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rwqv · 2 months ago

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⭒ .๋ ࣭ ⊹ ˖ 「𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.」

fandom.: bungou stray dogs

synopsis.: you and dazai commit a double suicide after expressing your explicit wish to die (this takes place during the edo-period of japan (1603 - 1868) and is a no ability au)

pairing.: dazai osamu x afab!reader (gn!reader if you squint)

cw.: !tw!, successful double suicide, self-harm, implied self-harm (of the reader), arranged marriage, suggestive content, tragedy, hurt/comfort, angst (?) (i mean, is it angst if the suicide is mutual?)

genre.: one-shot, no second part

word count.: 5.5k (approximate reading time: 22 minutes)

note.: this is somewhat self-indulgent! also, i had to search so many synonyms and create so many awkward sentences just to maintain some semblance of historical accuracy. this was so exhausting... anyway, hope you enjoy!

☪︎

the mist still clings to the stalks of millet when you put down the weeding blade. your back aches in that familiar, dull sort of way. it’s not quite pain, not quite tiredness—just the quiet ache of being alive, and needed by no one but the soil.

your sleeves are stained with green and your hair clings to your temple in damp, stubborn wisps. the rooster has crowed twice. that means dazai might have stirred. possibly even stood up, and most likely stumbled toward the sake jar.

you kick the mud from your sandals at the door frame, stepping quietly into the house with a breath that hopes, foolishly, for silence and emptiness.

but there he is. cross-legged beside the low table, the cup in his hand already half-emptied. the scent of rice liquor hovers in the air like incense.

you look at him with disappointment, shaking your head lightly even though you expected no less from your husband. just as you’re about to part your lips to scold him as usual, dazai begins to speak, cutting you off.

“i’m already preparing for work.” he says, as if the words themselves might stir the gods into believing it. “do not complain so early in the morning. such fretting will bring wrinkles upon your brow.”

you do not answer at once.

the kettle still needs boiling and the chickens have not yet been fed. you click your tongue. your hands, calloused and cracked, reach for the firewood.

“what work?” you say, your voice low and serene, like the water just before it begins to boil. “surely the task offered to you has passed to another. half the day is lost already.”

dazai only sighs in reply, swirling the liquid inside the cup. his gaze is averted. he doesn’t look at you—he never does when you’re right.

the cup makes a hollow sound as he sets it down on the table. it echoes too loud in the otherwise quiet house, like a bell tolling for the living. you crouch by the hearth and start a fire, the wood catching flame slowly, lazily, like him.

outside, a cicada cries—late, confused, out of season. the fields answer with another crow of the rooster.

“are you going to feed the chickens, or must i do that too?” you speak without looking at him, a small frown adorning your features.

a ghost of a smile passes his lips, despite the weariness carved in your face. to trouble you is the only thing that makes his miserable life somewhat bearable.

at last, you turn to him, unwilling though your gaze is. you roll your eyes as he yawns and stretches languidly, his bandages shifting under the dark fabric of his kimono. as expected, the task falls upon you once again.

“well, if you do not fancy that task, then see to the vegetables instead.”

you step outside to pour the chicken feed. the light has shifted while you were inside; the sun now has that golden-pale edge that’s starting to burn off the mist. from here, the uji river shimmers in the distance. you can even smell it: loamy, verdant, briny.

oh, how you love that smell.

the chickens crowd around your ankles. such hungry things. needy. at least they give something back. you check the nest for eggs and find nine. an unlucky number. perhaps more will come before dusk.

you return inside only to find dazai bleeding in the kitchen, clumsily trying to still the flow. your brows knit once more, tighter now, as you take in the sight.

“ah, welcome back. it seems the kitchen and i remain poor companions.” he says with a hint of feigned amusement, his eyes holding a glint of that familiar tiredness that plagues you as well.

you step closer to him, pressing a fresh cloth against his palm in a gentle manner. dazai simply looks at you, affection swirling in his gaze despite the circumstances. he wishes to know if you still care for him, despite his sorrowful existence as a husband.

perhaps that stirring urge, mingled with the faint sense of guilt he feels, spurred him to such actions. you remain silent as you bandage the wound with a ripped part of your clothes.

“how noble of you, belladonna, to ruin your robe for a wretch like me. i should feel honored, should i not?”

“it will do for now. but see it tended before the day ends.” you say, your voice laced with displeasure.

you know he is prone to hurting himself, especially after indulging in a drink. it’s plain to see. or perhaps, such clarity is yours alone. you see the signs in him, as you know them in yourself.

a soft sigh escapes your lips, and your eyes fall onto the work surface, noticing the tiny droplets of blood that landed on it. fortunately, he didn’t bleed on the vegetables. while you wouldn’t mind visiting the river again to wash them, the path is long, and your legs already feel heavy.

you check on dazai once more, not out of love, but out of habit.

he, of course, takes note, feeling the knot in his chest loosen ever so slightly at the tender gesture, yet he knows it is simply the remnant of your lingering empathy for him. he quietly makes his way over to you, swaying a bit from the sake.

“so, tell me, what delectable dish have you planned for us today? i do hope there will be some of those succulent crabs i adore.”

he wraps his arms loosely around your waist, peering over your shoulder at the chopped vegetables. his breath carries the scent of alcohol you’re so dearly acquainted with. you do not lean into it, as his closeness is unwelcome.

“no. crab has grown costly. it is beyond us now.”

a flicker of disappointment crosses dazai’s face at the mentioning of the prices, but it’s quickly replaced by a look of mild amusement at your unimpressed tone. he chuckles softly, the sound a bit slurred from the sake.

“is that so? well, i suppose even a man of my refined tastes must learn to adapt my palate to the times,” he muses, taking note of your tenseness but thinking little of it.

“still, i trust your hand in the kitchen. i am certain whatever you prepare will be palatable. after all, even plain roots taste fine when you season them.”

he presses a soft kiss against the spot right under your ear, tightening his grip somewhat. you let him linger, not because it stirs you—but because moving feels like too much. what difference would it make, anyway?

for a moment, you endure the closeness, letting it pass without protest. then, almost absently, you chide him for his indolence

“well, if you worked as often as you drank, we might afford your precious crabs. i tire of leaning on my father’s purse.”

dazai’s eyes narrow slightly at your words and his expression falters before it’s concealed by a languid smile again. he leans in closer, his bandaged hand brushing against your side as he reaches for a piece of vegetable.

“my dear, you wound me with such talk,” he says, his voice dripping with mock hurt. he raises the vegetable to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “surely you know that genius often goes hand in hand with… eccentricity. a man of my talents cannot be shackled by the drudgery of daily labor.”

his free hand comes to rest on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze as he mumbles, “besides, is it not better to have a husband who indulges in the finer things in life and in the company of his beautiful wife, rather than one who labors himself into an early grave?”

“right… forgive my unwarranted rudeness toward my ever-so-loving husband. i forget just how much not of a sake-drenched fool he is,” you mutter, offering him a feigned smile as you chop the vegetables, your motions now a touch more forceful.

you lower your head slightly, weariness clinging to you like a second skin from the day’s labor. it shows not only in your calloused hands, but in the quiet toll his unending idleness takes.

dazai senses the tension in your body and the weight of exhaustion in your stance. his smile wavers for a moment, a flicker akin to guilt, or perhaps understanding, passing through his eyes. yet, as swiftly as it came, it fades, his usual languorous expression returning.

“now, now, my dear, there’s no need for such sharp words,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder, eyes fixed upon the graceful dance of your knife.

your form stiffens ever so slightly beneath his closeness, the task of cutting now subtly hindered. however, you remain silent, a thought you have had for a while now suddenly passing through your mind.

“why do you not become a writer? you could work from home—inconsistently, i might add—and you already speak in riddles half the time. why not put it on paper?” you propose, almost innocently. it’s not the kind of work you would choose yourself, since it pays meagerly, but at least it’s something. “i am sure there is someone out there who will appreciate your morbid thoughts”

now dazai’s body tenses. his grip tightens briefly at your hip before easing again. the air in the room grows heavy, stirring the faint memory of the suffocation you once felt when you tried to drown yourself. for the first time in your marriage, you may have struck a nerve.

“i’d rather not become a writer,” he says, simply. you slow your movements, wondering whether you should say something—anything. “that dream should not belong to a soul as tarnished as mine,” he adds, his voice unusually soft as he nestles his face into the crook of your neck.

once again, he speaks in enigmas you cannot fully grasp, but they feed the quiet curiosity you harbor for this man. dazai inhales your scent, the familiarity of it a soothing balm against the ache left behind by an old friend.

he draws you a bit closer until his chest presses fully against your back, his mind fuzzy from the sake. you furrow your brows, putting down the knife as your body grows somewhat tense. “osamu, i cannot work like this.”

his name sounds so beautiful rolling off your tongue. it stirs something in him—a sudden urge to pull you closer—but he holds back, not wishing to drive you further away. he knows how proximity unsettles you, how closeness makes you feel caged. still, he quietly hopes that one day, you might come to welcome his touch.

“then stop working,” dazai says, his lips grazing your skin. “no one is forcing you to. you have free will, my dear. you should indulge in that a bit more often.”

you frown at his words, a reluctant yet oddly comfortable shiver tracing your spine at the warmth of his lips. “and idle about like you? i think not. the chickens would die of starvation and the fields would fall to ruin.”

you tilt your head away, no longer wishing to feel him against you. the subtle rejection stings more than he cares to admit. his grip loosens, allowing you the space to move.

you turn to face him. not quite pulling away—but just enough to make the distance felt. your eyes linger on him, your frown deepens, and the weight in your chest grows heavier.

“the chickens do not have to starve,” he speaks calmly, a resigned smile on his lips.

you raise one of your brows at his words, confused. “what do you mean?”

“we could sell them. or release them, if you’d prefer something more gentle,” he says with a soft chuckle. his voice carries something distant. you still don’t understand.

dazai takes a step closer and cradles one of your cheeks, his touch almost hesitant.

“we could be free,” he murmurs, “if that’s what you want. free from the expectations that bind us to a life no mind like ours can thrive in. i thought you might want that, too. you never seemed content here.”

his thumb caresses the tender skin right under your eye and you lean into his hand without meaning to. you avert your gaze, his words taking root somewhere deep. it’s true. you’ve never quite felt that you belong here.

in fact, you never feel that you belong anywhere. you don’t belong to this house, nor to the land, nor even to yourself at times. perhaps the only place meant for you is the wind, your bones returning to the soil, buried beneath a withered plum tree.

the thought does not seem so bad, no?

it’s not like you care much for this life. then again, maybe you do. it’s hard to know. you don’t know yourself that well sometimes. but you do know one thing: ever since the weight in your chest made itself known, you ask yourself the same old question.

what is the meaning of life? specifically your life. what purpose, if any, do you serve? what purpose do you want to serve?

after all, it’s not as if anyone needs you. at least, it doesn’t feel like anyone needs you in order to keep living.

dazai surely doesn’t. least of all, you. but you don’t need him either. you don’t need anyone. all you need—or rather, all you want—is for your heart to grow still.

in the end, what is the purpose of anything, if everything is merely a fleeting indulgence meant to make the wait for death more bearable? to make the fact that you will die—no matter what—feel less sharp, less present, as though distractions could ever dull the certainty of it?

you simply don’t see the point in anything. and you’re certain dazai feels the same. yet still, he keeps searching for a reason not to.

you both live with intent. but would it truly be so terrible if your lives unraveled into nothingness?

ah… what a selfish thought. and yet, it returns to you like the falling of dusk.

“tell me, my dear, what can i do to ease the burden that weighs so heavily upon you?” dazai asks, pulling you out of your thoughts after your silence stretches on for too long.

you look at him, a small frown gracing your face. “there is nothing you can do. the burden i carry has clung to me since early childhood. nothing has ever truly ceased the dull ache.” you mumble, placing your hand above his one on your cheek.

“a dull ache, you say? how dreadfully melancholic,” he muses, his voice taking on a softer edge, tinged with genuine curiosity. “and here i thought my own proclivities toward existential ennui were uniquely mine. it seems we may have more in common than i initially believed, my love.”

he lowers his hand from your cheek and his gaze drifts to the window, watching the sunlight filter through the paper screens. “perhaps that is why fate saw fit to bind our lives together.”

his words cause the pain in your chest to suddenly feel much sharper and you exhale shakily, your lips trembling as your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

you don’t like being this vulnerable in front of him. it makes you feel bare. but right now, even fixing your expression seems like too much of a hassle. you’d rather let the tears flow.

noticing your state, dazai pauses, realizing that perhaps he has tread too heavily on delicate ground. he frowns, struggling to find any words that might comfort you. instead, he remains silent and wraps his arms around you, offering you a warm embrace.

you instinctively bury your face in his chest, a choked sob escaping your lips as you reluctantly hold on to him.

“i hate feeling this way. i-i just want to die…” you whisper, painfully soft, between sobs, your breathing uneven and shallow.

dazai’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly at your muttered words, a flicker of concern and understanding passing through him. perhaps even a hint of relief, knowing you feel the same as he does.

“how about a double suicide, then?” he asks, the words striking a chord deep within you.

his expression softens by a degree, and for a moment, he merely regards you in silence, his emotions somewhat scattered.

he did not wish for your death—at least, not at first. even now, the thought of losing you weighs heavy in his chest. but seeing you like this, so full of unspoken anguish and with your will to hold on slipping away, the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

and let’s not forget that he, too, harbors the wish to die. so what better solution is there than a double suicide? that way, he need not endure this wretched life any longer, nor wake up one morning only to find your body cold beside him.

after all, a life without you would only worsen his suffering. you’re his anchor in the midst of all, keeping him tethered to this hell of an earth. you’re the sole reason he’s even lived until now. without you, everything would once again lose its meaning. so, in his mind, he is doing you both a favor, should you choose to accept.

“a double suicide?” you echo his question with a hint of pensive bemusement, your vision blurred by tears still streaming down your cheeks.

of course, the thought has crossed your mind before. though such acts are seldom spoken of, and often bring disgrace upon one’s family, they are not as rare as people would like to believe.

the fire you lit a few moments ago crackles softly behind you, the scent of smoke rising into the air. dazai’s hands still rest lightly against your back, waiting. and waiting. waiting with a patience he rarely shows.

a part of you—a very small part, a sliver of self still clinging to the light within the darkness that surrounds you both—wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. but the rest of you, the worn-out, weary, and exhausted part, only exhales.

“a double suicide.” you murmur again, as if trying the words on your tongue. they don’t taste bitter. they don’t taste like anything at all. but they bring you a kind of peace you never expected.

at last, you laugh, as if the sound might dispel the thought.

“no,” you say, though your voice wavers like the rising smoke. “not yet. there is still something i wish to do.”

you brush the remnants of your tears away with the back of your hand, yet remain near him, close enough to feel the warmth still left in his skin. he glances down at you—curious, though faintly puzzled.

he does not press. instead, he lets the silence hang between you to see if the thought will speak itself aloud.

“and what, pray tell, might that be?”

you don’t answer his question. not with words.

instead you reach up, slow yet deliberate, as though afraid you might startle him. you cup his cheek, letting your fingers rest just under his jaw. his skin is warm and impossibly soft—unexpected for a man like him. dazai stills beneath your touch, the faintest intake of a breath catching between you.

“i want to know,” you say, barely louder than the wind outside. “what it’s like to be close to you. truly.”

his gaze flickers. something unreadable settles in his eyes, and for a long, breathless moment, he says nothing. you almost pull back as hesitation overcomes you. but then his hand comes up—not to stop you, but to hover near your wrist.

“you’re serious?” he asks, his voice hoarse and filled with a trace of doubt.

you nod.

your thumb brushes the line of his jaw, and slowly, hesitantly, you lean in and kiss him.

it’s not perfect. there’s awkwardness in the first press of lips, as though he doesn’t quite know how to receive you. his mouth stays still, unsure, almost questioning, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his hands find your waist, drawing you closer as he reluctantly returns your kiss. gentle at first—then, gradually, with more certainty.

this isn’t your first kiss. of course it isn’t. but it is the first one you’ve initiated not to fool your family or friends into believing you’re sickly-sweet in love, but out of pure need and want.

the truth is, you and dazai have never had sex. it was a boundary you set at the beginning of your arranged marriage—one he respected without question. you were utterly grateful for that. most men wouldn’t have even let you voice your wishes, much less honored them.

you’ve both been lying to the world. to your families, your friends—everyone. pretending he had fulfilled his marital duties, pretending that everything between you was as expected. eventually, you always knew there would come a time when you’d be expected to have sex; to preserve the bloodline, to keep up appearances, to stop the whispers.

you and dazai had always imagined that moment would feel cold. dutiful. something done for the sake of obligation, not desire. neither of you ever expected it to feel so soft, so warm, so startlingly right. beautiful, even.

there is no grand declaration, no desperation. just the unspoken understanding that you want to be near him—not because the world has told you to, not because obligation demands it, but because, before the end, you want to know what it feels like to be with him. to be one with him.

— — —

later, the fire burns low. only a few embers remain, glowing weakly, unobtrusive, and offering little to no warmth. yet, your skin feels like it’s on fire. you lie beside him, bare, your head resting against his shoulder. his arm is draped loosely around you, and the bandages he always wears are unraveling, barely clinging to him now.

in the dim light, you catch a glimpse of his scars. a sense of melancholy settles over you—slow and aching. without a word, you lift your hand and begin tracing the lines along his arm, the one holding you close. he neither flinches nor speaks.

you have always assumed he is ashamed of them. why else hide them beneath layers of cloth? perhaps he is. but right now, he makes no move to stop you. he even seems... at ease. maybe because he knows it won’t matter, not at the end of this very day.

“i didn’t believe it would feel like this… love, i mean,” you murmur, your gaze turned toward the ceiling while listening to the quiet crackle of the fading fire. dazai chuckles, low and uncertain. not mockery, but something softer. something that he doesn’t quite want to name or acknowledge.

you shift, nestling your head beneath his chin and feel the faintest press of lips against your hair. his heartbeat is steady, anchoring you. you could fall asleep like this and wake with him tomorrow, feel the sun on your face and air still in your lungs. and yet… part of you would rather never wake again.

it’s tiring, having your heart constantly contradict itself.

“are you certain about this?” dazai suddenly asks, disturbing the serenity of the moment. perhaps he intends to plant a final seed of doubt. but dazai is not the kind of man to falter simply because he’s found tenderness. it would not unravel his resolve.

“i am.” you answer without hesitation, a content smile gracing your lips as your eyes flutter shut.

he doesn’t press further.

you lie beside each other until the fire dies out entirely, leaving only ash and fading warmth.

the moonlight slips through the cracks of paper screens, casting a pale, silvery sheen upon your skin. it makes you look so ethereal in dazai’s eyes that he almost forgets how vile this world has been to you both.

a shame, he thinks. a cruel shame that someone as lovely as you had to meet him—a man already rotting from the inside, only good for ruining you. but maybe… maybe you were already ruined long before he came into your life. how would he know?

perhaps this is a grand mistake and he shouldn’t have encouraged you to kill yourself along with him.

a flicker of guilt crosses dazai, and he holds you a bit tighter, his fingers combing through your hair aimlessly—gently, as though this has always been his purpose. and maybe it has been. but it is far too late to take it up now.

“the uji river is a fine place to die.” the words slip from your mouth, sounding light and distant, though the meaning beneath them rings clear as temple bells.

“mm. it is,” he simply says, hoping to prolong this rare and tender moment, one woven with warmth, love, and fragile vulnerability.

“we should probably go now.” you rise with care as you glance down at him, the smile you offer him laced with gratitude. dazai doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve it. helping you die? how absurd. he should be punished for taking you down this path with him.

“we should,” he echoes, sitting upright and reaching for his discarded kimono. he wraps it loosely around himself, as you do the same.

the walk to the river is longer than he expects. he finds himself thinking about all the times he made you walk this path alone to fetch water or rinse blood from his clothes. a small frown tugs briefly at his mouth, but it vanishes as soon as he sees the reflection of the moon and stars dancing across the surface of the river. it’s a breathtaking sight.

his gaze eventually drifts to you, taking in the tranquility etched into your face, mirroring the calm flow of the river. you offer him the rope with a faint smile, yet all he can think about is how he should have held your hand on the way here instead.

how regretful.

he accepts the rope, his fingertips gently brushing against your palm. you begin searching the riverbank for a stone heavy enough to keep you sinking to the ground. dazai simply watches for a moment, his grip tightening around the rope in his hand.

“wait,” he says, stepping toward you. he takes your rope and wordlessly begins binding it to his own. the knot he ties is firm, secure, and too practiced. it seems he perfected it a while ago—a remnant of darker days and failed attempts.

“what was that for?” you ask, raising one of your eyebrows in subtle confusion. dazai only offers you a small smile, pulling you closer before wrapping the joined rope around your waists. not too tight, but also not too loose enough for either of you to slip free.

“wouldn’t want the world to think we were anything but lovers, right?” he teases, but in truth, he only did it so he could hold you close once you’re both underwater.

after all, there’s something oddly poetic about being beside you as your lungs fill with water—being the last thing you see before you die. perhaps, too, to offer you a final moment of comfort.

eventually, you both find a stone large enough to keep you anchored. together, you carefully roll it to the river’s edge, where dazai kneels and ties the rope securely around it.

you step into the water first. the immediate cold sting sends a shiver down your spine, and you can already feel your feet growing numb. the pain is sharp but not unpleasant—almost refreshing.

“are you sure you don’t want to write a letter to someone—anyone?” he asks, reaching to hold both your hands as his eyes search yours. you shake your head, a peaceful expression softening your face.

“no. it’s better this way.” you pause for a moment, breathing in the crisp air. “anything i’d write… it would just confuse them or hurt them more. and it would mean i wanted to be remembered, which i don’t.”

“i see,” dazai murmurs, then turns to gaze upon his reflection in the water one last time. he does not know why or what he hopes to find. all he beholds is a face unworthy of life. death ought to have claimed him long ago.

“if i were granted one last selfish wish,” he says, turning to face you again. “i’d hope we meet again. in the afterlife. or perhaps a kinder era.”

your smile deepens at his words, and you squeeze his hands reassuringly, a few tears welling in your eyes. you’re not sure why you begin to cry—whether it is joy, sorrow, relief, or regret. but whatever emotion stirs within you in this moment, one thing feels certain: this was always how your story was meant to end.

dazai regards you in silence, gently brushing away a tear with his thumb as he cups your cheek. you lean into his touch, quietly hoping it feels just as warm beneath the water.

“close your eyes,” he says, his own filled with endless affection for you. you oblige, though a touch of reluctance lingers, and let your focus drift to the sounds of the night instead.

he draws you closer, until you are chest to chest, his hands gliding sensually along your sides. all the while, he inches the stone nearer to the river’s edge—quietly, carefully. unbeknownst to you, all it needs now is the slightest push to take you both into the depths of the unknown.

his lips find your temple, pressing a featherlight kiss against it. they trail slowly, achingly so, down the curve of your face until they reach your ear. he whispers something, too soft to catch. but before you can ask him to repeat it, he gives the stone one final push, and together, you are pulled into the river.

a sudden splash disturbs the stillness of the night, echoing briefly—then, all returns to silence.

the moment your body breaks the surface of the river, the water greets you like a blade. it is not merely cold—it sears, merciless and breath-stealing. your lungs betray you with a sudden gasp, and with it, a mouthful of water slips in.

you stop yourself from gasping again as panic flares, instead tightening your grip on dazai with what little feeling and adrenaline your body still holds.

the river is dark and foggy, and you can barely make out dazai’s silhouette. the descent to the riverbed stretches on and on, impossibly long, as though time itself has slowed to a crawl.

your grip on him falters as numbness begins to claim your limbs. you had thought yourself prepared, ready for the cold, for the stillness, for the panic stirring inside of you. but nothing could have readied you for how loud your body fights against surrender.

the rational part of your mind gnaws at you, furious. it screams at you to slip free, swim to the surface and breathe. you hadn’t thought you’d falter—not like this, not when it mattered the most.

and even though you do, you somehow force yourself to stay calm, to close your eyes and just… feel.

your heartbeat pulses, a faint thrum against your ribs. the pressure in your ears grows sharp, more amplified, and a distant ringing begins the deeper you sink. it is torturous.

dazai’s arms loosen around you, but the rope he tied holds fast, and you feel the faintest comfort of the weight of him pressed beside you. you found the idea foolish at first. now, you’re glad he tied you both together. surely, the end would have felt far crueler without him near you.

eventually, you don’t feel yourself sinking anymore. the cold no longer bites. it embraces.

hypothermia drapes itself over you like a burial shroud, stealing sensation, thought, and the last remnants of fear. a strange calm overcomes you, and the pain quiets.

it feels surreal, yet oddly peaceful. the ringing in your ears fades, and your heartbeat begins to slow. it almost feels like you’re floating. you wonder if dazai feels the same strange bliss that’s overtaken you.

eventually, your body gives in. you cannot hold your breath any longer. water floods your lungs, and a burning sensation erupts in your throat and chest—your consciousness slowly slipping.

suddenly, you remember the first time you met dazai. it’s a vivid, yet fleeting sensation. a trivial memory. why this? why now? you don’t know. you wonder what his mind offers him in this moment. perhaps a family long abandoned? a friend buried by grief? you?

how would you know?

how could you ask?

how—when both of you are slowly dying?

the pain eventually vanishes. you would never admit it, but despite the initial dislike for him you expressed at the beginning of your marriage, you’ve grown to love him. you would have liked if he thought of you in his last final moments.

you don’t blame the universe for pairing you with someone equally broken as yourself. after all, he is the reason you were able to end this miserable excuse of a life, in which you were doomed to find nothing but pain from the beginning.

↪thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! MLIST

#this is so sad im genuinely crying bro #this is so beautiful

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