Chapter Text
There came a certain peace with being surrounded by foreign languages.
If you could get past the initial shock of confusion and helplessness, not understanding a single thing that was written or spoken around you was, somewhat, liberating.
After spending the majority of his life always analysing everything, always looking for a hidden meaning behind each pleasantry or uncovering thinly veiled lies in between the lines , it was refreshing to just listen to the musicality of the syllables as they floated around his head.
Dazai’s head felt deliciously empty as he heard through the train’s speakers a melodic voice announcing what Dazai could only guess to be the last stop, his stop.
He waited until the train stopped completely to get up and pick his suitcase, feeling his arms almost breaking due to its weight. Despite assuring his guardian and siblings that he could very well buy anything he might come to need there, clothes included, neither of them paid him any mind and filled his suitcase to the brim. Dazai huffed as he dragged the dead weight around the wagon, paying for his family’s overcaution with his sweat and blood.
Once on the platform, Dazai checked the address on his phone once more. The flat was twenty minutes walking from the train station.
Dazai sighed and started walking, looking around the streets, the people, the city, the country that would house him for the next year.
Italy hadn’t been Dazai’s first option when he started filling the applications to study one year abroad. It was too hot and sunny, too loud and obnoxious, too different from what he was used to back in Japan. But, now, it seemed like the perfect choice. What he needed right now was obnoxious and different.
Dazai arrived at the flat twenty five minutes later, sweating buckets and feeling as if his arms would fall off because of his heavy suitcase, just to find his new flatmate waiting for him at the door of the building.
Fukuzawa Yukichi looked like a serious man. He had long grey hair, falling over his shoulders, and eyes like steel to match. He wore western clothes just fine but he managed to look inadequate in them, as if he was better suited to wear Japanese clothes. His whole presence, stoic and solid, seemed at odds with the bright light of Italy.
‘Dazai Osamu, I suppose.’ He greeted Dazai in perfect Japanese, despite the thirty years that Dazai knew he had been in the western country. ‘I hope you had a nice trip.’
Dazai just nodded, looking at Mori’s oldest friend up and down with little shame. ‘It was fine.’
‘Good.’ He nodded back and proceeded to show him their place for the foreseeable future.
He showed him the keys for the front door, how to use the decrepit lift and the other key for their flat, which was on the third floor of the building. Then, he did a quick tour of the flat, consisting of a kitchen, a living room, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Dazai also spotted a bowl full of water on the kitchen’s floor, as well as several cat toys peeking from under the sofa. Dazai didn’t manage to catch sight of his fluffy flatmate as he followed Fukuzawa around, with little interest, and hoped his lucky streak would keep it that way for as long as it was possible.
Fukuzawa finished the tour sparing no more than one hundred words. Dazai could appreciate that Fukuzawa was a man of few words. He could only hope that the total of their interactions wouldn’t amount to more than one thousand words at the end of his year there.
Before retiring to do whatever it was that Fukuzawa did with his time, he smiled at him, small but seemingly genuine. ‘I hope you have a nice year here, Dazai.’
Dazai thanked him for housing him and exiled himself to his new room.
Dazai looked around with curiosity. At first glance, he wouldn’t have guessed that Fukuzawa had any kids, seeming like the picture perfect spinster with cats, but this room seemed to be someone’s old childhood room.
There was one bed on the corner, an empty desk and some empty wardrobes that lacked any kind of personal touch. All the personality of its old owner seemed to be squished on the bookcases that filled the rest of the room, full to the brim with books, from two whole shelves of comics to three bookcases full of romance novels. Dazai could also see the marks on the wood of the shelves, from mindless doodles, to names and, somehow, chemistry notes.
Dazai hummed as he looked around the books, suitcase long forgotten at the foot of the bed, and wondered how many of them were in Japanese and if Fukuzawa would mind if he read them. He had to leave his own personal library back in Japan and he doubted he would be able to find many books in his mother tongue there.
Dazai picked one book randomly from what seemed to be the entire collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s novels, the new up-and-coming crime novelist the whole world was crazy about, and started looking through it distractedly.
Dazai huffed a laugh as he noticed all the notes on the book, most of them highlighting plot holes and criticising the author’s narrative choices along the course of the story. Whoever had written those notes was almost as much of an asshole as Dazai was.
Book still in hand, having decided to keep reading the hilariously brutal commentary on it, Dazai moved towards the floor to ceiling window-door that led to a small balcony and opened it.
The balcony was small, just enough to fit two plants, some weird thing to hang clothes on, Dazai supposed that’s what it was, and for Dazai to sit crossed-legged on the floor. Dazai let his head rest on the wall behind him as he took in the view.
The balcony looked up to a station, a small one, probably a regional or even local train station.
Dazai heard, before he could see, the train approach the station as the barriers lowered, closing the road that went over the rails. Dazai grimaced at the shrilling sound that accompanied the movement of the barriers, making the hair of his arms stand and his teeth hurt. He could only hope that having the crystal door closed would muffle the horrible sound but, somehow, Dazai doubted that it would. That seemed to be the end of his streak of luck for the day.
Through gritted teeth, he watched as a very small train, with only two wagons, stopped on the station and how several people exited it. Dazai watched it as it started moving again, almost tiredly, and felt his joints exhale with relief once the barriers went up again, the alarm ceasing, and the traffic resumed.
That was it.
That was his train station now, with his horrible sounding barriers, and his tiny balcony, in his tiny room, in his shared flat with his serious flatmate, in his city, in his country.
This was his new life.
Dazai closed his eyes for a second, feeling the breeze on his cheeks, the roughness of the pages against his fingers and the sluggish pace of the blood inside his veins, trying to take it all in without choking on it.
He half succeeded.
Dazai woke up, still sitting crossed-legged on the balcony, several hours later, courtesy of his phone ringing non-stop.
Dazai groaned, feeling his back stiff and his head hurting from sitting against a concrete wall for what seemed to be hours, and he patted his jeans in search of the offending item that had dared to wake him up and subjected him to this pain so unnecessarily early.
Not having even opened his eyes yet, Dazai managed to pick up the call and press his phone against his ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘He lives.’ The exasperated monotone voice of his guardian greeted him from a world away. ‘I wasn’t so sure, seeing as I haven’t received any calls or messages in the more than twelve hours since your plane landed.’
Dazai looked at the time on his phone curiously. It was two in the morning, roughly nine in Japan. Jet lag was really something else if it had managed to keep him asleep since he arrived around six in the evening yesterday.
‘I forgot.’ Dazai mumbled as he tried to stretch with the minimal space provided for it.
He could clearly hear Mori’s sigh at the other side of the call but he couldn’t manage to care for it. ‘So, this is really how the year is going to be like?’
Dazai didn’t think it was necessary to grace such a condescending question with an equally condescending answer.
‘I see.’ Mori sighed again, as if all his patience was escaping him through mouthfuls of air. ‘Look, Osamu, I really don’t care what you do or don't do over there. You’re already old enough to make decisions for yourself and face the consequences of your own actions.’
Dazai managed to stand up, despite the unpleasant tingling sensation he felt on his legs, and went back inside.
It was rare that he slept more than two or three hours at a time so, after almost eight hours of sleep, Dazai now felt too awake to even entertain trying to fall asleep again.
He had been sure his sleep schedule would be as disastrous as it had been through his whole life, no matter the continent he was in, but not even Dazai was disciplined enough to wreck it so thoroughly just after arriving. He really ought to thank his guardian for calling, despite his incredibly boring speech that Dazai had already tuned out long ago, for speeding up his autodestructive process.
‘... and, if you don’t want to talk with me for the whole year, be my guest, but, please, call your siblings, at least, once a week.’ Dazai tuned in, momentarily, at the mention of his siblings. ‘They were really worried when they heard nothing from you yesterday.’
Now it was Dazai’s turn to sigh. No matter how much he despised his guardian and relished in making his life as difficult as possible, his siblings were another matter entirely.
‘I will.’
‘Let’s hope this is one promise you keep.’ By his voice tone, it was clear Mori didn’t doubt for a second that he would forget about it.
‘I’ll call them later, when they’re finished with school for the day.’
‘We’ll see.’ Dazai heard voices in the background calling for his guardian. His shift at the hospital had probably already started. ‘I have to go now.’
‘Okay.’
‘And, Osamu.’ Dazai could hear Mori already speed walking towards some medical emergency. ‘Please, be nice with Yukichi. He’s doing us a big favour by housing you basically for free.’
Dazai snorted, actually amused by this rare display of actual social awareness from his guardian. ‘I’ll be nothing if not incredibly grateful.’
‘Yeah, we’ll see. Talk to you soon.’
‘Doubt it.’
Dazai ended the call and threw his phone against the mattress. His legs were no longer numb as he walked around the room trying to think of something to occupy his mind now that it was wide awake and intending to go back and analyse word for word the conversation with his guardian.
That’s what talking with him did to Dazai, it urged him to pick everything apart, trying to distinguish even an ounce of care for him in between all his berating and disappointment. His guardian always managed to make him paranoid with conflicting emotions and he couldn’t stand it at the moment.
He had ended up choosing Italy for his year abroad for a reason, because it was the destination the further away from Japan and because he didn’t want to have to think here. That’s what this year was for, to get away from his stifling country and thoughts so he wouldn’t end up squashed by their weight.
Dazai looked at the time once more, still around two in the morning.
The south of Italy, for all its beautiful surroundings and delicious food, couldn’t compare to the north when it came to its nightlife but, maybe, he could still be lucky enough to find some club still open. It was now Saturday, after all.
Yeah, that sounded like a good way to inaugurate his stay there.
Dazai picked up his phone and started looking for clubs in the area as he walked towards the bathroom for a quick shower.
Apparently, there existed these things called Erasmus parties.
After looking it up, Dazai discovered that an Erasmus seemed to be some sort of program for students doing a year of their degree abroad or something like that. These ‘parties’ were organised to promote some kind of cultural exchange between these foreign students on paper and a perfect excuse for college students to get drunk and hook up with each other in reality, which suited Dazai perfectly.
After hearing so many rumours about how great western parties were, Dazai was just in the right mindset to give them a try.
He took a quick shower to get rid of the aeroplane smell and put on some dark jeans and the first black button down he could find in his suitcase, liking the contrast the dark outfit made with his brand-new nuclear white bandages.
Pocketing the keys and his wallet, Dazai exited the flat without bothering to try and be silent.
Once he stepped outside the building, Dazai felt the chill of the late September night rolling over his limited exposed skin, like a thrill of adrenaline.
He had a good feeling about the night, it was quiet and crispy and Dazai could almost feel his heart beating inside his chest.
He ended up arriving at the place, named ‘Veluria’, just shy of three o’clock in the morning. Dazai passed several people on the outside smoking and chatting, beer bottles swinging precariously between their fingers. Some of them looked back at him, with various degrees of curiosity and ebriety, but none of them stopped him as he opened the door of the pub and slithered inside.
The Veluria was pulsing with music and heat and it all punched Dazai on the face once he entered, contrasting severely with the quiet coldness of the outside world, and it disoriented him a bit.
Dazai shook his head slightly and started to push around the bodies dancing around him in order to reach the bar and get something to drink. The heat was intense enough to make him thirsty already.
Thanks to his stature, Dazai managed to reach his destination and for his order, placed in a very decent English, to be heard over the heads of the majority of people around him. As he waited for his drink, Dazair started to look around for his entertainment of the night.
It seemed that going to an Erasmus party had been the right move, as there were all kinds of people for him to choose from.
There was the girl with bronze skin and loose hips dancing in the middle of the floor. Or the blond boy with square shoulders and gentle smile. Maybe, even the person playing darts and showing off their evident victory rather smugly.
He had never had such a varied selection at his disposal, it was almost overwhelming.
So, with all these choices, what did Dazai want that night?
His whiskey neat was placed in front of him and Dazai thanked the barman, as he brought the glass to his mouth, with a smile over the rim. Feeling the first sour drops on his tongue and down his throat felt like finally coming for air after spending so long under water, whipping his mind deliciously blank with the utmost relief.
That is what he wanted that night, when it came to his choice of drink and partner.
Dazai took another sip as he pondered if he should, maybe, walk around for a bit, see if anyone struck his fancy from up close. However, before he could make a decision, all his pondering was interrupted by a very violent and insistent tapping on his shoulder.
Dazai lazily turned around, still half-perched on the bar, just to find a tuft of wild orange curls in his direct line of sight, yapping at him in very broken English. ‘Hey, stop fucking hogging the bar, we all want to order here, beanpole.’
Dazai made a show of looking around, deliberately avoiding looking down at the yapping chihuahua that had decided to interrupt his night with such unnecessary aggression. ‘I thought I heard some dog barking but I see none.’
Then, Dazai felt something unexpected. A strong hand grabbed the front of his shirt, undoubtedly wrinkling the material, and pulled him down, making him stumble a bit and forcing him to look down.
Fiery blue eyes.
That’s the first thing Dazai noticed about him, his huge stormy eyes glaring at him with such purpose and determination that it made Dazai shudder slightly.
Then, it was the unruly orange hair, falling over his shoulders in an organised mess that was sticking to his temples and forehead, probably a result of several hours of dancing.
Finally, there were the freckles. Clusters of tiny and persistent dots on his nose, cheeks and forehead, sticking out that much more thanks to the healthy flush underneath them.
Dazai had managed to find himself a lovely wild strawberry.
‘Who are you calling a fucking dog, asshole?’
Wild, indeed.
‘But not any dog, you’re clearly a chihuahua.’ Dazai smirked down at him. ‘With how tiny and loud you are.’
His very blue eyes widened and his delightful cherry lips curled in a sneer that made Dazai feel the blood inside his veins rushing. ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you.’
That low and rumbling threat shouldn’t have excited Dazai as much as it did.
‘Be my guest, chibi.’
A flash of recognition passed through his eyes when hearing the Japanese word and, that precious second of stillness, was the only thing that prevented Dazai from being punched in the face, as someone rested their hand on the redhead’s shoulder to stop him.
‘C’mon, man, it’s not worth it.’ The other said in Japanese as they pulled the redhead away from Dazai. ‘Gin already managed to get us some more beers.’
The redhead’s fingers slipped from where they had been grabbing his shirt as he turned towards his friend, his glaring softening slightly. ‘Right.’
He had answered in perfect Japanese, to Dazai’s utter surprise.
Then, he looked back at Dazai one last time with those very blue eyes of his and all the softness melted out of him. ‘It’s not worth it at all.’
They turned around and Dazai followed the redhead with his eyes until he, inevitably, disappeared in between the sea of drunken college students.
Dazai felt his mouth terribly dry and, only then, he remembered that he had a drink in hand, as he downed the rest of it in one go to quench his thirst. Immediately, he signalled for the barman to bring him another one, he still felt his mouth awfully dry.
‘That was quite the show.’
Dazai turned towards the raven haired beauty that had weasel her way towards his side. She was also short, although nowhere near as much as the redhead, with long straight black hair and intelligent eyes that knew what they wanted.
‘I’m glad you were entertained.’ Dazai volleyed back as he sipped from his new drink lazily.
‘Very.’ She leaned against the bar and cocked her head to the side coily. ‘I was starting to get bored and was thinking about going home.’
‘Is that so?’ Dazai asked, eyebrow arched.
She nodded, sipping from her drink daintily and skillfully bringing his attention to her mouth.
Oh, she was good. And she knew it.
But Dazai was better.
He brought the glass to his lips and downed it in the same fashion as he had done with the first one, taking the opportunity to look around the establishment in one last search for a tiny head of wild redhead curls.
Not finding him, Dazai turned back to the beautiful lady in front of him.
She would do.
‘Well, I couldn’t let you go back home alone so late.’ Dazai grinned, as charming as always, as he paid for his drinks. ‘How about I accompany you?’
‘How chivalrous.’ She giggled in an undoubtedly practised manner.
She left her half-empty drink on the bar and offered him her soft hand. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
He took her hand and she started dragging him outside.
As they reached the door that would lead them outside, Dazai catched an orange flash from the corner of his eye. Before he could turn around to confirm the hair colour came with matching blue eyes and freckles, he was pushed outside.
The night’s chill slapped Dazai and cleared his head of any lovely wild strawberries, making him more aware of the lady still dragging him and her soft fingers in between his. Dazai relished in the brush of their skin along the motion of their unashamedly hurried steps, almost like a relieved exhale.
‘Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.’
‘Sasaki.’ She looked back at him with a smile.
‘Dazai.’ He offered in return, trying to replicate her smile. ‘And, say, Sasaki, do you have something to drink at home? I’m feeling terribly thirsty.’
Sasaki laughed and Dazai could almost taste her glee in the air.
Maybe, if he kissed her hard enough, he would be able to steal some of that happiness from her lips.
There was only one way to find out.