Work Text:
Why?
A white orchid weeping vermillion in the black tide of the night.
What went wrong?
A withered sunflower severed from its stalk, suspended in the sky.
Of course it was on the nicest day of the year.
A wistful smile stained saffron, like a pink snapdragon painted with pollen.
I hate when the weather’s nice like this—like it was back then.
Glittering waterfalls that cascaded no longer, drying into rusty chalk on rotten rafflesia remains.
I’ll always be reminded that I didn’t see until it was too late.
Creamy vanilla ice cream coruscating in the refulgent gold of the sun, melting, sizzling, screaming—molding into an acrid, bubbling, vomit-like glob.
That very same weather is also the most likely to turn you into its burn victim.
Chuuya didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d discovered Dazai hanging from the ceiling by a noose. Sanguine streams caked the arms and hands of the drooping body, and a half-dried pool of blood mixed with saliva stained the glistening floorboards. A wooden stool stood well within the range of a pair of long, dangling legs to support what once was a living, breathing human; the legs of the stool were engulfed and splattered by crimson.
The night that Chuuya discovered Dazai’s corpse marked the day of his and Dazai’s two-year anniversary as a couple. Chuuya could remember eating curry and rice for lunch with Dazai that same afternoon, and he could never forget how Dazai deliberately nudged a spoonful of curry against his cheek before kissing it away with an innocent smile. The night before that, the two leaned against each other on the couch while watching TV together. The morning before that, Chuuya awoke to a phone call at five in the morning from Dazai, who shrieked that he was being chased by a pack of ferocious dogs because he’d just eaten steak.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was nothing about Dazai’s behaviors or actions that would have suggested to Chuuya that Dazai was sincerely planning on taking his life. There were no notes, no disconcerting conversations beyond Dazai’s typical mentions of suicide, and seemingly no evidence that Chuuya could find that provided any clues. The possibility of murder was ruled out, Dazai had paid his usual bills less than two weeks prior to his death, and he still had receipts for groceries he’d purchased the day before his passing.
Chuuya didn’t understand. He didn’t know what he was missing. He didn’t see anything that could have suddenly pushed Dazai to his breaking point. He didn’t understand, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to understand.
Similarly, Chuuya couldn’t understand why he wasn’t sad. He wasn’t angry, either. He didn’t know what he felt other than a cloud-like space of emptiness in his routines that Dazai once occupied. Everything felt eerily normal, and it was like Dazai had merely been escorted overseas for work. Yet, Chuuya knew—perhaps better than anyone else—that Dazai was dead. He was cognizant of that fact the moment he saw the dried blood on Dazai’s corpse.
The suffocating normalcy of Chuuya’s life was only exacerbated by his fellow Port Mafia members. No one knew that he and Dazai were in a relationship, but it wasn’t uncommon for those in the Port Mafia to have heard of the history and partnership Chuuya and Dazai were renowned for as the duo of Double Black, also known as Twin Dark. As such, while Chuuya had been asked by a few others how he felt after losing his former partner in crime, no one knew that Dazai was the man Chuuya had devoted his heart to. No one knew how much Chuuya truly lost on that day. No one even knew how Chuuya really felt—not even Chuuya himself knew.
Outside of interacting with Dazai, nothing in Chuuya’s life had changed. Everything was so painstakingly unchanged that he sometimes began to wonder if he’d hallucinated Dazai’s existence.
Chuuya didn’t know how to describe how he felt, but the word “empty” was typically the first to come to mind. Yet, even that was an insufficient description. He felt no pain, no sorrow, no anger, no resentment, no relief… That lack of feeling what he had expected to feel—what he was supposed to feel—was what disturbed him more than anything.
“What the hell…is wrong with me?” Chuuya asked himself, staring down at the palms of his hands as he sat at the desk in his room. “Why? Why is it like nothing’s changed when everything’s different now? Why is it like I immediately moved on and couldn’t have given a shit if I tried? Why is it like…I’m fine with what happened?” His words became lumps of ash in his throat. “I’m not… I’m not ‘fine’ with it at all… How could I be?” He paused. “Then why am I like this?” Chuuya ran his hand through his hair and let his hair down before swiftly tying it back over his shoulder.
Then, exhaling sharply, Chuuya’s eyes migrated to the drawer of his desk. Now that I think about it…did he ever take his stupid suicide book back? He pulled open the black drawer, closing his eyes once he eyed the red and white book still sitting at the left front-most corner. You idiot. You just wanted someone to find this in my room so they’d think I’m suicidal, and I’d have to go through all these hoops trying to tell them the book was yours. Asshole. His gloved hands gently lifted the book and opened it to the first page, causing something white to flutter back into the drawer.
Chuuya set down the complete guide on suicide and picked up the folded pieces of white paper that had fallen out. He unfolded the first paper, and his eyes widened the moment he absorbed its familiar handwriting:
Hey, Chuuya… the note read, written in black ink. Whether you’re actually thinking about committing suicide or you just happened upon this book, by the time you read this, I’m already dead, aren’t I? You probably found me in a noose with my wrists slashed. Chuuya’s vision blurred into a white haze, his pulse shook his entire body, and the warmth of his hands began to drain like exsanguinated starfish. I’m sure it took you by surprise. You’re probably dying to know what happened, why I did it, who was responsible for it… It’s really not a complicated answer, honestly. I just wanted to die. That’s all. Chuuya felt like his ribs were serrated claws puncturing his organs. That’s not to say I didn’t care about you, or that you could’ve done something to have prevented this.
It’s not your fault I’m unfixable, Chuuya. I have countless reasons to live, but I can’t find any meaning in any of them. Not when I know it’ll all just slip through my hands anyway. Not when death is the inevitable end product of life, despite how we’re all programmed to try and reject and fear the inevitable. Not when all will be void once we die. I’m not going to sit here and bore you with all this, though. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to put it into words. Anyway, if you picked up this book because you want to die, don’t die, Chuuya. This is coming from the suicide enthusiast himself who kept telling you to die or that he’d kill you. I know better than anyone else what it feels like, what the realization of ultimate futility feels like, what the crushing weight of being damned to being an unfixable being that’s unqualified to be human but was born in the body of one nonetheless feels like.
If I can’t be human anymore, and especially when, as things are for you now, I’m truly ‘no longer human,’ I can do what I can to try and restore the humanity of others. Even if it’s futile, I’ll still choose to be on the side that saves people. And as hard as it is for me to write this, and as wrong as it feels to write this, more than anything else, I want you to live, Chuuya. I want you to live as a human. I want you to die as a human. I want to see you laugh as a human. I want to see you suffer as a human. You’re more human than I ever was, Chuuya. And if I’m honest, as much as I don’t want to be, I was terrified of losing you. The more we worked together, and the closer we got, the more terrified I became of watching you slip through my fingers too. You became everything to me. After I lost Odasaku, I didn’t think I'd even be able to let anyone in again…but I did for you. And I let you get so close that it hurt. It hurt so much.
I told myself I’d never do it. That I’d never get hurt like that again. But was it so wrong that I wanted to find meaning in it? I let myself fall in love with you, and that was both my best and worst mistake. My fear of losing you like Odasaku got to a point where all I felt was pain or nothing. Because of that, wow, I’ve spent the last thirty minutes sitting here trying to write what I’m trying to say, but my hand won’t move. This entire thing has taken me a long time to write, but this is absurd. So, as I’ve been trying to say, because of that, I started using my bandages to hide all the gashes and scars you must’ve seen on my body. I despise pain more than anyone else…but I despise feeling nothing even more. At least when it hurts, there’s something there, and it’s just a little less boring. I really am a fool.
At first, I did it just to try it. I wondered if it really brought any sense of relief. I did it, and I couldn’t relate at all to what people made it out to be. It started out as a sporadic thing that I made a conscious decision to commit to. After doing it enough, I one day realized that I was no longer doing it on a whim. I was giving in to the impulse to do it, and I started to understand just how frighteningly vicious the cycle really was. I didn’t even realize I was in it until it was too late. Ever since, it’s been a routine thing, and not doing it is like trying not to scratch an itch, but the itch refuses to go away until you scratch it.
Even worse, once you scratch it, the itch is gone like magic! It’s downright cruel. Why wouldn’t you scratch it if it solved the problem every time? But that’s part of what makes the cycle so difficult to get out of. You crave it, you can’t focus on anything else when the compulsion to do it runs through you, resisting makes you feel horrible and uneasy, and giving in makes you feel better in more ways than one. Even though it’s just hurting, killing, and controlling you, you can’t stop, even if you want to. Fucked up, isn’t it? Somehow, the pain I so despise ended up becoming an outlet. Just like how wanting to die goes against our instructions, so too does desiring pain. I really am unqualified to be considered human, and I’ve only deviated further from it. How foolish of me.
I say all this as an apology of sorts for otherwise being such a closed book. I really do love you, Chuuya. I don’t think I ever told you that directly, and odds are that I never ended up being able to say it to you before dying, so, here. This is the worst. And if I could be honest with myself again, even though I’ve spent all this time doing all these things just to try and find meaning in it all…I think I’m also terrified of finally finding that. Of having a reason not to die. Of wanting to live. Of truly being happy. Of being able to consider myself human. All those things that you’d think anyone would want, I’m terrified of, despite trying to achieve them nonetheless. And I feel closer to all of them because of you, Chuuya. I honestly don’t know how to handle it. I don’t even know how to tell you while I’m alive. I just can’t. And I’m sorry for that.
I know it’s selfish of me to ask after all this, and especially when I was never able to tell you my actual reason for dying, but keep living. Live. I’ve had so many nightmares about losing you in some horrific way, and the fear from not having lost you yet is killing me. Not knowing when or how, but knowing it’s inevitable after everything we’ve done together, and knowing it’ll only hurt more the more time we spend together, I can't even bear the thought. After all this? And yet, I pushed exactly what I was most afraid of onto you. But you’re strong, Chuuya. I was never good for you anyway. And hey, at least you won’t have to deal with my pranks anymore. As such, allow me to say this: thank you for everything. You were my reason to get out of bed and to continuously postpone my suicide. I love you, Chuuya, so don’t sully my sweet release of death with your presence until the inevitable. Keep living, and that way, I won’t have to see your cute, ugly face until then.
I hope you fall into a ditch. Bye-bye!
“Fuck you.” Chuuya slammed the papers onto the desk and buried his face into his hands. “Fuck you…” He envisioned Dazai’s closed eyes and whimsical smile after saying “bye-bye” to him, and a trembling smile crept onto his cheeks. “I hate you… I hate you so much…” He clenched his hands into fists, pressing his knuckles into his thighs. “I still don’t understand why you did it… You say there’s nothing I could’ve done to have prevented this, but you also said you kept pushing back the decision to do this because of me.
“If I’d just done a little more…would you still be here right now? Or if I had done more, would that just have broken you? I never pried, but whenever you mentioned a little about yourself, it always felt like you’d just shatter completely if I made one wrong move.” Chuuya grit his teeth, recalling how his last memory of Dazai before his breath had ceased was of the two parting ways after eating their lunch of curry and rice; Dazai had walked off with his hands relaxed behind his head and the mid-afternoon sun glinting off his hair. “It was such a nice day, and you just…”
Red. Copper. Dripping snakes. Pink and crimson tally marks.
Chuuya scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I knew you must’ve had a problem with that when I saw the scars on your corpse, but I didn’t know that was why.” He glanced at his left forearm, but all he could see was the memory of countless bloody slash marks and streaks eating away at what remained of Dazai. “Fuck. ‘Pain or nothing,’ huh? I know what you mean… That’s all it’s been without you. It’s all the same, and nothing’s changed, but if I’m not getting physically hurt, it’s all just…empty.
“I’ll laugh at a stupid joke, light up over a good bottle of wine, and talk to everyone like normal, but it feels all wrong. It feels like I’m not actually there. It feels like I’m just watching a what-if scenario playing out before me and not actually feeling what I think I am.” Chuuya covered his left eye with his hand. “I cared about you…so why do I feel nothing over the fact that you’re gone? Why does it hurt for every reason but the reasons it’s supposed to hurt? Why? You say I’m more human than you ever were…
“...but I’m the one that took all you had to give and couldn’t even offer a single tear when you left. ‘Unqualified to be considered human?’ Idiot…you idiot…” Chuuya’s lips peeled back as he hissed, “Who was the one to spend his life searching for meaning in the meaningless? Who was the one to always know when I’d had a bad day and would just pull me into a hug whether I wanted it or not? Who was the one to go through with the choice to save people even after his own death? Who was the one to always patch up my wounds, no matter how much I complained about it?
“Who was the one to actually tell the one he loved ‘I love you’ while he was still alive and with that person, even if it wasn’t direct?! Who was the one to care about me to the point where it hurt and scarred him?! Who was the one to care so deeply about me that he had nightmares about losing me?! Who was the one to care so fucking much about me that he left a note out of fear that I'd kill myself, even though he was already long gone by then, and even though I’d never once done anything remotely like that when he was the one always trying to fucking off himself?! You… ALL OF IT WAS YOU!
“All of it, all of it! And I couldn’t even tell you how grateful I was! And now I’ll never be able to! Goddammit… GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! I didn’t even realize just how fucking much you meant to me! How much I was grateful for! How much I wanted to thank you for! You’ll never know…and I’ll never be able to tell you… I’ll never be able to apologize or make it up to you… Even just… E-Even just those annoying-ass little smiles… I never actually hated them, you know… I’m grateful for them…and everything you did for me that I took for granted or never got to thank you for… Fuck…”
A broken smile parted Chuuya’s lips as he silently reminisced over his memories with Dazai—memories that he had yet to look back on ever since Dazai’s passing. “Even though all I said was that I hated you and would kill you…I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to have spent my time with. Even if my words won’t ever reach you…I still want to say it. This is all I can do for you now, Dazai. I hate you more than anyone else, but I love you more than I could ever hate you. There, I said it… Are you happy now, you suicidal bastard? I love you, and I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me over the years.
“I never realized…just how much you actually meant to me. I know it’s stupid, given our work, but I thought things would stay like that for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t imagine things any other way. And I miss it… I miss you, dammit…” Chuuya covered his mouth with his hand as his world blurred under the weight of his unshed tears. “I miss you, Dazai… I miss you so fucking much… Even the way you’d always move or rotate something in my house just to fuck with me and see if I’d notice. Even the way you’d always take a bite or a sip out of anything you made for me. Even just that same look of disgust you’d always greet me with…
“I still remember that drunk-ass arm-wrestling contest we had,” Chuuya continued as his eyes began to grow heavy, and his voice drowned in the emotions beginning to resurface from his depths. “After losing the first time…you said you’d gone easy on me, and boy did I take the bait. You… You made me split my own goddamn table in half, break my knuckles on the floor, put a hole through the floor, and end up with a you-shaped indent in the floor. I was… I was so mad…but I couldn’t help but just laugh… And you laughed too…” A trembling smile glistening at its edges with the translucent trails of two tears blossomed on Chuuya’s lips, and he found himself quietly laughing. “Thank you, Dazai… You wanted this for me, didn’t you? I was starting to wonder if I was even capable of crying. It hurts…but you’re right—it’s better than nothing. Thank you for reminding me…that I’m human too.”