with the comfort it usually did.
Bringing his wet towel back to the front desk, he decided to put off going to bed for just a while longer.
The thought of being alone with Fyodor for another night made him want to rip out his fingernails. Especially after that stupid stunt.
Dazai lingered in front of Oda, waiting for the nurse to stop typing on his computer and acknowledge his presence. He did not though, and showed no plans of doing so, so Dazai sighed heavily, draping himself over the counter.
"Odasakuuuu-" He whined, begging for attention, "What do I dooooo?"
Playing a damsel in distress was relieving. When he did it on purpose, it felt more like a pretend role, rather than him being a genuine damsel in distress (which he was).
The older nurse raised an eyebrow, "About what?"
It then occurred to Dazai that perhaps not everyone knew immediately of what he was going through in life and what their role was supposed to be in his story.
They each had their own stories, wherein he didn't matter as much to others as they mattered to him. Odd.
When Dazai opened his mouth to answer though, he couldn't think of a single thing that could accurately portray what help he needed; even less what help he wanted.
The complexity of wanting everything and nothing. It tormented him.
He eventually decided to go with an easier question.
"How do I get out of here?"
Oda leveled him with a blank look that somehow didn't seem the least bit exasperated, "I think you know."
Dazai huffed, displeased with the answer, though he knew it was true.
Of course he knew the way to get out of here. The only way to. That didn't mean he had to like it.
Getting better was a terrifying concept.
What if he got out and he was changed for the better, and everyone changed their minds? What if they decided they didn't like the new Dazai? What if he could only be accepted if he was broken? It would be devastating to recover for himself only to be abandoned by everyone he cared for.
Being healthy was not worth the risk of being alone.
Perhaps the doctor's were right, and he was truly just scared of change most of all. That thought angered him. Fear should not have such tight control over him.
He'd made a promise to Fukuzawa, but Dazai didn't actually have that much of a moral dilemma when it came to breaking promises. If that promise was his key out of here though…
Dazai sighed deeply, leaning harder atop the counter. The effort he foresaw in his future made him want to quit right there.
"Do you truly want to get out?" Oda asked, now fully talking with him instead of pretending to do work.
"Of course I do!"
"Why?"
Dazai raised an incredulous eyebrow, as if he'd just been asked why blood is red or why the sky is blue.
Oda was not deterred.
"Why do you want to get out, Dazai? If you do not want to live, why would you need to go outside?"
Dazai paused.
As much as it irked him to admit, Oda had raised a very important point. One he had been choosing to overlook before now.
If it was all pain to him anyway, what difference would there be between being out there or being in here?
The only real difference was freedom. But if he wanted to die anyway, what good would freedom be? What use would he have for freedom when he didn't want to live at all, regardless of what chains held him? Would it be for the freedom to kill himself?
Life and death were equals. If there was no difference between life or death, then what did it matter which one he wanted? The only thing that mattered was that he wanted.
What point was there in living? What point was there in dying?
They were equal, but only one of the possibilities presented the opportunity to have a little bit more fun. To learn, grow, see more of the world.
Everything he'd been telling himself for his entire life was a false narrative written by his cowardice.
Maybe the truth was something unthinkable. Something that made his stomach churn and his chest ache.
Maybe he did want to live.
Maybe he wanted to live so badly that it tore him apart inside.
Maybe he always looked at happy people with jealousy and envy.
Maybe he wanted to experience that happiness more than anything in the world.
Maybe the only reason all of his attempts had failed, the only reason he was still here despite constantly whining about wanting to die, the only reason he avoided doing the suicide methods that he knew for a fact would actually kill him, was because of something so simple and so blasphemous that it would shatter his already fragile idea of reality.
Maybe he didn't want to die.
Maybe he was a liar when he insisted that he did at every opportunity.
Dazai knew he was a liar, he knew it, and yet he still believed the ones he told himself. He was just as much of a fool as everyone else.
The realization felt devastating, and he did not expect to be experiencing it at the front desk of a mental asylum on a random weekday in the late afternoon. It felt too casual a place for such a harrowing discovery. Too plain.
But despite the way it made him feel like he could cry, it was his favorite way to feel.
Something tangible, something physical. Proof that he was as human as anyone else. Proof that even he could not deny.
He was not a demon or an unfeeling monster. He was just a boy, like everyone else, with a deep insatiable yearning within him.
"Odasaku… I don't think I like it."
He sounded as young as he was, for once.
Oda blinked in confusion, "Don't like what?"
This feeling. This life he led. This brain. This version of himself. This cycle. What his future looked like if he didn't change something right now.
This pain that he was putting himself through.
Didn't life already give him enough pain without him needing to add to it?
"Thank you, Nurse Sakunosuke."
Oda looked alarmed at Dazai addressing him properly for once. It was quite understandable. Any sudden change in Dazai's behavior was usually a cause for concern. This time though, the change was not a farce.
"You're welcome…?" The nurse tilted his head ever so slightly.
Recognizing that it was out of character, Dazai tried to give a reassuring smile. He might have to be out of character, in order to be happy.
Dazai stretched his arms above his head dramatically, exaggerating a yawn.
"Well, I should get to bed! Wouldn't want to get my favorite nurse in trouble."
He wiggled his fingers in farewell, turning to head back to his room with a heart that although it was hollow, was so much lighter than it had been.
Tomorrow was going to be hard. Truthfully, sleeping tonight was going to be impossible. But if there was even a chance that things could change, and he could feel that aching happiness he felt around his friends even one more time, wouldn't that be enough?
Though he wasn't physically free, he felt free, unburdened by something, even though it wasn't from everything.
Peaceful in a way he only ever felt after slicing himself open, he almost forgot he was roommates with a bubonic rat.
Almost.
The greasy bitch was sitting cross legged on his bed, as if this hospitalization was just a sleepover and they were about to gossip about boys.
Dazai did his favorite thing to do to people who annoy him and simply ignored the plague of a person, crawling into his own bed and snuggling down as best as he could.
It was unlikely he would fall asleep tonight, but he might as well try. That was his thing now; trying.
He only hoped that the usual night time spiraling would be manageable.
Although he wanted to recover, he was not naive enough to think that just making that decision would automatically fix him. His brain was not kind to him. It would make things difficult.
The nurses walked by, turning off everyone's lights and saying one last goodnight.
The room seemed darker than usual.
It was probably cloudy outside, he could tell by the very faint thundering in the distance that it would be storming all night and likely all tomorrow. Perhaps the gentle symphony of nature's destructive power would help him drift off.
It only relaxed him slightly though, enough to comfortably close his eyes and nuzzle his sole pillow, at least pretending that he could fall asleep. Sometimes the magic of pretending to believe it was enough.
An hour passed. The night nurse checked in again.
All was quiet except for the light beginnings of rain pattering against their opaque window.
Until a voice shattered the peace.
"You wanted it, didn't you?"
It was said quietly, so as not to alert the nurses.
The phrase didn't really register at first. The vagueness of it could've eluded to literally anything.
Dazai groaned and rolled onto his back, reluctant eyes opening to look at the ceiling.
"Wanted what, Dostoevsky?" He whispered his lines, aware that whether or not he ignored him, Fyodor would have continued regardless.
"You wanted to have sex with my parents."
Dazai blinked once, twice, not comprehending.
The words were crass, but Fyodor said them as if he were only talking about the weather. As if it didn't matter.
He opened his mouth to say something; some kind of snarky response to show he didn't care, some kind of accusation as to why Fyodor had been tormenting him all this time, anything.
But nothing would come out.
A hidden part of his brain was unlocking, puzzle pieces forming a picture he had already suspected to see.
He just didn't expect it to still feel so jarring, to be so unprepared for it.
He didn't expect the words to be spoken to crudely and directly.
He didn't expect it to affect him.
"It made you feel special. It made you feel wanted."
How dare he?
"I know it felt good for you, because it felt good for me too."
At this, Dazai slowly looked over in horror.
Fyodor had a haunted grin on his face, like he was a dead man just showing teeth.
It was too dark to see his eyes but a flash of lightning outside illuminated them for a mere second. They were empty, more devoid of substance than his own were.
Now that he'd said it, the similarities Dazai could see in their features were undeniable.
His brain hadn't wanted to believe what it was seeing before, used to blocking out those images. He tried not to be angry at it for deliberately sabotaging him.
"They…" Dazai swallowed. He couldn't even say their names, nor what they did. "They did that to you too?"
Realistically, he knew he couldn't have been their only target. Pedophiles were never satisfied with just one kid. But their own son.
How had he not known about Fyodor before? Why had he not given testimony in court like Dazai had been forced to?
"You thought you were the only person who's been raped?" The word had the same effect on him that a cheese grater would against bare skin. "We are in a mental hospital, Dazai-kun. Half of the people here were raped, violently and maliciously. You're just the only one still blaming it for everything. At least my parents had the decency to make it feel good. Other victims are not so lucky as you are."
For some reason, that was the thing that finally gave Dazai his voice again.
"I am not a victim."
Despite how close to breaking he felt, the words came out solid and strong. Worryingly strong, as the words themselves were weak and cowardly.
His response only amused Fyodor, who had the nerve to praise him for it.
"You are not," Fyodor agreed, which only made Dazai feel worse, "My parents didn't hurt you, but you hurt them. You ruined two innocent people's lives for nothing. You took them from my life without a second thought."
Dazai's eyes shut in shame.
He did, didn't he?
Fyodor's coming to him wasn't revenge, it was karma. Monsters created monsters. They made him and they made Fyodor.
It was inevitable for this to come back on him. He deserved whatever Fyodor wanted to do to him to repent for it.
"I stopped them from hurting anyone else." Dazai whispered, to convince both Fyodor and himself.
"They didn't hurt you in the first place. You let them do it. You consented."
"I said no."
"Yet you still let it happen."
He did.
He let it happen and he did not fight.
It didn't hurt, so it wasn't rape. He didn't try hard enough to stop it, so it wasn't rape.
It certainly wasn't worth calling it that. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't, it-
How Fyodor knew all these details was something he could not fathom, something he wasn't sure if he even wanted to.
The only ways he could've possibly known this were if his parents had told him, bragged to him, which made Dazai's entire body feel like it was made of worms, or if Fyodor was there and saw it.
He wasn't sure which was worse.
His scars burned beneath his bandages.
"That's the look," Fyodor murmured again, "Fear."
He realized too late what Fyodor intended to do.
Within the blink of an eye, his roommate was over him, like a twisted and broken mirror to what Chuuya had done when they were roommates. Dazai had no time to react, and probably wouldn't have been able to in this mental state.
In the next flash of lightning from outside, he looked like them above him. His throat closed up in absolute panic.
This couldn't happen again.
Please.
He wouldn't survive it.
But Fyodor didn't lay a bare hand on him.
Instead, he took his own pillow, and pushed it down on Dazai's face.
It was probably concerning that his first thought upon being suffocated was thank god. The pure reliefhe felt at it only being a murder attempt, rather than that.
Just his life at stake, nothing as ruinous as going through that again.
Besides, he was comfortable with death. He was not scared of death. It was his closest companion and forbidden lover.
But, just because he didn't fear it, didn't mean that he wanted it any more.
Dazai was no idiot, he knew there was no automatic cure to whatever was wrong with his brain.
But sometimes, sometimes, a series of events could lead to a horrifying moment of actualization. An end result that would make someone go 'oh, I don't want to be like this anymore,' or even more important than that: 'something has to change.'
I have to change.
And so, instead of passively accepting whatever anyone decided to do to him, as he had always done, Dazai fought back for once in his life. Fought for himself.
The fabric and pressure over his face was making it near impossible to breathe, but only near. There was still some air coming through. It wasn't ideal but it would at least help him stay conscious a little while longer.
The night nurse had only just left, so they had a little less than an hour before anyone checked on them for the next rounds. It would take less time for Fyodor to smother him to death.
Unless he got their attention somehow.
Dazai struggled against Fyodor's hold on him, but he could not match his strength. The Russian was older, bigger, and leaning all of his body weight onto Dazai.
Still, he wiggled, hoping that even the smallest movement of the bed would make a loud enough sound to alert the nurses.
Fyodor mumbled something above him, probably just more melodramatic monologue, but Dazai could not hear anything past the shield of the pillow. Nothing beyond his heartbeat and a sharp ringing noise.
In desperation, Dazai tried to bring his arms up to claw Fyodor off of him, cursing the nurses for clipping his nails just a few days ago. But the man above him vibrated with a chuckle.
This was what he had wanted to see this the whole time.
Dazai, fighting and floundering for life, only to fail as it's taken away. Dazai, with no control.
His arms slowly but surely dropped back down onto the bed, limp.
Not sleeping for several nights, little to no sun, medication changes, and that he was still technically recovering from a suicide attempt, were all things he should have thought of before he expended what little energy he had at the moment. His body was weak.
Ah, it had been too long.
He had not started fighting back fast enough.
His consciousness was beginning to fade. Soon he would pass out, with only a few more minutes for Fyodor to officially kill him.
He would definitely be arrested. It was stupid that he decided to do this in a hospital. Murder was a much bigger deal than whatever he had going on before. Though Dazai had no hopes in trying to make sense of a madman.
Knowing the reasons he was crazy did not change the fact that he was crazy.
Fyodor's brain was cracked in a way that was not that different from his. Experiencing the same tragedy but in vastly different situations. Despite their similarities, Dazai wasted none of his precious time left having sympathy for him.
It wouldn't change what happened to both of them. An unfortunate past they shared that resulted in completely different lives. Like they were each branches on the same tree, but Dazai was reaching up towards the sun and Fyodor was hidden behind the shade of it, curled up and withering without light.
Things could have been so different.
Fyodor hadn't had the endless resources and support he did, even though Dazai never accepted them. If the roles had been reversed, would Dazai have done all this? While a part of him insisted that he wouldn't, the logical chunk of his brain pointed out that it was very easy for him to say that from his position.
Still, whether it altered the course of his life or not, Dazai would never have attacked someone who had gone through the same thing they did.
That pain was too unique. People who had also lived through it were the only ones who could possibly understand, and they were all each other had.
The implications of all of that still sickened him in a way he could not confront right now. If only he stayed alive long enough to bring that up in therapy later.
Every time he thought he could escape his past, it always came back to him in the worst ways. He would never be allowed to move on and forget.
Though, it might not be that. It could be simply that his actions had consequences, his decisions had repercussions.
This was all his own fault, after all.
He put himself in this position, he let it happen.
You let it happen.
I was a child!
You are still a child.
I was a victim!
NO YOU WERE NOT.
The intensity of that voice inside him shocked Dazai, and it was what finally tipped him off.
It was the same helpless vitriol that his self harm urges came with.
The same desperation of a cornered stray. A dog that only knew to bite, having long forgotten how to bark.
What good had barking ever done for him, when he bit the hands of his saviors just as fiercely as he did the ones that harmed him? What good had barking done, when nobody listened to the warnings anyway?
But if he stayed in this corner, he would not escape. He would be trapped by this fear until he withered away, dying scared and alone.
Dazai didn't want that.
Not anymore.
So there was no other choice.
If he wanted to see what lay beyond the monsters keeping him cornered, he would have to accept help. He would have to ask for it. He would have to ignore the side of him that didn't want to.
He had no choice but to believe the truth that he refused to for so long. A truth that made him shake and cry and deny, deny, deny.
He was a victim.
And he needed help.
With what little strength he had left, Dazai let his numb fingers brush against the wooden side of the bed before slapping his palm against it repeatedly.
He couldn't get Fyodor off of him alone, that much was apparent, but he could get the nurses attention.
One of Fyodor's arms lifted to stop the rogue appendage, and that slightest weight off his face gave him the opportunity to push back as much as he could. It wasn't enough to get Fyodor off of him, but it was enough to free his mouth to gasp in air, voice hoarse and unsure about doing something that all of his instincts begged him not to.
He couldn't trust the same voices that wanted him quiet and compliant; that sought to control him through self mutilation and guilt. But he could trust the people that supported him.
"HELP-!"
Fyodor put his arm back over the pillow, but it was futile. The door was wide open, someone definitely heard that.
Now all he had to do was not pass out.
Luckily that one gulp of air made it that much harder for Fyodor.
Honestly, what was he thinking trying to kill Dazai this way? Amateur. Of course his plan was never going to work. Dazai had no need to be so terrified of something so obviously flawed. He shouldn't have been scared at all.
He didn't have to wait long for rescue, the staff was quite literally trained for this exact kind of thing. The weight was taken off of him before long.
It felt greedy to sit up immediately gasping for air, but he did so anyway. He was a sinner anyway, why not make it for his own good, rather than for worse? Nothing was stopping Dazai from indulging in life's pleasantries the same way he'd always done with it's pain.
He hadn't heard them arrive, nor was he really aware of what exactly was happening in the room as he caught his breath. His neuros did not have enough oxygen to register what was happening beyond his peripherals.
Thankfully whoever was restraining Fyodor was doing a good job of it, so he was allowed to focus on getting himself situated before dealing with that whole mess.
Oda was in his direct line of sight, seemingly saying something to him, but he could not hear anything over the pounding of his heart pumping blood back into his brain.
Dazai shook his head to signify that he couldn't hear him and almost fell over from the movement. The nurse's solid hands kept him steady; and it was a brief touch that normally didn't make him want to crawl out of his skin, but he could still only associate touch with evil at the moment. His body flinched away from it reflexively.
Movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned to see Fyodor being restrained by two guards as one of them wordlessly got the sedative prepared and the other lowered Fyodor's pants forcefully to administer the booty juice.
Such a funny phrase for such a horrifying thing.
Oda pulled his attention again, waving a hand in front of his face to look away from all that. Dazai obliged, because following directions was much easier than trying to think for himself right now. Also, it'd been established that his brain was not to be trusted.
"-eep breaths with me, okay? In, two, three… out, two, three-"
Dazai was insulted that the nurse thought he needed help with breathing. He was not panicking nearly enough to need that. The way his body violently shook was unrelated.
Still, he followed along with Oda's guidance to make the other man feel better about how good of a job he was doing. He felt a little bad for always making him come to Dazai's rescue in the middle of the night. Poor man. Whatever he was getting paid was not enough for the amount of Dazai-ness he had to deal with every day.
The breathing did shoo away the ringing in his ears though, and he could finally fully hear what was happening. Fyodor's incomprehensible hissing, the guards communicating with each other and the other nurse, the rain still descending upon the window as thunder continued to lightly rumble, Oda's soothing baritone, the loudspeaker announcing their little code to the rest of the building.
His own labored breathing.
"I want to live."
He croaked out, as soon as his vocal chords responded to him.
Before anything else, this needed to be said.
It needed to be out in the world, real and tangible beyond the inner mechanisms of his mind. Something he couldn't take back. It needed to be witnessed, perceived, and heard.
Oda looked surprised, still concerned. The shock was not the usual shock Dazai received upon saying something so ridiculous though; it was a little more hopeful. Proud.
Dazai wanted everyone to look at him like that.
"I want to live," He repeated with more fervor, "I-"
He was about to say he didn't want to die, but that wasn't quite right.
He'd decided to fully dive headfirst into an actual, genuine rehabilitation, but it had to be one step at a time. Slow progress was still progress.
God, he was starting to sound like those cringe worthy feel good posters that were always hung up around psychiatrist's offices. It sickened him to have become so embarrassing, but if that was the cost for a chance at happiness, then so be it.
At least the nausea of humiliation was not the complete agony of thinking about the conversation that preceded this attack. That made him want to throw up so much more.
No, this was fine.
Being a little annoying and hopelessly optimistic was fine. Not quite dandy, but still fine.
Genuinely fine, and not the whole secretly-but-very-obviously-depressed fine. Most of his uses of 'fine' before this were of the latter's disposition, but still. He could evolve.
He would evolve.
"That's great Dazai," Oda spoke over the struggling noises of Fyodor finally succumbing to sedation, "but can you tell us what happened here?"
In lieu of response, Dazai made a face.
Thinking about what happened here had him thinking about what it reminded of, what had been said and thought, and suddenly his stomach churned in a telltale sign of an unfortunately common physical response to trauma.
Oda read him like a book, wasting no time in picking him up and practically carrying him to the bathroom.
As soon as it was in sight, Dazai vomited into the toilet, reaching out to grasp at the sides as he missed some of the bowl.
Ugh.
He hated that his body always felt the need to purge itself when under duress. As if throwing up could get rid of the memories churning in his gut. His body didn't seem to realize that those memories had actually been burned into his flesh.
Oda didn't rub his back, for which he was grateful. Any touch beyond the necessary right now ran the risk of shattering him. Maybe Fyodor had also been right about Dazai being overly fragile.
There were a lot of things wrong with Dazai, from both his nature and nurture. But Fyodor was the same.
Their nurturing was very different, couldn't be more opposite, but there was an aspect of their nature that was the same. The core thing inside that ruined everything. The first crack in his mind's windshield that only continued to spread and splinter from there, blinding his vision until he could only see what was broken, nothing beyond the glass. Something inherited and something experienced.
But whereas Dazai had been offered support, Fyodor had been denied everything.
The same trauma, but all that Dazai lost was his innocence and the rest of his life. Fyodor had lost all that and his parents, no matter what disgusting things they'd done.
"I know it felt good for you, because it felt good for me too."
Dazai retched into the toilet again, quivering and breath speeding up. Signs that probably meant he was having or about to have a panic attack. He had no time to worry about that right now though.
His trembling fingers clutched the sides of the bowl and he stared down at his own vomit floating in the water. More dripped from his face and he could see the splashes fall, though they were blurry and crystalline.
Oh, that wasn't vomit.
It was tears. Tears coming from his eyes.
That didn't make sense. He never cried.
Not even then, because Fyodor was somewhat right. It didn't feel good, but his traitorous and disgusting body had reacted accordingly at the time. Deny as he did, it did not change the truth. It hadn't hurt in the physical sense.
Was he supposed to be grateful for that? Because he really fucking wasn't.
Dazai gripped onto the porcelain for dear life and screamed down into it as loud and long as he could.
His scream echoed around him, vibrating his head. He made his pain impossible to tune out. Impossible to ignore.
He sounded like a child, screaming for help and affection.
If their ruckus hadn't already woken everyone in the ward up, that definitely did. Dazai couldn't find it in himself to be apologetic.
The one yell was all he needed, and when he finally ran out of air he could hear that Oda had been asking if he was okay in a very alarmed voice. Right, he should really try to show some coherency if he didn't want to also get sedated.
"I'm fine, I'm fine-" His voice was scratchy and fucked to hell, throat tingling like he'd swallowed glass, "Wha-what happened? Well. Um. Fyodor tried to kill me again, but like for real this time."
Oda's eyes widened.
"Again?"
Right, right, nobody else knew about the whole choking thing. Or the blade thing. Or the shower thing. Because Dazai had not told anybody else.
He winced, hurrying to continue on so that they did not dwell on that.
"He-" Dazai took a deep breath that turned into a retching cough and Oda turned to another nurse to bring back some clean towels and water. He was thankful for the extra time to think of how he wanted to tell this story.
Obviously it could not be the whole truth. Dazai would not air Fyodor's dirty laundry out, no matter what he thought about the other man. After all, they were the only people that could look out for each other.
But, he supposed he could try to describe what happened without that one minor detail.
When a paper cup of water was finally pushed into his hands, Dazai drank from it greedily. The towels he was given were then quickly wiped over his mouth to get rid of the filth there.
"Mori was part of the reason Fyodor's parents were arrested."
He said, because he could not take responsibility for that.
He wouldn't.
It was their own fault they ended up in jail. It was their own actions.
And yet Dazai wondered again about how it would have been if the roles were reversed. If he did not have the powerful father and connections needed to actually convict with the miniscule amount of physical evidence he actually had of the act.
Fyodor's story was not unique. Many people, especially in inpatient, had been violated by their own family. Less people had their abusers actually prosecuted.
Dazai continued before his logic could place any more guilt on his shoulders, "He checked himself in here to come after me."
Oda looked hesitant, as it was quite the paranoid accusation, but it was true! It was almost exactly what he'd accused Yuan of doing for Chuuya, except she'd said that nobody else thought the way he did.
Apparently, nobody else besides Fyodor Dostoevsky.
"Whatever the reason, Dostoevsky did try to-"
"-to suffocate me with one of this place's cheap, scratchy pillows? Yeah, he did. With great enthusiasm might I add."
The nurse nodded, looking grim.
"That's not good."
Dazai burst into truly unhinged laughter.
Leave it to Oda to turn a terrifying experience into something deeply unserious.
The laughter contracting his stomach made it flip again though, and Dazai made a pained expression, quickly turning back to the toilet he had become grossly intimate with and throwing up the water he'd just gotten down.
When that round of nausea was gone, he made sure to only take small, careful sips of the water, once again rubbing a towel over his face.
He did not ask what would happen with Fyodor. Most likely he would be moved to the ward specializing in aggressive patients, and hopefully ones that were actually his age.
That was also something he would probably need to address in future therapy sessions.
Fyodor was older than him, and his parents had been incarcerated shortly after Dazai's abuse. That meant that Fyodor had experienced what he did before they ever touched Dazai, and Fyodor said nothing. His silence gave them the opportunity to keep doing what they did.
Though Dazai could not blame him for that. They were both victims.
The only reason Dazai ended up telling Mori was because he wanted them to go away, and had the ability to do so.
It was unsettling to think that he wasn't sure if he still would have done that now, knowing the result.
Obviously he did the right thing, or else they would've probably continued to abuse both him and Fyodor, and who knows how many other kids. But they were locked away now and-
Wait.
Something Fyodor had said days ago came back to him and a chill shot up his spin.
"Luckily, they were released on good behavior recently, and were able to find me again."
They were out there. They were waiting for him. They were free.
He wouldn't have been surprised if it was their idea to send Fyodor in here after Dazai. They were certainly the type to want him to repent for taking years of their life.
But they did that to themselves! They were the ones that did the crime!
-and Dazai was the one who ordered the punishment.
It felt as if he'd been stabbed in the gut all those years ago and the knife was still inside. He'd gotten used to the pain, until Fyodor came and twisted it further. There wasn't anything left to throw up, but his stomach dropped, empty and cold.
He backed away from the toilet and wrapped his arms around himself as Oda continued to sit with him on the undoubtedly disgusting floor.
His scars itched.
It took everything in him not to scratch at them, but Oda and the other nurses were watching vigilantly. Everything around him felt burning hot and freezing cold and his head pounded in a way that had him unsure whether it was the room or himself that was spinning.
"We should get a doctor to look him over," Oda motioned for the remaining nurses to go find someone. Fyodor and the security restraining him were nowhere to be seen, "he might need medical attention."
Don't talk about me like I'm not here.
Though, Dazai didn't really feel like he was there either.
No, he was somewhere completely different. Somewhere the door was locked and his father was oblivious downstairs. Somewhere he could remember every painstaking detail of, because of his wretched photographic memory. Somewhere he was broken in a way that he never recovered from.
… but he would recover from it.
He refused to let those people keep him broken, scared, and weak.
Chuuya was right; he had to endure. Endure and take back control of his life. It had always been about control, everything was, and he would not allow himself to be under theirs for a second longer.
The only way forward was through. He would not bury the corpse of the past, he would rip a hole through it and claw his way forwards, bloody and vindicated- but moving towards something; out of something.
Dazai had been through trauma. More than just that one incident. Beyond that, there was something chemically off balance, and it had been that way since he was born. Mental illness was insidious. But he would not let it rule his actions either.
Nothing that caused him so much pain was allowed to hold that power over him ever again.
Nothing.
Maybe he would see those two again on the outside, but he would prepare for that, with the help of Yosano and Kunikida and Fukuzawa and all of the people that cared about him and wanted to help him. This time, he would accept the help. And maybe while he was fixing his own problems, he could help Chuuya with his as well.
He would get out of here. He would heal his wounds. He would confront his father and his past and reality itself.
He would live, and he would fight to keep living.
This was Dazai's life, no one else's.
It was complicated, irritating, exhausting, but most of all precious. It was his, and it held an endless array of terrifyingly beautiful possibilities.
It was about time he started treating it as such.
It had been a long three weeks, but Dazai was finally being discharged.
The initial medication they switched him to was worse than the last, but they quickly changed it again after realizing that. Thankfully, the new new medication was actually very helpful, though it didn't come without side effects.
Whereas before he had borderline insomnia, now he was tired all the time and sleeping heavily. Sometimes the nurses had to fully come into the room and shake him awake. He wasn't happy about how exposed this made him when he was asleep.
That was something to be dealt with whenever he moved back into his own bedroom though. Perhaps with a set of traps that would wake him up if someone entered his room.
In addition to that, his appetite grew way larger than it had ever been before. The hollowness he always felt inside must've just been an insane hunger, because starving physically began to feel a lot like what craving positive emotions felt like.
Still, he wasn't used to eating so much. His stomach, which had always been a little too thin, was now constantly bloated. Not too much yet, but from his knowledge of this medication, he knew that weight gain was a very common side effect and he'd continue to fill out.
It was all worth it though, for the good days.
Of course he still had bad days. Terrible ones where his scars ached unbearably and he couldn't look anyone in the eyes.
Sometimes even the oldest ones itched as if they were still healing. Maybe they still were.
The bad days did not overshadow the good, nor was the opposite true. The days simply sat beside each other neutrally. He could only handle each day as it came.
Still, even on those rougher days, he tried now.
He spoke up in therapy, not just to explain things impassively but to actually communicate his feelings. It was incredibly embarrassing, and he couldn't say whether or not it was helpful yet, but it was better than keeping everything inside. He was tired of holding so much weight all by himself, only realizing how heavy it had been after he finally allowed others to help carry it.
His efforts were appreciated, and they led him to today, when he was finally able to leave.
Other patients had gone and left in that time. No one was still there from that first week, he was the last one of that bunch.
It was fine though, they all promised to meet up again. Whether that promise would be kept had yet to be seen, but even if they didn't reach out, Dazai would. Chuuya was not wrong about that being easy for him (or his tendency to be a bit of a stalker).
Fyodor had been placed in a separate ward, though Dazai didn't get any more details than that. It would have been a violation of privacy, and both of them had been violated enough in their lives. But Dazai could guess what happened, and he genuinely pitied whoever got stuck with the rat as their roommate in his new ward.
Having him out of the way though made focusing on his own recovery so much easier (and having a room to himself wasn't too bad either).
Atsushi and the others were shocked at what happened, they hadn't seen through Fyodor's lies, but moved on fairly quickly. One had to be able to adapt rapidly to change in here.
Atsushi himself left mere days after the incident, with promises to say hi to Akutagawa once he's out. To see if the other boy is even still alive. Poe and the others left in a similar manner.
Yuan had only stayed a little less than a week. She was deemed to be mentally stable, just having had a moment of weakness.
Not that Dazai gave a shit about her, but he did pester her to learn more about Chuuya. She stayed loyal to her friend, regardless of how she claimed to resent him. The only information he could get out of her was that Chuuya had apparently always been that small and angry.
That ship had not sailed. He still thought about the other boy every single day, but that was one thing he was keeping to himself. He'd opened up about his trauma and other things in group, but not his crush on Chuuya. That had nothing to do with his mental state.
He could only hope that Chuuya hadn't forgotten about Dazai in that time, though when he inevitably showed up at his door, Dazai was sure it would spark his memory. Because he was still crazy and had taken careful steps to make himself unforgettable.
The last one from the original bunch to leave was Kyouka, who he had gotten to know much better since the two had spent the longest time together. She was a crazy little angel who had an absolutely insane backstory that Dazai could not believe she didn't talk about in group more. She reminded him of himself when he was far younger than her.
He sent her off with both his and his step-sister Elise's contact information, because the girls could both use some friends their own age.
The nurses were all the same people, just as annoyed with him as always, but endlessly patient. Fukuzawa continued to be stupendously good at his job, which never failed to surprise Dazai.
"Are you excited to get out of here?"
That very social worker asked as he sipped some tea in the consultation office. Mori would be arriving to pick him up any minute now.
"Aw, I'm gonna miss everyone here so much!" Dazai moaned on, "What will you all do without me?!"
"Our jobs," Fukuzawa answered, ever the eloquent conversation partner, "And you? Are you satisfied with your outpatient plan?"
He wasn't allowed to leave without preparations for continued treatment outside. It was pretty standard, though it had required discussing the options with Mori, which wasn't fun at all. They would be having family therapy on the outside along with his solo sessions.
It sounded like a lot of therapy, but he didn't have much of a social life to miss out on anyway. The next few months of his life would basically have him in so much therapy that it was almost like having a full-time job. Only instead of being payed for it, he would be the one paying.
Still, he would be out, and that's what was most important.
Also, he would have support.
It was hard accepting it, but he forced himself to anyway. He always was exceptional at forcing himself to do things he didn't want to. Now he just reversed the intention of that energy. Yosano and Kunikida promised that one day it wouldn't be as difficult to do.
"As happy as I can be," Dazai mumbled, because as much as he wanted to recover, more therapy was always annoying.
"Good," Fukuzawa offered him a small understanding smile, "Your treatment needs to be continuous, as I'm sure you know."
"Yeah yeah, consistency and effort," Dazai waved his hand impatiently.
Mori needed to hurry up, Dazai had a full itinerary of stuff coming up as soon as he was free that he would like to get started on as soon as possible.
Speaking of that certain devil, Yosano walked into the open door frame and knocked on the wood, a gentle smile on her own face as well. It looked like everyone was as happy for Dazai as he was for himself.
"Are you ready?"
As if anything could possibly prepare him enough for the trials of life.
"Yes."
Dazai lied anyway.
If he waited until he was ready, he would never go anywhere.
The basic mechanics of recovery were almost similar to self harm, though obviously with some key differences.
It was about reopening old wounds. Like breaking a bone again so that it can heal correctly. The trick this time was to let it heal correctly.
Hopefully one day his body would do it subconsciously, but for now it had to be deliberate.
That was fine with him.
Dazai was sick of letting his traitorous body betray itself without his explicit directions to. His medicated brain would keep ahold over it for now; keep his impulses on a tight leash.
He followed Yosano into the hallway with his packed bag in hand, walking past the activity room and waving cheerfully to the few people he liked.
The initial crew was gone, but Dazai had made friends with some of the new people. The new friends mainly consisted of a weird kid named Sigma, and a semi-normal girl named Higuchi.
Well, he considered them friends at least. He wasn't positive that it was a mutual feeling. Especially with the relieved grimace Sigma had on their face as they waved back.
Mori was waiting at the end of the hallway in front of the door that first entrapped him here, for once looking like the father he pretended to be.
He was trying though, he really was. As reluctant as Dazai was to admit it, Mori did seem to want to be better too.
He remembered a brief interaction they'd had a couple days ago, when Dazai, Fukuzawa, and Mori had all sat together to discuss the plans for his discharge.
"Before we start, Dazai, do you have anything you'd like to say to your father?" Fukuzawa raised an imploring eyebrow that had Dazai crossing his arms and sinking into his seat.
He grumbled about it, but responded nonetheless.
"Mori... I feel… untrusting of you when you tell me that you care about me, because of how often you lie…" His eye twitched. 'I' statements sounded so stupid when he was saying them to someone like Mori, "What I need is for your actions to match your words."
He could not make eye contact with his father. That was a step too far.
The doctor glanced briefly at Fukuzawa, who nodded in encouragement. Whatever their history was, it had nothing to do with Dazai, and so they would not talk about it in front of him. Although there seemed to be some hope for reconciliation that wasn't there before, now that Mori was also trying to be better.
"Osamu," The doctor began, just as awkwardly stiff, "it makes me feel… upset when you hurt yourself, because I don't like seeing you in pain… What I need is for you to tell me what you are feeling, so that I know how to help."
Neither of them could look at each other. It made sense for Dazai not to, but honestly Mori was a grown man and should be able to say things like this without being embarrassed.
Still, at least he said them.
They listened to each other despite how unnatural it felt, and promised Fukuzawa to work on mending their relationship along with Dazai's personal recovery.
Only time would tell if either of them stayed true to their words. It was a very real possibility that both of them would revert to how they were before, but hopefully they could keep each other in check.
They didn't hug or anything like that, that was hardly something either of them desired, but Dazai stood tall in front of Mori as they were in front of the exit.
Dazai nodded in an acknowledgment of his presence, and the fact that he picked Dazai up himself instead of ordering a servant to do it. It was the bare minimum, but Yosano had told him that he needed to be more appreciative of the little things. To be a bit less pessimistic and more happy with what he had, instead of focusing on the things he wished were different.
Dazai couldn't quite be happy with what he had yet, but he could at least acknowledge that one day he might.
It was a possibility, and that was all that mattered to him nowadays.
Possibilities.
He turned to the staff one last time before he had to follow Mori outside, "Bye Ango! Tell Odasaku and Kunikida I said bye! Bye Akiko! Bye Fukuzawa! Bye Hirotsu! Bye-"
"Okay, that's enough," Yosano interjected, a reluctant grin lighting up her cheeks, "We'll miss you too."
His heart swelled.
It was unprofessional, but everything these doctors did was just a little off the books. They were not supposed to show care for patients beyond a respectable distance but…they knew Dazai. And Dazai knew them.
If things went well, they would probably not see each other again.
He had the overwhelming urge to run up and hug the doctors, thanking them for dealing with him, for still picking him up no matter how many times he fell down, for believing in him, for everything.
He refrained from doing that, as it might not be as well received as he would like it to be. And though he desired touch, he knew that the moment another body made contact with his, he would feel ill. Touch was something that he still needed to work on.
So instead of doing any of that, he simply gave them all a thankful smile. A genuine one, as he was trying to give more and more.
Turning back around, Mori held the door open for him and Dazai took a deep breath, the warm air from outside hitting him like a soft blanket compared to the icy chillness of the hospital. He could see Mori's car parked in the lot further away, and it felt strange to think that he would be allowed in it. Allowed to leave.
The reality of it all began to sink in.
He was going back into the real world now. No more break from society. No more focusing solely on himself. He would now have to go back to living his life.
His heart was in his throat at the thought.
Leaving this facility meant leaving safety, leaving comfort. It shouldn't have been a place of comfort, but compared to the rest of Dazai's world, it was.
Now he would be set loose in the wasteland, endless unknown horrors ahead of him. There were certain people out there that wanted to hurt him specifically, and it would be much easier to reach him out there in the open, rather than through some convoluted plot to infiltrate the hospital.
Even if he was just being paranoid and Fyodor had worked alone, they were still free. He was still at risk of seeing them again.
He gulped, throat dry, and stepped outside anyway.
As used to the facility as he had gotten, horror was an intimately familiar experience.
He was still afraid, terrified of so many things, but he was not paralyzed. Dazai refused to let himself ever be that again.
He steeled himself and moved forward.
Nobody was coming to save him, to drag him out into happiness.
Only he could move his feet forward. Only he could save himself.
And so he did.
…
Chuuya wasn't quite sure what to do with himself when he was alone.
It was summer, so he was out of school. Kouyou was at work. He would've been at work too if he had not been, ahem, fired.
All those disability laws to protect him from that were apparently bullshit, or maybe he was just an exception. Exceptionally disabled.
He groaned, sitting up in bed.
It was good to be back home, don't get him wrong, but he was so bored. Like if he didn't get up and do something with all this energy, he would implode.
At least the hospital had a strict itinerary and other people to talk to.
Any old friends (that didn't hate him) that he wanted to talk to were also working all the time, so it had been difficult to get the boys together with their varying availability. At least he'd gotten to hang out with Albatross once in the time he's been back. Little victories.
He supposed he could try working on his poetry now, or the breathing exercises and meditation that he was supposed to be doing every day, but ever since leaving the hospital, he's had a mental block when it came to writing. Nothing was inspiring enough, and everything he did write was absolute dogshit.
As for his therapeutic exercises…
Ah, exercise.
He could go for a run. That was healthy and good.
Finally with something to do, Chuuya wasted no time throwing on some shorts and flying outside before his conscious could get the best of him, quickly locking the door to the house behind him.
He wasn't quite sure what route he wanted to take, but he trusted his feet to not get him lost. He started running as if he could run away from all his problems as well.
It wasn't like Chuuya was against facing his issues. He wasn't! He confronted them every single day.
But he'd already done that earlier today.
Once a day was enough of that. He had other things to do.
Sure those 'other things' were mostly sitting around thinking of things to do, but that counted.
And now he was running. That was productive.
He'd been doing so well since leaving the hospital.
No blackouts, very few angry outbursts, almost no property damage (he kicked the neighbors fence in but they're on vacation and will have no proof of his involvement whenever they return), and only a little bit of a complete mental block.
It didn't look great on paper but for Chuuya, it was practically perfect behavior.
His sister would disagree, but luckily she was so busy with work that she wasn't home whenever he did have his little meltdowns. The guilt he felt over her needing to work so much though, may have contributed slightly to his behavior.
Still, he was far better than he had been. He was seeing a therapist weekly and the judge presiding over his case was impressed with his progress enough to not force him into house arrest. The short time he'd had that ankle bracelet on was a nightmare, and he'd like to never have to wear one again.
So while he still wasn't great, things were getting better than they had been. After all, he was using his restless energy to go on a run instead of what he used to do, which was go into the woods near his house and break bottles until he felt better.
Lost in his head as he was, he almost didn't notice the figure ahead in the distance, running towards him. Normally he wouldn't have thought anything of another person on a jog, if it weren't for-
"CHUUUUUUUUUUUUYYYYYYAAA!"
Chuuya knew that voice. Chuuya hadn't heard that voice in weeks. Chuuya thought he might never hear it again.
Bandaged bastard.
He turned on his heel and started running back home.
"Wha- hey! Chuuya!?"
If he ran a little faster, he might make it to his house before the slimy mackerel could catch up.
"Chibi! Shit- it's me, Dazai! Wait for me!"
And then what? The bastard would probably find a way to break into his house. Or worse, Kouyou could get home early and invite his supposed friend in for dinner. That would definitely result in some broken dishes.
Chuuya scowled, slowing down to a stop and turning around to accept his fate.
"Oof-!"
Apparently a little too soon, as Dazai ran directly into him and knocked them both over with his inability to stop or hold his own weight up. For someone so skinny, he sure was heavy lying on top of Chuuya.
The suicidal idiot held his body over Chuuya's with his hands on either side of his head on the pavement. His face was flushed with the effort of running, panting and hair all over the place, but his mahogany eyes were shining and the smile on his face could brighten up a funeral.
He was even more disgustingly charming than Chuuya remembered.
"Chuuya!" Dazai cheered at having finally caught his prey, "for a slug you're pretty fast!"
If only he didn't always ruin it by opening his big mouth.
Chuuya glared, shoving the taller boy off of him and rising to his feet. Dusting himself off, he held out a hand to help Dazai up too.
Dazai looked up at his hand like it was a gift from the gods, and wasted no time in grasping it to stand up. His hands were slightly scraped from falling down, but they fit perfectly in his own.
It was gross.
Finally able to get a good look at the other boy, Chuuya subtly checked him out while he picked bits of rocks out of his scraped up palms.
He looked… good. Healthy. His face had a little more color than it did when they were together in the facility, his hair a little fluffier.
Free from the limited clothing options they'd had, he apparently also knew how to dress well. In the hospital, he'd worn mostly baggy clothes, as had everyone else, but now he was wearing a patterned sweater over a button up shirt tucked into pants.
Chuuya suddenly felt very underdressed, although that was ridiculous because he was just exercising. Also, he had no need to look nice in front of Dazai, who had seen him during some particularly ugly moments and still liked him anyway. Like a dog.
"Guess you can't call me slug anymore then," Chuuya smirked triumphantly.
It was good to see him again, loathsome as he was to admit it.
The tension he always had nowadays lightened up a bit with the knowledge that Dazai was even alive at all. He hadn't killed himself yet, he survived.
"Oh no, I can absolutely still call you slug. See, you are still just as ugly as one."
Dazai seemed to think he was an expert at masking his emotions, but that was all bullshit.
He was one of the most expressive people Chuuya had ever met.
Even when his face went blank as a dead fish, it said a lot about what he was feeling. An inability to comprehend his own emotions, or perhaps just a refusal too. The same could be said for his overcompensating goofiness.
For example, just now he claimed to think Chuuya was ugly, yet his eyes scanned his figure with reverence, as if he had hung the stars themselves.
Chuuya wasn't quite sure why Dazai looked at him like that, but he couldn't deny that he liked it.
He wanted to be angry and annoyed that some random kid he met in a mental asylum tracked him down like a creepy psychopath, but he just couldn't.
It was Dazai.
As determined as he was to be pissed off, he couldn't keep the grin off his cheeks.
"How long have you been out?" Chuuya asked, because what else could they possibly have to talk about?
Dazai tapped a finger to his chin in thought.
"About four hours."
Chuuya wished he could say he was surprised. That was the exact shit from Dazai he should've expected.
He sighed, shaking his head, "And how much of that time was spent looking for me?"
Dazai grinned, "Less than five minutes."
Unbelievable.
"How the hell did you trick them into letting you out?"
He was joking, of course. Obviously. And Dazai never cared about how mean Chuuya could be anyway.
Still, the way Dazai's face remained carefully fixed in place made Chuuya think that maybe he cared a little more than he let on.
"Well I had to try reaaallly hard," Dazai said, "but occasionally the doctors believe something when it's true."
He tried.
Chuuya truly couldn't stop his smile now, "In other words, the suicidal brat wants to live."
"I wouldn't go that far," Dazai mused, "I've just come to think it's worth trying."
It was about time that bastard realized it.
"And instead of resting fresh from the hospital like a normal person, you run to me? Obsessed much?" He teased.
At this, Dazai turned a bit sheepish.
"Well…" He paused, clearly trying to think of something to say. Chuuya's lip quirked against his will. "Chuuya still needs my help with his blackouts."
The barest hint of a smile immediately dissipated.
"I don't need your help. I'm working on it."
And he was.
It was just slow progress. But progress was still progress!
"Of course you don't," Dazai agreed readily and surprisingly without a hint of sarcasm or doubt, "I meant we still need to figure out why my touch can stop them."
Chuuya crossed his arms in response, reluctant to admit that Dazai was right, as annoying as that fact was. The strange magic between them had unwillingly plagued his mind the entire time he was apart from Dazai. It was something he could wax poetry about, if only he could write anything at all right now.
If he had the power to break Chuuya out of blackouts, that would be invaluable. The other boy wouldn't be able to hang around him 24/7 obviously, that was just unrealistic, but if they figured out how it worked then maybe…
He was still concerned though. After all, Dazai justgot out, and though he was trying, Chuuya remembered vividly how suicidal and self destructive he was. It wouldn't be wise to put so much faith in such an unstable person, or to enable them to ignore their own issues. At least, thats what the therapists had taught him.
"Aren't you still recovering?"
Chuuya didn't want to bring it up, but he couldn't contain the question any longer.
He'd heard what happened. Although even if he hadn't heard, the list of possible things Dazai needed to recover from could fill a book.
Dazai's hand lifted to his neck, still covered in bandages. All of him was still covered in bandages. It seemed that was not just doctors orders, but something Dazai did regularly.
"You know about that, hmm?" Dazai chuckled weakly, "Let me guess, Ranpo?"
"It was Akutagawa actually. He heard it from Atsushi."
Rumors spread fast, even outside the hospital.
Chuuya knew all about how Fyodor had apparently attacked Dazai. It was impossible for him to picture such a quiet and polite gentleman doing that, but he believed them, only feeling a tiny bit stupid for defending him.
Oh well, the past was the past.
He couldn't really say anything. After all, he had also attacked Dazai multiple times. Akutagawa hadn't offered any details, but this one sounded a little more serious.
"Akutagawa's still kicking?" Dazai perked up at that, looking very eager to switch topics.
Chuuya could respect that at least, "Yeah, we've been hanging out every Wednesday. This weekend we're all going mini golfing."
"I can't believe you all actually kept in touch."
Chuuya also had trouble believing it, but he wasn't one to complain.
"Atsushi insisted."
"Ah," Dazai nodded in understanding. That kid being the one to unite them again made perfect sense. He was sweet like that.
"You can- I mean," Chuuya started talking before thinking and it was a terrible decision. But he had to finish now that he'd started, "You can come with us if you want…"
He could feel his cheeks heat up and he resented his body for blushing so easily. Attempting to hide at least some of his embarrassment, he averted his eyes from Dazai's.
Deny it as he did, the two were bonded. Inviting him to hang out with their other friends should've been no big deal.
But again, it was Dazai.
Everything was a big deal with him.
He wasn't looking at Dazai directly, so he missed the satisfyingly surprised expression that struck him for less than a second before a bright smile lit up his cheeks.
"Aww, my dog missed his owner so much! Of course I can grace you all with my presence."
That made Chuuya roll his eyes, immediately dispelling all traces of shyness. The taller boy could not speak a single word without making it an insufferable thing to hear.
"Nevermind. I'd say you're uninvited but you'd probably show up anyway, mummy."
The corner's of Dazai's eyes crinkled as he held back a giggle, settling with just a soft smile.
Good, he must've liked the new nickname. Chuuya was quite proud of it.
"Anywhere Chuuya goes, I will follow."
The blush that flooded his cheeks was so hot he could feel it burn.
Sometimes Dazai said things that just…
"Anyway!" Dazai clapped his hands together before Chuuya could squeeze out a response, "I better get going before Mori realizes I snuck out."
He hesitated for a second, as if he wanted to do something more, but whatever it was he was thinking of didn't maniphest. Dazai smiled tightly and spun on his heel, walking back the way he came with a limp wave over his shoulder.
"See you Wednesday!"
That bastard couldn't just interrupt Chuuya's run and get in the last word too.
"No. Wednesdays are for hanging out with Akutagawa."
The brunette paused.
"Yes. Akutagawa Wednesdays, featuring Dazai."
"No, I'll see you on the weekend."
"Yes, and also before the weekend."
Chuuya heaved an annoyed groan.
"If I see you Wednesday, I'm gonna kick you."
Dazai tilted his head back and the boyish grin on his face made Chuuya want to scream.
"I look forward to it."
Of course he ended up getting the last word in anyway.
Dazai casually whistled a tune as he walked away and Chuuya rolled his eyes at the domesticity of it all.
Despite himself, he was excited to see Dazai again, and had an unshakeable smile on his face as he finished his run back home with a new idea for a poem.
History didn't disappear just because it had passed. Recovery didn't stop once he left the hospital.
Nothing was permanent but everything continued regardless. Things stayed the same and they changed. They always would.
Throughout it all though, Chuuya would never be alone.
If nothing else, he could at least rely on Dazai to crash into his life like a comet. A phenomenon of destructive nature that's as rare as it was beautiful.
It was unexpected, but the best things in life were.
He didn't have to hope for life to continue to surprise him. It would do so with or without his input.
And what a beautiful thing that was.
The End