After episode 4 I decided what better way to treat the fandom than Dazai's internal struggle to forgive himself? lmao suckers
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He wanted to be a writer, though he could never have that. He had no right to fulfil it for him, yet his emptiness worked against his morals. As barren as the street below him, his legs hanging off the roof and the biro in his fingertips, the rain tainting the paper until it was unreadable, letting the ink run back down the page. He closed the book with one neat slam, placing it beside himself to look down at muted streets and umbrellas of dull hues, storms bearing heavy rain hazed by mist. He lifted a hand, looking at the tight grip on his pen and let go. Watching. He then rested, slouching over the building and rubbing his face.
"Dazai." He didn't bother to turn around, only to let the voice speak if he cared to listen. He watched his hand tense in his lap, the fingers curling before one cranked a trigger. A fist. Leaving it in his lap, hoping it'd forget.
"He's not at peace." Dazai muttered, hearing a rustle and bringing his head up slightly. "Is he?" He watched the person put another book on top of his own, their hand brushing against the pages and slipping his own out from underneath, flicking through the pages and watching their eyes dart over the spills of ink and frustration scribbled throughout. He didn't care much for who it was, he didn't give rhyme or reason as to why they were there or how they were there. Regardless, they planted the book back down, smoothing the cover before standing back up and dusting down their coat with one hand; the other now clenching an umbrella.
"Perhaps, but it's what you make of his dreams that'll define his peace." They paused, "If you choose to make anything of them." Dazai finally focused, watching their tailcoat catch the rain as they walked back inside and closed the door without second glance. He removed his hands from his lap, picking up both books before stuffing them in his coat and leading himself back to headquarters.
He dried himself off with a towel, ruffling his hair and throwing it on the floor along with his coat. He placed the books on his desk, perching on the edge to see the reflection of himself in the window. Faint and distant. Nobody had torn their eyes from their laptops, only tuned in to hear the footsteps for a few seconds before disengaging to get back to work, he knew how everyone operated in this building.
All but few.
"Excuse me?" Kyouka tugged on his shirt, her eyes threaded with something undecipherable. "We've been looking for you all day. Have you been busy?" Dazai didn't respond, only keeping eye contact for a few brief moments.
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They sat at the counter, Odasaku shovelling curry into his mouth through the minutes and perhaps stirring up conversation with the Mister between bites. Dazai saw a smile play at his partner's mouth with each spoonful he took, and the scratching of the spoon drowned out by the thuds of the orphans upstairs.
"I suppose I should go check on them." He pushed his curry aside, leaving an envelope and some money on top before saying his farewells to Dazai. He watched through the window to see Odasaku leave to climb the stairs, quickly trailing behind to catch up with him at the bottom after leaving his own payment.
"Why are you doing this?" The scruffier man stood silent, peering over his shoulder to see his friend. He sighed, turning his back to him and loosening his grip on the bannister.
"They need me and I need them," He stepped over the cluster of shoes, still in hearing range as he walked down the hall. "Another life left to perish is another breath left hanging that I can't handle." The click of the door silenced Dazai any further as his thoughts were shrouded in the giggles of children, leaving without argument yet without full understanding.
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He tore his eyes off her, taking a deep breath before smiling and walking past her, gesturing for her to follow him.
"What did you need me for?" He asked.
"We wanted to have lunch with you." She answered blankly, "Though if you are busy, we won't bother you." Dazai shook his head with a chuckle, letting the girl guide him to find his subordinate.
They had curry for lunch that day, the burning of the spices pressing to the roof of his mouth with each bite, stalling tears of both guilt and spice. Each bite was only fuel to his hand, writing down word after word hoping it fused together to create something of which he'd hoped. When it didn't work out he stopped, the pen creasing the paper with pressure before he let go of it once more.
He looked up from his lunch, Atsushi glaring at him with some concern, gesturing to the paper with his head before he watched as Dazai scrunched it up and shoved it in his pocket.
"Don't worry about that," He said, "It's something for a friend." Atsushi relaxed, chuckling a little to release his nerves to which his mentor studied keenly. The laugh felt so intense despite the gentle tone of it, the smile accompanying it, the fading of it and the small smirk left behind as he ate. It felt like home, unlike the sharp scowl, brittle grin and trickling blood of his last.
He kept writing.
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Sat at his desk early into the morning, the glimpse of sunlight illuminating the ink and his finger rimming his whiskey glass. He hadn't wrote much in the last seven hours, yet felt as if he'd wrote as much as he was allowed. Each page was another reminder, another person laying in blood. Each page was another person, another breath left to hang in air. Each breath of his own was a reminder, a reminder of his death. He ripped the pages out the book.
A reminder he had to finish what he couldn't.
The sun dusted the sky in rich colours, the long night failing to dry the dampness of his coat, but nevertheless tugged it on anyway. He stopped with hesitance at the door, his eyes wandering back to his desk where a sealed book belong. He stopped at the foot of his desk, picking it up and smoothing the cover down. He stuffed it in his coat along with the pages and made his way out swiftly, not giving second thought to it.
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"To the Stray Dogs!" Dazai grinned, flashing it toward both his partners. Ango turned away somewhat shy to sip his drink, nodding with a huff of what seemed like laughter. Odasaku kept silent, gulping his whiskey down in one great gulp.
"I wonder if we'll drink here together again someday." Odasaku licked his lips, indirectly speaking as he stared at his beverage.
"You say that every time, you're acting like this'll be the last time we see each other." Ango added, placing down his own drink with a slight smirk. "It's not like we have to worry about you going missing, anyway."
"I feel like that was a jab at my position." Odasaku scoffed, running a hand along the calico cat half asleep on the bar. Dazai leaned back, stretching his arm over his head and laughing, his drink untouched.
"Perhaps it was," Dazai chirped in, "but let's not linger on it, for we're here right now, yes boys?"
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The grave was flourished in flowers, crimson quinces bearing the curve at the top surrounded by an abundance of navy trinket-like flowers and neatly stacked roses cupped in paper cones gone damp from prior rain. The stone had blemishes carved within, finding his fingers tracing each and every one, wandering slowly and mindlessly whilst crouched next to the grave. His hand slipped into a dent, closing his eyes as he felt the words 'Sakunosuke Oda' underneath his skin.
Screaming felt his only option, yet his lips were sewn with guilt. Instead, they parted with sympathy, the words stringing together from the back of his throat.
"It's not what you wanted," He uttered, "Yet it's all I can give you." He rummaged around the inside of his coat, pulling out several sheets of paper and smoothing them, keeping his hand over the engraved name. He crossed his legs, shuffling to sit closer as he finally let go and placed the papers folded next to the stone.
He pressed a hand to it, numbing his sense and shrouding any decent thought with one simple, cold touch. He kept speaking, his fingers bending as if to grasp onto the name left in stone.
"I wish you were here to meet them." He drew in a breath, "I can't find it in myself to forgive. No matter how I try, you won't come back." Dazai swallowed feeling his throat dry up, "But what I do know- is that no matter how muted the world may be, no matter how useless you may think being on either side is.." He watched his hand slip from the grave, "People exist to save themselves only in death, but we live to save others in life."
He grazed his knuckles over the petals of remaining flowers, smiling warmly at their existence.
"Kosuke, Katsumi, Yu, Shinji, Sakura." He shuffled back in his coat, pulling out the book and grazing a thumb over it, "Atsushi, Kyouka." He left the book next to his grave, removing his hand off the cover. 'Natsume Souseki: 2/3' is what it read, sliding the several loose papers in the back.
A hand patted his shoulder, he didn't bother to turn around, only let them help him up if he cared to take it. To which he did, grinning at them with tears threatening to spill.
"That's enough." Chuuya spoke, patting his back with guilt of his own. "You did your part."