Fragments of Us - Soukoku Oneshots

19. Holding On 💔

Content Warning: This chapter contains emotional distress, dark thoughts and mentions of suicide.

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The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves outside the window. The room itself was a sanctuary from the cold world beyond its walls, but within, the tension that simmered was palpable. Soft moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the floor, and bathing the two figures in a pale glow. The shorter of the two, a young man with a cascade of red hair, stood silently, his hand resting gently on the head of the dark-haired figure sitting before him.

The one sitting, Dazai, trembled faintly, his face hidden, pressed into his bandaged hands. His shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths, each one sharper than the last, as though he were trying to pull himself together, trying to grasp the remnants of his shattered composure. The effort was futile. Tonight, his mind was an abyss he could not escape.

Chuuya, the redhead, did not say a word. He had known better than to speak when Dazai was like this, hollowed out by something far deeper than his usual arrogance or careless mirth could cover. This wasn't the Dazai that the world knew ; the enigmatic, sharp-tongued man who teased everyone mercilessly. This Dazai, the one who sat before him now, barely holding himself together, was fragile in a way that broke something deep within Chuuya.

It wasn't the first time Chuuya had seen him like this, but each time, it felt like the first. And each time, he was never prepared.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid words. Chuuya's fingers twitched, wanting to close the distance between them fully, wanting to offer something, anything, to pull Dazai back from wherever his mind had taken him. But he didn't know how. He never knew how.

Dazai's sob was almost inaudible. If the room hadn't been so quiet, Chuuya might have missed it entirely. But he heard it; the small, broken sound that escaped his partner's lips. And that was all it took for the dam to break. Slowly, Dazai lowered his hands, his fingers curling around his knees as he buried his face in his arms. His whole body shuddered with the weight of emotions he had buried for too long.

Chuuya felt a lump rise in his throat, his own chest tightening with the ache of watching this. He'd seen Dazai flirt with death more times than he could count, had witnessed his reckless disregard for his own life. And yet, this vulnerability, this quiet, unguarded sorrow, was somehow far more painful to witness than the near-death experiences that had littered their shared past.

"Dazai," Chuuya's voice was low, almost a whisper, as if anything louder might break the fragile air between them. His fingers, which had been resting lightly on Dazai's head, slid down to the back of his neck, offering the only comfort he could. The touch was light, hesitant, but it was all he could offer.

Dazai didn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he seemed to lean into it, just slightly, as though grounding himself in the contact. He didn't say anything; he hadn't since this had started. It was as if all the words in him had dried up, leaving behind only this raw, aching silence.

Chuuya swallowed, his mind spinning with all the things he wanted to say, but none of them felt right. What could he say? What could possibly make this better? He had never been the one for comforting words or soft reassurances; that wasn't who he was. But right now, he would have given anything to know how to take away the weight pressing down on Dazai.

Minutes passed, and the room remained suspended in that fragile moment. Dazai's sobs had quieted, but his breathing was still ragged, his body still tense beneath Chuuya's hand. The moonlight shifted slightly as clouds passed overhead, casting darker shadows across Dazai's face, obscuring his expression further.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Chuuya muttered suddenly, his voice rougher than intended. It wasn't the right thing to say, but it was all that came out. "You don't have to carry all this alone. You don't have to keep acting like you're fine when you're falling apart."

Dazai remained silent, but Chuuya could feel the slight tremor that ran through him at the words.

"I know you think it's easier to just... disappear. To push everyone away. But it's not. Not for you. And not for-" His words caught in his throat. "Not for the rest of us.."

Chuuya's hand tightened slightly on Dazai's neck, as if he were afraid to let go. Afraid that if he loosened his grip, Dazai would slip away from him again, back into that dark place where no one could reach him.

Dazai let out a soft, bitter laugh, though it was more of a breath than anything. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice rough, raw from the emotion he had been swallowing down for so long. "You'll never understand, Chuuya.."

The words stung, even though they weren't meant to. Chuuya's jaw clenched, and he forced himself to stay calm. This wasn't about him. This was about Dazai. It had always been about Dazai.

"Then explain it to me," Chuuya said softly. "Help me understand."

Dazai was silent for a long moment, his breathing still uneven. His fingers twitched, gripping his arms tightly as if he were trying to hold himself together physically. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't. It's not something I can just... explain. It's always there, Chuuya. It's always waiting. This... emptiness. This need to just-" He stopped, his throat tightening. "To just disappear."

Chuuya's heart clenched painfully at the words, his own breathing growing shallow. He had always known, deep down, that Dazai's recklessness wasn't just an act. That his jokes about wanting to die weren't just jokes. But hearing it laid out like this, in this broken, vulnerable way, made it real in a way he wasn't prepared for.

"You're not alone," Chuuya said quietly, his voice rough but steady. "You don't have to go through this alone, Dazai."

Dazai didn't respond right away. When he finally did, his voice was soft, and there was something in it that sounded like regret. "But that's the thing, Chuuya. I am alone. I've always been alone."

The words cut deeper than Chuuya expected, and for a moment, he didn't know how to respond. He wanted to argue, to tell Dazai that he wasn't alone, that Chuuya was right here. But he knew it wasn't that simple. Dazai's pain was deeper than that, older than that. It wasn't something that could be fixed with a few comforting words.

Chuuya let out a slow breath, his hand still resting on Dazai's neck. "You're a damn fool," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not until you figure that out."

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Dazai lifted his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet Chuuya's. There was something raw in his gaze, something fragile, as though he were balancing on the edge of something, unsure whether to step forward or let himself fall.

"I don't deserve that," Dazai whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't deserve any of this."

Chuuya's expression softened, just slightly, as he leaned down, his hand still gently resting on the back of Dazai's neck. "That's not for you to decide," he said quietly. "And even if it were, you're stuck with me, idiot."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Dazai's breathing was still uneven, his eyes still filled with pain, but there was something else there now too. Something softer. Something that hadn't been there before.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Dazai leaned forward, resting his forehead against Chuuya's chest. His body was still trembling slightly, but he didn't pull away this time. He didn't try to hide.

And Chuuya, for once, didn't try to say anything. He just held him.

And in the silence that followed, there was something close to peace. Something fragile and fleeting, but real all the same.

And for now, that was enough.