Toska

by Fears-of-the-Doctor

Toska (n.) - a Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness. "No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause." - Vladimir Nabokov

Dazai Osamu was well known, not only in the office but also in the city, for multiple failed attempts at suicide. At first, many years ago, people were concerned with the teenage boy who threw himself into rivers and made nooses in all the back alleyways and rushed into danger nearly unarmed. But over time, the city got used to his antics and promptly grew to ignore him unless he caused trouble for one too many of the citizens.

At the start of Dazai's shenanigans, Kunikida Doppo knew nothing about the other; Dazai knew nothing of Kunikida. Their worlds were entirely different ones. One of school books and early morning train rides and club activities and college plans; one of long nights and calloused hearts and gunshots and suicide. They had no plans for each other in the future; they were totally unaware of the other's existence. But, like all human lives, they change.

So here they were, years later, very much aware of the other and with suddenly similar worlds.

Dazai was still infamous for his suicide attempts and pretty smile and odd personality, and Kunikida was well known for his structured plans and practical ideas and his obsessive journal. But together, everyone could recognize them for the loud voices, the snarky remarks, and the sighs. Dazai knew his work partner for his heated glares, his desire for structure, and the way his eyes lingered on Dazai's bandages a millisecond too long that sent Dazai's mind into a fit because he didn't need worried over. Kunikida knew Dazai for the differences in his laughs, his subtle power plays, and the way his eyes turned up in fake smiles at the idea of suicide.

Kunikida knew Dazai by the feeling of uneasiness he felt when Dazai's eyes would crinkle up and his voice held a strange sort of dream state as he longed for suicide, death, murder. Kunikida thought Dazai a freak, a weirdo, when they first met; he gave little of his concern to the matter of Dazai's mental health. But over the years, he grew not worried or more concerned, but he ached, just a little. It was a twinge in his chest and stomach when Dazai lightheartedly asked around for double suicide. It was a sore in the back of his mind as he sat at his desk working into the evening. It was a dull and tender feeling, warm to the touch like a deep bruise.

It made Kunikida think-maybe he cared.