Chapter Text
He lay motionless in the dark box, the room was dead alongside him. Work awaited, he loathed to even do something—even breathing.
He felt like a dirty bag of rocks. Too heavy. Too dirty.
A very sick man was what he was— a very spiteful being.
‘What a shame…the floors are going to stain for some time…just my luck!’ Osamu gazed stoically. Red juice spreads like water, it looks disdainful.
He didn't care,—no.
He couldn't care.
He was numb; or, that's what he at least believed due to all the years of suppression.
He was a man of no means.
He hurriedly cleaned up the drying blood of the cold white tiles of his bathroom until it was less obvious and prepared for work. He really didn't feel like going, but didn't want to get a scolding once more.
The weary man went on to open the cabinet full of medication and bandages—grabbing a fresh bandage to replace his old ones. Pain shot through his body as he peeled off the old bandages bit by bit, every moment caused direct agonizing pain, he hated it. But Dazai couldn't bear to go out without them.
Dazai put on his usual outfit and coat and left, not bothering to eat breakfast.
On his way, the man stopped at a nearby floral shop nevertheless.
“Hello again sir! The same as last time?” the Florist ecstatically asked—already knowing which bunch of flowers he wanted; He's been getting the same flower almost weekly.
“Yes, a bunch of white roses!” Osamu says almost with deadpan expression giving off a dark aura. Which gave the unsuspecting lady a chill down her spine. She turned to get a bouquet of white roses, weakly handing them to Dazai. He noticed her hesitant movement, but decided to pay then thank her quickly and leave to make time.
Slowly, and so tiredly, he trudged on his way to his deceased friend's grave.
Along the way he felt as if someone was intentionally following him. The aloof heavy hearted man tensed up, scanning his surroundings taking account his seeings. Osamu decided to continue along with his journey but still stayed on high alert in case of complications. That was one of the things he was grateful for during his time in the Port Mafia, with his skills and knowledge he'll mostly be fine if problems arise.
Even though he could care less if he dropped dead right there and then. The crazed man even felt jealous of the lifeless, unalived body he's seen throughout his life, the thought of death left him in a state of pure ecstasy. It was a strange liking of his he took in death; the sweet release from his prolonged suffering.
He sat; Next to Oda's grave, resting the flowers beside himself.
A soft gust of wind blew his curly bangs swaying them around softly. The setting seemed almost peaceful for the sorrowful man. Slowly looking up at the gaps of sunlight, he missed him more than anything. ( yes, that was a Mitski reference!!!) He wishes one lucky day Odasaku would come back, happy and healthy. His death was almost inevitable, he knew he'd die fighting the Mimic, but bitterly chose death believing he had nothing to lose. He lost what kept him going. And Dazai held a deep, whole hearted, sorrowed hatred for Mori for initiating the abysmal end of the orphans under Oda’s care.
He was the only person who truly understood Dazai. The only one who could almost fill the void in him, his longing for a reason.
( I think—I don't know??)
“I did what you wanted… protecting others… I joined and worked at the ADA for some time. I'm not sure I can do this for long… enough..I hope we'll meet again someday.” He choked out.
His face felt wet, realizing he was crying he briskly wiped his tears away but they wouldn't stop. His heart ached a terrible pain, throbbing by the second. Felt as though his whole body ached of anguish or even rue.
Doleful as he was, he picked up his clustered composure and went on for work.
Amidst his bout of sorrow, he got a notification as his phone buzzed. The man could already guess it was Kunikida ranting about (w*rk )and a (j*b!) Dazai's head pounded, he just wanted to jump off a building once more.
Dazai quietly stood up and planned to leave for work, promising himself he'd do good for as long as he can and do better to commit to his friend's last dying wish with his last breaths.
When arriving at the agency, his demeanor changes instantly to a silly goofball personality. But never relaxed. “Hello pe—!”Kunikida did NOT play.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!! WE HAVE A MEETING WITH THE PORT MAFIA SOON, DONT MESS THIS UP YOU WASTE OF BANDEGES! I'VE BROKEN ENOUGH PENS THIS WEEK BECAUSE OF YOU!!”, a stressed Kunikida paced up to Dazai fighting the urge to smack him badly, stressed enough now with a chance of Dazai lazing off today.
“Kunikida-kun~~~ why so serious!?” Kunikida's sanity was quickly killing itself.
The blonde’s pen trembled from a tightened grip.
The other man just smirked, masking a defeated face.
The last thing he needed was to meet with the Port Mafia, especially the boss.
Oh how he despised the boss. With everything he has done, Osamu still can't help but be grateful for him. Deep down his devoid soul Osamu has a disgusting, twisted, slight recognition for Mori—and abnormal yearning…like a sickly part of him betrayed him. (NOT A SHIP!!!⚠️)
(I don't think that's canon but I'm just writing whatever atp😭✌️😜!!? im gonna write till my fingers bleed🔥✌️)
To his dread, the meeting with the Port would start soon. Impending doom settled in his stomach with a sickening wave of nausea making his knees buckle suddenly. With his act peeling slowly he hastily excused himself to the bathroom skipping on his way there to keep a silly image.
Kunikida was left dumbfounded, while Atsushi in the back worried, and Rampo caught on the split second Dazai's eyes darkened to an empty shade of woe, his face stiffened bitterly.
Atsushi couldn't focus on his assignment due to Dazai's sudden leave. Noting how Dazai has become less confident and more zoned out during recent missions. The brunette's eye bags have spread an ink of darkness like the plague, with his deathly pale skin announcing his sickly self more pronounced.
At first Atsushi thought it was work stress and it would go away after some time, but it has been a while and Dazai has been getting worse by the day. Not just his appearance—but actions too.
The other members don't seem as concerned except Rampo, who nothing could pass by him(heh, except Fyodor). So the boy plans to find out or help Dazai in any way needed to get rid of the pack of hungry vouchers on his back pecking at shoulders. But first, questioning Yosano if she's noticed anything out of the norm could make the pack fly away.
Meanwhile with Osamu, stumbling against the bathroom floor as the room closed in suffocating the last of him, filling his lungs with sticky ink. Delaying his every breath fogging his mind.
What must he do? What does he need!
Compaction of the stall carved at his bones.
The lock of the stall was undone by the brunette making a forced sharp click.
Unlocked it. Locked it. Repeat.
He exited the stall in a hurry.
Cold water soaked his face, slapping him back to his senses.
Laying his body weight on the counter of the sink, like it would take off the weight off him.
“Calm down, don't pity yourself. Just get over today and leave.” He repeated to himself, grabbing tightly at his coat, turning his knuckles a snowy white color.
Shakily, he forced on a smile towards the reflection in front him, wiping off the sweat of his forehead while adjusting his loose curls trying to look professional as he could.