BUNGO STRAY DOGS SHORT STORIES

"dont mourn for me"

Brief summary: Dazai gets his wish.

Tw: implied self harm, suicidal themes and major character death.
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"My goal is to commit a completely clean suicide without burdening anyone." Those were the words that stuck out the most when Atsushi recounted his first meeting with Dazai. With all his reckless suicide attempts Atsushi never fathomed that his mentor would successfully accomplish his goal.

•
Dazai was lounging about at work as he usually did on a slow afternoon. Criptic lyrics were blasting into his headphones whilst he promptly ignored Kunikida's scolding. It wasn't that nobody at the agency had zero respect for the banadaged maniac, it was just that-
"This is the sixth time you've tried to off yourself in the last fortnight." It was just that Kunikida and everybody else at the agency were tired of Dazai's shenanigans. He was tired of Dazai disappearing only to be found hours later trying out his latest suicide attempt. Quite frankly, the agency wasn't taking it seriously anymore because of the distinct amount of times Dazai had tried to off himself. "You're never where you're supposed to be." Kunikida's lecture had no affect on Dazai, he only turned up the volume on his device more. "You put yourself in dangerous situations because you get bored Dazai, I'm beginning to wonder why you even want to work here." Kunikida knew he shouldn't have said that. He knew that Dazai's countless suicide attempts were only the surface of a much bigger problem, but he could not help but to let out his frustrations on his colleague.

Dazai sat up from his lounging spot in the warm sun, his headphones sliding down to rest upon his shoulders. "It's actually been several attempts." It took a fraction of a second for Kunikida to realise what he had said. 'So there are attempts i don't even know about.' It was odd how Dazai never seemed bothered about sharing his many failed suicide attempt, he never seemed embarrassed or tried to shy away from the subject. But something broke inside of Kunikida as it dawned on him that he didn't know every suicide attempt. He wrote them all down tediously in one of his adored notebooks. Kunikida kept tabs on Dazai purely because he couldn't seem to understand the ex-mafioso at all. Dazai was the by-product of mental illness and yet he gave off mixed signals as to whether he was alright or not. 'Dazai can't be okay.' No person in the right mindset would be so devoted to killing themselves just to past the time.
Kunikida took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "If you're so concerned about killing yourself," he looked at Dazai who was more or less waiting for him to finish speaking. "Why haven't you done it yet?" Dazai's lips curled into a smirk. He could sense that Kunikida was trying to choose his words carefully, he knew that he made Kunikida questions his morals, actions and thoughts. Dazai had that effect on people, he took great pride in making the people around him bend over backwards trying to figure him out. But if Dazai was being truth to himself, he would be in the same boat as everyone else.

"It's like a guilty pleasure," Dazai stood and rubbed at the crinkles in his coat. "To toy with death." He let the words hang in the air, he allowed them to simmer in the pot until it began to overflow with boiling water. "If you do excuse me, I've finished my shift." Dazai's coat trailed behind him as he made his way through the office and down the hall, leaving a worn out Kunikida in his mist.

•
It hadn't hit him. Dazai's skin was crawling with anxiety as it washed over his bones and clawed into his flesh. There was only so much he could take before his facade began to crack, and Kunikida's weekly lectures and voiced concerns were beginning to weave themselves in between the stitches Dazai had so carefully sewn shut. 'I can't take this anymore.' Emotions weren't something he always had, feelings of numbness often plagued his days. Dazai found himself in a stupor standing in the bathroom of his humble apartment. The four walls held secrets, hours of screaming from night terrors, shaking hands, blood, and all the ugly parts he shielded away from the agency and especially from Atsushi. Dazai had grown fond of his apprentice and he inspired him to fix the cracks in his skin. But even inspiration ran dry if it wasn't fed, and before he realised, Dazai had begun to unravel the many bandages on his arms. The fabric hiding away the years of pain that had healed in scars.
The blades he had hidden away from himself caught the light in his eyes. He craved feeling but ran away from the very thought of it. It was like the tide pulling him in and out. His hands hovered over stainless blades that would soon drip the colour of his own blood. All he had to do was run the edges across his skin, creating lines of temporary relief , the darkness that had him under a vice-like grip willed him to do it. Dazai wasn't one to back down from his sinful temptations-
There was a knock at his front door, it echoed through the halls of the house. The hollow sound had awakened Dazai out of his drowsy haze and in his attempt to recollect himself, his finger was sliced by the very edges he had craved for only moments ago. But now he looked down as the blood began to gather in the cut, a feeling of repulsion sinking heavy into his chest. 'Fuck.' Dazai stuck his finger in his mouth and closed the bathroom door behind him. Crossing the narrow hallway in long strides as he reached for the door handle, pulling it open.