Being sedated was weird. Usually he took it and the air became thick like pudding, making it impossible to move his limbs.
But perhaps not sleeping for two days while experiencing constant stress took a toll on his body, because when he was shot with the dreaded 'booty juice' he just straight up passed out.
It took him a bit to wake up from his thankfully dreamless slumber, and by the time he was fully conscious again, he was in the isolation room with an orderly observing him from the corner.
An ache in his wrist demanded his attention and he looked down at his re-bandaged and cleared-of-blood arm. Looking down also made him aware of the medical gown he was now in.
Damn, he probably wasn't going to be allowed his own clothes for a while. The evidence that he had been cleaned off and undressed while he was passed out and unaware made his stomach turn.
That was the worst part of being unconscious, waking up and realizing that he had been touched without realizing or able to do anything about it.
An orderly was sitting in the corner, his elderly face comfortably blank.
Dazai blinked slowly, still not entirely ready to be present yet. To his amusement, the orderly blinked slowly back.
The corner of his mouth quirked up and Dazai decided he didn't want to be out of the action in this place for any longer than he already was.
He hummed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He was currently laying down on a mat on the floor. There was no other furniture besides the orderlies chair in this locked room. It was also padded, but it didn't look as fun as the cartoons made it seem. It was much more obviously medical and way less insane asylum.
"I guess you picked the short straw to be my personal guard dog for a while, right?" He mused, the smile on his face disturbingly empty.
The older man hummed, chair squeaking as he leaned back in it, "Actually, it was rock paper scissors."
A huff that could've been interpreted as a laugh left his mouth. At least the nurse he'd be stuck with for a while had a sense of humor.
"What should I call you then? Nurse? Old man?"
"Hirotsu is fine," The old man nurse replied, "Shall I call you patient? Child?"
At this, Dazai did genuinely snicker a little bit, his weariness keeping it from bursting out of him.
Had it really been two days since he slept? Being knocked out for however many hours didn't grant him any reprieve, his body still as exhausted as it had been.
With much effort and a strained face, Dazai pulled himself up so he was sitting, finally looking the old man in the eye, "How long was I out?"
"About seven hours. The rest of the kids are having dinner in the main hall at the moment."
So he woke up just in time to miss everyone. He wondered if Q had already left yet, or if the new patient had shown up. So much could happen in seven hours.
Dazai looked down at his newly bandaged wrist once again. These bandages were much thicker than before, so he couldn't see even a hint of what he'd done. Had they redone his stitches too? He was supposed to have gotten them taken out soon.
Well. He really fucked up, didn't he?
God, he was so weak. Couldn't even handle a couple days without submitting to the beast in his brain. And he had been so out of it that he didn't even get to enjoy the pain.
This would elongate his stay to much more than what he wanted.
How had he let himself be so stupid and childish? He knew that he couldn't get away with self harming in here, much less so fast and in broad daylight. And in such a desperate way too, not at all subtle or clever. Had he really fallen so low that he lost his wits so easily?
If Fukuzawa wanted any further proof that therapy was bullshit, this was it. He'd been playing along and following the rules like a good little mentally ill boy and this was what it had culminated into. One of his lowest moments.
And for what?
A moment of pain? Blood? Seconds of freedom?
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't worth all this.Now he'd have Hirotsu following him around and he'd not get a moment by himself until he proved his stability.
His mood considerably more irritable than it was when he'd woken up, Dazai shakily stood, standing still for a moment to stop his vision blurring from the abuse he'd put his body through. Ugh, and on top of all of this, his body felt weak and fragile because it was unable to handle the overload. Two things he refused to be.
"How much longer will I have to stay in here?" He inquired, trying to look as unthreatening as he could, which probably wasn't very difficult considering he resembled a quivering baby fawn at the moment.
"That depends. Do you plan to hurt yourself again?" Hirotsu gave him no pity.
Dazai blinked innocently, "Who, me? Never!" Hirotsu stared, unimpressed, so Dazai made an empty promise, "Okay, fine. I promise I'm not going to hurt myself again."
Hirotsu nodded, satisfied for now despite probably guessing how insincere the words were, "Good. Then we can go back to the group after ten more minutes."
Not wanting to test his luck, Dazai kept the groan inside, making use of the extra time to stretch his legs and take stock of the rest of him, to make sure he'd be presentable and less harrowed-looking when he went back to the others.
Other than the new bandages and medical gown, he was mostly the same. They miraculously let him keep the rest of the bandages that covered him, which he was grateful for as he would've had much more skin showing than usual in just the gown. His feet still had his fuzzy socks on them, the small amount of comfort they offered him was invaluable.
Luckily, it didn't seem like they sponge bathed him or anything like that. He still had on his underwear and the only things they seem to have touched intimately were his wrist and fingers, which had been cleaned of blood. His nails also seemed to have been cut.
Dazai didn't doubt that they at least looked under all of his bandages for any more evidence of recent self harm, but at least they put everything back when they were done.
The cut he reopened wasn't severe enough to where he lost a lot of blood, so he wasn't as dizzy as he could be, but he still felt a bit unsteady on his feet. Probably more to do with the stress and lack of sleep than any actual problems.
Before he was allowed out, another nurse came in with a cup of water and his afternoon meds. He drank the water greedily, but only barely managed to hold back rolling his eyes as he stuck his tongue out to prove he actually swallowed the pills.
It's when Hirotsu took him back to the main room that he started to feel a little sick.
He hid it well, thankful when it seemed that the rest of the group was still not back yet. It was just himself, Hirotsu, and Tachihara in the room.
The chef of their little kitchen handed him some dry turkey and mushy green beans, which he valiantly did not barf at. He picked at his meal halfheartedly to at least look like he had an appetite, but his mind was mostly focused back on the usual maelstrom of thoughts.
Like always, his head drifted into thinking about Chuuya, and how he'd been doing after his individual therapy. They still had to talk about his blackout, although that might be pushed back a bit to focus on his own Thing™ because Chuuya just loved to fixate on all the wrong things.
His discussion with Ranpo was the furthest they'd gotten to a breakthrough, and he hadn't even been able to talk to Chuuya about it. Hopefully the smarter teen filled him in while Dazai was… indisposed.
Speaking of his relapse, every other thought that wasn't about Chuuya was spent repeatedly reprimanding himself for being so stupid.
It's not like he was unfamiliar with a violent and uncontrolled relapse, but to do it in such a sloppy way in such an inopportune place; it's like he was a stranger to himself. The Dazai he knew would've never acted out of control like that. But perhaps the Dazai he knew was changing, the longer he stayed in here.
This hadn't happened at any of his other inpatient stints.
He wasn't sure whether to be worried about it or excited. Anything that strayed from the usual monotony of his abysmal life was happily welcomed, but this wasn't necessarily a positive change.
The dinner on his plate went mostly uneaten and thrown into the trash right as the rest of the group returned. He wasn't feeling hungry anyway.
Trying not to look too eager, Dazai scanned the room for his favorite redhead, but the angry little fireball found him first.
Chuuya marched directly up to him and just as Dazai opened his mouth to give some kind of teasing greeting, the shorter boy slapped him across the face.
Rude.
"Nakahara!"
Yosano immediately charged after him, dragging Chuuya bodily away from Dazai, who was still standing, shocked. He brought a hand up to his stinging cheek as she held back the struggling delinquent, who Dazai just realized was also yelling.
"You son of a bitch! I told you not to do that shit in here!" He was practically foaming at the mouth and his fit caught the attention of the orderlies outside the room who rushed in to help hold him back.
"Nakahara, if you do not calm down, we will sedate you." Yosano hissed, clearly hoping it wouldn't come to that. Two sedations in one day would look really bad for the facility.
Dazai was still holding his cheek in shock, only realizing that he was smiling when his hand brushed the corner of his upturned mouth. A genuine smile, because he didn't put the thought into deliberately painting it on. His cheeks burned for a reason that had nothing to do with the slap.
Chuuya stopped fighting after the threat of 'booty juice' was brought up, but he still glared with such a fiery passion that Dazai was nearly burnt by the flames from feet away, "What the fuck are you smiling at?"
Dazai didn't say anything, shrugging in a rare moment of honesty. He truly didn't know why he was grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
Yosano rudely interrupted their stare-down by pulling Chuuya out of the room to give him a stern talking to. Figuring he'd get to talk once the lecture was over, Dazai sat back down next to Hirotsu and gave the old man an amused eyebrow raise. Hirotsu raised one eyebrow in return.
That was his Chuuya.
A crackling ball of energy wound so tight he could form a black hole around himself.
His emotion, even if it was born from wrath and aimed at Dazai, was beautiful to behold. Absolutely stunning. Maybe that was why he smiled, because Chuuya was like a guiding light in the bleak midnight that was his life.
Ignoring Chuuya's loud entry as if it was a regular occurrence, the rest of the group settled in as usual.
From the looks of it, Q was gone already, but Dazai wasn't really sad to see the freak go. At least he got out of having to say goodbye.
There were no new faces though, so the newbie wasn't in yet.
Atsushi rushed over to him in a frantic way very unlike Chuuya, looking like a mother who'd lost her son as he fretted.
"Dazai-san, are you okay? Nobody saw what happened but suddenly a t-ton of nurses ran down the hall to your room and Fukuzawa made us all stay in here and n-none of us could get a good look at you but they took you away so quickly and Chuuya slapped you?! Are you-"
"Atsushi," Dazai interrupted, raising his hands in a placating manner towards the younger teen, "I'm fine. A wild raccoon broke into my room and I had to fight it off so I wouldn't get rabies."
The worry on Atsushi's face melted away into an unimpressed deadpan, clearly not appreciating Dazai's joking on the matter. Like a shadow, Akutagawa peeked out from behind the white haired boy with wide eyes on his inexpressive face.
"How did a raccoon get in the building?"
He could always count on Akutagawa to go along with his bullshit.
Dazai immediately launched into a fantastical story about his daring battle against a rabid raccoon, and subsequent emergency care as he was on the verge of death because of the animal's razor sharp and poisoned claws. His caretaker, Hirotsu, simply nodded whenever the more impressionable teens would look to him for confirmation, not at all wanting to participate in this ridiculous conversation and instead just going along with it without question.
After a good few minutes of his epic tale, Chuuya reentered the room and made a beeline for Dazai while also trying to make it look like he was just casually wandering over here. He was a terrible actor, Dazai thought fondly.
As soon as he sat down across Dazai, he sent him a very poorly concealed glare and hissed in his general direction.
"I told you not to fucking try anything while I was in here. I told you not to." Chuuya growled, a rumble in his throat making his voice deeper than usual. Dazai felt himself get a little warm.
"I'm sorry," Dazai apologized sincerely, to the surprise of everyone at the table. Upon realizing that was out of character for him and far too close to an earnest response, he quickly added on, "Next time I'll make sure Doctor Chuuya-kun is there before I perform surgery on myself."
Hirotsu gave him a sharp look but didn't need to say anything as Chuuya immediately snapped back, "There won't be a next time, asshole. If you do that shit again…"
He drifted off, glancing over to Hirotsu as well as the other nurses that were keeping a watchful eye on them. Apparently deciding not to finish that thought, he just gave Dazai a glare, baring his teeth in warning. Chuuya really was like a wild dog.
"Heel mutt, I already pinky promised not to." The bandaged teen sheepishly avoided the others' discerning faces, "Besides, this was just an accident."
"An accident." Chuuya repeated incredulously, ignoring the mutt comment only to prevent further dog jokes.
"A simple miscalculation." Dazai confirmed.
The other teen finally relaxed at that, dropping the topic although he didn't exactly look happy about it.
If Dazai didn't want to open up about something, he wouldn't, and Chuuya seemed to know that. They had become so familiar with each other's quirks already!
It was tiresome trying to keep up with Chuuya's nagging, so he was glad they could move past it and onto more important things. Anything that wasn't himself. He wasn't important.
His little mishap earlier in the day prevented him from sharing his newest hypothesis with Chuuya, and who knew when the next interruption would happen.
"Did Ranpo talk to you at all about the new theory on our magical connection?" Dazai asked, skillfully moving the subject away from him.
Chuuya shook his head. Figures. Ranpo was as unreliable as he was ingenious.
He continued bluntly, "We think your blackouts are psychosomatic. Do you know when you started getting them? What triggered them?"
He didn't look like he particularly wanted to share that information, reluctantly shifting in his seat.
Sensing he needed a push, Dazai pressed further, "We're not going to solve anything without knowing all the variables."
"Are you trying to say it's all in my head?" Chuuya demanded, still not answering his questions.
Ah. Now Dazai understood.
It wasn't that he was guarding his privacy. Chuuya just didn't want to actually be crazy. He could empathize.
When people diagnosed you with any kind of mental disorder, there was always a strange implication that since it's in your mind, it's within your control. Since it's just your own thoughts, you're in complete control of what you're thinking. Having moods, mental illness, being unstable; it was all a choice in most of society's eyes.
By blaming his blackouts on genetics, on a chemical anomaly, it took away any responsibility he had over them. It wasn't his fault that these episodes happened. Obviously, even though it likely waspsychosomatic, it still wasn't his fault.
Silly Chuuya always seemed to take the blame for things he didn't need to. He had an insufferable guilt complex.
"No," Dazai replied gently but firmly, "Not anymore than Atsushi's anxiety is in his head, or depression and PTSD are in mine."
It was the first time he admitted to actually having a diagnosable mental illness, rather than just claiming to be generally 'crazy'. He didn't really know how to feel about it.
On a level, he knew what was wrong with him. He knew what made him this way and why he continued to act this way without changing anything. Knowing something didn't stop it from happening though.
Putting labels on his problems didn't help him at all to stop them. Still, at least he could finally admit to his therapists, at least some of them, that they were right. There was a reason he was taking medication and acting the way he did, and there was a reason he was in a psych ward. Ignoring it and not giving it words didn't make it go away. It was always with him.
Although it felt like a monumental moment for Dazai, Chuuya took it easily, easing a bit at his reassurance.
He still didn't seem entirely comfortable sharing, but he braved on regardless, "I was seven. That's when they started treating me."
"Do you know what could've triggered it?"
At this, Chuuya's eyes widened momentarily before he looked away, mumbling out something that they couldn't hear.
His arms crossed defensively over his chest, fingers digging into the meat of his biceps. Dazai felt the sudden urge to grab his hands and rub away the tension. He blinked at the thought, quickly pushing it away.
"What was that?"
Chuuya grumbled lowly again, and Dazai sighed dramatically, already impatient.
"Come again?"
"I said I don't remember, okay?!" Chuuya spat out, cheeks flushed, "I don't remember any of my life before seven years old."
The table was silent.
"That's…" Dazai started, "... concerning."
"Yeah. No shit."
Dazai couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.
Everyone stared at him while he guffawed, with a wide range of emotions. Chuuya, with predictable rage. Atsushi, with alarm, and both Akutagawa and Hirotsu with wariness.
It was only when he felt tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes that he tried to calm down and stop laughing so much. Once it was down to just giggles, he explained himself before Chuuya could eviscerate him, as he looked seconds away from doing.
"Is that fucking funny to you?" Chuuya ruffled up defensively like a feral alley cat. The sight almost made him start laughing again.
"No, no, it's just-" He let out another slightly hysterical giggle, "we're all so messed up."
Not being able to contain it anymore, he burst into laughter again, holding his stomach as it began to ache.
Everyone looked at him like he was crazy, which was fair. He certainly felt crazy. All except Chuuya, who studied his face while it was cracked in a wide grin from laughing.
It'd been a long time since he genuinely laughed and smiled like this. The joy didn't feel like it belonged on his face. Even if it was slightly hysterical, and probably not a normal response to the situation, it was genuine.
Dazai stared right back at him, unable to stop giggling but wanting to know what about his face was so interesting to Chuuya at the moment. His eyes were unusually unreadable.
After what felt like minutes but was more likely milliseconds, the corners of Chuuya's lips began to turn up and he joined in on the laughter. It was downright harmonic.
Atsushi nervously laughed as well, swiveling back and forth between them with poorly hidden panic as they were the only two laughing about such serious matters.
This only went on for as long as it took for Fukuzawa to wander over to them silently, creeping up behind Chuuya and startling him, sending Dazai into another round of cackling openly at the situation.
"Osamu," The use of his first name sobered him immediately, his surprisingly good mood disappearing in seconds and the light Chuuya always brought to him dimming, "We need to have a chat."
Hmm. So he didn't get away with having a breakdown and subsequent relapse while in their care.
He huffed, not at all looking forward to the one-on-one chat. Especially after only just getting back to Chuuya the group.
But it wasn't like he had a choice.
He sighed, pushing himself away from the table and standing up, all of a sudden subconscious of his state of undress. The medical gown wasn't exactly flattering to his figure. And it showed more of his bandages, practically broadcasting how fucked up he was.
But why did that matter? Why did he care?
He looked away from the group he was sitting with, not wanting to see Chuuya's reaction to him. Not that it mattered, it didn't. He continuously reminded himself.
Then why did he find himself tugging shyly at the sleeves of his gown?
Like most peculiar thoughts regarding Chuuya, he ignored them, following Fukuzawa out of the main hall and into their own special private room.
It made him just as cautious as it always did, at the ready in case anything were to happen. He wished he didn't have this innate instinct to run every time he was alone with adults, but alas. Some things were too ingrained in him to ever disappear.
They sat down very similarly to how they did earlier in the week, although truthfully Dazai couldn't say what day it was, so it could be the next week for all he knew.
The only real difference was that Hirotsu was with them and he was wearing his underwear and a medical gown. So actually, it was quite a bit different, wasn't it?
"So, Dazai-" At least he used his last name this time, "Would you like to explain what happened earlier today?"
Dazai didn't pick at his skin, but it was very close.
"I seem to have relapsed a bit." He replied as earnestly as he could, keeping a serious face.
"A bit." Fukuzawa repeated expressionlessly.
Dazai didn't really want to stay here any longer than necessary. Cooperating would get him further than evading. He sighed in defeat.
"Yes, okay, I hurt myself. It wasn't intentional. It just happened."
"Wasn't intentional?" Although the words were disbelieving, he sounded genuinely curious. The kindness underlying his tone made him uncomfortable.
Dazai, not used to feeling so ashamed, crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing the edges of his bandages for comfort.
"I didn't mean to. I wasn't even really conscious of what I was doing." He admitted, the defensive creature in his brain growling at him for revealing his secrets, his weaknesses. He told it to shut up.
"So you weren't in control of yourself?"
"I'm always in control." Dazai immediately retorted, trying to hold himself back from bristling, "I wantedto do it, I just didn't realize that I was actually doing it until it was already done."
Fukuzawa hummed, nodding his head as though he understood, but he clearly did not understand because Dazai didn't even really understand. Hirotsu was quiet beside him.
It was starting to be a just long enough silence that he was about to break it with some meaningless chatter when finally Fukuzawa spoke again, but only after gazing at Dazai searchingly and making him want to repeatedly bang his head on the desk between them.
"Are you familiar with dissociative episodes?"
Dazai made sure to not react in any specific way, remaining composed and in the same readied position that he had been in.
Of course he'd heard of dissociative episodes; he'd had them before. Multiple therapists had described some of the things he's done as done during a dissociative episode. Hell, Chuuya's blackouts were something akin to a dissociative state.
"Yes." He responded icily, not wanting to expand on it.
He could already put together where Fukuzawa was going with this and he didn't like it.
Sure, he'd had dissociative episodes before, but he hadn't had one in a while. He thought he was past that particular symptom, having gotten that under control a long time ago. Of all the signs that attributed to his several disorders, that one was something he'd actually been able to mostly stop with medication.
Fukuzawa didn't bother expanding on it. The older man could probably tell from Dazai's face that he knew exactly where this was going. The social worker seemed to have an annoying way of reading his mind easily, in spite of Dazai's best efforts at concealing those thoughts.
"Do you think that the recent trauma you've gone through has anything to do with their resurgence?"
Therapists had this irritating way of making a claim but presenting it as if it was a question. As if Dazai could approve or disapprove of the statement that they'd already decided was correct. Assuming his records were shared with the hospital, he probably already knew that Dazai had a history of dissociation.
But the implication of what triggered it was what truly bothered him, "What do you mean recent trauma? That was all over and done before middle school."
If he could even call it trauma, which he didn't particularly like to. It felt like, by labeling it as trauma, it was making it a bigger deal than it really was. What he'd gone through as a child was nothing.
"You recently survived a nearly successful attempted suicide, do you not think that was a traumatic experience? Or that you may have some lasting side effects from the amount of time your brain was lacking oxygen?" Fukuzawa once again turned a rhetorical statement into a question.
Not even touching how hilarious the idea of one little suicide attempt being traumatic was, Dazai rolled his eyes, "Are you saying I might have brain damage?"
"I'm not a doctor," The social worker admitted, "but I do think it may be worth considering."
Scoffing, Dazai turned to give Hirotsu a disbelieving look, to which the old man remained expressionless as always.
"Regardless of the reason behind it, you did violate the rules of the hospital and have harmed yourself in our care," Fukuzawa continued on to more technical matters, leaning back in his chair, "Your stay here will be extended four more days. Your father has already been notified and has approved the extension. A nurse will accompany you at all times until you prove yourself to be trustworthy again. This includes showers, bathroom breaks, and overnight. You can return to wearing your personal clothing tomorrow, but must remain in the hospital gown until then. If something like this happens again, we may have to transfer you to a more intensive care unit."
It wasn't necessarily a threat, but Dazai took it as one. Moving to another unit would take him away from his friends the patients and doctors he'd gotten familiar with here. The extended stay and nurse presence were unsurprising, but he wasn't thrilled about them either.
Also knowing that Mori had already been informed of his relapse made him grumble a bit. Mori would surely want to discuss it next time he visited. That wouldn't be fun at all.
Overall though, it was fairly lenient, and he didn't know whether it was because the staff liked him or if they couldn't afford to lose him.
Either way, he begrudgingly accepted the consequences of his actions, as if he had a choice in the matter, "I understand."
The social worker dismissed him back to the group, and he went quietly, Hirotsu following dutifully behind him.
If he was a more whimsical child, he might've pretended that the old man was his security guard and he was a really important mob boss, strolling carelessly through the streets of the big city as he ran off to do some cool mafia job, but he was older now, and his imagination didn't bother indulging in fantasies. Dazai just pretended Hirotsu wasn't there instead.
On the short walk back to the main room, Dazai thought deeply about his talk with Fukuzawa.
It wouldn't be that far a reach to hypothesize that he had lingering brain damage from literally dying.Plenty of people did, even if it wasn't as life ending as people usually assumed it was.
He could've been having seizures, or chronic fatigue, or any number of other negative side effects. The return of dissociative episodes wasn't really that bad to have, especially since he'd already experienced them in the past and theoretically knew how to deal with them.
This might mean a change in his medication again though, which he mentally whined about. It would be quite annoying to go through the mess that is finding out which meds worked for him again. Hopefully, this resurgence was to do with his supposed 'recent trauma' rather than brain damage.
It was, unfortunately, out of his control for now. Until he got a brain scan or something similar, he wouldn't know for sure, and if it did turn out that something was wrong, it wasn't something his thoughts and willpower alone could control.
And as he'd stated a hundred times, he loathed not being in control.
For now, he would accept the knowledge that he would kill himself when he got out of this place anyway, so whatever's wrong in his brain won't matter by then.
Returning to the fun, he immediately caught the eye of his favorite redhead, currently in a heated debate with Ranpo over something probably incredibly asinine.
All he could do was wait.
The downward spiral he was already swept up in seemed to go even further down and, instead of acknowledging that it might have something to do with his own actions or traumatic experiences of the previous days, insisted that it all started with the arrival of the new patient.
The new guy came in the middle of afternoon group therapy with all the swagger of a fat city rat, unjustifiably smug and indifferent, and Dazai immediately hated him.
He was Russian (huge red flag) but just seemed a little too much like Dazai himself.
He was clearly a liar, manipulative and cunning. The way his eyes slid around like they could read everyone in the room while still outwardly seeming uncaring was exactly the aura Dazai assumed he himself had.
Dazai hated himself, so a person who came in and immediately seemed like a Dazai 2.0 was disgusting. It was revolting. He felt like he could throw up just looking at him.
Nobody else seemed to see anything wrong with the newbie, casually greeting him and introducing themselves as was customary in group therapy.
"My name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. I'm 18 years old."
Then why are you fucking here? Dazai thought bitterly.
This was supposed to be an adolescent clinic, and here a legal adult was coming in, ruining the flow.
Everyone welcomed him, introduced themselves, Dazai's own introduction being short and perfunctory. Maybe it was his imagination but Chuuya seemed a little too excited to greet a new person. After all, before Fyodor, Dazai was the newest person in their little bubble of mentally ill isolation.
The topic for their group therapy was something asinine that Dazai didn't care to listen in on, waiting until it was over so he could interrogate the new guy. As soon as the chairs were put back, he dove after on Fyodor like a shark, craving the scent of blood in the water.
"So Fyodor-kun," He mocked, "What are you in for?" He immediately attacked, leaning forward on his entwined hands.
For once, a lot of people were at the same table, eager to meet the newest addition to their merry band of inmates. Everyone was sitting at their table, except Akutagawa and Kyouka, as they seemed to be in an intense discussion of their own. Used to his antics, no one gave Dazai any trouble for the invasive question.
Instead of being put off by the question, as most people were, Fyodor smiled thinly, a seemingly innocent expression that only Dazai and maybe Ranpo could see past. He'd seen enough people faking harmless curiosity to know that Fyodor was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and Ranpo just seemed to have an intuition for these things. He'd also stated earlier that a 'sociopath' was coming in, so he must've already known that something about this Fyodor guy wasn't what it seemed.
"A suicide attempt."
Dazai immediately sniffed through that lie.
If anyone knew about suicide, it was Dazai, and he knew that Fyodor showed no signs of a recent attempt, nor the aura of someone who was even interested in such a thing.
Everyone else seemed to buy it though, like naive idiots, nodding in sympathy and even some pity. It disgusted him.
Dazai refrained from adding anything else to the conversation, already bored and annoyed when other people started to introduce themselves and got to know Fyodor. Hopefully Fyodor would be nothing but another patient by tomorrow, no more interesting than the dust on his socks.
He slinked away from that rat and moved on to sit with Akutagawa and Kyouka instead. Hirotsu followed dutifully behind, so quiet and still that Dazai almost forgot he was even supposed to be by his side.
"Why is Dostoevsky in the adolescent ward if he's a legal adult?" Dazai demanded from his nurse as they walked.
Hirotsu dutifully answered, "There are no beds left at the adult ward. Here, we have a whole room to spare."
Which was unusual. A lot of people in this world needed help, and unfortunately that usually meant that a lot of hospital beds were often filled up, with no room for any more patients. It also wasn't uncommon for homeless people to check themselves in, just for somewhere with food and beds to stay in during the colder months.
This facility seemed to be an exception, or perhaps it was just a slow time of the year, because there were actually very few patients. This building had to be underfunded, it was the only real explanation for how mediocre it was. He would've thought Mori could afford to get him into a better hospital, but maybe he'd gotten tired of providing Dazai with luxury mental care.
"He's a pathological liar." Dazai boldly stated, daring Hirotsu to defend the other patient.
"That's something he can work on in individual therapy."
The bandaged teen stubbornly held down his amused grin, sending a flat look to Hirotsu. He was really starting to like this old man though. Other than Oda, this was probably the best nurse he could've gotten to watch over him nonstop.
Reaching Akutagawa and Kyouka, he would usually loudly announce his entrance and derail whatever topic they were previously on, making the new conversation about or including him. This time, however, their discussion seemed interesting enough that Dazai just quietly sat down and listened as they continued, barely acknowledging his arrival beyond a nod of recognition.
"Tell me more about Gin." Kyouka requested meekly, her voice only slightly above a whisper.
Ah, Gin. Dazai knew of her. Akutagawa had talked about his sister a lot in the past, and he'd even seen the girl during visiting hours once. The older teen responded patiently, even a little fondly, in a way that seemed out of character for such an edgy emo kid, if one didn't know of his soft spot for his sister.
"She is a little older than you." Akutagwa began, clearly not good at describing people in a very engaging way, "She likes martial arts."
"You know, Kyouka," Dazai interrupted the frankly abysmal description, "She looks a lot like you! Black hair, baby face, blank expression. Silent but deadly like you too."
Akutagawa didn't look too upset about being talked over, simply nodding his head at Gin being deadly. Kyouka paid apt attention.
"You will see her tomorrow. She's coming along to pick me up."
Dazai turned to him in surprise, "Pick you up? You're leaving tomorrow?"
He felt the room get a little colder, his life a little emptier. His younger friend nodded solemnly.
"I want to spend the time I have left with my loved ones."
A shiver passed through his body, death's icy hands sweeping over his shoulders. These were probably going to be the last times he saw Akutagawa.
Even if Dazai got out soon, they weren't that close. It wasn't likely that he'd be invited to the eventual funeral. It was a very real possibility that he wouldn't even know when Akutagawa finally kicked the bucket. Who would alert him to such a thing?
A larger part of himself than he was willing to admit was jealous, but the only part of him that he cared to listen to was mostly sad.
He wasn't a stranger to death, and was glad that at least Akutagawa could make the most of his little time left with his sister.
Still, he was so young. Younger than Dazai. He was someone who always seemed to fight to live, yet he was dying. Whereas here Dazai was fighting to die, but continued living. It wasn't fair.
There was something beautiful about such a tragedy, but it was the kind of beauty that made one feel sick to their stomach with grief.
He knew he was supposed to make some sort of joke about being jealous that Akutagawa would get to die first, or suggest another double suicide, but he truly wasn't in the mood to. Maybe the past few days really had changed him more than he thought. The usual apathy he felt towards such a thing wasn't there, and he had the sudden inexplicable urge to cry about how unfair it all was.
"We should celebrate your final day in captivity," Dazai said instead of voicing the thoughts in his head, "We can throw a party! Maybe I can convince Ango to bring you a cupcake in the morning."
"I don't like cupcakes."
Dazai pouted, "Everyone likes cupcakes."
"I like cupcakes." Kyouka quietly added, reminding Dazai that she was there. Truly, silent but deadly. Or at least silent, the deadly was yet to be seen.
"That's two for cupcakes, Hirotsu?"
The older man tilted his head downwards, "I enjoy a good cupcake, but unfortunately we cannot give them out for a discharge."
"Buzzkill."
Dazai gave an exaggerated frown, not really serious about the whole thing. But he saw a tiny, nearly unnoticeable smile on Akutagawa's lips, and it made everything else seem so very unimportant.
…
Later that night, as he lay in bed with Hirotsu sitting nearby, the last surprise of the day was revealed to him. An unwelcome and annoying one.
Chuuya had apparently gotten to know Fyodor quite well over the half hour they'd all talked as a group. And he wouldn't shut up about him.
"And he was actually born in Russia, his family are immigrants. Which is cool because Ane-san says we're immigrants too! Apparently we were born in France, not that I remember obviously-"
Dazai was going to lose his fucking mind. More than he already had.
"Shut up about Fyodor! Shut up about Fyodor." Dazai finally snapped, glaring fiercely at a surprised Chuuya.
The redhead immediately narrowed his eyes and puffed up defensively at the vitriolic tone, "Don't tell me you already hate him. You didn't even get to know him."
Dazai scoffed.
He didn't need to 'get to know him' it was obvious what his character was like from just a glance. Anything the new patient said would be a lie anyway, based on his very early lie about how he ended up here in the first place.
But Chuuya wasn't done, "Give him a chance. You two have a lot more in common than you think. Maybe you could each talk about your attempts together."
The bandaged teen openly laughed at that.
"I know he and I are alike, that's exactly why I don't like him. And he didn't attempt suicide. Chuuya is too trusting."
"What do you mean he didn't? How else could he have gotten in here?" Chuuya asked, the naive little puppy.
"It's obvious, there are no external signs of a suicide. Every method leaves behind something, but he was squeaky clean. Also, you can check yourself into these places chibi, it doesn't always have to be an order from someone else."
His roommate didn't seem to know what to do with that, pouting and looking like he very badly wanted to refute Dazai's points but couldn't find the words to.
Apparently giving up on trying to argue something, Chuuya shrugged hotly. His slender shoulders raised towards his ears, mocking Dazai.
"So what?"
Any and all thoughts and counter arguments that he had lined up all stuttered to a stop.
"So what?" He repeated incredulously.
Oblivious to Dazai's internal computer crashing multiple errors 404 not found, Chuuya continued, "Yeah, so what? So what if he's lying about how he got in here? You lie all the time. At least Fyodor's not a dick about it."
Dazai sputtered indignantly, looking to Hirotsu for help which of course the older man did not give. Why was no one else concerned with that rat's intentions, when he was so clearly up to something nefarious?
"Your naivety will be your downfall Chuuya-kun." He eventually spit out, half joking.
Chuuya took it as seriously as he took everything, "And your stubbornness will be yours."
Not knowing quite how to respond to that, Dazai pulled the paper thin blanket over his head and turned to face the wall, overly conscious of Hirotsu sitting at the foot of the bed. Even if he wouldn't fall asleep right away, he could at least pretend to be trying to sleep.
His roommate didn't make another sound, not even a grunt of satisfaction as Dazai would've expected. Chuuya passed out seconds after his head hit his pillow, according to the insufferable snoring which came very soon after lights out. Not everyone in the room was so lucky.
The old man at the foot of his bed was so silent that Dazai could've forgotten he was even there if it weren't for the feeling of being watched that plagued him even when he closed his eyes. Despite the hours of unconsciousness he'd had earlier, he was still exhausted. Unfortunately, if Hirotsu continued to monitor him, it wasn't likely that he'd fall asleep.
Still, there wasn't much else to do but try.
…
In the morning, after a fitful night of tossing and turning, Dazai tiredly dragged his body from vitals to breakfast, Hirotsu following behind him like a storm cloud. He didn't seem to be the only one feeling strung out though.
It was like an aura of exhaustion blanketed the entire building. Even the staff looked a little run down. Beyond the opaque windows, rain dripped down, creating a calming white noise of gentle tapping. If it weren't for the misty coverings over all the windows, Dazai would've loved to look up at the cloudy gray sky, but he could only close his eyes and imagine it.
Dazai actually enjoyed this type of weather. Despite the gloom, it was peaceful. The noise of the rain drowned out everyone, and made everything seem a little more real in a weird way. It made it feel as if the world around him was merely a creation of his own mind, but in such a way that it belonged to him entirely. In the rain, it didn't matter if this was real or not, the water on his face felt good enough that he didn't care if it was all fake.
But he could not feel the rain from inside this sickeningly sterile building.
"Hirotsu, can I go to the dining hall with the others today?"
The wistful nature of his voice didn't seem to move the old man, who always had an air of calm to him, "You will be allowed to, if we do go. The rain may be worse by then."
That was unfortunate. The brief reprieve of being outside on the walk to the dining hall would've felt better than the sun itself warming him.
His peaceful morning was interrupted when Chuuya zapped into his life, the lightning crackling through his otherwise gentle thunder.
"Akutagawa is leaving today. We should do something for him." The redhead dropped his breakfast tray down on the table with an unpleasant clattering sound.
"That's what I said! I was thinking cupcakes."
"Akutagawa doesn't like cupcakes," Chuuya replied. Apparently he and the emo teen talked about those kinds of things enough for him to know that, "I meant more like giving him a card signed by everyone."
"That's so lame." Dazai scrunched up his nose. God, could they get any more cliche?
"It's sentimental." Was Chuuya's argument, and so that's what they went with.
They would begin work during free time, and hopefully finish by the time Akutagawa was scheduled to leave.
Before that though, Dazai was forced to endure a full group therapy session with that disgusting rat of a human being.
He made sure to sit far away from him but not directly across, so as not to make eye contact with him and to minimize their level of interaction completely. Unfortunately, it seemed like Dostoevsky was fixated on him for some reason. His violet eyes, too uncannily similar to Mori's, were locked on Dazai from the moment he entered the circle.
The other thing about group therapy, if you were there long enough, was that they repeated topics a lot. Sometimes they could discuss the same thing for weeks on end and still get nowhere in recovery, which only reinforced Dazai's opinion on therapy, but it was interesting when another patient actually did seem to change between topics. They could say one thing the week they come in, and then after a few days have something completely different to say on the same topic.
Perhaps people could change, or at least adjust.
This session was again focusing on coping mechanisms and what to do when they're back out in the 'real world' with all the stress that brings.
Fukuzawa was there again, and Hirotsu was by Dazai's shoulder, so there was an uncomfortable amount of adults, more than what he'd gotten used to. Especially since Fyodor was also apparently a legal adult. That shouldn't be allowed!
But to be fair lots of things went on in mental institutions that weren't necessarily allowed... Still, this was the only one he was particularly annoyed with at the moment.
"I think we should start a little lighter today since it's so miserable outside. What does everyone want to do when they get out? This doesn't have to be about what career you want to pursue, although it can be. Just any goal you have for the future when you get discharged. It can even be something as simple as taking a bath." Yosano smiled at the circle.
Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the wrinkles and strain on her face seemed more pronounced today.
Everyone really was exhausted, weren't they?
Since Kenji left a few days ago, not many others had the same level of energy and eagerness to participate. It made group therapy much more awkward than it should've been, but Dazai didn't really feel affected by the weird atmosphere around the circle.
Ranpo, who seemed less bored and more opened up out of his shell, while not particularly caring about participation, did love to talk about himself. So it wasn't a surprise when he was the first to raise his hand.
"I'm going to be the world's greatest detective!" He proudly exclaimed, to the rapt attention of Poe and Yosano.
It sounded so childish that Dazai wanted to laugh, but the way Ranpo's eyes slitted over to him before he could even conjure an expression of amusement made him reconsider.
Perhaps the little neat freak did have better perception than he'd led them to believe. He did always seem to follow Dazai's thought processes flawlessly, which wasn't something many people could do.
Maybe it was just because he never thought about his own future career that the idea of any one of them becoming a successful adult was so outlandish.
"That's wonderful Ranpo," Yosano smiled proudly, looking very pleased with his answer, "Shall we continue around the circle? Poe, you can go next."
"Uh, I'd like to be an author…" Poe shifted nervously, clutching his notebook to his chest. An unsurprising and boring response.
As they were going around the circle, Dazai was next to answer, but not a single thought seemed to come to his mind.
Everyone stared at him expectantly, some with wariness and some with genuine curiosity and encouragement. Though even with all the eyes urging him to speak, he couldn't think of anything. Not even a bullshit answer.
It was a rare thing, his mind going silent, but it did happen. Neither time nor substance mattered when he was in this state, and he could spend hours staring at a wall with nothing in his brain, practically dead to the world around him and the wasteland inside him.
He didn't know what triggered it, but it was probably connected to the resurgence of his dissociative episodes. Just another thing he'd have to deal with now, on top of everything else happening. As if life wasn't hard enough.
The urge to kill himself and be done with all the complications of being alive was a dull yet constant presence. Even though he couldn't form a solid thought, he felt the pull of suicidal ideation in his very soul. If he had a soul, anyways.
"Dazai? Is there anything you want to do when you're free?" Yosano prompted again, though not as annoyed as he would've expected her to be. Instead she seemed more cautious, or perhaps coddling.
Freedom? When he was free? He'd never be free. Outside of this asylum was just another set of chains to bind himself into; the dog collar of society.
True freedom would only come with death.
Which of course gave him his answer. The one every other person probably already expected from him.
"I'm going to kill myself when I'm out."
The sentence came out easily, as it was something he'd said many, many times before.
For once, he wasn't concerned with this admission extending his stay and subsequent access to this supposed freedom. He couldn't quite find it in him to care at all.
Chuuya glared at him threateningly from his spot next to Dostoevsky, obviously not at all pleased with his response. He never liked when Dazai was openly suicidal. Which sucked because that was kind of a core personality trait of his, and he wanted Chuuya to like him.
Or, not like him, but at least pay attention to him. Dazai didn't care how the boy felt about him, he just wanted to occupy his thoughts at all times and interest him the way he interested Dazai. And to not share any of his roommate's headspace with that slimy rat.
"Dazai," Yosano sighed heavily, the bags under her eyes becoming more pronounced, "That's not an option. You won't be allowed to go back to the outside world until you are no longer a harm to yourself or others."
She stated for the millionth time, reminding him of what everybody already knew.
The problem was, he just didn't care anymore.
Also, he was technically taking Fukuzawa's advice to try and utilize therapy. He was actually being honest about his feelings, which was the first step, right? Admitting that he had a problem, or whatever.
"Don't you have any interests or hobbies?" Fukuzawa prompted, "I've seen you drawing during free time. Perhaps you could be an artist."
Yeah, the same drawing that had triggered him into a relapse only yesterday.
Dazai shrugged, "Sure. I'll be an artist. I'm sure that's the career my medically and financially accomplished father always wanted for me."
"It's not about what his expectations are, it's about what you want." Yosano gave him a small but genuine smile.
She really was trying her best. Maybe he should stop giving her such a hard time. At least for a day. She deserved it.
Not really knowing how to explain that he didn't wantanything except a swift death, Dazai shrugged again but didn't speak. Other patients probably had more exciting things to say, or more likely lame things.
Either way, it would take attention away from himself, and that was the only other thing he wanted right now.
After a few seconds of silence, Yosano nodded for the person next to him to go, who was Atsushi. And so they continued around the circle.
Atsushi wanted to have his favorite meal when he was free; chazuke. Fyodor (ew) wanted to play his cello professionally (pretentious), and Chuuya wanted to make tea for his sister (sweet).
Lucy wanted to be a game designer, and little Kyouka just wanted to wear clothes that were allowed to have longer strings and ribbons, as those weren't permitted in the hospital.
In his opinion, it was a little fucked up to ask Akutagawa what he wanted to do in the future, seeing as he didn't really have much of one, but he answered anyway, stating that all he wanted when he was released was to take his sister shopping. He even offered to bring Kyouka along, which nearly brought the young girl to tears as she readily accepted. It was both heartwarming and tragically sad, as many things in this place were.
Thankfully, group therapy ended quickly and without any drama. Probably the first time in days where things seemed calm and controlled, which was typical of places like this.
There was always some kind of disturbance going on. That tended to happen when a bunch of mentally ill teenagers were stuck inside the same space for days on end.
It was nice to bask in the tranquility for once.
If only that bastard Fyodor wasn't taking up all of hisChuuya's time.
They seemed to get along too well, almost always sitting next to each other, which meant that Dazai didn't get to be with Chuuya at all because he'd rather live than be around Fyodor for any longer than necessary. Only when visiting hours began and Fyodor stepped out to meet someone irrelevant, did Dazai finally get to pounce on Chuuya.
"Chibi-kuuuunnn," He whined, draping his arms over Chuuya for only a second before the redhead shoved him off, "Why won't you leave that ugly rat alone and come hang out with me instead?"
"Don't call him a rat, mackerel," Chuuya huffed, "and literally nothing is stopping you from joining us."
"Ew, I would never. Chibi." He added on the nickname again, poking Chuuya's chubby cheek. The shorter boy slapped his hand away.
"Noodle arms."
"Slug."
"Hah?!" Chuuya slammed his hands on the table, turning so that the full effect of his glare was directly aimed towards Dazai, "Slug? Fuck you… stuff-that-comes-with-bandages."
"Stuff-that-comes-with-bandages?" Dazai laughed genuinely, "That makes even less sense than mackerel!"
"And 'slug' does make sense?" Chuuya grinned, reluctantly joining in his laughter, "You're such a hypocrite."
His smile was beautiful.
For a brief moment, he felt happy. Happy to be around Chuuya, happy to have even met him, happy that he had lived long enough to know him.
And that thought was what stopped his laughter short in his throat, staring at Chuuya as the other boy kept giggling, his cheeks growing slightly pink from loss of breath.
The sight made his stomach drop in a way he'd never experienced before, like the moment a roller coaster reached its peak and had a brief second of weightlessness before gravity pulled it down. It swooped, but in an exciting way. A rush better than a shot of straight adrenaline.
He could've got high off of it. He could've become addicted to the feeling of laughing with Chuuya.
Which was why the sweet taste in his mouth suddenly turned sour when Fyodor came back into the room and Chuuya's attention turned to him instead.
It was at that moment that Dazai finally acknowledged; maybe he wanted more than only Chuuya's attention.
Maybe he just wanted Chuuya.