Whenever I wanted to run away,
I always ran to here, to the corner of the town's outskirts
I walked and wandered alone
—Rabbit Gray
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April 2014
Falling up the stairs, long steep crooked staircase in a musty apartment building rooms rooms which room was his room? He couldn't remember
(static)
There were people in his house, people he didn't know pulling the door open and wandering through as if they owned the place but they didn't (and neither did Dazai)
(static)
None of them had faces, all of them were watching him
(static)
Outside it was snowing
(staticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstaticstatic—)
Dazai's eyes flew open. His entire body was shaking, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. There was nothing inherently scary about the dream he'd had, but everything about it felt so instinctively wrong.
So many of his dreams were just that: disorientingly backwards and lawless. There were no rules in Dazai's head, or maybe there were, but it didn't matter because his dreams broke all of them, every time, without fail.
Dazai was still awake when Chuuya's alarm went off at 5 AM. It took Chuuya hilariously long to locate his phone where Dazai had left it on the floor near the foot of his bed, or at least it would have been hilarious if Dazai didn't feel like complete shit.
"Where the fuck is it," he heard Chuuya mumble.
" With your feet on the air and your head on the ground, try this trick and spin it, yeah—"
Chuuya found the alarm before the rest of Where Is My Mind could play out, unfortunately. "Oi, shitty Dazai," he called hoarsely. "How the fuck did you figure that one out?"
Dazai rolled his eyes even though Chuuya couldn't see it and answered, "I knew Chuuya would be running out of ideas by now. Using 1992 again? So unoriginal!" He clucked his tongue and added, "Anyway, you'd expect me not to think of you reusing a recent password, which meant that it's exactlywhat I thought of. I got it on my second try."
"You're so fucking infuriating," Chuuya mumbled. There was a rustling sound as he climbed back into bed, and a resounding wham! as Chuuya slammed his phone onto his nightstand.
"Maybe Chuuya could try being smart for once in his life," Dazai replied.
"Maybe you should try shutting the fuck up before I kill you," Chuuya said flatly.
Maybe I want you to kill me, Dazai thought but didn't say.
The next time Dazai woke up, it was shortly after 10 AM. Chuuya had opened the blinds, and was bustling around the room, putting together what Dazai had come to know as his volleyball bag. From what Dazai could tell, the contents usually included tape, workout clothes, a water bottle and a pair of knee pads that Chuuya no doubt looked unfairly attractive in.
Dazai considered pretending to be asleep until Chuuya left, but seeing as Chuuya often took forever to get ready, Dazai decided against waiting. His stomach was growling, thanks to not eating the night before, so the first thing Dazai did when he got up was go to the fridge.
He checked his side, but saw no sign of the canned crab he'd already opened. He frowned and poked around a bit, but still came up empty-handed. He glanced at Chuuya, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, Chuuya~" he called sweetly. "Did you by chance throw out my crab?"
"Uh, yeah?" Chuuya said, not looking away from his mirror as he brushed out his hair. "It was mostly eaten, and you left it uncovered. It was probably growing stuff already."
Dazai glared at Chuuya. "You just threw out a perfectly good meal," he snapped. "Are you happy with yourself?"
Chuuya looked at him incredulously. "Oh, my bad," he said sarcastically. "I'm so sorry I saved you from food poisoning! Next time I'll leave it, let it kill you for all I care."
"I wish you would," Dazai retorted. "Anyway, that crab was perfectly fine!"
"Do you own a single container?" Chuuya said critically. "Or even saran wrap?"
"Why would I?" Dazai replied. "It's not like crab goes bad that easily. Not that you would know about that," he added disdainfully. "Anyway, you owe me a can of crab."
"It was mostly gone anyway!" Chuuya defended. "Just eat one of the other ten cans in the fridge. Jesus."
"You'll pay for this, I hope you know," Dazai said pleasantly.
Chuuya turned back to the mirror. "I'm sure I will." His voice was unfairly bored, the way Dazai often made his, and it kind of made Dazai want to scream.
He didn't, of course.
Instead he dressed in silence, grabbed his wallet and left the dorm. He went to the konbini where Atsushi worked and grabbed himself a mandarin, a bottle of sake and a can of sweet potato soup. Atsushi wasn't working today, so Dazai didn't linger, but headed straight back to the dorm instead.
By the time he got to his room, Chuuya had already left for practice. Dazai had no idea how long he'd be gone for—he assumed at least an hour, which left him plenty of time to carry out his latest scheme.
Dazai crossed the room, humming under his breath, and flung open Chuuya's wardrobe. Chuuya's hat hung on a hook in between his leather jacket and a long black trench coat. Dazai removed the hat and set it on Chuuya's bed before opening the can of soup and proceeding to empty its contents into said hat.
"Hat soup, hat soup, hat soup!" Dazai chanted to himself as he poured the last of the soup into the hat. He tossed the can before snapping a photo of the soup-filled hat.
It was magnificent, and now all Dazai had to do was wait.
He sent the photo to both Ranpo and Yosano—the two friends he had who likely wouldn't scold him for doing such a thing—before laying back on his bed and listening to Climbing up The Walls on repeat.
Chuuya returned just after 12:30. Dazai subtly pulled off his headphones, eager to hear Chuuya's reaction to the prank. It took Chuuya less than a minute to notice the hat, and when he did, his entire body went still. "Dazai," he said, voice dangerously low, "I am going to kill you now."
"Oh, did I do something wrong?" Dazai said innocently, hopping off the bed and strolling over to Chuuya. He was expecting the hit, but it still hurt like hell.
Dazai gasped and clutched his stomach. "I think—" he wheezed. "I think you broke my ribs."
"You're fine," Chuuya snapped. "My hat isn't. Now, you're going to go dump the soup and take this to a professional dry cleaner, or I'm going to hit you again. Got it?"
"Why do I have to—" Dazai started to complain, but Chuuya cut him off with a hit to his chest that sent him flying back into his bed. Chuuya stepped forward and grabbed the front of Dazai's shirt as his fist drew back again. "The next one gets your face," he warned. His nose was inches from Dazai's.
"All right, Jesus," Dazai exclaimed, rolling his eyes and putting his hands up in surrender. "I'll clean your stupid hat. Now get out of my face, your breath is horrible. Smells like you brushed your teeth with mayonnaise."
Chuuya's face contorted with rage. "I wonder whose fault that could be," he hissed. He backed up and shoved Dazai away from him. Dazai gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath before grabbing Chuuya's hat and heading to the bathroom.
He emptied soup into the sink and turned the faucet on to wash it down, giving the hat a light rinse while he was at it. It didn't look all that dirty, but it smelled strongly of sweet potato (Dazai didn't really see an issue there; he thought sweet potatoes smelled pretty nice).
Kunikida walked in as Dazai was giving the hat one last quick rinse. He stopped in his tracks, staring at Dazai. "What are you doing with Nakahara-kun's hat?" He asked Dazai suspiciously.
"Cleaning it!" Dazai chirped.
Kunikida frowned, still looking skeptical. "Why?"
"Because I put soup in it, and Chuuya didn't like it," Dazai explained, pouting. "It was a nice gift, too!"
Kunikida opened and shut his mouth. "What kind of soup?" He asked eventually.
Dazai grinned. "Sweet potato! I'd offer you some, but I already dumped it."
A look of rage crossed Kunikida's face. "You dumped it down the sink?" He shouted. "You idiot! Are you trying to clog the drain?"
"It was soup, Kunikida-kun," Dazai said condescendingly. "How would it clog the drain?"
Kunikida wordlessly crossed the bathroom and turned on Dazai's sink. The water filled the bowl and began spilling over almost at once. "Well, that was unexpected," Dazai mused. "Anyway, I gotta go dry clean this hat, so catch ya later!" He waved cheerfully as he backed out of the bathroom.
"GET BACK HERE DAZAI—" Kunikida roared as Dazai sprinted down the hall and rushed into his room. He shut the door behind him, cutting Kunikida's yells off abruptly. Dazai tossed the hat to Chuuya, who was perched on his bed. "Find me a dry cleaner and I'll bring it in," Dazai ordered.
Chuuya scowled, inspecting the hat's interior. "Why don't you find one yourself?"
"Whatever I find won't be up to your standards, I'm sure of it," Dazai pointed out.
Chuuya rolled his eyes in response but said, "Fine." He tapped away at his phone for a minute before holding it up to show Dazai. "This one's a mile away. Have it done by tomorrow night at the latest."
"What a demanding little shorty," Dazai drawled. Chuuya gave him a threatening glare, and Dazai smiled placidly in response. "I'll have it cleaned by tomorrow evening, Chuuya-sama," he said with a short bow. He took the hat back when Chuuya offered it and turned away, but Chuuya grabbed his arm.
"I'm not done with you yet," he stated. "I wrote us up a contract."
Dazai stared at him. "You what."
"I wrote us a contract," Chuuya repeated. "This thing…it isn't sustainable. If we keep it up at this rate, we'll destroy everything we own. I don't know about you, but I don't want that."
Dazai raises an eyebrow. "Are you proposing a truce?"
"Of sorts," Chuuya hedged. "Don't get me wrong, if you piss me off, I'll still hit you. But," he added, "I'd prefer it if I didn't have to. As a libero, I need my hands in prime condition, after all."
" As a libero, blah blah blah," Dazai mimicked in a high-pitched tone. "You're giving up that easily?"
Chuuya's nostrils flared. "I'm not giving up," he hissed. "This is just a ceasefire, that's all. Besides, we both know this is going nowhere. I'm sure as hell not dropping out of school or switching rooms, and I know you won't, so what's the point in this constant fighting? It's fucking exhausting, and I don't have the brainpower to deal with this right now."
Secretly, Dazai agreed, but he still had a role to play. "What makes you think I'll uphold my end of the deal?"
Chuuya rolled his eyes. "If you sign this contract and swear you won't go back on it, I'll owe you a favor, but you can't collect until two months from tomorrow at the earliest. That way you have to prove you're serious about this."
Dazai mulled it over. On the one hand, he had really been looking forward to coming up with more pranks, but on the other, he was pretty drained, and it'd be nice to have Chuuya owe him one. "The favor," he said slowly. "Can it be anything?"
Chuuya hesitated. "Within reason."
Dazai frowned. "Define reason."
Chuuya rolled his eyes and hopped off the bed. "You're not getting me to do anything illegal, and the favor can't be me dropping out or switching rooms, since that defeats the entire purpose of the deal. Anything else goes."
Dazai grinned. That still left him plenty of wiggle room. "Okay," he agreed easily. "I'll sign your contract."
A look of genuine surprise crossed Chuuya's face. "You will?"
"Why are you surprised," Dazai said, bemused. "One favor to make you do anything? That's worth…hmm. At least 2,000 yen."
"That's not much?" Chuuya said, frowning.
"Yep!" Dazai replied. "You're not worth very much, as it turns out."
Chuuya scowled and retrieved a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. He shoved it at Dazai and said, "Here."
Dazai scanned the document. It was simple; there were only three conditions listed beneath the header Dazai and Chuuya's Temporary Truce. The first was 'no messing with each others' belongings', the second was ' no more 5 AM alarms', and the third was 'avoid each other whenever possible, speak only when necessary'.
"I have two conditions to add," Dazai announced.
Chuuya looked wary. "And they are?"
"No throwing out food without asking first, and no slamming doors," Dazai replied. "Is your tiny brain capable of comprehending those terms?"
Chuuya rolled his eyes but said, "Fine. You can add them."
Dazai grabbed a pen from his desk and wrote in the conditions before signing the contract on the dotted line at the bottom. He passed it wordlessly back to Chuuya, and Chuuya pinned it up on the wall over the fridge. "Just so you don't forget about it," he said.
"Oh, Chuuya," Dazai said condescendingly. "Unlike you, I don't forget things."
Chuuya bristled. "Well, it's there just in case. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet some friends. You do know what those are, right?" He raised an eyebrow at Dazai.
Dazai didn't grace him with a response, instead turning back to his phone and ignoring Chuuya completely. Chuuya huffed in annoyance, but still he managed not to slam the door on his way out, even though he clearly wanted to.
Dazai celebrated his absence by breaking out the bottle of sake. He had a couple of glasses—actually, the only cup he owned was an old mug that read Live Laugh Coffee on it—before forcing the mandarin down his throat, because scurvy didn't seem like a fun way to go.
He chased the mandarin with another mug of sake, and only once he was sufficiently buzzed did he grab his philosophy textbook and get to work reading chapters 2 and 3. Both were easy enough to do even when he was tipsy, and he made a game out of taking a shot every time he saw the word 'human'.
By the time he finished chapter 3, it was close to 2 PM, and Dazai was wasted. He put on no future for us and hummed along, drumming his fingers on his desk in time with the beat. His head sank to the desk, eyes drifting shut as the lyrics washed over him.
I want to try to live for someone, but there is no tomorrow for us.
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Dazai got bored of drinking alone sometime around 5. Chuuya was still out, which meant he had no one to harass. He didn't have work today, but Ango and Oda worked the opening shift at Bar Lupin, so Dazai headed over there for some much needed entertainment.
It was already sort of crowded by the time Dazai arrived, which made sense, seeing as Saturdays tended to be on the busier side. Dazai grabbed a stool at the bar and waited for his friends to notice his presence.
Oda saw him first, and offered him a small smile when he came over. "Can I get you something to drink?" He asked Dazai.
"Sure," Dazai said, voice only slightly slurred. He'd finished the sake earlier, but had sobered up slightly since then. "I'll take a whisky. Just put it on my tab."
Oda gave him a look. "The tab you still haven't paid?"
"Yep!" Dazai said cheerfully. "I'll get it next time!"
Oda sighed. "If you say so," he replied. He put together Dazai's drink and passed it over, watching as Dazai downed it in one gulp. "Another," he demanded, sliding the glass back to Oda.
"Are you sure about that?" Oda asked him cautiously.
"No, I'm very not sure about having another drink on a Saturday night," Dazai said sarcastically. " Yes, I'm sure."
Oda refilled Dazai's drink dutifully even as he said, "I can tell you've been drinking already. You smell like cheap sake."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dazai lied. "The only thing I've had to drink today is water!" Actually, he probably should drink some water. Dazai couldn't actually remember the last time he'd done that.
Instead of asking for one, though, he drained the second glass of whisky before saying, "So, how is the great Odasaku doing today?"
Oda glanced around at the bustling bar. "A bit overwhelmed. I still have a lot of work to do on my thesis proposal."
Dazai burped. "When's that due again?"
"May 27th," Oda responded. "I should be fine, but it's still stressful."
"I'll bet," drawled Dazai. "Hey, Odasaku, can I come over when you guys are off work? We didn't get the chance to hang out much in class, after all."
"As long as Ango's up for it," Oda replied. "If it's okay with him, it's okay with me."
"Sounds good," Dazai said before calling, "Hey, Ango!"
Ango's head whipped up. "Oh, it's you."
"Yes, me," Dazai chirped. "Can I come over when you get off work?"
Ango sighed. "Did Oda say you could?"
"I said he could if it's all right with you," Oda answered.
"It's fine with me," Ango replied. "But you're notstaying the night. Got that?"
"Yessir!" Dazai assented.
Oda and Ango didn't get off until 10, so Dazai spent the next four and a half hours getting absolutely shitfaced. Oda and Ango technically cut him off at 8, but Dazai knew where they stored all their backup liquor, so he swiped a bottle of fancy vodka and went to the staff room to drink in solitude. He'd forgotten his headphones, but the noise from the bar kept Dazai's self-destructive thoughts at bay.
Mostly.
Ango and Oda found him in the staff room just after 10, half-empty bottle of vodka in hand.
"Really?" Ango said, exasperated. "You realize you'll have to pay for that, right?"
"Put it on my tab," Dazai said dismissively.
Ango groaned. "You're never paying that, are you?"
Dazai pretended to think about that for a moment. "Probably not!"
Ango sighed. "Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem," he chanted under his breath.
"Let's go home," Oda told them.
Dazai hopped off the bench where he'd been sprawled. "Splendid idea, Odasaku!"
By now, Dazai was more familiar with Oda and Ango's apartment than he'd been with any place he'd ever lived. Dazai threw himself onto the couch at once, sprawling so that he took up the whole thing. There were a couple of smaller armchairs, so Ango and Oda each took one of those.
"I'm bored," Dazai complained, kicking his feet up in the air.
"You're drunk," Ango stated.
"Jeez, tell me something I don't know," Dazai retorted.
"Okay, then," Ango replied, "you're a menace and disaster of a person."
Dazai gave him a look. "You think I don't know that either?"
Ango rolled his eyes and didn't reply, so Dazai changed the subject. "I still can't believe neither of you have girlfriends yet," he remarked.
"As if you can talk," Ango said with a snort. "How many women have you asked to participate in a double suicide by now?"
"Not that many," Dazai defended. "Anyway, it's a perfectly reasonable thing to ask! At least I get hit on sometimes. When's the last time that happened to either of you?"
"I got hit on by an older woman the other day," Oda offered.
Ango looked amused by that. "Really?"
Oda shrugged. "I think she was around 50, so a bit out of my age range."
"I'd date someone older than me," Dazai declared. "Within reason, though."
"How old is 'older'?" Oda asked curiously.
Dazai shrugged. "I don't know, a few years maybe?"
Ango looked relieved. "I guess that's not too bad."
"Of course it's not," Dazai replied. "It's not like I haven't been with an older woman before."
Ango and Oda exchanged an uneasy glance. "Dazai, when was that?" Ango asked. He sounded apprehensive.
Dazai shrugged, tucking his knees to his chest. "I don't know, when I was 17 maybe? She was 22 though, so really not much older."
Oda let out a breath. "That is…concerning."
"Why?" Dazai said curiously. "It's not like I didn't consent or whatever, and I wasn't that drunk. I was conscious, at least."
Ango looked nauseated. "You were drinking?"
"I mean, yeah," Dazai replied. "Underage drinking isn't, like, a big deal or anything."
"That's not the issue," Ango stated. "You were 17."
"So? It's only five years," Dazai argued.
Oda gave him a concerned look. "You're 22 now," he pointed out. "Would you have sex with a 17 year old?"
Dazai screwed up his nose. "Uh, no. That would be weird."
"How is that any different?" Ango asked, sounding incredulous.
"'Cause I'm a guy," Dazai said. "Obviously."
"Okay, then, would you have sex with a 17 year old boy?" Ango pushed.
"No, because I'm straight," Dazai said impatiently. "What's the point of this conversation?"
Oda and Ango exchanged another look. "Gender makes no difference," Oda said eventually. "It's the age gap that concerns us."
"So?" Dazai repeated. "The age of consent here is, like, 13."
Oda stared at him. "Yes, and it shouldn't be."
"True," Dazai agreed, "but I was 17, not 13."
"That's…" Oda paused. "That's not much better."
Dazai frowned. "Why?"
"Because," Ango said, exasperated. "With an age gap of five years, the experience level is significantly different, especially for a 17 year old. Not to mention that you were drunk."
"Not that drunk," Dazai insisted.
"Would you have passed a breathalyzer test?" Asked Oda.
"Well, no, but—"
"Dazai," Ango interjected. "That's fucked up."
"She was drunk too!" Dazai protested. "And I wasn't drugged. I chose to get drunk."
"That doesn't make it any better," Ango stated.
Oda sighed. "In Japan, consent can be given when voluntarily intoxicated."
"Exactly!" Dazai said triumphantly, pointing at Oda.
"But," Oda continued, "that law is archaic. The age of consent is, along with pretty much every law that defines sexual assault in this country, shameful and incredibly outdated. The fact that what you went through was technically legal is…horrifying, to say the least."
Dazai pouted. "Odasaku! I thought you were on my side!"
"I am," Oda replied. "Which is exactly why I'm telling you this."
"Dazai," Ango said seriously, "in many countries, what you went through would be considered statutory rape."
"Not in this one, though," Dazai countered.
Ango groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm still not seeing how that makes the situation any better."
Dazai sighed. "Look," he told them, "I get where you're coming from, but it's really not a big deal. Besides," he added, "it's not like that's the worst thing I've been through."
Ango looked horrified. "That doesn't make it okay!"
Dazai shrugged. "Sure it does."
"Dazai," Oda said cautiously, "has anything else like that happened to you before?"
Dazai hesitated. "...No. " Oda gave him a look, and he amended, "' Anything else ' is a very broad term, you know."
Ango put his head in his hands. "I don't understand how you don't find this disturbing."
Dazai rolled his eyes. "Your concern is touching, but very misplaced," he informed them. "Everything that happened to me is in the past, and I'm fine."
"Are you?" Oda asked. "When's the last time you slept through the night?"
Dazai opened and closed his mouth. "That has nothing to do with it," he said eventually.
"Fucking hell, Dazai," Ango burst out. "How are you not getting this? Do you feel anything at all?"
Dazai leveled him with a cool look. "Of course not," he answered. "I'm hardly human, after all."
Ango recoiled. "I didn't mean it like—"
"Ango," Dazai cut in sharply. "I'm sorry all of this bothers you. Both of you, actually. Really, I am. But let's say it did affect me. What the hell am I supposed to do about that now ?"
"They have therapists for that kind of—"
"Pass," Dazai interrupted. "Any other suggestions?" Neither Oda or Ango spoke, and Dazai smiled coldly. "That's what I thought." He pushed himself off the couch and added, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paper to write." That was entirely untrue, and based on both Ango and Oda's expressions, Dazai could tell they knew as well as he did that there was no chance he'd be caught dead writing a paper on a Saturday night.
It didn't matter if they knew he was lying, though. He didn't owe them the truth. He didn't owe them shit.
Dazai left their place without another word, closing the door harder than usual behind him without even trying. He wasn't in the mood to play nice; he'd apologize for it later, probably. Anyway, Dazai was fine. He didn't need therapy, and he sure as fuckdidn't need his friends reminding him how fucked up his sexual history was. It wasn't as if he could change the past; and short of doing that, nothing else could erase what happened.
Ango was right about one thing, though. Dazai felt nothing when he thought about what happened, which meant one of two things: either none of it mattered, or all of it mattered, but Dazai wasn't human enough to feel it.
So excuse him for wanting to believe the former
But if I just swallow my feelings…
Your voice is drifting farther and farther away,
Even your hopes and ideals.
—Bouto
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May 2014
School wasn't so hard once Dazai got into the swing of things. His moods settled down somewhat, and even his 'stimming', as Yosano referred to it, wasn't quite as it had been his first week. Dazai felt closer to normal than he had in a long while. Not that it made him normal or anything, but it was kind of nice to pretend.
Oda and Ango hadn't brought up therapy with Dazai again. They must have known he'd simply refuse to take it seriously, which was apt of them—no way in hell was Dazai spilling his guts to some stranger who was only listening to him because they were being paid to do it.
Anyway, Dazai was doing fine. He turned in his assignments on time, he went to class, and though he still antagonized Chuuya, their fights never went further than shouted insults and the occasional hit from Chuuya. Their tentative truce appeared to be holding up, at least for now.
For the most part, the rest of April was easy. So easy that he almost forgot what it was like when things got hard.
Of course, they couldn't stay easy forever.
▝■▙▚▛■▜▞▟■▘
He was running. Why was he always running? Nothing was chasing him, as far as he knew, but he was in danger. From what, he had no clue.
He ran through a theater, the same one he always saw. The theater narrowed into a corridor and then suddenly, he found himself in a wide, blue room. He knew he wasn't alone, but he couldn't be bothered to look at the others because there was a long, greenish worm latching onto his wrist.
Dazai watched, fascinated, as the parasite dug beneath his skin and pushed its way into his veins. It hurt like hell, like his whole hand was on fire, but Dazai couldn't get rid of it. He tore it out, but it only returned, and he understood then that it wouldn't stay gone until he left the room.
The problem was that there wasn't a door—
Dazai groaned and opened his eyes. He could feel himself shaking under the covers, and he couldn't seem to stop. He checked his phone, squinting at the bright screen—he'd forgotten to dim it, yet again—and saw that it was just after four in the morning. It was Monday, so Dazai still had a good few hours to sleep before he had to get up.
"Dazai?" Chuuya's called from across the room. His voice was uncertain, and rough with sleep in a way that Dazai most certainly did not find attractive, not even a little bit.
Dazai forced himself to relax. "What is it, little mouse?"
"Fuck off," Dazai heard him grumble. "And stop being so goddamn loud when you sleep."
"Once again~" Dazai sang, "can't control that!"
"Well, try," Chuuya snapped. "Or whatever."
Dazai just rolled his eyes. Chuuya couldn't see it, but it was cathartic nonetheless. "Go to sleep, leprechaun."
He could practically hear Chuuya gritting his teeth from across the room. "You first, asshole."
Dazai didn't fall back asleep until half an hour before his morning alarm went off at 8:30. Chuuya must have already left for class, because the room was empty. Despite the bright light pouring into the room, Dazai felt close to drifting off. Just five more minutes, he told himself.
The next time he woke, it was just after 11. Going to class was pointless—what could he possibly gain from the last 20 minutes, after all?—so Dazai let his eyes drift shut once more.
"Oi, asshole."
Dazai's eyes shot open and found Chuuya's face hovering over his own. "What do you want," he croaked.
Chuuya frowned. "Are you sick? You'd better put on a mask if you are."
"Silly slug," mumbled Dazai, voice like sandpaper. "I'm not sick."
"You're really pale," Chuuya pointed out. Before Dazai could object, he placed the back of his hand on Dazai's forehead. "No fever," he confirmed after a moment.
Dazai ducked out from under his hand, glowering. "I said I'm not sick."
"Well, forgive me for thinking you are," Chuuya snapped. "You look like shit."
"I didn't sleep well," Dazai said honestly. Truthfully, there was more to it than just that, but Dazai wasn't coherent enough to process that yet.
Chuuya eyed him. "Did you have a nightmare?"
Dazai turned to face the wall. "That's none of your beeswax."
"Whatever," Chuuya muttered. "Not like I care, anyway. Just don't fucking get me sick."
"I'm not sick," Dazai repeated, letting his eyes drift shut once more.
He dozed on and off until 5 PM, then forced himself to eat a can of crab—it was tasteless, and nearly made him gag, but Yosano's voice nagged at the back of his head until he finished the entire thing. Then he went back to sleep.
He knew he should probably set his alarm for the next morning, but he just couldn't be bothered. He slept through Anatomy, and refused to get out of bed for Literature. Dazai felt Chuuya's eyes on him before he left for Literature, but he refused to look. He didn't really care if Chuuya saw him like this. Thatwasn't the problem.
The problem was that he could practically feel Chuuya's unfounded pity, and the sensation made Dazai's skin crawl.
There was a knock at the door that afternoon. Chuuya must have still been in class. "Come in," Dazai called, voice hoarse with disuse.
The door swung open, revealing Oda and Ranpo. Ranpo was sucking on a lollipop, while Oda clutched a plastic bag in one hand.
Dazai sighed. "Let me guess," he drawled. "Yosano told you I skipped?"
"Yup," Ranpo said, crossing the room to Dazai's bedside. Oda shut the door quietly and trailed him over. "She tried texting you, and you didn't respond."
Dazai laughed. "You totally thought I was gonna kill myself, huh?"
"Can you blame us?" Oda asked bluntly.
Ouch. "You know I don't do that anymore," Dazai reminded them.
"You think about it, though," Ranpo guessed.
"All the time," Dazai agreed. "Anyway, as you can see, I'm very much fine, so—"
"Are you?" Ranpo pushed. "Have you gone to a single class this week?"
"Class is for nerds," Dazai said dismissively. "Since when have you cared about me cutting class, anyway?"
"Since you were physically unable to get out of bed," Ranpo shot back.
"I'm physically able!" Dazai argued. "I just don't want to!"
"Prove it," said Oda.
"I don't want to," Dazai repeated. "Now would you please leave me alone?"
"Not until you eat something," Oda said firmly. He set the bag on Dazai's desk and pulled out an energy drink, a plastic water bottle, a banana and some crab rice balls. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just the banana, if you can."
"Give me the energy drink," Dazai said finally. Oda passed it over, and Dazai took a few sips. He screwed up his nose at the bright, sharp flavor, and Oda wordlessly handed over the water bottle so that Dazai could chase it. Dazai managed half a banana before he started gagging, and Ranpo finished it for him without him having to ask.
"I'll leave the rest in your fridge," Oda told him. "I have to go to work soon, but I'll come check on you tomorrow. I already checked with Natsume, and he said he can cover your shift tonight."
"I don't need him to," Dazai insisted. "I'm perfectly capable of going in."
Ranpo gave him a loaded look. "Are you, now?"
"Yes," Dazai replied defiantly.
"Dazai," Oda said wearily. "Just take the night off. Please."
Dazai rolled his eyes. "Fine, since you asked so nicely. Anything else?" He was being sarcastic, but Ranpo passed over a piece of paper with a phone number on it.
"His name is Fukuzawa Yukichi," Ranpo replied. "You're going to call him as soon as you can get out of bed again. He's employed by the school, so you won't have to pay a cent."
Dazai huffed. "I don't need a shrink."
Ranpo smiled sweetly. "You're going to call him," he said, "or I'm going to show Chuuya that photo of you from sophomore year. Remember that time you—"
"Okay, okay!" Dazai said loudly, even though Chuuya wasn't around to hear. "I'll call him, just leave me alone."
Ranpo looked pleased. "Wonderful. In that case, I'll catch ya later." He turned and strolled to the door, Oda following him once he'd stowed the food he'd brought on Dazai's side of the fridge (the canned crab must have tipped him off as to which side it was).
"Text me if you need anything," he told Dazai. Dazai nodded, and he left. The ensuing silence was painful, enough that Dazai forced himself out of bed just to grab his headphones.
He put on conception for three forms of happiness , hoping the irregular beat would block out the noise in his head (it almost worked).
▝■▙▚▛■▜▞▟■▘
Dazai raced towards the glass door to lock it before they came—
The attic, open to the sky, they were here—
There were strings on the ceiling and wires in the floor—
Maybe it was a bad idea—
Dazai jerked awake, panting. The stench of his own sweat filled his nose, making him want to puke. I need to shower, he realized. He hadn't changed his bandages since Sunday, and they were starting to reek.
It was just past 3 AM. The sound of Chuuya's soft breathing filled the room as Dazai quietly pushed himself out of bed, grabbed his toiletries and left the room.
The shower he took was long and so hot that the water hurt his skin, but Dazai forced himself to scrub his body down nonetheless. When he was done, he wrapped himself in fresh bandages before returning to the room.
His sheets smelled, so Dazai stripped the bed and lay down on the bare mattress with just a thin blanket. His hair was wet, and the way it dripped down his neck sent chills down Dazai's spine, but he couldn't be bothered to dry it.
Maybe I should just drop out of school, Dazai mused dully. Who needs a degree, anyway?
Even as he thought that, the idea of him having no degree while all of his friends had at least two was fairly embarrassing. Dazai was smart enough that he could get away with bullshitting through his classes. School didn't feel like it was worth it now, but Dazai knew he'd regret dropping out when he'd already made it this far.
He managed to get close to six hours of sleep that night. He couldn't recall his dreams, which was a small blessing.
He woke up while Chuuya was getting ready sometime around 8 AM and checked his phone. He had five texts from Yosano, most berating him for not making it to class and a couple detailing the assigned reading, one from Ranpo reminding him to call Fukuzawa, one from Ango reminding him to drink water—at that one, Dazai grabbed the water bottle Oda had brought him and took a few sips—and finally a text from Oda, reminding him to text if he needed anything.
Dazai sent them each a text that said ' I'm alive' before setting his phone down with a sigh.
"You're not coming today, are you?" Chuuya asked him, frowning.
"Is that a necessary question?" Dazai replied. "Because I seem to recall a contract saying we couldn't speak unnecessarily."
Chuuya scowled. "Whatever. Yosano-san was worried about you yesterday, you know."
"She just likes to fret," Dazai said dismissively.
Chuuya looked skeptical. "She doesn't seem the type to be stressed without reason."
Dazai raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
Chuuya's scowl deepened. "Nevermind," he muttered, grabbing his bag and heading to the door.
After he'd left, Dazai sagged back into his bare mattress. He told himself he'd get up in ten minutes to do laundry. It ended up taking him 30 minutes, but at least he managed to drag himself out of bed eventually.
He brought his hamper down to the dingy basement and started a load before setting a timer on his phone and trudging back to his room, determined to do some tidying while he waited for the laundry to be done. Since he didn't own much to start with, Dazai managed to clean most of his room before the timer went off.
While his sheets were in the dryer, Dazai decided he might as well call Fukuzawa, just to get it over with. He picked up his phone and trepidatiously punched in the number on the paper Ranpo had given him. It rang twice before someone picked up.
"Hello?" Dazai said uncertainly.
"Fukuzawa Yukichi speaking," a deep voice said on the other end. "Who is this?"
"Dazai Osamu," Dazai replied, surprised. He had expected a receptionist, not the shrink himself. "A friend told me to contact you. Could I—I'd like to set up an appointment," he corrected. God he hated phone calls.
"Of course," Fukuzawa replied easily. "I am free on Tuesday the 13th at 1 PM. Does that work for you?"
Dazai had just enough time between his classes, so he told Fukuzawa, "That works for me."
"Wonderful," Fukuzawa replied. "My office is in the counseling center. Do you know how to get there?"
"I think so," Dazai replied. He'd check with Ranpo, just in case.
"Good," said Fukuzawa. "I will see you next week, then."
"Have a good rest of your day," Dazai replied politely before hanging up. He allowed himself a beleaguered groan. Why are phone calls so draining, he wondered, annoyed. He was at least glad he'd gotten it done early on; putting off tasks only ever made things worse (not that it stopped Dazai from procrastinating. He still did, most of the time). Maybe, thought Dazai, my appointment will go so terribly that Fukuzawa will consider me un-therapizable.
Of course Dazai would try, if only for the sake of his friends, but even so, it was nice to dream.
▝■▙▚▛■▜▞▟■▘
On Thursday afternoon, Dazai decided to try going to class.
He still had a good 2 hours before literature began, so he did some more reading and forced down the granola bar from Oda, and some more of the energy drink. Chuuya returned soon after, seeming surprised to see Dazai out of bed.
"Does this mean you're actually gonna go to class?" Chuuya asked him.
Dazai shrugged. "If I feel like it."
Chuuya hummed. "We're supposed to finish the book by next week," he informed Dazai. They were reading Kafka on the Shore for Literature, and Dazai had already gotten through most of it. Reading was one of the only things he could do when he was depressed, after all.
"I'm almost done anyway," Dazai said dismissively.
Chuuya's face twisted with confusion. "Huh? How?"
"I'm a fast reader," Dazai replied.
"Lucky you," Chuuya muttered, rolling his eyes.
Dazai stuck his tongue out tauntingly and turned away, proceeding to ignore Chuuya as he pulled his headphones on and played a symmetry while doing his reading response for psychology. He was probably the most behind in psych, which could be easily solved if he asked Chuuya what he'd missed.
Too bad his pride wouldn't allow it.
At some point, Chuuya's phone buzzed loud enough for Dazai to hear it through his headphones. It sounded like an incoming phone call. Dazai paused his music, but left his headphones on so that Chuuya would think he wasn't listening. Their contract had said nothing about eavesdropping, and who knew? Maybe Chuuya would drop something embarrassing that Dazai could use to blackmail him with.
He wasn't sure what he expected Chuuya to say when he finally picked up, but it certainly wasn't "Bonjour, Arthur. Comment allez-vous?"
Since when did Chuuya speak French? Dazai wondered, fascinated. He continued listening as Chuuya conversed in French with whoever was on the other line—a family member, perhaps?—and once the call ended, Dazai could contain his curiosity no longer.
"You speak French?" He blurted, pulling off his headphones.
"You were eavesdropping?" Chuuya accused.
Dazai rolled his eyes. "It's not like I could understand you."
"My dads live in France," Chuuya explained grudgingly.
"Dads?" Dazai repeated.
Chuuya raised his eyebrows. "Yes, dads. Got a problem with that?"
"Nope," Dazai replied. "Just surprised. Are you from there, then?"
"Not originally," Chuuya answered. "They adopted me when I was four. I was in Yokohama then, actually. We moved to France when I was ten, and I came back here for school when I was nineteen."
Ah. "You're an orphan," Dazai said, processing.
"So are you," Chuuya guessed. "Am I wrong?"
Dazai shrugged. "You're not wrong, as far as I know."
"What do you mean? You don't know if your parents are alive?" Chuuya said, confused.
"They were presumed dead when our house burned down," Dazai told him nonchalantly. "I was the sole survivor, or so they say. I'm not entirely convinced they were in the house when it burned down, seeing as their…remains were never recovered." Dazai left out a few important details, but the story was otherwise true.
"That's…" Chuuya paused. "Yikes."
Dazai shrugged again. "They weren't very good people."
Chuuya just nodded. He didn't apologize for Dazai's loss or for anything else, which Dazai appreciated.
They ignored each other until it was time to go to class. Dazai didn't mean to leave at the same time as Chuuya, but it ended up happening anyway. They walked together in silence, splitting when they reached the room, Chuuya heading to his seat and Dazai to the one behind Kunikida. Unfortunately, he was too tired to bother Kunikida today, but it turned out he didn't need to.
"You owe me repair money for the sink," Kunikida said bluntly as Dazai sat.
"Kunikida-kun," whined Dazai. "I'm broke!"
"Hah? Don't you have a job?" Kunikida exclaimed, much too loud for Dazai's taste.
"Of course I do," Dazai replied indignantly. "I don't make that much, though!"
"The repairs are only 300,000 yen," Kunikida pushed. "You must make enough for that, at least."
Dazai definitely did, but he also owed a lot of money to a lot of people, and didn't particularly feel like paying for the repairs of an obviously badly designed sink. What kind of sink couldn't handle a little soup,for god's sake?
"Put it on my tab," Dazai ended up saying.
Kunikida growled. "Tab? It's repair money for a sink you broke—"
He was cut off by Hirotsu's entrance. He put his messenger bag on the desk beside his usual thermos. Dazai wondered if it was coffee or tea. It wasn't steaming, nor did it sound as if it had ice in it. Lukewarm coffee? Dazai guessed, wrinkling his nose.
"This isn't over," Kunikida hissed at Dazai before turning back around to face the front.
Dazai zoned out for a while, the steady sound of Hirotsu's voice practically lulling him into a trance. Halfway through class, Hirotsu called a break.
Dazai was only slightly catatonic, but it was enough for him to not notice Hirotsu's approach. "Dazai-kun," said the old man. "How far along are you in Kafka on the Shore?"
"I'm almost done, actually," Dazai replied honestly. "Why?"
Hirotsu looked thoughtful. "Then if you don't mind me asking, Dazai-kun, why are you here?"
Dazai raised an eyebrow. "Why am I…in the class that I'm enrolled in and paying to attend?"
Hirotsu gave him a long look that kind of reminded Dazai of Oda. Oda had been in Hirotsu's class in undergrad, Dazai recalled. "What I mean to say," Hirotsu elaborated, "is, why are you here when you're clearly not feeling well enough to be here?"
At that moment Dazai felt unbelievably tired. He'd been suppressing the exhaustion and compartmentalizing his feelings for so long; he knew his friends could see through the facade (he wouldn't want them if they couldn't) but the fact that Hirotsu knew just by looking at him—
(" Your inhumanity is showing.")
Dazai's voice was even when he said, "Thank you, Hirotsu, but I'm quite fi—"
"Dazai," Hirotsu cut in, "respectfully, I am asking you to leave. I trust you have someone you can ask about the homework to stay caught up?"
Dazai opened and shut his mouth. "Uh." There was Kunikida, but he—
"I can let him know what he missed."
Dazai's head snapped up at Chuuya's voice. "You—huh?" He floundered, perplexed. "Why would you do that?" Then he had a sudden suspicion. "Is this an excuse to prank me into thinking we have a five page essay due next week? Because if so, it won't work."
"Actually," Hirotsu said thoughtfully, "I was going to assign a five page essay due next week, but I suppose I can put it off until the following week."
Chuuya looked relieved. "Thanks, Hirotsu-san."
"Hold up," Dazai demanded. "I still don't understand what's going on."
"You're going to go home," Chuuya said bluntly, "and I'm going to let you know what you missed."
"You live together?" Hirotsu said, surprised.
"Unfortunately," Dazai replied disdainfully.
"Don't act like I'm the nightmare to live with!" Chuuya said indignantly.
"We hate each other," Dazai explained.
Hirotsu looked bemused. "Ah."
"Go home," Chuuya repeated, jabbing Dazai in the arm. "Or else."
"Or else what, Chuuu-ya?" Dazai drawled.
"Or else I'll—" Chuuya cut off, glanced at Hirotsu and finished weakly, "Just go home. Moron."
" Moron," Dazai mimicked in a high pitched tone. "Fine, I'll leave. Only because Hirotsu-san asked so nicely, though," he added with an annoyed look at Chuuya. "I don't take orders from dogs, after all."
Chuuya scowled, and Dazai gave him a venomous smile in return before gathering his things and leaving just before the end of their break.
Once he got back to their room, Dazai collapsed onto bed the moment he'd removed his shoes. His head spun, and his limbs felt loose, disconnected from his body.
Chuuya helping him made no sense. Their fights didn't often escalate the way they had the first week of school, but they certainly didn't get along, either. They were in that weird gray area between enemies and acquaintances. Rivals, maybe.
Dazai wracked his brain for possible reasons Chuuya had offered to help. He would have thought Chuuya was trying to get him to use his favor up early, but it was too early for Dazai to use it, and Chuuya had said nothing about it anyway.
Dazai groaned into his pillow. Why can't he just make sense, Dazai despaired. He hated things he couldn't understand. Chuuya was like a puzzle with the edge pieces missing; Dazai could arrange the other pieces all he wanted, but he'd never be able to define Chuuya. He couldn't categorize him, because Chuuya evaded classification of any kind and embraced ambiguity in a way that Dazai both admired and feared.
(Not that Chuuya would ever know that. Those thoughts were for Dazai, and Dazai alone.)
▝■▙▚▛■▜▞▟■▘
Dazai was humming along to Oblivion when Chuuya returned some time later. Dazai reluctantly paused the song and pulled off his headphones, raising both of his eyebrows at Chuuya. "So? What'd I miss?"
Chuuya shrugged, dumping his bag onto his desk. "Not much. We analyzed Chapter 41 for a while—"
"Ah, yes," Dazai cut in. "The chapter in which Kafka realizes that his own death would allow him to control his fate. Kafka really is a mood sometimes, huh?"
"Shut up, you suicidal waste of bandages," Chuuya snapped. "What chapter are you on, anyway?"
"Chapter 47," Dazai replied smugly. "Only two left."
"So annoying," Chuuya said under his breath, and Dazai smirked as he turned back to his phone. He checked his messages and found a text from Ango that said, ' I can take your shift tonight'. He'd sent it 30 minutes ago.
Dazai's eyes widened. Shit. He'd forgotten entirelyabout work. He was supposed to start at 6, and it was already 5:50.
Dazai typed a quick ' thnks' to Ango and breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of working a crowded bar on a Thursday night didn't appeal to him in the least. He'd much rather be in his bed, listening to the rest of Oblivion.
So that's what he did.
'I would ask if you could help me out, it's hard to understand, 'cause when you're running by yourself, it's hard to find someone to hold your hand—'
▝■▙▚▛■▜▞▟■▘
Friday morning found Dazai without any particularly awful dreams. He felt more energized than he had the past few days, so he got up when his alarm went off and dressed for class. Chuuya was still snoring when he left around 10:30. He swung by the cafe and picked up a coffee and a pastry to go, and then found a nice spot under a large tree to sit and eat. It was t-shirt weather for most people, and would be for Dazai soon, but today he wore a light button down, loose enough that it wouldn't stick to his skin with sweat.
When he finished his pastry, he strolled to class. Neither Ranpo nor Yosano were present—actually, no one was, and the door was definitely locked.
Dazai shrugged and pulled out his bobby pins, sticking them into the lock and wiggling them until he heard a click. As the door swung open, someone began slow-clapping.
Dazai turned to see Nikolai watching Dazai shrewdly. "Magnificent," he exclaimed. "Such a skill must come in handy, yes?"
"I suppose," Dazai said after a moment of thought. "If you get used to it, though, it actually makes it easier to forget your keys. Trust me on that one."
Nikolai cackled. "You are such a fascinating one! A bit like Fedya," he mused, rubbing his chin.
Dazai raised an eyebrow. "Fedya?"
"That would be me," a voice said from behind Dazai. Despite being surprised, Dazai managed not to flinch as he turned to face Fyodor. Either Fyodor was reallysneaky, or Dazai was still a bit out of it. Maybe both.
"Hello, Fyodor-kun," Dazai replied coolly. He agreed with Nikolai that Fyodor was a fascinating personality, but that didn't mean Dazai wasn't wary of him.
"Dazai-kun," Fyodor responded. "How are you today?"
Dazai smiled brightly. "Great, thanks for asking!"
Sharp footsteps resounded down the hallway. Fukuchi was whistling an unfamiliar tune as he walked, jingling the keys to the lecture hall in one hand. When he saw that the door was already open, he frowned. "Was it like this when you got here?"
Luckily, Dazai had already stowed his pins in his bandages. "Yep!" He replied cheerfully.
Fukuchi frowned. "Then why are you standing in the hall?"
"To inform you that we found the room open, of course!" Nikolai answered.
Fukuchi stared at him for a moment, and then laughed boisterously. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "What good students you are!" He turned to head inside, and Dazai saw Fyodor and Nikolai exchange a glance.
Dazai split from them and went to his usual seat. Ranpo and Yosano showed up a few minutes later, followed by Sigma and the rest of the class.
"You're here," Yosano said, surprised.
"And you're early," Ranpo said, sounding less surprised but still a bit caught off guard.
Dazai shrugged. "Woke up on the right side of the bed today, I guess!"
Ranpo eyed him. "You called Fukuzawa?"
"Yep!" Dazai replied cheerfully. "Got an appointment next Tuesday."
"He's really good," Yosano told Dazai.
"You've seen him before?" Dazai said, surprised.
"Only unofficially," Yosano explained. "I know him through my job at the hospital, since so many of my patients, or patients' families, end up needing a counselor sooner or later."
"He's an interesting dude," Ranpo informed Dazai. "I believe you'll get along."
"I suppose we'll see soon enough," Dazai replied.
Yosano and Ranpo sat on either side of Dazai as Fukuchi cleared his throat from the front of the room. "Starting today," he announced, "we will begin studying the history of weaponry! This unit will extend into the fall, and is the most heavily graded topic we'll cover this year." He clicked a button on the remote he held, and an image of a sword was projected onto the screen he'd pulled down in front of the whiteboard.
Fukuchi proceeded to drone on about swords until their class time was up. Dazai had nothing against swords—really, they were cool—but even he could only take so much. Yosano was the only one who seemed truly taken with the lesson. At least someone's enjoying it, he thought idly.
By the time Fukuchi released them, Dazai saw swords every time he closed his eyes. Which was fine, he supposed, if a bit strange. He was pretty drained, too; it appeared that his body had not yet adjusted to being on a schedule once again, and it certainly showed.
"Good luck getting through philosophy," Ranpo called after Dazai as they parted ways.
Dazai flipped him off cheerfully and headed back to the dorm.
Chuuya appeared to be getting ready to leave when Dazai arrived at their room. His side of the room had grown messy lately, or maybe it was just that he had more things than Dazai, and that made it look generally more cluttered.
He left shortly after Dazai got settled in without so much as a glance at Dazai. That annoyed Dazai; he'd have to make sure to rile Chuuya up a bit later, to get back at him for it.
Dazai lounged about for a while, finishing off the crab rice balls Oda had given him and reading some Kafka on the Shore . He stopped when he reached the final chapter, resolving to finish it over the weekend.
Dazai lost track of time at some point, and ended up having to rush to his next class. The rest of the class was already present; it seemed Dazai was the last to arrive. Practically the moment Dazai slid into the seat beside Ango, Shibusawa declared, "Today, we will be covering the trolley problem. The ultimate dilemma that you've all certainly heard of by now, it requires choosing between making the conscious decision to sacrifice one person and save five others by making the runaway trolley switch tracks, or do nothing but stand by and watch as five people are killed on the original track. Very brutal, no?" Shibusawa paused dramatically. "In order to properly illustrate the dilemma, each of you will do just that: illustrate the dilemma. Draw your solution to the trolley problem, and then present your solution to the class."
He showed them a paper with an illustration of a trolley barrelling towards a crossroads, with one person tied to the tracks on one side and five on the other. Off to the side, a single person stood beside a switch rod, evidently to change the track. Shibusawa passed papers out to each of them before retreating to his desk in the front. "Please use arrows to demonstrate your decision. You have ten minutes."
Oda got to work immediately. Dazai couldn't exactly make out what he was drawing, but it looked complex. Meanwhile, Ango stared blankly at his paper, rubbing his forehead as if he was starting to develop a migraine.
Dazai turned his attention to his own paper, tapping his pencil thoughtfully against his leg. Oh, what to do?
Ten minutes later, Dazai had come up with the ideal solution. He sat back in his seat, satisfied with his work, as Shibusawa announced, "Let's start with Ango and work our way to the front. Whenever you're ready, Ango."
Ango stood and cleared his throat, holding his drawing to show the class. It was simple, with just an arrow demonstrating which way Ango would pull the switch rod. "I chose to change tracks, and kill one person rather than five. I…know it's not ideal," he admitted, "but I'm willing to live with the guilt of that decision if it means that I can save more people."
Shibusawa nodded. "Oda?"
Oda stood and showed off his drawing. There was a lot going on; it looked as if he'd drawn himself to be in several places at once. "First," said Oda, "I would change the track. Then, I would run in front of the rain and untie the single person, so that everyone would live."
Shibusawa looked a bit lost. "That…sort of defeats the purpose of the dilemma," he informed Oda.
Oda cocked his head. "It's a thought exercise, so I assumed that anything went."
"I like your idea," Dazai declared. "I'd make one slight adjustment, though." When Shibusawa nodded at him to continue, he announced, "I would simply lie down beside the single person and die with them!"
Shibusawa now looked very thrown off. "What purpose would that serve?"
"Well, first," Dazai began, "the person wouldn't have to die alone, and second, that way I'd get to die too! So, win-win, pretty much."
Ango facepalmed, and Oda sighed as Shibusawa clucked his tongue. "I can't say I understand."
Dazai gave him a mocking smile. "You don't have to. It's just a thought exercise, after all."
Shibusawa smiled, looking for a moment as if he wished the trolley problem was real, if only so that he could watch Dazai perish. Dazai could relate.
Most of the class ended up choosing to switch tracks, apart from a few cowards. Then it was Fyodor's turn.
His drawing was…certainly something. He'd used crimson ink to transform the scene into an unnecessarily gory one; blood was splattered all around the tracks and across each of the people. "I would continue on the original track," he informed them, "and then use the switch rod to impale the final survivor. Then they would all be absolved of their sins."
Shibusawa gave him an odd look. "Is this a language barrier thing?"
"I think it's a Fyodor thing," Dazai called, and Fyodor shot him a small, definitely creepy smile in response.
The rest of the class was spent dissecting the trolley problem. It was terribly dull and awfully repetitive—Shibusawa must have really been running out of material, if he was willing to spend so long on one of the most basic and well-known thought exercises taught in philosophy.
When he finally released them, Oda went straight to work, while Ango walked with Dazai back to the dorm. On their way to Dazai and Chuuya's room, they passed Kunikida in the hallway. He scowled upon seeing Dazai, and Dazai offered him a cheerful smile and wave in return. "Kunikida-kun!" He greeted.
"Dazai," Kunikida returned, still scowling. "You still owe me for the repairs."
"What repairs?" Ango said suspiciously.
"Sorry, Kunikida-kun~" Dazai sang. "Gotta go!" He pulled Ango into his room before Kunikida could say anything else and shut the door firmly behind them. Chuuya was on his bed, humming along to the most likely shitty music in his earbuds and ignoring them entirely.
"Dazai, what repairs?" Ango repeated.
"Nothing for you to worry about," Dazai responded. "And anyway, it wasn't my fault that the sink couldn't take the hat soup!"
Ango stared at Dazai. "Was that even Japanese?" Dazai just smiled and refused to elaborate, so Ango sighed. "Fine, don't tell me. Anyway, Ranpo told me you scheduled an appointment with a therapist."
"Unfortunately," Dazai confirmed. "I doubt I'll return, but he blackmailed me into calling the dude."
Ango looked amused by that. "I see. Well, I'm glad you're doing it, even if you aren't."
"I'm not," Dazai agreed. "Very much not."
"Even you must know you need therapy," Ango said, exasperated.
"Ango," Dazai said patiently, "I'm the most self-aware person I know, with the exception of maybe Ranpo. You think I don't know I need therapy? Of course I need therapy! However," he added, "I don't want it."
"You sound like a child," Ango said flatly.
Dazai smiled brightly. "I'd rather not cause myself unnecessary pain," he said pointedly. "Now are we going to talk about something else, or are you going to leave?"
Ango sighed again. "I have to run by the library anyway," he told Dazai. "I'll see you later though."
"Catch ya later," Dazai said as Ango left. Once he'd gone, Dazai kicked off his shoes and hopped onto his bed. He was just putting on his headphones when Chuuya took out his earbuds. "You're seeing someone?"
Dazai knew what he meant, but he pretended he didn't. "Not currently! Why, you interested?" He batted his eyelashes at Chuuya, and Chuuya scowled in response.
"You know what I meant, asshole."
Dazai dropped the facade. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, my friend is blackmailing me into seeing a shrink. Trust me, I wouldn't go otherwise."
Chuuya eyed him warily. "You're not, like, an actual psychopath, right?"
Dazai gasped dramatically. "Me, a psychopath? Never!" Then he smirked. "Unless you want me to be, that is."
Chuuya chucked his pillow at Dazai hard enough to knock him backwards onto his bed. "Shut your mouth. And give me back my pillow."
Dazai wrapped his arms around the pillow and squeezed. "You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands," he told Chuuya.
Chuuya growled and jumped off his bed before stomping over to Dazai. He grabbed the pillow and tugged, but Dazai refused to relinquish it.
"Give it back," Chuuya huffed, pulling harder.
Dazai kept his hold on the pillow, but the final tug sent him careening into Chuuya. Chuuya fell backwards, Dazai landing directly on top of him, his fall cushioned by both Chuuya and Chuuya's pillow.
"Fucking ow," Chuuya groaned. "Get off of me, dick."
Just for that, Dazai refused to move. Chuuya's body was nice and warm, anyway, and it felt nice against his. He didn't really hug people often, but for a moment he wondered if he should try.
Chuuya let Dazai stay there for exactly two seconds while he recovered from the fall before throwing Dazai off of him and grabbing the pillow in one smooth move, muttering something about a 'bandage-wasting moron' under his breath. Dazai grinned and retreated to his own bed, satisfied with the reaction he'd gotten from Chuuya. He really was so entertaining.
Sometimes Dazai thought that there was a chance he could learn to tolerate Chuuya, or at least grow accustomed to him. Sometimes, he thought he already had.
He'd never stop hating him, though. Of that, Dazai was certain