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Constancy

Summary:

The day Chuuya came home with a diagnosis, Dazai considered moving out.

Notes:

Write the fic you want to read, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Anyway this was pain but I hope you enjoy it!

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The day Chuuya came home with a diagnosis, Dazai considered moving out.

They'd been living together for years, but not together. It was just convenient. They'd known each other since childhood, two kids without parents constantly thrown together so that they could bother each other instead of their caretakers. They didn't really owe each other anything, certainly not each other's company. Which was why Dazai considered it in the first place.

It was kind of hypocritical of Dazai.

When he was going through the worst of his depression, he thought nothing of Chuuya coming home to find him sick from overdosing on pills, or bleeding from his wrists. At that time, he couldn't really think beyond the need to escape. He never talked to Chuuya about it, and Chuuya hardly brought it up after one argument in which Chuuya shouted at Dazai to get therapy.

Dazai did get therapy. At first, it didn't put an end to his suicide attempts. But eventually, they happened less often, and then they became half-hearted, and then they stopped.

Sometimes the thought flitted through Dazai's head. He was better at thinking about other things these days.

Then Chuuya got sick.

Dazai could handle a lot of things, but loss was something he couldn't quite stomach. He'd lost his parents. He'd lost one of his best friends when he was younger. He didn't get close to people because he didn't want to lose anyone else. Chuuya was an exception, because Chuuya had always been around, the only real constant in Dazai's life.

Dazai didn't want to lose Chuuya. If that was going to happen, he would make Chuuya lose him first.

Dazai could be selfish. He'd disregarded Chuuya's emotions plenty of times in the past, even pushed Chuuya away when Chuuya started caring too much.

There was really no good explanation for Chuuya getting sick. Chuuya was young. Chuuya wasn't the most healthy, but he was certainly healthier than Dazai, smoking and drinking aside. He made more of an effort to take care of himself.

"It's probably the smoking," Chuuya said. "I've been smoking since I was twelve. Or genetics. Would've been nice to know if my parents had anything going on like that."

Dazai didn't care about the reasons. The second Chuuya told him that what he'd thought was a very persistent cold or flu was actually lung cancer, and that it was pretty advanced, Dazai tuned everything else out.

"Chuuya's turning into an old man before me," he said when Chuuya was finished talking.

"Lucky me," Chuuya said. "Anyway, I'm going to bed. More appointments tomorrow."

He didn't even give Dazai time to react to the news. He hadn’t been particularly emotional when he talked about it, either, which was odd. Chuuya never held back on his emotions. And yet, Dazai couldn’t tell how he felt.

Maybe Chuuya didn’t know how to feel. Dazai certainly didn’t.

He’d never prepared for this.

*

"I need a favor."

Dazai looked up from his work. Odasaku had helped Dazai further his writing career before he died. Dazai wrote columns for a newspaper, which wasn't his ideal type of writing, but he couldn't complain when he was making money off of it.

"A favor?"

Chuuya nodded. He looked hesitant. They hadn't spoken for a few days, and in Chuuya's absence Dazai could almost forget about the illness and his desire to move out to avoid it all. A few times he hoped that he’d imagined it, or that Chuuya would come back and say the doctors were mistaken.

"If you're not busy," Chuuya said, "in two days I'm starting treatment. They suggested that I have someone pick me up and stay with me for a few hours afterwards, just because of how I might react."

This kind of thing was exactly the opposite of what Dazai wanted to do.

"Treatment," he said.

"Yeah, because I’m sick," Chuuya said. "You don't have to drop me off or anything, and you definitely don't have to be there, and if you're busy it's fine. They're just being careful, anyway."

Chuuya was starting to talk too much. Dazai recognized it as a sign of nervousness.

“Kouyou or Akutagawa aren’t available?” Dazai asked.

Kouyou had grown up with them, though they met her after they met each other. She was sort of like an older sister, although they’d grown apart. Chuuya made more of an effort to see her than Dazai did. Akutagawa was Chuuya’s friend.

“They both have work,” Chuuya said.

“Oh.” Dazai frowned.

"It shouldn't be that bad," Chuuya continued. "At least, I don't think so since they're, you know, letting me go home afterwards-"

"I'll pick you up," Dazai interrupted, if only to get Chuuya to stop talking. He was dangerously close to getting into details about his treatment that Dazai just didn't want to know.

Chuuya nodded. "Alright. I'll give you the time once I know. Should be in the afternoon."

Dazai hoped that Kouyou or Akutagawa would end up free that day. Of course, he wasn’t so lucky.

*

It was 4pm.

Dazai waited outside the main entrance to the hospital in his car. The hospital staff didn't like cars idling there, but Dazai didn't really feeling like driving in circles until Chuuya came out, so he managed to sweet talk the staff into ignoring him.

He didn't know what to expect, and he hadn't really asked Chuuya about it. Then again, it had sounded like Chuuya didn't know what to expect, either. He probably knew a lot more than when he'd initially told Dazai that he was sick, but Dazai was good at getting people to leave him alone. Aside from asking to be picked up, Chuuya hadn't really talked to him. He probably got the impression that Dazai didn’t want to be talked to.

It wasn't like it was abnormal. They were close, but over the years their schedules differed enough that they didn't see each other every day. They were the sort of people who could act the same even after time apart, so it never mattered if they went a week or two without talking.

That was probably why Dazai hadn't noticed Chuuya was sick in the first place. Chuuya worked as a bartender and wrote poetry on the side, so he mostly kept late hours. Dazai worked during the day.

He wondered if Chuuya was still going to work.

He didn't get to think too hard about it, because Chuuya came out of the building and slid into the passenger seat.

Chuuya didn't seem unwell, but Dazai couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the whole situation, as if he was just waiting for something to go wrong.

He pulled out onto the road. They didn't live far away. "How was it?"

"It was fine," Chuuya said. "Boring."

"How long did it take?" Dazai asked. He hadn't been around when Chuuya left earlier.

"Four hours," Chuuya said, the annoyance clear in his voice. "They had to do a lot of preparation beforehand, so hopefully it's not like that every time."

Dazai got the feeling that Chuuya wasn't a good patient. "So what now?"

"I go home and sleep," Chuuya said.

"That's it?" Dazai glanced at him. "What am I watching you for?" Not that he'd had anything better to do.

"I don't know," Chuuya said. "In case something goes wrong? They said different people react differently, and the meds are pretty strong. So..." He trailed off.

Dazai had a few questions on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask what could go wrong. He wanted to ask how Chuuya felt. He wanted to ask what was normal and what he should be worried about. He both wanted to know and didn't. He didn't want to be involved. He was already more involved than he wanted to be.

"Can you drink?" he asked instead.

Chuuya laughed. "No. Isn't that shitty?"

"You work in a bar," Dazai pointed out.

"I don't have to drink stuff," Chuuya said. "Only make it."

"Isn't it tempting?" Dazai asked. He knew he would be tempted to drink more if he worked in a bar.

"Some people have self control," Chuuya said.

This time Dazai laughed. "Not you!"

"Shut up!" Chuuya glared at him.

This felt closer to normal. “Are you keeping your job?” Dazai asked.

“Yeah. What else am I gonna do?”

Dazai shrugged. He didn’t know what happened when people were sick.

They were quiet for the rest of the car ride, and when they got into the apartment Dazai wondered if he was supposed to actively watch Chuuya or just let him do his own thing. At this point, Dazai was more inclined to ignore him.

Chuuya sat down in their living room with his laptop. Dazai usually alternated between spending time writing in the kitchen and spending time locked in his room. He decided to write in the kitchen today.

Every so often he would glance at Chuuya, who seemed deep into whatever he was doing. He was probably writing poems. He looked normal. Maybe, Dazai thought, this wouldn’t be so bad.

It started getting late. Dazai realized that Chuuya hadn’t left for work. “Are you working tonight?”

“No,” Chuuya said. “I thought it wouldn’t be a good idea. But I feel like I could’ve gone anyway.” He laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it that Dazai couldn’t quite place.

At some point they both made dinner. Chuuya went back to doing whatever it was he did on his computer. Dazai went back to writing. It was quiet. It was normal.

When Dazai went to bed, he thought about how Chuuya had asked Dazai to look after him. How he trusted Dazai to look after him.

Dazai didn’t want to think about the level of trust Chuuya had in him.

*

Dazai woke up around 3am unsure of why he’d been pulled out of his sleep.

The answer came a moment later when he heard retching.

He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound. Chuuya didn’t need Dazai. This was what both of them had expected, even if they hadn’t talked about it. This was why Chuuya’s doctors hadn’t wanted him to be alone. Knowing that, Dazai almost felt guilty.

Dazai didn’t know what was right. He knew he didn’t want to confront Chuuya being sick right now. He also knew that Chuuya didn’t like appearing weak, even though he was more willing to show vulnerability than Dazai.

Dazai kept telling himself that Chuuya was fine. Chuuya would be fine.

And yet he found it hard to fall back asleep.

*

The next morning Chuuya did look tired. He was nursing a cup of tea when Dazai made his way into the kitchen.

“Rough night?” Dazai asked.

“Something like that,” Chuuya said.

Dazai considered making himself coffee. He thought better of it. Today seemed like a good day to write outside of the apartment. The newspaper he worked for had an office, but going in gave his editor, Kunikida, a free pass to bug him about deadlines. He could go to a cafe, where he’d be able to think a little more clearly.

In the back of his head, a part of him questioned whether Chuuya should be left alone like this.

He dismissed the thought. Besides, it was a weekday. He had work to do.

He got himself some water to justify being in the kitchen before going back to his room to change. Chuuya was still in the kitchen when he came back out.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

Chuuya gave him a half-hearted wave.

*

If there was a prize for avoiding someone, Dazai would have gotten first place. He spent the next two months seeing as little of Chuuya as possible given that they lived together.

He spent most of his time outside of the apartment, and made sure that his and Chuuya’s schedules didn’t line up. The only time he saw Chuuya was when he picked him up from treatment, a favor that he couldn’t refuse because he wasn’t a complete asshole. Sometimes Kouyou was able to pick Chuuya up, but other times Dazai was the only one available.

Chuuya might have looked more worn down each time, but Dazai didn’t look too closely.

Chuuya still worked most of the time, however, and slept during the day, which made Dazai’s job easier. They never really talked. Dazai wondered if Chuuya knew why Dazai had become distant, or whether he was too wrapped up in whatever was going on to care.

There were some things that were impossible to avoid no matter how Dazai tried. Chuuya never worked directly following an appointment, and every week there were two nights that he had off anyway. One of two things would happen during these nights when Chuuya was home. If it wasn’t a night directly following Chuuya’s treatment, Dazai would hear Chuuya coughing. If it was a night following treatment, Dazai would hear Chuuya being sick.

It never seemed to get better. Dazai started listening to music so he wouldn’t hear.

Dazai would have been happy to continue this way. He had fallen into a routine that worked well for him, where he didn’t have to think about Chuuya and only saw him enough to confirm that he still existed.

That changed when Dazai came home from a day of writing to find Chuuya incredibly drunk in the kitchen.

“Dazai!” he cried, raising a bottle of whiskey that was definitely Dazai’s. He definitely wasn’t using a glass. “Want a drink?”

Dazai put his bag down and took off his coat. “You’re not supposed to be drinking. Unless...is your treatment over?”

“No,” Chuuya said, but he was still grinning. “Come on, we haven’t gotten drunk together in a long time.”

He was slurring enough that it was almost hard to make out what he was saying. Dazai went over anyway to grab a glass. He wasn’t above drinking straight from the bottle like Chuuya was doing, but he wasn’t about to let Chuuya know that.

By the time he poured himself some sake, Chuuya had already taken another gulp of whiskey and was leaning forward on the counter, chin touching the surface as he stared at Dazai with glassy eyes. One hand still gripped the bottle, though at a precarious angle. He was still half-smiling, which Dazai found a bit unsettling.

Chuuya got drunk easily, but Dazai could count on one hand the number of times he’d gotten completely wasted off liquor. The times he had gotten wasted were because he was upset. Generally, Chuuya dealt with life better than Dazai, but that didn’t mean he dealt with life in the best way all the time.

Dazai sat down opposite Chuuya, and for the first time since Chuuya had gotten sick, Dazai actually looked closely at him. Chuuya had chopped off some of his hair. He was thinner. He looked pale.

Against his better judgement, Dazai asked, “what’s wrong?”

Chuuya sat up straighter and laughed. The laugh turned into a cough, which turned into a weird combination of the two. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really,” Dazai said. “You’ve been sick for a while. That hasn’t changed.”

“Exactly,” Chuuya said. “I’m still fucking sick.”

“When does your treatment end?” Dazai asked.

“It doesn’t.”

Dazai stared at Chuuya, who stared back. If Chuuya was honest when sober, he was absolutely incapable of hiding anything when drunk.

“What are you talking about?” Dazai asked. “It has to end at some point.”

“It isn’t working,” Chuuya said. “The best they can do is make sure I live longer.”

“What?” The word slipped out before Dazai could stop himself. He knew what Chuuya was saying, but he couldn’t believe it.

Chuuya took another gulp of the whiskey, and then Dazai reached over and snatched the bottle from his hands.

“Give me that,” Chuuya snapped, reaching over, but Dazai placed the bottle on the counter behind him and picked up his own glass of sake so that Chuuya couldn’t take it.

“You’re not drinking yourself into a coma over this,” he said. “Dying from alcohol poisoning would be pathetic, even for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chuuya looked like he was three seconds away from launching himself across the counter.

“You always let yourself get carried away by your feelings,” Dazai said. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking. “You make rash decisions and you don’t stop to think about the consequences. That’s why you work in a bar. It’s the only place that’ll have you. And even then, I’ve been wondering when they’d fire you-”

“What the fuck,” Chuuya hissed. “I’m only like that with you, because you’re a fucking bastard.”

Dazai knew that for the most part, that was true. Chuuya kept his temper much better around other people. But still.

“Every time something happens you get yourself wasted,” he said. “It’s almost like you’ve never learned how to deal with anything remotely difficult.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Chuuya said. “At least I haven’t-” He stopped himself.

“At least you haven’t what?” Dazai said coolly.

“I’m going to bed,” Chuuya said, standing up.

Dazai rushed over and grabbed his arm. “At least you haven’t what, Chuuya?”

Chuuya glared up at him, his eyes overly bright. “You’re not dealing with this better than I am.”

“Chuuya.” Dazai was surprised that Chuuya hadn’t pulled away.

“Maybe I should actually take a page out of your book,” he said. Dazai let go of him, but Chuuya grabbed his arm hard.

“Get off,” Dazai said.

“I never understood why you kept trying to kill yourself,” Chuuya said, and it was clear he was working hard not to slur his words so much. “But I didn’t blame you, even when it scared the shit out of me. But don’t you dare say that you deal with things better than I do.”

Chuuya had a good point. Dazai hated when that happened. Chuuya had gotten more perceptive the longer they’d known each other.

Dazai pulled his arm out of Chuuya’s grip. Chuuya made a frustrated noise and turned, walking away. Dazai heard the door to his room slam a moment later.

He poured his unfinished sake into the sink. He put away the bottle of whiskey. Luckily he’d caught Chuuya before Chuuya had drank too much of it. He wondered, if he hadn’t come home, if Chuuya would have downed the whole thing.

Dazai hadn’t asked what Chuuya meant by taking a page out of his book because Dazai already knew. He didn’t want to know, but he was unfortunately smart enough to figure it out.

The thought wouldn’t leave him alone even after he got ready for bed and forced himself to lay down. He stared at the ceiling, watching lights shift across the surface from cars passing on the street below their apartment.

Chuuya wouldn’t get better.

The thought had crossed Chuuya’s mind that he should kill himself before he got worse.

Death and Chuuya didn’t belong in the same category. Not to Dazai. Chuuya was a constant presence in Dazai’s life. Chuuya enjoyed living. Chuuya was very much alive in a way that Dazai often struggled to be. For Chuuya, being so alive seemed effortless.

It shouldn’t have mattered. What happened to Chuuya wasn’t his business. They were just friends. People lost friends all the time.

Dazai had lost Odasaku. He pushed himself away from everyone because he hated the feeling of loss. Getting close to others guaranteed loss.

His first instinct was to run. He couldn’t lose Chuuya if Chuuya didn’t mean anything to him, and now that Chuuya had confirmed that he was dying, Dazai had a good reason to leave.

But once he left, he would never see Chuuya again.

If Dazai had to be grateful for something to do with loss, he was grateful that he’d been with Odasaku as Odasaku took his last breath. He’d gotten to say goodbye. He’d gotten to hear Odasaku’s last words. Those were things a lot of people didn’t get.

Dazai wondered why so many of his suicide attempts failed. The obvious answer was that Chuuya got him help. But there were some methods of suicide that would have guaranteed Chuuya wouldn’t be able to help him.

Dazai’s therapist had brought this up during their sessions as something that pointed to Dazai actually wanting to live.

If Dazai wanted to live, what was he living for?

His work, the people in his life, a curiosity to see what came next.

If he lost everyone, what was the point of going on? He’d been left behind so many times before. If the future was bleak, and he was going to be alone, what was he actually living for?

He recognized that his thoughts were heading in a dangerous direction, so he tried to stop thinking. Eventually, he fell asleep.

*

“My friend is dying.”

Fortunately for Dazai, he still had a therapist. And he really needed one.

“Which friend?” His therapist was a woman named Yosano. She was sharp, which might have intimidated some people. But Dazai needed sharp.

“Chuuya.” Dazai had mentioned a few people in his life to Yosano, including Chuuya.

“He told you this?” Yosano asked.

“Yeah. He’s been sick for a few months but I guess he just found out the treatments weren’t working,” Dazai said. “He was drunk when I came home yesterday.”

“It came as a shock to you?” Yosano asked.

“Yeah, I mean, I just thought he would finish his treatment and go back to normal,” Dazai said.

“Did you talk to him about his illness a lot?”

Dazai frowned. “No.”

“Have you been talking to him at all?”

Dazai hated that she knew which questions he didn’t want to answer. “Barely.”

“You’re distancing yourself from him,” Yosano said. “Did you always see this as a possibility from when he first told you he was sick?”

He had. “I want to move out,” he said.

“You probably know what I think about that,” Yosano said.

Dazai did know. She thought it was a shitty way to cope.

“Even if you’ve tried to distance yourself the past few months,” Yosano continued, “Chuuya seems to matter a lot to you. Otherwise you wouldn’t think of doing something as drastic as moving out to avoid his death, right?”

“He’s always been around,” Dazai said.

Yosano raised an eyebrow. “You should think about how you feel about him, and what you want when you’re not thinking about how afraid you are of losing him. And how you can react to being afraid besides avoiding the situation or running away.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Yosano looked like she was barely restraining herself from a non-therapy appropriate reaction.

“I’m not,” Dazai insisted.

“Okay,” Yosano said, in a way that sounded like she didn’t believe him at all. “Just think about everything before you make a decision.”

*

Dazai was good at avoiding things he didn’t want to think about, but even he wasn’t stubborn enough to believe that he could keep avoiding this.

Three days passed before Dazai saw Chuuya again. He figured that Chuuya had treatment one of those days since Dazai stayed home and he wasn’t there. He hadn’t asked Dazai to bring him back afterwards this time.

On the third day, Dazai came home from the office to find Chuuya sitting at the kitchen counter, writing something on his laptop.

“What are you working on?” Dazai asked, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt.

“My will,” Chuuya said without looking up.

Dazai froze. “What?”

“You’re an idiot,” Chuuya said. He finally turned away from his computer. “Poetry.”

“Oh.” Dazai wondered if Chuuya actually did have a will. Despite spending years wanting to die, Dazai had never looked into this, so he didn’t know how it worked.

“Even though I was drunk, I remember everything you said,” Chuuya added.

“Yeah.” Dazai sighed. “Chuuya…”

“We need to talk about this,” Chuuya said. “Even if you don’t want to get into emotions or whatever, there’s some practical stuff that we need to deal with.”

“I figured,” Dazai said. He went over and sat across from Chuuya. Yosano would have been proud of him. “So talk.”

Chuuya frowned and closed his laptop. “I don’t know how long I have,” he said after a moment, “but there’s a few things to consider. When things get bad I could go to the hospital, or I could stay here. If you’re here I guess it’s up to you.”

Dazai was quiet for a moment. Chuuya had said “if” as if he expected that Dazai might leave. He knew Dazai too well.

“You said you wanted to kill yourself,” he said.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “No, I said I should take a page out of your book,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“Taking a page out of my book is attempting suicide,” Dazai said. “That’s what you were talking about.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to,” Chuuya said.

“Your illness is terminal, right?”

Chuuya looked surprised. It was the first time Dazai had directly acknowledged the status of his illness. “Yeah. What’s your point?”

“You really wouldn’t consider it?” Dazai asked. “You’d actually suffer until the end instead of just taking your life? I mean, if all you have to look forward to is feeling worse every day while your body slowly shuts down, then is it really worth it to stay alive?”

“Dazai…” Chuuya shifted.

“I think you have considered it, since you brought it up,” Dazai continued. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “It would be easier, right? And you have every right to, considering what I put you through.”

“It doesn’t have to do with you,” Chuuya said quietly. He looked almost worried.

“But you’d think about me when deciding,” Dazai said. “If I still lived here. If we were still talking. You wanted to discuss the practicalities of your sickness, and this is one of them.”

“Fine,” Chuuya said, “it’s one of them. But don’t act like I’ve decided anything. And quit assuming things. It’s not like you’ve talked to me for the past few months to know what’s going on.”

Dazai opened and closed his mouth.

“I don’t really blame you,” Chuuya added. “It doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is what happens next. Like whether you still wanted to live together or not.”

Dazai stared at him. Chuuya made it seem so simple. “Wait...you don’t blame me?”

Chuuya nodded. “People avoid things that scare them.”

“I’m not scared,” Dazai snapped.

Chuuya hummed. “So, living together.”

“I still want to live with you,” Dazai said, just to spite Chuuya for the comment about being scared. Then his brain caught up with him and he realized what he’d committed to.

Chuuya picked up on it, too. “Don’t say that just to prove something.”

Dazai almost protested, but he heard Yosano’s voice in his head telling him to not be an idiot. She’d never said those exact words to him, but he could picture her thinking it at least once per session.

“Can I think about it?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya nodded.

“Would you move out if I didn’t want to live with you anymore?” Dazai asked.

“Well if you weren’t moving out I guess I’d have to,” Chuuya said. “I’d probably just go to the hospital, honestly.”

That made sense. Dazai couldn’t see anyone renting an apartment just to die in it shortly after.

“If I moved out would you stay here?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya shrugged. “Hard to say. I’d have to think about it.”

“Are you quitting your job?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya sighed. “I quit two weeks ago. They told me I could come back when I was done with treatment but that’s not happening.”

“Why did you quit?”

Chuuya gave him a look. “Why do you think?”

“Could be a number of things,” Dazai said.

“I felt too sick to work,” Chuuya said, sounding annoyed that he had to say it. “I feel like breathing is harder now. And I’m tired. Which is bad for a job where you’re on your feet all the time.”

Dazai felt a strange sensation in his chest at hearing that. He hadn’t even noticed that Chuuya hadn’t been going to work for two weeks.

“What are you going to do?” Dazai asked. “Travel?”

“Write,” Chuuya said. “Like I have the money to go anywhere.” He tapped his fingers against his laptop. “Maybe I’ll try to appreciate Yokohama and Tokyo more. Besides, I’m too tired to really plan something big.”

Dazai hated hearing that. Chuuya wasn’t the sort of person to be too tired to do anything.

“Well,” Dazai said, standing up. “I’ll think about things. I’m assuming you’re free all week.”

Chuuya nodded. “I have lunch tomorrow with Kouyou, and the next day with Akutagawa, but that’s about it.”

Dazai wondered if Chuuya would tell both of them or if he already had. He knew they didn’t see each other often--everyone was busy these days--but he wondered if they had paid more attention to Chuuya’s illness than Dazai had. It was strange to think about them knowing more, since Dazai lived with Chuuya.

“After that, then,” Dazai said. “That’s when I should have my answer.”

Two days. It wasn’t a long time to think about what he’d do next, but it was better to get it over with.

*

There was a lot to think about.

Dazai’s biggest problem was that he didn’t want to watch Chuuya die. No matter what Yosano said about avoiding his issues, watching someone die slowly would be hard. It would be difficult for anyone, not just someone like Dazai.

It would be particularly difficult for Dazai because Dazai had spent so long trying to die. He wondered if it would make those old urges impossible to ignore again.

If he left, he would never see Chuuya again. And he hadn’t spent much time with Chuuya lately. He would miss Chuuya, as much as he told himself now that he wouldn’t. He felt more emotions these days than he used to.

He wondered how Chuuya felt about dying alone. If they lived together, they could keep up some semblance of normality. If Chuuya admitted himself to the hospital, he wouldn’t be able to escape his illness. The things Chuuya talked about doing, aside from writing, were only really possible if he had the freedom to keep living in the apartment.

But Dazai figured that Chuuya didn’t want to risk living alone in case something happened.

Dazai cared about Chuuya. That’s what the real problem was. Dazai cared too much to be able to watch him die, and he cared too much to let him go.

He remembered what Odasaku had told him once.

“Just because you lose people doesn’t mean you won’t find others. It doesn’t mean that you’ll never feel happy again,” he’d said. “I want you to try to find happiness. Even if you lose people, I think you’ll find it’s worth it.”

Allowing himself to stay close to Chuuya was a risk. But Dazai had lost Odasaku, and he still found that knowing Odasaku was worth it. He never wished that he’d never met Odasaku.

Chuuya was a constant in his life. Dazai realized that the reverse was true. He had always been a part of Chuuya’s life, too.

Maybe it was only right that Dazai would remain a constant in Chuuya’s life until the end.

*

“I’m staying.”

Chuuya’s mouth dropped open.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Dazai almost felt insulted. He tried not to let his irritation show too much. Was he really that bad?

Chuuya nodded. “Okay.”

“So what else does that mean?” Dazai asked. It felt odd to ask Chuuya what his plans for the rest of his life were.

Chuuya swirled his glass of water, which was dangerously close to spilling over onto his laptop. “It means I can go out more.”

“I get that,” Dazai said, “but what happens when you can’t?”

Chuuya put his glass down. “I have to think about it.”

Dazai had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he didn’t push.

Then Chuuya said, “If it’s okay, I want to spend time with you.”

Dazai hadn’t expected Chuuya to say it, even if he wanted it, based on how Dazai had been acting the past few months. “Why?”

“You’re supposed to be pretty smart, right?” Chuuya smiled at him. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Dazai was sure he could, too, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. “I can spend time with you.”

“Good,” Chuuya said, “because I know you have nothing better to do.”

“I have a lot to do,” Dazai said. “Don’t insult me like that.”

“It’s not an insult,” Chuuya said. “It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“What do you have to do?” Chuuya asked.

“Work,” Dazai said, “and…” He trailed off. “I have a lot of work.”

Chuuya stood up, grabbing his laptop. “Right. I hope you’re free tomorrow.”

He left, and Dazai wondered if he’d made a mistake.

*

Lately the weather had been cold, as it was October, and Dazai wasn’t sure if Chuuya would want to spend time outside. The flowers in the waterside parks were dying, which was a bit grim to see even if the views were nice.

Chuuya wanted to go to the red brick warehouse, so they did. They made their way through the various shops and stopped to eat lunch afterwards. Dazai had never spent much time there, because it was a bit out of the way and the shops didn’t really have anything he wanted.

The shops didn’t have anything Chuuya wanted, either, but he enjoyed the atmosphere of the place.

Dazai couldn’t help but notice small things that had changed. Chuuya walked more slowly, and his movements seemed stiff instead of fluid. His hands shook sometimes when he held something up to show Dazai. He tried to stifle his coughing, but he couldn’t quite hide how breathless he sounded almost constantly.

“I hope all of your plans don’t involve some kind of shopping center,” Dazai said as they walked back. “I’m not a fan of shopping.”

“That’s why you always wear the same shitty clothes,” Chuuya muttered.

“They aren’t shitty,” Dazai said.

“It’s not all shopping,” Chuuya said. “I just like those shops.”

Dazai nudged him. “What does Chuuya want to see in Tokyo?”

“Actually, there might be more shopping,” Chuuya said. “But I think you’ll be fine with it.”

“Why would I be fine with it?” Dazai asked.

“Because there’s food.”

Chuuya was quiet for the rest of the walk. Dazai got the feeling that after all that walking he was finding it hard to talk.

When they got back, Chuuya went straight to his room. Dazai assumed he was going to sleep.

The day out meant that Dazai had to finish some work at night, but he didn’t mind. It gave him something to do besides think. He wasn’t really in the mood to think too hard about everything he’d noticed earlier in the day.

He’d save the thinking for later.

*

The next morning Dazai got up and made coffee. Chuuya hadn’t told him what time he wanted to leave, so Dazai wasn’t sure if he should wake Chuuya up at any point.

Around nine, Chuuya came into the kitchen.

“Are we doing anything today?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya shook his head.

Dazai frowned at him. “No?”

“I didn’t realize,” Chuuya said, “that I would feel so crappy after walking so much.”

It was such a strange thing to hear coming out of Chuuya’s mouth, considering he’d always been more physically fit than Dazai.

“Then rest today,” Dazai said. “You don’t need to do something every day.”

Chuuya nodded and sat at the counter. “Coffee?”

Chuuya hated when Dazai made coffee, because according to him, Dazai was bad at it. But he must not have wanted to make some himself.

“Sure,” Dazai said.

They were quiet as they waited for the coffee to brew, and aside from a quiet “thank you” Chuuya didn’t say anything as they drank their coffee. Dazai started thinking of what he would work on for the day, and whether he wanted to stay in or go out.

“Are you writing today?” he asked Chuuya.

“Maybe,” Chuuya said. He seemed more awake now that he’d had coffee. “That’s not a bad plan, actually.”

“I’m full of good ideas,” Dazai told him.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and stood up, heading to his bedroom. He returned with his laptop.

Dazai got his own computer and together they sat in silence, save for the occasional stifled cough from Chuuya. It reminded Dazai of when they went to school together and would spend hours sitting with each other doing assignments or studying. There was no reason why they needed to be together when they weren’t talking, but there was a nice sense of solidarity in doing work with someone else around.

As the morning turned into the afternoon, they paused for lunch. Chuuya’s lunch was healthier than Dazai’s, because Dazai had never cared much about what he ate.

“You don’t really have a reason to care about what you eat, you know,” he told Chuuya. “Maybe you should just go all out and eat whatever you want.”

“Unlike you, I have taste,” Chuuya said. “I don’t want whatever you call that crap you’re eating.”

“It’s cup noodles,” Dazai said, “and they’re delicious. It takes a certain level of finesse to craft such a fine meal in a cup. That’s why there’s a museum dedicated to it. Speaking of which-”

“No,” Chuuya cut him off.

“You don’t want to see the cup noodle museum?”

“I really don’t.”

“Chuuyaaaaa-”

“Go by yourself.”

“So mean.”

They fell back into silence after lunch, when they both started writing again. Dazai made more coffee. Chuuya didn’t have any. At some point he left. Dazai figured he was taking a break.

A few minutes later, he heard Chuuya being sick.

Dazai wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know if Chuuya would want anyone around. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be around. But it was harder to ignore than it had previously been.

He sighed and stood up, heading for the bathroom. The door was closed. Dazai knocked.

“I’m fine,” Chuuya said. His voice sounded hoarse.

“Can I come in?” Dazai asked.

There was a pause. “Fine.”

The door wasn’t locked, so Dazai pushed it open. He lowered himself to the floor beside Chuuya.

“Is my coffee that bad?”

Chuuya looked like he was going to respond, but then he leaned over the toilet and retched. Dazai held his hair away from his face until he was done.

“Your coffee is shit,” Chuuya said after he caught his breath.

“Next time make your own,” Dazai said. “I don’t get how my coffee is shit and yours is good when we both use the same coffee maker.”

“It has to do with the ratio of water to coffee,” Chuuya said.

“Yeah, you put in a lot of both,” Dazai said.

Chuuya shook his head, and then retched again. Dazai winced. He wondered if Chuuya would be sick for the rest of the day.

Once he stopped being sick, Chuuya said, “You can’t just put a lot of both. It depends on how many people are having coffee and how strong you want the coffee to be.”

“You’re doing math when you make coffee?” Dazai asked. “You’re not even good at math.”

“It’s common sense,” Chuuya said. “Also, you put instant coffee in the coffee maker one time, so you really can’t convince me that I’m wrong.”

Dazai didn’t have a good response to that. “Oops.”

“Oops is right.” Chuuya flushed the toilet and stood up to rinse out his mouth.

Dazai stood up as well. “Next time you make the coffee.”

“I will,” Chuuya said, “and it’ll be good.” He headed back out to the kitchen. Daza followed him, still feeling a bit unsettled. He wondered if Chuuya felt that way too. Chuuya had to be feeling something about dying, but aside from getting drunk when he’d first gotten the news he hadn’t shown Dazai what it was and he hadn’t mentioned it.

Dazai had a feeling that would change.

*

They did end up in Tokyo a week later, just because Dazai’s work schedule and Chuuya’s good days took that long to line up. Chuuya wanted to go to Ameyoko market next to Ueno Station. It was a large area consisting of several pedestrian streets, and a lot of shops selling all sorts of things. There was, as Chuuya had promised the week before, a lot of food.

They went to a takoyaki place for lunch. Dazai could tell it was a good day, because Chuuya was actually hungry. Chuuya usually ate less, or was sick often, so it was nice to see him enjoying their meal.

At some point Chuuya dragged Dazai into a food shop to buy sweets. Dazai was surprised. He’d never been grocery shopping with Chuuya, but he knew that Chuuya liked healthy things. So it was even more surprising when he filled their basket with sweets.

“Apparently we’re good at candy,” was the only comment Chuuya made when Dazai asked him.

Dazai hadn’t tried a lot of the sweets either, and it occurred to him that neither of them had really had a childhood. It would be nice to try some things they’d missed out on when they were younger.

Afterwards they headed to Ueno park, where Chuuya found a place for them to sit so that he could catch his breath.

“Tired?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya nodded. “But that was nice.”

“It was,” Dazai agreed.

“Tokyo is huge,” Chuuya said. “I never really thought about it, but there’s a lot I haven’t done just in this one city.”

“It’s a good thing your plans include sightseeing around Tokyo then,” Dazai said.

Chuuya looked away. “Yeah.”

He seemed to be deep in thought. Dazai wanted to question it, but he didn’t know exactly how to ask why Chuuya didn’t seem completely happy. Especially not when there was a very obvious answer.

After a moment Chuuya turned to Dazai again. “Dazai, um...would you mind if I kissed you?”

The question caught Dazai completely off guard. He almost wanted Chuuya to repeat it. “What?”

“Kiss you,” Chuuya said. “Can I?”

“Yes?” Dazai didn’t really think about it.

Chuuya cupped his cheek and pressed his lips to Dazai. It was a soft kiss, and he pulled away shortly after, letting his hand drop.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, “why did you do that?”

Chuuya smiled. “Why do people kiss other people?”

“Chuuya.”

“I have feelings for you,” Chuuya said. “I don’t know why, because you’re an ass, but I have for a while. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you, because I know how much that stuff scares you. But I figured, why the hell not? I don’t really have anything to lose.”

He didn’t. Dazai knew that. Everything Chuuya said was right. The problem was, Dazai did have something to lose. He couldn’t dismiss this as just a kiss, not when Chuuya had admitted his feelings.

“I don’t know how I feel right now,” Dazai said.

“That’s okay,” Chuuya said. “We should go back.” He stood up. Dazai stood as well, feeling a bit off-balance.

He was scared.

*

Loving someone who was dying was Dazai’s worst nightmare.

He didn’t know if he could return Chuuya’s feelings. Maybe he did feel the same way towards Chuuya--he certainly cared about Chuuya a lot. But his fear would probably prevent him from accepting whatever he felt. He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t blame Chuuya for being honest. Chuuya had always been honest, and now he had even more of a reason to express his feelings.

Dazai might have thought about dating Chuuya back before Oda died. That was before Dazai started pushing people away, and Chuuya only stayed friends with him out of sheer determination. That determination had annoyed Dazai at his worst, but Dazai had learned to appreciate it.

Chuuya wouldn’t want Dazai to lie to him. But Dazai didn’t want to leave things uncertain. The problem was that there was no time. He hated that. He needed time. He couldn’t jump into something so emotional head-first like Chuuya did.

They didn’t talk about it over the next few days, and they also didn’t go out. Chuuya was sick, and Dazai wondered if Chuuya had waited too long to do the things he wanted to do. Now it seemed like Chuuya’s body was giving out before he did everything he’d planned.

Dazai wanted to have something certain, but he’d found himself faced with a lot of uncertainties.

They managed to go to Chinatown for lunch one day, only for Chuuya to be unable to get out of bed the next. After that, even if Chuuya felt okay, he didn’t feel well enough to go out. Dazai stayed at the apartment to do his work, and they sat and worked on their own things together, or shared the snacks Chuuya had bought when they went to Tokyo. Sometimes they talked about things that didn’t take too much effort to talk about, like what they’d have for dinner or Dazai’s work.

As the days went on, Dazai’s imagination supplied him with vivid scenarios in which he walked into Chuuya’s bedroom to find Chuuya dead.

There were times when Dazai wished it was him dying instead. He tried to deal with those thoughts as best as he could. Yosano’s therapy sessions helped. He knew he shouldn’t want to die after losing yet another person, but he also knew the temptation to follow Chuuya would be strong after Chuuya died.

Did that mean that he loved Chuuya? Yosano had said that he cared about Chuuya enough to be afraid of watching him die. Dazai couldn’t deny that he did care for Chuuya. Dazai thought about it more often the longer he and Chuuya didn’t talk about it. He still didn’t have an answer for what he felt.

One afternoon, Chuuya had curled up under a blanket on the couch, not wanting to be confined to his room. Dazai worked in the kitchen. Chuuya kept having coughing fits. He always seemed to respond well to distractions, so Dazai decided to stop his work and go sit with him.

When Dazai sat down, he noticed that Chuuya was holding a tissue to his mouth, and it was stained with blood.

“Chuuya?”

Chuuya took a shaky breath and coughed again before wiping his mouth and lifting his head. “I don’t think I’ll have anymore day trips any time soon,” he said.

Dazai swallowed. “That bad?”

“I feel like shit,” Chuuya said. “I had more tests the other day while you were at work. And,” he took another stuttering breath, “they weren’t good.”

Dazai felt like getting up and locking himself in his room. But he forced himself to keep looking at Chuuya.

Chuuya swallowed. “I don’t know if...I don’t want to get worse.”

It took Dazai a moment to process that and what it might mean. His throat felt like it was closing. “Chuuya…”

“I want it to be on my terms,” Chuuya said, “and I don’t want…” His voice cracked and he shook his head.

“You don’t want what?” Dazai asked.

“Any of it.” Chuuya looked like he wanted to cry. He must have felt trapped living like this, knowing things would only get worse.

Dazai didn’t really know what to say. “What do you want then?”

“I don’t know,” Chuuya said. “I just...I want to know when I should say goodbye.” His breathing was harsh.

Dazai could tell Chuuya was close to a breakdown. He knew Chuuya. “Come here.”

Chuuya frowned. “What?”

“Quick, it’s important,” Dazai said, gesturing for Chuuya to come sit against him. Chuuya shifted so that he was leaning against Dazai, his head on Dazai’s shoulder.

Dazai ran his fingers through Chuuya’s hair. It wasn’t as soft as he remembered. He could feel Chuuya relaxing against him, his breathing evening out. Dazai turned on the television and set it to a low volume on something mindless that they could both watch and not think too hard about.

Chuuya’s warmth felt nice, and Dazai found himself drifting to sleep.

*

Chuuya didn’t have a breakdown. At least, not one that he let Dazai see. It made Dazai feel like he’d actually been helpful.

Dazai didn’t let himself break, either. Part of it was just how he dealt with things--he pushed emotions away and didn’t let them overwhelm him. That could be bad sometimes. Lately, he’d had to pay attention to what he let himself feel or not feel and when.

He did want to feel things when he was with Chuuya. It was just hard. He couldn’t just feel happy without sadness. He couldn’t feel satisfied without feeling regret. He couldn’t feel anything without feeling its opposite emotion. At some point he stopped trying to push away the things he felt.

Chuuya, he realized, was worth that.

*

“Dazai, you have a minute?”

Dazai looked up from his computer and was speechless. Chuuya stood on the other side of the counter fully dressed. He’d had so many bad days that Dazai didn’t expect another good one. He finally found his words.

“You’re going out?” he asked.

Chuuya nodded. “It’s nice out.”

“I can come,” Dazai said, standing up. “Just let me-”

“It’s fine,” Chuuya cut him off. “I want to take a walk by myself.”

Dazai hated to ask if it was a good idea, but he couldn’t help it. “What if something happens?”

“Then it happens,” Chuuya said. “If I’m not back by,” he checked his phone, “six, call the hospital. If I’m not there, call Kouyou.”

Dazai wanted to ask why Kouyou. He wanted to ask why Chuuya had even thought about something like that. He swallowed against the protests rising in his throat.

He didn’t like how this felt.

Chuuya watched him, almost as if he was waiting for Dazai to say that he was okay with this.

Dazai nodded after a moment. There was nothing he could do about anything that was happening to Chuuya. He certainly couldn’t keep Chuuya in the apartment if Chuuya was feeling well enough to go out. Chuuya wouldn’t change his mind just because Dazai thought it was a bad idea.

He was helpless. They both were. There was only so much he could do.

“Have fun,” Dazai said. Chuuya half-turned away before he added, “Chuuya?”

Chuuya turned back. “Yeah?”

Dazai stood and made his way over to Chuuya, placing his fingers underneath Chuuya’s chin to tilt his head up. Chuuya’s eyes met his, his mouth slightly open in confusion or surprise. Then Dazai kissed him.

When he pulled away, Chuuya’s eyes were wide.

“I don’t know how to describe how I feel,” Dazai told him. “It would take me too long to figure out. I wanted to leave when you first got sick.”

Chuuya nodded.

“I don’t regret staying,” Dazai said, “even if...it means I care about you enough that it’ll hurt when you’re gone.”

Chuuya smiled. It lit up his whole face. “That’s the closest I’ve ever heard to a confession from you.”

Dazai felt his face grow warm. “You don’t know how hard it was to say that.”

“I do,” Chuuya said, “because you took this long. But that’s fine. It’s better than a lie.”

Dazai pretended to be insulted. “I would never lie!”

“You lie more than anyone else I know,” Chuuya said. “But I love you anyway.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before Dazai could stop himself. He wondered at how easy it was for Chuuya to say something like that.

“Why not?” Chuuya pulled back. “There’s a lot of reasons, but if I told you all of them now I’d never fucking leave.”

“That’s so sweet. Who knew Chuuya was so sweet?” Dazai grinned.

“There’s a list just as long for why you’re a bastard,” Chuuya said. “You can find both in my notebooks.” He turned and headed towards the door.

“Wait, really?” Dazai asked. He knew Chuuya wrote in notebooks when he wasn’t writing poems on his computer, but he never knew what was in them.

“Yeah, really,” Chuuya said. He pulled open the door and was gone.

Dazai sat down in the kitchen, and a timer starting running in his head. He wondered if Chuuya would come back through the door at six.

He couldn’t be certain, and it felt oddly right that he had no idea what to expect.

Chuuya had always been the most surprising person Dazai knew.