Chapter Text
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Dazai lay motionless in his hospital bed, his once vibrant features now marred by the pallor of illness. Shima visited daily, her presence a constant in the hospital room, her zealous hope never wavering despite the doctor’s pessimism.
Marcela, Dazai’s youngest sister, joined her in her vigil. The two sisters, united by their love for their brother, shared their stories of happier times. Of family gatherings, childhood escapades, and the pride they felt when Dazai’s art gained recognition.
In the white room, Dazai encountered other souls, trapped in a perpetual limbo, wandering the endless expanses in search of meaning. They sought respite from their torments, and in that chilling space, Dazai found strength.
Using his artistic talent, he began sketching details of the world outside, tales of life and love, beauty and victory, finding solace in creating something where nothing else existed.
Each time he helped someone escape the white room, Dazai felt a spark, a glimmer of hope that perhaps, through his art, he could save others.
Then he met with him. Chuuya Nakahara. He was unlike anyone he had met. He was brave enough to take his own life to be free.
But after Chuuya left the white room, Dazai felt an emptiness he had never felt before.
As days turned into the weeks in the white room, Dazai’s lucidity ebbed and flowed. Memories of his life and the white room merged, leaving him disoriented and lost. Yet, the thought of Chuuya lingered, a beacon of hope piercing through the darkness.
In his dreams, Dazai often saw Chuuya, the phantom of his savior, encouraging him, urging him to keep going. He opened his eyes to find himself still in the white room, his fingers tracing the edges of the sketches he had drawn, a comforting presence in the bleak environment.
Days passed, and Dazai’s dreams shifted. He dreamt of Chuuya waiting for him outside the hospital, their paths crossing again. The thought gave him hope, a glimmer of light in the suffocating darkness.
One dream was different. In it, Dazai was reunited with his mother, his father, and siblings. They embraced him, forgiveness etched on their faces. Shian held his hand, her smile bright, her eyes clear once more.
And as he was dreaming this reunion, something miraculously happened. Tears began flowing down his cheeks despite the fact that he was still in coma.
“Marcela, look.” Shima pointed at Dazai’s face, her voice trembling.
Marcela approached her brother’s bedside, a puzzled look on her face. “He is crying, Shima. Do you think it means something?”
Shima, eyes wide with hope, nodded vigorously. “We need to tell the doctor.”
Together, the sisters hurried to find the nearest medical personnel. The doctor on duty was skeptical at first, but when they brought him back to Dazai’s room, he couldn’t hide his curiosity.
“This is quite unusual. Can you both stay at his side and let me know if this happens again?” The doctor instructed.
The sisters agreed, their hearts beating with newfound hope. As they sat by Dazai’s bed, hands clasped tightly together, they spoke in hushed tones, unable to contain their excitement.
“Do you think… He can hear us? What if he is struggling to wake up?” Shima’s voice quivered with emotion.
Marcela squeezed her older sister’s hand. “We must stay strong, Shima. Let’s keep talking to him, like we always do. Maybe our voices will guide him back to us.”
After a few hours, Chuuya walked in, carrying a bouquet of flowers for Dazai, seeing the sisters were already there, seated beside the comatose young man. Noticing Chuuya, Marcela stood up, offering a grateful smile.
“Thank you for coming again, Chuuya. How have you been since last time?” Marcela inquired politely.
“I have been well,” Chuuya replied, placing the flowers carefully on the table beside Dazai’s bed. “How is your brother doing?”
Shima sighed, her eyes reddened from the tears she had shed earlier. “There was a small sign of hope. The doctor is monitoring him now.”
Chuuya’s heart swelled with hope for Dazai. He wanted to believe that the man lying in front of him might one day wake up.
For weeks, the sisters, Chuuya, and the medical team monitored Dazai, assiduously recording any changes in his condition. Each tear, twitch, or shift in his vital signs brought both joy and frustration. The hope of Dazai waking up was a flame kept alive by the smallest sparks.
Months turned into a year. The hospital room had become a sanctuary for Dazai’s loved ones, a gathering place for prayers and stories. Despite the grim reality, the space resonated with warmth and love, a testament to the power of familial bonds.
And then, on an otherwise ordinary morning, Marcela noticed Dazai’s eyelids fluttering. “Shima, look!” She exclaimed, her voice shaking.
Shima rushed to her side, her heart hammering in her chest. “Chuuya, quickly!” She called out, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Chuuya, who had been reading by the window, ran to join them. The room fell silent as they all waited, breaths held in anticipation.
Slowly, Dazai’s eyes opened, revealing a hint of confusion in their depths. His gaze flicked between the familiar faces surrounding him, his memory struggling to catch up.
“Osamu…” Shima whispered his name, tears streaming down her face.
A smile tugged at the corners of Dazai’s lips as he looked at his sister, recognition dawning in his eyes. “Shima…” He rasped, his voice weak but determined.
“You are awake, Osamu. You did it!” Marcela cried, her voice thick with emotion.
Dazai tried to sit up, the effort causing him to pant heavily. Chuuya assisted him, supporting his weight. “Welcome back, Dazai.” He said, the relief evident in his tone.
Dazai’s eyes met Chuuya’s, a spark of understanding igniting within them. “You… Were there.”
“Yes, I was. But we can talk about these later. We will have a lot of time,” Chuuya replied with a gentle smile, squeezing Dazai’s shoulder. “But now, you should rest.”
Nodding weakly, Dazai allowed himself to sink back onto the pillows. The sisters gathered around him, their embrace providing the warmth and comfort he needed.