Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dazai had been in and out of therapy for years now. He knew the drill.

After several stints in inpatient facilities, he was well acquainted with the rules of such places, and after countless group therapy sessions with multiple different types of people and therapists, he knew how to handle others in that same setting.

He’d been put on several different medications over the years, all with varying results, and had tried many of his own recreational drugs to test their usefulness as well (and occasionally just because he was bored).

He’s had to talk about himself and his life story so many times that at this point he was numb to any and all personal questions, answering them without hesitation or shame. 

They’ve stripped him completely to check for contraband and hidden injuries so often that any reservations he’d had about showing off his body were forced to disappear. He’s been naked and examined in front of so many strangers that the bandages he used to cover himself have become more of a habit than a necessity.

To keep it simple; he was used to this.

Maybe the reason so many mentally ill people got into the world of psychology was because of just how much time was spent already living in the thick of it. Dazai couldn’t deny that he’d had more experience around psychologists than any other type of worker, so he might as well go into a career in psychology if this whole suicide thing doesn’t work out.

Although the idea of him telling others not to think about suicide, when he himself was still actively planning attempts, was laughable enough to almost make him want to try it.

It’s not like it mattered anyway. If things go his way (although they rarely do in this life), then he’ll be dead before he has to think about any kind of career path.

Until he could try again though, he was stuck in another inpatient facility after yet another failed attempt. Luckily, since this was far from his first time, he was quite familiar with the routine of this place.

There were many unspoken rules about group therapy.

Never comment on someone’s obvious insanity, even if they are so out of touch that it’s painful to listen to.

Never snitch on the other patients for stealing markers from the main room. For any contraband really. Unless it’s a knife, or gun, or something, but that almost never happens.

Never get in a relationship with someone you met in inpatient. While Dazai’s never had this problem, he’s seen plenty of instances where people ‘fall in love’ while stuck 24/7 in the same building as each other. It never lasts and it’s never pretty.

Never talk about what is talked about in group therapy outside of group therapy. Free time is not for talking about such things.

Never hold what someone does or says while having an episode against them. Breakdowns are common, but people should be treated no differently after experiencing them.

Never make things harder for the other patients by breaking a rule that would affect the whole group.

Of course, since Dazai was an asshole, he’d made it his mission to break every single one of these unspoken rules. He’s openly mocked and bullied other patients, snitched on numerous roommates, committed adulterous acts with other lonely crazies, broke numerous rules of the facility itself, and generally tried his absolute hardest to find some form of unconventional entertainment while stuck in such a boring place.

This particular facility remembered him none-too-fondly, the staff giving him an exasperated look as he was brought in yet again.

The last time he was here, he'd broken out and taken two other patients with him. They'd only made it to the highway before they were caught again, but what a rush it had been. He made sure to give his favorite nurse an extra big smile as he stood at the front to get checked in.

“Odasaku! How have things been? Has anyone I know been by recently?”

There were occasions where he would be put in a room and someone who he’d met in a previous visit would be there as well. Those were always fun little coincidences. Well, fun for him. The other person wasn't always so happy to see Dazai again. 

The nurse smiled indulgently at him and shook his head with undue fondness, “Dazai, I thought I told you not to end up back here again.”

“But Oda,” Dazai pouted, “I didn’t come here on purpose! The hospital took me directly here as soon as I was released. If they had simply let me bleed out, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

The boy grinned as if he didn’t just admit to almost dying. Rather than being put off by the callousness in his words, the nurse only gave him a look and finished signing him in.

It was true though; he had just come from the hospital.

Bandages still covered his arms and neck to protect the fresh wounds from reopening, and to prevent him from reopening them. His clothes were whatever the hospital had on hand for him to wear, as his other clothes had been absolutely ruined when they'd found him. A plain t-shirt and sweatpants. Bland and boring, but hopefully his father would be coming to visit with his usual clothes by tomorrow morning. 

It was late now, since they’d wanted to get him inpatient as soon as possible. All of the other patients were already in their rooms, and he wondered idly if whoever they paired him with would be surprised to find the bed next to them occupied in the morning.

“Try and get some sleep tonight, Dazai. I’m sure you’ll need all of your energy to start trouble tomorrow.” Oda gave him a pair of no-slip socks as Dazai dutifully traded in his sneakers. No laces allowed.

“I’ll be sure to only cause chaos when you’re not on shift.” Dazai promised, winking at the nurse with eyes only slightly brighter than they had been when he walked in.

For once actually feeling tired, Dazai followed the other nurse who had brought him in as they toted him towards his new room for at least the next week. 

While usually he would love to get to know his new roommate (and find out the best way to annoy them), all he wanted to do once he got into his room was pass out into the stiff bed sheets. Unfortunately, his roomie was awake when they got there, sitting up in his bed furthest from the door and eyes shooting up at the movement. Dazai paused for a moment to blink at the other boy, taking him in. 

He had deep red hair, slightly longer over one shoulder, and the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life. His lips seemed to be in a permanent pout, although the rest of his face gave away his emotions easily.

The other boy was obviously sizing him up as well, eyeing Dazai up and down as he came to his own conclusions about him. Based on the lingering gaze upon his bandages, he could take a guess as to what the other boy was thinking.

Dazai was used to it though, and any assumptions the other made would be either confirmed or denied in group tomorrow.

“Hey. I’m Nakahara Chuuya.” The boy introduced himself after seemingly affirming that Dazai was someone worth knowing.

“Didn’t ask.” Dazai deadpanned, ignoring the insulted squawk that the other boy- Chuuya, let out. He didn’t bother paying any more attention to his new roommate, plopping face down onto his new bed and closing his eyes without pulling the covers over him.

Sleep was rapidly taking him, so he was glad that at least the facility's strict schedule required lights out and silence past a certain time. He’d rather not have to start a conversation with anyone right now.

Before he could fully drift into unconsciousness, he heard Chuuya mutter under his breath across the room, “Asshole.”

Dazai snorted tiredly.

Usually people in the mental hospital either took everything to heart or immediately started a physical fight. If someone else was willing to play games with him, that might make this stay quite a bit more fun than previous ones. 

Especially if that person was his roommate.

As sleep finally stole his mind, Dazai thought about all the unspoken and explicit rules he’d broken, and which ones he would attempt to break this time. Maybe he could even have some help this time around, if he could get this new roommate of his to join in on the fun. 

Those were all thoughts for tomorrow-Dazai though.

And so, screaming at his brain to shut up, he forced his overactive mind to succumb to the void.

...

“Good morning everyone, wake up! It's time for vitals and breakfast."

A sing-song voice cheerfully knocked on the open door of their room. Dazai groaned and rolled over onto his back to blink tiredly up at the ceiling.

One of the most annoying parts about being stuck in inpatient, besides the all of it, was the strict schedule that they made you follow.

Of course he knew logically that a routine was good for mentally ill people, it gave them a structure and helped them function like neurotypical human beings. Still, he hated waking up early.

Dazai liked to sleep. It was like micro-dosing on death. Or at least, that’s what he assumed death was like. Just one infinitely long sleep.

Regardless, he hated getting awoken before noon.

However, he did want to get a feel for what people he was going to be getting to know intimately for at least the next week, including seeing if his usual nurses were still working or if there were any new psychologists.

So, with great reluctance, Dazai rolled off of the bed and onto the floor with a thud, allowing the slight pain of hitting the ground to wake him up.

“Oww-” He whined, fully aware that it was his own fault for hurting himself. 

A low chuckle brought him out of his own thoughts and he looked to the side just in time to see a flash of red turn out the door. Well, at least his roommate got some joy from his pain.

Deciding that he was awake enough to stop putting off the start of the day, Dazai got to his feet and stretched with a yawn.

It was time for the day to begin.

After getting his vitals taken, he slumped into the main room and grabbed a bowl of fruit loops and a cup of orange juice for breakfast, choosing to take advantage of the generally calm atmosphere to observe the other patients. 

He noticed with a little smile that the nurse who had woken them up and taken their vitals was another one of his favorites, Yosano Akiko. She was tough as nails and wasn’t afraid to be harsh on patients. He respected her a lot for her borderline sadistic personality, something that was frowned upon amongst child psychologists.

The front desk nurse was not Oda anymore, seeing as the other man usually worked night shifts, and was now the less well-liked Sakaguchi Ango. He was a stickler for doing things by the book, but at least he was fun to tease.

A psychologist he didn’t recognize stood at the desk discussing something with Ango. He looked older, and was wearing a traditional Japanese yukata in place of the usual scrubs that the doctors had to wear.

Dazai tilted his head curiously at that. Interesting.

Of the other patients, Dazai noted that he actually did recognize one of them. A boy younger than him by the name of Akutagawa. He'd met him at another facility once before, for something he couldn't quite remember (he'd still been coming down from an overdose at that time, and was a little out of it). They had gotten along well though, which wasn't something he could say about most people who met him.

Eager to annoy someone, and thrilled to see that the boy was sitting next to his redheaded roommate, Dazai picked up his breakfast and immediately relocated to sit down across from them.

The younger teenager jolted in surprise at someone sitting so abruptly, before locking eyes with Dazai and raising his nearly invisible eyebrows in shock.

“Akutagawa, you son of a bitch. What are you doing back here?” Dazai asked loudly, grinning ear to ear at the boy in front of him.

The redhead rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t react to his intrusion, looking down at his own food to eat.

“Dazai-san. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here again. How did you try it this time?” Akutagawa inquired, taking a small sip of water and expertly avoiding answering Dazai’s question. Honestly, Dazai didn’t see the issue with just saying it. It’s not like he wouldn’t find out at group therapy later anyway. 

“Blood loss from multiple flesh wounds. Didn’t work though, obviously.” Dazai shrugged, acting playfully annoyed that his suicide attempt failed, only somewhat serious.

“Maybe you’re immortal.” Akutagawa pondered, looking at Dazai thoughtfully. If it was from anyone else, he would’ve assumed they were joking. 

“God I hope not, that would be terrible. All of my hard work would be for nothing!” He responded with just as much seriousness. 

They were interrupted from any further conversation by Yosano calling out to the room, “It’s time for morning meds everyone. Line up at the window.”

Dazai stood with a sigh. 

Another thing he hated about inpatient care was the lack of autonomy. He was told when and where to take his meds, which means he didn't get the chance to abuse his medication and take more than prescribed. 

Well, supposedly that would be a good thing if he was trying to recover. Dazai however, was not trying to recover.

He didn't want to get better. He wanted to die.

Still, it was far too early in the morning to start any trouble, so he went along with the others and waited outside of the med window for his daily dose of mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, and antidepressants. 

He’d been put on several different medications throughout the years, although none seemed to ever really mix well with him. His physiology simply didn’t accept anything he was taking. His current cocktail of prescriptions in particular didn’t necessarily make him not suicidal. They really just made him sleepy, and supposedly more stable. 

It was strange. He wasn't sure whether he preferred the mood stabilizers or not. They kept him from feeling an overwhelming depth of sadness, but they also made everything rather dull.

He was suicidal either way, just for different reasons. Wanting to die because the despair was too consuming, or wanting to die because nothing mattered. Dazai figured that maybe that was another reason why meds just never seemed to work.

They could change his behavior, but they couldn’t change his thoughts. They could control his mood but they could not give him a reason to desire living. Nothing could.

With that depressing thought in mind, he knocked back his little cup of pills, swallowing them dry just to impress the other patients (although nobody was looking), and opening his mouth for the med counter nurse to check. 

Done with the morning tasks, Dazai made his way back to his room to hopefully get in a quick morning shower before they had to actually start the day’s activities.

His lingering sleepiness would hopefully be washed away with the uncomfortably strong water pressure of the shower. If he remembered correctly, this facility's water shot down like icicles on bare skin, taking much too long to turn warm if it ever did. A perfect freezing jolt to shock even more awareness into him.

He didn’t have any new clothes to change into, but it’s not like he particularly cared about hygiene. He’d just skip the underwear and wear the same sweats and shirt he was already wearing. 

Unfortunately, as he trudged back into his room with a towel from the front desk, his new roommate was there, reading a book on his bed. Chuuya looked up as he entered, raising an eyebrow to Dazai and the lankier boy sighed as he prepared himself for more conversation.

“So, your name is Dazai?” Chuuya began curiously, putting down his book.

“Dazai Osamu,” He tipped an invisible hat, “And you are Nakahara Chuuya.”

Chuuya raised his chin, “So you did actually hear me last night.”

“Obviously I did. Just didn’t care.” Dazai shrugged, about to go into the attached bathroom and close the curtain separating the two rooms. They weren’t allowed to have closed doors here.

“Bastard! Are you trying to start a fight?”

“And what if I am?” Dazai smirked at him, curious to see where this would go.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, “Then I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“Oh?” The taller boy couldn’t help but muse, “We’ll see about that.”

He may be asking for a punch in the face at this point, but was that really out of character for him?

Chuuya had apparently had enough of him, because he swiftly picked back up his book and buried his nose in it, ignoring Dazai’s presence. He snorted in amusement at the childish behavior, deciding to have mercy on the poor fool for now.

As he shut the curtain behind him and stripped for his shower, he couldn’t help the giddy grin that had overtaken his face. Even looking down at his own horrifically scarred and underfed body didn’t bring down his mood as he cheerily turned on the water. 

This would definitely be more fun than his previous stays.

Chapter Text

After what was probably the fastest shower he’d ever taken, Dazai quickly dried off and put back on his borrowed clothes, ready to face the day.

He hadn’t bothered taking off his bandages, deciding he’d rather deal with the gross feeling of wet cloth than have to sit through group therapy with everyone pretending their eyes weren’t drawn directly to his recent wounds.

When he pulled back the curtain that separated the bathroom from the bedroom, Chuuya was still sitting on his own bed. Although now instead of reading his book he was just laid down on his back with his arms covering his face.

Dazai threw his wet towel onto his own bed for now and tilted his head curiously at the other boy.

“Getting in a quick nap before group?” He assumed, a slight teasing tone to his voice.

Chuuya groaned, dragging his arms heavily down his face. His cheeks were tinged red, although the color was fading. 

“I was hoping you’d drowned in the shower.” Chuuya deadpanned, not moving his position. 

Dazai was delighted.

Usually people walked on eggshells around him. When they found out about his suicidal tendencies or his self harm, people rarely treated him normally. Everything was always said with a hint of concern or wariness, as if a single word could set him off. 

It was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t afraid to give as much as he got.

“Unfortunately it is quite impossible to drown in the showers here. I’ve tried.” Dazai threw in another quip that would’ve made anyone else uncomfortable; being so blasé about his previous suicide attempts to test Chuuya’s attitude more. 

“Idiot, you actually tried that?” The redhead did not disappoint, sitting up in bed and looking at Dazai as if he were a disgusting creature, “You’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Not as dumb as Chuuya is for believing me.” He teased, sticking out his tongue at the other, “I’m not stupid, of course I didn’t actually try that. Besides, drowning is one of the worst ways to die.” 

He grimaced at the thought.

He had tried drowning himself before. It was peaceful at first but when his reflexes kicked in and he inhaled a lungful of water, the quietness that came with being submerged quickly lost its charm. 

Chuuya rolled his eyes, getting up off of his bed to walk closer to him. It was only when he was standing directly in front of him that Dazai finally noticed something damning about his roommate.

“Ah, you’re short.”

“The fuck did you just say!?”

Chuuya made an adorably pissed off expression, grabbing the front of Dazai’s shirt and dragging him down to meet eye to eye. The taller boy couldn’t help but laugh, causing the other’s grip to tighten on his collar. 

“Oi! Call me short again asshole, see what happens.” He growled like an angry little chihuahua.

Dazai just grinned at him, patting Chuuya’s fist condescendingly.

This kid was too easy to rile up.

“Careful chibi, they’ll put you in time-out.” He tested out a nickname that just came to mind, ecstatic to see Chuuya’s face flush as red as his hair in anger and embarrassment. 

“Chibi?!” He shoved Dazai away from himself, puffing up, “Shut the hell up or I’ll put you in time-out, bastard.”

Dazai was about to respond with another mocking remark but was interrupted when Chuuya kicked him in the shin faster than he could blink. His hands immediately flew down and his leg flew up as he made a noise of shock rather than pain. 

Did this little shrimp really just kick him?

This was just getting better and better. Never before had he met someone so reactionary. Usually those types of patients were put in a different ward, one specializing in violent adolescents. 

“I’m telling the nurses you kicked me.” The taller boy whined. Chuuya froze, looking like a deer in headlights and although Dazai had just gotten physically assaulted by him, he took pity on the kid, “Hehe, just kidding~”

“Asshole!” His roommate hissed again, shoulders relaxing slightly at the reassurance. 

Dazai snickered in delight at the insult, ready to spend the rest of his life teasing the other boy, but before he could retort, Chuuya huffed and shoved his way past Dazai and into the main hall.

He let out a disappointed sigh at his fun coming to an end, but tried to cheer himself up with the thought of how he could mess with Chuuya more during group. With nothing better to do, Dazai turned to follow his roommate. 

The facility was set up in the corner of a building, with two long hallways filled with rooms and the reception and activity area at the point where they meet. The hallways were separated boys and girls, and the activity area was just a room filled with tables and chairs, like a cafeteria but much smaller. It was where they’d had breakfast earlier and it was where they went now for group therapy. The tables had all been pushed to the sides and the chairs set up in a circle when the two boys walked in. 

Chuuya immediately took a chair in between two other patients so that Dazai could not sit next to him. He pouted petulantly but simply sighed and sat down in the chair next to one of the staff for the day, that unfamiliar nurse wearing a yukata that he’d seen earlier.

As they waited for the rest of the patients to come in, Dazai decided to get a read on the new nurse.

“Hello, I’m Dazai. What’s your name?” He smiled innocently at the man, putting on a friendly and disarming persona. 

The other man did not look at all fooled by his shy act but nonetheless responded with a straight expression.

“Fukuzawa.” He answered simply, obviously intending that to be the end of their one-on-one conversation. Dazai, however, was not going to comply.

“Not doctor Fukuzawa?” He inquired, genuinely curious.

“I’m a social worker.”

“Oh?” Dazai was about to ask more but quieted down as Yosano came in with the last of the patients, ushering them in and closing the door to the room shut behind her.

Yosano sat down on the opposite side of the circle from Fukuzawa and himself, holding herself as domineering as always. Once everyone was seated, she began.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Dr. Yosano, as some of you already know. Let’s start off this morning like we do every day; go around the circle and state your name, age, what you hope to get out of your stay here, and… Let’s go with a favorite color today. We’ll start with Kenji.” She crossed her legs, resting a clipboard and notebook above her knee.

The blonde haired boy to her right startled at his name being called. As Yosano started writing on her notepad, he smiled and introduced himself. 

This was always a fairly boring part of inpatient care. People were coming and going everyday, so they had to start each morning with the same childish exercise. Dazai could probably recite his own introduction without even thinking about it, and he didn’t really care about anyone else's.

“Hi everyone! My name is Kenji and I’m 14. I hope that after I leave here, I will have better coping mechanisms and learn more self control. My favorite color is blue.” Kenji smiled pleasantly at the room, sitting cross legged on his chair. 

Most responses were like this; boring. 

Dazai would zone out if he could, but unfortunately he was cursed with a brain that was intensely present at every moment. Despite not caring about anyone else in the circle, he felt the need to listen to everyone so he knew exactly what was going on in all possible situations to come. He liked having the knowledge.

When Kenji was finished, Yosano nodded for the next person to go, still writing her morning notes into her book. He wondered briefly if she wrote down actually valuable information or just rants about the patients. Probably both.

“Edogawa Ranpo, 17. I’m here to get my OCD under control. Favorite color’s green.” This kid was quicker, though not in a rude or impatient way. He simply stated the facts as if he was as bored as Dazai is. 

After him, a shorter girl with long black hair quietly introduced herself.

“Izumi Kyouka. I just turned 14. I want to learn better coping skills and my favorite color is red.” She blushed, but stared blankly into space as she gave her response.

Most everyone usually had the same thing they want to get out of therapy, or at least something very similar. Many people usually also had similar reasons for being admitted here, if Yosano were to ask that question.

Next was Akutagawa, who sat stiffly and awkwardly, coughing into his fist a little before he began.

“Akutagawa. I’m 15. My favorite color is black and I’m here,” The raven haired teen lets out a deep sigh, “to learn better coping mechanisms.”

Dazai wanted to groan out loud.

He thought that at least Akutagawa would say something different, but he also just recycled the same old reasons for being here. Yosano did not look impressed with his response either, but nodded her head for the next person to go without comment. 

Luckily, sitting right next to Akutagawa was;

“Nakahara Chuuya. I’m 16 and my favorite color is red. What I hope to get out of my stay here is… more control over my anger.”

Dazai snorts.

Chuuya’s eyes snap to him in a glare as Dazai tries to stifle his chuckles at that. Of course that’s why the chibi is stuck in here. Anger issues. His bruising shin is a testament to how bad the program is failing poor Chuuya.

“Dazai.” Yosano barks a warning, raising an eyebrow at him as he finally gets himself to shut up. Chuuya is silently fuming in his seat, but makes no move to retaliate. Probably to show the supposed ‘control’ over his anger issues.

“Sorry Yosano.”

“It’s Dr. Yosano. And it's not me you should apologize to." She gives him a pointed look.

Dazai rolls his eyes, “My deepest apologies Chuuya-kun.”

His violent roommate blushes (Dazai is very happy with how easy it is to make him blush), and mutters out a barely heard ‘whatever’, crossing his arms and sinking into his seat. The girl sitting next to him straightens up in her seat, obviously eager to have her turn.

“Hi! My name is Naomi. I’m 16 years old. My favorite color is orange. I’m here for better coping skills.”

So eager and yet so boring. Dazai yawns as he patiently waits for his turn, but before him is Fukuzawa.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Fukuzawa Yukichi. I’m far too old to say, and my hope is that I can help get you kids back out into the world with all the tools you’ll need. Ah, and my favorite color is blue.” He finally gives the room a polite smile, although his face still remains mostly impassive.

Finally, it’s Dazai’s turn.

“Lovely to meet you all, my name is Dazai Osamu. I’m 16 years old and I don’t have a favorite color but if I had to choose, I’d say yellow.”

He grins with all of his teeth, pointedly avoiding the last question to build suspense and drama. Dazai has always been a bit of a performer.

Yosano sighs, having no choice but to indulge him.

“And what do you hope to gain from this experience, Dazai-kun?”

Dazai’s smile becomes more pointed and shark-like as he responds, “I hope to commit the perfect suicide so I don’t end up back here again.”

Some sharp inhales of breath are taken around the circle as he stares directly into Yosano’s eyes, daring her to challenge him.

She was one of the only nurses that was always willing to take him on, though.

“Osamu,” His grin drops to a scowl when she uses his first name, “What would be a so called ‘perfect suicide’ for you?”

He blinks in surprise for only a moment before his fake smile lights up his face again.

She’s playing along for now, but why? She’s a smart woman. She must have some kind of plan in action.

He will play along as well, until he figures it out.

“Why, it would be a painless double suicide with a beautiful lady, of course,” He sighs wistfully, playing up the dramatics.

“Painless? I would've thought you wouldn’t mind a little pain.” She gazes pointedly at his bandaged arms, which makes him subconsciously cross his arms and rub the cloth slightly for comfort.

He kept on his fake smile, it only growing bigger and tighter as he thought of how to approach this.

Yosano really didn’t pull any punches.

Sometimes he wondered who the hell gave her a doctorate and a job working with troubled teens. They surely didn’t do it with the good of the children in mind.

“Yes, well, a little pain is a sacrifice worthy of such a beautiful death.”

“Hmm. But it wouldn’t be your 'perfect' suicide then, would it? Since it’s not painless.”

The smile had slowly slipped off of Dazai’s face as he turned his expression into one of blank nothingness. He was rubbing at fabric just above his recent wounds, feeling at the stitches that were still in place there.

“I introduced myself. My turn is over now.” He finished coldly, no longer willing to play this game.

Yosano hummed, looking displeased.

Why should she be upset though? Didn’t she win their little battle of wits? Dazai stared at her, expressionless until she nodded and turned her eyes to the person directly next to Dazai. His cheerful attitude from the morning had dissipated in a matter of seconds.

People always asked how he could ever possibly want to kill himself.

‘Life is such a gift!’, they would say, ‘Why would you waste it?’

Dazai would argue that it was not a gift, but a curse.

He was not wasting it, he was simply giving himself mercy. Life was painful. Why should he prolong his own suffering? It was always going to be painful, from birth until death.

Other people’s reason to live was simply that: to live. 

Well Dazai experienced living and it sucked. It was just pain and hurt forever. Any time there was a possibility of happiness or joy, or that pleasure that everyone preached about so much, it was always taken away and replaced with pain. It never lasted. That brief happiness was always fleeting and ripped away viciously.

Anything I would never want to lose will be lost. It is given that everything that is worth wanting will be lost the moment I obtain it. There's nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.

But if he hated pain so much, then why…?

Dazai looked down at his bandaged arms. Even though white fabric was covering his skin, he could still clearly see the numerous scars that littered his body in his mind. Some were from suicide attempts, but some were just self harm. Just cutting and burning and picking with no goal of death.

For someone who claimed to despise pain, he was certainly the biggest hypocrite of them all.

The real truth was that he craved pain almost as much as he craved death. The rush he would get seeing his own blood flow, or hurting himself so bad that he saw stars; that's when he truly felt alive.

Yes, life was indeed painful. So Dazai never felt more alive than when he was in pain. 

He was brought out of his musings by the timid voice of the white haired boy sitting next to him. Dazai dully brought his eyes up to examine the other, wanting to get out of his own thoughts. 

“M-my name is Nakajima Atsushi. I-I’m 15 and I hope t-to learn how to live normally with anxiety.”

Despite the empty feeling inside of him, Dazai made sure to take note of the people that didn’t spew out the copy-pasted response to what they wanted out of therapy. He regarded Atsushi curiously, trying to push away his inner thoughts about his own situation for now.

“And your favorite color?” Yosano prompted, giving him a soft, encouraging smile.

Atsushi startled and hurried to respond, “R-right! Sorry, uh, my favorite color is purple. Sorry."

He shrunk in on himself as he spoke, even though he was just saying something as simple as a favorite color. Dazai nudged the others foot with his own, causing the white haired boy to look over at him. He gave the boy a small grin, relieved when Atsushi seemed to relax slightly at the sight. The boy smiled cautiously back.

“Uh hi,” The next person began, drawing their attention back to the circle, “I’m Lucy. Lucy Montgomery. I’m 15 and my favorite color is pink. I hope that being here will teach me how to live normally with schizophrenia.” 

That’s always fun. In Dazai’s experience, people with schizophrenia or anger issues were the ones more likely to have an episode.

While it probably made him a terrible person, he was at least glad that this inpatient stay wouldn’t be too boring. Thinking that though, Dazai had to hold in a chuckle.

Saying that thought ‘probably’ made him a terrible person was laughable. He is a terrible person. That much was quite obvious.

“My name is Poe. I’m 17. My favorite color is black. I’d like to learn more coping skills besides poetry.”

The boy who had gone then was carrying with him a few different notebooks, probably all filled with this poetry he’d spoken of.

The facility gave out little notebooks if you asked for them. Writing, drawing, doodling, anything that was constructive and creative was encouraged. There was always a box full of markers and crayons on a few of the tables during free time. Dazai wasn’t really much of an artist or writer, preferring to spend his free time playing card games with the other patients or finding ways to annoy the staff.

After him, there was only one more person left to introduce themself, another familiar face that Dazai had noticed earlier but pointedly ignored because the kid freaked him out. 

“You can call me Q. I’m 13 and my favorite color is red. I’m here for those coping skills everyone is talking about.”

The creepy fucker smiled brightly, lighting up the whole room with cuteness that would have been convincing if Dazai didn’t know how weird they were.

Perhaps he was being a bit unfair. They were just a kid, but they were odd in a uniquely disturbing way.

Last time the two were inpatient together was around three months ago, although he’d also seen them at another inpatient once before that as well, a little over a year ago. The kid had practically imprinted on Dazai, seeing him as a role model, which they absolutely shouldn’t.

Dazai was not the kind of guy kids should look up to, but Q was just as fucked up as him, so of course the little fucker latched on. 

Dazai felt a little bit guilty about it. Sure the kid was already a huge mess when they came in, but they didn’t start self-harming until after they’d met Dazai and seen his scars.

It was part of the reason he preferred to hide his arms with bandages even when he wasn’t currently injured. As terrible a person as he admitted to being, he really didn’t want to be responsible for influencing another kid to start cutting. 

Q looked at Dazai with stars in their eyes, giving him a toothy grin which Dazai did not return. 

The only way he could think of to put off the kid was by being cold and cruel towards them, but it didn’t work much. He tried to be stern and make it very obvious that he hated them, but Q didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Good morning everyone, I’m Dr. Yosano. I’m 29 and my favorite color is purple. You all know what I want out of this.” The doctor grinned wryly, looking up from her notes to start the group, “Alright, now that we’ve all introduced ourselves, let’s get into today's session. A lot of you stated that you were hoping to learn some more healthy coping mechanisms while in here. Does anyone know why healthy coping mechanisms are so important?”

The girl next to Atsushi, Lucy, responded, “They help us survive in the real world.” 

“And how do they do that?” Yosano prompted, looking at Lucy but directing the question to the whole circle.

“Is it because they give us a way to control our emotions? They… help us cope with life so that we can function n-normally?” Atsushi raised his hand as he spoke shyly, phrasing his answers as if he was unsure of himself, which he probably was.

“In a way, yes, you are correct. Coping mechanisms are strategies that we use to deal with stress, trauma, and difficult emotions. Notice how I said ‘deal with’ because it is impossible to completely control your emotions. Learning how to react properly to the emotions you feel does help you to function in regular society. That is one of the reasons we brought Fukuzawa in today; to talk about re-entering and living as a contributing member of society.”

The doctor nodded to the older man to start talking, and so he did.

“Healthy coping mechanisms are something you’ll need to have when you get out of here.” Fukuzawa’s calm voice recited, “I’m sure most of you already know and use some every day. Would anyone like to share some of the coping skills that have helped them?”

Poe made a choked noise, lifting up his notebooks for everyone to see, although his eyes were hidden behind his bangs so Dazai couldn’t quite make out his expression.

“Writing.” 

“Yes, that is a good one, and very common. Anyone else?”

To his surprise, Chuuya spoke up for the first time since introducing himself earlier. The little firecracker refused to meet his gaze, looking at Fukuzawa instead. Although he could tell that Chuuya wasn’t meeting his eyes on purpose.

“Working out is a healthy coping skill. It’s good for your physical and mental health.” He spoke politely, although his eyebrow twitched as he surely caught Dazai’s amused smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Very good. Exercise is a wonderful coping mechanism. Although as with anything, too much of it can become a problem.” Fukuzawa nodded to Chuuya.

“Yeah, you can get addicted to exercising!” Kenji chimed in, “I met a lot of people at another clinic that had trouble because they were anorexic and addicted to exercise. Since they didn’t eat enough to fuel their activity, it was actually more dangerous for them to work out.”

“Exactly. To make it a healthy coping mechanism, it must also be done for the right reasons and not obsessively. Usually people with eating disorders overwork themselves as another method of losing weight. This just means you have to have the right intentions for using whichever skills you decide to use. What are some other examples coping mechanisms that can turn unhealthy? Or any bad coping mechanisms in general?”

Dazai sat up straighter. It was his time to shine. He knew unhealthy coping mechanisms better than anyone.

“Drinking, drugs, reckless sex, self-harm. They make everything bad but they are much more fun,” He smiled lazily at the older man, “And don’t ask me why they’re bad, I know. They don’t help solve any of your problems, they only make things even worse.”

Fukuzawa hummed, “Correct. They cause more problems without dealing with the underlying issue. So how do healthy coping mechanisms come into all this? How can writing poetry or working out help you cope with the problems you have?”

Nobody answered right away, thinking it over or not paying attention. Dazai didn’t really feel like answering although he knew the answer, and it looked like some others were similarly bored.

It was silent for a second longer before Akutagawa coughed.

“They let you work through your thoughts.” The glum teen answered, sniffing. 

“They do. In the same way therapy makes you reflect on your thoughts in a constructive way, coping mechanisms give you time to help organize your emotions so that you don’t lash out in other ways.”

Yosano took that moment to get back into the conversation.

“It’s important to know why we do the things we do. Taking the time to look inward and figure out why we reacted in certain ways when struggling with certain emotions is a huge part of recovery, because if we understand our actions better, we can control what we do differently in the future.” The young woman smiled reassuringly at the group, which was how Dazai knew another round of personal questions would be coming up, “Let’s go around the circle again and talk about why we’re here. What actions led you to being admitted into this facility? Why did you choose those responses and what could you have done instead? We don’t want to force anyone into something they’re not comfortable with, so if you don’t want to answer this question, you can just say ‘pass’, although I must say participating would be more helpful to your recovery process.”

This time they went in reverse order around the circle, starting with Q who was no longer smiling, just looking at Yosano with those big round eyes.

As messed up as the kid was… They were still just a kid.

Dazai despised them, but he could also sympathize with their unwillingness to open up. After all, Dazai had been the same way when he first started being forced into therapy. The only reason he complied now was because resistance was pointless anyway.

“Pass.” They mumbled, holding a stuffed animal that Dazai miraculously hadn’t noticed earlier close to their chest. 

Yosano said nothing, only giving the child a smile and nodding, looking towards the next person to continue.

“Uh, pass.” Poe responded as well.

It seemed this group was not super talkative. How disappointing. 

The schizophrenic girl was next. Hopefully she’d have an interesting story.

“I-I had an episode. I was hallucinating and thought it wasn’t real, so I took a bunch of pills without realizing. I’m not suicidal, I swear! I just didn’t know I was actually doing it…” 

Not suicidal? Boooooring.

Yosano nodded encouragingly, “And do you take medication for your hallucinations?”

“Yes but…” Lucy shrugged her shoulders inwards sheepishly, “I ran out and forgot to request a refill. I was off of them for a few days.”

“It’s very dangerous to suddenly stop taking your pills, Lucy. Did your parents know you had run out?” Fukuzawa interjected, a serious frown on his face.

Lucy looked like she was not at all enjoying all of the attention being on her for longer than she’d thought. She gulped, grimacing.

“My mom is too busy to keep track of things like that.”

“For the next time something like this happens, perhaps try setting an alarm on your phone as a reminder, or having your pharmacy automatically refill the prescription, to prevent making the same mistakes." Yosano suggested in a way that could have easily sounded condescending, but she made sound just like helpful advice. 

The schizophrenic girl jerked her head in a nod, blushing now that all eyes were on her and all ears were listening to her story. She quickly looked away from everyone, biting her lip.

“Okay.” She replied quietly, clearly wanting to be done with her turn.

The white haired boy in between Dazai and her seemed to take pity and took that as his sign to go. Atsushi’s leg was bouncing up and down rapidly as he sat, his hands fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. He started to answer, only to backtrack once he began.

“I’m, uh, actually I’d like to pass. If that's okay.” 

“That’s fine Atsushi-kun.” Yosano reassured, turning her steely gaze to Dazai. He grinned back at her, happy to belay his own story.

“I was taken here straight from the hospital after another failed suicide attempt. I think I would have succeeded had my father not come home early from his business trip and found me on time. I tried to kill myself because I want to die.” He stated easily, not at all ashamed or shy about his choices, “If I could do something differently next time, I would probably have locked the bathroom door or maybe tried to cut deeper. I thought the arteries in my wrists and throat would be enough but I didn’t go deep enough on my throat because my arms were starting to get weaker at that point.”

Some of the faces around the circle stared back at him in horror, like Atsushi and Chuuya, while others were completely impassive, like Ranpo and Akutagawa. Yosano herself looked back at him with an unreadable expression, writing something down in her notes. Dazai just kept on smirking through that fake smile as he waited for someone else to inevitably speak up.

“Why did you want to die, Dazai?” Yosano eventually asked calmly.

Dazai sighed dramatically, making vague gestures with his hand.

“Well you see I was molested as a young boy and raised by a neglectful, abusive father. I never had a mother. Also I’ve been diagnosed with numerous mental disorders through various doctors, so I’m not sure which ones I actually have. Those probably all led me to being the way I am.” He waved it off flippantly. 

In truth, over the years he’d been diagnosed with nearly every major mental disorder, because some psychiatrists sucked at their jobs and falsely diagnosed and treated him.

He’d been put on so many medications for different things that he couldn't remember what life was like when he was unmedicated. Perhaps he didn’t have any mental illness at all, and all of this was just the medications fault. He was deemed too unstable to be taken off of them though, so he might never know unless he tests it out himself. He preferred to abuse his prescriptions to get high, but he could try abstaining from them altogether. It would probably be marginally better than the drug induced nightmares that taking too much lamotrigine gave him.

“Those are things that happened to you that contributed to the way you feel, but they are not the root problem. Why is death your solution to the problems these have caused you?”

“Death would bring an end to it all. I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that my life is a mess if I were dead. It would put an end to all my problems.” 

Talking about himself was exhausting. It was much easier nodding along to whatever they say, rather than having to be introspective. Luckily, the doctor seemed to realize that one group session was not going to change his mind about anything.

“Suicide doesn’t get rid of any of your problems, it only eliminates the possibility of getting better.” Yosano continued with an infuriatingly controlled tone, “But perhaps this is something you can work on more in individual therapy. For now let’s just say that if you think you’re going to hurt yourself again, instead of avoiding your feelings, ask for help.”

Instead of verbally responding, Dazai just shrugged noncommittally. Maybe if he actually wanted help, he would ask for it. 

But that’s not what he wanted.

He figured it was best to keep that thought to himself so that they could move the conversation along. That should be more than enough to keep the questions at bay for a few days, or at least until he’d have to have a one-on-one session.

They skipped over Fukuzawa next, as he was only there to assist the doctor, and moved on to Naomi, who had her arm crossed over her chest and was looking extremely uncomfortable, glancing over to Dazai every few seconds.

“Uh, p-pass.” She stuttered, quickly avoiding eye contact with him once he made it apparent that we was aware of her staring.

Instead of making the girl any more uncomfortable, Dazai focused on the fascinating redhead next to her, who was also looking at Dazai. When they locked eyes, his gaze did not flicker away like another persons would have. Instead, his stunning blue eyes pierced right back through Dazai’s dull brown ones, for once not betraying anything that the boy was thinking. 

Chuuya started talking without breaking their stare-down, “I had a blackout and attacked a kid. I couldn’t have done anything differently. I didn’t choose to blackout.”

Dazai couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, betraying his own interest in the other boy.

He’d been doing this therapy thing for a long time now, but he’d never met someone who gets blackouts. Sure, he’d heard about it, but he’d never actually met someone who got them. Well, someone who got them naturally and not just from drinking too much.

“Do you take any medications for your blackouts?” Yosano asked, like any good doctor would.

“I do now.” Chuuya responded, finally looking away from Dazai to pay closer attention to the doctor. “We knew I had problems with impulse control, but we didn’t know for sure that I get actual blackouts until I hurt that guy.”

“Well that’s good. The most you can do in that situation is take as many preventative measures as you can.” Fukuzawa responded before Yosano could add any more.

Chuuya jerked his head in a way that resembled a nod, not looking entirely happy with the advice. He said nothing else.

Akutagawa, Kyouka, and Ranpo all passed, either out of a desire not to speak or something else. Dazai doubted it was because of insecurity, they probably just either weren’t ready to talk or didn’t feel like it. Sometimes people just want to listen.

Kenji had shown himself to be very open so far though, so it was no surprise when he answered the group question as truthfully as he could, although his voice was much quieter than it had been when he opened up before.

“I have an eating disorder and it’s gotten pretty bad. I didn’t eat for a few days and passed out in the street while I was taking a walk. My parents decided that was a sign for me to get professional help, so here I am.” 

“I’m assuming you know what you did wrong and what to do in the future to prevent that from happening again. But why did you come here instead of an eating disorder clinic?” Yosano questioned Kenji, tilting her head in confusion.

“I’ve also had some pretty glum thoughts lately,” Kenji started, looking embarrassed. “It’s so hard to recover from an eating disorder, and I’ve caused so much trouble for my family. It would be easier for them if I wasn’t around.”

“So you’ve been feeling suicidal as well?”

The blonde immediately shook his head, making an ‘x’ with his arms, “No way! I don’t want to kill myself or anything like that. I just think if I were to suddenly die, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

The circle was quiet as they processed that.

Dazai could not relate. 

Being dead would be fantastic, yes, but he also did want to kill himself. He could not imagine an existence where he wanted to die but was not willing to do the work himself. 

When he wanted something, he went to all lengths to get it. Passively desiring death did not sound appealing at all.

“I know it doesn’t seem like those thoughts are important because you’re not actively suicidal, but having thoughts like that at all is cause for concern Kenji.” Yosano smiled sympathetically.

“You should talk more in depth about them with your personal therapist, even though I understand if you’d rather focus on recovering from your eating disorder first.” Fukuzawa added.

“Sure!” Kenji chirped, back to his usual self, “I would like to talk about them with someone. I don’t like thinking like this.”

Another thing Dazai couldn’t exactly relate to.

Did he like being suicidal?

Dazai didn’t really like anything. He had no passions or desires other than committing suicide. He disliked quite a lot of things, but not his own thoughts. Or did he?

What would life be like, Dazai wondered, if he wasn’t living in misery? 

Was it possible for someone like him to be content with life? Did he want to try and be that kind of person? 

Dazai didn’t know the answers to those questions.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the rest of the group returning the room to normal until a short ginger kid nudged his foot and he glanced up into those crystalline eyes.

“Oi, stop being lazy and move your chair.” Chuuya looked down at him, an unamused look on his face.

Dazai’s lip quirked up in a smirk as he noted that even though he was sitting down, Chuuya was only just tall enough to look down at him. The lankier boy put on his usual carefree persona to respond.

“I don’t feel like it! Why don’t you move me?” He egged the other boy on, testing just how much control Chuuya really had over his anger.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to say something else but shook his head and moved past him instead.

There was only a second for Dazai to be disappointed at the lack of reaction before he was suddenly pulled backwards with a yelp. The chuckles coming from behind him made him turn his head to see Chuuya’s grinning face as he pulled the back of Dazai’s chair away from the circle.

Ignoring the humiliating little noise of surprise he’d just made, Dazai smirked back.

“Ah, what a good dog; doing as he’s told. Does this make me your master?” 

“Bitch!” Chuuya growled, abruptly yanking the chair away and causing Dazai to fall off of it and onto the floor.

“Nakahara!” Yosano barked, glaring at the pair. 

Whatever joy had been on Chuuya’s face at inconveniencing Dazai quickly disappeared. Rather than being repentant though, he looked innocently at the doctor.

“What? He fell on his own. Clumsy bastard.”

Yosano squinted at the two of them, clearly not believing the act, but one look down at Dazai and the displeasure on her face switched to hidden glee. She gave Chuuya a wink.

“He certainly is. But no more cursing, okay?” 

Dazai squawked in disbelief, blinking between the two as they shared a secret smile. His jaw dropped in a dramatic display and he brought a hand up to his head.

“Such cruelty! I can hardly believe the injustice!” He bemoaned, slumping all the way down to lay on the floor.

“Stop whining and get off the floor you worthless mackerel.” Chuuya nudged his leg with his foot once again.

“Chibi-kun is so mean to me.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“But you called me a fish!”

They bickered back and forth before Yosano had finally had enough and stepped in between them.

“Boys, enough.” She sighed exasperatedly, “It’s free time now. Go annoy each other away from me.”

They stuck their tongues out at the doctor in unison, then gaped at each other in astonishment at their own synchronicity. Having enough of Chuuya being above him, Dazai got up off the floor and brushed off his borrowed clothes, going back to looking down at Chuuya. As it should be.

The look in the other’s eyes mirrored his own. A look filled with fire and excitement, as well as vague annoyance. There was a peculiar feeling making its way through Dazai’s body, one that he had to suppress a shiver for.

Dazai would gladly annoy Chuuya for the rest of his stay.

Chapter Text

Free time was always the best time of the day.

The facility liked to pretend it was more than just a prison built to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or others by putting in ‘school time’ and ‘gym class’ at certain points during the day. Those times were also basically free time, except you had to pretend to be doing something, like sudoku or playing basketball or something else completely useless. The official free time was much more, well, free. They played a random movie on the communal TV and let everyone do basically whatever they could to occupy their time. 

Dazai, of course, took this time to mess with the other patients and talk to whoever would listen. On rare occasions he would pass out at the table, if he was tired enough. Mostly though, he got his entertainment through others. 

Some more boring patients preferred to keep to themselves during this time, such as Akutagawa, who preferred to read his book rather than interact with anyone. Mostly though, regardless of what mental illness they had, the other patients were desperate for interactions with others, and so engaged in conversations while doodling or playing games together, letting the movie run in the background.

Dazai in particular always brought a pair of cards to carry around during free time so that he could trick people into playing with him. He cheated to win every time, and it was really just to secretly interrogate the people he played with, but they didn’t need to know that. To his ire, Dazai was taken here straight from the hospital and did not bring his usual pair of cards. Hopefully Mori would come in at some point today with clothes and the playing cards. Until then, he had to settle for doodling with the others.

He sat at a table with Akutagawa, Atsushi, and Chuuya, although Akutagawa was reading his book and obviously trying to avoid conversation. 

“So Atsushi-kun, what are you in for?” Dazai laced his fingers together, leaning onto his hands as he peered down at the other teen. 

“I- well, I, uh-” Atsushi stuttered, avoiding eye contact with Dazai as his eyes flitted around the room.

Chuuya smacked Dazai on the arm, giving him a glare before turning back to the other boy.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Atsushi.” He reassured, which made Dazai roll his eyes dramatically. 

“Fine, whatever. Let’s talk about why you’re here instead.” Dazai quickly turned his gaze to the other boy with a cheshire grin on his face. 

Chuuya was unimpressed, “You already know why I’m here.”

“Details chibi!” The bandaged boy chirped, no less eager, “Who did you hurt? Did you send them to the hospital? Did it feel good?”

Rage filled his eyes and Dazai felt vaguely like he was watching a bull toe the dirt as it prepared to charge at a red flag except Dazai was the red flag. Instead of giving in to the anger like he expected, Chuuya closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then, as his eyelids once again revealed those light blue eyes, the flames waving within them changed direction. The hot anger became a cool hatred so fast that Dazai almost questioned whether that fire was ever there at all. There was no less passion, but this new controlled wrath was much scarier than the reckless energy of before.

He smiled, which was another tip that Chuuya was not to be messed with right now, but Dazai pushed down the sudden heat in the room and stared back unblinkingly. In fact, his own grin only got sharper. 

Finally, someone willing to push back.

“What about you Dazai?” Chuuya practically purred, “How many times now have you failed to do the one thing you want to?”

They stared at each other, neither willing to back down. 

Okay. 

He took back everything he’d thought about Chuuya. The other boy wasn’t interesting; he was a menace. 

“Mean!” Dazai whined, “Chuuya is so mean!”

And sure, yeah, he did make a solid point. If Dazai really wanted to kill himself so much, then why has every single attempt on his life failed so spectacularly? That was a question he never wanted to look too deeply into, preferring to believe that he was simply too strong to be killed. 

“Oh I’m the mean one?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “You have literally gone out of your way to make everyone here uncomfortable.” He gestured to Atsushi, who was watching the exchange with wide, nervous eyes. 

The white haired boy paled at being brought into the conversation, looking to Akutagawa for help, but the goth kid simply lifted his book higher to cover his face more, leaving him to fend for himself.

“I just have a curious mind.” Dazai defended himself, not all that upset at being called out.

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true! I would never lie.”

At this blatant falsification, Akutagawa lowered his book with a bemused expression on his face, still listening in on the conversation.

“Dazai-san… you lie all the time.” Akutagawa said with intense seriousness, like it was a well known fact that Dazai should’ve known.

The older teen sighed deeply, “Ryuunosuke… it was a joke.”

“But it wasn’t funny?” The raven haired teen, bless his heart, looked incredibly confused. 

Chuuya burst out into laughter at that, holding onto the table as leaned back with the force of the laugh. Atsushi also chuckled, although he had the decency to try and hide it behind his hand. Akutagawa only looked around with increasing confusion.

“That wasn’t supposed to be funny either?” He frowned, giving up all pretense of reading his book in favor of puzzling out what made the other teens so amused. 

That only sent them into another round of laughter. This time even Dazai let a grin crack his face, somewhat relieved that the other boy’s lack of social understanding got his table partners to smile.

Especially Chuuya's laugh. It was so boisterous and joyful! Dazai hadn’t ever heard a laugh that made his chest feel as light as this. It was odd. 

The quiet smile on his own face was wiped away just as quick as it arrived though as he caught movement outside of the activity room. Yosano was welcoming a man into the visiting room, turning back towards Dazai with an unpleasant expression. As they locked eyes, she quickly switched her face to something unreadable, although it was a little too late for that.

The light that had made its way into Dazai’s eyes was extinguished as he stood up before she even reentered the room.

It looked like Mori had finally shown up.

“It appears I have a visitor.” Dazai began airily, interrupting his group’s laughter to announce his goodbye, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much!”

He met Yosano outside the doors, ignoring whatever the others had to say in response to that.

His mood was all over the place today, going up and down before he could get settled with whichever emotion he was feeling. The ideal emotions for him to be feeling were none at all, so he supposed it was lucky that his father had arrived because every time Dazai was forced to have a conversation with the man, he left it feeling so much more achingly numb than before.

She said nothing besides reminding him of the rules of talking with visitors, knowing exactly how his visits usually left Dazai feeling. Yosano, knowing Dazai’s history, didn’t feel much respect for the man who was unfortunate enough to have raised him. He despised that the doctor knew him so well, but that was bound to happen with how often he spent time at this facility.

Mori wasn’t blatantly physically abusive, and nothing close to the worst father that anyone in this place had ever had, so they couldn’t turn him away at the door. Also, with the amount of lies Dazai’s told, and given that he was an underage troubled teen, everything bad he said about Mori was taken with a grain of salt. 

All that being said, if Mori was visiting, then that meant he must’ve brought Dazai’s things. Hopefully he would get to change into his own clothes and maybe show off one of his card tricks to the others.

One of the nurses had to be in the room as visitors interacted with patients, but Dazai was relieved to see that Fukuzawa would be the one standing in the corner rather than Yosano. The doctor had a tendency to glare at the duo while they talked. Fukuzawa didn’t seem the type to do that.

Dazai sat down across from his father at one of the many empty tables in the room, ignoring the only other two patients who had visitors right now; Kenji and Lucy. He stared into Mori’s eyes with his own indifferently cold ones, waiting for the man to speak first, as he always did. 

“Osamu.” Mori greeted, attempting a smile. 

He looked exhausted, bags underneath his old eyes and more wrinkles than before creasing his forehead. The same dull eyes that he'd inherited looked drained of all life. Although what could possibly give Mori gray hairs, Dazai had no idea. He thought the man never had a soul in the first place, so he had no reason to look so tired of life.

“Mori.” Dazai returned, keeping his face blank as he emotionally removed himself from the situation.

It was almost like Mori could see it happening in front of his eyes, even though Dazai was sure he gave no indication of it. The attempt at a smile dropped from his face and Mori breathed deeply.

“Did you sleep well?” Mori asked in a way that made it clear he didn’t really care for the answer.

“Like a baby.”

“And you haven’t caused the staff any trouble yet, have you?”

“No sir.” Dazai drawled slowly, showing his own boredom with this line of questioning.

Mori clasped his hands together on the table, attempting to look like a concerned parent.

“How have you been feeling? Still having those thoughts?” 

Dazai didn’t respond, staring blankly ahead. Mori sighed again at his son’s lack of response. 

It’s not that he didn’t feel comfortable responding to those questions, he just didn’t really feel like giving a response when they both knew that Mori already knew the answers.

From an outside perspective, Mori wasn’t a terrible father. 

He must care about his son somewhat, to have him put into medical care to get the help he so clearly needed. It’s not like he was terribly abused to the point where other people could tell. Mori had a wealthy salary as a famous surgeon, and so Dazai never grew up with a lack of food and shelter. 

He was given everything he could possibly want from a material view. Toys, clothes, all the games he could possibly want. He grew up in a large mansion, doted on by servants and given the best education money could afford. Mori wasn’t around much but that was fine because they didn’t get along anyway. 

Compared to the backstories of some of the people that ended up in here, Dazai’s upbringing was privileged and something that he took for granted. 

How dare he have a bad relationship with his father, at least he had one. How dare he complain about being neglected, when he was constantly surrounded by servants. How dare he want to die, when so many people would kill to have his position in life.

It wasn’t fair, is what people would say. He gets all these gifts and he doesn’t even appreciate them.

It didn’t matter what people said about it though. They weren't the ones living it.

They didn’t really know. 

Mori gave his son a long, tired look, “I wish you would try harder, Osamu.”

He spoke as if his son’s suicide attempt was disappointing. Maybe he was talking about Dazai’s lack of effort in his own recovery, but all the boy heard was that he needed to stop teasing Mori with suicide attempts and actually succeed at it for once.

“I'm trying.” 

It didn’t sound believable to either of them.

Mori looked down at the table, “Elise woke me up crying last night, worried that you found a way out of the hospital and died. She was scared that you would haunt her for not helping you enough.”

Dazai scoffed, ignoring the creature inside his chest that was slowly eating away at his cold, blackened heart. Guilt-tripping him into recovery had not worked in the past, and it would not work now.

“That’s stupid. If I do manage to die there’s no way in hell I’d stick around. Also, there's nothing she could possibly do about me.”

“She doesn’t understand that, Osamu. She’s just a child. All she knows is that her brother keeps ending up in the hospital and one day he might not come back.”

“Step-brother. She shouldn’t care so much.”

For once, Mori looked exasperated, as if all the energy it usually took to appear cold and emotionless had suddenly left him.

“But she does.” The man sighed again, “Of course she worries about her only other sibling, even if you aren’t close.” 

Dazai didn't respond again. Nothing he could've said would've been sufficient enough to alleviate the tension. Even apologizing for the trouble would've only made the situation worse. 

What would he have been apologizing for? His fucked up brain? Or for causing such trouble? Either way, it would not have been sincere.

He was not sorry.

The only regret he had about this was that he was still alive. Everything else was irrelevant to him.

“Did you bring my stuff?” Dazai changed the subject before any more guilt could be forced upon him. It wasn't his fault that Mori’s brat decided to care about a lost cause.

“Yes,” Mori didn’t look happy with the deflection but indulged in his son’s avoidance. It was easier than pushing him. “Although I truly hope this is the last time I have to pack a bag for you to stay at a place like this.”

“Me too,” Dazai grinned with no emotion, fully aware of their contrasting meanings on why he shouldn’t keep coming back here; as alive or dead.

They sat in silence for a moment longer.

Mori searched Dazai’s face, trying to read his son, but Dazai had learned how to hide his emotions from the best. The student had surpassed the master, as they say. Nothing outwardly betrayed what he was thinking. It was useless anyway, because he wasn’t thinking. 

He was numb, detached. Mori would not find any regret or reason in Dazai’s eyes, for there was nothing there. 

Absolutely nothing.

“Can you promise me something Osamu?” Mori asked, one last attempt at reconciliation. 

“Depends on what it is.” Dazai responded.

Mori didn’t outwardly react to his unwillingness to comply, but Dazai had known him long enough to know that his father was displeased with him. 

One of the lucky things about being inpatient though, was that Mori couldn’t do anything to him in here. No matter how annoyed he was with Dazai, he couldn’t touch him.

“Will you actually try this time? I know I haven’t been the best father-”

Dazai let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Not ‘the best father’ Mori? Do you really think so?”

He shouldn’t have been poking the bear with such blatant sarcasm, but when he was in such an apathetic mood, he didn't really care about the consequences of what he said or did.

“Well you haven’t exactly been the ideal son yourself.” Mori retorted, dropping the facade of a concerned parent. 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Do not blame me for your own shortcomings.”

“You raised me to be like this.”

“According to what you tell your therapists and anyone else that will give you attention, I apparently didn’t raise you at all.”

“So you do care what I say about you.” Dazai smirked, believing he’d successfully won this round of mental chess. 

Mori pinched the bridge of his nose, once again sighing as if talking with his only son was the most difficult part of his day.

If he didn’t want to deal with Dazai, then he shouldn’t have gotten his mother pregnant. Everyone would've been happier if he'd used a condom that night.

“Of course I do. I just want you to be okay, Osamu.” 

Ah, so he was back to pretending to care about him.

“Just please try,” Mori locked mirrored eyes with him again, “If not for me or Elise than for yourself. You deserve to live a full life. One that you are happy to live in.”

Dazai’s breath caught in his throat. 

His father had never sounded so sincere, or so exhausted. If he didn’t know his father better, he might’ve believed it. That maybe Mori had changed since he was a child, and that he did genuinely want his son to be happy. 

But he did know him, and he knew that the only reason Mori wanted him to recover was so he’d stop having to pay for hospital stays and medications and covering up his son’s accusations and cleaning up after his attempts and-

What game was Mori playing at?

“You and I both know it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t deserve.” Dazai responded coldly. 

The truth was that after everything he’d done in this life, Dazai probably didn’t deserve happiness. The only justice for his existence would be his own death. 

But life wasn’t fair. 

Sometimes good people that deserved life died too early, and sometimes evil beings that should never have been born were forced to live on instead. Death didn’t let good people live, and it wouldn’t let him die.

“Osamu.” Mori spoke quietly, almost pleading.

“Mori.” Dazai did not change his tone.

His father just closed his eyes in mock defeat, shaking his head in disappointment.

It was fine. Dazai had been disappointing Mori since he was conceived. 

They didn’t speak any longer. Mori left from there with nothing but a quiet ‘see you soon’ and a halfhearted wave, no hug. Dazai left the room feeling significantly more numb than when he’d entered it, but returned to the activity room with a smile on his face regardless. 

The table was the same as he’d left it, although now Ranpo and Poe were sitting down with the others as they had an animated discussion. Chuuya looked at him curiously as he came back in, breaking off from whatever conversation the group was having to greet him.

“What poor unfortunate soul thought it would be a good idea to visit you?” Chuuya sneered as he took a seat next to him. 

“My dear, beloved father,” Dazai grinned with no emotion, “Coming to remind me of what a disgrace I am.”

Chuuya frowned, looking into the hallway that Kenji was currently saying goodbye to his family in, “He looked sad.”

“I would be too if I had such a shitty son.” Dazai blinked in confusion, wondering why the hell Chuuya would care about his father's apparent bad mood. He tilted his head down at the other boy, who looked back at him with calculating eyes. 

“You’re not a shitty son.”

Dazai forced out a laugh, one that was grating even to his own ears.

What the fuck? 

“You wouldn’t know, Chuuya-kun. You’re not my daddy, and I refuse to ever call you that. You’re way too short.” He teased, trying to ignore the part of his stomach that was in knots over this random guy saying that about him with such undeserved confidence, such blind faith.

Chuuya’s face flushed as red as his hair and he sputtered out a reply in a slightly higher pitched voice than usual.

“I don’t want you to call me daddy, you freak!”

“Oh?” The bandaged boy couldn’t help but tease him further, reveling in the embarrassment coming off of the other boy, “Would you rather call me daddy?”

“I’m not calling anyone daddy!” Chuuya covered his burning face with his hands, looking at Dazai with eyes like an angry feral cat. 

At this point he was almost shouting and the rest of the table had finished their conversation to listen in.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a daddy kink, Nakahara.” Ranpo said sagely.

“I don’t!” Chuuya cried, nearly screeching out his defense.

“I've heard it’s normal to have one. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything in here. This is a safe space.” Atsushi looked incredibly uncomfortable but gave a reassuring smile nonetheless. 

“I don’t have a fucking daddy kink. Shitty Dazai was just being an ass.”

If Dazai was in a better mood, he’d be laughing hysterically right now along with the rest of them. However, he was still feeling dull from Mori’s visit. He pretended to find the whole situation amusing anyway, letting out fake laughs as the group continued to playfully mess with Chuuya.

The conversation resumed after that, although not before Chuuya cursed up a storm and made several threats that Dazai had no doubts on whether he’d keep. Dazai didn’t contribute beyond the occasional joking comment, not at all in the mood to be chummy with a bunch of crazy people.

Instead, his mind ran through a million thoughts like it always did, plaguing his every waking minute with memories and overthinking and new ideas for a suicide technique.

He couldn’t really try it in here unless he wanted to stay even longer. They were under watch basically 24/7 and if they thought you were still a danger then they would keep you for even longer than the one week minimum. He’d just have to be patient and wait until he was released to try again.

No more messing around though. All of his attempts had been lackluster, all of them with a small chance of survival but a chance nonetheless. He needed to get over himself and just go for the obvious one that would hopefully leave no room for error. 

He’d have to shoot himself in the head. Even that had a possibility that he could survive though, so he’d have to go even further.

It required more planning, but luckily he had plenty of time while he was stuck in here with only his thoughts and a bunch of weirdos. 

He’d tried so many times and yet he was still here. Was he really that much of a failure that he couldn’t do this one thing correctly? No, something must've been stopping him. Maybe he had a guardian angel that was trying to get employee of the year. Or maybe Akutagawa was right and he was immortal. At this point, Dazai was willing to believe almost anything. 

It had to have been anything, besides himself. Anything but his own hesitation for some stupid reason.

It had to be.

“-Hey, Dazai. Hey, stop that.”

A warm hand grasped his own and he was jerked back into the present, only made aware of his surroundings at both the physical touch and wide, worried eyes of Chuuya Nakahara. 

He looked down and realized that he’d been scratching the back of his hand without realizing it, tearing the skin away slowly until a red, raw patch of flesh became exposed. Luckily, Chuuya had stopped him before he started really bleeding. It just stung and felt sticky underneath his fingernails. 

“Ouch.” Dazai said, expressionless. He pulled his hand away, covering the marks, and subtly looked around the room to make sure a nurse hadn't seen that happening. 

If they thought he was hurting himself, they’d make a worker follow him around everywhere. It would suck to be given a personal nurse to keep watch over him even more than regular. 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Chuuya’s soft voice garnered his attention once more. He was speaking quietly to not alert anyone else to what just happened, but an inexplicable anger still remained in his words. 

There Chuuya went, breaking expectations again.

When most people were confronted with his self harm, they brought it up in what they probably assumed was a careful way.

‘What happened here?’ You know what happened. 

‘Don’t do this anymore!’ Who are you to tell me what to do?

‘Where did you get these?’ Where do you think? Don’t pretend you don't know exactly how I got these.

But Chuuya didn’t do any of that.

Don’t be a fucking idiot.

That’s what he’d said. 

Chuuya was such a strange guy.

Dazai said nothing else to him, ignoring the furrowed brow and gaze that demanded an explanation for his actions. He turned away from the teen, standing up and walking out of the room to where Yosano stood at the door. Chuuya did not follow him.

“Hey Akiko, can I go to the bathroom real quick?” He peered up at her innocently, holding his hands behind his back as if he were acting shy instead of hiding his own tiny mistake.

The doctor narrowed her eyes at him, taking a visual sweep around the room to make sure she could step out for a second. 

“That’s Dr. Yosano to you, Dazai.” But she nodded her head, deeming it okay to leave for a bit.

He smiled convincingly back at her, going back to his room’s bathroom with calm, unhurried steps.

Only when he was in the bathroom, staring at himself in the reflective piece of metal that they put on the wall instead of a mirror, did he finally drop his smile.

His reflection looked back at him with such emptiness in its eyes that for a second it felt like he wasn’t even real. That thing peering back at him was not real. It was not human. Its eyes were soulless pits of nothingness. 

He tried smiling again, almost alarmed that the creature in the fake mirror grinned back.

It looked unnatural. It felt unnatural. Everything about the boy across from him was just wrong in every sense of the word.

Maybe as a child he had been a human, but something happened to him along the way. Something that corrupted his very being, flipping him inside out and revealing that he really was no longer human. Maybe he never was one at all.

“What are you?” 

He whispered to the reflection, absentmindedly peeling some of the bandages off of his upper arm to wrap around his hand. Not enough was taken away to reveal the still healing scar from his latest attempt, but enough to hide the new additions to the marks that covered his body.

Even with something unrecognizable posing as himself in the mirror, even with the possibility of the nurses finding out he’d hurt himself and making him stay longer, even with the guilt still eating away at him from his talk with Mori, even after everything; he felt no fear or worry or resentment.

He didn’t feel anything.

It was a sensation that he was unfortunately intimately familiar with, having spent most of his childhood stuck in that void of nothingness. 

He was just empty. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed on with him carrying the same level of apathy.

They went to fake school. Then to lunch. Then to fake gym class. More free time. Dinner. Final group therapy session of the day. Finally, blissful sleep. 

Except it wasn’t a blissful sleep because he couldn’t fucking fall asleep.

“Psst... Chuuuuyyaaa~” Dazai whispered, obnoxiously loud, “Are you still awake?”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” The redhead whispered back to him fiercely from across the room.

Dazai ignored him and folded his arms behind his head, deciding to follow the cracks on the ceiling with his eyes. He allowed the silence to continue for a moment longer before once again interrupting it.

“Do you think we’re actually living in a simulation and none of this is real?”

“Dazai, what the fuck?” Chuuya groaned, but maintained the whispered exchange.

The boy complained every time, yet he still indulged Dazai. One had to wonder if he was actually annoyed with him or not.

“Apparently it’s a 50/50 chance this is all a simulation. Scientists actually tested it out.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m serious! Look it up when you get out of here.”

Chuuya didn’t respond again for a bit. After a few moments of quiet, Dazai was ready to say something else equally as insignificant to disturb his roommate's sleep, but Chuuya surprised him by speaking up first.

“Are you really gonna try to kill yourself again when you get out?”

The question stunned him into silence.

Had he not made it abundantly clear that he was actively suicidal? He’d thought Chuuya understood him a little better than to question it.

Was the only reason he was so casual with Dazai because he thought it was all a joke? The thought made his heart sink into his stomach.

Maybe he’d been too eager to proclaim Chuuya was someone who would treat him like an actual regular person. Maybe if he had it confirmed that Dazai’s suicidal tendencies were in fact not a joke, he’d become like all the others and treat him like an active volcano at risk of erupting.

“Of course I will,” He whispered back, voice so soft he wasn’t sure if Chuuya could even hear him. He swallowed a lump in his throat and muttered a little louder, “I’d kill myself in here if I could.”

But he couldn’t. 

One roommate he used to have was constantly trying to kill himself and it was a nightmare. A nurse had to be in the room with them the entire night while they slept, rather than the usual one that just peaks into everyone’s rooms once an hour.

He’d once tried to kill himself in the shower and they had to drag him out butt-naked to restrain him. The other boy was given what patients lovingly referred to as ‘booty juice’ which was just a shot they had to give you in your butt with some kind of sedative in order to calm you down. It was all very humorous to talk about but horrible to live through. Dazai had gotten even less sleep than usual during that stay.

So lost in his own thoughts, Dazai blinked too slow and when he opened his eyes Chuuya was suddenly on top of him.

He hadn’t even heard the other boy move. One moment he was on his own bed and the next he was straddling Dazai's waist with his hands around his throat. The grip wasn’t tight enough that he couldn’t breathe, but firm enough for him to recognize that Chuuya had the power to do much worse if he so pleased.

Dazai was too caught off guard to move, so he just stayed stupidly laying there and looked up into those glistening eyes that were glaring back down at him.

“If you try any of that shit in here, I’ll fucking kill you.” The boy sitting on top of him hissed out.

Dazai felt it would be useless to point out that it wasn’t exactly a great threat considering it offered exactly what he wanted.

He said nothing of it, instead concentrating on the image of Chuuya above him. The small amount of light coming in through the window made little slits of white strike over his dark eyes, making him look like some kind of beast hidden in the darkness of the night. 

The hands around his throat tightened a bit when he didn’t respond so Dazai nodded his head ever so slightly, keeping his face as blank as it had been all day. 

Satisfied, Chuuya got off of him slowly, almost daintily, as he avoided making any more noise or hurting Dazai. After threatening his life, Dazai thought he wouldn't have bothered being careful around him, but he was bizarrely cautious. A complete enigma.

The sound of footsteps started down the hallway and by the time the night nurse looked inside their room, they were both on their own beds pretending to sleep.

Dazai didn’t bother keeping Chuuya up any longer after that, accepting that he would not be getting much sleep. Soon enough he heard gentle snores coming from the redhead’s side of the room and then only one of them was pretending to be asleep. 

He was so confused.

…

He woke up when the light from outside got bright enough to light up the entire room, which meant that he did fall asleep at some point during the night. It wasn’t a lot of sleep though, as he could distinctly recall holding the stiff and scratchy pillow over his head to drown out his roommates damn snoring. 

His mind was still a whirlwind over what Chuuya had pulled last night. It was far from the first time that someone had threatened Dazai’s life, but it was the first time that it was his suicidal thoughts that drove the other person to break. Usually it was just because he was annoying or being a dick. Never before had someone been so angry with him for wanting to kill himself.

The nerve of that short ginger kid! 

Knowing nothing about Dazai or his life at all, but having the gall to demand he refrain from committing his favorite activity. 

A bandaged hand came up to his also bandaged throat to mimic the hold that Chuuya had on him the night before.

It also wasn’t the first time that another patient had put their hands on him, either in a violent way or for other reasons. Still, for how rough the gesture was, Chuuya’s hands had been… warm. They had been pressed over his neck, sure, but they'd fit so nicely around his throat. The area still tingled with phantom sensations, even if the bandages on his neck had created a thin barrier between their skin. 

Chuuya’s snoring brought Dazai back to the present and he rolled his eyes. It was like the sleeping boy could sense Dazai thinking about him and wanted to sour his peculiar thoughts.

Waking up before they were supposed to though, he wasn’t allowed out of the room yet. Instead of breaking that rule just for the hell of it, Dazai shook Chuuya from his mind and took the time to look through the bag Mori had brought for him, as he had neglected to do last night.

Inside were some slides, which he would not be wearing because he preferred just socks, his usual long sleeved shirts and jeans, underwear, pajama bottoms, and a couple hoodies. He felt reluctantly grateful to Mori for packing the hoodies because it got ridiculously cold in this building.

Alongside his clothes, Mori also packed his deck of cards and two books: Shawshank Redemption and The Grudge. Both of which he had already read before, but could appreciate Mori’s dry sense of humor in packing. Both were super cheerful for someone like him to be reading. It made him roll his eyes but with nothing else to do, he decided to reread them both anyway, starting with the former. 

About a quarter of the way through the book, morning vitals were called and Dazai left for breakfast without waking his dead-to-the-world roommate. After getting his vitals taken (he was in perfect health, unfortunately), he grabbed a bowl of dry cheerios and sat next to Ranpo, who was currently carefully eating an off-brand sugared cereal. 

“Good morning,” Dazai sang as he sat down, smirking in amusement when he saw Chuuya finally stumble into the room, hair sticking up on one side and eyes half lidded with sleep.

“Mornin’ 'zai.” Ranpo responded with a mouthful of cereal. He picked out some pieces of his cereal and placed them onto the table, counting them all aloud every time he added a piece.

“Did you happen to see Nurse Oda at all last night? I don’t recall passing by him.” Dazai mused, only just realizing that he didn’t really remember anything from the day before, between Mori’s visit and Chuuya’s bed time assault.

“No, I think he’s working the afternoon shift today though. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I overheard Sakaguchi tell one of the doctors, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, that he was going to be taking a double shift.” Ranpo didn’t pause for a second, carrying on his conversation and his compulsive activity flawlessly.

Dazai nodded his head, digesting the information. Hopefully his favorite nurse would be back later tonight. Dazai felt like complaining to someone about his life. Someone other than the doctors he was supposed to talk to anyway.

“Do you know if Yosano is the head doctor again today?” He asked another question just to keep the conversation going as he absentmindedly ate his cereal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chuuya sit down at a different table. 

“She is the head doctor every day,” Most of Ranpo’s cereal was now on the table in organized rows, but he let out a grunt of annoyance as he looked at the little lines. Covering his eyes with his hands he asked Dazai, “Can you put the cereal back in my bowl?”

Dazai gave him a noncommittal hum but did as asked, because he wasn’t a complete asshole, and once the cereal was back he let Ranpo know to open his eyes again. The other teen didn’t thank him, but he did give him a nod of approval, which Dazai took as even better than a thank you. 

Before long, breakfast was over and they were back to sitting in a group circle. Dazai had put on his own clothes today, finally out of the hospital provided sweatpants and t-shirt and into jeans with a long sleeved flannel that blessedly covered more of his arms. He’d have to ask for fresh bandages later on in the day when he had the time. The ones currently on his arms were starting to get gross.

It started the same as every day, except the ‘fun’ question was different. Instead of favorite color, they were asked which superpower they would want to have.

They had a pretty wide range of powers, Dazai was actually impressed that everyone thought of such unique ones. Chuuya wanted to manipulate gravity, and Atsushi wanted to turn into a weretiger, whatever the hell that is. Of course since he liked to cause problems, Dazai’s dream superpower would be the power to nullify other people’s powers. Even Yosano scoffed at that one.

From there they had the usual morning session, talking about mental health or whatever, Dazai really didn’t pay as much attention now that he’d established himself as the problematic troubled one. 

Yosano was once again the lead therapist as Ranpo had said, although Fukuzawa was not present in the circle this time, so it was just the good doctor. Dazai couldn’t remember how they got onto this topic, but Atsushi was currently talking about a story from his childhood in an orphanage. 

“The headmaster never liked me… he would always say th-that I didn’t deserve to live. That I was weak and- and useless,” Atsushi clenched his fists tightly where they sat in his lap, looking down and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, “and I know now that was abuse but… he was right. I don’t deserve to be alive. B-but I want to! I want to earn the permission to live.”

“Your headmaster was very wrong to say that to you, Atsushi,” Yosano’s own hands were folded atop her crossed legs as she gave the white haired boy a sympathetic frown, “He was not right at all. Everyone inherently deserves to live. You do not have to fight to prove your place in this world.”

While Dazai didn’t really see the purpose in having permission to live, he would admit that he’d rather not have his life in someone else's hands.

Death was of course his ultimate goal, but the idea of someone else being in control of it made him feel a bit ill. One of the beauties of suicide was that it would be completely in his control. Probably the only thing in his life that would be entirely his in every sense of the word.

To absolutely everyone’s surprise, Akutagawa spoke up next, arms crossed and scowling at Atsushi, who was now trembling slightly where he sat.

“That’s stupid,” Akutagawa sneered, “You don’t need anyone’s permission to be alive. And if you think you do, maybe you don’t deserve to live.”

“Ryuunosuke,” Yosano snapped with a fierce shout, a warning in her lowered voice, “We do not speak like that in here.”

This is why Dazai liked Akutagawa enough to remember him. He was an overly blunt, black and white thinker, who did not hide his thoughts even if they were completely socially unacceptable and rude.

If it were anyone else, Dazai would’ve let the comment slide with only a snort and perhaps something to laugh about later. However, this new kid Atsushi was not just anyone. There was something about him, something he couldn’t quite place, that made him feel the need to speak up in the kid’s defense. 

It just didn’t sit right with him that anyone else had any say on whether someone should live or die.

“Now, now, Akutagawa,” Dazai waved his hand limply, giving a lazy smile to Atsushi, who had retreated into himself after the emo teen made his statement, “Not everyone can understand the way your thought process works. Explain yourself, and please try not to be so rude to poor Atsushi-kun again.”

Akutagawa had the nerve to look offended by Dazai’s comment, tensing his arms where they crossed over his chest and bristling like an angry cat. He coughed into his fist before reassessing what he’d said. Hopefully this time with less bite.

“What I meant was; you shouldn’t base your own worth on what other people think about you,” He amended, glaring at Atsushi like it was his fault that everyone got on his back, “This world is survival of the fittest, and if you don’t have the self worth to drive you to live, then you won’t survive.”

Yosano hummed as she leaned back in her chair, still with a stern look on her face but not as deadly as it was before. Atsushi also peaked up from his hunched over position, looking hesitantly up at Akutagawa’s face and nearly jumping out of his skin when he noticed the scowl still ever-present on it. 

The energy in the room was not as tense as these three had made it out to be though, with most of the other patients only paying attention out of respect for their peers or because they liked the juicy gossip. Those staring into space or not paying attention didn’t even bother to act like they cared what anyone was talking about. 

“The world used to be survival of the fittest, but it's not anymore,” Ranpo chimed in, matter-of-fact, “Humanity has stopped evolving, so you don’t need to be strong to survive. It’s why we’re all here, still alive, even though we technically shouldn’t be, as we have what modern society would define as weaker minds. Well, your minds anyway. Mine is definitely superior.”

Akutagawa gave him the blankest stare possible, showing just how unimpressed he was with that exclamation, but Yosano gave the boy an indulgent smile, looking far too fond for a doctor. She seemed to be the only one in the room who found his narcissism endearing. Besides Poe, who for some reason was hanging on to every word the other teen said.

“Still,” Atsushi meekly spoke up after a brief moment of silence, “It would be nice for my life to mean something to someone.”

“I think we can all agree with that sentiment. It feels good to get validation from others,” Yosano agreed, “but it still is important to remember that it's your own self validation that matters the most.”

“Exactly! It doesn't matter what others think of you. For example,” Dazai interjected happily, “If I told Chuuya to go die a horrible death, he would say-”

“Fuck you bastard,” Chuuya growled out, interrupting just as intended.

“But, if I say this;” Dazai turned his playful tone into one of grave seriousness, giving Chuuya a tender look that alone had the redhead ruffled, “Chuuya-kun, I’ve never met anyone else so full of life. Please do me the honor of staying alive by my side,”  He dropped the act and smugly gestured back to the other boy, who was now the reddest he could possibly get, eyes widened in embarrassment, “He would say-”

“Sh-shut up…” He muttered out, crossing his arms and furiously avoiding Dazai’s eyes.

Dazai frowned, shaking his head in mock disappointment, even as his heart did a little skip of joy at his reaction.

"No, no, no. Chibi-kun is supposed to say ‘oh thank you Dazai-senpai!’” He brought his voice to an obnoxiously higher octave to jokingly mimic Chuuya’s voice, "And then I would respond with 'I don't care!' because his opinion of me doesn't matter, like Yosano said."

If Chuuya got any more flustered, steam would start coming out of his ears. He sunk into his chair, putting a hand over his head to hide his face, although he lifted his eyes just enough to send an enraged glare Dazai’s way.

Dazai, meanwhile, was feeling very accomplished for this therapy session, giving the other boy an evil smirk to taunt him further. His reactions to everything were always so cute.

(Cute?)

“Alright, alright- enough,"Yosano sounded similarly unimpressed with his stunt, giving Dazai another one of her infamous disappointed looks, “That’s enough of that. Atsushi, do you have any more you want to talk about?”

The white haired boy startled at his name being called and his leg started bouncing up and down nervously. However, he was fairly calm when he responded, “N-no. I think that’s it.”

From there the conversation turned again, into another direction that Dazai didn’t care enough to tune into. He was much more occupied with trying to catch Chuuya’s eye, which the other boy was very purposefully avoiding.

On one hand, he was glad that his teasing had worked enough to get under Chuuya’s skin, but on the other hand, he'd wanted the attention it was supposed to attract and that Chuuya was refusing to give. Stingy bastard.

The teasing comments he'd let slip may have shown a bit more of his feelings than what he’d intended, though.

It was true that Chuuya was so ridiculously alive that it blew Dazai away, but he didn’t need to say it out loud.

Whatever came over him and possessed him to admit that, even as a joke meant to get a rise out of Chuuya, he’ll never know. 

Before long it was free time once again and Dazai peeked out into the hallway to see if Oda was working yet. It was still early, so of course Ango was the only one there, typing away on his computer.

Dazai let out a groan, deciding he would instead take today to mess with Chuuya more.

Sauntering over to the table Chuuya was sitting at, he slid into the chair across from him and rested his head upon his folded hands, leaning his elbows onto the table.

The other teen pretended not to notice his presence, refusing to meet his gaze even though he clearly tensed up with his arrival. Nobody else was at the table, but Chuuya was writing something in a notebook of his own, dutifully ignoring Dazai’s watchful eyes.

“What’cha writing?” Dazai sing-songed, peering forward to see if he could read any of what Chuuya wrote.

The other teen quickly covered his work with his arms, finally tilting his head up to glare at the nuisance in front of him.

“Just some nunya,” Chuuya grinned boyishly. Dazai rolled his eyes.

Did he really think he was that stupid?

Before he could retort with something else, Poe sat down too close next to him, causing Dazai to curl his lip in disgust and slide further to the right. He’d rather not be touched so casually or be so close to someone he had no interest in knowing. Similarly, Ranpo slid next to Chuuya’s side across the table, smirking at Chuuya's remark but also not rising to the bait.

Poe, apparently, was not as wise when it came to petty word traps.

“Oh interesting! What’s nunya? Is that a writing style?” The gentle but naive fool looked eager to talk to another writer.

Chuuya didn’t look as pleased with himself as he probably would’ve been if Dazai had been the one to ask, but he pulled out the sass nonetheless, “Nunya fucking business.”

Poor Poe flinched, sinking into his seat, while Ranpo and Dazai snickered like a pair of evil goblins. It was exactly the kind of childish prank that they needed to lift the mood around here. Well, to lift everyone except Poe’s mood anyway.

The notebook beneath Chuuya’s arms was subtly closed as conversation turned a different direction, but Dazai made note of it. Was it really something that personal, if he had such an intense desire to hide it?

He would have to look into it later. Perhaps while his roommate is asleep.

Regardless, the mood at the table had gone significantly up as they switched into casual conversation, with Dazai finally deciding to actually join in.

He brought out his deck of cards from seemingly nowhere and set about giving everyone their sets without asking if they wanted to play. A good old fashioned game of BS ought to loosen everyone up even further.

“So, does everyone know how to play?” Dazai grinned mischievously as he shuffled the cards with expert precision, his fingers deftly arching the deck in a perfect bridge. 

“You haven’t told us what we’re playing. Or that we're playing something.” Chuuya dully reminded him, not at all impressed by his showing off his card skills. Pouting a bit, Dazai continued on to explain the game.

“It’s called Bullshit. The aim of the game is to get rid of all your cards. Now ‘how do you do that?’ you may ask,” Dazai started dividing up the cards with a smirk, “We’ll start with whoever ends up getting the ace of spades, put it in the middle face down,” Ranpo ends up putting the ace in the middle of the table, “and we’ll go around the circle in number order. So Chuuya, now you put down all the twos you have. If you don’t have any, put down other cards and lie.”

“That’s why you wanted to play this game; so you can lie,” Chuuya grumbled, “Two twos.”

“Bullshit!” Dazai sang, “That’s what you say when you think someones lying. If you’re right and they are, they have to pick up the whole deck, but if you’re wrong and they were telling the truth, you have to pick up the whole deck.”

Chuuya glared at him and picked up the pile, mumbling something about con artists and filthy liars. Dazai simply smirked at him and took his turn, “One three.”

“Bullshit,” Chuuya hissed, already buzzing with competitive energy.

“Wrong! Pick up the card,” Dazai chirped again.

And so the game began. 

Dazai counted cards, so he knew exactly when to call bullshit on someone who was lying, and if Ranpo wasn’t also counting cards, he probably would’ve been able to get away with lying a lot more too. It quickly became an overly competitive game.

There was also the fact that Chuuya was nearly vibrating with anger at being called out so often. He ended up with so many cards that he just called bullshit every single time Dazai put anything down, no longer caring about winning himself but just wanting to make sure that Dazai didn’t win.

In the end, Chuuya's valiant efforts were fruitless. Dazai finally managed to find something to distract Ranpo with so that he could get away with winning and the game ended.

Overall, not his worst game of cards, but nobody was willing to indulge in his games any more after that.

Which was fine, because by the time he wanted to play a round of something else, they were being shuffled into a separate room for their fake school time. That crawled by even slower, with Dazai finishing about ten different sudoku puzzles before getting bored and making Chuuya mess up on his. 

It was only after lunch when they got back that Dazai finally found something interesting to do, when he saw the beautiful face of Oda waiting at the receptionist desk.

“Odasaku!” Dazai moaned, leaning heavily onto the wall in front of the front desk as the other patients moved back into the activity room for more free time, “Where have you been? I was so booored.”

“Dazai,” His favorite nurse gave him that signature polite smile, his usual muted personality a comforting rock to hold onto, “One of my kids had their recital yesterday. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Not even for me, your favorite kid?” Dazai batted his eyelashes, eyes widened and a pout on his lips.

“You’re not my kid,” Oda sighed heavily, speaking in a way that made it clear he’s had to repeat this fact many times before, “and I’m sure you did just fine without me.”

Sakunosuke Oda was a very special nurse.

His relationship with Dazai may be seen as a bit unprofessional, but it was no fault of his own. The nurse had been at this facility every other time he’d come here, and he was always a solid object for Dazai to hold onto when everything else went to shit. Throughout all the storms that burst through the hospital doors, Oda remained steadfast. He was also a very calm individual, always composed even while working in a stressful environment such as this.

Most importantly to Dazai, he was genuine.

He had no boundaries, really just stating things as they were, but not in a way that was clinical and uncaring like when other doctors tried the blunt honesty approach.

If something sucked, he would say ‘that sucks,’ with no flowery language or ulterior motives beyond stating the obvious. He never sugar coated anything or tried to spare anyone’s feelings, always just being as sincere as he possibly could, especially about emotions. 

In addition to that, he seemed to treat the patients as real people. The other nurses and doctors maintained a professional distance between themselves and the patients, viewing them as nothing more than troubled kids, whereas Oda actually had respect for the kids that ended up in this facility, and treated them as equals almost, while still making it clear what their positions were.

The other doctors and patients may not have approved of his methods, but Dazai was compelled by them. He was a refreshing personality compared to the other adults in Dazai’s life and there was some truth to the jokes he made about wishing Oda was his actual father. Oda never seemed to think they were as funny as Dazai himself did though.

“How are you settling in, Dazai?”

“Fine, as usual,” The teen waved a hand flippantly, as if he hadn't been waiting to talk to Oda all morning, “My roommate is a growling little chihuahua, but other than that it’s whatever. Quite a few interesting people here this time.”

“I hope you haven’t been causing anyone any trouble,” Oda gave him a pointed look which he willfully ignored.

“Me? Trouble? I’m just making friends, like you told me to.” 

Him and many others. 

It’s not that it was hard for him to make friends. It was just that other people usually couldn’t stand his presence and would much rather observe him from a distance. Technically he didn’t really have any friends, but who cared about technicalities?

If, in his mind, he decided that someone was his friend, then they were. Nothing more to it.

Akutagawa was his friend, even though neither of them had ever said such a thing or really even made contact outside of the facility. Oda was his friend, even though the man insisted that he was not and that he was just another one of the nurses that Dazai should not become too attached to.

Two. That’s plenty of friends!

“Have you made friends with your roommate?” The nurse then asked, raising his eyebrows in such a way that said he had no expectations for Dazai's answer.

“Well,” Dazai began with a huff, “He’s a bit of a pain. I'd rather not be associated with such an annoying dog.”

“Who are you calling a dog?!”

The sudden voice yelling from behind him did make Dazai jump a bit. 

He was not used to other people coming into the hallway to hang around the staff. Usually the other patients would rather hang out with other people their age in the activity room. Technically, they weren’t allowed to hang around in the hallway at all, but the staff were more lenient with Dazai because if they didn’t bend the rules a little, he would completely break them. If not that, they were probably too understaffed to enforce them.

“Ah, coming when called. Just like a dog.” Dazai remarked, pretending that he was not just shocked by the other teen’s presence as he came up to stand by Oda’s desk as well.

“I came to get you back into the activity room, you idiot. Dr. Yosano said you’re not supposed to be out here.” Chuuya crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at Dazai. It seemed he was not in the mood to give in to his taunts.

“But Nurse Oda always lets me stay out here, right Odasaku?”

“I can’t control you Dazai,” Oda began, drawing a premature victorious grin onto Dazai’s face, only to immediately wipe it away with; “but it's true you should be in the activity room.”

“Betrayal!” Dazai bemoaned, only a little upset that his conversation with Oda was cut short.

If it wasn’t Chuuya who had come to get him, he probably would’ve ignored them. Yosano must’ve noticed how strangely entranced he was by the boy, and known he would follow. Curse her! She’s far too scheming to be a child's psychologist. 

“Quit whining and come on.” Chuuya rolled his eyes, grabbing onto Dazai’s upper arm to drag him back into the other room.

He sent one last pleading look to Oda, but the traitor just shrugged his shoulders mirthfully.

The grip around his bicep was tight though, and Dazai knew better than to test Chuuya’s strength, so he let himself be dragged away.

The other boy’s skin was radiating heat, so much so that he could feel it even through the layers of clothing and bandages separating his hand from Dazai’s arm. It was extremely distracting to someone who usually ran ice cold, unused to the warmth he was emitting. It should have felt uncomfortably hot, but something about Chuuya made it impossible to pull away from his touch. The feeling was too addicting to dismiss so readily.

He’d really rather not think too hard about why it was so dizzying though, so he conveniently swerved his brain away from that line of thinking and instead focused on one of his new favorite and definitely healthy activities: annoying Chuuya. 

Chapter Text

Dazai woke up the next morning in the worst mood he’d been in since he was first admitted to the hospital.

Ah, well. The good mood was fun while it lasted.

He didn’t even tease Chuuya for the entire first half of the day, ignoring everyone and not speaking up unless prompted to. Even then, when he did have to talk, he only gave the barest of responses. 

The people who didn’t know him (namely everyone except the staff and Akutagawa), gave him worried looks all throughout the day. Some of them even tried to talk to him to cheer him up, but obviously none of that worked.

Those that knew of his mood swings shrugged off the worry and blessedly fielded questions for him. They knew better than to try and fix Dazai while he was like this.

The only good thing that happened was that he was allowed fresh bandages, so he finally got to replace the old disgusting ones. Peeling away his used ones and seeing his own fresh scars again though, may or may not have triggered him a little bit.

Every time he closed his eyes, his vision was flooded with red lines. There were some extra bandages that he put over his right eye, hoping to make it harder for him to see what wasn’t even there. It helped a little bit.

The day passed by at a snail's pace. It felt as if that one day went on for five, but he did eventually make it to the night time group therapy with their afternoon psychologist, Kunikida Doppo. He was much stricter than Yosano, but he was also more fun to mess with because of it. If only Dazai was in the mood to tease him. 

He excused himself halfway through group to go to the bathroom and stare blankly into the mirror for a few minutes, but when he returned, everyone was shuffling around in the hallway except for Kunikida and Chuuya, who were standing in the activity room with the door closed. 

Chuuya was screaming.

The cloud fogging his mind slowly drifted away as he came back to himself, and for the first time that day he willingly spoke up.

“What’s going on?” He quietly inquired to Oda, who was trying to calm down the remaining patients lingering in the hallway. 

Most of the others were openly gawking at whatever was going on in the closed room or murmuring to each other, as this was prime gossip material, but Atsushi’s head whipped around at the sound of Dazai’s softly spoken words.

Oda spared him a brief glance before looking back over the patients.

“Chuuya is experiencing a blackout. Dr. Kunikidas trying to bring him back to us.” Oda replied succinctly, before warning Q to back away from the thick window separating the hallway from the activity room, where Kunikida was currently trying in a clinically calm way to get through to an unresponsive and potentially violent Chuuya.

With Oda busy, Atsushi dragged Dazai’s attention away and further explained how everything went to shit.

“It all happened so fast. After you left, Dr. Kunikida started talking a-about victims or something, I don’t really remember. B-but then Chuuya all of a sudden got up and threw his chair at the wall and then he st-started screaming and K-Kunikida hurried us all out and I- I- don’t-”

Atsushi was quickly talking himself into a panic, his eyes growing wider as he continued to speak, about to completely lose himself to his mind. Every shout from the activity room had him flinching violently and soon he was actively shaking while his breathing quickened to a pace beyond normal. 

Dazai cursed and grabbed Atsushi despite the boy's resistance, pulling him out of the crowd and a little further down the hallway, choosing to focus his attention on the one friend he could actually help right now, rather than waste time worrying over Chuuya. 

He’d helped enough people through panic attacks that he at least knew how to handle this. 

Oda spared them a warning glance as they left, but did not make them stay with the group, just shooting Dazai a look that demanded they return once Atsushi calmed down a bit. Dazai nodded back, familiar with the procedures, letting Atsushi drag him to the floor once they reached a good distance away from the action.

“Sorry, I-I just, sorry. It’s so- I can’t-” Atsushi whimpered, burying his face into his knees as he curled up on the ground.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Just try and focus on my voice. Can you hear me? It’s all okay.” Dazai lied, making sure his voice was gentle and calm.

He was never specifically trained on how to help someone with anxiety, so he had no idea if this was actually something that a psychologist would suggest, but it’s worked pretty well the past few times he’s used it. Giving the person panicking something to focus on and coaching them through regulating their breathing as they tried to control themselves. 

A steady stream of comforting white lies and exaggerated controlled breathing techniques left his mouth as Atsushi continued to shudder. The younger boy was still breathing uneven, his panic turning into little sobs as he tried to follow what Dazai said.

Another ferocious scream from down the hallway caused a full body flinch and Atsushi tensed up completely all over again. 

A sigh escaped his lips when he had to acknowledge to himself that this may take a while.

…

By the time Atsushi was mostly okay, the situation down the hallway seemed to have been resolved, as Oda came down to bring them back to the group.

The anxious teen offered him an embarrassed thanks, which Dazai waved off. Anyone else there would’ve done the same thing if they’d noticed it first.

He was a little disappointed that he missed whatever happened with Chuuya, but he’d hopefully be able to pester his roommate about it later tonight. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to push him so soon after the occurrence, but Dazai had never been known for his tact.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

As Kunikida retook control of the patients, Chuuya disappeared somewhere, probably for further treatment or the dreaded booty juice. The rest of the group all had a final dinner and took their night meds before turning in for an early bedtime. By the time Dazai got back to his room, Chuuya was still missing, and he returned to the hallway to interrogate Oda about it.

“When is Chuuya coming back?” He asked with no pretense, leaning nonchalantly against the counter in an attempt to seem uncaring about whatever answer he would receive.

“Probably in the morning.” Oda responded without looking up from his computer, typing up something that was most likely a report on the events of that night, “You should be in your room.”

Dazai groaned dramatically, “How am I supposed to sleep tonight, all on my lonesome?” 

“Soundly, I’d imagine.”

The nurse didn't sound like he was being sarcastic but with Oda, it was always hard to tell.

As if the nurse didn’t know all about Dazai’s insomnia problems. Sleep and Dazai were long time enemies and anyone that spent a single night with him knew it. Oda might not have been the one that checked each room every hour of the night, but everyone knew the staff all gossiped to each other about the patients anyway. 

“It’s late, Osamu.” Oda finally looked up from his computer and turned those droopy eyes to him, “I thought you promised no trouble on my shift?” 

Dazai let out another, longer, groan. 

He did say that seconds after coming in here.

Normally, he wasn’t really bothered with being seen as someone who kept his word but with Oda, he liked pretending that he was an honorable person.

“Fine… Fine!” He twirled around and begrudgingly headed back to his empty room, “But when Ango complains about me tomorrow, I’m going to tell him it’s because Odasaku told me I could break the rules.”

“You do that.” 

Dazai grumbled to himself as he finally made it back to his room, eyes narrowing at the night nurse that was about to call for lights out. She jumped at his dead stare and regarded him cautiously. As she should.

Instead of causing any more trouble though, Dazai did as Oda asked him, and retreated to his room for bed. 

The room felt even emptier than Dazai had been feeling all day. Without Chuuya there to bring his usual fiery presence, the cool air of the facility felt akin to a winter breeze before a blizzard.

He shivered as he changed into sweatpants and his biggest hoodie, tugging the hood over his head as he buried himself underneath the uncomfortably stiff bed sheets the hospital provided.

The chill in the air coupled with the worry annoyance over Chuuya’s absence promised a long night. Nothing that Dazai wasn’t intimately familiar with.

Thanks to many nights spent the same way, morning came quickly and Dazai hadn’t slept a wink.

He had, however, managed to finish rereading his book, and so moved on to the next one. His father might have to visit again with more soon. 

Regardless, morning came with still no Chuuya.

It wasn’t until he went out to go to breakfast that he finally saw the boy already sitting in the cafeteria, hunched over a plate of soggy hospital pancakes.

Dazai rushed over while trying to make it appear like he was not rushing over, getting his food quickly and slamming the plate down directly across from Chuuya.

The other boy looked up to glare at him but otherwise said nothing. 

“So… You blacked out.” Dazai started, oh-so-subtly.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, raising an eyebrow at his lack of tact.

“Yeah.”

He shoved a plastic forkful of pancake into his mouth, prompting Dazai to take a bite of his own. It tasted like wet cardboard. 

“What happened there?” Dazai tried again, feigning a casual interest instead of the actual burning curiosity that fizzled under his skin. 

“I don’t know, obviously. Don’t you know how blackouts work?” Chuuya’s piercing steel eyes flashed as he once again scowled at Dazai. The bandaged boy matched his stare, watching him with an unreadable expression. 

“I’d never seen one before.” He carefully responded.

“Well, now you have. Congrats. I hope it was everything you ever wanted.”

“You were screaming.” Dazai tilted his head, studying the redhead as the other broke their eye contact, looking away, “The noise sent poor little Atsushi-kun into a panic attack.” 

At that, Chuuya flinched, cautiously meeting his gaze again, a look of guilt on his face. Dazai maintained his blank expression, revealing nothing.

He truthfully didn’t know much about blackouts. The whole concept was basically a loss of time, in which he wasn't in control. 

There was no doubt that Chuuya didn’t remember what happened when he was blacked out, and wasn’t in control of himself while he was in the midst of it.

Beyond that though, Dazai knew nothing about the experience. What it felt like during and afterwards, or whether he ever caught glimpses of what he'd done. He had gotten blackout drunk before, waking up and not knowing how or where that stick-and-poke tattoo on his ankle came to be. This didn’t seem quite like that though.

“I’ll have to apologize to him later… I know it can be pretty scary to watch.” Chuuya mumbled, hunching his shoulders in.

It appeared that the other boy knew on some level what his attacks were like. Unlike what Dazai was like after a drunken blackout, he seemed to take responsibility properly for what he wasn’t even in control of.

Another example of how stupid Chuuya could be sometimes. Obviously none of it was his fault.

“Scary?” Dazai repeated incredulously, deciding to break the tension right then and there. He purposefully relaxed his posture and went back to eating his breakfast, talking in a light voice with his mouth full, “The only scary thing about that whole mess was how cooperative everyone was about staying calm. Aren’t we all supposed to be crazy people? It should’ve triggered a massive riot. How boring.”

“I’m not crazy.” Chuuya rebutted, seemingly relieved to let the topic go. 

Dazai felt it unwise to bring up the little incident of Chuuya sitting on top of him with his hands around his throat just a couple days ago. Perhaps the redhead did not see threats of murder as particularly crazy behavior.

“Still, someone should’ve at least attempted a prison break while Kunikida was busy.”

“Not everyone here is as resistant to treatment as you are, idiot.”

“I’m not resistant to treatment!” Dazai placed a hand on his chest, making sure to look as offended as if he’d been accused of something dastardly, “Everyone here knows how much I love therapy. In fact, just for that comment, I’m going to recover even harder.”

“How convenient,” A voice popped up behind him and he did not let out a shriek of surprise. 

He didn’t. 

He just whipped around to face the offender, meeting the stoic figure of Fukuzawa.

From across the table he heard Chuuya snickering, but chose to ignore it in favor of raising an eyebrow, encouraging the social worker to expand on his comment. 

“Today is your personal session. You’ll be having it with me during morning free time. I suggest you think about what you want to talk about beforehand.” Fukuzawa finished, giving them both a little bow before moving on to talk to Ango at the front desk about something boring. 

He slowly turned back to Chuuya, who looked pleasantly amused by the situation, happily eating his own disgusting pancakes. Dazai gave the fakest smile he’d possibly ever given, fully aware that it wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Great.” 

…

Since he had something that he was dreading coming up, the morning session of course breezed by way faster than normal. 

As a petty sort of revenge for having a personal meeting soon, he was exceptionally troublesome during the group therapy, nearly making Kenji cry before Chuuya not so subtly crushed his foot into the ground with his own from where he sat next to him.

Unfortunately, his childish behavior did nothing to stop the inevitable discussion, and soon enough Fukuzawa reentered the room during free time, locking eyes with Dazai and nodding to follow him.

Reluctantly but obediently trudging on after the social worker, he tried to think of what he could possibly talk about during their meeting. Despite being given forewarning and time to devise a plan, Dazai had spent the time before the session throwing an internal pity party instead. 

Led into a separate room that was usually closed off, between the front desk and the girls hallway, Dazai felt a sense of trepidation as the door closed behind them. This was the only room in the facility without some kind of window peeking out into the hallway. The bedrooms also didn’t have windows but they weren’t allowed to close the doors so it didn’t feel as cut off from everything as this did.

Dazai did not trust Fukuzawa, especially not enough to be locked in a room with him. He knew there were probably cameras inside broadcasting to Ango’s computer at the front, but still. 

People with power could not be trusted.

If a doctor wanted to do something to a patient without anyone knowing, they easily could. And this would be the best room to do it in.

He regarded the man across from him unblinking, not letting his eyes off of him for a second. Every movement from Fukuzawa was scrutinized by him as they settled into their respective chairs. Dazai had never been abused by the staff at this particular facility, but that didn’t mean anything. Everyone was a possible threat, and it would be foolish to trust anyone or let his guard down.

Any second now, he could be thrust into an unfortunately familiar but nevertheless revolting situation.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“Fukuzawa.”

They examined each other in silence for a second before Fukuzawa took out a clipboard with some documents clipped in, probably about Dazai, and began the session.

“Your medical history is quite extensive. We couldn’t get into contact with your current therapist though, do you know anything about that?”

That almost made Dazai laugh, but he held it back and simply gave the social worker a wry grin.

“She quit.”

“Ah, I see.” Fukuzawa said in a way that Dazai couldn’t tell if he already knew the information or not, “Well, we will have to see about getting you a new one for when you get out of here. Right now the plan is to keep you for another week and then see about releasing you for a week of partial care. Depending on your progress, you may be released earlier or kept longer. How do you think your progress is going?”

Very to the point and not even mentioning his thoughts or feelings. Perfect.

Maybe him being a social worker made Fukuzawa’s priorities a little different than a psychologist’s. Hopefully that meant this session would not be as torturous as he’d been expecting.

Dazai let himself settle back in his chair, a bit less defensive.

“Oh, I’m feeling fantastic.” Dazai smiled, wanting to get out as soon as possible so that he could get back to trying to kill himself, “Yosano-san really is even more of a miracle doctor than Mori is. She’s fixed me all up. I’ve never been more stable!”

Fukuzawa’s expression revealed nothing, but Dazai got the distinct feeling that he didn’t believe him anyway.

Probably because the man had been there during some of his more difficult group therapy sessions, and knew that Dazai was both a compulsive liar as well as a severely unstable individual. But the social worker’s completely blank expression rivaled his own father’s in unreadability. 

“Mori Ougai. He is your father, correct?” 

“Unfortunately.” He couldn’t help but sigh, trying to play off his discomfort with an even wider joking grin. 

“Hmm. I knew Mori,” Fukuzawa revealed, surprising him, “I’m sorry to say, but I’m not the biggest fan of his.”

Dazai laughed.

Loudly. 

He was not expecting that. But oh, how refreshing it was to hear.

Most doctors and staff idolized Mori for being the well known doctor that he was. Only Oda ever really believed the stories he’d told about him. Yosano also despised Mori but her reasons supposedly had nothing to do with Dazai. Apparently, Fukuzawa was in that same boat.

“Neither am I.” Dazai giggled genuinely for the first time in a couple days. 

What made this all the more hilarious was the unchanging look on Fukuzawa’s face. He didn’t even blink at Dazai’s response, nor his laughter.

“May I ask why you don’t like him?” Dazai asked, genuinely curious. 

“You may.” Fukuzawa closed his eyes, as if picturing the many examples he probably had of Mori’s more unsavory personality traits, “I used to work closely with him, as a security officer at the hospital.”

So many questions flashed through Dazai’s brain that he couldn’t focus on any one line of questioning that surmised all of his inquiries. 

How did Fukuzawa go from security to social work? How did working with Mori lead to this blatant dislike? How did he work closely with Mori if he was in security and not medicine? Was this before or after Dazai was born? Did he also know Dazai’s mother? 

Fukuzawa interrupted his frazzled thoughts with a question of his own, “Why do you dislike Mori?”

Dazai’s brief happiness and burning curiosity washed away, replaced with the cold emptiness that he usually felt, especially when the topic of his father was being discussed. 

“I’m an angsty teenager, of course I hate my father.” Dazai quipped, instead of giving an actual response. 

His feelings towards Mori were complex and difficult to describe. Hatred was a good word to sum it up, as was resentment. Neither could be explained fully in a single personal session, though. 

Fukuzawa seemed to sense that he wouldn’t get much more out of Dazai on that topic. Either that or he was generous enough to not push him further than he was comfortable with.

The old man turned his head down briefly to examine his clipboard once more, giving Dazai the time to glance towards the clock in the room. It hadn’t even been ten minutes. He internally let out a childish whine.

“In the past two weeks, how often have you thought about harming yourself?”

Ah, so they’ve moved on to the standard fair. 

“Less than half of the time.” He answered dishonestly. 

In truth, the suicidal thoughts were a constant companion in the back of his mind. They never abandoned him. Admitting that though, would not get him out sooner than a week.

The required questions continued until they were all through, quickly boring Dazai. Still, it hopefully meant that they would be done soon.

He might have let down his guard a little bit, but he still didn’t love being trapped in a room with someone so much older than him. 

It was difficult. It reminded him of things he would rather forget.

As much as he liked to portray himself as unbothered by his past and unaffected by the things he’s gone through, they clearly still haunted him. The evidence of his care was carved all over his body, even deeper in his mind than on his skin. Much like the scars, the memories would be with him forever, regardless of how much he hated that fact.

Those memories were exactly what played like handheld footage through his brain the longer they remained locked in this small room. He was unable to stop the flashing images.

“Are we done yet?” He found himself asking, some of his anxiety shining through the words despite how composed he tried to keep his face. Fukuzawa paused.

Oh, he must’ve been in the middle of saying something. Dazai wasn’t paying attention, too caught up in his own thoughts. 

Fukuzawa straightened up and started organizing his papers, “We can be. After all, therapy is only as good as you make it.”

Dazai tilted his head in confusion, wondering where that came from. 

Luckily Fukuzawa seemed to be expecting it and continued on, “If you refuse to put in the effort to improve your life, that’s your decision, but I ask that you don’t waste my time with lies.”

Dazai blinked, stunned. 

He knew Fukuzawa wasn’t a typical nurse (he was a social worker) but he didn’t know that the old man had a massive pair of balls underneath that yukata. The audacity to call him out after the questions had already been answered was admirable. 

“You…” Dazai tried in vain to find the words to manipulate this conversation in his favor, “I don’t want to stay in here any longer than necessary.”

“We can’t always get what we want. In fact, we usually don’t.” Fukuzawa mused, “I wanted you to tell me the truth.”

“You can’t possibly know that what I’m saying isn’t the truth.” Dazai argued, quickly regaining his footing, “Isn’t it your job to listen to what I say without prejudice?”

“Perhaps that is your therapist’s job, but it is not mine. My job is to help you live a fulfilling life. However, recovery is reliant on the will of the patient. We both know you don’t want it, so it’s a waste of both of our time for you to lie.”

“But-” The bandaged boy floundered, “What good is the truth then? If what I say really doesn’t affect anything, why bother?”

“Even though recovery is your own responsibility, it is easier to find ways to help you realize that when you are truthful about your feelings.”

“Help me realize?”

“Yes,” Fukuzawa nodded, annoyingly relaxed despite the nervous energy in the air, “It is still my job to help you, even if you don’t want it. In hearing your true feelings, I can find better ways to convince you that putting in the effort is worth your time.”

“Huh,” Dazai hummed, slumping back in his chair.

Usually, in regards to his desire for death, people got angry with him for being depressed. They were frustrated that they could not control his emotions easily and force him into recovery. People with depression were supposed to want to get better, so why didn't Dazai? 

The method Fukuzawa suggested was not to try and pressure him into not having severe depression, but instead to persuade him into believing that trying to find a life worth living was a noble pursuit. 

If anything, it was at least more interesting than going through the same bullshit he always went through in the hospital. Even if it changed nothing about his actual feelings, it would cross off another recovery method that he could say didn't work on him. That way he could use it's failure in the future, if people insisted that there were still ways he could get better.

After a moment of thought, he nodded to himself, turning to give Fukuzawa a taunting smirk. With narrowed eyes and a slight buzz underneath his skin, he acquiesced. 

“Alright Fukuzawa. I’ll play your game. Go ahead, convince me to try.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes the urge to self harm was passive. Low, just humming underneath the surface and easy to ignore. It was always there, but it wasn't always loud. 

When it was loud though, it was all encompassing. 

It demanded to be heard. It demanded to be seen. Every thought became plagued by the want, the desire to hurt.

His mind screamed and insisted that the only thing that could stop the noise is a few cuts. The only way to silence the reverberating buzzing in his skull was to bleed it out until the screams of hell were drowned out by a comforting static.

The ache had been bothering him for days now, but he was usually able to ignore it pretty well, aside from that one slip up when he scratched his hand too hard.

Ever since after lunch though, which was immediately after his meeting with Fukuzawa, when he got a glimpse of the kitchen staff using a glistening, sharp knife to cut up some vegetables, it’d been a repeated thought in his mind, leaving him restless and jittery.

I want to cut. I want to cut. I want to cut.

He played it off by being even more flamboyant and manic than usual, but he could tell that certain people knew something was up. 

Could they read his mind? Were his thoughts really so loud that everyone could hear them? It felt like they were. People were looking at him. Did they know?

The scars that littered his skin and psyche burned like an exploding star and all he wanted to do was rip off his bandages so that he wouldn't implode.

It felt like they were exposed for the whole world to see, shining through every layer he put on to hide them, like a beacon of piercing light to show everyone how fucked up he truly was.

The conversation with Fukuzawa was also there, faintly, nudging at the edge of his mind, but it was a whisper compared to the monsoon of pleading to cut.

It was night group, and it was terribly mundane and normal. Nobody had any reason to expect anything different from usual, but Dazai was practically vibrating in his seat. Trying to find the courage to speak past the lump in his throat and tell the whole truth for once in his life.

If for nothing else, he wanted to prove Fukuzawa wrong. Out of some petty desire to say ‘I told you so. Nothing can fix me.’ regardless of the possible benefits to his mental health.

There was a topic that they would be focusing on, like always, but his time to shine came when the nurse for the evening, Kunikida, asked if anyone had anything specific they wanted to address first.

Usually no one spoke up. Even the people that were actually there for help didn't want the focus to be on them in a group setting, but the voice in his head begging him to cut was starting to ring in his ears, becoming so deafening that he could barely hear Chuuya next to him, quietly muttering to ask what's wrong with him.

What wasn't wrong with him?

His conversation with Fukuzawa was playing on repeat in his head. According to his logic, Dazai would never be able to get better unless he himself actively desired to, and subsequently put the work into.

It sounded tiring and useless and like something that would usually have him double wrapping himself in bandages, but he didn’t really have much left to lose. 

“I want to talk about something.”

It took him a second to realize it was his own voice that spoke out, interrupting whatever Kunikida was about to say. The nurse looked surprised and wary, which made sense. Dazai never wanted to talk about anything serious, and the few times he did speak up were only when he wanted to cause trouble for the staff. 

“What do you want to talk about, Dazai?” Kunikida still had to indulge him as a nurse, even if he expected nonsense to come out of his mouth.

To make it easier on himself, Dazai locked away any lingering fear of exposing his problems, shoving all of his emotions tightly into a box that he could open at a later time or perhaps never again. Only when he was able to take a deep breath without feeling like his heart was going to jump out of his throat, was he able to continue.

“I…” He swallowed dryly, hoping that revealing this wouldn’t ruin his street cred, “I keep thinking about cutting. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s all I want to do right now.”

His admission garnered a look of surprise that was quickly covered up with a professionally blank look. The rest of the group was deathly silent, for once actually paying apt attention to the person who never seemed to take therapy seriously. Dazai couldn't help but resent them for only paying attention when things worth gossiping about were happening.

Recovering from his shock, Kunikida responded in a low resonance that did absolutely nothing to help Dazai’s nerves, “Why do you want to self harm?” 

He almost laughed at the question; a nervous response. He swiftly smothered that urge by biting his lip, in favor of actually trying to answer the question as seriously as he could.

The stares from his peers felt heavy on him and he began to bounce his leg up and down without thinking about it. Once he realized he was doing it though, he quickly put a hand on his knee to stop it.

“I deserve it.”

Because that was what it really boiled down to: punishment.

He could say it made him feel better, but that would be a lie. He could say it silenced the voices in his head, but that would also be a lie. He could even say that it gave him a sense of control, and while it definitely did sometimes, there were times like this when he realized that it controlled him much more than he controlled it.

If anything, self harming only made everything worse. It was like breaking a bone and then breaking a different bone in hopes that the new pain would overshadow the original pain. It didn't help at all. It just meant he now had double the pain.

“Why do you think you deserve it?!” The question came out more like a demand for an explanation, and it came from Chuuya sitting next to him, rather than Kunikida. 

He couldn't meet the other boy's eyes, staring off at the wall and trying his best to speak casually. Over everyone else's gaze, he could specifically feel Fukuzawa also watching him intently. He didn’t dare to look though, not wanting to see whatever expression the old man was probably making. God forbid it was any kind of pride for him opening up. He’d rather be injected with ‘booty juice’ than have to see that.

“Because I hurt people.” He answered honestly, “I make everyone’s lives worse just by being there, so I cut myself for them. Because I deserve to feel the pain I gave them.”

“Idiot!” Chuuya hissed, only to be silenced by Kunikida. 

Dazai had no idea why his response angered the other boy so much. Perhaps Chuuya just liked to get angry about things.

“Hurting yourself does not fix whatever wrongs you’ve done to others.” Kunikida began, seemingly completely out of his element. He was a nurse though. Shouldn’t this be easier to deal with than the usual bullshit Dazai pulled?

Rescuing the other nurse from having to do his job, Fukuzawa spoke up in his stead.

“So you feel repentant for the things you’ve done. And somehow, as a way to rectify that, you harm yourself. Following the philosophy of ‘an eye for an eye’, correct?” The old man’s irritatingly calm voice spoke up, the steady timber making Dazai feel more relaxed, against his will.

Dazai didn’t bother verbally responding, simply nodding his head and continuing to avoid all eye contact. 

Yes, he talked about his fucked up life quite a lot, with a general air of nonchalance and detachment to the point where it almost felt like he was reading aloud from a book about somebody else.

However, it was a very rare occurrence for him to speak about his actual, ugh- feelings.

Most of the time, he’d prefer to feel nothing at all. As horrible as it was to feel so empty and inhuman all the time, it was at least more bearable than having to face the emotions he’d been shoving down his entire life. It left him with less chance of getting hurt more.

He could talk about his suicide attempts and self harm and abuse for hours, as long as he pretended it was not his own. To put his personal thought process during these events out there in the open was a different thing entirely.

It left him feeling far too exposed and vulnerable. And if he learned anything from Mori growing up, it was that he could not reveal his vulnerabilities to others. They would exploit them the first chance they got.

“Does anyone know where the idea of ‘an eye for an eye’ originated?” Fukuzawa brought him back to the present, aiming his question at the rest of the group. 

The question seemed to come out of nowhere to Dazai, who was still so caught up in his own thoughts about self harming that he couldn’t put all of his focus into whatever connection Fukuzawa was trying to make.

The room was quiet with everyone's reluctance to answer, or perhaps their pondering back to the things they’d learned in school. Ranpo actually seemed to be listening to the conversation for once, instead of sitting bored like he usually did. That irritated Dazai for reasons he couldn’t be bothered to explain.

“Ah, isn’t it from old Babylonian times?” Poe finally piped up, raising his hand hesitantly as he spoke.

Fukuzawa nodded to him and Kunikida started to get into it as well, eagerly sitting forward in his chair. Despite being one of the nurses, he was eager to show his own knowledge on the subject.

“Yes, lex talionis, from the Code of Hammurabi.” Kunikida lectured, “The Babylonians valued justice, but they had little regard for human life. Hammurabi preached about equality in all of his laws, but also regarded himself as a prophet of the gods, condemning any who dared to disagree with his code.”

“The Code of Hammurabi was regarded as the ultimate form of justice and equality, despite not being so at all,” Fukuzawa further explained, “Because of his failure to set up a proper legal system, this concept of lex talionis usually did more harm than good, serving punishments that were too harsh and did not properly fit the crime, or were biased due to social class.”

“It's nice of you to give us a good history lesson, but how is any of this relevant?” Dazai drawled, interrupting the speech. 

He could feel the heavy stare of Fukuzawa’s gaze on his shoulders, but he still refused to look back, stubbornly keeping his blank expression directed to the wall.

“The ‘eye for an eye’ principle failed. That system of punishment was cruel and unrealistic. Your self harm is the same.”

Dazai scoffed.

Sure, this all made sense from a moral standpoint.

His self inflicted punishments didn’t really equal the sins he committed, nor did they deter him from becoming any worse a human being. He didn’t need Fukuzawa to point out how utterly meaningless his habit was. Dazai already knew well enough.

Logically, cutting himself did shit all to repent for what he’d done.

However-

If this could not redeem the atrocities he’s committed, then what could he possibly do to make up for his failings? How could he give himself the pain he deserved, in honor of those he hurt?

Until he found the answers for that, knowing that cutting was essentially useless did nothing for him. It certainly wouldn’t stop him from continuing to do it whenever he had the chance. 

“Self harm is an illogical solution, I know that,” Dazai tilted his head down so that his hair covered his one unbandaged eye, “but that changes nothing. I still want to do it.”

Fukuzawa gave him a sympathetic nod that Dazai successfully did not gag at.

“It can very easily become an addiction. Once someone is in the cycle of compulsive self-punishment, it is hard to get out of it. But with enough work, no one is beyond saving.”

Not even you, were the unspoken words at the end of his little speech.

After so many years of no progress though, hearing how ‘it will get better’ quickly became tiring, and lost all meaning, becoming a group of meaningless words offered when one couldn't think of anything else.

There was nothing else truthful Dazai could say that would end this miserable conversation though.

“Sure.” He mumbled, hoping to be done for now.

He’d played Fukuzawa’s little game, no matter how mentally exhausted it left him. He opened up in group therapy and listened to what they had to say in return.

And he still felt like complete shit anyway.

Dazai’s jaw clenched uncomfortably and he had to force himself to relax it again. In spite of what he’d just revealed, he couldn’t show any further weakness. 

When it became apparent that he was done discussing himself any further, Kunikida cleared his throat.

“Does anyone else have anything more to add, or any other issues they wish to discuss?” It grew silent again, so Kunikida continued, “Then moving on-”

“I want to talk about the reason I came here.”

Heads, including Dazai’s, swiveled immediately to Akutagawa, who was looking grimly determined. The emo teen had not spoken about himself or his feelings once since he’s been here, only giving the barest of responses or complete silence. The only times he did participate were when he disagreed with something Atsushi said, but he still never talked about himself, only about his own beliefs that Atsushi’s were wrong.

If all it took for him to open up was Dazai opening up, he might’ve done so sooner. He frequently underestimated how much some of the kids in here idolized him. They really, really shouldn’t look up to him, but apparently they did. Enough to follow in his footsteps of opening up in group therapy.

“Go ahead Akutagawa,” Kunikida encouraged, still baffled at having two of the least talkative patients speak up during his session. He held his clipboard tightly in his hands, glasses reflecting the ceiling lights and obscuring his eyes from view.

Never one to mince words, Akutagawa coughed into his fist and gave everyone a blunt truth.

“I’m dying.”

The shock around the group was palpable, and Dazai almost wanted to laugh because, surely he was just being his dramatic emo self. He couldn’t possibly be…

But as he’d mentioned before, Akutagawa wasn’t someone who made jokes like this. He was brutally honest to a fault.

Despite everyone else being caught completely off-guard, Fukuzawa retained his calm demeanor.

“And how has that led you here?”

Akutagawa coughed again, straightening up and looking briefly at Dazai and then (interestingly enough) Atsushi, before focusing on the social worker instead.

“My lung condition has no cure. The doctor’s told me I have only a few months left, and to make peace with my friends and family.” 

The room was completely silent. Dazai couldn’t even hear anyone breathing, as if they were all holding their breath together.

“I am going to die regardless, but I wanted to pass on my own volition.” Akutagawa continued as if he was talking about what he had for breakfast, “The reason I’m in here is because I attempted, and failed, suicide.”

At that he finally showed a sign of his emotions, his fists clenching at his sides and his jaw tensing. Dazai could relate to that feeling of inadequacy and disappointment after a failed attempt, but he had an inkling that Akutagawa was less upset about still being alive and more upset with himself for not succeeding at something. 

Nobody spoke, even though Akutagawa seemed to be finished speaking. Even Kunikida and Fukuzawa were quiet, the nurse looking conflicted and the social worker simply closing his eyes solemnly. There was nothing anyone could say. Dazai himself didn’t know what to say.

Any condolences he offered would've come out wrong, and probably do more harm than good. He couldn’t even force himself to feel any type of way over the situation, his mind familiarly numb and still not quite recovered from his own opening up. Maybe he was in shock.

“Don’t you have anything you want to do before you die?” Atsushi’s soft voice broke through the silence. The look in his eyes was devastated, his voice quivering. 

Akutagawa paused for a second to think. 

“There’s things I wish I could do in the future that I can’t now. I would’ve liked to see my sister graduate high school, go to college, get married. Nothing that I can do within the next few months.”

Fukuzawa reopened his eyes, looking pained to have to offer this advice, “Have you considered a hastened death? I know of some doctors that still allow that practice.”

One of those doctors likely being Mori. If Dazai knew anything about his father’s work, it was that he would have no problems killing sick people.

Akutagawa shook his head at the same time Dazai nodded his, in understanding. They shared a look between them, their eyes finally meeting. There was a deep resignation in those gray eyes.

Akutagawa was not sad. He’d come to terms with his fate the moment he tried to end his life.

That told Dazai everything he needed to know about what was going on in his younger friend’s mind.

Dazai ended up answering for him, grimly speaking as Akutagawa coughed once more, “It wouldn’t be on his own terms. If he let the doctors assist, then his life would still be in someone else’s control. Not his own.”

Dazai knew exactly how much suicide and self harm were all just fruitless efforts to control one’s life. Numerous physicians had told him that. Despite how much he would rather them be dead wrong about his motivations, they weren’t far off. 

In some ways, it was about control. He was the only thing in life that he could control, after all.

Based on Akutagawa's motives for killing himself, it was probably the same for him.

He was going to die regardless, but perhaps if he was the one that did the final deed, it would make him feel a little less helpless. Make the whole situation seem a little less unfair.

The truth was that none of it was fair.

Why did this keep happening around Dazai? Was it his fault? Was he the curse that sentenced people undeserving of death into an early grave?

He was the one that wanted to die. Instead, the people in his life that mattered to him most were always dying.

What was the solution? Killing himself? Cutting himself as fruitless punishment? Or was it to push everyone away and become completely alone…

He couldn’t do that though. 

Dazai was selfish.

Even if he didn't want to live, for the time he was forced to stay here, he didn't want to be alone.

Pushing people away would only be done as a precursor to suicide, to make sure that nobody would be upset about his death. Even if that same selfish part of him wanted people to mourn. Wanted to be remembered.

The session continued on after that, with people only being able to offer their condolences to Akutagawa and nothing more. 

Dazai couldn't recall what they talked about for the rest of the time. He barely even registered that he’d opened up earlier too, so caught up in thought about Akutagawa's predicament.

Before he knew it, group therapy ended and they were sitting at their own tables eating dinner.

Dazai couldn’t remember going up and getting dinner, but here he was with it on the table in front of him; some sort of mashed potatoes and turkey. He was with Chuuya, Atsushi, and Akutagawa, as they usually ate together, but he was the only one not eating. 

Atsushi was throwing flitting glances up at Akutagawa, who was quietly eating as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Chuuya was less obvious about his concern, inhaling his food like an animal but pointedly not talking about what was shared in group therapy. Dazai was simply staring with dead eyes at Akutagawa as he ate, until Chuuya finally nudged him roughly and pointed his fork at Dazai’s plate of food on the table.

Rather than do something as boring as eating, Dazai did what he was best at and decided to discuss what was on everyone’s mind regardless of social niceties. 

Tastelessly, he clapped his hands together; “We should do a double suicide Akutagawa-kun!”

Chuuya promptly smacked him on the back of the head, hissing at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How insensitive can you be?”

Dazai was about to answer that he could be a lot more insensitive, but Akutagawa beat him to it.

“No thank you Dazai-san. I’m not a beautiful woman, like what you want.”

As if that was the most pertinent reason to deny his offer.

“I’m willing to revise my final wish! I can die with a beautiful- well, average-looking guy instead.” Dazai insisted reverently.

Chuuya sneered, “I think what Akutagawa’s really trying to say is that he doesn’t want your disgusting mackerel-eyed face to be the last thing he sees.”

“Chibi shouldn’t be judging appearances when he looks like an edgier strawberry shortcake.”

Just as Chuuya was about to slam his face into his food, Dazai swiftly backed away from the table and took his unfinished plate to the trash. 

“Guys, uh, I don’t think this is something we should joke about-” Atsushi started, but was also quickly shot down by Akutagawa.

“I don’t mind it. Humor is one of Dazai's coping skills.” 

Returning to his spot, Dazai sputtered at being so utterly called out, putting his hands on his hips with a huff while Chuuya smothered his hysterical laughter by shoving more of his dinner into his mouth.

“Don’t patronize me. I’m being totally serious.”

Akutagawa continued as if he’d said nothing.

“Chuuya was right though,” The acknowledgement made the ginger choke on his food. Good. “I don’t want to see you die.”

He said it with a sincerity that spoke a lot deeper than just because he didn’t want to witness such an act. From the sickly boy’s expression, what he really wanted was for Dazai not to die at all. A big request for somebody who had the absolute privilege of dying young.

Dazai rolled his eyes but relented, not finding the argument worth fighting for. Even if a double suicide with Akutagawa was off the table, he still had plenty of time to find a lovely lady to seduce into jumping off a bridge with him. 

“Anyway,” Dazai brushed that comment off, deciding to end any talks about his suicidal ideations, “What finally got you to tell everyone about the whole dying thing?”

He had a hunch already, but still loved to hear praise when he could. As confident and pompous as he always acted, his self esteem was the size of a peanut. Dazai's self hatred was deeply ingrained into his very being, soaking through him all the way to the core.

Akutagawa thought about it with a completely inexpressive face, “Well, if Dazai-san could talk about himself, then I could talk about my own complications.” 

Dazai knew it was coming, but it still brought a smug grin to his face. 

Even if expressing his inner thoughts didn't make him feel any better about his own life, at least it influenced Akutagawa to open up about his life and what was actually bothering him.

It wasn’t planned but he could pretend it was all part of his genius manipulation. Although maybe Akutagawa calling his literal death a ‘complication' was a bit of an understatement.

Before he could open his mouth and say ‘you're welcome’, Atsushi seemed to get over his discomfort about the conversation topic, a thoughtful look blooming on his face.

“Oh yeah, Dazai-san,” Dazai turned towards Atsushi, “Do you feel any better after talking about your- um… urges?” 

The anxious teen whispered out the last word like it was taboo, too nervous to say something as scandalous as ‘self harm’ or ‘cutting’ out loud. Dazai only stopped himself from rolling his eyes out of respect for Atsushi.

“Atsushi-kun~” He sang, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face, “The only thing that could make me feel better is a swift and painless death.”

Chuuya scoffed, causing dark amber eyes to flash to him, “God you’re so pretentious. Just say it sucked and move on.”

In a show of childish retaliation, Dazai stuck his tongue out at him. The redhead stuck his tongue out right back.

“I feel better after speaking,” Akutagawa intoned, “I no longer have this suffocating secret weighing me down. It was smothering to keep in.”

“Poetic.” Dazai deadpanned. 

“Well, don’t give up!” Atsushi had a determined look on his face, frowning at Dazai, “This time it didn’t help… but maybe next time it will!”

The sentiment was sweet, but Dazai highly doubted it.

Still, it would basically be conceding defeat to give up after only one session. He’d continue opening up in group therapy after this, no matter how much it pained him. 

Not wanting to drag this on any longer than it’s already gone on, Dazai gave Atsushi a tired smile, not quite genuine but less fake than the one before.

“Maybe.”

Only time would tell. As hopeful as he’d like to be though, there was still an insatiable itch underneath his skin, aching to be set free.

Even if it made no logical sense, wouldn’t help at all, would only make everything worse; he wanted to cut.

Chapter Text

Father had to entertain guests more and more frequently in recent days. Each time the elite would be scheduled to arrive, Mori would tell him to be quiet, seen but not heard. To not speak unless spoken to.

Dazai was completely fine with this arrangement. He didn’t want to talk to the stuck-up, wealthy benefactors and politicians that his father continuously invited over. 

Usually though, after he’d been introduced and shunned away to ‘return to his studies’, he was plagued with an undeniable boredom. 

Unlike other kids his age, he did not play with toys or revel in make-believe nonsense. Even his studies, which were at a level far above his peers, bored him to death with facts and theories he already knew.

Instead of doing what he was told, Dazai preferred to listen in on Mori’s meetings from the top of the staircase, trying to discern idle chatter from actual news as he hid just out of sight.

He was fairly certain that Mori knew he listened in anyway, and would punish him for it later, but that was a problem for future-Dazai. Besides, his punishments were starting to get predictable. Dazai felt so emotionless that he doubted Mori could do anything to hurt him further.

Dazai sighed, momentarily spacing out as he crouched just behind the stairway banister, gripping the railing with tiny hands. More and more recently he’s been starting to feel this cold numbness overtake him. Where in the past he would fear punishment, he now realized that nothing could hurt him more than he’s already been hurt.

Nothing will ever be worse than the life he’s already forced to live.

“Young master.”

The voice shocked him, but he made no show of it and was slow to respond, turning his head to look behind him at one of the servants that had been hired recently. She was short, with an unremarkable face, pitch black stringy hair, and something nefarious hiding in her long skirts, but Dazai didn’t care enough to learn more about her.

“You know you shouldn’t be listening in on the master’s meetings,” She admonished, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the staircase. 

She was a bit rougher than the old servant used to be, unafraid of being more stern with him. She reminded Dazai of stories he’d read about nuns and how strict they were to those under them. His life might be terrible but Dazai was somewhat thankful that Mori spared him the horrors of religious schooling.

Her grip was bruising as she pulled him away, but Dazai said nothing of it. It’s not like it mattered if he was in pain.

“Father told me to study,” The child argued as he was pulled into the familiar library that stood strong in this hell hole of a mansion, “So I did.”

“He did not mean to study his colleagues, and you know that.” The servant was having none of his excuses, settling him down in a chair that was much too big for him.

Dropping a book in his lap, she moved over to a communication system on the wall, requesting another servant to also watch over him. That seemed unnecessary. He may have been a wily little thing but he didn’t need two servants to keep him in check. 

It was pointless to ponder on it though. It’s not like he had any say in the matter. Ignoring the servant who was anxiously pacing in front of the door, Dazai picked up the book in his lap and began to read.

The book was a nonfiction, written by a former slave about his life in chains. It was an interesting read, even if Dazai already knew all about this time period. The book went into the man’s own thoughts and feelings, which was something that always interested Dazai, as he was curious of the way other people’s minds worked.

Their lives were much worse than his, and yet they still desired to live on. It was fascinating.

The other servant had finally arrived after he finished the first chapter, entering the room and swiftly closing the door behind him. He was another new one, having arrived at the same time as the woman did. Unlike the woman, he was a lot bigger, stockier, and usually negligent to whatever Dazai was doing.

The sound of a lock clicking into place drew Dazai out of his reading. He looked up at the servants, who were now walking over to him.

A feeling of unease settled in his stomach, but he had no reason to feel such a way, so he ignored it.

“Look who has gotten so big!” The man servant announced in what was probably meant to be a friendly voice.

The facade didn't fool the boy, who knew an insincere person when he heard one. Dazai hadn’t grown that much in such a short time. Not enough for this servant who only started recently to notice, at least. 

Before Dazai could say a word in response, the man placed his hands under the boy’s arms and lifted him up off the chair. The ease with which Dazai was picked up and moved made him feel somewhat like a doll. Helpless. It was not a good feeling.

The servant plopped back onto the chair, settling Dazai in his lap. This wasn’t too uncommon, as many servants before had done the same when he was younger, but he thought he’d outgrown such childish treatment. He tried to ignore how minuscule he felt sitting on the man's much thicker thigh.

“Still small enough to lift up though! Has the young master been eating enough?” The man's much larger hands settled on Dazai’s hips, holding him too tightly in place.

The woman servant knelt down in front of them, looking up with an unrecognizable gleam in her eyes. 

“Oh no, he has not. Look how thin he is!” She lifted up Dazai’s shirt and patted his stomach.

Her slimy hands were uncomfortable, but when Dazai tried to squirm away, the man simply held him down firmer, fingers digging into his skin. 

The feeling of trepidation that he’d had ever since he heard the door lock was beginning to disperse his usual cloud of apathy. His heart started to beat a little harder in his chest as he felt strangely out of control of whatever this situation was, without enough knowledge to do anything about it.

He didn’t understand what was going on. Why were these servants so touchy? Why were they talking about him as if he couldn’t speak for himself?

“Um, please don’t do that.” Dazai politely requested, remembering to use his manners even when he didn’t want to.

“Do what?” The man behind him asked innocently, using one of his hands to reach up and feel Dazai’s chest under his clothes as well, “This?”

“Yes.” Dazai responded, trying to shy away from the hand, only to fall back onto the servant’s broad chest. There was no escape.

“Yes, you want us to continue?” The woman smiled, sharp teeth making her look more like a gorgon than human. Her hands began to roam to his thighs, groping the flesh as she went.

“No- I want you to please s-stop.” Dazai tripped over his words, suddenly feeling an impending sense of dread at the turn this was taking. He'd never stuttered before.

He thought he couldn’t feel fear any more, but right now he could hear his heart pumping blood through his ears and his palms beginning to sweat. He was usually more in control of his responses, but everything about this felt humbling. Like he had no power here. That despite his technical ranking as their young master, they were the ones who were in charge.

“Don’t worry boy, this will feel good.” The woman may as well have had a forked tongue slip through her teeth. 

Her hands on his thighs began to creep up to areas that were making his body tense up and stomach turn. The man whose lap he was in had started pinching his chest, murmuring something about how soft he was. The man bit Dazai’s earlobe and he jerked away, letting out a quiet whimper as the fear really started to kick in.

The woman shushed him, leaning forward and shutting him up with her lips. 

Dazai didn’t understand what was going on at all. 

For once he was actually hoping that Mori would come to interrupt whatever this was, but he should be entertaining his guests for at least another couple hours.

Panic began to kick in as he realized he was completely alone, that no one would be coming to stop this. That he had to get away on his own. 

He finally began to struggle in earnest, but was unable to move anywhere. With the man behind him and the woman caging him in, Dazai was trapped. 

“Hey now,” The woman finally pulled away after assaulting his mouth, cooing at the boy, “Shh, none of that. You wouldn’t want to disrupt your father’s meeting.”

At this point he would rather take whatever punishment Mori would decide to give him than whatever these two had planned. At least he knew what Mori’s punishments entailed. He had no idea what these people were going to do next. 

But then he thought about Mori and all of his guests breaking into this room, and seeing Dazai stuck between these servants and completely helpless to their touches, and he felt sick. How disappointed Mori would be to see his son so vulnerable to servants that were supposed to be beneath him.

His father couldn’t see him being so weak.

So he resolved to endure whatever this was, even as his stomach curled in disgust and tears began to form in his eyes. He would endure. 

He could handle anything they did, he tried to remind himself, even as the sinister hands finally-

Dazai shot up in a cold sweat, shaking all over.

It was dark in the room, he could barely see in front of his face. This lack of sight did absolutely nothing to make the images behind his eyelids disappear.

His breathing sped up to match his racing heart, even though he knew it was just a nightmare. He knew he wasn’t back there, but it still felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like large rough hands were around his throat and his legs and-

Usually his bandages were a comfort. A shield from anything that could hurt him. But now so soon after a memory of that, they felt suffocating.

Momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t alone in the room, he frantically started ripping the bandages off his neck, freeing himself to breathe.

It still felt like ants were crawling all over his skin though, and he kicked the sheets off of his body to check. More bandages covered his skin, so he ripped those off as well, trying to find the source of this tingling so he could crush it in his hands. 

The scars that littered his skin almost seemed to be moving in the darkness of the room. Only the moon shining in from outside the window shed light onto his skin, expanding the shadows of the scars and making them look like worms squirming all over him.

He made a noise of distress at the visual, trying in vain to swipe the worms off, to get the bugs off, to just get it all off of him. To finally have his skin be cleansed of the filth.

That was when a hand clamped over his wrist. He pushed the body away from him with all of his strength, snarling like a rabid dog.

“Don’t touch me.”

He hissed, scrambling up the bed and away from the body that was now looking up at him with wide eyes from the floor.

Seeing Chuuya stare at him in shock brought him back to where he was though. In the mental facility. In his room. With his roommate. His roommate who probably just woke up to see him having a complete breakdown on the bed next to him.

Chuuya’s face said everything he needed to know. Such an open display of emotions made Dazai gag. 

“Dazai…” Chuuya whispered, the sound shattering the ringing in his ears.

His only escape was the bathroom, so he stumbled to his feet and sped behind the curtain separating it from their regular room, and prayed that Chuuya wouldn’t come through the flimsy barrier of protection.

Dazai fell into the shower, curling himself into a tight ball in the furthest corner atop the dirty tiles, watching the curtain with an alertness he didn’t feel he truly had.

Despite it being near silent, the night air felt overwhelmingly loud, with both his heartbeat and frantic breaths invading his hearing. His stomach curled in on itself, and he spared a moment to be grateful for escaping to the bathroom, before he crawled to the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. 

He heaved, tears peaking at the corner of his eyes before he furiously shoved the palms of his hands into them to smother the sign of weakness. Mori would've been so disappointed in him.

Once he’d thrown up half his body weight, he fell back down on his rear, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and absentmindedly flushing the toilet before he cowered back to his position in the corner of the shower.

Thankfully, vomiting brought him back to his senses a little, like he was purging himself of the remnants of his memories, making him coherent enough to feel his face heat up in humiliation. 

Dazai curled up once again, hiding his face in his hands as he grit his teeth, shaking slightly. 

Why was this still affecting him? 

He’d already been through it. It was over. It happened, and he endured it, and he told Mori about it in passing, trying to appear mildly annoyed rather than absolutely disgusted in himself, and the servants were taken away, and he was given therapy and meds and treatment- and it was done.

The doctor’s and police even made him describe to them exactly what happened, numerous times. Dazai thought he’d numbed himself to the feelings that day had carved into him.

Evidently, he spoke too soon. 

The nighttime nurse would surely walk in any second now, and Chuuya would tell them everything that happened. All of his progress towards escaping this place dripped down the drain of this dirty shower.

As his hands slid down his bare face, he had another startling realization. 

His bandages.

They were ripped off, in tatters. The ones that had been over his eye were lost somewhere, probably back on his bed. The ones that were on his arms and neck were hanging off, not hiding anything. His scars were visible, though luckily he hadn't reopened them. 

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

There was only one solution he knew to respond with. He thought he would be patient enough to wait until he was out of here, or saw where his deal with Fukuzawa was going to go, but this was too big a setback.

His fingernails had already dug into the stitches in his wrists before he paused again.

This was a hospital. Even if he did manage to reopen all of his wounds with his nails alone, there were staff at the ready. They would immediately take him into intensive care and he would have to go through this whole process all over again.

With a sigh, he let his arms fall limply to his sides, feeling almost as worthless as he did back then. 

Almost.

Nothing could really compare to the total loss of control that he'd experienced that day. 

Dazai was staring at the wall on the other side of the bathroom when the curtain was gently pushed aside. His eyes flitted over against his will, needing to assess what could be a potential threat as it entered into the cramped room.

Oda, stepping quietly into the room, with his hands up, a false sign of surrender. It was to lure Dazai into complacency, but he knew that the nurse was the one with all the power here. His mock surrender meant nothing. 

Behind the older nurse, he could see Chuuya standing rigidly in their room, the lights now on and revealing an agitated expression on the redhead’s face. It looked like the other boy wanted nothing more than to rush towards Dazai, but he had clearly been told to stay where he was. 

Oda turned on the light of the bathroom, making Dazai’s eyes water although he refused to blink. Despite his trust in the older man, he could not leave himself vulnerable for even a second. Dazai’s eyes remained locked onto Oda as he crouched down an arm's length away, looking him over for injuries.

“OdaSaku.” He croaked, throat raw.

The nurse watched him steadily, blank expression thankfully not revealing any pity. Only concern for his current state.

“Dazai, are you with us?”

His monotonous timber actually helped Dazai relax somewhat. It didn't drown out the sickly sweet gasps and grunts that were echoing in his skull, but it did give him something else to listen to.

“I’m here.” 

His voice was rough, and he felt like Akutagawa as he coughed to clear out his throat. If only he was guaranteed death soon too like Akutagawa was.

“Do you have any injuries I can’t see?” 

Dazai slowly and shakily unfurled himself from the ball his body was curled into, muscles aching at being tensed in such a position. He showed his wrists, trying to ignore the knowledge that Chuuya could see his gnarled scars from where he stood outside the room. The sharp intake of breath he heard made his heart squeeze.

“Not injured.” Dazai confirmed.

Oda finally made an expression other than concern as he winced, needing to ask one more question.

“And how are you feeling?” 

Dazai had to bite his lip to stop himself from letting out an unhinged laugh or maybe a sob.

The dreaded question that haunted everyone involved in the world of psychology. It was so cliche, and yet it was a necessary question to ask every single time. 

He chuckled darkly anyway, feeling some comfort in the cover such a reaction gave him.

“I’ll live.”

Unfortunately.

…

Even though he didn’t hurt himself, an episode was still an episode, so Oda had to remain in their room for the rest of the night. Chuuya’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something but one sharp look from the nurse had him snapping his jaw shut, disgruntled.

They went to their respective beds as Oda set up a chair at the end of Dazai’s, leaving briefly to retrieve more bandages to replace the ones he’d ruined.

None of them slept.

In the morning, Oda escorted them to vitals before walking off with another one of the doctors. He must’ve stayed longer than his shift to watch Dazai all night. The teen tried to swallow down his guilt.

Breakfast that morning was eggs and bacon, but it all tasted flavorless to him. Chuuya followed him as he sat down, not even bothering to eat his own meal as he stared across the table at him. It felt like they inverted their positions from the morning after Chuuya’s blackout. Unlike then though, Dazai knew that Chuuya wasn’t gonna let this go and whatever questions he’d ask would be way too much for Dazai to handle right now, so he decided to take charge before the more abrasive teen could interrogate him.

“Soooo, how did you sleep?”

Dazai smiled cheerily, resting his chin on one of his hands as the other poked idly at his food with a plastic fork. Putting on a mask was as easy as breathing at this point.

Chuuya glared. Luckily, that erased the infuriatingly cautious look that was on his face before. 

“Terribly, obviously,” He growled, "What the fuck happened?”

Dazai gave him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow, “I had a nightmare, obviously.”

“That wasn't just a nightmare.” The other teen looked down, staring unblinkingly at his untouched food. “It was like…”

He struggled to find the right words for a minute before giving up entirely and making a noise of frustration.

Dazai did not take pity on him. Not when his own internal emotions were the ones at risk.

“Just a nightmare! Everyone gets them, chibi.” 

He threw in his favorite nickname for the other in hopes it would deter him from speaking more on the topic. It didn’t.

“It wasn’t.” Chuuya insisted, furrowing his eyebrows. “And then… under those stupid bandages…” 

Now that was something Dazai was absolutely not going to talk about right now. The scars, which began appearing on his skin soon after that event, were an entirely different demon. Unrelated to what happened when he was a child.

He emotionally removed himself from the conversation, going back to eating his breakfast even though every bite made him want to gag.

“You already knew what was there. Unless-” He gasped dramatically, “Have you not been paying attention during group? And you call me a bad patient!” 

Chuuya rolled his eyes, posture seeming to unconsciously relax for a second at the familiar banter but tensing up again before he could let himself forget about what they were talking about. Dazai mentally kicked himself for making friends with someone so stubborn and bullheaded.

“Yeah, I knew but… actually seeing them…” Chuuya’s eyes ran over the new bandages covering Dazai’s arms. 

The bandaged teen subconsciously took his arms off the table and hid them underneath.

The feeling he got sometimes that people could see right through his first line of defense was actually a reality this time, as Chuuya could probably remember exactly what his skin looked like under there. Even clawing Chuuya's pretty blue eyeballs out wouldn't erase the images in his head. Dazai knew that better than anyone.

“They’re a lot more…” Chuuya was really struggling to find words today. He shook his head helplessly, “I don’t understand how you could do that to yourself.”

Dazai bristled at the underlying judgement that was hinted at in those words.

Even if Chuuya didn't mean for it to be there, Dazai heard it loud and clear. He'd heard it from plenty of other people in his life too.

“Well, you don’t need to understand.” His mask slipped for a second as he responded coldly.

Chuuya gazed imploringly at him, “But I want to.”

Dazai’s breath caught in his throat. For a brief moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if Chuuya could relate to his history of self harm. If his skin was also littered with scars. If he could understand exactly why Dazai did what he did... the thought made him sick.

“No, you really don’t.”

His voice came out as almost a whisper, and he quickly decided he was done with this discussion.

After his memory dream, and then Chuuya seeing much more of him than he wanted to share, he just wanted to hide all of his emotions behind a locked door and return to the comforting numbness of apathy.

Without waiting for Chuuya’s inevitable response, Dazai took his plate and threw out the remainder of his breakfast, hurriedly walking up to the med counter for his morning pills before speed walking back to their room so he could hide in the shower for a little bit before group. 

For this shower, he did take off his bandages, electing to just redress them after he dried himself off. The feeling of the bandages wrapped around his neck still felt too constricting so soon after that memory.

Behind the privacy of a curtain, he finally had some time alone to process the events of the last few hours and just think.

Chuuya was now one of the few people (that wasn't a doctor) that had seen his scars. He was also one of the few people to witness one of Dazai’s real breakdowns, even if it didn’t last that long and wasn’t nearly as severe as some of his others. 

His arms wrapped around themselves as these truths sunk in, leaving him feeling unraveled.

The other boy knew too much, had seen too much of what the real Dazai looked like. Underneath all the masks and his burying of his emotions. He felt naked, completely bare and exposed against the knowledge Chuuya now possessed. 

It wasn’t fair. He now knew more about Dazai than Dazai knew about him, and that just wouldn’t do.

Mori taught him to always be the one with the most information. As much as he despised the man, those lessons were ingrained into his very being, and they were useful to follow.

He needed to find out more about Chuuya. To strip him of his defenses like Dazai had been stripped of his. To make him feel the same inadequacy that he was feeling right now. Then, they’d be even.

Distantly, he remembered the journal Chuuya had been writing in that he didn’t want Dazai or the others to read. Surely that would have some secrets that would hurt the other boy. 

Where was it? On Chuuya’s side of the room somewhere. He’d have to dig around. Maybe he could find some time to come back during one of the sessions today, when Chuuya would be occupied.

Yes, that sounded good. Then he wouldn’t feel so much like he was drowning alone in a frozen lake. He would pull Chuuya underneath the freezing water with him. They could lose all air in their lungs and succumb to frostbite together, hand in unwilling hand.

This probably wasn’t healthy thinking, nor was it a morally okay thing to do, but Dazai never claimed to be a good person. Most of the time, he actually openly expressed the opposite.

Come the end of the day, he wouldn’t be the only one feeling this crushing weight of worthlessness. 

Chapter Text

Acting like nothing was wrong was second nature at this point. Slapping a smile onto his face and burying any visible signs of distress was one of the first things he’d learned as a young boy, and it certainly came in handy now.

After his shower (which was excruciating because rubbing his body raw without opening his recent scars was difficult, but he couldn’t stop until there weren't any more phantom hands trailing up and down his skin), Dazai put on his biggest, comfiest, azure hoodie, one where the sleeves were long enough to cover his hands and the hood was large enough to swallow his head. He rewrapped his layers of bandages ritualistically, letting a cool numbness soak into his bones as he shielded his skin from the world and tried in vain to once again clear his mind of the past. 

He then returned to the main room for morning group therapy. This time he did not participate beyond his usual teasing, resolutely ignoring Chuuya’s hard stare on him the entire time.

Chuuya was watching him like he expected Dazai to fall apart at any moment and start throwing chairs, like he'd done. Like he was unstable.

This unwelcome surveillance only cemented the idea in his head of prying into Chuuya's innermost thoughts. He would enact his plan later in the day, when those infuriating blue eyes were not so alerted to his every move. 

Luckily, Kenji and Naomi were being released today. Usually when it was a person’s last day, the group would spend a few minutes exchanging contact information for the outside world, hugging each other goodbye and promising to reach out even though they both knew neither of them would. It was the perfect time to slip out from the group and search for Chuuya’s journal.

From there, he could only hope that there was something actually intimate in the book, otherwise the invasion of privacy would be a total waste of time. 

A small insignificant speck of his heart was screaming at him to not do this, that it would be breaking the tiny amount of trust that had been building between them. Hurting Chuuya would do nothing to make him feel any better. 

However, the larger part of his brain was spitting curses in defense of itself as it was backed into a corner, screeching like a wild animal and insisting that now his roommate had too much control in their relationship, as the one with more knowledge.

That was unacceptable. 

Dazai had been the weaker one too many times in his life already, despite how much effort he'd put in to change that. He would not be left to the mercy of Chuuya of all people. That brat could use his information to emotionally cripple Dazai.

As much as he touted about his mental fortitude, Dazai was uncomfortably aware of how on edge he truly was, and did not have confidence that he could remain perfectly calm if Chuuya did decide to attack him. He would be a dog with both bark and bite.

Dazai hated dogs.

The two other patients weren’t being released until later in the day though, so he still had all morning to dodge Chuuya as much as he could. Which, admittedly, was a bit difficult when they all were confined to one room.

“Dazai-”

He swerved around the redhead on his way to an already full table, resolutely ignoring the huff of annoyance that sounded after he passed. Throughout the years, Dazai had become quite the expert at avoiding conversations that he didn’t want to have, and he really didn’t want to confront Chuuya until he had ammunition to defend himself.

As luck would have it, everyone else was also stuck in this room with them, filling the space with unaware witnesses. Thankfully Chuuya was not the kind of person to air someone else's dirty laundry, so he wouldn’t be able to ask any personal questions if they were surrounded by oblivious peers. Unless he really wanted to fuck Dazai up.

If he was Mori, Dazai would expect some kind of public shaming, but Chuuya was definitely one that would get physical before stooping to that level.

“Ranpo-san! Play a card game with me.” Dazai quickly sat down at the table with Ranpo, Poe, Kenji, and Lucy.

“With you? No thanks.” Ranpo looked very unimpressed with his tactic of diversion, returning to meticulously coloring inside the lines in a specific pattern.

Kenji tilted his head innocently, taking Dazai’s attention away from where he was sneakily spying on Chuuya, who was sitting defeatedly at a table on the other side of the room. 

“Why not? I want to play a game!” The blonde boy clapped his hands excitedly. Poor fool.

Poe gave the boy a look of pity, explaining in simple terms, “Dazai cheats.”

“Poe! I never thought you would spread such rumors. You can’t prove anything.” 

Lucy, who Dazai had regrettably not had many interactions with, snorted. Her arms were crossed over her chest haughtily, with the attitude of someone who thought they were better than everyone else in the room.

It was exactly the type of attitude that Dazai despised.

Sure, it was probably just her personality and she didn't mean anything by it, but Dazai was getting antsy the longer they all sat there, feeling Chuuya's eyes on the back of his head like pinpricks through his skull. 

When she didn’t say anything to follow up though, Dazai decided that she would be the victim of his torment today. As someone liable to have a very public breakdown, she was the perfect choice.

Besides, he was still feeling exposed and disgusted with himself, maybe starting a fight would lift his mood, or at the very least take his mind off of it.

“Got something to say, schizo?” He sneered, with a deceivingly sweet tone of voice.

Lucy flushed, eyes going wide. She looked shocked, like she wasn’t expecting someone in here to say something like that. Obviously, she hadn’t been paying much attention to Dazai’s disregard of the unspoken social rules. 

“N-no, I just... We’ve all seen you cheat-” 

“Oh? Are you sure you’re not just seeing things?” Dazai grinned with all the sinister aura of a demon, his only intentions to hurt, torment, maim.

Lucy flinched like she’d been punched, now openly avoiding Dazai’s slitted red eyes as she stammered out a reply that flew right over his head.

The others at the table were silent, watching the exchange tensely as they waited to see how this would go. Everybody loved drama, even if it wasn't pretty. Sometimes more, when it was ugly.

The girl, sensing she was in this fight alone, squared her shoulders.

“I- no. I haven’t had a hallucination since I’ve been in here, not that it's any of your business.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t know if you did now, would you?” 

“I…” She appeared to be on the edge of tears, face twisting into anger in an attempt to stave away the sadness.

Her teeth gritted loud enough for him to hear across the table.

“Are you even sure any of this is real? Aren’t you here because you’re crazy?” He laughed cruelly, pushing her further.

Just a little further…

“Shut up! I know what’s real!”

She slammed her hands down on the table as she shot up out of her seat, garnering the attention of the rest of the room. Her eyes flitted around as everyone started to ogle them, the movements becoming stiff and frantic.

Lucy backed away from the table like it had burned her, now looking around wildly. Like she was just taking in how many people were now aptly watching her state of vulnerability.

It didn't feel good to be put on display like some kind of sideshow freak.

“Dazai-san, stop!” Atsushi cried, hurrying over and bypassing the brunette completely as he rushed to comfort Lucy. He made a hurt expression when Lucy only flinched further away, “He’s just... joking around, Lucy. You’re not crazy, we're real.”

With an amount of caution that seemed unnecessary to Dazai, Atsushi slowly approached her as if she was a tiger in a zoo. Holding out a gentle hand, Lucy hesitated for a second before latching onto Atsushi, letting out a heavy gasp of air as she did. Her grasp on his hand looked painfully tight.

“I know. I know this is all real… He’s just being a dick.”

Lucy sniffled pathetically at Dazai, who had already grown bored after realizing he couldn’t trigger a schizophrenic episode on his own. Apparently it was harder than he thought.

He sighed dramatically, about to respond with some other sort of taunting jibe, but he was interrupted by the staff finally deciding to do their jobs. 

“What’s going on here? Dazai? What did you do?”

Yosano's stomped her heels over, looking quite pissed off. She quickly checked that Lucy was okay before turning to stand between them, glaring down at Dazai as she shielded the girl behind her imposing figure.

“We were just chatting,” Dazai shrugged carelessly, overtly aware that everyone in the room was glaring at him in some way, ”It’s not my fault she’s so sensitive.”

The snarls that statement garnered were almost enough to get his heart racing.

Even though he knew that this was a stupid thing to do, and that this little tantrum would do absolutely nothing for him, Dazai couldn’t help himself. It was like his brain wanted to attack itself but couldn't, so it got others to do the job for it. 

Yes, more, his mind greedily urged, then they’ll learn to hate you as much as you hate yourself.

Another form of self harm, was that what this was? Pushing everyone away? Getting everyone to want to hurt him because he’s not allowed to hurt himself?

It was like time suddenly caught up to Dazai and he was yanked back into the present, only then realizing that he hadn't been.

Why did he do that? Every face in the room was looking at him with loathing. Was this really what he wanted? 

He felt like he’d been possessed briefly by something ugly, but the only thing inside his head was himself, so clearly he must be the ugly thing.

All he’d wanted the past few minutes was to cause pain. He succeeded in that, and yet he felt even more miserable than before.

“Enough.” Yosano crossed her arms as she glowered at him. He felt so small all of a sudden, in the presence of her disappointed stare. “Go out into the hallway. We’re gonna have a talk. Fukuzawa, please watch the kids while I deal with him.”

Because Dazai was something to be dealt with. Not a person, not a flawed human, but something that needed to be conditioned better to appease the people who actually deserved care. 

He wordlessly walked out into the hallway, avoiding the disdain of his peers.

Yosano’s followed close behind him and soon they were once again face to face in the quiet hallway. The few staff that were present were all already occupied.

From the front desk, Ango gave him a raised eyebrow and a frown of disappointment. Dazai didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed at it.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” Yosano demanded as soon as they were apart from the group.

The unprofessionalism would've amused him if it weren't aimed in his direction.

“You really have to ask me that? Why do you think I’m here?” Dazai deadpanned, gesturing to the mental ward they were in.

“You know what I mean,” The doctor gave him no leeway, letting loose an agitated sigh, “You're not usually this destructive. Listen, I know you had a rough night last night-”

“Oh, do you, now? Did Odasaku tell you all about my little breakdown? I bet it was prime gossip for the orderlies.” Dazai hissed, immediately taking up a defensive position.

Even more people knowing of his vulnerable moment had him on the edge of panic, now feeling like he was the wild animal in a zoo.

“Osamu, just because you had a slight setback doesn't mean you can harass the other patients.”

“Setback?” Dazai crossed his arms, leaning back as if trying to make himself appear bigger, “I feel better than ever. I could leave right now, if you’d let me!”

Yosano was thoroughly unimpressed with his showboating, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes as she tilted her head down to him.

His height was above average for his age but Yosano had the advantage of being an adult wearing heels, so she was annoyingly one of the few people that could actually look down on him.

He hated being looked down on. It made him feel like a child. A helpless child.

“You’ve been here for five days Dazai,” but it felt like so much longer, “There’s a one week minimum for every patient, you know that, but after the shit you pulled in there it may be even more. I know you’ve got your own problems, but remember that you’re not the only person who doesn’t want to be here. Everyone in that room was admitted for a reason. They all have something inside them that they don’t want there, and they want to leave this place with the ability to deal with it. It’s been hard for you, I know-”

Dazai made sure not to break eye contact, as much as he wanted to turn away from those agonizingly sincere eyes. No matter how exposed he felt, he could not show weakness. 

“You don’t know anything.” He interrupted her speech, voice coming out much quieter than he intended.

Even when trying to be strong, he was nothing but a pathetic child. So much for not showing weakness.

Then the nurse did the worst thing she could possibly do. Her eyes filled with pity.

The last thing he wanted was pity. Pity implied that Dazai had suffered. That he was pitiful in some way, because of what happened to him. 

That was the furthest thing from the truth. He had it much better than so many people. Whatever things he experienced as a child were nothing compared to what other people had gone through, and they certainly didn’t make him weaker.

He was privileged. Those moments barely affected him because he was taught the specific skills needed to not be affected by them. Namely; ignoring the problems and simply choosing to believe they weren’t traumatic.

Unlike the less fortunate, he was given all the tools he needed to stop being so broken, and had been given them since the very beginning. Yet he stubbornly refused to utilize them, preferring to send himself deeper into self destruction.

“You need a second to cool down-"

Dazai thought he was perfectly calm.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t showing any outward displays of distress, like anxiety-ridden Atsushi probably would. He wasn't getting angry like Chuuya would. He wasn't being weak like-

Truthfully, he was completely apathetic towards the whole situation. Honestly.

“Go to your room for a bit to gather your thoughts. Leave the door open. I’ll come back to check on you in ten minutes so don’t try any shit or I'll be so pissed. Don't make me regret this.” Yosano nudged him in the direction of his room, giving him a stern look that dared him to defy her orders.

If he was any other patient, she probably wouldn't trust him with this, but they were familiar with each other. She knew him well enough to know Dazai wouldn't do anything too stupid on her shift.

It wasn't exactly policy but much like himself, Yosano often bent the rules. Ango gave them a look from behind the reception desk, which they both ignored this time.

This was a perfect opportunity, however, and Yosano didn’t even know that she’d made Dazai’s plans for the day a whole lot easier. He wouldn't have to wait for the two patients to leave and risk being caught sneaking out, now given ten whole minutes to search Chuuya's things.

Still, he was an actor, and so remained in character. 

“Fine.” He huffed, pretending to be bitter.

It wasn’t hard, he truly was a little bitter about her pity. All he had to do was channel that feeling in a different direction.

He turned from her, dragging his feet down the hall to his room and trying to make it look as reluctant as possible without going overboard.

As soon as he turned the corner into his and Chuuya's private space though, he got to work. The evil parasite inside of him that fed off causing pain demanded it.

Chuuya’s notebook had to be here somewhere. It wasn’t in the other boy's hands earlier.

Although admittedly Dazai had been trying to avoid looking at the redhead, so he could’ve easily just missed it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to snoop. 

With cautious steps, he crept over to Chuuya’s side of the room, starting his search at the messy bed. Chuuya seemed like the kind of sensitive boy to hide his journal underneath his pillow. Lifting it up though, he was disappointed that there was no girlish diary secretly placed there. That would've been hilarious.

Not bothering to waste time being annoyed, Dazai carefully laid the pillow back where it was, making sure it looked exactly as he'd found it. Whirling around, he then treaded over to his desk.

Each bedroom in the facility was, for obvious reasons, scarcely furnished. However there were at least two beds and two desks, both bolted to the floor. Sometimes there was a side table with drawers, and since this was a nice asylum that cared about its patients, it had one next to each bed as well. They must've spent the competent staff budget on furniture instead. He’d check those next.

The desk was a quick search, there weren’t any hidden drawers or anything. He just checked underneath, in the space between it and the wall, and obviously the surface.

Getting frustrated but not ready to give up, he went back near the bed and to the bedside table.

He took a quick glance towards the open doorway, pausing to listen for Yosano’s heels clacking down the hall. Determining that he was in the clear, he continued. 

For some reason, he held his breath as he slowly opened the top drawer.

There was a twisting sensation deep in his gut, making him feel ill, and it only got stronger the more he looked. His mind was still screaming at him to stop, but he tried to reason with it.

This wasn’t wrong. Dazai was justified in prying into Chuuya’s personal thoughts, the same way his own had been forcefully ravaged.

Even though it wasn’t quite the same, Chuuya hadn't intentionally witnessed his secrets, the outcome remained absolute. Or at least, that’s what he told himself in a futile attempt to sway his thoughts.

The first drawer just had clothes, and Dazai did not feel like digging into his roommates underwear, so he only skimmed the surface before gently pushing the drawer back closed. It was the second one that made him smirk victoriously, pulling out the nondescript notebook tucked just underneath a battered copy of Sucker Punch.

Dazai didn’t know how long Chuuya had been here, but it must have been at least a week because the journal was definitely generously used. The usual stiffness of a new notebook was not there, and it easily opened up to thin pages covered in fading, marker-written words.

Keeping an ear out for Yosano still, he hungrily scanned through the writing to find something of worth, thanking his photographic memory as he knew it would come in handy later.

But the more he read, the more his brow furrowed. There were no juicy confessions or ‘dear diary’s,' it was just-

May I look up when I die!
May not this small chin become smaller still!
Yes, I am blamed for what I have
not felt, an invocation to death, I believe.

Ah, if only I look up!
Then, at least, I might be as one who feels everything.

Was this… poetry?

Dazai gawked, dumbfounded as he continued to read the words numbly, definitely not expecting this to be what Chuuya had been so careful in hiding.

It was such a cliché, and he usually didn’t care much for poetry but-

O acquaintances, grantors of dark disgrace,
do not wake me again!
I will endure my solitude,
arms seeming already useless-

It was surprisingly good.

The sound of heels reached his ears and he hurriedly shoved the notebook back in the drawer and underneath the other book, practically leaping over Chuuya’s bed to get to his own.

When Yosano entered the room a second later, he was calmly laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded atop his stomach like he'd been stewing there in his own thoughts the entire time.

“Are you going to behave now?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning in the doorway.

Dazai gave her an innocent smile, sliding nonchalantly off the bed with his hands in his hoodie pocket, “I spent the last ten minutes in a deep state of meditation, and after much self reflection, I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”

“Really.” Yosano stated dryly, not even bothering to hide her doubt. 

The two of them headed back down the hallway towards the activity room. It looked like visiting hours were in the process of happening. There were a lot more people than usual split between two of the rooms.

“Oh yes. I think I may have even found religion in my solitude. From now on I'll be the most heavenly patient.”

The doctor gave him a deceivingly sweet smile, tilting her head a little and stopping him before they went back into the room.

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem apologizing to Montgomery-chan then.”

His eye twitched, although he managed to keep the rest of his face from scowling. A petty part of him wanted to go right up to Lucy and say ‘sorry you’re such a sensitive little bitch baby’ but that didn’t seem like the right course of action at the moment.

He would act sincere and repentant and blame his mental illness somehow. Maybe try to go for a sympathetic approach.

With his character in mind, he slumped his shoulders, making sure to look extra guilty as he left the doctor and reentered the room, his eyes immediately falling on the girl as hers did his.

She still looked rightfully upset with him, although she seemed to be getting support from a few of the other patients. A pang of jealousy shot through him as he looked at the huddle around her.

Where was this troop of emotional support friends when he was having a rough time? Sure, he would never have allowed anyone to touch him, or try to comfort him, or even just see him in distress, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have appreciated the effort.

Regardless, he had a job to do, so he took a heavy breath and slowly slid towards their little congregation. 

“Hey…” Dazai pretended to hesitate a little, tilting his head downward in faux shame, “I’m sorry for what I said, Lucy.” 

She actually looked surprised for a second at the uncharacteristic words before quickly covering that up with a self righteous expression, because of course she did. Dazai mentally rolled his eyes.

“You should be!”

He pretended to wince, “Yeah, I know. It’s just been so hard lately- and I know that’s not an excuse but… I guess I took it out on you.”

He sighed loud enough to be heard but not too loud to be seen as overly dramatic. The best lies had a bit of truth.

Making sure to look extra pathetic, he clenched the edges of the hoodie in his hands and let his hair fall over his eyes.

Hidden by the locks of hair, he could see Lucy relax her posture somewhat, everyone around her seeming to take that as a sign to forgive him as well.

He kept the victorious smirk off of his face.

“... I get that.” Lucy reluctantly crossed her arms over her chest. She had a moment of deep concentration before letting out another huff, “I guess I accept your apology. Just don't be such an asshole next time.”

Dazai let fake innocent hope shine in his eyes as he looked back up, nodding, “Thank you.”

With that over with, he politely bowed to the group.

Groveling for forgiveness was disgusting, he's glad it's over.

Deciding to be done with that whole situation, he made his way over to the other side of the room where Ranpo, Poe, and Akutagawa were huddled together writing in their own notebooks.

Ranpo was the first to acknowledge Dazai as he sat down, grinning knowingly at him. Poe and Akutagawa were still murmuring to each other, doing god-knows-what in their secret little meeting.

“What’s it like completing your redemption arc?” Ranpo teased. Dazai got the underlying message.

The other boy had seen right through him. Of course he had. He seemed to be of the same moral gray as Dazai though, not necessarily concerned at all with the harmed party's feelings. It wasn't that big a deal.

“Do you think I laid it on too thick?” He asked, glancing back over to the other side of the room where the kinder kids had been consoling Lucy. It looked like they'd moved back to their regular positions casually sitting in a circle. 

“Nah,” Ranpo leaned back in his chair, “They believed every word of your bullshit. It’s already been forgotten.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s not even lunch yet and I’m already so done with everything. Wake me up if something interesting happens.”

Dazai buried his head in his arms as he leaned over the table to take a nap.

Almost immediately, Ranpo snorted, “Wake up.”

Thinking he was joking, Dazai lifted his head to give him a dull look, only to once again see Yosano looking grimly at him from the doorway into the room, motioning him over when they made eye contact.

He didn’t even bother trying to muffle his loud groan, disbelieving of how much shit was being thrown at him every second of the day.

The past twelve hours had been a nightmare. Like a bloodhound on a scent trail, of course this would be when Mori decided to drop by again, even though he was supposed to only visit once, as was their custom.

There was no one else it could be, after all. It wasn't like there was a single other person in Dazai's life that cared about him enough to see him in the hospital. He didn't even have anyone that would see him outside the hospital.

The visiting room was the same as always, just with more tables filled up as for some reason every relative decided to visit their troubled teen today.

A flash of red caught his attention and he looked over to Chuuya sitting across a very imposing woman with similar features. That must be his mother, Dazai mused, choosing to theorize about Chuuya’s family rather than deal with his own.

He could only ignore the man across him for so long though, before his body subconsciously forced his eyes to meet with his fathers. 

“Why are you here, Mori? Did you forget the Netflix password in your old age? It's 'fuckoffanddie' all one word,” Dazai drawled, bored. 

The man sat across the table looking exactly the same as he always did, and just as exhausted as last time.

“It’s good to see you too, Osamu.” 

Mori’s words could not sound less sincere, entirely unwilling to entertain Dazai’s attempt at good humor.

At least this behavior, Dazai was familiar with. There was none of the jarring concern of before, just the doctor’s usual thinly veiled irritation that he had grown up with. 

“It’s not like you to come by so much,” Dazai pointed out, keeping a pleasant smile on his face even as his eyes revealed their contempt, “If you keep this up I might start to think you actually care about me.”

“I do care about you.”

Yeah, he totally sounded like he did.

“Shouldn't you be busy with work?” He asked instead of responding to that. It was clearly another tactic to manipulate him, and he would not entertain it after the day he'd had.

“They understand that I have a family emergency right now.”

“Emergency? Such an exaggeration~” 

“It was an emergency. You almost died.”

“I always ‘almost die.’ Unfortunately it appears I’m immortal.” Dazai huffed indignantly. 

He was starting to believe Akutagawa's stupid theory. Unless the universe just really, really hated him and enjoyed seeing him suffer, it was ridiculous how close he'd gotten to death without being granted it. The universe was such a tease.

“You did die.”

The doctor did the Mori-equivalent of shouting by slightly raising his voice in a manner that demanded authority, his shoulders squared and making him seem so much bigger than he was. 

It was harsh, and he rarely used it, preferring more underhanded methods of getting what he wanted. Usually very passive aggressive and always involving some sort of manipulation, rather than shouting, which he saw as barbaric. This was the first time in a long time he’d used the commanding voice.

The sound of it snapped Dazai’s jaw shut immediately, body responding to the commands it had been conditioned to respond to. How pathetic it was that he still bowed to that man like a dog. But despite the shame of not being able to shake that habit, he couldn’t get his body to defy his father. It stayed completely still, just as his father had ordered with unspoken words.

But more than that, he was pretty much completely lost.

Last time he checked, he was still alive. Unless his last attempt did actually work and this was hell, in which case: hell sucked. 

The nonstop drama that had been going on must have cracked his mask a bit and some of the confusion must have shown on his face, because Mori leaned back, calculating something behind his eyes. There was a very brief moment of silence before he spoke again.

“They didn’t tell you?” His father asked, even though it was a rhetorical question. Both of them knew the answer. 

Mori held a hand to his forehead, suddenly looking as much the old man as Dazai taunted him about being. Even with all the teasing though, he’d never actually seen him as old before now.

Now, with the pale fluorescent lights on the ceiling emphasizing his wrinkles, graying hair, and thinning skin, he appeared almost like a corpse.

“Your heart stopped. You were clinically dead for nearly two minutes. We had to resuscitate you." His father stated the facts without emotion, for both their sanity, "If it was someone else who’d found you, someone who wasn’t a doctor, or if I had been seconds later…” Mori trailed off, not needing to continue when they both knew everything that was left unsaid.

His usual professionalism cracked for a second with his last words. Mori's facade never cracked.

Dazai couldn’t feel his fingers. He swallowed, but his throat was dry, so he swallowed again until it wasn’t. Vaguely, he noticed a ringing in his ears, making the rest of the noise in the room quiet down to nothing. He couldn't even eavesdrop on Chuuya's conversation, not that he'd really been doing that anyway.

For someone who had been chasing death his entire life, learning that he had actually been dead- that he’d succeeded. It was… 

“Why?” He croaked out, not completely conscious enough to be embarrassed about the clear strain in his voice.

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Death had been the forbidden fruit that enticed him since he was born. He was brought into this world through death; the death of his mother. It had been a constant companion to him, raising him in her place.

Every moment where he had felt alone, it was there. And every moment where he'd felt inhuman, and monstrous, it had also lingered, reminding him that he could die just as every other person in the world could. The concept was a comforting companion in his lowest moments. He was never afraid of death.

So, why did he feel lightheaded all of a sudden? Why was his stomach churning like he was about to be sick?

Was he upset that he didn’t die? Or was he terrified because suddenly memories were coming back, memories of that night, little more than a week ago.

The peace he’d felt, while feeling nothing at all. The void that he’d thought was his imagination.

The echoes of Mori's voice, sounding shaky and uncontrolled for the first time in his life.

The red, red, red that was all he could see. It was beautiful, painting the boring white tiles of the nondescript bathroom with a living crimson. The colors blurring as his body was moved.

The content smile he could feel grace his face, even as he lost feeling in all other parts of his body, because this was a beautiful death. Exactly what he'd wanted, so close to finally embracing his lifelong companion.

His memory of the event was almost certainly worse than the real actions that took place, his mind amplifying what had really occurred. It couldn't have been that euphoric, could it? He couldn't even remember what he'd been thinking in those moments.

Always dragging him down like an anchor, his memories.

Refusing to let him sail on to calmer seas. Forcing him to remain a rugged old boat in the middle of a perpetual storm, his only options to remain in the chaos or sink into the dark, dark, dark sea below.

The water looked so inviting, compared to the relentless maelstrom above.

“Why did you bring me back?”

Chapter Text

“Why did you bring me back?”

For half a second, pure anger flashed in Mori’s eyes and Dazai thought for a very sobering moment that the man was about to slap him across the face, right there in front of everyone.

The gleam quickly disappeared though, replaced with the same exhausted grief that he seemed to be wearing a lot nowadays. 

“Osamu… Of course I brought you back. You’re my only son.” 

It was the most sincere he’d probably ever heard his father being. His instincts told him to be doubtful but… he knew his father’s tells. This sounded earnest in a way he’d never heard before, except for much earlier in his childhood, when the loss of Dazai’s mother was still fresh. 

“If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here. You stole her from me.”

Mori had slurred down at Dazai holding a stuffed rabbit to his little chest as they stood in the foyer, with nothing but disdain.

Behind him, the fireplace was lit, and to his young eyes it roared, outlining his father’s figure as he towered, emerging from the gates of hell.

"You don’t deserve to be alive. Not when you killed her.”

-Now that he was older, he realized that Mori had been drinking, but at the time he did not know what being inebriated was.

All young Dazai knew was that for a brief moment, his father’s words weren’t calculated and dripping with falsehood, though they were just as cold.

That night had never been mentioned again and in the morning Mori was exactly the same absent father as always. Dazai almost convinced himself that it was a dream, but it was far too vivid to never have occurred.

“That never mattered to you before.” Dazai aimed to have his voice filled with icy indifference, but it came out more in wonder.

Mori did not look away in shame, that was not in his nature. Their eyes stayed locked so that they were both witness to each other’s attempts at clouding their truths. Violet and rose, identical in their deception. Dazai was very clearly his father’s son.

Instead of responding to that accusation, Mori surprised him with a small smile. And that’s how Dazai knew that whatever he was about to say would be nothing more than manipulative bullshit.

“You look just like your mother.”

Dazai felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Of all the things to say, that was not what he was expecting. 

Aside from blaming Dazai for her death, saying she deserved to be alive more than he did, and wishing their roles had been reversed so she lived and he died, Mori almost never talked about his deceased wife. Tane Tsushima was an enigma that Dazai had to do all his own research on to know anything about.

He couldn’t find the details though, like what her favorite food was, if she would sing in the shower, how she got herself to sleep, what she had been feeling when she was pregnant with Dazai, if she was excited or terrified or... All he knew was that Mori did, and always would, blame him for her death.

Even if he knew what to say, his throat wouldn’t open up, and at his lack of response, Mori continued.

“You looked more like me when you were younger, but I suppose the universe decided that was too cruel and you grew into Tane’s features instead.” Mori still had that strange, small smile on his face, “She never believed that she was beautiful, but maybe seeing herself in her precious son would’ve convinced her. You have her nose.” 

Dazai still couldn’t find words.

Either Mori was being the most honest he’d ever been in Dazai’s life, or his acting had improved far beyond what it had ever been. Not only was it sickeningly emotional enough to make him want to vomit, but it was also more than he had ever heard about his mother.

“When your heart stopped, Osamu, for a second it was like losing her all over again,” and Dazai couldn’t breathe, “She was in such unimaginable pain when she died, but her face was completely at peace. You had that same expression on your face.”

Dazai couldn’t breathe.

“I refuse to see that again. You are going to live.” 

It sounded like a command.

If only Dazai could see the doubtlessly ironclad expression on Mori’s face. Unfortunately, black spots filled his vision and the entire room blurred into abstraction. 

He still couldn’t breathe. Now he couldn’t see. He could only vaguely hear but it still came with that unending ringing.

His skin felt prickly all over, like he was a cactus and the desert sun was slowly drying him out, making it impossible to feel anything he was touching.

Ah, he was passing out.

With much effort, Dazai closed his eyelids and forced his body to focus on evening out his breathing.

He couldn’t think about what he must've looked like, most likely shaking and pale and pathetic- he had to put all of his effort into not fainting at the visitors table.

Clear your mind. Don’t think about anything else. Slow your heart. Get your body under control. 

The skills were in the back of his mind. Laying down would be better for this, but he couldn’t exactly lay down where he was. Water would also help but asking for a cup would equate to broadcasting his fragility to everyone.

All he could do was try his absolute hardest not to fully pass out. 

A hand was on his shoulder, which he could only barely feel through the cold sweat that had taken over his entire body. It was too gentle to be Mori’s.

His eyes fluttered open, the sudden spinning room making him nauseous and nearly swaying over in his seat. He stubbornly locked his eyes onto a fire alarm on the wall across the room to have something keep him fortified, refusing to let his body win this battle.

“Dazai, are you okay?”

He hated hearing that damned question.

But it was Yosano’s voice, and he felt a little stronger with her standing beside him. Especially facing across Mori.

“I’m fine.” He grated out, in what he hoped was a steady enough voice.

Her face didn’t even need to be in his line of sight for him to envision the disbelieving expression. It would’ve made him laugh if he wasn’t focusing all of his energy into more important things.

“He’ll be okay in a minute.” Mori, despite his heartfelt admissions, was still Mori. ‘Support’ was not a word in his vocabulary. His father knew Dazai didn’t need help to get out of this.

After all, he was the one who taught Dazai how to stop himself from passing out; didn’t want his son to embarrass him by having a 'moment' when they were out in public.

“Don’t speak, sir-” Yosano snapped through gritted teeth, “You are stressing out my patient.”

“I’m fine,” Dazai insisted. He was not some damsel in distress, “Really, Yosano.”

There was no way he could turn his head to look at her without possibly falling out of his chair, so he tried to put as much confidence as he could into his voice.

A brief moment of silence lingered before she huffed, the rush of air displacing the hair at the back of his head. The hand lifted from his shoulder.

“Doctor Yosano,” She reminded him. “... I’ll get you some water.”

At least he didn’t have to swallow his pride and ask for that. Across the table, Mori sat patiently waiting for his fit to be over, hands folded over each other. The room was still slightly spinning, but it wasn’t quite so blurry any more, so Dazai decided he was good enough to continue, being mindful to keep his breathing at a consistent rate.

“So, you won’t let me die in your care.” It came out more like a question than what he would’ve preferred, but he gave himself a pass for still being a little discombobulated.

“I will not.” Mori confirmed, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

Water appeared on the table in front of him, but he didn’t even remember the doctor setting it there. He disregarded that worrying observation and picked it up anyway, taking a small sip. Small sips were important.

In a shocking turn of events, Mori truly didn’t want him to die...

Because he reminded him of his dead wife. 

Not because Dazai was his son, or a living human being, or anything deserving of its own life at all. The only reason Mori had brought him back was because Dazai looked like Tane Tsushima. 

He thought changing his birth name last second was an effort to separate Dazai from his mother, but apparently that wasn’t enough. Apparently he would always be dragging around her corpse, through his hair, and teeth, and hands, and nose- and she would haunt him no matter how much he distanced himself from her image. The genes that made up half of his physiology were too strong to write away. 

The last remnants of nearly fainting floated away, though he still felt a little lightheaded. He took another sip of water, numb.

“Okay.”

He didn’t feel like arguing anymore. He was so tired.

Mori raised an eyebrow, knowing Dazai wasn’t conceding defeat, only ending the discussion. The doctor would not let the boy dictate whether or not they continued though, and opened his mouth to say something else, only for Yosano to interrupt him by calling out to the whole room. Thank god.

“Visiting hours are over. Say your goodbyes and make sure to sign out at the front desk before you leave. Kids, back to the activity room.” Her voice left no room for arguments.

Mori stood up while Dazai remained in his chair for a moment, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before he attempted standing. It would’ve looked incredibly stupid if he tilted over as soon as he got up.

Mori leaned down on his way past Dazai, needing to get in the last ominous words, “I know you won’t fail me.”

Dazai felt the urge to shiver but fought it off, not looking at Mori as he walked out the door.

The room emptied.

A pair of heels clicked on the floor behind him, hesitating briefly before continuing. That same hand from earlier rested on his shoulder.

If Yosano kept treating him like he was made of glass, he would break off a piece of himself to cut her.

He fully expected her to ask if he was okay again, but she was wise enough to sense that would be a pointless question. 

“Come back to the group Osamu.” She said softly, not removing her hand from him until he finally got up from his chair.

He let himself be led back into the activity room, legs quivering. So much stimulus had been thrown at him recently that he didn’t even care anymore if people noticed. He was, in simple terms, overwhelmed. 

Free time was still in session, but he was truly exhausted. Instead of rejoining his usual crew, he moved to a table on his own, set his head down in his arms, and drifted off.

…

Of course it was near impossible to sleep in a room bustling with so much activity, but he tried his damndest. 

Heat from other people filled the spaces on either side of him, and he felt a finger poke his shoulder, but he refused to acknowledge it. Any energy he had started this day off with (which was already very little) was completely depleted by now.

His father actually did want him to live, just not for any reason that would’ve mattered to Dazai. Truly, no one in this world wanted him alive.

No one would mourn him if he was gone. There would be no weeping at his grave.

Dazai’s entire existence was only given worth because he carried a part of his mother within him. There was nothing about him that was worth keeping alive.

There was not even a point of trying to get out of this hospital anymore.

He’d just end up in another one or dead. Those were his only options. A psychiatric ward or death. And apparently he had already tried death and failed at that. Living out the rest of his life as a vessel for his mother’s memory was absolutely not an option and something he refused to entertain.

What's the point?

Even in thinking logically, there wasn’t a point. Pretending he was fine? To what end? Everything would finish the same. 

Dazai wanted to die. So badly.

A hand smacked against the back of his head, hard enough that he couldn’t ignore it.

“Wake the fuck up.” A familiar voice crassly interrupted his brooding.

Dazai barely lifted his head, only tilting it up enough to slate his eyes over to the redhead who had probably just had a wonderful visit with his relative, unlike Dazai.

What must it be like, Dazai wondered, to actually be cared about? To have someone visit for only your wellbeing and with no other ulterior motives.

Of course, he couldn’t be certain that Chuuya’s talk with his visitor didn’t go a similar way to his own, but based on the other’s unshakable attitude, it had not been nearly as world shattering as his. Besides, he couldn’t imagine someone as independent as Chuuya being moved by such little things as family.

“Leave me alone.” Dazai grumbled, for once not willing to indulge in the banter they usually shared.

Although, he did have ammunition against the other boy now. He’d nearly forgotten about it after having the worst visitors session ever, but the reminder that he was no longer the only vulnerable one was comforting.

All he’d have to do is wait for the right moment. It wasn’t right now, when he still wasn’t completely functioning.

A scoffing noise that could only have come from Chuuya sounded above him, from the same direction as the smack. Dazai would’ve loved to continuously ignore it, if only it weren’t getting his attention for a genuine reason. It was lunch time. 

Unlike breakfast, which they had just in the activity room, lunch was at a separate building, and if you were well behaved, you got to go out to get a special lunch. By special lunch, he mostly meant something other than readymade garbage. 

Unfortunately, because of Dazai’s behavior from this morning, he had to stay behind as everyone else went out to the lunch hall. When Yosano took the rest of the patients out of the building, he was stuck in the activity room with Tachihara, the chef, and Q, who for some reason or another was also stuck in the regular room.

Dazai didn’t really bother trying to converse with either of them, simply taking his meal of suspiciously wet mac ‘n cheese and sitting down at a table in the corner of the room to eat. Of course, since there were only two of them, Q elected to sit at the same table, happily eating their own soggy cheese pasta while Dazai only nudged his around with a fork.

“Dazai-san~” Q sang, staring right at him

With nothing to pull his attention away, Dazai was forced to meet the eyes of the younger kid, although he was really not in the mood. Already normally he didn’t want to converse with Q, but that was especially true now.

Dazai gave them a blank stare, putting as much of his disinterest into it as he could. He didn’t bother answering, hoping his attitude said enough.

The little monster didn’t seem to take the hint, they never did. Q only tilted their head, wide eyes bearing into Dazai’s soul. 

“When do you get out of here?”

Dazai did not have the energy for this.

“I get picked up tomorrow, but you’re probably staying longer, right? Kenji-kun and Naomi-chan are going home today. Do you think they’re going to be okay on the outside? I wonder if they can be my friends when I’m free. We can all get ice cream together! Except maybe Kenji-kun, because of the whole food thingy. You got to play with Lucy-chan, that wasn’t very nice~” They sang like the whole thing was just a silly little joke, “Why won’t you play with me?” They pouted, “You always play with everyone else but not me.”

Dazai ignored them, or at least made it look like he was ignoring them. The kid just wanted his attention, and he could relate, but he wouldn't be the one to give it. If anyone knew about begging for attention and not receiving it, it was Dazai; a connoisseur of the art. It just wasn’t often that he was the one doing the ignoring.

Q puffed out their cheeks, looking every bit the child they were. Dazai continued to push the food around on his plate.

Dazai had no idea if they said anything more after that. He zoned out, looking down and thinking about how the wet macaroni on his plate was somehow a metaphor for his life. He couldn’t figure out how, it just was. He probably should've left the poetic imagery to Chuuya. 

Maybe if he asked nicely, Chuuya would write a poem for him. He could explain why Dazai was apparently a ‘mackerel’ and record everything that was so revolting about him. The list would probably fill up quite a few of those notebooks.

The others eventually came back and Q had gotten tired of being ignored, so they finally (thankfully) left him alone.

It was during this after lunch free time that both Kenji and Naomi were about to be released. Dazai sat at a table in the corner as everyone else traded social media and other contact information, promising to meet up and hang out on the outside. He didn’t particularly get along with either of them enough to join in with that exchange.

Chuuya had apparently gotten along really well with Kenji, as he hugged the other boy fiercely right before he was about to leave, tears gathering in his eyes. 

For some reason, the sight made Dazai’s chest ache.

He wondered what it would be like to hug Chuuya. Would it have the same intensity as when he choked him? Or would it be softer than that? 

It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like it would ever happen anyway.

The group was quiet after they left. Down two members, they seemed to be spending the afternoon missing them instead of doing their usual bullshit activities. Not that Dazai particularly cared about such a change; he wasn’t in the mood to socialize either. Still, the room was weirdly quiet compared to what it usually was.

Dazai stayed in his corner, staring blankly at the wall and imagining a plane crashing into the building and what he would do if that happened.

Because of his behavior earlier in the day, no one bothered him. Not even Ranpo, who hadn’t seemed to care what he’d said to Lucy. Perhaps he saw Dazai’s overpowering ‘I don't want to talk’ aura, or maybe he just didn’t care.

Either way, Dazai sat alone at his table.

This didn’t phase him the slightest. He was used to being alone. It didn’t matter.

Instead of doing anything productive, which was hard enough to do in here, Dazai spent the rest of his time making up increasingly absurd scenarios in his head. It was a lot more manageable than letting his thoughts drift to anything genuine. 

Dinner came and went much the same as lunch did, and afternoon group therapy breezed by without Dazai uttering a single word. He dutifully took his pills as asked and retreated to his room without even saying goodnight to his favorite nurses (Oda was taking the night off because of staying overtime last night).

Even laying in bed though, he could feel Chuuya’s stare on him from his own bed on the other side of their room. The other boy was not being subtle at all. He was unrelenting in his quest to get Dazai to talk about his feelings and what happened last night.

Unfortunately for him, Dazai would not start a conversation on his own and even if Chuuya tried to talk about last night, it would not go the way he was expecting. 

The poetry he’d found earlier might not be on the same level of witnessing Dazai at one of his weakest moments, but he couldn’t say for sure.

People could be very peculiar about the art they created. It was possible that the flowery words he’d memorized said a lot more than they let on. Enough to measure up to his post-nightmare breakdown.

Truthfully though, his power imbalance with Chuuya was the last thing on his mind. His father had left hours ago, but Mori tended to leave a mark wherever he went.

Since he was a child, he knew that his mother’s death was his fault. She died giving childbirth. If she simply hadn’t had a child, she would still be here, and Dazai would never have existed.

Even knowing this though, he thought he had at least made himself into his own person. 

Sure, he wanted to die and throw it all away, but still. It was his own life he wanted to end, not his already deceased mother’s. 

But he’d never really been his own person. 

Always, he was a product of Tane Tsushima. Beyond that, he was a result of Mori’s parenting, of the servant’s abuse, of psychologist’s meddling… He never got the chance to discover who he was. He had always just been an effect of other people’s causes.

Who even was Dazai Osamu?

A suicidal brat. A traumatized child. A troublesome teen.

He wasn’t a human being. He was a concept, and he always had been. Nothing about him was wholly his. He had no soul, nothing that was truly and only his.

And beings that had no souls were monsters. 

So why couldn’t everyone see? Why couldn’t they see that he was doing this for them? For their safety?

He was a monster, an inhuman thing that had been created as a mistake. A thing that the universe needed to erase like a typo in the storybook of creation. He was never meant to have made it this far, and now that he was still here, he needed to be reminded of why he shouldn't be here.

A few nights ago, with Chuuya’s taught hands around his throat, he had nodded a promise not to try to kill himself while in this hospital.

He might need to break that promise.

The desperation was growing. Recovery would take too long, it would be too difficult, and it wouldn’t work. Not on him. You couldn’t stop a monster from being a monster. He couldn’t be fixed like this.

Even knowing that suicide wasn’t likely to work here under constant surveillance, the smallest possibility that it could was enough to keep him persistent. 

“Hey, Dazai. Oi, I’m talking to you.” 

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the annoying tenor of his roommate.

His head rolled lazily to the side to look at Chuuya, sitting towards Dazai and manspreading like a teacher about to tell him he could be so much more successful if he just applied himself.

“Stop avoiding me. What’s up with you?” He phrased it like he was uncaring, but his eyebrows were furrowed in poorly hidden concern.

Dazai was so sick of people being concerned about him.

It was infantilizing. He didn’t need anyone worrying over him like he was some defenseless baby. He could help himself. 

“I’m just mad Chuuya didn’t bring me back any crackers from the dining hall.” He lied easily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Chuuya scoffed, “Just be honest with me or shut up. Why are you avoiding me?”

Dazai didn’t respond.

Unable to deal with even a second of silence, the redhead groaned, “Answer me.”

“You told me to shut up.”

“You know I didn’t mean that literally.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

‘Just- look, are you gonna be real with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“God… I can’t fucking stand you.”

Dazai scoffed, rolling his head back to resume staring at the ceiling, “Join the club.”

Chuuya groaned, seemingly falling back onto his own bed if the soft thump Dazai heard was anything to go by. A few blissful minutes passed before the unrelenting teen continued.

“Why don’t you ever talk about what’s bothering you?” He whispered, almost to himself with how baffled he sounded.

Dazai couldn’t wait for the opportune moment anymore. He'd been strung too taught and did not have enough patience left to keep his discoveries secret anymore.

“Oh, like you’re any different.” Dazai closed his eyes, shielding himself from being a witness to his own betrayal, “Grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again~ Just say what you're really thinking without those pretentious flowery words,” 

Once again the room was silent. He’d expected Chuuya to explode and maybe physically fight him, but the other side of the room was so quiet he could’ve been convinced he was rooming alone.

Chuuya didn’t need to say a word. They both knew the only way Dazai could’ve known those words was if he’d snooped into Chuuya’s personal belongings.

Still, he thought he’d at least get choked again for admitting his invasion of privacy. He was disappointed that he lay there unharmed and still breathing.

Long enough passed that Dazai began to get antsy, worried that he’d read something much more private than he’d thought. He opened his eyes and cautiously glanced over to Chuuya, needing to understand why he was so quiet.

The other boy sat on his bed in almost the same position as earlier, but so still that he must've been tensing every muscle in his body. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. His cherry red locks covered his eyes and his head was tilted down, so Dazai couldn’t see what his face looked like.

“... Chibi?” 

Dazai slowly sat up, careful of making any sudden movement. Chuuya remained frozen.

A wave of unease washed through his body, the air in the room suddenly feeling a lot thicker.

He didn’t understand what was going on and he hated not understanding what's going on.

He warily creeped over to the other side of the room. Before he even got there though, Chuuya finally moved.

He got up robotically, walked past Dazai like he didn’t even see him. His eyes were completely blank and unseeing, more detached from life than Dazai’s own eyes had ever been. He then stepped up to the wall, and began punching it like he was fighting off an entire gang.

“Whoa, Chuuya!?”

Dazai didn’t know what to do. Clearly talking didn’t work.

While he was internally panicking, Chuuya continued to beat up the poor wall. His knuckles would definitely be bruised later, and if he kept going (which he probably would, he showed no signs of stopping) they’ll start bleeding. 

Then the screaming started.

And with those ferocious shouts that were identical to what he’d heard mere days ago, Dazai finally understood what was going on. 

The nurses would surely be rushing in soon at the sound of his wailing, and they’d be able to stop Chuuya just fine, but for some reason, Dazai desperately did not want them to sedate his roommate.

He didn't want the staff to take care of this in a clinical way and make it all feel too harrowingly real and impersonal.

This was personal. He caused this.

So without really thinking about it, in the seconds before staff came in, Dazai reached out his hand as Chuuya pulled his arm back for another punch. His cool fingers wrapped around the limb before it could swing again and to Dazai’s surprise, Chuuya froze again.

He was almost expecting to get punched himself, but Chuuya continued to defy his expectations. The redhead turned his head slightly, eyes much brighter than they had been before, and looked at Dazai in disbelief.

They were both pretty sure that wasn't how to stop a blackout, and yet Chuuya had clarity in his eyes, his mouth rasping out a strangled version of Dazai's name.

Then he promptly collapsed onto the ground.

Chapter Text

They didn’t really have time to discuss the absolute fuckery that just occured because the nurses came in seconds later and took Chuuya away while he was still staring up at Dazai with a dumbfounded perplexion that mirrored his own.

Minutes passed while Dazai was alone in their now empty room before he finally allowed himself to think about what happened. It was late into the night at this point and every time the hourly nurse checked in with him, they reminded him to go to sleep, as if that was even a possibility considering the day he had.

So… what the fuck?

He’d hoped that the poetry would lightly wound Chuuya, maybe make him lash out and physically hurt Dazai in revenge, which would have been a fantastic way to get the pain he craved without having to get in trouble for self harming. However, saying the words aloud sent Chuuya into... another blackout?

That’s what it seemed like. It had the same dissociation and violence that he would’ve expected from one, but Chuuya’s last blackout had taken the nurses more than a few minutes to calm him down from.

With this, it was like Dazai’s touch alone ended it. Which didn’t make any logistical sense at all.

Dazai was a deep thinker. He liked understanding why things happened the way they did, explaining the science behind it all. He preferred to imagine his mental illness being something genetic rather than a result of the trauma he may or may not have endured. Narrowing reactions down to a chemical basis made them easier to understand. Easier to predict.

This, though, had no scientific explanation, or at least not any that Dazai was privy to. And he was by no means an expert on such topics, but he at least knew that mere physical touch wasn’t a cure to a fucking blackout. 

Dazai lifted up his hands and observed them with a newfound reverence, as if they were something holy. 

He then immediately scoffed at himself for even entertaining such a ridiculous thought and flopped back down onto his bed to stare at the ceiling some more. As if any part of him could be considered anything other than demonic.

What could he even think about what just happened? What was he supposed to think?

None of it made any sense and he didn’t have enough information to continue agonizing over it. It wasn’t worth the headache anymore. And if he was a functioning human being he would leave it at that and go to sleep.

But because he's Dazai, he spent the rest of the night awake, chasing his thoughts in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

…

The morning began very similarly to the last time Chuuya had a blackout, only instead of being cagey about his condition, he seemed as eager to discuss it as Dazai was.

As soon as the two were seated at the same table for breakfast he began speaking like a colony of bees was swarming underneath his skin, with extreme haste.

“Um, so, what the fuck?!” Chuuya whisper-yelled at Dazai over his bowl of fruit loops.

“I was gonna say the same thing.” Dazai mused, trying to come across as cool rather than buzzing with curiosity like he actually was.

“That’s never happened before…” Chuuya admitted, looking much more perturbed by this than was probably warranted, “It was like… when I felt your hand on me it was like my entire body was drenched in ice and everything just went quiet. But before that, when you said that, it was like the exact opposite and everything got too hot and too loud and- wait hold on- did you read my fucking journal?!”

Dazai blinked, trying to follow the redhead’s swirling thought process, “That’s irrelevant chibi-kun, what matters is that you seem to defy all logic.”

“No no no, hold on a second-” Chuuya glared at him, his frantic confusion shifting into the kind of defensive wall that Dazai had expected last night, “You went through my shit, you asshole! I thought you couldn’t get any worse but holy shit you fucking- why did you do that? What in your sick and deranged mind told you that was a good idea?”

“Okay first of all, we’re in a mental asylum. We’re all sick and deranged,” Dazai tried to bring them back on course, rapidly feeling like they were swerving off of the path he wanted to pursue, “Second off, it wasn’t that big a deal. We’re even now so you don’t need to worry about that-”

“Even?!”

“Yes. You saw the unfortunate aftermath of my bad dream and I saw your trashy middle school level poetry. So we’re even.”

Chuuya scrunched up his face in both confusion and frustration, squinting at him like Dazai had just told him the meaning of life was whatever was on his last fortune cookie. 

It wasn’t a difficult concept. He didn’t understand what Chuuya was confused about.

“... You make no fucking sense.”

Well. Dazai disagreed with that wholeheartedly. In reality he was the only thing that made sense in this world.

Chuuya shook his head, “Whatever, you’re right, it's not important now.”

Dazai was not kind enough to hold back a smirk at Chuuya losing that battle. The redhead merely lifted his middle finger and plowed on.

“What matters is that you somehow did what several psychiatrists and medications couldn’t do. Care to explain that?”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dazai gracefully brushed over the topic of his very justified snooping as well in order to address the more inexplicable issue.

“You blacked out,” Dazai began by simply stating the facts, “I touched your arm and you immediately snapped out of it… I don’t know why or how, but this is what happened.”

They both took a moment to sit and stew in that. Neither of them could think of a single explanation for it all though. 

Breakfast passed much quicker than usual and before they knew it they were back together in free time.

Atsushi and Poe decided to join them, eagerly taking in anything more exciting than what usually went on in this dreary place. It took another few minutes to explain everything to them, with conflicting points of view from Dazai and Chuuya as one of them kept embellishing the details, but they managed to put together a somewhat cohesive reimagining.

“Maybe you two have a connection, like a soul bond!” Atsushi hopped in his seat excitedly. He was apparently not at all bothered about things that defied nature

Chuuya grimaced at that, muttering, “God I hope not.”

“Atsushi might be right-” The aforementioned teen beamed a smile at Poe, the traitor, “It doesn’t follow the rules of science, so maybe it’s magic?”

For once, both Dazai and Chuuya were on the same wavelength as they gave duplicate incredulous expressions to Poe’s proposal. Neither were particularly leaning towards the realm of true believers in that aspect of life. It’s not like they were children that believed in such fantasies. 

As if sensing the metaphysical argument taking place, Ranpo plopped down next to Atsushi, baring a mischievous grin. He and Dazai should team up and unleash double the mayhem he usually caused some time. He made a mental note to propose the alliance later. 

Ignoring his presence, Chuuya pushed through with a deadpan expression, “Magic isn’t real.”

“How do you know for sure?” Ranpo inquired, sounding like a teacher about to give a lecture on something that none of the students actually cared about.

“It just isn't, okay? It’s stupid.” Chuuya slammed his fist on the table, thoroughly disrupting the calm atmosphere of morning free time. Chibi was such an aggressive boy.

And Dazai, however, wasn’t completely in agreement with that one.

There was much science couldn’t explain. In addition to that, there were many things science had openly regarded as inconclusive despite the general acceptance of it. Rarely in science was there indisputable facts, because scientists didn't know everything. They only knew the current truth with all the information they had presently. 

Magic was something that was used in multiple religions and cults both legitimately and with theatrics. But there was few scientific belief in it. They had more rational explanations. Much like his previous thoughts on his mental illness being genetic rather than situational, Dazai tended to lean towards the scientists in this argument. 

Still, he wouldn’t claim that it was ‘stupid’ as Chuuya said. Some people believed in it, and that should be enough.

The power of belief was not something to be underestimated.

Ranpo smirked, opening his mouth to say some more bullshit, but luckily (or unluckily), Yosano barked an order for everyone to pull their chairs into a circle.

It was morning therapy time.

It felt like the day was flying by faster than any other day of his stay here. He barely had time to process one conversation before immediately moving onto the next. The suddenness of everything probably wasn't going to be good for him when he got a second to breathe, but that would be a problem for future-Dazai.

Dazai had vaguely participated the past few days whenever he felt like it, but he didn’t particularly feel like talking today, with his thoughts frazzled all over the place and his mental health not being in the best place.

Yosano, apparently, had other plans for him. It’s almost like she didn’t know anything about his confusing situation with Chuuya. Still, she should've been able to sense the vibes.

“Dazai! Let's start with you,” The evil, conniving nurse said after introductions were done, completely ignoring the aforementioned vibes, “What sort of relationships do you have in your life, and how important are they to you?”

“Why, Akiko… are you coming on to me?” Dazai teased, mind completely elsewhere.

The doctor rolled her eyes, once again reminding him, “Dr. Yosano. Different kinds of relationships, Dazai.”

“Ah, well,” For some reason, his mind went straight to thinking about Chuuya, but he dismissed any possible reasoning for that, “I have a familial relationship with my father. He’s my only family,” Yosano nodded her encouragement, “and I have a professional relationship with you, darling, although it could be so much more.” He smiled flirtatiously, ignoring the groan of annoyance from beside him.

Chuuya was of course the one sitting next to him, and his little noise didn’t go unnoticed by Yosano, who quite rudely ignored his flirtations.

“What about you, Nakahara? Describe the relationships you have in your life.”

The redhead grumbled about the attention being turned to him, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing as he turned his head to the side. It seemed neither of them were in a mood to talk about such irrelevant things this morning.

“I have a good relationship with my sister. We take care of each other.” He eventually bit out after it was clear Yosano wouldn’t take silence as an answer. The doctor smiled brightly at such a good example. 

“Yes! That is exactly what a relationship is; the way you are connected with another person. How you treat them and how they treat you.” Yosano addressed the room as a whole again, “Everyone’s lives are filled with different relationships; some good, some bad, and some neutral. This morning we’ll focus on your relationships with other people and how they directly affect the recovery process.”

And that’s when Dazai decided to tune out once again.

None of this was relevant right now, when he was in the middle of a groundbreaking discovery in curing blackouts.

If his touch alone could stop something that psychologists couldn't, maybe he did have some use after all. Maybe Dazai did have a purpose in this life. Although, it would still suck that his purpose would be once again reliant on other people. He would still be defined by his relationship to others… 

Perhaps this session actually was relevant to him.

“Chuuya, how has your relationship with your sister helped or disrupted your recovery?” Yosano continued as if Dazai’s internal thoughts didn’t interrupt the flow of conversation at all.

The aforementioned redhead tilted his head, genuinely pondering the question like a good boy instead of getting caught up in his thoughts like Dazai was.

One of the things that he both admired and detested in Chuuya was his unrelenting focus. He put all of his thoughts into one subject at a time, whereas Dazai's mind was more akin to a conspiracy board with a jumble of different pictures and newspaper articles all connected with red yarn.

“Ane-san encourages me to work on myself,” He began hesitantly, his thunderous expression daring anyone to tease him for his closeness with his sister, “She takes care of things like food and shelter for me so I can focus on my own shit. I try to help out when I can but the only thing I can work on while stuck in here is myself.”

Yosano nodded, smiling gently despite Chuuya’s tense posture, and graciously overlooking his cursing. They'd probably all accepted at this point that Chuuya cursed like a sailor and would never stop. 

“And that is the whole point of all of you being in here. To get away from outside distractions and focus on your own recovery. Thank you for sharing Nakahara, I’m glad you have such a strong support in your life. Does anyone else want to talk about their relationships?”

Had this been a few days ago when Dazai decided to start participating in therapy, he would have joined in. However, due to recent events he elected to indefinitely suspend his recovery process.

If it weren’t for the excitement of the whole blackout thing, he probably would’ve tried to do something already. He did try to do something by triggering Chuuya, but that backfired a bit and now instead of getting some pain out of his system, he was thrown into another confusing line of thought regarding the other boy.

Perhaps he would skip the evoking violence and just find a way to cut himself later today. The itch underneath his skin that craved destruction of itself only grew more content to occupy his mind as he put off self harming.

But that wasn’t the topic they were discussing today in good old group therapy, and Dazai wasn’t about to bring it up himself, so the thoughts stayed heavily breathing over his shoulder as he turned his attention back towards the actual goal of the session.

“I’m in a relationship on the outside,” Lucy began, blushing but still somehow seeming like she was bragging as she continued, “I have a boyfriend.”

“Romantic relationships are certainly another type of relationship, and those are the ones most people think of first when they hear the word. They are as important as any other relationship, although at your age I’d caution you from putting too much emotional reliance into it.”

Dazai very visibly rolled his eyes. Romantic relationships were a myth, and definitely something that didn’t matter or compare to other types of relationships.

Sure he was only 16 and had never actually been in a real relationship, but every couple he’d ever witnessed had been toxic and unloving.

It was just a ploy to sell Valentine's day as a capitalistic holiday. Love was nothing but a tool that could be used to further someone’s own agenda. He fully believed that.

Lucy’s ‘boyfriend’ was probably a nobody that would mean nothing to her in weeks. He certainly had no impact on her recovery and if he did, that just went to show how naive people could be about so-called ‘love.’

Unlike himself, the rest of the group seemed to become blushing shy messes when the topic of romantic relationships came up. 

“I had a b-boyfriend too…” Poe surprisingly spoke up, stuttering over the word and nervously looking around the circle from beneath his bangs, “but he wasn’t good to me.” 

He did not elaborate how.

No one in the circle flinched except Chuuya, and Dazai looked over at him curiously. He had a look of disgust on his face and it suddenly occurred to Dazai that they hadn’t discussed sexuality or gender identity or anything like that in here yet.

It never crossed his mind that Chuuya could possibly be homophobic, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Poe clearly took note of it, cautiously hunching his shoulders into himself.

The idea twisted something in Dazai’s heart and he suddenly found himself needing to defend Poe fiercely for reasons he was not going to look too deep into.

“What’s wrong Chuuya?” He goaded, a little more poison in his voice than usual, “dissociative and homophobic? Pick a struggle.”

“I’m not a fucking homophobe, asshole,” Chuuya immediately hissed at him before Yosano could scold Dazai for starting discourse, “it’s just-” He looked back over at Poe, his face turning more sympathetic than distraught, “same.”

Ah, Dazai had misread his reaction. It didn't happen often but apparently it was a regular occurrence with Chuuya.

The knowledge that Chuuya swung that way sat itself a little too comfortably in the front of his mind. 

“Yes, relationships are not always positive,” Yosano regained control of the discussion, sending a warning glance to Dazai, “Our intimate connections with people are often a double-edged sword. Having a good relationship can be helpful for you mentally, but a bad relationship can do significant damage. It’s important to both allow yourself to accept help from other people and not rely on them for your emotional wellbeing. I’m not saying to hold yourself back from letting people close, but just be aware that people are all individuals and giving someone else too much power over your personal feelings can be dangerous. You need to be in control of your own feelings, not someone else.”

Dazai had a feeling that this was not necessarily something taught in therapy school, but rather a personal viewpoint of Yosano’s. Not that he minded in the least. 

The thing people didn't say about therapy was that therapists are human too. Everyone suggested taking meds and seeking help as if it was a panacea to all troubles. If Dazai’d learned anything in his years submerged in psychological institutions, it was that sometimes they didn't know what they were doing at all.

Sometimes a psychiatrist would prescribe him with something that made him worse than he already naturally was. Sometimes they diagnosed him with something that he absolutely did not have and gave him an identity crisis. Sometimes their personal views were horrendously against his own and if he were a more impressionable boy he would have been brainwashed into thinking all kinds of objectively incorrect things. 

One of Dazai’s favorite therapists over the years had been a man named Herman Melville, and not just because he let Dazai waste his father’s money talking about nothing of substance for hours, but also because he was not exactly by the book.

He was an older man, and as old men do, he talked about his own life a lot. Dazai probably listened to that man’s entire life story more than he’d told his own, and that was perfectly fine by him. All he had to do once a week was sit through him talking about his life as a fisherman for an hour before giving him a script for lithium that would ultimately end in another hospitalization.

Somehow, that man had a degree in psychology and was a well revered therapist for decades. 

To sum up his thinking; not all therapists said the most advisable things.

“I’m sure there are some of you in here for problems stemming from a bad relationship. Would anyone like to share their experience?” Yosano continued, not exactly meaning to be unkind.

Poe, who had brought up bad relationships in the first place, hunched over even further and began writing away in his notebook, clearly not wanting to expand on the ex-boyfriend he had brought up. Chuuya looked equally reluctant to open that particular can of worms.

Luckily for them, and anyone else in the circle unwilling to discuss what was probably a traumatic and toxic relationship, Dazai loved trash-talking his father, and would at every opportunity.

“I have a terrible relationship with my father,” He wailed dramatically, startling Atsushi a bit from his seat on the other side of him, “Mori is the source of all my many issues. He is to blame for everything wrong with me.”

“Okay, slow down,” Yosano put a hand up, “Firstly, there is nothing wrong with you,” She turned her head to the rest of the group, “There is nothing wrong with any of you. You are all just experiencing a difficult time, but you will overcome it. And blaming your circumstances on someone else is unproductive. It pushes the responsibility you have towards your own recovery onto someone else, and that would go back to what we said earlier, which was to not have your feelings reliant on the actions of another person.”

“Nope!” Dazai immediately chirped, both to be a little shit and because he genuinely disagreed, “It’s definitely all Mori’s fault!”

Yosano gave him an exasperated look, knowing that he was just being difficult for his own amusement, but before she could try and refute his stance, Poe spoke up as well.

“There are some traits of mine that I attribute to the way my boyfriend treated me,” Poe stated hesitantly, “He used to… make me feel guilty, for wanting to go on dates. Like spending time with me was a burden. So now I feel like that with everyone...” He trailed off at the end, hiding his face in his shoulder even though his bangs already covered most of his face.

“Yeah!” Atsushi agreed too, “My… the headmaster at the orphanage always told me I was… but I can’t ever get his words out of my head.”

Yosano took these words into account as a few others added in their own beliefs. Dazai kinda stopped paying attention when she tried to again tell them that those influences on them would not take responsibility for what they did, and only they had the power to do anything to fix what others had done wrong to them, and blah, blah, blah. 

Truthfully, he didn’t care what arguments she brought up or how much sense they made. None of it mattered in the face of the monsters of his past.

If he was truly responsible for his own recovery, then he’d be the one paying for all these hospital stays, not Mori.

Group therapy went on for only a short while more, Dazai’s day continuing to speed by too fast for him to adjust to.

But after it was over, Chuuya was taken away for individual therapy, so they still didn’t get the chance to continue their discussion from before.

Dazai groaned as he sat down next to Ranpo, deciding that the only other intelligent soul in the building had better start helping him with all this. 

Before he could open his mouth to complain though, Ranpo began, making up for being interrupted earlier.

“Magic is real, but it’s psychological,” He immediately went into an explanation, not bothering to start the conversation like a normal person. His fingers tapped and slapped the table in a specific repetitive series, but Dazai ignored the distraction, “If you believe something to be true, like magic, then it’s true to you regardless of the scientific truth. So, if Chuuya was brought out of his blackout because he believed your touch alone cured it, then-”

“Then his blackouts aren’t chemical,” Dazai finished, garnering an annoyed look from Ranpo for the interruption.

“No, they’re not. They're based in belief.” He confirmed anyways.

And it sorta made sense. Kind of. A little bit. 

It brought forth a whole other plethora of questions but at least it made more sense than Dazai having anything special about him that fixed it.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information, his brain mostly stuck on why.

Chuuya had supposedly been experiencing these his entire life, or at least a great majority of it. Why were they still happening? He didn’t know Dazai before, so why would he believe Dazai could fix him?

It didn’t make any more sense than the soul bond theory, but it was at least a little easier to believe. Also, it came from Ranpo, whose intuition Dazai trusted more than any of the other patients.

He didn’t bother bringing up any more questions about the blackout with Ranpo, knowing the only questions he could ask were supposed to be directed towards Chuuya. Luckily he didn't have to spend another second thinking about the redhead, because Ranpo changed topics rapidly with no pretense.

“Another patient is coming in later today. A sociopath,” He grinned.

Dazai raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He’d met lots of self-proclaimed ‘sociopaths’ in his time.

“How’d you find that out?”

“I just know things.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

If he had any more information to share, he didn’t choose Dazai to share it with.

Much like the rest of the day, their talk ended quickly. Apparently already bored of him, Ranpo got up and skipped over to Poe, who jumped when the bespectacled teen brought his hands down on his shoulders.

Atsushi was with Akutagawa, Q, and Lucy further away, and Dazai didn’t particularly like Lucy or Q, so he elected to stay away from that table. Q was leaving today and was sure to be insufferable.

The only other person sitting alone was little Kyouka coloring in a coloring book. He hadn’t yet had the pleasure of speaking to the girl, and if he were feeling more like himself, he would’ve gone over to figure out her story, but he was far too overwhelmed to add another character to the equation right now.

Realizing he’d have to be alone until Chuuya came back, Dazai brought out his own little notebook (all the cool kids had one), and began sorting out his thoughts on paper, of course using a code he’d invented as a kid so no one else could read them. It was a tactic he’d learned very early on if he ever wanted to write down something without Mori knowing.

The first time he’d tried making a little diary with crayons and printer paper was mortifying. Mori read it aloud in front of Dazai and all the maids, making a point to refute every childish complaint Dazai had written down. His father could probably still decode his new language if he really tried, but Dazai counted on him being far too busy to bother with that.

This was his… sixth day in the hospital? Maybe seventh?

So it’d basically been a week already, and he’d only had one individual session. They were really understaffed here. Apparently he’d be staying for the foreseeable future as well, unless or until he started to show some actual progress. 

Three or four days ago was individual therapy with Fukuzawa. Two nights ago was his flashback nightmare breakdown. Yesterday was Mori’s visit as well as Chuuya’s latest blackout.

Today, in comparison to the past few, was blissfully calm. It was still early, with plenty of time for another outburst or event, especially if a new kid was coming in later. But for now, it was quiet.

For Dazai, the quiet wasn’t usually a good thing.

It was a time where he got lost in his own head, spiraling and overthinking until he inevitably had to silence the thoughts with a physical response. Usually self harm.

He couldn’t exactly do that in the main room in the middle of free time, but he had no say in the matter. His thoughts unraveled anyway, and he only knew one solution for it.

It’s only been a week. It’s only been a week.

Nothing had changed. Everything was different but nothing had really changed. 

He'd slowly started opening up, at least more than he used to, and everything’s only gotten worse and worse. Wasn't recovery supposed to make you feel better? Dazai felt terrible.

Everything just kept sinking. Down and deeper and lower and colder and nothing was getting better.

He must've been doing something wrong. A failure; that’s what he was. 

The writing in his notebook turned into horrific scribbles. He tried to do art once. It looked a lot like this.

Faces, haunting faces that covered the page in ink so thick he could barely tell where one began and ended. They all morphed together to form one deformed mass of horror straight out of a child's nightmares.

Some of the faces were familiar. Faces he never wanted to remember so vividly. Faces he saw regardless every time he closed his eyes.

The marker he was drawing with wouldn't allow for anything as dark as what he used to draw. The red color of it was too bright, not dark enough for what he wanted. 

Blood, red as blood. That’s what he needed.

The marker wouldn’t be sharp enough to pierce his skin. Where could he get blood?

Himself.

His eyes flickered up, suddenly flooded with paranoia. Everyone kept looking over at him. Their faces weren’t red enough.

Too many witnesses.

Dazai (very calmly) stood up and walked over to Yosano, feeling completely detached from himself.

He thought he asked her to go to the bathroom. He thought she said yes. 

He was in his room. There was nothing to use. Did Chuuya have something? Probably not. 

Please. Anything.

There wasn't much time. 

Dazai unwrapped the bandages around his wrist, staring at the stitches still holding his skin together. Not for long.

He watched with a sick fascination as nails, his nails, long from being unable to cut them, dug into the spaces between the string, pulling and tearing until blood began to well up.

That's the color. There wasn't enough to fill his page.

He dug in deeper, unable to hold back a wince as he viciously ripped out the strings holding his skin together. The gap widened and more blood peaked out. His arms violently shook.

It was only when hands grabbed him that the shouting registered, and he started to fight back. There was not enough blood yet. 

But the hands grabbing him were bigger and stronger than his.

Being moved and maneuvered was familiar. It reminded him of different hands.

His pants were forcibly ripped down. Not again. No. No no nono no nononono-

A pinch.

A familiar emptiness filled his veins and he stopped struggling so fiercely. The shot brought clarity though, and his brain told him he fucked up big time. 

He made sure not to look at anyone’s face as he fell unconscious. 

Chapter Text

Being sedated was weird. Usually he took it and the air became thick like pudding, making it impossible to move his limbs.

But perhaps not sleeping for two days while experiencing constant stress took a toll on his body, because when he was shot with the dreaded ‘booty juice’ he just straight up passed out. 

It took him a bit to wake up from his thankfully dreamless slumber, and by the time he was fully conscious again, he was in the isolation room with an orderly observing him from the corner. 

An ache in his wrist demanded his attention and he looked down at his re-bandaged and cleared-of-blood arm. Looking down also made him aware of the medical gown he was now in.

Damn, he probably wasn't going to be allowed his own clothes for a while. The evidence that he had been cleaned off and undressed while he was passed out and unaware made his stomach turn.

That was the worst part of being unconscious, waking up and realizing that he had been touched without realizing or able to do anything about it. 

An orderly was sitting in the corner, his elderly face comfortably blank.

Dazai blinked slowly, still not entirely ready to be present yet. To his amusement, the orderly blinked slowly back.

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Dazai decided he didn’t want to be out of the action in this place for any longer than he already was.

He hummed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He was currently laying down on a mat on the floor. There was no other furniture besides the orderlies chair in this locked room. It was also padded, but it didn’t look as fun as the cartoons made it seem. It was much more obviously medical and way less insane asylum.

“I guess you picked the short straw to be my personal guard dog for a while, right?” He mused, the smile on his face disturbingly empty.

The older man hummed, chair squeaking as he leaned back in it, “Actually, it was rock paper scissors.” 

A huff that could’ve been interpreted as a laugh left his mouth. At least the nurse he’d be stuck with for a while had a sense of humor.

“What should I call you then? Nurse? Old man?”

“Hirotsu is fine,” The old man nurse replied, “Shall I call you patient? Child?”

At this, Dazai did genuinely snicker a little bit, his weariness keeping it from bursting out of him.

Had it really been two days since he slept? Being knocked out for however many hours didn’t grant him any reprieve, his body still as exhausted as it had been.

With much effort and a strained face, Dazai pulled himself up so he was sitting, finally looking the old man in the eye, “How long was I out?”

“About seven hours. The rest of the kids are having dinner in the main hall at the moment.”

So he woke up just in time to miss everyone. He wondered if Q had already left yet, or if the new patient had shown up. So much could happen in seven hours. 

Dazai looked down at his newly bandaged wrist once again. These bandages were much thicker than before, so he couldn't see even a hint of what he’d done. Had they redone his stitches too? He was supposed to have gotten them taken out soon.

Well. He really fucked up, didn’t he?

God, he was so weak. Couldn’t even handle a couple days without submitting to the beast in his brain. And he had been so out of it that he didn’t even get to enjoy the pain.

This would elongate his stay to much more than what he wanted.

How had he let himself be so stupid and childish? He knew that he couldn’t get away with self harming in here, much less so fast and in broad daylight. And in such a desperate way too, not at all subtle or clever. Had he really fallen so low that he lost his wits so easily?

If Fukuzawa wanted any further proof that therapy was bullshit, this was it. He’d been playing along and following the rules like a good little mentally ill boy and this was what it had culminated into. One of his lowest moments.

And for what?

A moment of pain? Blood? Seconds of freedom?

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t worth all this. Now he’d have Hirotsu following him around and he’d not get a moment by himself until he proved his stability.

His mood considerably more irritable than it was when he’d woken up, Dazai shakily stood, standing still for a moment to stop his vision blurring from the abuse he’d put his body through. Ugh, and on top of all of this, his body felt weak and fragile because it was unable to handle the overload. Two things he refused to be.

“How much longer will I have to stay in here?” He inquired, trying to look as unthreatening as he could, which probably wasn’t very difficult considering he resembled a quivering baby fawn at the moment.

“That depends. Do you plan to hurt yourself again?” Hirotsu gave him no pity.

Dazai blinked innocently, “Who, me? Never!” Hirotsu stared, unimpressed, so Dazai made an empty promise, “Okay, fine. I promise I’m not going to hurt myself again.”

Hirotsu nodded, satisfied for now despite probably guessing how insincere the words were, “Good. Then we can go back to the group after ten more minutes.”

Not wanting to test his luck, Dazai kept the groan inside, making use of the extra time to stretch his legs and take stock of the rest of him, to make sure he’d be presentable and less harrowed-looking when he went back to the others.

Other than the new bandages and medical gown, he was mostly the same. They miraculously let him keep the rest of the bandages that covered him, which he was grateful for as he would’ve had much more skin showing than usual in just the gown. His feet still had his fuzzy socks on them, the small amount of comfort they offered him was invaluable.

Luckily, it didn't seem like they sponge bathed him or anything like that. He still had on his underwear and the only things they seem to have touched intimately were his wrist and fingers, which had been cleaned of blood. His nails also seemed to have been cut.

Dazai didn't doubt that they at least looked under all of his bandages for any more evidence of recent self harm, but at least they put everything back when they were done.

The cut he reopened wasn’t severe enough to where he lost a lot of blood, so he wasn't as dizzy as he could be, but he still felt a bit unsteady on his feet. Probably more to do with the stress and lack of sleep than any actual problems. 

Before he was allowed out, another nurse came in with a cup of water and his afternoon meds. He drank the water greedily, but only barely managed to hold back rolling his eyes as he stuck his tongue out to prove he actually swallowed the pills.

It’s when Hirotsu took him back to the main room that he started to feel a little sick. 

He hid it well, thankful when it seemed that the rest of the group was still not back yet. It was just himself, Hirotsu, and Tachihara in the room.

The chef of their little kitchen handed him some dry turkey and mushy green beans, which he valiantly did not barf at. He picked at his meal halfheartedly to at least look like he had an appetite, but his mind was mostly focused back on the usual maelstrom of thoughts.

Like always, his head drifted into thinking about Chuuya, and how he’d been doing after his individual therapy. They still had to talk about his blackout, although that might be pushed back a bit to focus on his own Thing™ because Chuuya just loved to fixate on all the wrong things.

His discussion with Ranpo was the furthest they’d gotten to a breakthrough, and he hadn’t even been able to talk to Chuuya about it. Hopefully the smarter teen filled him in while Dazai was… indisposed. 

Speaking of his relapse, every other thought that wasn’t about Chuuya was spent repeatedly reprimanding himself for being so stupid. 

It’s not like he was unfamiliar with a violent and uncontrolled relapse, but to do it in such a sloppy way in such an inopportune place; it’s like he was a stranger to himself. The Dazai he knew would’ve never acted out of control like that. But perhaps the Dazai he knew was changing, the longer he stayed in here.

This hadn’t happened at any of his other inpatient stints.

He wasn't sure whether to be worried about it or excited. Anything that strayed from the usual monotony of his abysmal life was happily welcomed, but this wasn't necessarily a positive change. 

The dinner on his plate went mostly uneaten and thrown into the trash right as the rest of the group returned. He wasn’t feeling hungry anyway. 

Trying not to look too eager, Dazai scanned the room for his favorite redhead, but the angry little fireball found him first. 

Chuuya marched directly up to him and just as Dazai opened his mouth to give some kind of teasing greeting, the shorter boy slapped him across the face.

Rude.

“Nakahara!”

Yosano immediately charged after him, dragging Chuuya bodily away from Dazai, who was still standing, shocked. He brought a hand up to his stinging cheek as she held back the struggling delinquent, who Dazai just realized was also yelling.

“You son of a bitch! I told you not to do that shit in here!” He was practically foaming at the mouth and his fit caught the attention of the orderlies outside the room who rushed in to help hold him back.

“Nakahara, if you do not calm down, we will sedate you.” Yosano hissed, clearly hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Two sedations in one day would look really bad for the facility. 

Dazai was still holding his cheek in shock, only realizing that he was smiling when his hand brushed the corner of his upturned mouth. A genuine smile, because he didn’t put the thought into deliberately painting it on. His cheeks burned for a reason that had nothing to do with the slap.

Chuuya stopped fighting after the threat of ‘booty juice’ was brought up, but he still glared with such a fiery passion that Dazai was nearly burnt by the flames from feet away, “What the fuck are you smiling at?”

Dazai didn’t say anything, shrugging in a rare moment of honesty. He truly didn’t know why he was grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Yosano rudely interrupted their stare-down by pulling Chuuya out of the room to give him a stern talking to. Figuring he’d get to talk once the lecture was over, Dazai sat back down next to Hirotsu and gave the old man an amused eyebrow raise. Hirotsu raised one eyebrow in return.

That was his Chuuya.

A crackling ball of energy wound so tight he could form a black hole around himself.

His emotion, even if it was born from wrath and aimed at Dazai, was beautiful to behold. Absolutely stunning. Maybe that was why he smiled, because Chuuya was like a guiding light in the bleak midnight that was his life.

Ignoring Chuuya's loud entry as if it was a regular occurrence, the rest of the group settled in as usual.

From the looks of it, Q was gone already, but Dazai wasn’t really sad to see the freak go. At least he got out of having to say goodbye.

There were no new faces though, so the newbie wasn’t in yet.

Atsushi rushed over to him in a frantic way very unlike Chuuya, looking like a mother who’d lost her son as he fretted.

“Dazai-san, are you okay? Nobody saw what happened but suddenly a t-ton of nurses ran down the hall to your room and Fukuzawa made us all stay in here and n-none of us could get a good look at you but they took you away so quickly and Chuuya slapped you?! Are you-”

“Atsushi," Dazai interrupted, raising his hands in a placating manner towards the younger teen, “I’m fine. A wild raccoon broke into my room and I had to fight it off so I wouldn’t get rabies.”

The worry on Atsushi’s face melted away into an unimpressed deadpan, clearly not appreciating Dazai’s joking on the matter. Like a shadow, Akutagawa peeked out from behind the white haired boy with wide eyes on his inexpressive face.

“How did a raccoon get in the building?”

He could always count on Akutagawa to go along with his bullshit.

Dazai immediately launched into a fantastical story about his daring battle against a rabid raccoon, and subsequent emergency care as he was on the verge of death because of the animal’s razor sharp and poisoned claws. His caretaker, Hirotsu, simply nodded whenever the more impressionable teens would look to him for confirmation, not at all wanting to participate in this ridiculous conversation and instead just going along with it without question.

After a good few minutes of his epic tale, Chuuya reentered the room and made a beeline for Dazai while also trying to make it look like he was just casually wandering over here. He was a terrible actor, Dazai thought fondly. 

As soon as he sat down across Dazai, he sent him a very poorly concealed glare and hissed in his general direction.

“I told you not to fucking try anything while I was in here. I told you not to.” Chuuya growled, a rumble in his throat making his voice deeper than usual. Dazai felt himself get a little warm.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized sincerely, to the surprise of everyone at the table. Upon realizing that was out of character for him and far too close to an earnest response, he quickly added on, “Next time I’ll make sure Doctor Chuuya-kun is there before I perform surgery on myself.” 

Hirotsu gave him a sharp look but didn’t need to say anything as Chuuya immediately snapped back, “There won’t be a next time, asshole. If you do that shit again…”

He drifted off, glancing over to Hirotsu as well as the other nurses that were keeping a watchful eye on them. Apparently deciding not to finish that thought, he just gave Dazai a glare, baring his teeth in warning. Chuuya really was like a wild dog.

“Heel mutt, I already pinky promised not to.” The bandaged teen sheepishly avoided the others’ discerning faces, “Besides, this was just an accident.”

“An accident.” Chuuya repeated incredulously, ignoring the mutt comment only to prevent further dog jokes.

“A simple miscalculation.” Dazai confirmed.

The other teen finally relaxed at that, dropping the topic although he didn’t exactly look happy about it.

If Dazai didn't want to open up about something, he wouldn't, and Chuuya seemed to know that. They had become so familiar with each other's quirks already!

It was tiresome trying to keep up with Chuuya’s nagging, so he was glad they could move past it and onto more important things. Anything that wasn't himself. He wasn't important.

His little mishap earlier in the day prevented him from sharing his newest hypothesis with Chuuya, and who knew when the next interruption would happen.

“Did Ranpo talk to you at all about the new theory on our magical connection?” Dazai asked, skillfully moving the subject away from him.

Chuuya shook his head. Figures. Ranpo was as unreliable as he was ingenious.

He continued bluntly, “We think your blackouts are psychosomatic. Do you know when you started getting them? What triggered them?”

He didn’t look like he particularly wanted to share that information, reluctantly shifting in his seat.

Sensing he needed a push, Dazai pressed further, “We’re not going to solve anything without knowing all the variables.”

“Are you trying to say it’s all in my head?” Chuuya demanded, still not answering his questions.

Ah. Now Dazai understood. 

It wasn’t that he was guarding his privacy. Chuuya just didn’t want to actually be crazy. He could empathize. 

When people diagnosed you with any kind of mental disorder, there was always a strange implication that since it’s in your mind, it’s within your control. Since it’s just your own thoughts, you’re in complete control of what you’re thinking. Having moods, mental illness, being unstable; it was all a choice in most of society’s eyes. 

By blaming his blackouts on genetics, on a chemical anomaly, it took away any responsibility he had over them. It wasn’t his fault that these episodes happened. Obviously, even though it likely was psychosomatic, it still wasn’t his fault.

Silly Chuuya always seemed to take the blame for things he didn’t need to. He had an insufferable guilt complex.

“No,” Dazai replied gently but firmly, “Not anymore than Atsushi’s anxiety is in his head, or depression and PTSD are in mine.”

It was the first time he admitted to actually having a diagnosable mental illness, rather than just claiming to be generally ‘crazy’. He didn’t really know how to feel about it.

On a level, he knew what was wrong with him. He knew what made him this way and why he continued to act this way without changing anything. Knowing something didn't stop it from happening though.

Putting labels on his problems didn't help him at all to stop them. Still, at least he could finally admit to his therapists, at least some of them, that they were right. There was a reason he was taking medication and acting the way he did, and there was a reason he was in a psych ward. Ignoring it and not giving it words didn't make it go away. It was always with him.

Although it felt like a monumental moment for Dazai, Chuuya took it easily, easing a bit at his reassurance.

He still didn’t seem entirely comfortable sharing, but he braved on regardless, “I was seven. That’s when they started treating me.”

“Do you know what could’ve triggered it?”

At this, Chuuya’s eyes widened momentarily before he looked away, mumbling out something that they couldn’t hear.

His arms crossed defensively over his chest, fingers digging into the meat of his biceps. Dazai felt the sudden urge to grab his hands and rub away the tension. He blinked at the thought, quickly pushing it away.

“What was that?”

Chuuya grumbled lowly again, and Dazai sighed dramatically, already impatient.

“Come again?”

“I said I don’t remember, okay?!” Chuuya spat out, cheeks flushed, “I don’t remember any of my life before seven years old.”

The table was silent. 

“That's…” Dazai started, “... concerning.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

Dazai couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. 

Everyone stared at him while he guffawed, with a wide range of emotions. Chuuya, with predictable rage. Atsushi, with alarm, and both Akutagawa and Hirotsu with wariness.

It was only when he felt tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes that he tried to calm down and stop laughing so much. Once it was down to just giggles, he explained himself before Chuuya could eviscerate him, as he looked seconds away from doing.

“Is that fucking funny to you?” Chuuya ruffled up defensively like a feral alley cat. The sight almost made him start laughing again.

“No, no, it’s just-” He let out another slightly hysterical giggle, “we’re all so messed up.”

Not being able to contain it anymore, he burst into laughter again, holding his stomach as it began to ache.

Everyone looked at him like he was crazy, which was fair. He certainly felt crazy. All except Chuuya, who studied his face while it was cracked in a wide grin from laughing.

It’d been a long time since he genuinely laughed and smiled like this. The joy didn’t feel like it belonged on his face. Even if it was slightly hysterical, and probably not a normal response to the situation, it was genuine.

Dazai stared right back at him, unable to stop giggling but wanting to know what about his face was so interesting to Chuuya at the moment. His eyes were unusually unreadable.

After what felt like minutes but was more likely milliseconds, the corners of Chuuya’s lips began to turn up and he joined in on the laughter. It was downright harmonic.

Atsushi nervously laughed as well, swiveling back and forth between them with poorly hidden panic as they were the only two laughing about such serious matters. 

This only went on for as long as it took for Fukuzawa to wander over to them silently, creeping up behind Chuuya and startling him, sending Dazai into another round of cackling openly at the situation. 

“Osamu,” The use of his first name sobered him immediately, his surprisingly good mood disappearing in seconds and the light Chuuya always brought to him dimming, “We need to have a chat.”

Hmm. So he didn't get away with having a breakdown and subsequent relapse while in their care.

He huffed, not at all looking forward to the one-on-one chat. Especially after only just getting back to Chuuya the group.

But it wasn't like he had a choice.

He sighed, pushing himself away from the table and standing up, all of a sudden subconscious of his state of undress. The medical gown wasn’t exactly flattering to his figure. And it showed more of his bandages, practically broadcasting how fucked up he was.

But why did that matter? Why did he care?

He looked away from the group he was sitting with, not wanting to see Chuuya’s reaction to him. Not that it mattered, it didn’t. He continuously reminded himself.

Then why did he find himself tugging shyly at the sleeves of his gown? 

Like most peculiar thoughts regarding Chuuya, he ignored them, following Fukuzawa out of the main hall and into their own special private room.

It made him just as cautious as it always did, at the ready in case anything were to happen. He wished he didn’t have this innate instinct to run every time he was alone with adults, but alas. Some things were too ingrained in him to ever disappear. 

They sat down very similarly to how they did earlier in the week, although truthfully Dazai couldn’t say what day it was, so it could be the next week for all he knew.

The only real difference was that Hirotsu was with them and he was wearing his underwear and a medical gown. So actually, it was quite a bit different, wasn’t it?

“So, Dazai-” At least he used his last name this time, “Would you like to explain what happened earlier today?”

Dazai didn’t pick at his skin, but it was very close.

“I seem to have relapsed a bit.” He replied as earnestly as he could, keeping a serious face.

“A bit.” Fukuzawa repeated expressionlessly.

Dazai didn’t really want to stay here any longer than necessary. Cooperating would get him further than evading. He sighed in defeat.

“Yes, okay, I hurt myself. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened.”

“Wasn’t intentional?” Although the words were disbelieving, he sounded genuinely curious. The kindness underlying his tone made him uncomfortable.

Dazai, not used to feeling so ashamed, crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing the edges of his bandages for comfort.

“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even really conscious of what I was doing.” He admitted, the defensive creature in his brain growling at him for revealing his secrets, his weaknesses. He told it to shut up.

“So you weren’t in control of yourself?”

“I’m always in control.” Dazai immediately retorted, trying to hold himself back from bristling, “I wanted to do it, I just didn’t realize that I was actually doing it until it was already done.”

Fukuzawa hummed, nodding his head as though he understood, but he clearly did not understand because Dazai didn’t even really understand. Hirotsu was quiet beside him.

It was starting to be a just long enough silence that he was about to break it with some meaningless chatter when finally Fukuzawa spoke again, but only after gazing at Dazai searchingly and making him want to repeatedly bang his head on the desk between them. 

“Are you familiar with dissociative episodes?”

Dazai made sure to not react in any specific way, remaining composed and in the same readied position that he had been in.

Of course he’d heard of dissociative episodes; he’d had them before. Multiple therapists had described some of the things he’s done as done during a dissociative episode. Hell, Chuuya’s blackouts were something akin to a dissociative state. 

“Yes.” He responded icily, not wanting to expand on it.

He could already put together where Fukuzawa was going with this and he didn’t like it.

Sure, he’d had dissociative episodes before, but he hadn't had one in a while. He thought he was past that particular symptom, having gotten that under control a long time ago. Of all the signs that attributed to his several disorders, that one was something he'd actually been able to mostly stop with medication.

Fukuzawa didn’t bother expanding on it. The older man could probably tell from Dazai’s face that he knew exactly where this was going. The social worker seemed to have an annoying way of reading his mind easily, in spite of Dazai’s best efforts at concealing those thoughts.

“Do you think that the recent trauma you’ve gone through has anything to do with their resurgence?”

Therapists had this irritating way of making a claim but presenting it as if it was a question. As if Dazai could approve or disapprove of the statement that they’d already decided was correct. Assuming his records were shared with the hospital, he probably already knew that Dazai had a history of dissociation. 

But the implication of what triggered it was what truly bothered him, “What do you mean recent trauma? That was all over and done before middle school.”

If he could even call it trauma, which he didn’t particularly like to. It felt like, by labeling it as trauma, it was making it a bigger deal than it really was. What he'd gone through as a child was nothing.

“You recently survived a nearly successful attempted suicide, do you not think that was a traumatic experience? Or that you may have some lasting side effects from the amount of time your brain was lacking oxygen?” Fukuzawa once again turned a rhetorical statement into a question.

Not even touching how hilarious the idea of one little suicide attempt being traumatic was, Dazai rolled his eyes, “Are you saying I might have brain damage?”

“I’m not a doctor,” The social worker admitted, “but I do think it may be worth considering.”

Scoffing, Dazai turned to give Hirotsu a disbelieving look, to which the old man remained expressionless as always. 

“Regardless of the reason behind it, you did violate the rules of the hospital and have harmed yourself in our care,” Fukuzawa continued on to more technical matters, leaning back in his chair, “Your stay here will be extended four more days. Your father has already been notified and has approved the extension. A nurse will accompany you at all times until you prove yourself to be trustworthy again. This includes showers, bathroom breaks, and overnight. You can return to wearing your personal clothing tomorrow, but must remain in the hospital gown until then. If something like this happens again, we may have to transfer you to a more intensive care unit.”

It wasn’t necessarily a threat, but Dazai took it as one. Moving to another unit would take him away from his friends the patients and doctors he’d gotten familiar with here. The extended stay and nurse presence were unsurprising, but he wasn’t thrilled about them either.

Also knowing that Mori had already been informed of his relapse made him grumble a bit. Mori would surely want to discuss it next time he visited. That wouldn't be fun at all.

Overall though, it was fairly lenient, and he didn’t know whether it was because the staff liked him or if they couldn't afford to lose him.

Either way, he begrudgingly accepted the consequences of his actions, as if he had a choice in the matter, “I understand.”

The social worker dismissed him back to the group, and he went quietly, Hirotsu following dutifully behind him.

If he was a more whimsical child, he might’ve pretended that the old man was his security guard and he was a really important mob boss, strolling carelessly through the streets of the big city as he ran off to do some cool mafia job, but he was older now, and his imagination didn’t bother indulging in fantasies. Dazai just pretended Hirotsu wasn’t there instead.

On the short walk back to the main room, Dazai thought deeply about his talk with Fukuzawa. 

It wouldn’t be that far a reach to hypothesize that he had lingering brain damage from literally dying. Plenty of people did, even if it wasn’t as life ending as people usually assumed it was.

He could've been having seizures, or chronic fatigue, or any number of other negative side effects. The return of dissociative episodes wasn’t really that bad to have, especially since he’d already experienced them in the past and theoretically knew how to deal with them.

This might mean a change in his medication again though, which he mentally whined about. It would be quite annoying to go through the mess that is finding out which meds worked for him again. Hopefully, this resurgence was to do with his supposed ‘recent trauma’ rather than brain damage. 

It was, unfortunately, out of his control for now. Until he got a brain scan or something similar, he wouldn’t know for sure, and if it did turn out that something was wrong, it wasn’t something his thoughts and willpower alone could control.

And as he’d stated a hundred times, he loathed not being in control.

For now, he would accept the knowledge that he would kill himself when he got out of this place anyway, so whatever's wrong in his brain won't matter by then.

Returning to the fun, he immediately caught the eye of his favorite redhead, currently in a heated debate with Ranpo over something probably incredibly asinine. 

All he could do was wait.

Chapter Text

The downward spiral he was already swept up in seemed to go even further down and, instead of acknowledging that it might have something to do with his own actions or traumatic experiences of the previous days, insisted that it all started with the arrival of the new patient.

The new guy came in the middle of afternoon group therapy with all the swagger of a fat city rat, unjustifiably smug and indifferent, and Dazai immediately hated him. 

He was Russian (huge red flag) but just seemed a little too much like Dazai himself.

He was clearly a liar, manipulative and cunning. The way his eyes slid around like they could read everyone in the room while still outwardly seeming uncaring was exactly the aura Dazai assumed he himself had.

Dazai hated himself, so a person who came in and immediately seemed like a Dazai 2.0 was disgusting. It was revolting. He felt like he could throw up just looking at him.

Nobody else seemed to see anything wrong with the newbie, casually greeting him and introducing themselves as was customary in group therapy.

“My name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. I’m 18 years old.”

Then why are you fucking here? Dazai thought bitterly.

This was supposed to be an adolescent clinic, and here a legal adult was coming in, ruining the flow. 

Everyone welcomed him, introduced themselves, Dazai’s own introduction being short and perfunctory. Maybe it was his imagination but Chuuya seemed a little too excited to greet a new person. After all, before Fyodor, Dazai was the newest person in their little bubble of mentally ill isolation. 

The topic for their group therapy was something asinine that Dazai didn’t care to listen in on, waiting until it was over so he could interrogate the new guy. As soon as the chairs were put back, he dove after on Fyodor like a shark, craving the scent of blood in the water.

“So Fyodor-kun,” He mocked, “What are you in for?” He immediately attacked, leaning forward on his entwined hands. 

For once, a lot of people were at the same table, eager to meet the newest addition to their merry band of inmates. Everyone was sitting at their table, except Akutagawa and Kyouka, as they seemed to be in an intense discussion of their own. Used to his antics, no one gave Dazai any trouble for the invasive question.

Instead of being put off by the question, as most people were, Fyodor smiled thinly, a seemingly innocent expression that only Dazai and maybe Ranpo could see past. He’d seen enough people faking harmless curiosity to know that Fyodor was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and Ranpo just seemed to have an intuition for these things. He’d also stated earlier that a ‘sociopath’ was coming in, so he must've already known that something about this Fyodor guy wasn’t what it seemed.

“A suicide attempt.”

Dazai immediately sniffed through that lie.

If anyone knew about suicide, it was Dazai, and he knew that Fyodor showed no signs of a recent attempt, nor the aura of someone who was even interested in such a thing.

Everyone else seemed to buy it though, like naive idiots, nodding in sympathy and even some pity. It disgusted him. 

Dazai refrained from adding anything else to the conversation, already bored and annoyed when other people started to introduce themselves and got to know Fyodor. Hopefully Fyodor would be nothing but another patient by tomorrow, no more interesting than the dust on his socks.

He slinked away from that rat and moved on to sit with Akutagawa and Kyouka instead. Hirotsu followed dutifully behind, so quiet and still that Dazai almost forgot he was even supposed to be by his side. 

“Why is Dostoevsky in the adolescent ward if he’s a legal adult?” Dazai demanded from his nurse as they walked.

Hirotsu dutifully answered, “There are no beds left at the adult ward. Here, we have a whole room to spare.”

Which was unusual. A lot of people in this world needed help, and unfortunately that usually meant that a lot of hospital beds were often filled up, with no room for any more patients. It also wasn’t uncommon for homeless people to check themselves in, just for somewhere with food and beds to stay in during the colder months.

This facility seemed to be an exception, or perhaps it was just a slow time of the year, because there were actually very few patients. This building had to be underfunded, it was the only real explanation for how mediocre it was. He would’ve thought Mori could afford to get him into a better hospital, but maybe he’d gotten tired of providing Dazai with luxury mental care.

“He’s a pathological liar.” Dazai boldly stated, daring Hirotsu to defend the other patient.

“That’s something he can work on in individual therapy.”

The bandaged teen stubbornly held down his amused grin, sending a flat look to Hirotsu. He was really starting to like this old man though. Other than Oda, this was probably the best nurse he could’ve gotten to watch over him nonstop. 

Reaching Akutagawa and Kyouka, he would usually loudly announce his entrance and derail whatever topic they were previously on, making the new conversation about or including him. This time, however, their discussion seemed interesting enough that Dazai just quietly sat down and listened as they continued, barely acknowledging his arrival beyond a nod of recognition.

“Tell me more about Gin.” Kyouka requested meekly, her voice only slightly above a whisper.

Ah, Gin. Dazai knew of her. Akutagawa had talked about his sister a lot in the past, and he’d even seen the girl during visiting hours once. The older teen responded patiently, even a little fondly, in a way that seemed out of character for such an edgy emo kid, if one didn’t know of his soft spot for his sister.

“She is a little older than you.” Akutagwa began, clearly not good at describing people in a very engaging way, “She likes martial arts.”

“You know, Kyouka,” Dazai interrupted the frankly abysmal description, “She looks a lot like you! Black hair, baby face, blank expression. Silent but deadly like you too.”

Akutagawa didn’t look too upset about being talked over, simply nodding his head at Gin being deadly. Kyouka paid apt attention.

“You will see her tomorrow. She’s coming along to pick me up.”

Dazai turned to him in surprise, “Pick you up? You’re leaving tomorrow?”

He felt the room get a little colder, his life a little emptier. His younger friend nodded solemnly. 

“I want to spend the time I have left with my loved ones.”

A shiver passed through his body, death’s icy hands sweeping over his shoulders. These were probably going to be the last times he saw Akutagawa.

Even if Dazai got out soon, they weren't that close. It wasn't likely that he’d be invited to the eventual funeral. It was a very real possibility that he wouldn't even know when Akutagawa finally kicked the bucket. Who would alert him to such a thing? 

A larger part of himself than he was willing to admit was jealous, but the only part of him that he cared to listen to was mostly sad. 

He wasn’t a stranger to death, and was glad that at least Akutagawa could make the most of his little time left with his sister.

Still, he was so young. Younger than Dazai. He was someone who always seemed to fight to live, yet he was dying. Whereas here Dazai was fighting to die, but continued living. It wasn't fair.

There was something beautiful about such a tragedy, but it was the kind of beauty that made one feel sick to their stomach with grief.

He knew he was supposed to make some sort of joke about being jealous that Akutagawa would get to die first, or suggest another double suicide, but he truly wasn’t in the mood to. Maybe the past few days really had changed him more than he thought. The usual apathy he felt towards such a thing wasn’t there, and he had the sudden inexplicable urge to cry about how unfair it all was.

“We should celebrate your final day in captivity,” Dazai said instead of voicing the thoughts in his head, “We can throw a party! Maybe I can convince Ango to bring you a cupcake in the morning.”

“I don’t like cupcakes.” 

Dazai pouted, “Everyone likes cupcakes.”

“I like cupcakes.” Kyouka quietly added, reminding Dazai that she was there. Truly, silent but deadly. Or at least silent, the deadly was yet to be seen.

“That's two for cupcakes, Hirotsu?”

The older man tilted his head downwards, “I enjoy a good cupcake, but unfortunately we cannot give them out for a discharge.”

“Buzzkill.”

Dazai gave an exaggerated frown, not really serious about the whole thing. But he saw a tiny, nearly unnoticeable smile on Akutagawa’s lips, and it made everything else seem so very unimportant.

…

Later that night, as he lay in bed with Hirotsu sitting nearby, the last surprise of the day was revealed to him. An unwelcome and annoying one.

Chuuya had apparently gotten to know Fyodor quite well over the half hour they’d all talked as a group. And he wouldn’t shut up about him.

“And he was actually born in Russia, his family are immigrants. Which is cool because Ane-san says we’re immigrants too! Apparently we were born in France, not that I remember obviously-”

Dazai was going to lose his fucking mind. More than he already had.

“Shut up about Fyodor! Shut up about Fyodor.” Dazai finally snapped, glaring fiercely at a surprised Chuuya.

The redhead immediately narrowed his eyes and puffed up defensively at the vitriolic tone, “Don’t tell me you already hate him. You didn’t even get to know him.”

Dazai scoffed.

He didn’t need to ‘get to know him’ it was obvious what his character was like from just a glance. Anything the new patient said would be a lie anyway, based on his very early lie about how he ended up here in the first place.

But Chuuya wasn’t done, “Give him a chance. You two have a lot more in common than you think. Maybe you could each talk about your attempts together.”

The bandaged teen openly laughed at that.

“I know he and I are alike, that’s exactly why I don't like him. And he didn’t attempt suicide. Chuuya is too trusting.”

“What do you mean he didn’t? How else could he have gotten in here?” Chuuya asked, the naive little puppy.

“It’s obvious, there are no external signs of a suicide. Every method leaves behind something, but he was squeaky clean. Also, you can check yourself into these places chibi, it doesn’t always have to be an order from someone else.”

His roommate didn’t seem to know what to do with that, pouting and looking like he very badly wanted to refute Dazai’s points but couldn’t find the words to.

Apparently giving up on trying to argue something, Chuuya shrugged hotly. His slender shoulders raised towards his ears, mocking Dazai.

“So what?”

Any and all thoughts and counter arguments that he had lined up all stuttered to a stop.

“So what?”  He repeated incredulously.

Oblivious to Dazai’s internal computer crashing multiple errors 404 not found, Chuuya continued, “Yeah, so what? So what if he’s lying about how he got in here? You lie all the time. At least Fyodor's not a dick about it.”

Dazai sputtered indignantly, looking to Hirotsu for help which of course the older man did not give. Why was no one else concerned with that rat’s intentions, when he was so clearly up to something nefarious?

“Your naivety will be your downfall Chuuya-kun.” He eventually spit out, half joking.

Chuuya took it as seriously as he took everything, “And your stubbornness will be yours.”

Not knowing quite how to respond to that, Dazai pulled the paper thin blanket over his head and turned to face the wall, overly conscious of Hirotsu sitting at the foot of the bed. Even if he wouldn’t fall asleep right away, he could at least pretend to be trying to sleep.

His roommate didn’t make another sound, not even a grunt of satisfaction as Dazai would’ve expected. Chuuya passed out seconds after his head hit his pillow, according to the insufferable snoring which came very soon after lights out. Not everyone in the room was so lucky.

The old man at the foot of his bed was so silent that Dazai could’ve forgotten he was even there if it weren’t for the feeling of being watched that plagued him even when he closed his eyes. Despite the hours of unconsciousness he’d had earlier, he was still exhausted. Unfortunately, if Hirotsu continued to monitor him, it wasn’t likely that he’d fall asleep.

Still, there wasn’t much else to do but try.

…

In the morning, after a fitful night of tossing and turning, Dazai tiredly dragged his body from vitals to breakfast, Hirotsu following behind him like a storm cloud. He didn’t seem to be the only one feeling strung out though.

It was like an aura of exhaustion blanketed the entire building. Even the staff looked a little run down. Beyond the opaque windows, rain dripped down, creating a calming white noise of gentle tapping. If it weren’t for the misty coverings over all the windows, Dazai would’ve loved to look up at the cloudy gray sky, but he could only close his eyes and imagine it.

Dazai actually enjoyed this type of weather. Despite the gloom, it was peaceful. The noise of the rain drowned out everyone, and made everything seem a little more real in a weird way. It made it feel as if the world around him was merely a creation of his own mind, but in such a way that it belonged to him entirely. In the rain, it didn’t matter if this was real or not, the water on his face felt good enough that he didn’t care if it was all fake.

But he could not feel the rain from inside this sickeningly sterile building. 

“Hirotsu, can I go to the dining hall with the others today?” 

The wistful nature of his voice didn't seem to move the old man, who always had an air of calm to him, “You will be allowed to, if we do go. The rain may be worse by then.”

That was unfortunate. The brief reprieve of being outside on the walk to the dining hall would’ve felt better than the sun itself warming him.

His peaceful morning was interrupted when Chuuya zapped into his life, the lightning crackling through his otherwise gentle thunder. 

“Akutagawa is leaving today. We should do something for him.” The redhead dropped his breakfast tray down on the table with an unpleasant clattering sound.

“That’s what I said! I was thinking cupcakes.”

“Akutagawa doesn’t like cupcakes,” Chuuya replied. Apparently he and the emo teen talked about those kinds of things enough for him to know that, “I meant more like giving him a card signed by everyone.”

“That’s so lame.” Dazai scrunched up his nose. God, could they get any more cliche?

“It’s sentimental.” Was Chuuya’s argument, and so that’s what they went with.

They would begin work during free time, and hopefully finish by the time Akutagawa was scheduled to leave.

Before that though, Dazai was forced to endure a full group therapy session with that disgusting rat of a human being.

He made sure to sit far away from him but not directly across, so as not to make eye contact with him and to minimize their level of interaction completely. Unfortunately, it seemed like Dostoevsky was fixated on him for some reason. His violet eyes, too uncannily similar to Mori’s, were locked on Dazai from the moment he entered the circle.

The other thing about group therapy, if you were there long enough, was that they repeated topics a lot. Sometimes they could discuss the same thing for weeks on end and still get nowhere in recovery, which only reinforced Dazai’s opinion on therapy, but it was interesting when another patient actually did seem to change between topics. They could say one thing the week they come in, and then after a few days have something completely different to say on the same topic.

Perhaps people could change, or at least adjust.

This session was again focusing on coping mechanisms and what to do when they’re back out in the ‘real world’ with all the stress that brings.

Fukuzawa was there again, and Hirotsu was by Dazai’s shoulder, so there was an uncomfortable amount of adults, more than what he’d gotten used to. Especially since Fyodor was also apparently a legal adult. That shouldn’t be allowed!

But to be fair lots of things went on in mental institutions that weren't necessarily allowed... Still, this was the only one he was particularly annoyed with at the moment.

“I think we should start a little lighter today since it’s so miserable outside. What does everyone want to do when they get out? This doesn’t have to be about what career you want to pursue, although it can be. Just any goal you have for the future when you get discharged. It can even be something as simple as taking a bath.” Yosano smiled at the circle.

Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the wrinkles and strain on her face seemed more pronounced today.

Everyone really was exhausted, weren’t they?

Since Kenji left a few days ago, not many others had the same level of energy and eagerness to participate. It made group therapy much more awkward than it should’ve been, but Dazai didn’t really feel affected by the weird atmosphere around the circle.

Ranpo, who seemed less bored and more opened up out of his shell, while not particularly caring about participation, did love to talk about himself. So it wasn’t a surprise when he was the first to raise his hand.

“I’m going to be the world’s greatest detective!” He proudly exclaimed, to the rapt attention of Poe and Yosano. 

It sounded so childish that Dazai wanted to laugh, but the way Ranpo’s eyes slitted over to him before he could even conjure an expression of amusement made him reconsider.

Perhaps the little neat freak did have better perception than he’d led them to believe. He did always seem to follow Dazai's thought processes flawlessly, which wasn’t something many people could do.

Maybe it was just because he never thought about his own future career that the idea of any one of them becoming a successful adult was so outlandish.

“That’s wonderful Ranpo,” Yosano smiled proudly, looking very pleased with his answer, “Shall we continue around the circle? Poe, you can go next.”

“Uh, I’d like to be an author…” Poe shifted nervously, clutching his notebook to his chest. An unsurprising and boring response.

As they were going around the circle, Dazai was next to answer, but not a single thought seemed to come to his mind. 

Everyone stared at him expectantly, some with wariness and some with genuine curiosity and encouragement. Though even with all the eyes urging him to speak, he couldn't think of anything. Not even a bullshit answer. 

It was a rare thing, his mind going silent, but it did happen. Neither time nor substance mattered when he was in this state, and he could spend hours staring at a wall with nothing in his brain, practically dead to the world around him and the wasteland inside him.

He didn't know what triggered it, but it was probably connected to the resurgence of his dissociative episodes. Just another thing he’d have to deal with now, on top of everything else happening. As if life wasn't hard enough.

The urge to kill himself and be done with all the complications of being alive was a dull yet constant presence. Even though he couldn’t form a solid thought, he felt the pull of suicidal ideation in his very soul. If he had a soul, anyways.

“Dazai? Is there anything you want to do when you’re free?” Yosano prompted again, though not as annoyed as he would’ve expected her to be. Instead she seemed more cautious, or perhaps coddling. 

Freedom? When he was free? He’d never be free. Outside of this asylum was just another set of chains to bind himself into; the dog collar of society.

True freedom would only come with death. 

Which of course gave him his answer. The one every other person probably already expected from him.

“I’m going to kill myself when I'm out.” 

The sentence came out easily, as it was something he’d said many, many times before.

For once, he wasn’t concerned with this admission extending his stay and subsequent access to this supposed freedom. He couldn’t quite find it in him to care at all. 

Chuuya glared at him threateningly from his spot next to Dostoevsky, obviously not at all pleased with his response. He never liked when Dazai was openly suicidal. Which sucked because that was kind of a core personality trait of his, and he wanted Chuuya to like him. 

Or, not like him, but at least pay attention to him. Dazai didn’t care how the boy felt about him, he just wanted to occupy his thoughts at all times and interest him the way he interested Dazai. And to not share any of his roommate's headspace with that slimy rat.

“Dazai,” Yosano sighed heavily, the bags under her eyes becoming more pronounced, “That’s not an option. You won’t be allowed to go back to the outside world until you are no longer a harm to yourself or others.”

She stated for the millionth time, reminding him of what everybody already knew.

The problem was, he just didn’t care anymore.

Also, he was technically taking Fukuzawa’s advice to try and utilize therapy. He was actually being honest about his feelings, which was the first step, right? Admitting that he had a problem, or whatever.

“Don’t you have any interests or hobbies?” Fukuzawa prompted, “I’ve seen you drawing during free time. Perhaps you could be an artist.”

Yeah, the same drawing that had triggered him into a relapse only yesterday.

Dazai shrugged, “Sure. I’ll be an artist. I’m sure that's the career my medically and financially accomplished father always wanted for me.” 

“It’s not about what his expectations are, it’s about what you want.” Yosano gave him a small but genuine smile.

She really was trying her best. Maybe he should stop giving her such a hard time. At least for a day. She deserved it.

Not really knowing how to explain that he didn’t want anything except a swift death, Dazai shrugged again but didn’t speak. Other patients probably had more exciting things to say, or more likely lame things.

Either way, it would take attention away from himself, and that was the only other thing he wanted right now.

After a few seconds of silence, Yosano nodded for the person next to him to go, who was Atsushi. And so they continued around the circle.

Atsushi wanted to have his favorite meal when he was free; chazuke. Fyodor (ew) wanted to play his cello professionally (pretentious), and Chuuya wanted to make tea for his sister (sweet). 

Lucy wanted to be a game designer, and little Kyouka just wanted to wear clothes that were allowed to have longer strings and ribbons, as those weren't permitted in the hospital.

In his opinion, it was a little fucked up to ask Akutagawa what he wanted to do in the future, seeing as he didn’t really have much of one, but he answered anyway, stating that all he wanted when he was released was to take his sister shopping. He even offered to bring Kyouka along, which nearly brought the young girl to tears as she readily accepted. It was both heartwarming and tragically sad, as many things in this place were. 

Thankfully, group therapy ended quickly and without any drama. Probably the first time in days where things seemed calm and controlled, which was typical of places like this.

There was always some kind of disturbance going on. That tended to happen when a bunch of mentally ill teenagers were stuck inside the same space for days on end.

It was nice to bask in the tranquility for once. 

If only that bastard Fyodor wasn’t taking up all of his Chuuya's time. 

They seemed to get along too well, almost always sitting next to each other, which meant that Dazai didn’t get to be with Chuuya at all because he’d rather live than be around Fyodor for any longer than necessary. Only when visiting hours began and Fyodor stepped out to meet someone irrelevant, did Dazai finally get to pounce on Chuuya.

“Chibi-kuuuunnn,” He whined, draping his arms over Chuuya for only a second before the redhead shoved him off, “Why won’t you leave that ugly rat alone and come hang out with me instead?”

“Don’t call him a rat, mackerel,” Chuuya huffed, “and literally nothing is stopping you from joining us.”

“Ew, I would never. Chibi.” He added on the nickname again, poking Chuuya's chubby cheek. The shorter boy slapped his hand away.

“Noodle arms.”

“Slug.”

“Hah?!” Chuuya slammed his hands on the table, turning so that the full effect of his glare was directly aimed towards Dazai, “Slug? Fuck you… stuff-that-comes-with-bandages.”

“Stuff-that-comes-with-bandages?” Dazai laughed genuinely, “That makes even less sense than mackerel!”

“And ‘slug’ does make sense?” Chuuya grinned, reluctantly joining in his laughter, “You’re such a hypocrite.”

His smile was beautiful.

For a brief moment, he felt happy. Happy to be around Chuuya, happy to have even met him, happy that he had lived long enough to know him. 

And that thought was what stopped his laughter short in his throat, staring at Chuuya as the other boy kept giggling, his cheeks growing slightly pink from loss of breath.

The sight made his stomach drop in a way he’d never experienced before, like the moment a roller coaster reached its peak and had a brief second of weightlessness before gravity pulled it down. It swooped, but in an exciting way. A rush better than a shot of straight adrenaline.

He could've got high off of it. He could've become addicted to the feeling of laughing with Chuuya.

Which was why the sweet taste in his mouth suddenly turned sour when Fyodor came back into the room and Chuuya’s attention turned to him instead.

It was at that moment that Dazai finally acknowledged; maybe he wanted more than only Chuuya’s attention. 

Maybe he just wanted Chuuya.

Chapter Text

Nothing really changed after Dazai’s realization of his possible tiny crush on Chuuya, which pissed him off. 

This was strange! This was new and exciting and mortifying. Why was everyone continuing along like everything was fine when Dazai’s whole world had been turned inside out?

The group still went to fake school and fake gym class like nothing was wrong. Like there wasn't hellfire raining from the sky and beasts plaguing the land.

Dazai had never felt this way before. 

Sure, he’d thought people were attractive. He’d objectively acknowledged it, like one would for a beautiful painting.

It never really went beyond that though. He never felt a desire to be near them, to know more about them, to hold and be held, to carve open their ribcage and crawl inside. 

It was thrilling.

More than that, it was enchanting. 

Other than suicide, and maybe cutting, Dazai never really wanted something so badly. He’d wanted numbness, death, relief maybe, but never this. Whatever this was.

It’s not even something Chuuya could offer, it was just Chuuya. 

He just wanted Chuuya. 

All to himself, like a prized thoroughbred pooch.

He wanted to poke Chuuya and see what he would do. Wanted to lock him in a room alone and see how he would escape. Wanted to fall into deep water and drag him with, feeling him struggle against Dazai and push him further under. Wanted, wanted, wanted.

More than any of that though, Dazai wanted to feel Chuuya’s dainty fingers squeezed around his throat again. 

Of course, he couldn’t say these things aloud in group therapy. Not with Chuuya right there. Even if it would be fascinating to hear his response, and study the fury that would surely flood his ice cold eyes. It would probably push Chuuya away from him, and Dazai wanted him closer, not further.

The walk to lunch hadn’t been as joyous as he’d hoped. It wasn’t exactly raining so he didn’t get to feel the drops on his skin, but looking up at the clouded gray sky had been nice.

Chuuya had smirked at him and bumped his hip, teasing him for finally seeing a glimpse of freedom, to which Dazai tried to goad him into running away together and laughing while security chased them. Even though he’d said it as a joke, the desire to elope with Chuuya was all too true. Unfortunately, Chuuya actually wanted to ‘recover’ and didn’t entertain his ideas of fleeing.

Hirotsu apparently wasn’t immune to needing a break, so when they all went to lunch, Dazai returned with a different bodyguard.

His new guardian, some woman named Tsujimura Mizuki, was not nearly as entertaining as Hirotsu was, taking her job way too seriously even though Dazai was on his best behavior. Hopefully he’d be free from having a personal nurse soon. Suicide-watch could only last so long.

Until then he had at least one more night of a chair at the end of his bed. Not allowed a second alone with Chuuya, even in their room.

Dazai valued solitude, but unfortunately it was impossible to get in a facility like this. The briefest reprieve he got was in the bathroom, but Tsujimura was right outside the curtain checking in on him every few minutes anyway.

If he could at least be alone with Chuuya it wouldn’t be so bad, but his watchdog was stationed with him everywhere he went. Not having a moment alone was pretty typical of a mental hospital, but Dazai desperately yearned for those few moments that he and Chuuya had when there were no staff around, and it was just them. 

Night seemed so far away though, as he was tortured with more free time in which he had run out of things to occupy his mind with. And with Chuuya seemingly unable to leave Fyodor’s side, Dazai was starting to think he’d have to suck it up and hang out with both of them.

Every instinct in his body was ringing alarm bells at Fyodor’s very presence, but he couldn’t quite figure out why, other than a general dislike for manipulative liars. Yes, it was hypocritical, but Dazai never claimed to be otherwise.

He trusted his intuition, and if it believed that something was amiss, then he would continue to tread carefully.

Admittedly, some of the resentment might be a product of how much of Chuuya’s time the Russian was beginning to occupy. Jealousy was not something Dazai had much experience with, so he couldn’t be certain, but if he explained these feelings to one of the therapist’s, that would probably be their first assessment.

Jealousy, fear of Chuuya abandoning him, general distrust of others stemming from traumatic experiences. He could easily imagine Fukuzawa diagnosing him with that irritatingly calm expression he always had. 

Burying his pride, Dazai pushed back his shoulders and confidently strode to the table that Chuuya was sitting at, luckily accompanied by every other patient as they seemed to be giving Akutagawa contact information, because that was still happening today too. No cupcakes, just a stupid card that Dazai already signed during their first period of free time.

He sat down on Chuuya’s lap, immediately being pushed off by the flustered teen.

“Get the fuck off me! There’s like three other empty chairs. This ones taken.” Chuuya grumbled, pulling one of the free chairs up next to him anyway.

Dazai gracefully accepted it without comment, which seemed to throw the redhead off, his eyebrows furrowing and annoyed face briefly flickering with worry. 

Shit, he should probably act normally so Chuuya wouldn’t suspect anything. Normally by Dazai standards, at least.

“When are you leaving Ryuu-kun?” He diverted attention away from him and back towards the person who actually deserved it right now. His hands flew to cover his heart dramatically, pouting and pretending to wipe away a tear, “I’m going to miss your cheerful face and positive attitude so much!”

The stone-faced teen’s eyes shone, despite the rest of his expression remaining impassive, “I will miss you too Dazai.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, looking around at the others to see if at least someone understood his sarcasm. Many of them gave him an exasperated look, but returned their attention to Akutagawa when Dazai’s only response was a smirk. 

“Gin will be coming with our guardian to pick me up any minute now,” Akutagawa answered his original question, to the utter dismay of those around him.

“But that’s too soon!” Atsushi cried, holding Akutagawa’s hand. The gothic teen put his other hand over them both, squeezing reassuringly and exchanging a soft look with him. 

When did that happen?

Perhaps people had their own lives outside of Dazai, and they had somehow gotten together without him knowing. It was hard to imagine anything like a relationship between those two blooming without his knowledge.

Had he truly been so tunneled in on Chuuya that he didn’t notice?

That would be terribly humiliating to admit, so Dazai decided that was not possible and they must have kept their budding relationship secret on purpose.

A relationship was a terrible idea for both of them. It would only make Akutagawa’s death that much more difficult. Losing someone you loved was enormously harder than losing someone you just barely knew. 

Also the small fact that they met in a mental asylum. That was a relationship doomed from the start.

Dazai chose to ignore what that said about the possible future of him and Chuuya.

A paper covered with contact information sat in the middle of the table ominously, another reminder of both the closeness to freedom as well as the departure of one of his oldest friends. If he could call them friends.

Last time they were in a facility together, Dazai had left before Akutagawa, and the sheet of contact information given to Dazai was swiftly thrown into the first trash can he saw. He hadn’t given anything to the others either when they left, not really caring to stay in touch with any of them.

However, this would ultimately be the last time Dazai saw Akutagawa, with the certainty of his death on the horizon. 

Also, they were friends. 

Dazai pulled the paper towards himself and quickly jotted down his phone number next to a little cartoon of him hanging himself, as if it was no big deal. Only Akutagawa would appreciate the humor of it.

“Make sure to invite me to your funeral!” He winked, leaning back casually. It was both a joke and a sincere request, which also only Akutagawa would appreciate.

“If you even get out by then,” Chuuya raised a judgmental eyebrow, teasing over his crossed arms, “With all your whining about suicide, I’d be surprised if they let you out within the year.”

“Chibi, surely by now you should know that I can easily escape any time I want to.” The look Tsujimura gave him at that admission had him putting up his hands innocently in surrender, “Not that I want to!”

Chuuya’s face scrunched up adorably, “Eh? But-” 

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Yosano clearing her throat. The doctor’s presence could only mean one thing, and any curiosity over what Chuuya was going to say flew out of reach in the face of what was about to happen.

She smiled at them all together, eyes sad, and locked in on Akutagawa, speaking with a grim finality; “It’s time to go.”

It did feel too soon. Surely he had a few more minutes. Surely this wouldn’t be the last time Dazai saw him. Surely he would not have another person close to him die so unfairly, while he was forced to continue on with his own miserable life.

Outside the windows of the room stood a nameless woman and a tiny Gin, only slightly taller than the last time he’d seen her, but still as slim and quiet as her brother. Atsushi’s face fell and he clung tighter to Akutagawa’s hand.

He never would’ve expected those two to end up so close, but perhaps that old saying was true. Opposites did attract. Despite their glaring personality differences, when Dazai looked a teeny bit closer at them, he started to see their compatibility a little more. They complimented each other, fit the parts the other lacked. 

“I will miss you all.” Akutagawa tilted his head farewell very formally, but when he looked at Atsushi, his expression seemed to get a bit more strained. He glanced at the staff for a second.

The other patients must’ve arranged something without him knowing, because all of a sudden everyone crowded around them both, hiding them within a giant group hug. Hidden in the arms of their peers, Akutagawa gave Atsushi a short but heart-wrenchingly sweet kiss.

Ah, now Dazai understood, joining the group circle. 

Not only were relationships formed in mental hospitals extremely taboo and unwise, but they were also frankly not permitted. There was a reason they separated the boys from the girls, although that was definitely outdated reasoning seeing as Akutagawa and Atsushi were both boys.

There was a rule in mental health facilities, and not one of the unspoken ones that Dazai had to learn through experience. No, this was a blatant rule imposed by the staff. Patients were not allowed to kiss or touch each other intimately, or truly have any physical contact between them at all.

Even if the staff at this hospital seemed more lenient, they would not have allowed such fundamental rules to be broken. 

Everyone knew this, but they also knew this would probably be the teens’ only chance to have this moment. One final intimate act before death and circumstance would tear them away from each other.

And so everyone crowded the two teens as they kissed goodbye; a barrier between the staff, between the real world, and between the inevitable fate of their relationship would be. Regardless of what happened after, at least they could have this moment together.

Maybe the patients hadn’t arranged it this way at all beforehand. Maybe they all just knew what each other needed.

Never having felt it before, Dazai couldn’t say for sure if this is what friendship and love felt like, but it seemed close.

It was solidarity. The wordless agreement everyone made to give their friends this time, and protect this moment from anything that tried to stop it.

Even though the thought of touching other people made his skin crawl, if it was for this noble cause, it seemed to be alright, at least for the moment. 

The huddle was large and warm, all of them holding a mutual understanding and care for each other. It wasn’t Dazai in the middle of it, but even on the outskirts of the circle he felt it; the connection. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. 

The fact that people were hugging him and vice versa gave him shivers, but at the edge of the circle, with everyone around him, it didn’t feel too bad. His arms were around Chuuya and surprisingly Lucy as they huddled, his head leaning down to further cover the couple.

He almost wanted to say something, but the air felt too fragile. He didn’t want to break it with his grating voice.

This wasn’t about him, this was about them.

It couldn’t last forever though. Soon the staff was pulling them apart, reminding them of the no-touching rule in which they were all fully aware of. Each of them were pretending to have no idea why some of the nurses had narrowed their eyes accusingly. 

In what seemed like a matter of seconds, Akutagawa was gone, leaving a chilling silence in his absence. 

Atsushi still had tears falling from his eyes, as much as he subtly tried wiping them away so that the staff wouldn’t accost him. His breathing started to get so harsh that one of the nurses had to escort him out of the room to console and bring him down from what seemed to be a growing panic attack. Chuuya was biting his lip, flickering his attention between Atsushi outside of the room and Dazai right next to him. Ranpo and Poe were talking quietly in the corner, and Lucy was comforting Kyouka as the younger girl sat in dead silence.

Despite all the abysmal moods around him, Dazai just felt numb.

Dazai didn’t really do ‘friends.’ Nobody had really tried when he was young enough for such a thing to be normal. As he grew, the notion of ‘making friends’ seemed to just fade away.

Grown ups didn’t make friends. They networked. They met people and made contracts and deals to further their own goals. They never returned to that pure and innocent desire to just connect with other people. It didn’t matter that he was still technically and legally a child, he’d been an adult far before someone his age should’ve been. 

Obviously, this cheerful ideology had gotten him many acquaintances over the years (it hadn't) and given him the exact social skills needed to make those connections (also a lie). 

Dazai hadn’t intended for Akutagawa to be his friend. He didn’t look at this young goth kid and think ‘Yeah, I want to hang out with that guy,’ but somehow they’d just ended up together.

It was during their first stay together that Dazai dismissed the teen somewhat, only really seeing him as an amusing patient with the potential to cause some trouble. But meeting him again this time changed how he saw Akutagawa.

The person who had once been a small and sickly looking child with severe anger issues and a distrust of strangers, grew into the calm young man he’d met again during this visit. The change was startling, and he almost would’ve believed Akutagawa was faking it like Dazai always did, but he’d stayed the same in just as many ways as he’d changed. He was still moody and into wearing all black. He still had no social awareness and didn’t understand sarcasm.

Still, things must have happened between the time they were inpatient together, because he didn’t seem as adverse to meeting people as he once was. He seemed to trust more openly, and behave more rationally. Despite the unfairly short amount of time he would have left in this world, Dazai had no doubts that Akutagawa would do well for himself.

And because Dazai was slightly narcissistic, he turned these musings of change onto himself in turn.

Had he changed? Was he even capable of change? Could someone as inhuman as him do what every living thing did, and grow? 

It didn’t seem likely, or even possible. Every aspect of his personality was a mask. So much so that Dazai wasn’t really sure who he was, or even if he was anything. How could nothing develop into something? Energy could not be created or destroyed.

Everyone wanted him to recover and get better. That required change, but if he wasn’t human enough to evolve, recovery would be nigh impossible. It’s not as if he had much faith in the benefits of therapy to begin with, but the slow realization that even if he did actively try to get better, it wouldn’t matter… that unsettled him. Once again something in his life that he couldn’t control.

While in the hospital this past week, things had gotten better and things had gotten worse. It sent him through a rollercoaster of emotions he’d never truly experienced before, but even with the heart-stopping falls and the slow climbs, he was still on the rollercoaster. 

It was on a track. It was on a loop. It would never change its course; never moving backwards yet infinitely repeating the same cycle. 

Dazai couldn’t rise like a phoenix from the ashes of his former self, because on the rollercoaster he would only fall from the sky again. Rise and fall, rise and fall, forever and ever with no choice but to keep moving forward. No choice. No control.

Unless of course he were to get off of the rollercoaster; the winding and thrilling loop that was life. Exit the ride and finally be at rest.

If only the people in his life would let that happen. 

“Hey,” An uncharacteristically soft voice drew him out from his tangled thoughts. Chuuya’s beautiful blue eyes peered into his with poorly hidden sympathy. It made Dazai want to vomit. “You okay? I know Akutagawa was one of your friends... for some reason.”

There was that concept again. Friendship.

Dazai didn’t want to dwell on such silly and unimportant things.

“Chuuya~” He answered the irrelevant inquiry with a question of his own, not at all wanting to talk about his feelings at the moment, “How do you write poetry? I want to recite something beautiful for Ryuunosuke’s eulogy. I was thinking of using a cupcake metaphor.”

In trying to swerve the subject away from his own, ugh, feelings, Dazai inadvertently fell upon a subject that had yet to be talked about, but was still raw and just as dangerous.

Chuuya’s poetry, of which Dazai had read without permission, and that they hadn't discussed since. Besides glossing over it in exchange for more pressing matters at the time (which brought up yet another thing they needed to talk about), Chuuya had blessedly let the little invasion of privacy slide.

Before he could rectify his mistake, Chuuya’s eyes lit up with recognition and rage. The poems he had written in that special secret notebook that he’d tried to hide, but that Dazai had read, soiling any trust they had, as well as Chuuya’s privacy in general. The violation was overlooked due to the arguably more important blackout that Chuuya had after, and subsequent strange release that Dazai’s touch had given him from that episode, as well as Dazai’s relapse, and Fyodor’s arrival, and Akutagawa’s departure.

It’s been a long couple of days.

“You’re a bastard, you know that? I don’t know why Akutagawa looked up to you so much when you act like such a fucking inconsiderate asshole. Why did you go through my shit? I don’t think you ever told me why you did that, other than your bullshit excuse about getting even. And to fucking- to quote it back to me? Why are you such a dick all the time?” Chuuya ranted, voice raising and garnering the attention of the patients around them. 

Dazai didn’t even have time to forge a reaction before Yosano was standing between them, her back to Dazai as she held her hands out placatingly to Chuuya. He could barely even hear what she was saying to calm him down though, too lost in his own thoughts.

This was far from the first time that Chuuya’s been angry with him, but something about this time felt charged. There was that same energy in the air inside as there was outside; rainy clouds and thundering in the distance was only a hint of the larger storm to come.

Recklessly, and perhaps somewhat desperately, Dazai wanted to goad him into touching him again. Convince him through anger to go beyond Yosano and wring his hands around Dazai’s neck yet again. To show that lying rat in the corner that Chuuya’s attention was his to occupy. That nobody and nothing else could make Chuuya respond like this. That what they had between them was special.

“Please, it was barely even poetry,” Dazai urged him to escalate the argument, needing to feel aggressive hands again, ones that didn’t feign companionship or good intentions, “Do I need to recite that corny garbage again?”

It was a threat. A knowledge of the exact trigger words to incite a blackout.

Perhaps it was a form of self harm. He wanted, no, deserved to be hurt. The least he could do was be miserable.

It didn’t need to make sense logically for it to make sense to him. His head and heart hurt. It only made sense for his body to hurt as well.

“Shut the fuck up!” Chuuya growled around Yosano, ignorant of the hospital guards coming towards them to assist in case things got physical, which is what it appeared they were headed towards, “You talk big game for someone who breaks down at every fucking thing. At least I write down my feelings, and don’t gore myself just ‘cause someone asked me how my day was! Are you really that insecure?”

Perhaps they were both feeling destructive at the moment.

Whatever strange truce they’d had between them since discovering the nature of Chuuya’s blackouts was no more. It couldn’t be fully blamed on Akutagawa’s goodbyes either. 

There was just something about Dazai that incited violence and hate. It hurt less when he pretended that people’s anger with him was deliberately planned by himself. When it was something he purposefully created, it meant that they had a problem with Dazai’s actions, not him. He chose to be the villain so that he wasn't declared one by someone else.

They were nothing but cruel words. Words with no purpose beyond hurting him, but they did their job. 

In regards to his mental state, most people coddled him. They pitied or despaired at his self hatred and tragic backstory. It was very rare that someone actually lashed out at him, too afraid to be the reason for his next suicide attempt or cut. Especially when Dazai had no problem weaponizing their momentary loss of composure.

Chuuya felt no such fear.

He stabbed at every single weak point that Dazai had, knowing exactly what the risks were but lunging towards him anyway, uncaring of what Dazai would do in response. It was refreshing actually, for someone to poke the open wounds he'd let bleed for a reason. 

These parts of himself that he’d left exposed in places like this facility, not at all in hopes that they would be bandaged and cared for, but moreso with the desire for someone to aggravate them, and make them bleed more.

For the first time in a long time, besides Mori or the others who had genuinely abused him, Chuuya was the first to be unafraid of causing him more pain than he already had on a daily basis. He was the only one to attack his already weak points, rather than creating new ones. 

Maybe Dazai was severely fucked up beyond repair, but the very idea that someone could touch him so deeply was intoxicating. Someone that wouldn't add any more hurt, but instead would harden the already bare flesh. 

It was probably unhealthy, but it was exactly what Dazai craved. He’d never even realized it was something he wanted; a sensation that he yearned to feel.

Until now, with Chuuya, the one dearest to his heart.

It was rare that Dazai felt anything, so when he did feel something, the object of his pain became an insatiable desire.

Anything that made him feel something. Anything that made him feel alive, and something more than just a corpse forced into animation by an unreachable higher power.

Chuuya was something tangible. Something that he could touch that would touch him back, but would never stray beyond where he allowed. As uncontrollable and wild as Chuuya seemed to be, Dazai felt that with specific manipulation, he could become something akin to a blade.

“Nakahara!” Yosano snapped, glancing cautiously back at Dazai from her position between the two teens, “Enough.”

Tsujimura, who was technically his caretaker until he was deemed stable enough to not need constant supervision, stepped in as well as Yosano dealt with the soon to explode Chuuya. The guard did not have the same level of respect from him as Hirotsu though, and so Dazai barely acknowledged her dragging him away.

He couldn’t see Chuuya’s face anymore, as he was brought out into the hall and faced away from the room. Despite the pain he distantly felt but could not comprehend just yet, Dazai wanted to go back and study Chuuya's fury in the flesh.

Whatever his new guard was going to attempt to say to him became irrelevant as soon as the door between the room and hallway closed, and Oda looked up from the front desk. With one look at whatever expression was on Dazai’s face, he sighed and stepped out from behind the counter, putting a hand on Tsujimura’s shoulder.

“I’ve got him.” 

Well, at least someone had him.

Chapter Text

Oda Sakunosuke was a very special nurse.

He understood Dazai better than he understood himself, and treated him exactly how he needed to be treated. Not like he was made of glass, or fragile, or however every other person treated him. But he also wasn’t like Chuuya, who immediately went for the jugular when he attacked. 

As much as he adored the nurse though, being reprimanded by him was never fun.

“Dazai,” Oda started, not even needing to say anything more as he dragged him down the hallway for his stern talking to. Chuuya was probably receiving something similar in the main room, if he hadn’t been taken away to the other hallway by now.

“I know.” Dazai sighed, leaning back against the wall. The nurse stood in front of him, arms crossed. 

He yearned for the warmth of a fatherly hug, but it was something that he never experienced before so he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted it or not. It was just something he’d seen in movies and during visiting hours that always looked so wonderful.

But Oda was not his father, and he constantly had to remind Dazai of this fact.

“What happened?”

Oda asked the question before he began reprimanding him, which was another reason why Dazai loved the man. He was not going to discipline Dazai until he knew exactly why he was doing so.

“I don’t know.” Dazai responded, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie that they’d blessedly allowed him to wear instead of that horrid medical gown. It gave him small comfort, since he could fiddle with his fingers out of sight of everyone around him.

He couldn’t openly self harm again, but he dug his blunt nails into the skin of his hand as hard as he could, just for something to ground himself.

The truth was that he didn’t know why he had such a fight with Chuuya. 

It wasn’t even that bad. It didn’t get physical, and they barely said anything to hurt each other, but the energy in the room was already so raw with Akutagawa’s absence. It felt more charged than it actually was. 

But patients often responded with ‘I don’t know’ to personal questions, and no matter how true the words were, nobody ever liked to hear them, and didn’t believe them when they were spoken.

“I wasn’t in the room, Dazai. Talk me through what happened.” 

Oda was too patient with him, always giving him time to think before he spoke, and preferring to discuss the actual events rather than the feelings behind the events. The rationality of it all calmed him down a bit, which was also the only moment he realized he wasn’t calm. The fidgeting of his fingers should’ve clued him into that fact, but apparently only Oda’s stoicism managed to alert him to it.

Dazai sighed deeply, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to stare into Oda’s eyes.

There was some water damage above him, staining the white ceiling with a rusty brown. Dazai wished the weakened tile would finally give way and crash on top of him.

“I read Chuuya’s poetry. It was pretty terrible,” He lied. It was some of the best poetry he’d ever read, “He got angry.”

It was easier to blame the other teen’s short temper than to admit that he’d violated his privacy, as well as their mutual and incredibly fragile trust. Easier than admitting he deserved everything that happened to him as a result, and worse.

Oda said nothing, allowing him space to keep talking.

It was a dangerous thing; talking with Oda. Usually if someone talked to him, he could get blackmail against them with the more they said.

Oda never let that happen, preferring to let Dazai talk himself into a hole instead. Either Dazai would fill the space with words, or they would stand in silence, and he honestly couldn’t tell which was worse.

“He called me insecure, can you believe that?” Dazai chuckled weakly, digging his fingers into his palm harder, “Me? Insecure? I thought I was a narcissist.”

Selfish or self-hating; which was it? Stupid Chuuya couldn’t even make up his mind. 

“You’re not either of those. You’re a special third thing.” Oda responded.

It sounded like it could’ve been a joke, but with Oda it was always hard to tell.

“Yeah, special,” Dazai mused, still studying the stain on the ceiling. It seemed to expand and get bigger the longer he looked at it. “I don’t understand why he got so upset. It’s not like this was new information to him.”

He truly didn’t understand why they’d argued about it. So what if Dazai had read his poetry? They were even! There was no need to continue the discussion.

Although it was barely even a discussion, seeing as they didn’t really talk to each other much, and more at each other.

Chuuya was the sensitive one, exploding over something so trivial. Dazai didn’t do anything wrong.

“I think Nakahara was upset, and he didn’t have an outlet for it.” Oda calmly explained, like one would to a child. He didn’t appreciate the coddling.

“Upset? Over what?” Dazai finally looked back at Oda, exasperated. The nurse was looking at him with undeserved patience. “Was it because I threatened him? I wasn’t being serious.”

“You threatened him?” Oda’s eyes widened, and Dazai had to backtrack.

“Well, not explicitly. It’s- you wouldn’t get it.” 

The whole blackout conundrum was an entirely different matter that could not fully be explained to anyone other than his peers. The adults wouldn’t understand. Even the other patients probably wouldn’t understand. That was something between him and Chuuya. Their little psychosomatically magic soul bond. 

“Okay…” Oda believed him, miraculously, or perhaps just decided that addressing that was above his pay grade, “Glossing over that, I think it’s pretty clear why you two really got into an argument.”

The look he gave Dazai was one that encouraged him to answer, but he truly did not know what was so clear. All of this uncertainty was beginning to infuriate him. He hated not knowing why things were happening.

Something on his face must’ve given away his confusion, because Oda took pity on him to explain.

He would have to get better at concealing his emotions. He wasn’t usually so easy to read.

“Akutagawa just left. I can imagine that it would be difficult for both of you to cope with.”

Oh. That.

Dazai didn’t really want to think about it, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it.

With all of his blunders recently, he took special care to make sure he didn’t outwardly react to that statement, although his facial muscles tried very hard to scowl at the assumption. He made sure his voice was steady and uncaring as he responded.

“Ah, yes. I can see why Chuuya would be torn up about that,” Dazai admitted, shrugging his shoulders, “Well, no harm done. He started the fight anyway, so I suppose I’d forgive him if he apologized.”

Oda raised an eyebrow at that, giving Dazai the same highly unimpressed look that many nurses seemed to be giving him lately.

Dazai wasn’t an idiot. He knew he’d done some things that were wrong too, and if he had it his way he’d punish himself correctly, but in this situation it was all Chuuya’s fault! There was no need for him to get so defensive.

“Dazai, did you actually apologize for what you did?” Oda prompted, not letting him off that easily.

“Well no, but I only did that because of what he did anyway. We were even! I didn’t need to say sorry.”

“So if he said it first, you would’ve also apologized?” 

Dazai took his hands out of his pockets, crossing his arms instead. He loved Oda, but he hated being judged for being a hypocrite. He already knew he was- wasn’t that acknowledgement enough? The first step to recovery was recognizing that you had a problem, or whatever.

Still, he didn’t want to disappoint Oda, so he told a little white lie. It wasn’t very likely that Chuuya would apologize, so he wouldn’t have to keep his word anyway, “I would!”

“Perfect,” Oda nodded, satisfied for now, even though he surely knew Dazai better than to trust that easily by now, “You both seem close, I have faith that you will forgive each other. Chuuya didn’t say anything unforgivable, did he?”

Ignoring the jump his heart gave at the insinuation of his and Chuuya’s closeness, Dazai thought back to the words that had been exchanged between them, both in this last argument and altogether.

“Grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again~ Just say what you're really thinking without those pretentious flowery words,”

“You talk big game for someone who breaks down at every fucking thing. At least I write down my feelings, and don’t gore myself just ‘cause someone asked me how my day was! Are you really that insecure?”

“No. He didn’t say anything I didn’t already know,” 

He really didn't.

It wasn’t even close to some of the things that Mori had said to him, or even anything that kids had teased him with when he was younger. He was uncomfortably self aware enough to realize that Chuuya was just being his usual honest self.

Oda looked ready to argue that point, but seemed to recognize that he could only discipline Dazai for so many things at a time. 

He sent him back to the room with a promise to not try and start any more fights (“He started it!”), especially when he did tell Oda he wouldn’t cause trouble during his shifts. Technically he’d already broken that promise quite a few times, but Oda graciously overlooked those mishaps. He truly was too good to Dazai.

The staff really had their hands full at the moment, calming down Atsushi, Chuuya, and Dazai all at the same time. They did not have the resources for this, but it was still less chaotic than some of the things he’d seen inpatient. 

He was so used to emergencies being called out over the hospital’s loudspeaker that the alerts went through one ear and out the other most of the time. A level whatever at adolescent whatever or adult whatever in building whatever.

It usually rolled over without him noticing, unless it happened in his specific ward. But even then, the monotone voice crackling over the speakers was secondary to whatever was causing the alert in the first place. 

One time, not in the building he was in, ten different announcements came on over the course of an hour. It was fun for the patients, all of them theorizing what could be happening over in the other ward. They’d asked the doctor’s what was going on but they weren’t allowed to share much. Sometimes one of the orderlies was present that would explain what each level meant, so they could pretend something super interesting happened, rather than whatever actually had occurred. 

The speakers were silent now as he walked back into the room. Though he was stopped by an agitated Yosano just before he could walk past the door. Chuuya wasn’t with her, but a glance inside the main room revealed his bright red hair in the back next to that rat that he seemed to like so much.

Yosano looked exhausted, but still held him for a moment longer, a grimace on her lips.

“These fights with Nakahara have to stop.”

Dazai nodded resolutely, only slightly annoyed that he was getting more of a talking-to than Chuuya, when he was the one who’d been arguably worse, “Absolutely! No worries Yosano-san, you won’t hear any more trouble from us.”

“Dr. Yosano. Dazai,” She held a hand to her forehead and let out a deep sigh, “We’re moving you out of your room. For the rest of your stay, you’ll be sharing a room with Fyodor.”

God fucking dammit.

He just couldn’t have nice things, could he?

Maybe it was the constant misery he was subjected to over the course of his time inpatient, certainly much more drama than he'd had at home alone in that big empty mansion, but he could barely find it within himself even to be upset about this new development. 

He would miss Chuuya, of course, and it would suck not being able to annoy him late into the night.

With too much happening at once though, he couldn’t really feel either happy or sad about it. The declaration seemed to wash over him like weak wind, barely recognizable but still enough to notice it wasn’t nothing.

Shit, was he dissociating again? That was unfortunate. Or was he just feeling apathetic? The fact that he was feeling was a sign of something, right? But was he even feeling?

He couldn’t remember if he responded to Yosano or not, suddenly sitting in the main room somewhere. 

Time wasn’t moving that fast, but the world moved around him while he felt paused in time. People talked to him, and he talked back, or at least he thought he did.

It was like everything was going on in a movie, and the real Dazai was sitting on a nice plush couch he remembered from his childhood, deep within the confines of his brain. 

What were they doing now? The chairs were in a circle, perhaps they were in afternoon group therapy.

Kunikida was leading. That was sure to be entertaining, given the events of the day. Dazai wished he was present to truly appreciate it.

Was he sitting next to Fyodor? How queer, he didn’t really want to be near that man. Did the seat next to Chuuya happen to be taken?

“Now I believe that Dr. Yosano went over everyone’s recovery process this morning, but I felt it apt to do another quick check-in before we begin our session for tonight. Would anyone like to go first?”

Kunikida adjusted the glasses sitting upon his nose, fluorescent lights glinting off of the surface. It was still dark and cool gray outside but within the confines of this facility, everything was a stark white.

“I guess I’ll go,” Lucy mumbled, as she was sitting right next to the doctor, “I’m pretty good. My meds have been working great and I’ll hopefully be leaving in a few days.”

A few scattered congratulations.

“That’s wonderful Lucy! Keep up the good work on the outside,” The teen nodded, giving an embarrassed smile, “Atsushi?”

The white haired boy looked terrible. His eyes were red and his leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. Boney hands kept clenching the fabric over his legs, but his breaths were deliberately controlled, as if he were counting the seconds for every single inhale and exhale.

To be fair to him, Dazai wasn’t even aware of his own breathing either, only vaguely aware of the fact that he was alive at all.

“Honestly, I’m not doing well.” Atsushi admitted what was fairly obvious to everyone else in the room, but good for him for being honest, “I miss him… Ryuunosuke, I mean,” He clarified, as if that was needed, “I don’t want him to die.” 

His voice sounded awfully small.

“It’s okay that it hurts right now, Atsushi-kun,” Kunikida replied gently, “You can feel that. Let yourself process the grief, even if it hurts.”

Processing? What a concept.

It wasn't unexpected when a few stray tears slipped down Atsushi’s cheeks, but what was surprising was how he responded, “I’ll be okay. I know I will. I promised him I would be.”

Was it even possible, Dazai wondered, to not fall apart from this?

If Atsushi could manage it, he was far stronger than Dazai ever imagined. Maybe that was the reason he’d taken such a liking to the boy. He, like Chuuya, wanted so terribly to live, despite the fact that living was such an unbearable thing.

Kyouka, who was next after Atsushi, didn’t offer any physical comfort, because it wasn’t allowed especially after the patients' stunt earlier in the day, but she did spare him the burden of attention.

“Everyone dies,” She said, with a blankness in her eyes that rivaled Dazai’s own, “I am happy that I got to know Akutagawa before he left. I am happy that everyone here was alive for me to meet them.”

It’s a bittersweet response, and hearing such a young and traumatized girl be thankful for it all had some people choking up.

As hopeful as she was though, it didn’t seem to lift the mood of the room. Someone else would need to speak, to perhaps change the topic and distract everyone from their pain. Dazai was quite well versed in that, but he was not next, and his brain was too blissfully empty to think of something good anyway.

Fyodor went next, and Dazai forced himself to at least listen to his soon to be new roommate, if for nothing else besides information.

“My mood has improved somewhat. I do feel a sense of purpose, now that I am here.”

It made Kunikida smile, but for some reason it disturbed Dazai.

What made him most suspicious of that was that it didn’t seem like a lie at all. 

Dazai recognized that he was next in order of speaking, but his brain still felt pleasantly empty of all thoughts. It reminded him of how he was when he was a child, uncaring and absent from reality.

Still, despite him not thinking about anything, he felt his lips tug into a smile, and words fell past his mouth and into the air, admittedly probably slower than was typical of him, “My name is Dazai Osamu and I am an alcoholic.”

The words were paired with a little giggle, but no one else in the room laughed. Did what he said make sense? Did they get the joke? Akutagawa would’ve lightened the atmosphere.

“But it wasn’t funny?”

“Take this seriously, please Dazai.” Kunikida in particular was unamused, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel,” Dazai responded, drifting off. 

It wasn’t even a true statement. He didn’t feel anything at all at the moment. The silence afterwards was probably for him to elaborate, but he couldn’t. 

“How do you feel?” Kunikida, bless his heart, urged him to follow up.

He’d gotten bolder after Dazai was honest during that one session. Unjustifiably, as Dazai hadn't really been as open since then.

“I don’t know.” He smiled, mind still miles away from this conversation. The room around him looked more like a photograph than the present reality.

Either the doctor realized he wouldn’t be getting anything more out of Dazai, or he was impatient to get through everyone else and start the actual session. The reason didn’t really matter to Dazai. He shook his head and nodded for the next person to go.

Fukuzawa was to his immediate right, so he was skipped, but Poe was after him. 

Unfortunately, he zoned out through the rest of the check-ins, even for his beloved Chuuya. He’d meant to pay attention, he really did, but everyone spoke too fast for him to muster up the willpower to pay attention. 

Now they were halfway through discussing grief, which was a very fitting topic for today.

His eyes flitted over to the clock on the wall, wanting to be shocked that they were already almost done, but feeling nothing about it. Neither relief nor surprise.

“Does everyone know the five stages of grief?” Kunikida brought in a large roll of paper on an easel, and now stood in front of it with a marker as if he were a teacher.

“Denial,” Fyodor’s eyes slit over to Dazai as he spoke, “That’s the first one, right?”

Dazai maintained a carefully blank face, which wasn’t hard since he was so out of it right now. If he did have any control of his muscles, he would've narrowed his eyes towards him.

“Yes, exactly,” He wrote that down at the top of the paper next to a ‘1’, handwriting as perfect as a typewriter, “How about the next one?”

Chuuya answered this time, “Anger.”

An amused smirk appeared on his face before he could help it. He could feel it stretch across his lips unbidden. Chuuya glared at him from across the circle, seemingly still upset about earlier as well, and Dazai’s grinning was not helping. It stayed frozen on his face though, unnaturally so.

The anger on Chuuya’s face lessened a bit and his eyebrows seemed to furrow at whatever interpretation he got from Dazai’s expression.

Kunikida, in the meantime, jotted down ANGER directly below DENIAL. He turned back around to everyone with an expectant look on his face, and it was Poe who quietly raised his hand before responding.

“Depression?”

“That is one of the stages, but something else comes before that. Does anyone know what it is?”

Dazai knew it, but he couldn’t think of the answer. Even though the word was flashing in his brain in bright neon letters, Dazai couldn't read them. 

The rat steals the word from his mind, “Bargaining, right?” Breaking the unspoken rule of letting someone else get a chance to answer, and also tacking on that redundant confirmation even though he clearly already knew that he was correct.

Kunikida didn’t seem to mind though, nodding and writing down both words in the correct order, “And finally…” 

He didn't wait for a response this time before writing down and circling the word: ACCEPTANCE.

“Now, I know I requested the stages in a specific order, but the truth of grief is much more complex than this.” 

With that, he scribbled nonsensically all over the paper, covering the words and crossing through some, with the exception of ACCEPTANCE. Ranpo made a small noise of alarm at the disorganization, but didn’t do anything else besides scowl like Kunikida had personally offended him.

Once the sheet was thoroughly destroyed, he turned over a new blank page and just wrote ‘GRIEF’ in the middle of it. 

“There is no linear process. These five pillars, while good starting points, do not even begin to cover the plethora of emotions that grief can cause. What I’d like everyone to do now is come up one at a time and write something you've personally experienced while grieving.” Kunikida pushed his glasses up his nose, the light reflecting off of them and hiding his eyes.

Everybody just looked at each other.

When no one moved, he grunted, “Okay, then I will have to start calling on people.”

That worked. Everyone stood up, albeit still reluctantly, and shuffled their way into something of a line in front of the easel.

Kunikida seemed much more pleased with that, handing the marker to the first person and watching over as each patient walked up and wrote something. 

Dazai was at the very end of the line. So was Chuuya. 

The silence between them was stifling, but neither of them did a single thing to break it. They were still in group after all. 

Another reminder of the group around them came in the absence of his hospital assigned watchdog. Did they release him from Tsujimura early? Dazai couldn’t remember clearly when she was with him one second and gone the next. If she was no longer obligated to remain by his side, that meant he would get Fyodor all to himself tonight. 

Hurray.

Chuuya wrote something on the paper before him, since he was last, but Dazai couldn’t see what he’d written.

Luckily thanks to his photographic memory, and the time he snooped on Chuuya’s written poetry, he could easily make out which words matched the redhead’s handwriting as he went next: 

REALLY FUCKING PISSED OFF

Dazai snorted, the sudden reaction shocking him into consciousness with an almost imperceivable spasm. 

Much like the bewilderment they’d both felt at Dazai’s touch alleviating Chuuya of his blacked out state, Dazai felt a similar confusion again now.

He was pretty sure he couldn’t just snap out of a dissociative state. Especially not just from reading some humorous words on a piece of paper. 

Maybe they really were soul bonded or some other supernatural force was at play.

Now that he was able to think clearly again though, he quickly pushed that fantasy away.

He must not have actually been dissociating. Maybe he was just tired. Yeah. That sounded right. It was more believable than magic anyway. 

Regardless, it was his turn to write something, and Kunikida was giving him an impatient yet wary look.

Finally able to think clearly (he had no idea what he was planning to write before), Dazai had no trouble flourishing the marker in script that looked like a messy doctor’s note:

SAD :(

The frowny face was a vital part of his contribution.

He went back to his seat happily, a pep in his step that hadn’t been there all day. It dimmed a bit when he realized he had to sit back next to Fyodor, which reminded him that he would have to share a room with that rat as well now.

Still, refusing to let that affect him, he daintily sat down in the chair and crossed one leg over the other.

When Kunikida finally looked at the piece of paper that now had all kinds of combinations of words scrawled around the middle word, his eyebrow twitched, “I didn’t think I’d have to specify no cursing-”

Dazai giggled subtly behind his hand, eyes alight and flashing to Chuuya, who sat looking very proud of himself across the circle. The fiery boy matched his stare, biting his lip in a fruitless effort at hiding the widening smile on his face.

Despite the argument they’d had, the things that were done, and the things that were said, Dazai could tell with their wordless interaction that all had been forgiven. 

Not forgotten, it was never that easy, but the release of tension in Chuuya’s jaw revealed that he would be willing to move past it.

As for Dazai, Chuuya could do absolutely anything to him, say anything, and he would forgive him. In fact, a large part of him wanted Chuuya to hurt him. Physically, emotionally, in any way that mattered. 

A death given to him by Chuuya would be an absolutely beautiful gift.

Chapter Text

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 yourself feel 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 Dostoevsky again. 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 he was 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 so passionately 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.

Chapter Text

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. 

Chapter Text

Compared to the other horrors in his past, of which there were many, Dazai’s disgust of dogs was just dumb.

It wasn’t a fear of them, no. Dazai was not scared of anything. It was a strong dislike. Closer to hatred than fear.

A couple years after the servants did what they did, after he hadn’t left his room for a month for completely unrelated reasons… Mori decided to get him a dog. A puppy to ‘heal’ his ‘trauma.'

Dazai, though, thought it was secretly an attempt to torture him even further.

It was a labrador retriever; the most basic of all therapy dogs. As if Mori had just looked up ‘best therapy dog’ and went with the top result. He at least tried to be a little different, or maybe he was just mocking Dazai’s depression, as he got a soot black one instead of the typical golden.

To make a long story short, it did not help.

It was gross and annoying and dirty. It had no concept of personal space. It would get filthy with mud from outside and then suffocate him with affection that he did not want nor need, the dirt transferring onto him as well and ruining his nice white bandages. It gave him not a moment of peace and quiet, constantly bothering him for attention. It stunk.

He felt tainted enough without that insufferable beast adding to it. Now he felt the need to actually shower it off instead of just soaking in a cesspool of his own design.

Dazai hated it for the whole three months he’d had to keep it until he finally said enough is enough and threatened to skin the thing and use its fur to suffocate himself with if Mori didn’t return it to a shelter immediately. Unlike his threats of suicide, mutilating animals would not be something Mori could just sweep under the rug and hide from his social network, and so he acquiesced.

So it wasn’t that he had any trauma related to dogs or anything like that.

He simply hated them. 

The dog that then trotted into the main room of his latest hell, tail wagging and tongue flopping out of its mouth, was not an exception. It was both infuriating and satisfying that it was a labradoodle, exactly as he’d predicted.

Chuuya, however, gasped dramatically and immediately rushed over to it without giving Dazai so much as a backwards glance. Lucy squealed, Ranpo clapped, and even Kyouka’s eyes lit up in excitement. It seemed that everyone was eager to see the thing.

That revolting cretin with big brown eyes and fluffy paws was equally as curious, if its restlessly wagging tail was any indication. 

Dazai remained where he was.

Even if he were a dog person, what could a stupid pet possibly do to relieve even a single symptom of his mental illnesses, let alone anyone else's? What use was a canine to psychological treatment?

No, he stayed sitting in his seat against the wall rather than joining in with the others as they gathered in a line to cuddle with the ball of fur. No one spared his resistance a second glance, too enthralled with the latest sensation that in his eyes was just a bothersome, scraggly dog.

Dazai was nothing compared to that perfect creature; that could coat the entire room with slobber and piss but in the eyes of all watching, seemingly did no harm.

He hated it so much.

“One at a time please! We have to be gentle with her.” Yosano didn’t bother actually enforcing that, she didn't need to. Everyone there was familiar with having boundaries broken. They couldn’t do the same to an innocent, poor, cute puppy.

He would’ve hated the thing enough already for taking Chuuya’s attention away from him, but on that front he was actually reluctantly grateful. Dazai did not enjoy the direction their conversation had been going, and not being believed, especially by Chuuya, hurt more than he was willing to admit. The attention on the dog spared him from anyone else bearing witness to his despair. 

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. He was used to everybody assuming that his words were lies.

Truly, he should’ve expected it. He couldn’t properly be the boy who cried wolf without getting eaten in the end. It was foolish of him to ever attempt to tell the truth, when he knew that it would do nothing good.

For a second it felt like he was being choked all over again, his throat closing up. He was unable to keep the snarl off his face, but he pretended it was because of the dog and not because of his beloved.

Despite most everyone else being distracted by the dog, Dazai felt eyes watching him. He looked around, surprised to see Fukuzawa was the one staring at him. There wasn't a moment of privacy in this damned place.

Dazai tilted his head. It was a little soon for another personal session.

Wrongfully, Fukuzawa seemed to take his confusion as an invitation, calmly walking around the crowd petting the dog that was currently resting its head on a thrilled Atsushi’s lap. Once at Dazai, he stood next to him, facing the dog instead of looking down on him.

He hated how grateful he felt for that, for not being trapped against the wall, because he knew the social worker did that on purpose. He knew too much about Dazai, and it made him want to never look into Fukuzawa's disturbingly understanding eyes again.

The accommodations, while reluctantly appreciated, were unnecessary and condescending. Still, Dazai didn't protest them. 

Neither of them spoke at first, each waiting for the other to begin, but Dazai was an expert at staying still and saying nothing from years of staring blankly at therapists that didn't deserve his cooperation, and so Fukuzawa broke first.

“I often wondered why dogs were chosen as the animal ambassadors of emotional support,” He was briefly caught off guard when the conversation didn't begin with some type of chastising, as that was the usual reason staff decided to talk to him, “I am more of a cat person myself.”

He glanced at Fukuzawa once before looking back at Chuuya, who was very carefully petting the dog's head, eyes wide in awestruck adoration. The sight made his throat itch.

He considered Fukuzawa’s statement instead of lingering on the redhead, not allowing himself to get jealous of a stupid dog.

“They’re unbiased,” Dazai responded after a moment of what would’ve been a comfortable silence if not for the loving coo’s across the room, “Dogs don’t know or care what someone is or who they are.”

The disgust and resentment was audible in his tone, but the older man didn’t seem to notice or care. 

“They just know to loyally follow whoever gives them the most treats.”

Across the room, the dog's ears perked up at the word. It lifted its head from away from Chuuya's gentle hands, looking over at Dazai and Fukuzawa expectantly. 

Dazai hissed at it.

“One of the reasons I prefer cats,” Fukuzawa smiled softly, ignoring his childish behavior, “-is because you have to earn their trust. It takes caution, patience, and persistence. Being accepted is much more rewarding, when they finally choose to let you close enough.”

There wasn’t really any animal that Dazai cared much for. He hated dogs, but other than that felt no particular way about anything else.

Chuuya had a lizard, which did interest him somewhat. A cold-blooded creature that ate living prey and existed in solitude sounded exactly like something he could relate to. A venomous reptile would be better though, as it could provide him with another unique suicide method that he hadn't tried yet.

The way Fukuzawa described cats though, with respect beyond just thinking they’re cute, made him think a bit differently. 

He’d never been around a cat long enough to bond with it, and never had the urge to. Perhaps when he got out of here, he could convince Mori to get him a cat. It would undoubtedly be a better companion than that dog was...

But why was he making plans for the future?

Death.

That was supposed to be the only thing awaiting him outside the confines of this facility. Suicide by the most commonly used and effective method. A swift end to his sad existence.

A cat did not fit into those plans.

“I do like dogs too,” Fukuzawa’s steady voice pulled him out of his internal turmoil, “There is something quite comforting about a creature that doesn’t see your flaws, and loves you dearly regardless of what kind of person you are or what you have done. They seem to know that every living being is deserving of love, and decide that they are the ones that need to give it.”

“You give them too much credit. They’re far too stupid to think like that,” Dazai drawled, “And that kind of love is worthless anyway. It’s only valuable when they do see your flaws, the darkest parts of you, and decide to love them too.”

Even though he couldn’t feel love himself, that was his idea of what it should be.

It’s what he’d like to imagine someone could feel for him, if such a thing were at all possible.

A voluntarily unconditional love, not one born out of parental responsibility or with an agenda to their own end. Not ignorant of the imperfections like a dog would be, but aware of every part of him, even the very worst ones. Understanding the reason those exist, and deciding that he was worth accepting anyway. 

They marinated in that idea for a bit, watching from the sidelines as the other patients took turns hugging the dog.

Chuuya looked on the verge of tears as he clutched onto the curly fur. It made no sense to Dazai how a stinking mongrel could garner such a reaction. 

Acidic jealousy began to bubble in his stomach regardless of his attempts to stop it, and he looked away from the scene, focusing on the wall instead.

“You are wise for your age, Osamu.” It was the first time someone had used his first name in a while. He turned to look at Fukuzawa, who was still facing the rest of the room, “I’m sorry for whatever reason that came to be.”

It was unlike the other times people had pitied him.

Pity wasn’t quite the right word for what he’d said, it was more like… sorrow. Sympathy for his past while acknowledging that it molded him into who he was in the present.

It sounded more personal than the usual emotional wall that the doctors on duty put up between themselves and the patients. Doctors weren't supposed to care so much.

But, like he’d acknowledged many times before, Fukuzawa wasn’t a doctor.

Dazai didn’t know what to say to that; ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ ‘You don't need to be sorry,’ ‘It's fine'? None of the generic responses felt right, so he remained silent instead, feeling sick without knowing why.

His thoughts were muddled, and he couldn’t identify what emotions he was having, only registering the physical effects on his body. A tensed stomach, dizziness, tightness in his chest, both the pain and nausea in his throat.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask-” The unwelcome physical feelings reminded him of one of the few solvable problems he currently had, “Could I switch meds? One of them isn't reacting well with me.”

Fukuzawa finally did turn to appraise Dazai, eyebrow raised.

“That’s very responsible of you.”

“I always am!" His return to the comforting defense of theatrics was a welcome thing.

Fukuzawa provided him with a similarly soft smile to the one he’d had talking about cats; an endeared one that Dazai would never expect to be directed towards himself. He blinked, just to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

“That you are. Unfortunately, medication is not in my area of expertise. I advise you ask Doctor Kunikida about it when you all come back from lunch. Although,” his lips turned downwards in a slight frown, “It may extend your stay. You’ll likely need to be under observation through the change.”

That was fine. He wanted to stay longer anyway, which was not something he’d thought just a few days ago, but he still needed to help his chibi!

His previous plans of getting out as soon as possible and attempting succeeding a suicide again, had to be put on hold. Not that he really minded too much. After all, he had all the time in the world.

It moved differently in this place; time. Days and weeks and hours all seemed to blend together. The complete isolation from the outside world made it seem as if the facility was a place outside of time and space. There was a sense of always having been here, but at the same time feeling like it was nothing more than a quick vacation.

He couldn’t decide whether it was disorienting or relieving, although he supposed that it didn’t really matter either way. It was just an observation.

Unfortunately for everyone other than himself, the dog was only on the grounds for a little bit of their time, and it had other wards to visit.

It's time with them was brief, but the other patients didn’t seem to mind beyond wanting to get one last pet in. They still happily talked about dogs together as they went through fake school and lunch.

Dazai didn’t get the chance to talk to Chuuya again, and probably wouldn’t until afternoon free time, but even then he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. What could he say?

His statement earlier was more relevant than ever. The truth didn’t matter.

Nothing he said would matter if Chuuya did not take the words seriously, and he wasn’t in the mood to say words that lacked substance. It felt like a betrayal to Chuuya; painfully honest Chuuya, who was such a polar opposite of himself.

So instead of gravitating towards him as he’d done for most of his time here, Dazai decided to avoid him.

He still wanted to help with the blackouts, though purely because of a scientific curiosity and not any desire to do a good deed, or something nauseating like that. The investigation could be postponed though, especially since he was going to be staying longer.

Chuuya's deadline for release was still unknown, but since he still displayed his anger management issues nearly every day, it wasn't likely that he'd be getting out soon either.

Without actively seeking out attention though, Dazai realized how alone he actually was here.

Nobody seemed at all interested in being around him. 

It made complete sense. He had been annoying and rude to every other patient at some point during his time here.

He didn’t blame them for not wanting to seek him out when they finally got a peaceful moment without his terrorizing. 

Dazai was a monster that exuded nothing but heartbreak into the world. Mother Earth would let out a breath of relief when he finally died, wishing she’d aborted him before he even came into existence. She would only mourn that her planet didn't start with one more mother and one less son.

That was the way it should've been. But things rarely happened the way they should have.

His mother shouldn't have birthed him, his father shouldn't have kept him, and life shouldn't have prolonged his stay.

Maybe the things that he'd experienced also shouldn't have happened, but wishing things were different wouldn't change anything.

It was all in the past. It had all already happened.

He didn't care, so he wasn't quite sure why he so badly wanted other people to.

A pressure built behind his eyes, like his head was starting to fill with water and his pupils were mere glass barriers, cracking under the suddenly overflowing skull. The waves pounded against the thin glass, seeking to get out and flood the room as well. He quickly looked down at the notebook he was still absentmindedly doodling in, aware enough to know what the headache meant.

He was not about to cry.

It was a reaction to the meds. It was just a headache.

There was no other reason for him to feel like a hole was tearing it's way through his chest, for him to feel so pitifully lonely.

Dazai closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, quickly calming his heart that had started racing while he hadn’t been paying attention to it. That was yet another thing he needed to get control over again.

Could he be any more pathetic?

His throat still ached from being crushed beneath those villainous fingers that morning. The ache did not help with keeping his emotions at bay.

It hurt to swallow.

It wasn’t a good hurt. 

He didn’t even realize he was digging his fingers into his arm until Ranpo dropped loudly into the seat next to him, jerking him back into reality. 

A mask slid into place without thought, any sign of his mood completely hidden from view.

The habit was so instinctive that although it represented falsehood, felt as natural as blinking. It was so much a part of him that it couldn't even really be considered a mask any more; it was just him. A mask of his own face, sewn over his skin, redundant. Not even an observer as skilled as Ranpo could point out the seams.

Dazai spoke first, before Ranpo had the chance to do something awful like ask him how he was.

“What a shame, it looks like there was only room for one dog in this clinic. Did Chuuya at least have a good time meeting his brethren?”

Why did everything he say always have to be about Chuuya?

“Ask him yourself,” Ranpo shrugged, casually rocking in his chair, “or are you still avoiding him?”

Dazai shot an icy glare at the other boy that was cold enough to make him freeze mid-rock. Ranpo actually shut his mouth for once, but Dazai didn't have the energy to feel either proud or guilty about it.

It wasn’t supposed to be so obvious. 

Was Ranpo really that omniscient or was Dazai just losing his touch?

“I’m not avoiding him,” Dazai denied in an even tone that left no openings for debate, “I threw a stick and I’m waiting for him to return it to his owner.”

Ranpo nodded, apparently his intuition extended to knowing not to push him. Or maybe his death stare had scared him more than it was supposed to.

If he couldn’t lie to Ranpo, he was glad that at least he could still intimidate him. Any method to keep himself as the one with the advantage, even if it was underhanded.

“By the way, why do you call him a dog all the time?” Ranpo’s reply was cautious but curious nonetheless, as if he couldn't help himself from needing more information, just like Dazai himself, “if you hate them so much.”

Not omniscient then, if he didn’t know something so core to their dynamic.

He'd called Chuuya a dog since the very first day they got stuck together, despite his immediate interest in Chuuya and sour relationship with dogs.

Although rhe question made him think for a moment and realize that he wasn’t exactly sure why he always compared Chuuya to a dog. It was just something that happened. Done originally to tease the boy and, admittedly, mostly continued because of how flustered it always made him.

Maybe it was deeper though, as therapy had taught him that everything was. Maybe it was his loyalty, or ability to see the good in everyone. Or perhaps it was because he was small and yapped a lot. Both could be true.

“Because I hate him of course! Chibi is so tiny and annoying, and he’s smelly, and drools like a mutt with rabies-”

“Haaaaaaahhh?” Chuuya’s voice rolled through the air, slamming into Dazai’s ears, “What the hell? You’re the smelly one, you stinking mackerel.”

Some rolled their eyes at their bickering or laughed at his expense, with Dazai being the only one that pouted, though it was less from the insult and more in confusion.

He turned to fully face the other boy who, shockingly, had a teasing grin on his face. The same friendliness his taunts held in order to show others he wasn't too serious in his dislike, because no amount of anger could stop Chuuya from caring about hurting other people. 

But didn’t Chuuya accuse him of lying? Wasn’t he still mad at him for (rightfully) hating Fyodor? Couldn't he see the real truth; that Dazai was an evil thing that actually deserved to get choked out? 

He stared at Chuuya, eyes wide as they searched for any kind of hatred on his face.

He was supposed to hate him. That’s how this was supposed to work.

And yet the only thing Dazai could see in that endless blue, was forgiveness. Naive and foolish forgiveness, but forgiveness nonetheless.

His stomach lit up in a storm of butterflies, the fluttering beats of the wings coinciding with his hammering heart.

The anguish he’d felt when he wasn’t believed vanished into thin air, and he automatically forgave too, though he'd never really been upset with Chuuya for not believing him in the first place. Not when it had all been his own fault anyway. 

After all, Chuuya could do anything he wanted to Dazai, as long as he did it to Dazai.

Slap him, choke him, throw him to the ground and spit on him; he could never fault Chuuya for any of that. It was impossible for him to ever be mad at his Chuuya.

This was the reason, Dazai realized suddenly, that he was constantly comparing Chuuya to a dog.

He was bafflingly loyal.

Dazai had, in his eyes, done a bad thing. He’d lied. He’d taunted and bullied. He’d hurt people around him for nothing.

And yet, Chuuya came back. Unconditionally loyal. Regardless of who Dazai was as a person, Chuuya would wag his tail and lick his face, and always come back. 

They were friends.

“And don’t act like that wasn’t the cutest dog you’ve ever seen in your life.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. The smile he couldn’t hold down was real, matching Chuuya’s grin. It felt unnatural in the best way.

“Chuuya is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen in my life,” He breezed by, smirking at the immediate flush of red on the other boy’s cheeks and continuing before he could react to that, “but that doesn’t make him any less tiny and annoying.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Chuuya muttered, visibly gritting his teeth as he fought and failed to get rid of the blush, “I’m still growing asshole!”

It would never get old for him, teasing Chuuya like this. Every time his face reddened it felt like a reward.

“It’s cute that you think that.”

“Cute… I’ll show you fucking cute,” Chuuya started to roll up his sleeves as if to punch him, which would have been amazing. 

Sadly, Kunikida stepped in before he could.

“Settle down, it’s time for group.” The afternoon doctor commanded, stepping into the room and revealing an unfamiliar kid behind him. Dazai tilted his head to get a better look.

It was clearly a new patient, based on the short height and that she had bright pink hair. She shuffled in nervously, avoiding eye contact with anyone and rubbing her elbow.

Insecure, possible anxiety, definitely depression and a fellow self-harmer (he could sniff them out from miles away), but otherwise not very interesting.

The shy new patient would've been fairly unremarkable, had Dazai not heard Chuuya’s breath hitch at her entrance. He instantly searched the other's face for the reason.

Chuuya’s eyes were wide, filled with shock that spoke more than any words he could've said. 

His heart wasn’t just on his sleeve; it was plastered on his face with a neon sign pointed to it for extra measure. Every cell showing guilt, regret, fear, anger…

He was like a mosaic of emotions, light illuminating the transparent glass and bringing attention to the already eye-catching crystalline pieces.

He was beautiful.

“Chuuya…?” 

The new girl whispered and Dazai’s head swiveled back to her, the holiness of Chuuya nearly making him forget about her entirely. 

Her recognition of him was undeniable. She knew him. And from the looks on both of their faces, that wasn’t actually a good thing.

The world did not stop for their personal crisis though, and Kunikida disregarded the tension and snapped for everyone to bring their chairs into a circle.

Dazai’s feet moved before the girl’s, snatching the spot next to Chuuya, who had collapsed onto a chair next to Atsushi. The redhead’s jaw was clenched, eyes never leaving the girl’s, whose attention rapidly flickered between everything else in the room and Chuuya.

Dazai was inexplicably starting to hate her.

He abruptly scraped his chair closer to Chuuya, making sure the high metallic sound was abrasive enough to make people wince.

Sure enough, Chuuya flinched back to him, wasting no time in glaring at Dazai for the intrusion. He simply stuck out his tongue in return.

Kunikida loudly flipped open his notebook, getting everyone to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at both of them in particular (rude, they weren’t even being as disruptive as they could be), before clearing his throat to begin. 

“Everyone, we will be doing introductions again this afternoon to welcome our newest patient. Then we can start the session. Yuan, if you’d like to go first.”

He gestured to the pink haired girl, Yuan, who sagged into her chair like she would rather be anywhere else in the world, which was a feeling that unfortunately many of them were well familiar with.

“I-I’m Yuan… what should I say?” 

She directed the quieter last part to Kunikida, who gave her the usual spiel, just without a fun question. Kunikida was never as into those lighter additions as Yosano was.

“Okay... Okay.” She nodded, shaking her head as if she were waking herself up. After that, she seemed to regain a confidence that wasn't there before, sitting up straighter in her seat with a determined pout on her lips. “I’m Yuan. I’m 16. And I’d like to learn better coping skills.”

If Dazai rolled his eyes any harder, they would’ve fallen out of his skull. 

Fucking coping skills.

After her dull introduction, the rest of the circle followed with their own robotic answers, and the session officially began.

He saw Chuuya’s leg bouncing rapidly in his peripheral vision. He didn’t comment on it.

“Tonight we will be discussing our parents, or caregivers-”

Oh goody.

The mood in the room dropped like an anvil.

“-which I know is difficult for some of you to talk about, but it’s important. It’s not only about the relationship you have with your guardian, but also things they have done in the past that may have shaped who you are slowly growing into. No one is immune to retaining traits from the person or persons that raised them.”

What was that saying? The son paid for the sins of the father.

In Dazai’s case, he would have to say that the ‘sins’ he inherited from his father were every single trait he had.

There were some parts of Dazai that were unique to himself, but he attributed every bad part of himself to his father. If he was inherently a monster, at least half his genes still came from Mori, so he must've inherited the evil from him.

“I'd like to start by opening the discussion to everyone. Please raise your hand and talk about anything having to do with your parents, other people’s parents, the concept of parents, anything at all relating to the subject. There's no judgement here. You can truthfully say however you feel.”

Why were doctors always upset they got such little participation, Dazai wondered, when they asked questions like that?

It was predictably quiet. Some people looked as though they might want to speak up, but no one wanted to be the first to go. Even people with good parental guardians didn’t want to go. They’d feel as if they were flaunting something that the others didn’t have, and that was not the intention.

He glanced over at Chuuya, only for him to still be looking at Yuan. He obviously just wanted this to end so he could talk to her. His leg tapped impatiently on the linoleum floor, as if he would leap out of his chair any second.

Dazai sighed, resolving himself to complain about Mori for the rest of the night (not quite something he was too opposed to), when Atsushi spoke up.

“Um. I’ve lived in an orphanage for as long as I can remember,” The younger boy picked at his nails, avoiding anyone else's gaze, “B-but I guess we have a guardian. The orphanage director.”

He murmured the last words, something heavy in his voice. Fear and hatred fought for domination, ending up as equally potent, and it told him everything he needed to know about Atsushi’s relationship with his director, even if he didn’t already know some tidbits from previous sessions.

“He’s… awful,” Atsushi continued pitifully, “to all of us, but I think he’s the worst to me.”

He didn’t expand on it any more than that, wringing his hands out and keeping his multicolored irises glued to the floor. 

“Anxiety can make you think that people treat you differently than others, but I’m sure that’s not the case-” Kunikida attempted to placate him, but it only brought forth a fire he’d never seen in Atsushi before, his head snapping up and an enraged expression looking completely out of place on the usually polite boy.

“No! He got the others to turn against me too! And he makes me work while everyone else gets breaks, and he yells horrible things at me, a-and he…” His lips shut, trembling, and the sudden fire he had was snuffed out as quickly as it had ignited.

Dazai’s fists clenched. He could read between the lines, and he didn’t like what he saw. 

Child abusers were the most despicable creatures on the planet. Physical, verbal, psychological, emotional, sexual- it didn’t matter what kind of abuse it was. It was all irredeemable.

It made him sick, but that had nothing to do with his own abuse, truly. It was just the thing itself. 

“Have you gone to anyone about this? Any law enforcement or Child Protective Services?” Kunikida asked, as if a 15 year old knew how to contact CPS.

Well, Dazai knew, but that was just because he had an obsession with knowing things, including how to contact services that he wouldn’t ever dream of calling.

But Atsushi was already living in an orphanage. Where could CPS even take him, besides here? 

Kunikida was doing his best, as unhelpful as it was.

The hospital could do very little to help with whatever happened to bring you here. They could only treat the mental aspect, not the physical. And even then, there was a limit to how much psychological help they could provide, evident by the lack of quality in this place’s security.

Mental hospitals like these were given an inflated idea of their own purpose; which was only to keep someone from hurting themself or others.

Inpatient facilities were not about treatment. They were about detainment, and monitoring people deemed too unstable or dangerous to be left alone.

It wasn’t the fault of the doctors though, who were trying their best to help. At least some of them. It was the entire system that needed to be reworked. 

Not that any of that was actually relevant to himself or his recovery. None of his thoughts were personal grievances. They were simply facts.

“Who would believe me?” Atsushi whispered, voice achingly defeated.

Dazai’s throat spasmed again, forcing him to clear it painfully and let out an unfortunately grating cough. That question was a little too close to his recent problems for comfort.

Eyes snapped towards him, and it took all of his strength not to shrink under the attention. As it was, he made sure to focus solely on Atsushi, who at least seemed to be knocked out of his thoughts by the rough noise. Dazai gave him an encouraging smile, playing off his blunder and making it as if he did it on purpose. For all they knew, it was intentionally to distract Atsushi from his thoughts.

Atsushi didn’t try to smile back, it was evident that he couldn’t at the moment, but he did relax some of the tension in his shoulders, visibly taking a deep breath to calm himself. An expert use of a coping mechanism for anxiety.

Pride bloomed like a flower within him for the other boy, though it was more of a dandelion than a full sunflower bloom. Coping skills were all fine and dandy, but they were only the most basic level of dealing with reality.

“What do I do then?” Atsushi asked, turning his wide eyes to Kunikida, whose clinical face revealed nothing, “How do I… survive like this?”

A desire to survive. That was a completely different specialization than what Dazai could give advice on.

How to cope with the moment, how to make it to at least until all witnesses disappeared; he could help with that. He could help with prolonging the inevitable, and hiding a breakdown from the judgement of others.

In his world though, surviving was not a goal. It was a punishment. 

He had gone through a lot in his life, he wasn’t delusional enough to deny that, but others had undoubtedly endured worse. Every time he heard about their stories, of which there were plenty in inpatient facilities, he could not grasp how they didn’t kill themselves.

To go through all that horror and still want to get out, to believe there was something beyond the pain, was baffling. Incomprehensible. It was like those historical books about war and genocide that he’d been obsessed with as a child. 

How had humanity persisted so long? What gene for perseverance did they have that Dazai lacked? To witness the worst atrocities humanity could commit, and instead of wanting to escape it, feeling an urge to stay, keep going, and try?

There were very few things in life that Dazai just couldn’t understand, no matter how much he agonized over them.

The willpower spent on survival was one of them. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, even after studying several books and interviews with people that had supposedly experienced the sensation.

There was of course the instinctual physical response that all human bodies possessed, but that didn't account for intent. It didn't explain it in a way he could understand.

None of his research could give him an answer as to why people wanted to live so badly.

“You endure.”

It wasn’t Kunikida that answered Atsushi’s impossible question. Dazai slowly turned his head to look at Chuuya, beside him.

The redhead kept his eyes on Atsushi, unwavering. Regardless of whatever was going on with him and Yuan, all of his focus was on the anxious boy next to him. For him, the past mattered very little in comparison to the present.

Dazai almost couldn’t breathe, captivated by the passion that permeated from every part of Chuuya when he got like this.

“You fight, and you refuse to give up, and you endure whatever bullshit comes your way. Because if you don’t-” Chuuya’s breath hitched, and Dazai couldn’t stop his fingers from twitching towards him, though he had enough restraint to not fully touch, “If you don’t, they win.”

He didn’t elaborate on who ‘they’ were, and Dazai was hopelessly lost.

All of a sudden it hit him how little he actually knew about Chuuya.

He knew that he had blackouts, got in fights, had a sister, wrote poetry, and had no memory before seven years old. But what about his parents? Who raised him? Where did he grow up? What happened in his past to make him the way he was? He could hypothesize some things but he had no confirmation.

Yuan was suddenly much more interesting to him than she had been, since she could be used as a database for the backstory he needed to research. 

Although, it made him ill to realize that he didn’t know Chuuya that well already. 

They were friends. Chuuya had unearthed feelings in him that Dazai never experienced before and wanted to over and over again.

Yet he was still an enigma. Completely puzzling. Wasn’t friendship supposed to be equal? That’s what he’d always heard.

Perhaps he hadn't revealed enough of himself to earn the right to Chuuya's life. The only things they talked about that weren't focused on solving Chuuya's problem were inconsequential and unimportant.

There wasn’t much he’d said in group therapy either, other than boring past boyfriends and other mundane information that didn't seem to fit with his idea of such a godlike boy. 

The pedestal Dazai had put him on was beginning to crumble, and he could feel panic start to fill in the space. Replacing the worship was a resentment at having been the only one to provide answers in their relationship. Chuuya only ever gave him more questions.

The only thing he could do to stop himself from spiraling was to talk instead, forcing himself to focus on speaking and not feeling, filling the space with needless chatter, for no other reason than to deny his own overthinking. To divert his train of thought to a different track; a familiar one.

“Mori always wins,” His mouth opened and spoke, though he was barely aware of it doing so, “My father,” he spit out the word, at least conscious enough to show his hatred, “No matter what I do- he always wins. I can’t outsmart him.”

It pained him to admit, his voice cracking at the last sentence, although that might very well have been from his still sore throat, and that's what he was choosing to believe to be the cause.

However, it was the truth. Or at least, a truth he had known since as he could first comprehend truth. 

As hard as he tried to overcome him, Mori always seemed to be more than two steps ahead to stop Dazai from whatever schemes he’d cooked up. Even the ideas he’d prided himself on creating beyond the scope of Mori’s lessons were all irrelevant when faced with the mastermind. 

Honestly, he wouldn’t have been shocked if every event in his life, including the most horrific moments, were orchestrated by the puppet-master gripping his strings with bloody claws.

There was nothing he would put past Mori as having created, even the things he’d supposedly helped with in the aftermath. After all, kind words were just that; words.

As many times as Mori reassured him of his safety, it was equal to the amount of times that he’d had a direct hand in the damage that had been done. Whether it was injuries, such as the time he broke his arm falling from a bike that’s wheels had mysteriously been deflated even though he’d just checked them the day before, or when he’d gotten horribly sick from a meal that had been prepared for him, only for Mori to slap his own forehead and say ‘Ah, I’d forgotten you were allergic to that, how silly of me!’  or when Dazai thought he'd finally made a friend at school, that he was finally free of the loneliness that had gripped his throat throughout his entire childhood, only for that friend to suddenly move away because of his father's new job across the country, a job that was oh so conveniently offered through one of Mori's many connections. 

The only time he could recall his father caring for him without having been involved in the infliction itself, not including whatever stunt he was pulling during this hospital stay, was for the most heinous of all crime. 

Still, Dazai couldn’t help but wonder if he had a hand in that some way or another too.

Regardless of his attempts at reconciliation with the revolting dog or the therapy, it was all too obvious. He’d been taught to trust no one, so of course he wouldn’t trust the very person who’d taught him that.

He was a perfect son in that way, following the instructions with no exceptions for anyone, including family. Every aspect of his life until that moment had been carefully constructed to mold him into the apathetic machine of a person that he was. And he couldn’t honestly say that he faulted Mori for that.

It made him stronger, didn’t it?

Emotionless, controlled, a perfect protégé.

Not a son, but a prodigy.

“It’s not about outsmarting,” Chuuya glared at him like it was something obvious he should’ve known, as if he knew more about the world than Dazai did, “It's about not letting them take charge of your life. It’s about the freedom to make your own choices, to not be controlled by some else.”

A cruel grin snaked onto his own face unbidden, one that he had not felt in a while, because Chuuya knew nothing. 

Only Dazai did.

Always. He had always been and always would be the smartest person in the room. Always.

“Oh Chuuya, you really think you have control here?” 

It was his own voice, cold and low in his throat, and he felt once again as if he were simply a vessel for another being’s desires. He felt hollow inside, lacking of any substance or emotion.

Why was he doing this? Didn’t he just somewhat reconcile with Chuuya mere minutes ago? Why was he jeopardizing that for no reason?

He couldn’t differentiate what he was feeling, what he wanted, and what he was doing.

His brain was flawlessly assembling a list of things that would poke Chuuya in just the right pressure points to incapacitate, but at the same time his heart was turning itself inside out repeatedly.

His intellect was as sharp as ever, but how he excelled in manipulation was equal to how lost he was when attempting to understand human emotions beyond the clinical, textbook version of them.

“You, out of everyone here, have the least control. Do you choose to black out and release yourself to that beast inside? Are you in control of that?”

Truthfully, he should’ve expected the punch. 

His head whipped to the side painfully and security closed in on them within seconds. With his hair covering his eyes, he allowed his face to fall dead for a moment, bangs hiding the blank look that would have hinted everyone in on the fact that he was nothing but a walking corpse.

A mere moment later though, he stretched his lips wide, painting on a cruel smile, and looked back to Chuuya, who was being restrained.

He couldn't stop himself.

“Was that your choice too? Or were you doing exactly what I wanted you to?” His cheeks felt numb, and not just because of the bruise forming on one of his cheekbones, “Neh, Chuuya~ are you in control right n-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Chuuya roared, still viciously struggling against the security guard, who signaled for another nurse to help him restrain the feral boy, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Fuck you!”

He didn’t even seem to have a real argument, foaming at the mouth even when the security lifted him up as if he weighed no more than a toy, and carried his screaming figure towards the exit of the room.

It was almost out of character for him. Chuuya usually had at least some kind of defense, or some cruel words in his arsenal to pierce Dazai back, but this was just typical, boring rage. Where was the boy who had so effortlessly held fast against him every time he pushed?

The pedestal had completely fallen by now, leaving Chuuya scrambling through the debris like every other human being, all of them on their knees in the dirt, together.

He would probably be sedated tonight and left in the segregated room, just like Dazai had been a day ago. The thought gave him satisfaction, which in turn made him feel ill at his own response.

“Wait-”

He spoke up, not quite too late. 

Chuuya stopped struggling and glared at him, and Dazai got out of his chair, stepping towards him. No guilt on his face, but no teasing either. Blank as always, despite the maelstrom beneath his skin.

He didn’t mean to, but he did mean to. 

Everything he did, he did purposefully. It was heartless, it was calculated, and it was carefully planned out in his forsaken mind.

This just wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted.

“I’m sorry,” No, that sounded wrong, “That wasn’t what I’d intended.” 

Which was partially true. He didn’t intend Chuuya to have such a predictably boring response. He much preferred when the redhead surprised him. 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

Chuuya, no longer struggling, was released from the security’s grip, although they remained in the room to monitor the situation. A little behind them, he could see Oda peeking into the room from his desk. And he claimed not to be a gossip.

“I was just curious.”

That was a fairly neutral response, unlikely to enrage Chuuya further. As much as he wanted to see the other boy’s destruction of himself and everything around him, that would not be accomplished if he were sedated and separated. 

Chuuya closed his eyes and took a deep breath, that pinched expression still on his face. Everyone was using their coping skills so well recently. The doctors must be so impressed.

After a certain number of breaths, which Dazai counted as being six, Chuuya opened his eyes again, the blue stabbing into Dazai like an icepick. Despite the disappointment he was feeling about the situation, Chuuya’s sheer beauty never failed to twist his guts into knots.

“Haaah, you’re so annoying,” Chuuya groaned, the staff hesitantly allowing him to trudge back to his seat, “but-” A smirk appeared, “Hearing you apologize so pathetically is really satisfying.”

Dazai rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t respond.

It wasn’t worth the fight. None of it was worth it. It never had been.

Kunikida, along with everyone else in the room, looked on in bewilderment at how fast it all seemed to happen. The bruise forming on his cheek throbbed as a reminder of just how quick the time between Chuuya’s punch and his apology was.

'Whatever chibi-kun wants to believe,' was what he wanted to say back. For Dazai to be embarrassed about apologizing though, he would have had to have some level of self-respect, which he didn't.

Unfortunately he also wanted both of them to remain with the group. He silently cooperated.

“I am very impressed with your conflict resolution skills boys! Good job both of you, although perhaps don't allow a situation to escalate to that level again-”

Dazai wouldn’t exactly call whatever they just did ‘conflict resolution,’ but he could at least admit that it didn't end as badly as it could have. The pressure behind his eyes hadn’t lessened at all, and he felt like he could fall apart at any moment, glass cracking and breaking into pieces just as Chuuya's pedestal had.

Still, he wouldn’t be himself if he couldn’t keep it together somewhat. 

Kunikida continued on with the lesson, completely outside of his peripheral vision.

He didn’t really care what they were talking about, even if it was relevant to the cause of his problems. Maybe he'd tune in later, just to whine about Mori for some outlet of his frustration. Or maybe he wouldn't complain at all, and wait quietly until the session was over so he could interrogate Yuan.

None of it really mattered. Whether it be Chuuya or the therapy or Mori or anything about himself-

Nothing mattered.

That was something that he religiously repeated to himself in his mind, because if for even a second he was wrong, and things did matter, then the fortress he'd been building around himself for years would shatter. And for a genius who knew everything, he would have no idea how to start rebuilding.

Chapter Text

Although Kunikida tried his darnedest, eventually it became apparent that no one else was nearly as engaged anymore. It looked like it pained him to do so, but Kunikida sighed and readjusted.

“Dazai, Nakahara, would either of you like to discuss what happened?”

Of course they couldn’t just gloss over a fight like this, no matter how minor. They were in a mental institution, after all.

Regardless of whatever they had been talking about before, doctors had to be flexible enough to adjust their curriculum to better support their current patient’s problems. And Kunikida took his job as a doctor very seriously.

He and Chuuya both sat with their arms crossed, not looking at each other. It was childish, but a part of Dazai was amused at that fact, despite his cheek still stinging. 

They may have deescalated the fight fairly soon after it started, but that did not mean that it was all fine and dandy.

The brat did punch him. 

He’d been too consumed by spite and inexplicable wrath before, but now that they were sitting in silence, he had the chance to reflect.

He could feel the bruise forming on his cheek, the throbbing a welcome distraction from the less desirable ache in his throat. Even though it was just more pain added to his already abused body, it made him a bit giddy.

Dazai wanted Chuuya to punch him again, and again and again and again.

Unfortunately he also wanted to remain in his presence, and couldn’t do so if either of them were detained.

He resolved to wait until they were both free of this place so that Chuuya could beat him up without supervision.

Ahhhh, and there he went again, making plans for the outside.

How troublesome of his chibi to keep convincing Dazai to continue living for a little while longer. It was inconvenient and addictive. It was also something he was not particularly interested in thinking about.

“I was feeling self destructive.” Dazai stated, matter-of-factly, “Chuuya was the easiest target, as he is very violent for his size, like a chihuahua. I deliberately provoked him into fighting me.”

Seeing as he’d already done something out of his comfort zone, both ending and apologizing for instigating a fight when usually he would’ve just let it become a brawl, he might as well go through with the whole 'recovery process' of telling the truth and reflecting on his actions.

He did promise Fukuzawa he would try his method, as much as it annoyed him. He really didn’t want to, and in moments of weakness had gone directly against their agreement, but alas.

There weren’t really any other options if he wanted Chuuya to continue to be his friend. The other boy valued honesty and effort too much.

Dazai told himself that this was all a genius manipulation in order to keep the redhead close.

It had absolutely nothing to do with any possible prevention of his own loneliness. Or any foolish hope that maybe Fukuzawa's proposal would work. That there was hope.

That would be pathetic and ridiculous. 

Incidentally, Chuuya hated everything that came from Dazai's mouth, regardless of if it was the truth he'd claimed to want.

“Do you want to get punched again, asshole?!”

Yes.

The eagerness must have shown on his face, because Chuuya gave him a look of unconcealed disgust. 

“No,” Kunikida intervened, eyeing the security guards who were still hanging around in the room just in case Chuuya really did punch him again, “That wouldn’t solve the root problem. Other than Dazai being… Dazai, can you recognize any other reason that this would trigger a negative reaction?”

The doctor had no problem calming down his patients now, although that slight to Dazai was rude and uncalled for. He was suddenly very intrigued as to why he didn’t get involved before the punch. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Kunikida, though the man didn't acknowledge him at all.

Did he foresee this all along? Did he know Dazai would end the issue himself, and he wanted to give him the chance to do it? Was this all a test, or was he overanalyzing and overestimating the intelligence of this doctor?

Kunikida’s glasses reflected the lights of the ceiling, concealing his eyes from scrutiny. It only served to make Dazai even more suspicious.

Chuuya grumbled at the question, pissed off as always.

Dazai looked around at the other patients, checking to see if they were equally as annoyed that the group session had suddenly become about the two of them, but everyone was on the edge of their seats, excited to see where this would go. That bastard Fyodor’s eyes were practically sparkling like he was watching a particularly interesting documentary.

“I guess the bandaged bastard manipulated me, just like he said.”

Kunikida wasn’t impressed with that response.

“He may have had a hand in orchestrating it, but you need to take responsibility for your own actions as well, Nakahara. It was your decision to respond with violence. Why do you think that was your first reaction? Was it Dazai’s words? Were you already upset?”

Chuuya pursed his lips as he formulated a response, but he was interrupted before he could with a distinct mutter across the room.

His attention swiveled to that pink haired girl, who was looking at Chuuya like he was a rabid animal, seemingly over the earlier shock of just seeing him at all. Yuan looked around at everyone and let out a shaky breath, realizing that she was cornered with what she apparently had to say, and needing to reiterate the words mumbled under cowardly breath.

“It’s because there's something wrong with him!” She burst out, voice alight with terror and frantic anger. 

Dazai’s expression immediately darkened at the girl, who flinched in her seat, face paling. As she should. 

How dare she say such a thing about his Chuuya. 

Astonishingly unlike when Dazai provoked him, Chuuya said nothing, barely reacting beyond tensing his body further and sinking lower into his chair.

That was not a typical Chuuya reaction at all. Especially considering how he exploded at Dazai for saying something arguably less hurtful.

“Yuan,” Kunikida’s voice was stern, “there is nothing wrong with anyone here. Everyone just needs some help and guidance with-”

“No!” Yuan interrupted, a manic fear driving her words, “You don’t understand- He’s a monster. He’s too dangerous! He should be in prison!”

Again he expected Chuuya to blow up as he always did when Dazai said things like this, because those words were like bringing a knife to a gunfight. They were practically begging him to disarm the safety and steady his aim. Instead of shooting though, Chuuya silently took the pathetic stabs to the chest, not even raising his own weapon.

Someone else needed to shoot her down if the idiot refused to protect himself.

“I’d be careful who you call a monster in here,” Dazai flashed her a smile that promised intricate cruelty, already planning ways to torture the stupid girl later, “The most famous serial killers in the world were well known for how harmless they were assumed to be.”

Yuan jolted, now shifting the fear from Chuuya to everyone else in the circle, before landing on Dazai again.

He kept his expression severe, smiling with poison and napalm in the trenches of his blackened eyes.

Even if Chuuya wouldn't fight back, Dazai himself had no problems ruining this girls life. In fact, he would revel in such a thing.

“She’s right.”

The whisper was so quiet and wrong that at first he didn’t even realize it was Chuuya who spoke. 

Nobody made a sound for a second, they barely even moved. It seemed everyone knew that the world was off balance.

Personally, Dazai felt like a cat that had been rubbed the wrong way, fur sticking out of place, claws unsheathed and ready to break skin. 

That response from Chuuya wasn’t right. He shouldn't just agree with something like that.

But he did.

“I-I am a monster.” He stuttered, voice impossibly small. Chuuya wasn’t supposed to stutter. He wasn’t supposed to sound small. “I hurt people.”

I’ve hurt tons of people, Dazai wanted to say, but then he remembered that he was an actual monster.

It wouldn’t have been a good defense. Against such a direct attack, he was defenseless. And it felt awful.

“I hurt people too.”

The pitifully quiet voice of Kyouka had Chuuya’s own beat. But it was the shock of such an incorrect admission that jolted everyone. 

Kyouka? Hurt someone? The girl who barely raised her voice above a whisper so as not to startle the people sensitive to that? The same girl that always waited at the back of lines so that the other patients could get their food, meds, and vitals first? That girl?

Even Dazai, who trusted no one and no thing, could hardly see Kyouka ever doing something to deliberately hurt someone else. Looks could be deceiving, but their unconscious body language wasn’t. There was not a single twitch in her muscles that veered towards physical violence, or even verbal violence.

“Am I a monster too?” Kyouka didn’t explain herself, which just sent Dazai’s mind reeling with the possibilities.

“None of you are monsters,” Kunikida cut in, more firm than he’d been the entire meeting, now that an innocent little girl was speaking up (Dazai gagged internally), “That kind of thinking is extremely counterproductive to your recovery. Everyone has hurt someone, that is human nature. But everyone is also equally deserving of forgiveness for their mistakes.”

“You don’t understand-” Chuuya said, which was something that every person ever needing therapy had said, “I hurt everyone around me. I can’t stop it. I’m on medication- I’ve been on medication, for fucks sake. I’m still hurting people. There has to be something wrong. Something wrong with me.”

Dazai would argue that it was therapy itself that was wrong, and not Chuuya, but he was slightly biased with that opinion.

“I feel the same Chuuya, but that still doesn’t mean you’re a monster-” Lucy tried, so close to being helpful for once.

“He is!” Yuan stressed before Chuuya could defend himself again. Dazai felt his finger twitch with the desire to rip her hair out of her scalp. “There’s hurting people on accident and then there’s- what he’s done. It’s… no human could do those things!”

Now, Dazai was immensely curious as to what things Chuuya had done to garner such a visceral dread, but that did not take precedence over his need to protect Chuuya from this bitch.

He’d known Chuuya was capable of more violence than any of them had been witness to in here, but wasn’t everyone? Every human being had the potential to commit atrocities. Chuuya wasn't any different than himself in that regard, though Dazai might've had even less morals preventing him from following through.

As it was, his imagination was running wild with ideas of what the redhead could've possibly done, ideas that were probably far from the truth.

Chuuya did not respond beyond clenching his fists and dropping his head down to stare at the floor.

It was all so wrong.

Then-

An unexpected shiver rattled through his bones without warning.

There wasn’t any hint of an explosion, but Dazai felt it in the air.

It was impossible to describe. Like all oxygen had been sucked from the air around them and solely into Chuuya, filling him with an uncontainable pressure. A black hole of energy and emotion that of course could belong to nobody but Chuuya.

Touching was discouraged in mental hospitals. It was certainly not allowed in times of distress.

But nobody else seemed to realize that Chuuya blacked out and was sure to reign chaos in seconds. He didn’t even quite understand how he knew Chuuya blacked out. 

A magical connection between the two was consistently becoming a more and more believable explanation every time this strange phenomenon happened.

Without wasting any more time thinking too hard about it, Dazai reached out and grabbed onto Chuuya’s thin, pale wrist, watching in fascination as the boy shuddered violently, as if his fingers had brushed against an exposed electrical socket and shocked him out of his flesh. 

The air returned to normal as quickly as it had turned abnormal, the entire interaction occurring in mere seconds.

Chuuya blinked rapidly, lifting his head and looking at Dazai with a complicated expression on his face. It was so heavily saturated with different emotions that Dazai couldn’t even begin to distinguish one from the other.

The skin beneath his fingers was warm and trembling, and he didn’t want to let go. He wouldn’t have, if not for the security guards straightening up at their unapproved touching.

He quickly snatched his hand back, though keeping his eyes glued to Chuuya just in case. 

It was only the second time they did this weird nulling touch thing, but it was just as strange and jarring as the first time, and yet another reminder of how behind they were on solving that particular issue.

“I’m going to need everyone to calm down,” Kunikida unsuccessfully attempted to regain control of the room, no longer quite as immovable as he was before, “And Yuan, you need to apologize right now-”

“What did you do?” Ranpo interrupted him, focused on Chuuya and examining his body language almost as closely as Dazai always did.

He cursed the other boy for having no tact, but he also couldn't really fault him for it. They all knew how Ranpo was.

The rat Fyodor tilted his head too, speaking in an unnecessarily pompous tone, “I’m curious as well. There are many real monsters in this world, all of them truly irredeemable sinners that deserve far worse than death. What could you have possibly done to warrant being on that list?”

It was highly unusual to be so invasive about another person’s past. Out of anyone, it was usually Dazai who would cross those boundaries without care. What gave the rest of the circle the audacity to assume they could have the privilege of learning Chuuya’s past?

It disgusted him, but Dazai did not have enough control of the room at the moment to stop anything. Chuuya was the only one with an iron grasp on the entire group’s attention.

“Kids, please- you don’t have to answer any of that Chuuya-” Kunikida yet again tried to take the reigns on the conversation, and yet again failed to.

“Can everyone shut up for a second?”

Chuuya growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. They were trembling. He could see it through the fabric.

Miraculously, everyone listened.

The captivating redhead held control of the room like a gladiator atop a chariot. It was highly unstable and rickety, but he was so incredibly powerful that he nearly resembled a god.

How foolish of Dazai to ever claim that Chuuya was someone with no control, when he could command everyone like this.

He took back everything he’d said before. He'd already apologized, but anyone with eyes and ears could tell it was fake.

He needed to do it again properly. Perhaps by begging at Chuuya's feet, or offering himself as a human sacrifice to appease such an immortal figure.

Were it possible, there would be visible hearts in Dazai’s eyes as he gazed at Chuuya. Fortunately for everyone, himself included, his eyes were as soulless as ever.

“Okay, I-” Chuuya started, pausing. It was yet another new trend that rubbed him wrong. Chuuya did not stutter before now, “I had an episode.”

He sounded so ashamed when he said that. Like it wasn’t a perfectly normal thing for anyone in that room to experience.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong, coming from Chuuya’s mouth.

“My friends-” He glanced at Yuan and quickly readjusted, “-my classmates and I were hanging out in a cemetery.”

Dazai, very inappropriately, burst out laughing.

The entire group glared at him and he couldn’t even really blame them this time. But it was just so...

“Chibi,” He giggled a little more before a cough cut him short, “that is the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard.”

Chuuya looked seconds away from justifiably punching him a second time, but luckily for Dazai, a single reminder of the guards crossing their arms made him stop short. They couldn't stop him from seething with rage though.

“Is it also cliché to blackout and wake up covered in your friend’s blood?”

That made his laughter fall pretty quickly, though a deranged smile stayed frozen on his face, unable to move.

It wasn't his intention to do this in the first place. And now Chuuya was upset. He was trembling.

“Is it cliché to put him in a coma,” His voice shook, “and be glad that he is? Relieved, because if he wasn’t, you would’ve killed him? Is that cliché too, Dazai?”

There really wasn't anything he could say.

“You feel what you feel, Chuuya,” Kunikida was grim, but he saved Dazai from having to concoct a response to that, “You can’t control how you feel, or what happened in the past. You can only control how you react to it. And the fact that you reacted by coming here and seeking help is something you should be proud of. It takes a lot of bravery.”

The words made Dazai want to throw up, because they were just the same words therapists had been saying to him since his very first session. 

There was nothing brave about this. There was no pride to be gained from what they’d done. 

“I didn’t choose to come here.” Chuuya gritted his teeth, resorting back to anger instead of shame. Who or what that anger was towards was a mystery, but Dazai could guess that it was directed inwards. Even so, that emotion was better than the guilt from before. “It was a court mandated decision. Yuan is right. I should be in prison.”

More answers to questions he hadn’t even thought to ask. 

They were far more alike than he'd initially thought. Part of the reason he was so enamored with Chuuya was because he seemed to be such a complete opposite of Dazai. He was emotional, responsible, confident…or at least Dazai thought he was.

Instead, Chuuya had also been sent here against his will. He'd also hurt people. He also saw himself as a monster. 

A delusional idea crossed Dazai’s mind that maybe they really were meant for each other. Two sides of the same coin. Facing opposite directions but ultimately a part of the same hard metal.

And maybe they were so alike, but they were also equally so different. Even though Chuuya was brought here involuntarily, he was actually trying to improve his faults. The effort to change was apparent in every word he shared.

Am I not trying now, too?

Reluctantly, he realized that he was.

And even worse, it was working.

He’d started thinking about the future. He’d started wanting things, desiring things other than his own destruction. He’d started caring about other people, and how he affected them. He’d started telling the truth more. He’d started opening up about his feelings more. He'd started to wonder, though still not actively want, to see what the world might look like if he wasn't so eternally miserable.

The realization made him dizzy, feeling like he was about to pass out.

The room started to spin and he was forced to admit that he was about to pass out. Just like with Mori before, he closed his eyes and controlled his breaths, ignoring that he was trembling as much as Chuuya still was beside him. 

Both of them were on the verge of collapse. The world was ending. Hellfire rained down over them all just because they had to face these stupid emotions.

He reopened his eyes, desperately looking around for Fukuzawa, the one he was going to blame this torment on, but he was not at this session. 

Regulating his breathing had only worked somewhat, his vision still completely covered in a fuzzy film that had his eyes darting to movement that belonged to nothing. It was like a static overlay was masking his sight from a cohesive reality.

Eventually, instead of the person he was trying to find, his eyes stopped on Dostoevsky.

The bastard’s face gave nothing away, much like his own usually.

Unfortunately, he could only do so much to mask his body’s natural behavior. Fyodor didn’t need to smirk for Dazai to know that he could see him falling apart. To know that this was a weakness to be exploited in the future.

It sickened Dazai to have come to the point where another person could read him so easily. Gone were the days of blending into the background as an irrelevant child to be seen but not heard.

He would’ve expected the long game from him, as that would have been his own play, but instead Fyodor opened his own mouth to join the conversation, striking while he was weak.

“You are exactly where you need to be Chuuya,” He gave the redhead beside him a warm smile, which had Dazai’s fingernails itching with the urge to gouge out his eyeballs, “prison can’t help people like us, trust me.”

Like us. 

Trust me.

It was like he’d reached into Dazai’s brain and plucked out the very words he knew would cut him deepest when it came to Chuuya.

“My parents were sent to prison, but they should have been sent to a facility like this,” Fyodor continued, though literally nobody asked him to, “When you are sick, you need treatment, not punishment. Even if you hurt someone with your sickness.”

There was something in his voice that just sounded so smug and infuriating that Dazai could barely hold himself back from sneering.

Dazai did not like a lot of people, but he only truly hated a select few. Although there was no particular reason for him to be on that short list, Fyodor was one of the people that Dazai felt such an indescribable hatred for.

Maybe it was because of how self-righteous he seemed to be, as if he held all the knowledge of the universe and believed he was the only one that did. It was juvenile, the way he seemed so confident in himself. 

Not that confidence was a bad thing, but with Fyodor it wasn't just that. He seemed to view himself as infallible. Above morality and humanity.

Now Dazai never claimed to be human, and in fact believed himself to be far less, but that was the point.

He was less.

Because any being that felt as if it was all knowing to the point of being above emotion was ignorant. Emotion was the most untouchable thing in the world. Above mere knowledge, of which anyone with a brain could obtain. It was not something that could be taught.

Dazai knew better than anyone that all the intelligence in the world was completely worthless next to the innate ability to feel.

Every logical battle, he'd been able to win easily.

It was those disputes that didn't run by logic; that were ruled by emotion or even magic, that truly defeated him. 

“What did they do?”

It took a second for him to realize that the question had come from himself. He didn’t know what compelled him to ask. Maybe that gut feeling that always seemed to elude him.

There were rarely moments in Dazai’s life where he followed his instincts, because human instinct separate from emotion was a weakness that he could control with enough concentration.

At the moment though, there was a monsoon going on in his stomach. He was sweating and faint beyond the affects of medications.

He wasn’t a superstitious person in any shape or form, but he felt a cosmic force compel him to seek an answer from Fyodor. This metaphysical belief should have worried him, but for some reason he was much more concerned about what Fyodor had to say in response.

The rat didn’t respond immediately though. He just smiled knowingly. Like he was the only one with an antidote in a room already filled with an invisible neurotoxin that he himself released.

It, unsurprisingly, didn’t make Dazai feel any better.

However, the confidence that Fyodor had, which reeked of him believing he was the smartest one in the room, was enough to trigger Dazai’s spiteful response.

A mask slid into place before his next blink. His face stilled, and the shaking had completely stopped. He was as still and emotionless as a robot outwardly.

Inwardly, every muscle and bone in his body was pulled tight to hold the rest of him together. He was still on the verge of passing out, but through sheer force of will, he lowered his heart rate and forced his torso to remain upright on the chair. 

Fyodor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look any less cocky. In fact, it seemed that his smile gained a tint of glee.

Dazai refused to react to it.

“They angered someone with more wealth and influence than themselves.”

Pieces were slowly, agonizingly slowly, coming together in his mind. The picture becoming clearer, though still incomplete. Even with a form starting to take shape, his mind blurred it from himself.

He could tell when his brain was hiding something from him, he just had no way of bypassing it. The reason his brain would choose to repress whatever realization he was coming to eluded him. It was infuriating; having such little control over his mind despite having a near inhuman amount of control over his body.

“The person I hurt-” Chuuya’s voice sliced through the tension between them, though he wasn’t sure if the redhead did it on purpose or if he was oblivious to the two demons beside him.

Right, they were supposed to be talking about Chuuya's problems. Dazai had a nasty habit of making everything about himself.

“His family is poor too. It makes it all worse. Even if- when, he wakes up, the fucking hospital bill is gonna ruin him. I may as well have killed him,” He spit it out bitterly.

Dazai watched him from the corner of his eye, not fully turning. 

It was no use for him to feel any type of way about being extremely not poor. What they were born into was out of all of their control. He could acknowledge that he was privileged for not ever having to factor wealth into his problems, but it did little to solve them. 

“Maybe Dazai-kun could ask his father to generously offer your friend free treatment. He runs a hospital, doesn’t he? Doctor Mori Ougai?”

Fyodor tilted his head, faux innocently, as if he were completely oblivious to the connotations behind his inquiry.

But Dazai’s blood froze in his veins.

Why did everyone know Mori? 

How did they know Mori? 

What the fuck did any of it have to do with him and why did it keep happening?

Bile surged to the top of his throat but he quickly locked his jaw shut before he could vomit all over the floor. The acidic taste remained in his mouth even after he swallowed the liquid back down, nearly making him throw it up all over again.

None of this was doing anything good for his already dizzy head and sick stomach. Even though he was positive that his expression was unchanged, he was equally as sure that his skin was significantly paler than usual. 

His body was not being very nice to him that night. To be fair though, he'd never been very nice to it either.

The corners of his vision started to darken and it was such an inconvenience to have to accept that he couldn’t actually control his body this time.

He was definitely fainting.

Kunikida said something, or maybe Chuuya did, or maybe it was Yuan, or Fyodor, or Ranpo, or, orr, orrrr...

Everything sounded like it was being spoken through a high powered fan and he couldn’t make out any words being said. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and when he could finally focus them again, everyone was standing up.

Wait, no. He was on the ground.

Oh. He hadn’t really slept the past few days either had he? He’d fully sabotaged himself this time. Curse past Dazai. 

Rather than a nurse above him though, his view was filled with a flash of red waves and crystal eyes, scrunched up in concern.

Ah, his lovely Chuuya was a guardian angel above him. Despite his inherent distrust in everyone and everything, he believed that his safety would be taken care of as long as Chuuya was there.

With this thought comforting him, he let his eyes slip closed and succumbed to the rest his body demanded.

...

His lashes fluttered open mere minutes later, with him being helped into a sitting position by one of the nurses.

His vision was still blurry and his head was pounding, barely aware of his surroundings. A paper cup of water was put up against his lips and he let it trickle down his throat slowly. People were speaking around him but everything still sounded as if it were underwater. 

Dazai blinked slowly and took another sip of water.

There was no memory loss that he was aware of, he noted as he took stock of his body and mind. Other than when he was unconscious, which based on the position of everyone around him, wasn’t too long. Once asserting that he was okay enough to be coherent, he took the time to examine who was surrounding him at the moment.

It was mostly nurses, with the rest of the patients being corralled away for night time meds and the short amount of free time they had before bed. Kunikida was also there though, kneeling beside him with a professional amount of concern on his face.

Dazai took another sip.

“I think I need to change my meds.”

-Were the first words he spoke, voice rougher than he thought it would be. Though considering the circumstances, that made perfect sense. 

The well trained staff barely reacted, or perhaps they did and Dazai was just too out of it to notice. They simply refilled his water and urged him to keep drinking. He saw no reason not to.

Kunikida frowned, “I don’t have the authority to do that Dazai, you need to speak with your psychiatrist.” 

He rolled his eyes so hard that he nearly fell over again, only held up by the quick reflexes and strong arms of the nurses.

This was how it always was in these hospitals. 

‘Oh we can’t do that you need to see this other specialist-’

‘Oh we don’t handle that you need to set up an appointment with this other doctor-’

‘Oh we don’t know what's wrong we’ll have to send you to someone else-’

And so on and so forth until you got so tangled up in the healthcare system that you’ve spent hundreds of thousands and gotten absolutely nowhere. What made this particular situation even worse was that his current psychiatrist was a complete imbecile. 

The therapist he’d had before being admitted quit mere days before his attempt, but his psychiatrist stuck with him, continuously prescribing him medications that always had some kind of adverse side effect.

None of them ever managed to actually do what they were intended to. They only messed up his brain chemistry even more than it already was. He hated being on them.

At least when he wasn’t on his meds, he was too depressed to actually attempt suicide. It didn’t matter that he also wouldn’t leave his bed or even move at all for days at a time. He didn't need to! It wasn't like he had any responsibilities as the prodigal son of a ridiculously wealthy doctor.

There was no reason for him to get out of bed. Again, he was smart and well off enough to not have to care to look after himself. And perhaps it was only because he was speaking from a place of excess, but he doubted it would be much different even if he didn't have a large plush bed to burrow in.

“Doctor,” Dazai sighed with the exhausted weight of someone much more heavily burdened than himself, “I’m tired.”

He was only vaguely aware of what he was saying, but that was unequivocally true. Both in a physical and mental sense, though he wasn’t sure which he was referring to when he said it. 

More than the simple sentence, it seemed that Dazai actually calling him ‘doctor’ instead of some disrespectful nickname was what really got to Kunikida. 

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, looking uncharacteristically apologetic, “There’s nothing we can do about it right now Dazai, I’m sorry. Try to get some sleep tonight, I’ll see how else I can help and we'll figure something out tomorrow.”

Oh right, it was nearly lights out. 

Another night sharing a room with that psychopath who only became more and more suspicious by the day. He didn’t have the strength to stay sleepless and vigilant again. Unfortunately his body was much weaker than his mind, and he could already feel his eyelids growing too heavy to keep up. But there wasn’t much he could do about that either.

He nodded miserably, “Okay.”

The rest of the nightly rituals passed by in a blur.

He vaguely remembered Chuuya checking in on him with his usual gruff charm, as well as Atsushi, and receiving his meds without another complaint. It may have crossed his mind to not actually take them, but by the time he realized he didn't want to, they were already down his throat. He might’ve said goodnight to Oda at some point, but he couldn’t be certain. There was no way he could've began reigning terror upon Yuan in his state either.

The last thing Dazai was aware of was the smug look on that rat bastard’s face as he sat upon his own bed. But Dazai’s eyes were already drifting shut as he melted into the stiff mattress and buried his head in the starchy pillow, hiding his face from the rest of the world, and the rest of the world from his face.

...

When Dazai awoke, it was with a reluctantly clearer head, though his energy was the same as it was without any sleep at all.

This time Fyodor wasn’t in the room, but he could hear activity coming from the hallway. Morning vitals and breakfast were carrying on as they always did. It was no different than any other day.

Except for a small, harrowing change.

Just beneath his pillow, which had been disturbed beyond his own actions, as Dazai knew for a fact that he slept dead still as a corpse, his fingers brushed against a cold, miniscule, but unmistakable piece of metal.

There was no doubt as to who put that object there, like a demonic tooth fairy when Dazai was too drained to prevent it.

That man wasn’t even in the room for him to throw accusations at, though part of him was grateful there was no one else to witness the immediate panic that tightened every muscle in his body, nor the wide eyed fear that he could feel flash on his features before he had the thought to correct it back into indifference.

It was difficult to sneak in contraband, but it was far from impossible. Dazai was well aware of that. To leave it as a gift for someone else was the harder part.

However, it was the motive for this act that made him tremble in rage and agony.

If Fyodor wanted to frame him and get Dazai in trouble with the staff, he would’ve hidden it somewhere else and told the nurses before Dazai could interfere. Even if Dazai brought it to the staff, they would hardly believe it was planted by anyone else, given both his history and penchant for lying.

There was no reason to place a blade underneath his pillow if the goal was to involve anyone else in any way.

No, this wasn’t meant to get him in trouble with anyone but himself.

He’d all but shoved into his face the one thing that he knew Dazai wouldn’t be able to resist. Thrust at him when he was already weakened.

And worst of all, it was working.

Without a second thought (but with overwhelming self hatred), Dazai slipped the blade in between the folds of his bandages so that it was hidden from sight, and went about his morning as if everything was normal. As if he hadn’t just been forced into an impossible situation. As if his stomach wasn’t rolling with the need to throw up, and the skin that wasn’t covered with bandages; prickly to any and all touch.

It wasn't a fair play at all. It was a dirty, despicable tactic that only a real monster would do.

Not even Dazai would stoop to such a level, being so intimately familiar with the possible consequences and mental anguish that came with it.

However, he was weak. He was not immune to the temptations of his darker self, especially not now when his medications were off balance and his treatment was in shambles.

Dazai was unable to do anything but submit.

Chapter Text

Not that Dazai immediately cut himself. He wasn’t stupid. 

What was stupid was to hide it instead of automatically snitching to the nearest nurse. Even if it was his own contraband and not planted by his roommate in order to frame him, even then, he should've given it up.

It would’ve been the right thing- the healthiest thing to do. 

Regardless of whether or not he was gonna use it, because he wasn't.

The option of blaming it on his roommate was ever present and enticing. They probably wouldn't believe him, but he might be able to convince the doctors that liked him.

Yet instead of reporting anything, he hid it as well as he could, which was quite easy beyond the initial full body inspection that should’ve happened during everyone's entry process. He didn't know how Fyodor got it past them.

Luckily it being someone else’s contraband meant he didn’t have to go through that humiliating ordeal of being completely nude in front of some stranger who would examine every fold of his skin for this exact thing. He initially came directly from the hospital, so he didn’t have to go through any more intense poking and prodding than what he'd gotten there. 

Still, he had to pretend all was perfectly normal as he went through breakfast and vitals. He regrettably had to underplay his subtle panic to Chuuya, who was a complete mess on his own with the addition of Yuan to all of their lives. They were each dealing with their own separate problems right now, as was everyone.

As much as Dazai loved to diss on institutionalization, which was valid, he also thrived in the chaotic environment.

Everything was in disorder always. There was never a second of stabilization. It was extremely helpful in hiding his own secrets with only the slightest touch of subtlety.

This, of course, only made the hospitalization more exciting, but to everyone else it was abhorrent and affront to the goal of recovery.  

Whereas Chuuya was horribly thrown off with the new stimuli added to their little enclosure, Dazai felt prepared for anything. He was not lying to himself.

Fyodor had put into place a temptation which he could not ignore, while at the same time accommodating to a contentious figure from Chuuya’s past. It was the perfect disruption of something deeply personal invading both of their minds and setting them up to fail in their individual conflicts without seeking help from each other. Divide the enemy and conquer from their destabilization.

Dazai, however, could recite The Art of War by memory, thanks to Mori’s teachings. He knew not to fold to such obvious dissent tactics.  

Yes, he of course wanted nothing more than to use the blade given to him for its very expressed purpose, but he was equally unwilling to allow Fyodor such an underhanded win. Pure spite could motivate him to any lengths. 

This was at least what he told himself as he suppressed the constant tremor in his bones that was only present due to the sharp and impossible to ignore edge against his bandaged skin, trapped between the fabric and himself. 

Dazai had faced temptations before, and had learned to smother any desire with the simple reminder that he didn’t deserve to indulge in things he wanted. Another helpful little lesson from his father.  

This was just another test of his self control, and he would not lose.  

Besides, Chuuya probably needed him right now, and focusing on supporting his puppy would disrupt the plans Fyodor had.

Just a glance at his face across the room during breakfast was enough to tell him that yes, Chuuya did need him right now. He was sitting alone and avoiding eye contact with everyone, instead staring at the empty white space of the wall. 

His own dilemma could be pushed to the side. He was used to ignoring his body's natural desires.

Still, he couldn’t make eye contact with anyone on his way to group. Shame coiled through the length of his intestines like a snake. 

The group circle formed in near silence, though it was only partially due to tension. Those who hadn’t had an emotional day yesterday just looked a normal amount of too tired to talk in the morning. Lucky bastards; said with affection of course.

The doctor was also visibly drained, most likely having been briefed by Kunikida some time before coming in. She would have a myriad of psychological messes to clean up in group today. 

Morning introductions flew by in a blink and she attacked the problem barely a second after Atsushi finished saying his favorite animal for the fun question of the day. 

“So, I heard we had some conflict last night,” Yosano wasn’t one to skate around a subject, “I just want to remind everyone here that I will not tolerate any of that behavior. You don’t all have to get along, but treat each other with respect and do not fight any other person here.” 

It had been a while since Dazai saw the full effect of Yosano’s intimidating look. Even longer since it wasn't directed at him.

Though the infamously hard stare didn’t phase him, Yuan was not prepared for the sheer force of it. She flinched and lowered her head as the doctor paid special attention to her. He snickered under his hand. 

Good. 

“Also, if anyone at any time feels sick or like they’re about to faint,” Her piercing eyes switched targets onto Dazai, “Immediately alert a staff member before you hurt yourself. Everyone’s good health is our number one priority here.” 

If his health was such a priority, then why was he still on bullshit meds that made him faint? A rhetorical question; it was because health was absolutely not the number one priority in this hospital. That would be safety. Their only real job was to keep everybody alive. 

“Now with that out of the way,” Yosano continued, the clicking of her pen breaking the brief silence that followed, “onto today’s discussion-” 

It was impossible to pay attention. 

As much as he would love to say that ignoring the blade under his bandages was easy, the reality wasn’t so simple. Just because he could control himself didn’t mean it wasn’t itching under his nails, begging to add more pretty scars to his already destroyed body. 

It was extremely difficult for Dazai to process what was being said during the lesson, but that was just fine because Ranpo hogged pretty much the entire session anyway. He was apparently leaving today.

Another person that crashed into his life only to leave just as fast. Dazai was more liberal with giving out his email and phone numbers during this stay though, at least to the people he genuinely liked, so he decided to write both down for Ranpo during free time.  

He wasn’t supposed to be making connections for the outside. He was supposed to die on the outside. There was supposed to be nothing waiting for him but absolute freedom from the burden of living.

A shiver went through him though as he shifted in his seat. 

He could die within the confines of his prison. In here. With the blade. 

The metal lying against his skin was cold, and it made its presence completely impossible to ignore.  

It was a good one, the kind they use for box cutters. It was that perfect in-between of sharp enough to slice through layers of flesh, but not too sharp that it wouldn’t bleed as much as he preferred. Dazai really did like when they bled.  

The point being that it was a high-quality blade that would get the job done. They might be able to stop him and save him on time, but if he got Fyodor to cover for him, it was possible. As disgusting as the thought of cooperating with that slime was, he clearly wanted Dazai to use the blade he left specially for him. Surely he would be willing to assist in his suicide. 

The only problem with acting on the suicide he so desperately wanted was the conflict going on in his head. It felt like a bunch of tiny Dazai’s were sitting around a table and arguing about what to do. 

This is perfect! It’s exactly what we wanted! We should cut! 

No, just cutting would be more likely to get us caught. We should use it to kill ourself. 

Um. No. You idiots. We should throw it out so that it doesn’t tempt us and so we don’t get in more trouble than it’s worth. 

But isn’t it worth it? Just to feel that sting again? To see that beautiful bright red lifeblood paint the sterile white tile that this place is entrapped in? 

God, these lights are awful. Fluorescent and flickering. So clinical. 

Chuuya would be disappointed if we did something. 

So? Who cares what Chuuya thinks? 

We do! Plus, we want to live for Chuuya, don’t we? 

Different from the other voices, one whispered out from the darkest part of his mind.

It was spoken in a hush, yet it boomed over all the others. It was separated, hidden away and ignored because it always said things he didn’t want to hear. It was the most chilling of all. And it was probably the only voice in his head that was true. 

What if I want to live for me? 

… 

“Oi, bandages-for-brains, give Ranpo a hug. He’s leaving.”  

Chuuya’s angelically annoying voice pulled him away from the thoughts he’d wanted to be away from anyway. The redhead always seemed to know when Dazai needed to be saved from himself. 

“Don’t touch me with your grubby hands.” He was luckily saved from having to engage in any physical contact thanks to Ranpo’s general dislike of being touched. "Even I don't want to know where they've been..."

The cool steel pressed snug against his skin was making him sensitive to touch. Even the brush of his beloved bandages over his skin felt like too much. Anything more would push him hard enough to relapse, just to get the feeling off of him. 

But Dazai shook himself out of focusing on that. If he thought about it too much it would only make the sensation even more overwhelming. He couldn’t quite ignore it, but he could certainly pretend to.  

Jerking back to the present, he smiled and tried to act like a normal human being that didn’t have the craving to peel his own skin off. 

“I’m gonna miss you Ranpo, my buddy, my pal. You were the only motherfucker in this town that could handle me. We should get married when I’m out of here.” 

Ranpo smirked knowingly, “I think there’s someone else out there for you Dazai.” 

Because of course Ranpo knew about his crush. Ranpo knew everything. He probably knew about the blade pressed flat against his very vulnerable veins too.  

He avoided eye contact with Chuuya and simply stuck his tongue out at Ranpo. No way in hell was he going to entertain the thought of marrying Chuuya.

Still, it was nice to have a lighter conversation. Playful teasing had been severely lacking in all their lives the past day. Two could play at this game though. 

“You’re also saving yourself for someone else though, aren’t you Ranpo-kun?” Dazai grinned, batting his eyelashes in faux innocence. Ranpo only grinned back unapologetically. 

Anyone with eyes could see that Poe was helplessly head over heels for Ranpo. What few others might’ve noticed was that Ranpo felt the same. He would not let Poe hang around him so close, breathing air in the same space, if he didn’t also feel affection for the other boy. It was as adorable as Atsushi and Akutagawa were, though hopefully their ending would be less tragic. 

It was one of the cardinal rules of the psychiatric hospital; to not date someone you met in treatment. They were blatantly disregarding the unspoken creed. 

Perhaps they were all rulebreakers in that respect, not just Dazai. 

As he watched the two of them plan to meet up on the outside, Dazai sincerely wished the best for them. They deserved to be together, and to be happy. 

Everyone here deserved to be happy, except perhaps Fyodor, because he was a bastard. Also Yuan, because she was a bitch. 

God, when did he get so sappy? 

This therapy stuff was dangerous. It was making him embarrassing. Maybe he should give himself a little, itty-bitty, teeny-tiny cut just to feel more like himself- 

No, no, no, no. Stop.

He would not give in. 

Like Chuuya had said in a previous group session, if he gave in, then Fyodor would win. Dazai didn’t consider himself a very competitive person, because he was usually the best at whatever he did so there was no need to care about winning, but he swore he would beat this rat no matter what. 

He just had to endure.

“You would’ve been a terrible husband anyway,” Dazai flapped his hands, “you couldn’t handle me.” 

“You just said I was the only motherfucker that could? If I can't do it, nobody can handle you.” 

“Real.” 

“I’m gonna miss our witty repartee.” 

“Aww, I miss you already too Ranpo-kuuun!”  

And then Ranpo was gone.  

In an instant.

… 

It was much quieter without their lovable OCD friend. Coupled with the tension between several of the patients, free time was extremely awkward that morning. 

Thankfully Yosano came up to him early on and said that she had some connections with psychiatrists and had recommended him to one she trusted. They apparently already put in the request to change his meds and he would start weaning off his old ones while transitioning to the new medication.

This of course meant he would be staying at the hospital at least until the first one’s halflife was over. He was looking forward to maybe a month longer in this place.

He had no complaints though, there wasn’t any rush for him. He had everything he needed now. 

More time with Chuuya, the option of killing himself or at least cutting, and more blessed time away from Mori. 

Despite Ranpo leaving, the initial shock of discovering the razor, and Fyodor’s entire existence, Dazai was actually feeling… good.  

He wasn’t naive enough to assume that the new medication was already working and was the cause of this (apparently he'd started on it this morning and didn't even realize because he was still in shock over having a blade), but it did always intrigue him when his mood lifted. It happened so rarely, and even less often naturally.  

His cheerful mood was, however, ultimately irrelevant. His feelings did not matter before and they didn’t now, it didn’t matter what type of feelings they were.

What did matter was however Chuuya was doing. 

He’d been despondent all morning, barely talking to anyone or even looking around at all except for when Ranpo was saying goodbye.

The story that both he and Yuan had relayed last night wasn’t… that bad.  

Maybe Dazai was jaded or some kind of monster without empathy, but it didn’t seem like enough to reduce Chuuya to this. It was like he wasn’t even Chuuya.

And Dazai was going to blame his state on Yuan. 

Even with Fyodor being a harbinger of doom and despair, Chuuya was fine before Yuan showed up. Well, as fine as anyone admitted into a mental institution was. That pink haired swine didn’t know who the hell she was messing with.

Chuuya probably wouldn’t accept any kind of sympathy or support now, so Dazai would do the only other thing he could, and torture that stupid girl. 

Judging by her response to Chuuya’s violence in the past, he could successfully physically intimidate her, but that wasn’t really his style. Psychological torment should suffice. Her constitution was very obviously fragile and easily broken.

Changing directions from Chuuya, Dazai made his way over to a jittery Yuan who was trying to be as far away from everyone else as possible. Coward. 

“Pinky,” He smiled unkindly as he sat down right next to her, as close as he could without breaking the no-touch rule, “I don't believe we ever heard what brought you here.” 

It was safe to start with his usual somewhat invasive question. To break the ice.

“That’s none of your business.”  

She frowned, scooting further away from him. The response reminded him too much of Chuuya. Yeah, it made sense that they grew up together.  

Unlike Chuuya though, this girl was disgustingly easy to read. 

“I’ll guess then!” Dazai perked up before again leaning uncomfortably closer to her, “Someone caught you, didn’t they?” 

It was the biggest generalization, but it was effective.

The implications of what he could mean by that were infinite, and she was highly likely to automatically think of whatever he reminded her of. She could've been caught with anything, and he would be right for all of them. It was the same tactic fake psychics used on their customers. 

She sucked in a breath and, as if she was afraid he could read her mind, her hand automatically twitched to cover her hip. 

Yep. As he’d suspected, she was definitely a fellow self harmer.

He also used to favor his hips when it came to cutting, at least at first. After he stopped caring about being caught, and after realizing Mori didn't care either, the location didn't matter as much.

A menacing grin stretched across his cheeks. 

“I don’t know what you’re-” 

“What did you use? Hmmmmm... You look like the pencil sharpener type to me," his lip curled, “how juvenile.” 

Yuan’s face flushed in anger and shame, and Dazai didn’t feel anything about it. 

Disconnected from the type of guilt he felt when he hurt someone he actually liked, this felt sickeningly satisfying. It had been too long since he’d used his talents. 

“When did you start?” He whispered in her ear, continuing coolly when all she did was grit her teeth, “Was it when your idiot little friend went to the hospital? Awwww, that’s so pathetic! I bet it was your first time too. And you got caught immediately!” 

He couldn’t help laughing behind his hand, mirthful gaze fixed upon hers.

Her lip was trembling but her jaw was still clenched shut. It appeared that she was the type to try not to engage with the bully, thinking if she didn’t give him attention then he would get bored. What she didn’t realize was that Dazai didn’t need her to say a word, her body language was practically singing her shame to him. 

“Your friend goes to the hospital and you want all the attention for yourself instead. That’s so embarrassing.” 

“I didn’t do it for attention!” 

“No… I suppose that was just a lucky side effect.” Dazai tilted his head thoughtfully, staring unblinkingly into Yuan’s eyes, “Are you happy with the attention now? Even though Chuuya won’t even look at you, and I’m sure it’s his attention you wanted the most.” 

At this, her face blushed not out of anger but of humiliation. 

It wasn’t his initial assumption, but her reaction solidified one of the possibilities he’d considered. Yuan liked Chuuya. Despite what she’d said about him being a monster, she liked him. 

 It was understandable, he was Chuuya after all, but he also belonged to Dazai. No one else.

“I-I don’t- he’s a monster.” 

“Oh please,” Dazai waved his hand in the air flippantly, “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have cut yourself. Obviously it wasn’t a suicide attempt or you’d be more upset about being in a hospital rather than just about seeing him, which means you intended to be discovered and are acting upset to get even more attention. And you must have known Chuuya was in this hospital, since you were such close ‘friends’ and there are only so many wards in this area he could’ve been in. You came here for Chuuya and it’s honestly sad.” 

Yuan stared at him in disbelief for a second, processing all of that. 

“You’re... insane...” Rather than continuing to be fearful of him, as she should have been, Yuan still looked afraid but more confused now than anything, “I didn’t do any of this on purpose. Nobody thinks like that.” 

Nobody else thinks like this? But it was the most logical response? It was obvious. Even a child could easily come to this conclusion.  

Though he didn’t fully believe it, Dazai had to change tactics again, “If you didn’t do this on purpose, which I highly doubt, then you lost control, like a 'monster.' Just like Chuuya did.” 

“That’s different! I didn’t hurt anyone else!” Her anger came back full force, and in turn it lit up his own.

A dark and thunderous cloud formed over his head. A tsunami forming in front of her.

“Didn’t hurt anyone else?” Dazai openly glared at her now. “There are people who actually need rooms in this facility, and you selfishly took one from them. The people who found you that had to take you here will probably never forget whatever scene they walked in on. It’s been less than a day and you’ve already regressed so much of Chuuya’s recovery just by being here. Of course you hurt other people. That’s what self harmers do.” 

She didn’t respond, getting paler the longer he went on.  

It may have turned into a bit of a rant.  

He was done talking now.  

Dazai decided to be the first to walk away this time, standing up and going to sit next to Chuuya to be as far away from that girl as possible. She at least had enough sense of self preservation to not follow him. 

Chuuya didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t flawlessly hiding his emotions as usual at the moment, too engrossed in writing in his notebook, along with Poe beside him. Poor Poe was writing more frantically since Ranpo left, and that was saying something considering just how much he wrote before. They were probably both waxing poetry about their pain or whatever. 

Writing and poetry wasn’t really something Dazai had ever considered as a coping mechanism. It wasn’t as mindless an activity as his art was, nor was it particularly pleasant when he had to think deeply about himself and his thoughts.

Therapists tried before to get him to keep a daily diary for at least some kind of record of his moods, but it was tiresome to keep up with. Most of his entries ended up being single sentence complaints about asinine things. And even in those instances, he wasn’t writing poetry. 

Chuuya‘s nose was practically touching the inseam of his notebook. 

“You’re writing poetry again.” 

It was a simple observation, and it jerked Chuuya out of his trance-like state. His hand never ceased it's hard work though, nor did he look towards Dazai while responding. 

“You’re being a weird stalker again.” 

Dazai sighed, helplessly fond.  

“Can I not be interested in my friend’s hobbies?” He blinked innocently, leaning closer but respectfully keeping his curious eyes off of the notebook. He’d already trampled over that boundary once. 

“No, you can’t.” 

But he could see the small grin on Chuuya’s face, and the slightest relaxing of his shoulders. It was enough to tell him that this was okay. They were okay.

“Well I’ve decided to be the best poet in this psych ward so you’re gonna have to teach me.” Dazai clapped his hands together with finality. 

The redhead raised an unamused eyebrow, “You want me to teach you how to be a better poet than me?” 

“Your words, not mine.”  

His eyes rolled in a more perfect circle than any that Dazai had ever done, and yet he ripped out a piece of blank paper and gave it to him anyway.  

The edges were crudely torn and it was slightly wrinkled, but Dazai received it as a prophet would the word of their god. Everything Chuuya gave him, from second chances to slips of looseleaf, was to be revered.  

Meanwhile, Poe pushed the bin of soft tipped markers towards him to write with, which Dazai graciously accepted. He picked out a blue one. 

“You’re gonna be shit at it,” Chuuya warned, “It involves getting in touch with your feelings.” 

“Excuse you, I’m extremely in touch with my feelings! I touch my feelings all the time. We have a very intimate and highly physical relationship.” 

Chuuya hummed, neglecting to comment in order to finish whatever line he had been writing, and instead nodded to Poe to begin the impromptu literary lesson. The easy dismissal made him pout.

The other boy was irrelevant to Dazai, but he could be used as a tool to get closer to Chuuya, which was what really mattered, so he listened to the advice he was given. Poetry was, after all, not his area of expertise. But it was Poe’s. 

“The best place to start is with choosing a topic. It should be something you are passionate about,” Poe flipped through his own notebook anxiously, “like… here, I wrote this when I was first admitted; ‘I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, without the power to comprehend as men, at time, find themselves upon the brink of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.’” 

Though he was timid, Poe seemed to come alive as he quoted his poetry.

Well, come alive in the loosest sense, as he recited his work in the most depressing tone of voice imaginable. Even Chuuya lifted his nose from his notebook to look at Poe as if he’d just asked a florist if they had sunflowers that came in black.  

At both his and Dazai’s expressions, Poe looked horrified and more aggressively shuffled through his notebook to find something that would impress them. 

“Ah! Actually that was a bad example! … Okay how about this; ‘Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before-‘” 

“Okay I get it!” Dazai interrupted before Poe could continue on his speech. From the looks of his notebook, he could’ve kept reciting poetry until all their hairs turned gray. 

“Lots of exposition without clear messages; that’s what poetry is all about. I understand now.”  

Both Poe and Chuuya gave him humorless expressions, but Dazai ignored them, grabbing a felt tip marker and pressing it upon the unblemished paper with a flourish. 

Something he was passionate about... Obviously his first thought was suicide, but that was becoming a tiresome trope of his. He could only sing it’s praises for so long before it began to lose meaning.

Self harm was also an exhausted subject, but thanks to his current predicament, it was really all he could think of.

Passion described the things he couldn’t stop thinking about, right? Or was that obsession? There probably wasn’t a difference. 

Still, as his companions continued writing easily, Dazai stared blankly at his paper without moving.  

Noticing this, Chuuya thankfully took pity on him. 

“Usually I go on walks for inspiration when I can’t find any on my own,” The redhead continued, as if that was a possibility, “but when that’s not an option, I just write every thought that comes to mind and then go back to edit it later.” 

“Oh, so free association. That’s very healthy of you, slug.” 

“I don’t know what the fuck free association is but anything I do is healthier than the shit you do, mackerel.” 

Dazai humphed, not able to refute that. 

Looking back at his blank page though, he did take Chuuya’s advice. 

Write his unfiltered thoughts. Come back and dissect them later.  

Typically, he’d prefer to keep all of that business locked tight up inside his head, never to see the light of day, but it’s not like anyone here would sneak a peak at his writing. It was an accepted privacy with other patients. Not including the time he violated that rule of course. 

So he hunched over, blocking the others from viewing his work on the off chance that they were as inconsiderate as he was, and began writing everything that came to mind without any ulterior intentions. 

Opposite to when he drew his feelings, which only ever made him spiral deeper down the endless abyss inside of him, outlining them with words shockingly did calm him down, much to his chagrin. It was always bothersome when the therapists were right.

A tension he wasn’t even conscious of seemed to melt off his shoulders with each line he wrote. It was like all the baggage he was carrying had lightened just the tiniest bit. Even that small relief though, was euphoric.  

He lost himself in the flood of repressed emotions, no longer heavily guarding his paper so paranoiacally.

Looking back at his work, though a part of him did cringe at how melodramatic it all was, he was able to deconstruct everything so much better than when it was all stuck in his head like a psychotic red stringed conspiracy board. On paper, his problems didn’t appear nearly as overwhelming as they felt. If only it could’ve taken apart his desire for self mutilation as well. 

“Ahhh, I feel so much better now. You might be onto something with this poetry stuff!” 

Chuuya, finished with his own writing for now, looked at him unamused, though Dazai paid his judgment no mind. Poe was too lost in his own work to even look up at them. 

“It’s the one of the most common coping techniques. Everyone uses it. Of course it works dumbass.” 

“But I’m not like the other girls,” Dazai batted his eyelashes, “this is really new for me. Aren’t you proud?” 

His grandioseness didn’t affect Chuuya; it never did.

The redhead rolled his eyes and, before Dazai even realized that he was going to do it, stole Dazai’s page out from under him as easily as one would a hat off someone’s head. 

Humiliation, panic, betrayal; those were not emotions Dazai admitted he felt often.

When his darkest secrets exposed in plain writing were snatched without his consent, he felt all of those and more. His heart leapt into his throat, his muscles tightened, his jaw clenched, and his eyes widened. As Chuuya scanned over his heart and soul with a furrowed brow, Dazai couldn’t breathe. 

Oh god. Even his scars being on full display wasn’t as awful as this. As Chuuya having full view of his deepest, darkest secrets. How could he have been so stupid as to trust that no one would breach his privacy like this? 

Was this how Chuuya felt when he looked at his poems? If so, then Dazai would have to spend the rest of his miserable life trying to make it up and apologize to Chuuya for such a horrible and violating act, because this was- 

“The fuck?” Chuuya scrunched his nose in confusion, but Dazai barely noticed over the black spots blurring his vision. “This is complete nonsense?” 

Luckily the blasphemy of that made Dazai blink out of his panic.  

That was all of his innermost thoughts written in plain writing! Nonsense?! 

“Huh?”  

He wasn’t even coherent enough to properly express his bewilderment. 

“This? It’s all? What even is this?” Chuuya squinted down at the paper as if it would help him see better. 

Dazai snatched back his poem, scanning it himself for whatever Chuuya was confused about, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

He wrote down things in the exact way he thought them. 

There were the scientific equations to explain how visual light registered through the cones behind his irises and then sent a signal to his brain which connected with the dopamine receptors there that made his head lighter and heart race. Following this were the musical notes for the beginning chords of Nocturnes Op.9 No.2 in E flat major. Interspersed between each splotch of ink were tiny runic symbols reinterpreting the meaning behind each of those notes. All of this, of course, was within and around a line graph displaying the local crime rates from the 1920s to current day… 

He was basically confessing his love in plain writing! Not to mention straight up admitting that he was in possession of what the hospital would technically classify as a contraband weapon. 

His cheeks flushed bright red as he realized Chuuya was probably teasing him and trying to get him to say these salacious things out loud. Well good luck with that, idiot. 

“Nice try chibi. I’m not going to explain my metaphors to you.” 

“Metaphors?” Chuuya choked out a laugh of disbelief, “You just wrote a bunch of math!” 

Dazai didn’t see the problem. 

“Well what did you write then? Since you’re so much better at this than me.”  

He didn't want to be defensive about it, but alas he was. Those were his raw, unfiltered thoughts!

Although he’d read some of his work before, it was clear Chuuya was extremely prolific and would definitely have something to share that Dazai hadn’t already peaked at. Something new, and hopefully just as revealing as Dazai’s own. 

Chuuya gave an exasperated huff and paged through his notebook.

They were doing a little impromptu poetry read at this point. It was kinda cute, and they had to take whatever little entertainment they could get in here. 

“You want poetry, I’ll show you fucking poetry,” The redhead muttered, clearing his throat loudly and garnering the attention of the entire room, even those that weren’t privy to their conversation, “In my head, since when I'm not sure, an unhappy pierrot was living; he dressed in a silk gauze costume and bathed in the moonlight. Sometimes he, with effeminate hands, gestured repeatedly, but I never understood his meaning, and I only made him sad. As he gestured, he moved his mouth, but it was like watching an old shadow play - there was no sound at all, and what he said I didn't understand. White on him the moonlight glowed; in the strange bright mist, his dim figure was slowly moving; only his eyes all along looked gentle.'" 

He finished speaking, the last sound slipping from his tongue and lapping the room in silence.  

Mere seconds after the eerie quiet though, someone clapped. And then everyone clapped. And then people were applauding and whistling for Chuuya’s little recital. Dazai almost felt like he was in a dream. 

It was so ridiculous he could cry, but instead he just joined in on the clapping. 

Although he thought Chuuya had obviously done this with the purpose of performing, he seemed to fumble with the praise, eyes widening and mouth already spewing out a contradictory mix of humble and arrogant responses. The behavior made the seed of a smile on Dazai’s face bloom into a full flower. 

Too much noise was discouraged though, so they were quickly shushed before it could become more than just applause.

As they quieted however, Yosano came over separately to subtly compliment Chuuya. From the shy way the boy grinned with pride, Dazai could tell that he didn’t mind that at all. 

Once she went back to watching the rest of the room, and they had their small illusion of privacy again, Dazai turned to Chuuya with a genuine smile.  

“Absolutely inspiring, my petite poet.” 

“Shut the fuck up. At least mine makes sense.” 

“I was complimenting you!”

"Sure.” 

Dazai was about to further protest the denial of his genuine praise but it was at this time that a certain pink menace cautiously stepped up to them. 

The change in Chuuya’s demeanor was immediate and noticeable. The pride and humor completely gone, replaced with apprehension.

Further assessing the situation, Dazai noted that Yosano had an eye glued to them, her body tensed and prepared to step in. It was comforting to know they had backup, even if Yuan was the least intimidating person in the world seeing as she was too pathetic to ever be viewed as more than bubblegum stuck under a lousy student’s desk, chewed up and long forgotten, only to make its presence known whenever a hand brushed against the sticky substance, disgusted. 

“Hey Chuuya... can we... talk?” 

Every cell in Dazai buzzed with a want to protect Chuuya from even interacting with this clown, but it was Chuuya’s choice on how to respond. Dazai would not choose for him.

In writing out his feelings, Dazai had unwittingly unraveled the ways in which he adored Chuuya and in doing so, discovered how to treat him as his crush.  

Everything he touched, Dazai would inevitably corrupt. This was an unshakeable truth.

Dazai didn’t want to mold and manipulate Chuuya into being anything other than what he already was. It was Chuuya that he was attracted to; his ideas, actions, choices, beliefs... If Dazai tried to influence any of those, he would smother something beautiful. 

So he remained silent, and only watched attentively. 

The redhead struggled to find words for a second, looking increasingly conflicted the longer they all sat still.

He did respond though, not one to run away from anything, including emotional confrontation. 

“Yeah,” He nodded slowly, “we can talk.” 

He didn’t say anything further, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t the one who approached first. 

With the responsibility of continuing the conversation back to Yuan, the girl glanced at Dazai with poorly veiled detestation. 

“I wanted to talk to him alone.” She amended, not bothering to speak politely. 

“Swell,” Dazai smiled thinly, “but I’m not going anywhere.”  

“Dazai.” The other boy’s tone left no room for debate. It was commanding, and nothing else needed to be said for him to get the message. 

He huffed, but didn’t want to press his luck with Chuuya as much as he already had been doing the entirety of their time together. This was a personal matter, he could tell that much. 

Although Dazai thought that by now they’d gotten past that whole thing, with both of their privacy's being broken multiple times, apparently there were still things Chuuya wanted to leave Dazai out of. This being a particularly frustrating one, as it had to do with a figure from Chuuya’s illusive past. There were key things she could've revealed that would've helped greatly with their investigation.

Still, he begrudgingly acquiesced without a complaint. 

Though he wasn’t allowed in the conversation, that didn’t mean he couldn’t observe from afar.

For his ideal vantage point, Dazai chose to stand next to Yosano near the entrance, as people went in and out of the room to meet with visitors. Thankfully, Mori didn’t appear among the family and guardians that showed up, his patience for Dazai seemingly reaching its limits days ago. At least that was one positive after what felt like thousands of negatives. 

“Doctor, did you know that writing poetry is actually pretty helpful? It’s crazy how that works.” 

Starting up small talk as he spied on them would both lower suspicion and possibly reap benefits such as a better reputation with Yosano and the staff. This was a normal thing to both want and act upon. 

“Crazy,” Yosano gave him a sarcastic smile, “It’s almost like we recommend coping mechanisms like this for a reason.” 

“Almost,” Dazai grinned, “according to Chuuya, I did it wrong.” 

Across the room, Yuan and Chuuya quietly had what looked like a civil conversation, albeit a very serious one. Both their faces were grim and bodies stiff, but there were no outbursts.

“You can’t do poetry wrong.”

“You underestimate my ability to incorrectly perform any task.” 

Yosano laughed, which was music to Dazai’s ears. He hadn’t even been trying to clown around, just speaking the truth. 

“Compared to Nakahara, I suppose anyone would feel that way,” The doctor crossed her arms over her chest and relaxed against the wall, lips gently tilted up, “the kid has talent.” 

“Yeah,” Dazai sighed dreamily, eyes glued to the talented chibi across the room. He couldn’t tell from here whether their conversation was nearing it’s end or not.

Without Chuuya to distract him from his thoughts, the cool metal against his forearm became again impossible to ignore, leaving him itchy all over.   

Writing had helped, as reluctant as he was to admit it, but he was not cured of the vivid imagery of blood and exposed fat cells that flashed at him every time he closed his eyes.

As much as he tried to convince himself that of course he wouldn’t actually use the blade, there was a reason it was hidden close to him and not disposed of as it should’ve been. 

Dazai sighed again, less dreamily.  

“Can you read what I wrote and tell me what it means using your special therapist insight?” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow in surprise but with no judgement. She checked the clock on the wall presumably to see how much time was left before they would have to separate for fake-school. Dazai batted his eyelashes when she turned back to him and she huffed, shrugging. 

“Sure. That is kind of my job.” 

He handed the slip of unassuming paper to her, trying not to show his anxiety.  

Chuuya hadn’t understood what he wrote. That could’ve been because he was just stupid, or perhaps Dazai’s poem truly was written in accidental ciphers. Whatever Yosano interpreted from it would solve this dilemma. 

She was silent as she carefully examined every word and symbol outlining his thoughts, her face revealing none of her own. It was not as unsettling as it was a reassurance. She was a professional, and would treat him with that kind of detached, objective respect.

That was a familiar and comforting kind of treatment for him. An emotionless expression felt like home.

When she finished, Yosano remained impassive, but she leveled Dazai with a discerning stare. The sheer unreadability of her made Dazai wonder, not for the first time, what her relationship was with Mori. Fukuzawa worked with him apparently, but Yosano also knew him somehow. In what way, or what the nature of their relationship was, Dazai didn’t know.

This aura was nearly identical to his, though without the additional snobbery.

“What does this mean to you, Dazai?” 

He blinked. 

“Can’t you read it and tell me?” 

The doctor hummed, looking back at the paper, “Poetry is like all other art; it's up for interpretation. I don’t think it’s my interpretation of this that really matters. What were you trying to let out here? What did you want to say?” 

Dazai opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then finally he closed it, forming a pout.  

It was obvious, wasn’t it? 

But, he supposed, repeating how obvious the message was did not actually explain a single thing about it.

He took back the paper and scanned his own words, both knowing that he wrote them and yet also needing to decipher his own creation. That was the purpose of free association after all, wasn’t it? 

To begin with the chemical equations- 

That was the most obvious part.  

What he saw and witnessed made him feel a certain type of way. The image of Chuuya, his bright red hair, his stunning blue eyes, the colors of him transferred through the cones in Dazai’s irises and created a message sent to his brain that described the form he was viewing. Every time this happened, meaning every time he looked at Chuuya, he felt a rush of the dopamine activating. That was how he knew he was attracted to Chuuya, because he was having a physiological reaction to the simple sight of him.

This process wasn’t limited to Chuuya though. The shine of the blade, the red of blood, the expressions people made that reminded him of expressions that others had made in his past, all of it made different emotional receptors in his brain activate. It was the knowledge that this chemical reaction was both natural and involuntary that gave him some relief of any responsibility over his feelings.

Following this with the musical notes, besides the fact that the song was simply stuck in his head and one of his favorites, was reinterpreted via the runes scrawled over each note, as the song was also art. Similarly to the poem itself, the song could be heard differently by each person who heard it. It utilized the rounded binary or in simpler terms, repetition with the opportunity for rhythmic freedom.

The repetition of self harm. The way he could not escape the cycle of his addiction, even with the freedom of choice that he had. The biblical and sisyphean nature of this tune in which he sung.

The addition of the runes was only to emphasize how trapped he was. Trapped in the past, in the form of ancient runic symbols which had lost their original meaning today. It was the same as his cutting, which had an original purpose whose rhetoric he repeated even though he was no longer sure that it's true.

Finally, the graph displaying crime rates from the 1920’s to now, of which he only knew thanks to his photographic memory, was so all encompassing that he had to overwrite everything else within it. The better question regarding that section’s meaning was what didn’t it represent about his subconscious thoughts.

The economic boom of the 1920s only to fall into a great depression and how that impacted the crime rates. How crime was directly interconnected with money, and how he blamed all the crimes committed against him on this correlation. How it wasn’t his fault that he was born into wealth, but how he would inherit both the benefits and the tragedies that arose from it.

The metaphor of how his depression and mental illness only continued to get worse and even if there was a brief moment that he got better, it never lasted.

The cycle repeating again and again, never learning from history.

It was about his history, his life, and worse, a prediction of his future. 

“It wasn’t meant to be seen. This wasn’t to show anyone else, it was supposed to be for me,” He finally answered, not looking up to meet Yosano’s eyes and therefore not noticing the soft smile she had for him. 

“And how do you feel about it, now that you’ve gotten it all out?” 

God, these therapists were so contradictory, being both awful at their jobs and yet being the best help he’d ever had. Despite the horrendous character flaw of being a doctor at all, Yosano was a good one. 

How did he feel about it? 

Well, he felt miserable.

He also knew now what he needed to do, and what he should've done from the start.

“Can I go to the bathroom, Doctor Yosano?”

He answered her question with another question, calling her by her preferred title to appeal to her more lenient side, but if she recognized the tiniest amount of manipulation, she didn’t seem to care. 

Yosano studied his face for any nefarious plans, but for once, Dazai was genuinely earnest. This time, he was not using the bathroom excuse to do something hurtful. 

“Fine,” She nodded, not quite trusting, “but you know the rules. Ten minutes.” 

He had no objections to that. What he needed to do would take no time at all. 

Back in his shared room with Fyodor, which thankfully the ratty piece of shit wasn’t lingering around in, he closed the curtain to the bathroom and carefully unwound his bandages. 

The blade felt heavy in his fingers, but through his eyes it looked so incredibly small. Insignificant.

How could something so minuscule hold such weight?

The how of it didn’t matter, he ultimately decided. What mattered was that it did. 

With no further apprehension, Dazai unceremoniously dropped the blade into the toilet and flushed it before he could think too hard and change his mind. It would look outrageously pathetic if he fell to his knees and stuck his hands in the toilet water just to retrieve it again now.

The blade disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. As if it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing. 

Dazai didn’t... not want to be depressed. And he certaintly didn’t want to stop cutting. 

But before he was a self harmer, he was first and foremost a curious and scientific mind. He didn’t know whether it was Chuuya, Yosano, or himself that reminded him of that fact. Either way, he remembered.  

He’d been stuck on this page, in this endless and inescapable cycle of chemical processes and criminal statistics and musical notes, and nothing had ever changed. He never wanted it to change.

But he did want it to now.

He craved the knowledge of what could be, of what could happen if he flipped the page and wrote on the other side. Or even if he destroyed the paper altogether and opened a new notebook. 

This new pursuit of something different might very well kill him, but even if it did, he would die trying.

He would die trying.

Chapter Text

It should’ve felt good to flush a blade and reject self mutilation for the first time in his life, and on some level it definitely did, but it also made him queasy. 

Dazai thrived on contingency plans. For every situation he had backup plans upon backup plans prepped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Suicide, while also just straight up being something he wanted, was his pride and joy of all fallbacks. 

Everything suddenly going to shit and him somehow ending up out on the streets? Suicide. Failing to eventually find a job or career path? Suicide. Being horrifically injured to the point he couldn’t function normally anymore? Suicide. Pushing everyone around him away and ending up completely alone? Suicide.

It was a comfort to know he would never be left scrambling, because if ever a situation did arise where he had no options left and all was hopeless, he could simply give up and die and that would be a totally fine outcome.

In throwing away his escape, he’d left himself defenseless. 

But... he also felt... proud of himself.

He was proud.

That... was such an unfamiliar feeling. Even when doing the things he actively wanted to do, he’d never made a decision that he was happy with. Dazai’s self hatred knew no bounds; he didn’t feel good about anything he did.

Except this.

Even though he was unnoticeably shaking and felt miserable, he was also brimming with excitement. He wanted to shout it out to the world, or in his case at least to the facility.

Look at me! I’m recovering! I’m making healthy choices! Aren’t you proud of me? Didn’t I do good?

Unfortunately other people would probably not recognize how huge this was for him, they might even get mad at him for keeping the blade in the first place. For most people, the very fact that keeping the razor had been a debatable issue for him was a problem in itself.

Still, he wanted to scream and jump around and throw things and shake people, in a good way of course. But he was not Chuuya and would not have the excuse of blacking out if he acted on those impulses. 

He wanted to tell Chuuya so bad.

Dazai practically skipped back to the room, to the utter bemusement of all the staff in the hallway. So caught up in the euphoria of having done something that surely some people would praise him for if they knew, he nearly forgot that he’d left Chuuya in an intense discussion with Yuan.

Thankfully nobody was knocked out or engaged in a fist fight when he got back, but they were still deep into their conversation, both ignorant to the world around them. 

And he really shouldn’t interrupt their conversation... especially when it looked so serious... especially when he had been explicitly told to leave earlier...

Dazai merrily jumped back into a seat at their table, startling both its occupants, who subsequently became enraged. 

“I told you to fuck off.” Chuuya growled, openly glaring at him. 

Dazai blinked, his grin stuck in place.

“No, it's okay. We’re done here.” Yuan dropped her hands onto the table and pushed herself up. She then leveled an actually successfully unreadable look towards Chuuya. 

Whatever their silent conversation entailed, he wasn’t privy to it. It was very rude to talk as if he wasn’t there, and even ruder to do it in a way he couldn’t translate. But Dazai was still riding the high of doing something good and he didn’t let it affect him.

She left without another word, seemingly satisfied with the conclusion of their talk. Though he wasn’t thrilled to see Yuan pleased, Chuuya also looked a little lighter, so he let it slide.

“What’s got you so chipper? Think of a new suicide method or something?”

The words were at the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Though he wanted to tell Chuuya everything, this was something that must remain private. 

“Just happy to see pinky leave!” Dazai cheered easily, “Sad to see her still in one piece though. What did you two kiddos talk about?”

“You’re a kid too,” Chuuya grumbled again, continuing with, “it’s none of your business.”

Dazai pouted, and it felt like the good old days of a week ago. 

“But Chuuuuuya-” He whined, “Everything is my business.”

“Not this.”

He humphed, slumping his front half onto the table in front of Chuuya.

The situation was a mutually felt one, Dazai also had something that wasn’t necessarily Chuuya’s business, but still-

Widening his eyes, Dazai gave him a pleading puppy dog look. He was not above begging. He had no shame whatsoever.

Rather than fall for it, Chuuya scoffed with partial disgust and amusement. Even the smallest hint of a laugh from that beautiful voice made his stomach burn.

“Come on,” Dazai prodded further, “You’re just gonna say it in group anyway. Gimme a little hint.”

Chuuya seemed to resent this prediction, a visible guard coming up despite the fact that he would undoubtedly divulge. It would be a while until afternoon group, but Dazai’s point was still correct. Chuuya would almost certainly spill whatever revelations he had come to later.

Still, he shook his head.

“You’ll figure it out with everyone else.”

“But aren’t I special?” 

Chuuya grinned now, “You are very special,” he pat Dazai’s head as it rested on the table and his brain short circuited, “Especially stupid. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, he got up and walked towards Yosano, completely oblivious to Dazai’s bright red face which he had buried in his arms. He pressed his warm cheeks against the cool tabletop in an attempt to diminish the blush.

Aahhh, why did Chuuya have to do such things! Didn’t he know they tore Dazai apart?

Although similarly to his poem, maybe nobody would know what he was feeling until he told them. That was frustrating. Masking emotions was exactly what he'd crafted himself to do since birth, and yet it was completely contradictory to what he needed to do now in recovery.

Regardless, Chuuya had left to speak with the therapist, and Dazai was alone, both resenting and appreciating that fact as he hid his embarrassment. 

Chuuya had pet him. Like a dog. As a joke. And yet the touch lingered on his scalp and invaded all of his senses.

If only he could feel a single touch without being wholly dismantled.

He wished Ranpo was still here. He would’ve slid in with some annoyingly accurate assessment and knocked Dazai out of his fuzz.

But he wasn’t there. So Dazai had to pull himself out, shaking his head and lifting it from the cover of his arms. 

Thankfully by the time he did, they’d made it to lunch time, so he just followed the group mindlessly, maybe chatting with Atsushi, though he wasn’t sure what they talked about. He wasn’t sure what he ate either, mostly spending the time staring at Chuuya whenever the redhead wasn’t looking. 

They made it through to afternoon free time agonizingly slowly. Fake school and gym dragged on, especially for someone who wasn’t athletic or cared enough to do something substantial in fake school. It wasn’t like they were actually graded or anything anyway. Not that he would’ve cared if they were, but it was doubly as pointless when both he and the academic system as a whole didn’t care what they did within the facility.

Making it to the afternoon though, and the doctor switching from Yosano to Kunikida, Dazai wasted no time in latching onto Chuuya as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Though this time, the bulk of all the patients were sitting together at the same table. It made sense, though he was reluctant to sit at the same table as Fyodor.

There weren’t many of them left. 

“Chuuuyyaaa~”

“What? You don’t need to drag out my name every time.” Chuuya complained.

Dazai didn’t want to say that he liked the way his name felt on his tongue, so he just shrugged.  

“He just likes annoying you, I think.” Atsushi called him out without a second thought, ruthlessly exposing him in front of everyone.

“It’s not annoying! Right, Chhhuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyaaaaaa~”

The aforementioned redhead looked like he was seconds away from pushing Dazai’s face away, but the guards wouldn’t have allowed that after all of their recent physical altercations, and Chuuya knew it.

Dazai couldn’t wait until they were both out of here. Then they could grab onto each other and never let go.

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, “you’re like if a mosquito could talk.”

Dazai put his hands on his cheeks and swayed in his seat, “Aaaah~ Chuuya should stop saying such nice things or I’ll fall in love!”

Nobody needed to know how close to the truth that joking statement was. Dazai wasn't sure if he even knew what love was, but with the way his body increasingly lost control in Chuuya's vicinity, he was starting to think he might be experiencing it already.

It should have been a horrifying realization, but instead of dread, all he felt was peace. It was as if stating an irrefutable fact, there was no sense in trying to deny it.

His beautiful, confused friend scrunched his eyebrows up.

“It was an insult? I called you annoying.” Chuuya clarified, as if he was no longer quite sure what he’d said. 

“Ah but you said the most annoying. I am number one in chibi’s eyes.”

Rather than let them continue their ‘lovers quarrel’, as Dazai dreamily narrated it in his head, Atsushi interrupted again.

“Do you guys think therapy can help someone be… not annoying?” He asked, somewhat nervously.

“Why? Did someone call you annoying too?”

Dazai tilted his head, both knowing that he was perpetuating his reputation as an annoying asshole, and performing solely to support it.

“No- well, yeah but… not as a joke.”

Chuuya leveled the white haired teen with a deadpan look, “I wasn’t joking.” 

Atsushi raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Sure… still though, do you think it’s… treatable?”

While the question was an innocent, albeit naive one, Dazai’s eyes softened. Being called annoying could crush a person. Not him, but someone like Atsushi would of course take such a comment too close to heart.

He himself had no problem being annoying. It was hardly his worst trait. There was nothing overtly toxic about what a nuisance he was. In fact, it was one of his better traits, as it was one that got him attention without the expense of anyone’s feelings.

Well, mostly without that expense. He was sure that annoying people would probably affect their feelings worse after repeated exposure. Or perhaps it was rather like a poison, and after time people could grow an immunity to Dazai's thorn in their side.

Regardless, Dazai had seen entire personalities smothered by the word. 

It was a foolish, childish question, but to Atsushi, it could mean the death of who he was. The smothering of a personality. At least for the years it would take him to shake off the words. For people more affected by what others thought, it was near a death sentence.

“If it was treatable, I would be much more boring.” Dazai reassured, but Chuuya scoffed at him.

“You are a terrible example for this. You’re also so stupidly suicidal, but that actually is treatable.” The redhead crossed his arms, turning back to the younger teen. “Being annoying is a state of mind. Who gives a fuck if someone else calls you annoying?”

Both of their advice was bad, but Atsushi nodded hesitantly as if he was genuinely considering it as valid. Such an adorable little fool.

Unfortunately for him, Dazai didn’t think it was a serious enough problem to correct. He only smiled and nodded, not bothering with the effort of going into the nuances of the subject.

“Besides, you don’t need to worry about how annoying you are because I’m the most annoying, and that's all that matters.” Dazai preened, attempting to and succeeding at changing the conversation to something lighter. 

Therapy talk was for therapy. They weren’t supposed to be getting into that kind of stuff now. 

Chuuya groaned and rolled his eyes, clearly regretting his earlier choice of words. However, he didn’t get the chance to continue their banter.

“Every single one of you is annoying.”

Speaking of therapy, Kunikida intruded quite rudely, appearing above them like an oppressive knight upon a group of weary travelers, “Now move your chairs into a circle and we can discuss that.”

The kids groaned but did as he said. 

Most everyone knew not to get on Yosano’s bad side, that was common knowledge. What some people hadn’t found out yet was that Kunikida could be just as hellish when disobeyed. He was just more vocal than physical in his discipline.

Everyone did as ordered and gathered for the afternoon session. 

It would be the perfect time to brag to everyone about flushing his blade, but that would lead to questions as to why he had it in the first place, and that was a rabbit hole he was not particularly itching to go down. He sat quietly, insides rolling but externally motionless in his chair next to Chuuya.

He compared the other to a dog all the time but honestly, Dazai was the one always dutifully sitting next to him. Maybe he was the one more closely related to a dog. The thought was too inconceivable to entertain, so he buried it.

Once they got through the usual introductions, Kunikida eased them into the lesson of the day, which was not about the concept of being annoying, but rather about competition.

“I know this might not apply to everyone here, but I believe it can still be something useful to dissect. Self destructive behaviors can often become competitive when around other people doing the same behaviors. Unknowingly or not, everyone here has had experience with that. Mental illness clusters, and I’m sure many of you have friends or family that also have a mental illness. When two people are doing the same activity though, it has the potential to become a competition of ‘who has it worse’ which ultimately keeps each of them trapped in their behavior,” He started.

Without a doubt, Dazai preached that to be true.

Whenever he saw another person with scars, especially ones open on display, he had this strange need to compare them to his own. 

Who cut deeper? Who cut more? Who was worse?

It was sickening. One of the many things he hated himself for doing.

He was sure it was the same for other behaviors, he’d seen it before. Especially eating disorders. Dazai went on enough websites as a kid to see the horrible ‘pro-ana’ accounts that encouraged such competition. Encouraged the worsening of their illness.

It made him sick to his stomach.

Again, his depression and suicidal ideation was entirely selfish. He did not want to involve others in his shit, especially not to have them join him.

And the whole point of the innate competitiveness was so Dazai could win it. It would be stupid to give away tips to others on how to be better at being the worst.

Kunikida continued.

“This is something very important to watch out for, especially at places like this, where you are surrounded by people with problems that may be similar to your own. Be careful not to compare your level of trauma with the others here. It is a game that no one wins, and it only feeds your illness more.”

Though Dazai did love feeding his illness more…

Kunikida needed to make this sound less enticing. He hated the competitiveness of self destructive behavior, but he was very attracted to anything that would make him worse.

Although, these thoughts were things he should be working on. As he promised Fukuzawa, and as he intended to follow through. He had already shown improvement; throwing out the blade being a big step. It was something that he would never have done in the past.

Dazai huffed at this thought.

It felt good, or at least some kind of emotion that he assumed to be a good one, but it also felt almost embarrassing to try. 

If he didn’t try and got worse, then it made sense. It was logical for him to be a mess. Everyone expected him to be a mess. He didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t a mess.

But if he did try, and failed to recover... the humiliation of that. It would be pathetic. It was far easier to not try, and to let himself spiral until an attempt became a success. 

Regardless of how annoying it would be though, he said he would try.

He’d been trying. Since he already started, he might as well continue. Stopping now would look like giving up, which was even worse than just giving into the loss.

At least if he failed to recover, he could blame something other than himself for the failure, like therapy as a whole or the medications not working. Giving up would leave responsibility solely weighted on his shoulders.

“As we’ve discussed before, it's important to understand why we feel this way. Does anyone have an idea as to why self destructive behaviors have this inherent competitiveness?”

Kunikida’s question was met with shuffling in place and wary looks exchanged between friends and acquaintances alike.

There were many aspects of mental illness that were universally known and recognized, but not talked about. In fact, it could be borderline sacrilegious to explain the thoughts, even if they were felt by all of them. 

Intrusive thoughts were the worst, and people who didn’t get them couldn’t understand the true agony of them. They were shameful to admit ever having crossed the mind. Things that couldn’t be shared even when flaying oneself solely to be judged. Some of them could be too abhorrent for even him to romanticize.

Perhaps Dazai was just projecting, and not everyone knew the unspoken truths, but with the way everyone exchanged such accusatory glances, it very much seemed like everyone was familiar.

Not that he was about to speak up and out himself as someone who thought such things. 

Mentally ill thoughts were complicated like that. Even if they all knew that they felt the same, to say it out loud was entirely different. Admitting that those type of toxic, despicable thoughts were running rampant in each of their collective consciousnesses; it would have been tantamount to admitting that you were a serial killer. 

A terrible person with terrible thoughts. An irredeemable monster.

Luckily, Chuuya was always braver at facing this than any of the rest of them.

“It’s about wanting to win. Aren’t all competitions about that?” The redhead asked. Though the way he asked was very questioning of Kunikida’s credibility, which Dazai found extremely amusing. 

The doctor’s mouth twisted, “Well, technically yes, but it is more than just that. What does the winner get? What does the loser get?”

Dazai mourned Ranpo’s absence, as he was also one to compulsively answer easy questions like that in order to showcase his intelligence. The only other one who might do that would be Poe, but apparently he did not realize how easy the question was. Fyodor also was suspiciously silent, though the shitty disgusting quirk of his lips indicated that he knew the answer as well.

Their little group really had diminished in numbers. There were barely enough of them left to answer the question competently. 

Dazai chose not to sigh dramatically, though it was a close thing.

“Nobody wins anything. Everyone loses.” He explained, in as basic terms as he could for the inferior minds in his presence. 

The doctor beamed though, so he must’ve done a good job of it. 

“Yes, exactly! It is an unwinnable competition. The question still has yet to be answered though. We all know that there is no prize, so why compete at all? What imaginary prize does manifest in the brain?”

Dazai didn’t want to answer again, because that was a slightly more personal question, but luckily the others got over themselves enough to begin to contribute. 

“It validates your trauma,” Lucy supplied, very matter-of-factly, “Like, if my symptoms are worse than someone else’s, then I’m not, I don’t know, faking it?”

“Yeah,” Yuan nodded enthusiastically, which would have been weird based on the current topic, but Dazai knew it was only because of the feeling of a shared connection and experience, “I’m always so worried that everyone thinks I’m just being dramatic.”

You are just being dramatic. 

-Is what Dazai didn’t say, because that would have started a fight, and he was more mature than that. He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back for not giving into his meaner thoughts. A true mascot for self control.

“But it’s also about wanting to win,” Chuuya argued, scanning the group with narrowed eyes, “It’s about wanting to be the best at what you do. Even if what you do is kinda fucked up.”

“It can be about several things to different people,” Kunikida again intruded before someone could respond, “There doesn’t need to be one sole reason for anything, especially within the realm of mental illness. But now that we know some reasons why we feel this way, what are some things we can do to stop ourselves from acting on this toxic behavior?”

While Dazai believed he was an expert on holding back his impulses (though he chose not to hold back his toxic behavior), this particular one wasn’t something he had to struggle to restrain. 

He won every competition he was in. There was no need to overcompensate and try to make himself seem like a bigger victim.

He wasn’t a victim, he was a perpetrator, so there was no need to pretend to be the one in need of the most pity. It wasn’t like pity could offer anything substantial anyway, even if he did receive it.

“Just don’t do it,” Chuuya announced. Everyone in the circle looked at him exactly as one would expect someone to after saying such an ignorant statement. At the looks he received, Chuuya bristled defensively, “What?”

“That’s like saying ‘just don’t have blackouts.’” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest, an indignant expression on her face. 

Chuuya immediately protested.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Kunikida again interjected before Chuuya could dig himself into a deeper hole, “Though it could have been said more sensitively, Nakahara is on the right track. A huge part of stopping yourself from continuing destructive behavior is to acknowledge that you do it, that it’s bad, and that you would like to stop doing it. It’s not something you can just do without thinking, you have to decide not to, and then decide to put in the effort to follow through with that decision.”

To be fair to him, it did sound like something Chuuya would be able to do effortlessly. Having the willpower to stop oneself from an act that the mental illness decided was necessary. Obviously, it could only work to a certain extent, as evidenced by the mere existence of blackouts, but still. Dazai couldn’t help but further idolize Chuuya for his exemplary self control in other such issues. 

The subject of self control, mind over matter, was as all psychological subjects; a delicate one. Some people found it very easy to control themselves through sheer willpower, while some saw it as a nigh impossible, herculean task.

The ones who found it easy often couldn't understand how other people didn’t find it easy. Or at least, they couldn’t comprehend being told that they couldn’t do something, and then be physically proven as unable to. 

As with most things, it was about control, or the lack thereof. Something that Chuuya should have known a lot about. Alas, he was more simple-minded than that.

“What about the people that want to get worse?” Fyodor’s stupidly mellow voice spoke up, “What can be done for the people that want to continue sinking down and drag as many people down with them as they can?”

Dazai gagged at the melodrama of it all. 

He turned towards Chuuya to roll his eyes but Chuuya just frowned at him in response.

Dazai scrunched his nose up. A poet like him probably would see Fyodor’s language as normal. To Dazai, he sounded like a pretentious edge lord. Which was exactly what Fyodor was.

“Good question, Dostoevsky. We can start answering that by remembering some of the reasons people want to stay where they are or get worse. Does anyone want to go over those reasons again?”

Nobody spoke up, so Kunikida continued.

“There are several answers to this that we agreed upon in the past. But I’ll restate them for anyone new. Everyone has different experiences and combinations of reasons for it, but some of the most common are that it's comfortable. Change is scary, even if its a change for the better. It could also be that it’s easier. It’s a lot less effort to give up than to try. Or it could be tied in with something similar to hypochondriacs. They want to get worse for more attention or care from others, which I should say is not an inherently bad thing. In regards to the competitive nature, it could be that some people simply don’t want to be alone in their suffering. There are several reasons. Dostoevsky’s question, however, was about how to help people who cannot or will not help themselves. That is not something we need to discuss.” 

The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose, his tone changing to something more grim. There was a palpable shift of energy in the room.

“You are all here to work on yourselves, not to help others. Each of you needs to focus on your own recovery without getting distracted. If you do not want to utilize our help then you will only prolong your stay, if not here then at another hospital or correctional facility. We will not let you leave unless you can convince us that you are stable and have an outpatient support system set up on the outside. You can only do this by working on yourselves, instead of thinking how to help others.”

It remained silent. 

Dazai sighed, slumping the slightest bit in his seat. How bothersome.

He already knew that this was how inpatients worked, but it still irked him to be given another reminder.

It felt like a personal callout to him. After all, a large part of the reason he was staying in recovery was to help Chuuya with finding out whatever was going on with him. 

He’d been in enough hospitals that they’ve become almost a second home to him. They at least felt more like a home than Mori’s ginormous but depressingly empty house.

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to be stuck in here with no freedom.

A place could only truly feel like home to him if it were completely separated from society. Somewhere he could be alone and unsupervised. Perhaps a cabin in the woods or something similarly isolated. Or maybe anywhere as long as he was with Chuuya.

That future was nothing but a pipe dream at this point though. Unless a grave counted as a home.

“But we’ve gotten a bit off topic now,” Kunikida went back to his usual professionally neutral self, “we were discussing competitiveness. Does anyone have any more thoughts on the matter?”

The session continued much the same.

Some people responded, some didn’t. Chuuya never ended up saying what he'd been hiding from Dazai earlier, which made the hairs on his arm stick up. He was not usually wrong about his predictions, although perhaps he should have known that Chuuya was an acception to that. They weren't sleeping in the same room anymore either now, so he wouldn't even have the opportunity to pester him about it before lights out.

Dazai was simply getting tired and lustfully thinking about his firm, uncomfortable mattress back in the room despite the lack of Chuuya's presence there. Fyodor had already tried the blade this morning so he probably wouldn't provoke Dazai again that night,  meaning he might even be able to get some sleep.

Was that really just this morning? The day felt like a decade.

But to reiterate: time moved differently in the psych ward. For example, though the entire day felt like it had been dragging on, after the afternoon session Dazai felt like all he did was blink and suddenly he was laying down on his bed. He couldn’t remember if he’d said goodnight to Chuuya or not, but he hoped his past self did. 

Before he could drift off (or more likely, pretend to sleep all night, either one was a very real possibility), a rat scurried in through his ear canal.

“You didn’t like my present, Dazai-kun?” 

Dazai glowered, fighting the childish urge to throw his pillow at the other boy. 

“If by present you mean the free tetanus, no, I didn’t like it. That would be an awfully painful way to go.”

He didn’t know why he even entertained Fyodor enough for a conversation. There was surely nothing good to come out of it.

Maybe he was bored.

“What a shame. I went through a lot to get it to you.”

Dazai highly doubted that. It was hard to get contraband in children's hospitals, but for people like them, it was child’s play.

“Not sorry to waste your time~!” 

“Oh, it wasn’t a waste. It was a very valuable learning experience.” Fyodor’s accompanying smile was slimy, and it made Dazai want to vomit.

How dare he assume that he could learn anything about Dazai that Dazai didn't want him to know.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Dazai rolled his eyes, finally sitting up to turn and face the bastard. “You want me so bad it makes you look stupid. So embarrassing…”

Fyodor’s expression didn’t change, but Dazai could tell he was annoyed by the slightest millisecond of a pause that he took before responding. It felt good to finally be getting on his nerves for once.

“Maybe you’re just the easiest target here.”

Dazai openly and haughtily laughed.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

Fyodor hummed, unbothered by Dazai’s dismissal of his claim, “Is it? No one else here is falling apart so much that they need to be held together with bandages.”

It wasn’t the first time someone tried to psychoanalyze his reason for wearing the bandages, but it was just as annoying as every other time. There was nothing he hated more than people assuming they could understand him when they didn’t know shit about him. Especially when it was about his bandages.

They did not hold him together. He didn't need to be held together. He wasn't falling apart.

Dazai had to bite back a snarl. Being defensive now would only prove the other boy’s point.

“Maybe it’s just a fashion statement.”

“We both know that’s a lie.” Fyodor threw his own words back at him, quite rudely.

Dazai didn’t dignify that with a response.

He was too exhausted to keep this going, unknowing of why he decided to indulge in the first place. Every conversation with the Russian left him riled up, and not in the exciting way that Chuuya's did. It was unpleasant and he didn't like it.

He simply turned back over and pulled the paper thin blanket up to his chest, “Goodnight Dostoevsky! I hope you die in your sleep!” 

“Likewise, Dazai-kun.” 

God, he was such a little bitch. 

…

The night nurse came in and told them to shut up (in nicer terms) because it was lights out, but that was fine by him. He never looked forward to lights out as much as he did when rooming with Fyodor.

Unfortunately, he didn't get a lot of sleep that night, as per usual. He spent most of the hours laying down with his eyes closed trying to slow his breathing into inducing sleep, but alas his mind was too awake to be fooled. 

Still, he emerged from the stiff mattress with all the energy of a groundhog in the spring. Fyodor again left without a word, though that was a blessing. After such an abysmal amount of actual sleep, any interaction was a chore.

His vitals, as always, were normal. The only normal thing about him. Breakfast passed much the same as always too, with little to nothing new or exciting. 

Every day was the same. From now until the end of his life, nothing would ever change.

Maybe his mental health was not particularly good this morning. 

The surprising light in Yosano the other day once again dumbfounded him. How could someone just wake up happy? Dazai didn’t know. One day, if this whole treatment thing worked out, he might. But today was not that day.

He walked into free time with his usual amount of disinterest. Half asleep and miserable.

At least Fyodor hadn’t left an unwelcome surprise under his pillow this time. He'd had the willpower to resist it yesterday, but he wasn't sure if the same could be said for today.

No one important had anything of note to say. With everything so boring, his depression felt justified. If nothing interesting was happening, then it made sense for him to be bored with it all. If the world was such a terrible place, then it made sense for him to be sick of it.

A part of him almost wished Mori would visit during visiting hours, just for something to shock him into life. But it seemed that his father had gone back to their usual routine of not showing up until he was discharged. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Part of him almost wanted the pain of being around Mori, just to at least feel something. Or maybe substitute that for the self harm he couldn’t do any more.

That blade was still on his mind.

He’d gotten rid of it, he was happy that he had, and he did not regret it. 

But just the feeling of it in his hands lingered. He couldn’t stop feeling a cold and sharp blade across his body. He couldn’t stop seeing his skin split open and bright red blood rising to the surface. He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head.

The whole experience wasn’t new. He’d had cravings before. It was more to do with the fact he could have cut, but chose not to.

Both sides of his brain were conflicting whether to feel good or bad about it, so he ended up feeling nothing. 

The day passed anyway.

It wasn’t until the small amount of time between the morning session and lunch time that something actually happened. But it wasn’t something good, or exciting, or thrilling. Apparently, his mind could only accept negative stimuli if it was within his own specific parameters of misery. What happened then was not.

Around midday, out of nowhere, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, a woman with hair closer to pink than red showed up. A familiar woman whom he had no information on whatsoever beyond the assumptions he could make about how she was as a sister.

Though he’d only seen her in passing during visiting hours, he could tell that the purpose of this visit wasn’t that. She remained when all the other visiting family members left, expectant and calm as always, if not with a little more excitement than usual in her posture.

It should have been nothing unusual. It should've been the same, unchanging day. Nothing new. Boring. 

He didn’t necessarily want it, but that was how it was supposed to be. His worldview wouldn’t allow for anything else.

And yet-

Chuuya left the room with his bags packed, having already been ready to go.

The redhead was unsurprised, but he was the only one that was, according to the shock of everyone else. They hadn't even had a little moment of sharing contact information and goodbyes. He didn't even get to give Chuuya a hug with the excuse of being exaggeratedly sad to see him go.

Chuuya was being discharged.

Chapter Text

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 anything about 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 relief he 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.

Chapter Text

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 just got 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