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A shiver ran down Osamu’s back as small gusts of wind seeped through the gaps of the shipping container he calls home. The boy is sat on the cold metal floor with his back against the wall. His legs wrapped in his arms and his head rested on top of his knees. He twitched every once in a while, the bandages wrapped around his body giving the tiniest bit of warmth, both physically and metaphorically.
He lifted his head, staring down at the limbs attached to his body. The scarred, bandages and working arms. His arms, his legs, his toes, his feet, his knees, his wrists, his arms. All his.
The bandaged boy doesn’t believe they’re his, because how can a boy like him have something so humane? He lifted his fingers into his hair and tugged hard, strands of hair fell to the metal floor. He shook his head out of frustration and out of pain. He cursed at himself and winced at his now sore scalp.
With a drag of his body, he stands. Staring at the figure inside the cracked mirror. The figure had a face, hair and the same bandages as himself. Placing a hand on the broken mirror, shards of glass falling into the sink with a clink. He stares longingly into the remains of what he sees of himself.
“Pathetic.” He musters out in barely a whisper. Eyes still locked onto his own in the sad remains of the mirror. He watched as the features on his face distort and bend into one another. His eyes became dark, his mouth was frowned and his nose. Well. Was it even his?
Dazai held the side of the sink and dropped his head overwhelmed by the exposure of his face. He hated it.
“Hate? That’s a strong word…” A voice echoed throughout his ears. That voice. One he’s heard before. The sound of the words circles like a carousel in his brain.
Fucking Mori.
When he’s not berating or trying out some new concoction of poison on Dazai, he lives rent fucking free in his brain. Mori’s voice was always that contradiction on any decision Dazai ever made.
‘Hate.’ The memory came back to him.
Dazai was in Mori’s office tightening the bandages on his arms as the poison ran through his veins. Dazai felt suffocated by the tightness of his bandages all over his body. Tightness from the foreign liquid flowing through his bloodstream. He looked over to the older man sat in his chair, mixing unknown liquids in a glass beaker. The sound of the glass stirrer and beaker radiated in Dazai’s ears. Dazai stands, a few steps behind Mori. He spoke in a quiet voice.
“I hate you.”
“Hm? Hate? That’s a strong word you know Dazai?”
The older man stands, stopping the hypnotising stirring. Pushing his chair away and turning over his shoulder to stare back at the younger boy. If the look in Dazai’s eyes could kill, Mori would be more than dead. Mori didn’t react to the daggers being thrown at him by Dazai’s look instead he tilted his head and smiled at Dazai. A shiver runs down the boy’s spine.
“I thought you wanted to die? I'm doing you a favour. Even a boy with your intellect should know that.” Mori stepped closer to Dazai leaving not much room in between the two. Mori places a hand over Dazai’s chin and lifts his head up to coerce him to look at him in the eye.
Dazai felt useless whenever he was in Mori’s company. He felt tiny. He felt dirty. A tear ran pathetically down Dazai’s cheek, and he was back staring at himself in his mirror. He laughs at himself. Watching his face distort in the cracked mirror, it was almost symbolic.
The boy stood for a while just observing his own face, sitting in the endless void he calls his mind. As if the walls of the container were painted colours of black and red. The walls turned mouldy and cracked. The wind was louder and Dazai was suddenly so much colder than he was. His mind was so loud his head started hurting. The chaos in his mind was so numbing. All the different emotions Dazai felt were so overwhelming, that he didn’t understand the emotions or even how he even felt them. How can a boy like him feel such humane feelings? Before he knew it, he was reaching for the glass beakers on the floor.
The beakers flashed colours of red, green, blue, pink and black. The colours enticed Dazai. The thought of these bright colours even existing within his vicinity captivated him. The colours seemed to plunge out towards him as if he were drunk in a flashy bar.
With shaky hands, he grabbed one of the glass cups and put it up to his nose. The smell was a clear indication to not ingest the contents. Dazai didn’t abide by such rules. His nose tingled with the faint remaining particles of the liquid in his nose. Even the smell was poisoning. He laughed.
Another tear fell from his pale cheeks and fell onto the beaker. With careful hands, he mixed the different contents. Putting the blue liquid in with the pink, adding some green liquid and emptying the rest of the red. He swirled around the mixture with small circles of his wrist. The liquid now a maroon colour with shimmers of purple. The sparking liquid almost lit up Dazai’s eyes.
With a quick motion, Dazai put the beaker up to his lips and threw his head back. The liquid slid slowly down his throat. Trying to savour every bit, he wiped the side of his mouth with his thumb and licked it. His stomach felt heavy, the guilt of knowing he had done something he clearly shouldn't have done. It was so enthralling.
Dazai laughed, no, howled with laughter. The thought of the unknown poison began to circle his intestines, his veins. The sick burn on his tongue and the ache beginning to form in his stomach. It made him laugh.
His hand twitched and contracted, dropping the beaker. It smashed onto the floor. Pieces of glass now shimmering on the floor. Dazai begins to shake, his hands, his legs and even small twitches in his neck and feet.
Colours of red, green, yellow, pink and blue flashed through his retinas. As if his eyes had turned into a kaleidoscope. The shades of the dulling container walls merged with the blinding spots of colour.
‘Hah.’ Dazai sighed as his legs gave in on themselves falling to the floor. Dazai dropped to the floor and winced, the pain of his back hitting the metal floor so violently. He lay still on his back looking up at the container ceiling.
Spinning. He was spinning, no, the room was spinning. He felt like he was flying, yet still. At peace? The chaos was no longer loud. Instead, colourful and bright. It was quiet but blinding. He felt his heart skip a beat. ‘How poetic’ He thought. The ethereal feeling of a nearing death almost made him blush.
Dazai was still, he stared longingly at the colourful spots dancing his his vision. He wanted to reach out to the colours and dance with them, but his arms we too numb to move. His whole body felt numb, limp. Like he was a rag doll.
With much desperation, he pushed his hand to grab a piece of broken glass from the beaker. Holding firmly to the lone piece of glass, it cut his hand. Blood dripping from the fresh wound. His hand was now warm as if someone was holding it. Comforting him to the other side. He smiled and closed his tired eyes. Exhaling his final breath.
Dazai felt warm for a while, to him it felt like 5 seconds, but in reality, he was unconscious for 42 minutes. It was quiet until he felt his stomach clench.
Suddenly, his eyes are thrown open and he is now bent over a toilet currently throwing up bile and some other unknown coloured liquid. Some fingers are pushed into the back of his throat, and he gags and proceeds to sick up more bile.
“Fucking hell, how stupid can you get?!” A voice shouted behind him. The owner of said voice also had a harsh hand in his hair and moist fingers probably from shoving them down Dazai’s throat.
Disoriented, Dazai lifts his hands to hold the bowl of the toilet still coughing up fluids coming out of his stomach. Weakly, Dazai turned his head to identify the person manhandling him.
“Chuuya…?”
“Shitty Dazai, fuck's sake.” The ginger boy shook Dazai, not violently or gently. But that was just Chuuya.
Dazai was overwhelmed, so much was going on. Was he dying? He thought he was finally dead. But no. He’s now here with a pounding headache, a huge stomachache and now Chuuya pulling at his hair shouting in his ear. Can this have gone any worse?
“What... What are you doing here slug.” Dazai managed to get out between spitting into the toilet bowl. His grip strengthened on the bowl.
“Hah? We have a mission today, and when your ass didn’t arrive on time I went to see where you were. Only to walk in on you foaming from the fucking mouth. What the hell were you thinking shitty mackerel?” Chuuya ranted on about finding Dazai, his tone was sharp and clearly annoyed. Though Dazai could sense a small tone of desperation and worry.
With sputters and small chokes, Dazai tries to push Chuuya off him. A pathetic attempt to pry the boy off him Chuuya doesn’t move. A sudden wave of exhaustion crashes over Dazai and the great demon prodigy Dazai fucking Osamu. Faints.
—✮—
Dazai awakes. He’s warm, comfortable, protected. Safe. Wait, safe? Dazai shoots up as his vision slowly focuses, frantically looking around trying to make sense of the room he’s in. His panic subsides when he recognises that ugly wallpaper and the irritating smell of his surroundings.
He’s in Chuuya’s apartment.
With a sigh, Dazai drops back into the comfort of Chuuya’s couch. Dazai noticed he’s been covered with a blanket and he has a heat patch on his forehead. Feeling around with the adhesive sticker on his forehead Dazai smiles to himself.
Silly Chibi, you’re too soft.