Chapter Text
𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶,
𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.
𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 — 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘈𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘴 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 —
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘖𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘨, 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺...𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥.
𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘣𝘶𝘵...
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯.
𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴...𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦.
𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦.
𝘉𝘶𝘵, 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦:
𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.
Dazai pauses, looking up from the letter with a laugh, whispering, “What the fuck, chibi?” Before settling back onto his bed more comfortably.
𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵:
𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘦, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘓𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳. (𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶)
𝘚𝘰, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘐'𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸?
𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤.
God, Dazai knows he’s trying to make him laugh, and it’s working, even if it still hurts.
𝘚𝘰, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵-𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘌𝘨𝘺𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦.
𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺.
𝘛𝘸𝘰: 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘰𝘶𝘪𝘫𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘶𝘺𝘢, 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘠𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐'𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴? 𝘕𝘰. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴.
(𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯.)
𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦: 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺, 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘦𝘵.
That one makes Dazai choke up, clapping a hand over his mouth, the tears threatening to spill over again, but—
𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 : 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦!
𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 — 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 : 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘰, 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘵
𝘉𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰:
𝘞𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.
𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 — 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺...𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘚𝘰, 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰
𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳.
𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶.
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 —
𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 — 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 —
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦.
𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.
𝘏𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴,
𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘶𝘺𝘢
“...” Dazai flops back on his mattress, staring at the ceiling, trying to...digest that. "So, you're the one who's been stealing my sweatshirts?" He murmurs, his lips quirking up into a small, endeared smile.
There's a faint creak near the door, and logically, Dazai knows it's just from the air vents, or the pipes—
But he makes the choice to tell himself otherwise.
"That's okay," he lets out a heavy sigh. "They always looked better on you anyway."
The letter is carefully folded back up, and he starts keeping it in his jacket pocket almost constantly, right next to the first one.
And he still hasn't figured out exactly what he wants to do with his life, but—
But he's figured out what he wants to do right now.
"...Going somewhere?" Mori raises an eyebrow when Dazai traipses down the steps, one of those big, travel backpacks thrown over his shoulders.
Atsushi pauses, his toast halfway to his mouth, looking at the parka, which is a weird choice for late summer.
"Yep," Dazai agrees, kissing Elise on top of the head as he snatches a piece of bacon off the table. "I'll be back in a few weeks.
"Care to share where?"
He hitches the bag a little higher up on his back.
"Norway."
He packs pretty light. A few sets of clothes, hiking boots, the bare essentials—along with two letters, a photograph, and a stack of post-it notes.
He can't get them all, the romantic movie ending has basically been ruled out for him at this point, but...
He's going to try.
Let's make it very clear: traveling from Tokyo to Svalbard by yourself isn't easy. Actually, it's long, cold, and boring when you're traveling alone, but...
Dazai has already made a habit of talking to himself. Well, not to himself, but
that's what everyone else assumes he's doing.
He makes friends waiting on the ferry, takes photos for couples on their honeymoon.
Four days later, he's standing on a blanket of snow under the arctic tundra, staring up at the lights overhead, and...
God, it's so fucking beautiful, casting golden shadows across his cheeks as he stares up at something that feels like it wasn't even meant for him, like he isn't even capable of really appreciating just how gorgeous it is.
Chuuya probably would have, though.
And Dazai finds himself having another angry moment, rage building up in his chest.
He used to liken it to a beast, like something that could rip out of his chest, screaming at the sky until it shattered, and it doesn't feel that different now.
Because fuck it, Chuuya should be here.
Why the fuck isn't he here?
It's the kind of grief stricken, addled rage that isn't supposed to make sense. Hell, even Dazai doesn't understand it, because he's been through this over and over, telling himself that he knows that Chuuya is gone, that he isn't coming back, that being angry about it doesn't do anything, but—
But neither does kneeling down, scraping together snowballs and just hurling them at the sky.
But what the fuck is he doing now?
That.
Most people stare at sights like this in awe, take pictures, propose to their significant others, or pray, even—
But not Dazai Osamu.
He throws fucking snowballs at it, screaming.
Not terrified screaming, and he's not sure if that would be more or less disturbing, if someone happened upon him like that.
Angry screaming. Roaring until he feels his throat getting raw, until it feels like the sky really might split open, and God might just appear, scratching her head, throwing her hands up and saying,
"Well, gee, I didn't think it was gonna be that big of a deal."
He finally stops, breathing hard, his chest heaving as the air fogs up in front of him, angry tears hot against his cheeks.
And it actually does feel a little better.
Really, now that it's off of his chest, the sight almost seems a little more beautiful. Like the lights are a little brighter.
Sure, maybe it wasn't exactly what the chibi had in mind when he wanted to come here, but—
Thud!
He jumps, his head rocking forward when something small, light, and cold hits the back of his head, exploding in a small burst of powdery snow against the back of his head.
...What?
Did someone just throw a snowball at him?
He turns around, peering into the darkness around him—but he doesn't see anyone nearby. He didn't come out with a tour group or anything like that, just a small hiking map.
"...Is anyone there?"
No one answers, stepping forward to take credit for the icy projectile, and after a few minutes of persistent searching for other footprints in the snow...
Dazai doesn't find any.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the letter, fumbling with his gloves as he unfolds it, re-reading one particular line—
𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
"..." He looks from the paper, back up to the lights overhead, and...
The smile that spreads across his face isn't angry, it isn't sad, it's—
It's so damn happy.
"...You made it, huh?" He mutters, pressing the letter to his lips.
Yeah.
His fingers tighten against the paper, and the tears in his eyes—
They aren't sad, either.
"I'm really glad, sweetheart."
Ghost are real, huh?
On the south side of Tokyo, there's a cemetery.
It's quiet, far from the roaring traffic that the city is known for—and always peaceful.
There's one particular grave that sits beneath a willow tree, carefully maintained—and the flowers that sit before it are never wilting, replaced at least once a week.
A man visits every Sunday, making sure that it's been cleared, that the flowers are fresh--and before he leaves, he always leaves something behind.
A postcard, and a photograph—each carefully lined up along the bottom in a neat little row.
The first one, of course, is from Norway.
𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪,
𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 —
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?
𝘐'𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘺.
𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺.
𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥,
𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶
𝘱.𝘴. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦.
The attached photograph is a selfie, his hair faintly dusted from the snow, the northern lights overhead, and—
The smile actually does look genuine.
More join it—some from Australia, other from Europe—
There’s one from Botswana where Dazai is doing a very nervous thumbs up next to a lion, not one in a zoo—
(The post card attached bemoans, ‘the things I do for you.’)
There’s another in New York, where Dazai is wearing ‘2028’ glasses next to a smiling blonde.
It’s the one and only time someone is introduced in a letter—briefly, but—
Dazai does mention that Chuuya would like him. Or, at least, he hopes that he would.
He doesn’t manage to hit every single thing on the list, but he tries.
After way too many tries, he wins a crane machine game—and his reward, a small Pikachu plush, joins the postcards on top of the grave.
He doesn’t just ride a motorcycle, he buys one, the first real commitment he’s made to anything in god knows how long.
He gets a tattoo—a camellia design, one they found on Chuuya’s tablet after...
It looks slightly out of place, on someone like him—but it feels good, having it there.
It takes longer than the few weeks that he told his family to expect.
It actually takes six months, but when he does come back to Tokyo, Dazai stays.
Not the same person he was before. He’s older, a little gaunt—and his hair is long enough now, he has to pull it up into a bun to keep it away from his face—
But he’s better than he was.
Getting stronger every day.
Hell, some people think the constant layer of stubble even suits him.
And that fall, after years of running away, of trying to avoid moving forward, because that felt like moving away from Chuuya—
Dazai goes back to college.
No one asked him too. He certainly doesn’t have a financial motive, but that isn’t why.
He only had three years left, and when he takes summer classes and utterly throws himself into it, he finishes it in two.
Odasaku gets married in that time. Atsushi starts high school.
Rory and Mark end up using a surrogate, and they have a beautiful little girl named Riley.
She has blue eyes, freckles, and Dazai is her god father.
When people find out that he’s going to medical school, there’s always surprise, at first.
Almost everyone assumed he would go back to performing eventually.
Most people don’t walk away from that level of fame and success. They don’t know how, but—
But that never really mattered, not to Dazai.
No one was surprised when he excelled, either—that was almost expected, but—
It’s rare for someone on the surgical track to want to specialize in pediatrics. Even more so when they want to focus on cardiothoracic surgery in children.
It isn’t an easy track to be on. Especially not for someone starting his residency at 30. Most people can’t handle it, but Dazai—
He hasn’t actually seen Chuuya again. Not since the night he jumped.
But when he sits on a patient’s bed, telling them what to expect from a procedure, and telling them that he’s going to do everything he can to make sure they walk out just fine—
He sees that look.
That hopeful, desperate need to be a normal kid. To be able to do what everyone else can do.
And when he sees that—
It’s as close to seeing him again as the young doctor ever gets.
It isn’t perfect. It isn’t what he wanted. It isn’t everything—
But it’s better than nothing.
It’s been eleven years since he lost him.
And Dazai has missed him for every single day of it.
It still isn’t easier.
But there’s more meaning to it now. There’s a reason to wake up in the morning.
(But sometimes, he lingers.)
That’s when Dazai meets her.