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“Hey, Dazai?” Atsushi asked, as they walked along the port. They were returning from a relatively easy mission, Dazai with his hands behind his head.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you care so much about having an unburdened suicide? It's.. uncharacteristically considerate of you. Not in a bad way- just, curious.”
Dazai opened his mouth to answer, something surely deflecting and throw away.
Instead- he was left with no more breath to say what he wanted too. Instead, he left the seaside and his body returned to the river.
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He sat below a bridge, black trench coat soaking around him. The bandages on his arms were red, and his wrists stung.
Chuuya, curse the bastard, had found him (like always) and pulled him out. The redhead kneeled down in front of Dazai, bandaging one of the deep cuts on his wrist.
Dazai didn't move. He was cold. The river had been cold. Everytime he moved it left him shivering, slightly. Chuuya’s hands were warm.
He was quiet, not really thinking, just letting his mind stay in the peaceful water he had almost achieved.
Chuuya tugged the bandage harshly- more harsh than normal.
Dazai looked up at him, question in his unbandaged eye.
Chuuya stopped bandaging him. He stood up, carefully, and clenched his fists.
Without warning, he punched the wall, a crater forming on impact.
“You- you fucking.. Freak!” Chuuya shouted, whirling around to Dazai.
“What the hell goes through your fucked up head, huh?” He tapped the side of his own skull.
“Is this your fucked up idea of a joke? What do you fucking want from me, Dazai? Plan your funeral? ‘Oh, keep his bandages on, he would want roses as the flowers. Do you wanna be buried? Cremated? Want me to throw your body into the river and pray it doesn't get found by authorities?”
Dazai was speechless.
“You can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep dying over and over and over again! When I get a call from you, I never know if you are just trying to annoy me or if you are bleeding out in a ditch somewhere! Do you know how scary that is? How anxiety-inducing? It’s such a fucking burden!”
“You can’t keep me in perpetual limbo. Why would anyone want to be your partner when you don't think of anyone but yourself?! You poison everything in my fucking life! I have less room in my bag because I carry around extra bandages for you. You dragged me into the fucking port mafia. You have your own fucking couch in my apartment. I have creamer for coffee in my fridge. Do you care? Do you even notice?”
“It’s cruel, Dazai. It’s real fucking cruel, to do this to me. And I know you dont care, but god it really hurts me every single fucking time.”
He started to walk away.
“Chuuya, I-”
“Clean up your own fucking mess.” He spat, throwing the roll of bandages at him.
“Try a little harder next time, will ya? Cause god, I don’t know how many more times I can do this.”
And he was gone.
Dazai was left, stitches half finished, blood flowing less now, soaking wet and freezing, on the ground.
Chuuya would probably reluctantly apologize tomorrow.
Dazai never apologized for anything.
He never thought about the hand that pulled him out of the river.
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Dazai didn’t stop trying to kill himself.
He just did it while Chuuya was away. He didn’t call him. Even though Chuuya’s intent was probably for Dazai to stop. Of course he didn’t. He just laid on the shore until he could call a mafia car to take him back to his shitty shipping container.
Chuuya did apologize, like Dazai had predicted. Dazai still slept on his designated couch in Chuuya's apartment. Things went back to normal, as normal as they got.
Chuuya saw the new scars. He still helped bandage them up. His hands were still warm.
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“Dazai?” Atsushi asked carefully. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Dazai snapped his head toward him. “Huh?”
“I’m sorry. The question went a little too far.”
Dazai laughed, lightly and incredibly fakely. “Sorry. Just, uh, zoned out.”
“It would be unfair to whoever was left to clean up my mess.” Dazai sighed. His eyes were hollow, and he glanced toward the sea.
“You’d have to think me cruel to do that.”