Chapter Text
He did it.
Dazai finally did it. He killed himself. His dream for a long time. He had long craved the sweet release of death. For years, it had been a dream, a goal, a way out. But now, when death was no longer a distant possibility but an awful, undeniable reality, it felt like a betrayal. A betrayal to Chuuya. He never thought it would come to this: finding the one person he’d ever cared about, only to be too late, to never be enough. He did it yet he didn't do it with a pretty woman and no regrets left behind. He had lots of regrets. Especially the fact he was never able to save him, his one true love as he realized now, too late to do anything about it or tell him how he felt. His one and only true love; Chuuya. The stupidly handsome redhead. He wasn't there when he died on a mission, and he wasn't there to help him get out of it. To save him from Arahabaki. From the corruption and erosion slowly eating him open and inside out. He felt mad at himself, enraged even, he couldnt even say how guilty he felt, it was as if he had killed Chuuya with his own bare hands. He wished he was there, there to help him, save him and soothe him from all his sorrows and pain, even if his annoying and stupid self would only make it worse.
These regrets tainted Dazai's mind for weeks, months even. He had panic attacks for weeks, desperately hoping this was all a cruel joke—that Chuuya hadn't really died.
He had heard stories about how Chuuya died, there was never any proof, so he had a small glimmer of hope. But, it's undeniable after months of him gone that he was dead.
The day Atsushi brought the jar of ashes, Dazai had been staring blankly at his desk, lost in thought. When the jar was placed in front of him, his heart stopped. Chuuya’s hat, the one he always wore, sat atop the jar. It was a cruel reminder that the person who had once filled the room with fire and life was now gone. Chuuya was gone. The rival and partner he spent years going against and annoying. In that moment all he saw were colors and shapes, he couldn't even remember what he ate for breakfast, all he knew was that he was absolutely devastated. No thoughts entered his mind in that moment except for the thought that he couldn't bear to live anymore. Each moment without Chuuya felt like a jagged shard of glass. The hollow space left in his chest grew with every second, and no amount of tears could fill it. He was trapped in a cycle of thoughts that spiraled to a single conclusion: life without Chuuya wasn’t worth living. He couldn't live without Chuuya, without that unbearable presence that both annoyed the hell out of him but at the same time made him laugh, he hadn't realized he needed Chuuya this badly. And before the next thing he knew was he was on the ground. Crying his absolute eyes out. His breath hitched in his throat, but it was too thick to escape. His hands trembled, clutching at his jacket, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating weight pressing on his chest. Everything was too much. He couldn’t feel anything but the crushing weight of the loss. It felt like all those days of him and Chuuya came right back to his mind again, all the times they fought, all the times they went on missions together, and all the times they hugged and actually tolerated eachother. He remembered how Chuuya would scowl when Dazai teased him too much, but he could always see through the irritation, the brief flicker of affection that Dazai had foolishly overlooked. Why hadn’t he ever said it? Why hadn’t he told Chuuya he cared? He could still hear Chuuya’s voice in his mind: ‘Dazai, you idiot, I’m not going anywhere.’
He didn't know how long he spent on the floor bawling his eyes out. But it must have been a long time, because by the time he stopped it was already dark out and everyone at the agency had went home. Even Atsushi had left after depositing Chuuya's ashes and hat on his desk. He was alone in the world now. Stuck with only his thoughts and feelings. Still being in this world that only brought pain and suffering to him. When the door clicked shut behind Atsushi, He was left in the silence. The room felt too big, the air too thick. Alone. Completely alone. No one could understand this—this aching, suffocating hole in his chest that seemed to consume everything, even his own breath. He wished for a distraction, for a sign, anything... but there was only the quiet hum of his own broken heart. He had ached for relief but he found none at all.The jar of ashes sat there on the desk alone and a solemn reminder of his death. an empty vessel that once held something real. Chuuya’s presence was gone, reduced to dust. The hat on top—stubborn, Black and, always on Chuuya's head—was a cruel reminder of how something so tangible could just... vanish. He never got to say goodbye. Goodbye... he still couldn’t quite grasp it. He couldn't grasp the painful situation he was still in. The horrid feelings that were coming out just now, in the deafening silence of the room.
He didn't know when he arrived home, all he remembered was crying till the sunset came. Someone must have carried him home. But he paid no mind to who might have, the only thing in his mind was the pressing thoughts of the aggravating redhead. He annoyed Chuuya so much! Yet, he still stayed with him.... He didn't know why he was regretting it so much, I mean he's Dazai for crying out loud! He's the flirty charmer. He's not the one that falls in love and loses them like some Romeo and Juliet story. But, he couldn't deny this feeling, as more memories of Chuuya flooded his mind the more the tears came out, and the more thoughts of wanting to join Chuuya in the afterlife would come.
Everyone in the Agency was worried about Dazai, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anyone but Chuuya, Chuuya was the only thought in his mind, A rainbow amidst a black and white world in Dazai's mind.
He had stopped eating and drinking at this point, he saw no reason to need to. Maybe if he didn't for long enough he would die and forever be with Chuuya. His attemps of suicide had doubled, before it was every month, now it was every week. And as the weeks past. The more Dazai had Attempted, it had eventually became part of his daily routine. Cry, Attempt, and cry again. His body felt like it was made of glass—fragile, and cracking at the edges. Every morning was the same. He looked in the mirror and saw the hollowed face staring back at him. The bags under his eyes had become permanent, his skin pale had drawn. He wasn’t just dying inside anymore. It was starting to show. He isn't sure how much longer he can take it, how much longer he can take the grief before he ultimately decides to end it all. His skin didn't even feel like his own anymore. It felt like he was just a hollow shell of his old self. Dazai, the charming, carefree flirt, was nothing but a ghost now. His jokes, once sharp and effortless, had turned into bitter memories that stung more than they amused. He was no longer the man who grinned in the face of death; he was the man who couldn’t face the emptiness left behind by the one person who had ever made him feel whole. It had burnt his whole heart. Made him feel hollow inside. And made him reminisce him more. Atsushi had tried to reach out to him. His soft voice sounded like a jagged edge to Dazai now, he felt that anyone who tried to steer him in the right direction was wrong. That they were insane! How could they forget Chuuya, how could they live without him. So Dazai did the only logical thing to him in that moment. He cut everyone and everything out of his life. He couldn't handle them at this time, it was too much for him to bare. Everyone was dumb, nobody but Chuuya mattered to him now, Chuuya was all that was in his mind, body, and soul as some poets would say. But Dazai isn't a poet, and all he could say is that he missed Chuuya so much it felt like Chuuya was the only thing he knew, the only thing he knows. He can't breathe without thinking of Chuuys now.
About a month after the loss it had felt like the moment stretched on. Dazai had closed his eyes, hearing nothing but the sound of his own breath. Then, softly, almost imperceptibly, a voice—Chuuya’s voice—whispered in his mind: ‘You idiot. I’m not going anywhere.’ For the first time in months, he smiled. Not because it was funny, not because it was comforting, but because it was the last thing he would ever hear. Even if he knows Chuuya wouldn't have wanted this for him, he still wanted to see him, one, last, time. He closed his eyes one final time, feeling the weight of everything fall away, falling like a leaf in autumn, slow and deliberate.When he finally stabbed the knife into his chest and faded into nothingness, a content feeling came over him and it was a content nothingness, a feeling that gave him No sadness, no comfort, no anything, it was hollow, nothing, but everything at the same time. Chuuya's voice in his mind kept playing, and it reminded him he wasn't alone in this—reminded him Chuuya was always there for him, even if he wasn't there for Chuuya all the time.