You Don't Know Me.

A Drunk Mackerel and Pink Bandages - Part One

Word count: 2,700 + (i kept editing it so i didn't wanna check again 😭)

Date: 7/21/23

Warnings: implied self-harm, dried blood, blades, underage drinking (which I do not condone, the legal drinking age in Japan is 20, and the character is 18 in this chapter. don't drink underage pookie smookie honey bear bun pies poopie wookies)

Note (please read!):

For future reference, in this story, I'm basing the fictional Dazai's thought process partially off of the book that the actual Dazai (Shūji Tsushima) wrote, "No Longer Human". The manga and anime don't provide much detail about how he truly thinks, only giving little hints, so I had to improvise. I don't like the relationship dynamic where soukoku get together but Dazai doesn't actually love Chuuya like Chuuya loves him and never opens up, so as much as I'm intrigued by mysterious Dazai, it would be hard to make him establish a genuine romantic relationship with Chuuya without him having a full-on crisis. Also, part of this story was inspired by a video from latristezamanchada on TikTok, please go follow and support them if you like this!

Also, it's winter in this, so that's why the sunrise is a bit late for Kanagawa.

Wednesday, December 18th

– 6:32 AM –

The sun crept up the side of the Armed Detective Agency headquarters building, gradually overflowing and spilling through the infirmary windows, gently nudging a certain man to awaken.

The golden rays cast themselves upon his small, yet fit and lean, body, illuminating his pale skin with a warm tint.

His fire-colored hair glistened in the light with an ethereal glow. The ends of the strands curled up a bit, framing his peach-colored cheeks.

He was sleeping on a small foldable bed near a full-length window, which had a view of the (currently quiet) city beneath him. He nestled into the fresh linen sheets; they were pure white in color.

A little table was placed at his bedside with a glass of water and a letter upon it, patiently waiting to fulfill its duty.

Even if the atmosphere wasn't favoring the man so generously, there was no denying it; he was absolutely beautiful. His beauty is the type to captivate the soul, leaving an indent that can never fade.

A relatively tall man stood next to the bed, towering over Nakahara Chuuya. He let his eyes observe every movement he made, explore every dip and curve in his face. The man was leaning into his face, his short, brown hair falling in front of his ears.

His eyes were focused and intent. There was no trace of passion in his expression, it was solemn and unmoving. Even so, a sliver of interest inadvertently displayed itself through his somewhat gentle mannerisms.

He steps away, seemingly surprised by his own actions.

The plush chair near the infirmary door made a loud squeak as the man carelessly threw himself onto the cushions. He sat there in a dazed-out state, staring at the ceiling.

He had been there all night, without sleep. Why he did this was unknown, even to him.

He was disgusted with himself.

Keep in mind, he isn't against same-sex love. In fact, he really didn't care; the whole debate seemed unnecessarily silly to him. He just didn't approve of himself loving. It wasn't like he had any capacity to do so anyway.