Dazai Osamu x Chuuya Nakahara Fanfiction Book

A Broken Clock (incomplete)

(Soooooo this was based on my AU I wrote called "Our Bucket List" a while back, the one where both of them are kids already dying from cancer and they meet and fall in love in a cancer remission group...

...yeah that one 🥲

ANYWAYYYSSS I kinda sorta maybe did a study at school on whether or not Euthenasia should be legal or not, and I got HELLA INSPIRED.

If you don't know what euthanasia is, it's basically the law that whenever someone is dying or suffering from a certain medical condition such as cancer, they are given the choice whether or not they would like to be euthanized. Or- basically they are given the choice on whether they'd like to live or not. It's basically a legal "suicide" but only legal for people who are suffering. If they say yes, they are strung up to an IV and are injected with a lethal substance that kills them completely peacefully. It's one of the very few types of deaths that are considered to be non-painful... and that made me think of Dazai... and then I had an idea.

⚠️This story will have Major-Character Death, and it will be sad, so be aware of that when reading. I'll try my best to water it down, but I really only write what I'm inspried to write.

Uhm... yeah, the other thing to know is that this takes place in a hospital, and just know that it's a modern- AU. Chuuya and Dazai will already be close friends, and are both severely sick with lung cancer. They are both given a decision... and I think you know where this is going. They're 18 going into 19 years old.

Uh... heheh enjoy 🥲)

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Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound, ever-so calmly, gently filled the empty hospital room to the brim. The hour handle on the clock was cracked in half, dangling loosely from the position in which it had been stuck in.

A frail, sick, and hunched-over ginger boy who was adorned in a long, baby-blue gown which was open to the back held it carefully. With the dejected clock in one hand, a roll of this crappy-blue paper-tape in the other, he tried his goddamned best to fix the handle.

But— no matter how much he tried to fix it, it didn't seem to budge a goddamn—

"I don't think it's going to be fixed anytime soon."

A voice interrupted Chuuya's current handiwork. He looked up to the entrance of his room and saw his closest friend, Dazai, standing there with his long and lanky, skinny arms leaned up and against the door's wooden frame.

"The fuck do you care, mackerel?" He groaned, annoyance instantly bubbling into his veins by even being in the same presence as this goddamn boy. His oxygen tube attached to his nose and connecting to the small tank resting next to his feet bounced slightly as he talked.

Dazai walked over, rolling his own tank along with him as he took a seat next to his friend on the soft mattress. A small table laid out in front of the bed, one that must've been provided by the hospital. Tools adorned the top of it, laid out and organized so utterly and thoroughly it was so bluntly obvious that Chuuya was the one responsible for it.

He reached over, picking up a small tool in which he guessed was a screwdriver, but he was no construction worker— or anything.