Dazai Angst Oneshots

Dull.

Dull.

Everything is so dull lately.

Lately? Always has been.

Work, people, his mind, the razor.

Dull, dull, dull, dull.

Even annoying his favorite redhead has been getting boring.
He was just so numb.
His mind has also gotten slow. Like there's a goddamn static noise deafening any thoughts at all times.
Like he's half dead at this point. The numbness is so- so numb.

He felt a small buzz against his side as the noise echoed in the empty, quiet dorm(which resembled his mind by the way). He mustered all the strength left in his aching body to pick up the phone, groaning as it lit up right into his face. (Why was he praying that it's that damn slug-)

(XXX) 416-9014
"See me tonight?xx"

(So it wasn't him)

Dude, why did his one-night stands always think they had a chance with him?
Okay, well it might be his fault for using sex as a coping mechanism, but come on..

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There we go.

The phone dropped back onto the futon with a soft thump as Dazai turned onto his back instead and opted to drill holes into the ceiling with his eyes. It didn't even have any spots. How boring.

If only he could maybe-

His fingers twitched.

No. He's doing better.

...

.....

......

Yet if only he could just-
It was right there, the key to his boredom...
Just a drawer away.

Calling him.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Ah, well, dammit.

There's nothing we can do about it now, he shrugged to himself as another line of crimson red appeared on his pale, porcelain skin.
At least it's pretty, he supposed. Well, the blood, anyways. It looked so pure, unlike his scarred wrists. Almost too pure. Did he even deserve to have such pretty looking blood? It should be pitch black. It should be a venomous poison that courses through his rotten body.

Suddenly everything felt even worse.

He had to cover this, now. His eyes couldn't bear to see this. His brain couldn't comprehend that there's human blood in his rotten veins.

That could never suit his monstrous nature.

His body buzzed with the itch to wash it off, to scratch the blood out of his skin. It didn't belong there. The movement of his body was almost robotic as he got up and walked over to the sink, washing off the blood. Eyes distant, mind elsewhere.
But where?

Why did it feel like it was gone forever?

Dazai Osamu had no idea who Dazai Osamu was. He had gotten lost in the masks and faces he himself had created.
Where was Dazai Osamu?
Maybe there never was a real Dazai Osamu to begin with. Maybe it was always just Dazai, Dazai-san, Shitty Dazai, Demon Prodigy.