"Well, this certainly isn't a position I thought that I'd ever be finding the former Demon Prodigy in." The amused voice speaks out from behind him, a thick American accent. He'd been standing there a while, silently fixing his gaze on the same sight as Dazai; the warm Yokohama sunrise over the Port.
"If this is such a surprising sight to you, then I'm afraid you failed to properly research me." His words slur a tad, and that frustrates him slightly, appearing so weak and vulnerable in front of this man. They’d gotten on good enough terms since the Moby Dick incident, however that didn’t mean he much desired for the man to watch him bleed dry through slit wrists on a park bench, so pathetically.
“Well, I thought I did well enough, I just thought you were a bit more private about it. I’ve always heard you were a sneaky one.” Dazai smiles at that, and allows his eyes to fall blissfully shut. The light of the sunrise bouncing off the rippling waves disappears into a mutated black behind his eyelids, and he listens to the rustling of leaves.
“I’ve never hidden my desire to die, in fact I’d say it’s the forefront of my personality. Though it’s certainly been a while since I’ve done something so bold publicly…” The sound of specially tailored shoes crunching down grass fills his ears, and he feels the bench shift as the American takes a seat beside him.
“If you are so obvious with it, how haven’t you been fifty-one-fiftied?” Dazai reopens his eyes, and crosses his sticky hands over his chest, holding them close to him.
“I think the closest thing to a fifty-one-fifty I’ve had was likely when Mori-san used to sedate me and leave me in his office when I got too difficult to deal with. Aside from that, I’ve mostly been left to my own devices with my attempts. Urgh-- though they do tend to save me in the end, which is so annoying!” Dazai whined, but there wasn’t the usual eccentric kick behind it. It just sounded tired.
"So you want to die on a bench alone?" Francis hummed, watching the seagulls that perched themselves atop warehouses and docks, waiting for the opportunity to steal away anything edible that's left unattended.
"I would prefer to die with a beautiful lady by my side, however in the end, I'd prefer not to burden anyone with my death." Francis nodded lightly.
"Have you ever wanted to dismantle the world for someone?" Dazai's eyes narrow, and his fingers have now gone bitterly numb, the morning breeze stinging his open wounds.
"What strange questions you're asking!" Dazai's grin is a languid thing, and he further slumps into the seat, feet heavy like lead filled his bones lifting to rest on the bench seat.
"Yes yes, but indulge me, will you? After all, you are going to die soon, so I won't be able to ask the revered Demon Prodigy anything again! Unless I purchase a Ouija board... are those cheap...?" The blonde mans voice tapered off into a thoughtful murmur as he rested his hand against his chin, seemingly caught in thought. Dazai's brows rose, but he shook his head lightly at the mans behaviour.
"You should be careful with what you buy~! If you have no use for it, it's just a waste to get it!" Dazai warned, head beginning to fill with cotton. They both remained in a mutual silence, and Dazai couldn't help but cringe and the pulsing ache in his wrists.
A leaf fluttered away from its home, landing in front of them without a sound, the first sign of fall.
"... I have, I suppose." Dazai can't tell if it's the blood loss or his mind leaving him, but for a brief moment, soft, slow jazz echoes in his eardrums and the scent of freshly poured whiskey and candle wax invades his senses. It's nearly blinding with its intensity, but it's gone as fast as it arrived, leaving Dazai once again showered in the familiar smell of the ports.
"Oh? A friend? Lover?" Francis turns to face Dazai, but doesn't bother to reciprocate the action, continuing to watch the climbing sun in the distance warm to the dew covered grass.
"Does it particularly matter?" Both.
"Hmm, I guess not." Dazai shifted, and he attempted to cover up his more labored breathing, the blood loss finally taking it's final tool, his vision speckled black, Dazai's eyes didn't seem too keen on the idea of staying open much longer, fluttering erratically.
"I think I'd ought to go." The American's voice is muffled, like Dazai is submerged deep within a lake, straining to hear through the expanse of water.
"... You won't be calling the Agency about this, I hope?" The brunettes voice is little more than a murmur, however he assumes the man hears it.
"No, I don't think I will be." The bench shifts as the man stands, leaving Dazai slumped in the bench alone, life leaking from his wrists staining his clothes and the bench seat itself.
"Good... I'd prefer that way, staying out of their way..." he doesn't hear Francis speak again, ears ringing distantly and body fallen numb, the heaviness of exhaustion crowds his mind, chasing away any other thought as slowly but surely, he knows he's draining himself of life. It'd certainly taken long enough, always failing in his attempts, no matter how hard he tried to succeed.
Failure was his most familiar inevitability.
~~~~
Francis is a dirty, no good liar, Dazai concludes, because not long later, he is awoken from his blood loss induced slumber by a screaming Kunikida. He’s all up in his face while Yosano puts pressure on his leaking wrists, yelling about some American man calling in and complaining of his choice in his last resting place.
Dazai can only really groan in response to his lecture, energy sapped away into Yosano’s cloth, he gives a long, suffering sigh.
The sun continues to rise in the distance, and suddenly it’s not so beautiful, he wishes it would stand still, the blades of grass freeze in place, water lapping at brick to stop dead, everything to go peacefully still around him, allow him some reprieve of mind, but that's foolish, and he knows it.
The world never freezes, pauses or waits for you to catch up, you are expected to keep pace with it, no matter the circumstances.
People have always consistently passed Dazai by without a thought, leaving him to fend for himself, watching as his betters lived full lives with meaning and emotion.
Dazai only ever felt cold, and perhaps it has to do with his being born frozen in place, like he was.
(Many days after, his coworkers refuse to allow him out of their sight for even a moment, and he wonders what changed their attitude towards his attempts, changed it from eccentric attention seeking behaviour to a serious issue. Dazai wishes it had remained the same, with them all not caring.
It always was easier not to be cared for.)
YOU ARE READING
31 Days Of Dazai
Fanfiction1.) Shaky hands Mori took two steps forward, and Dazai followed suit with his own few steps back, nearly jumping out of his skin when a large red lobster scuttled underfoot, his mind immediately searching for where such a thing could have come from...
