shikkaku // dazai one shots

sorry

notes: hallucinations, suicidal ideation, reluctance of treatment. this sucks like all of these.

what the fuck is wrong with you?" you stood in your home, staring at the torn up carpet, the scattered clothes all over your shared bedroom. "look at me, [name], what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you looked up at your lover of four years, taking note of his resignation, his anguish, his unbridled rage.

"i heard talking."

"then maybe you should go to therapy." dazai pinched the bridge of his nose. he was so fucking tired of this shit and you knew that, you just didn't know how to make yourself better—if you deserved to be better—if you should give therapy another chance. you took a couple steps towards him, opening your mouth to apologise. "no, don't. just—don't." he moved away from you, collapsing onto the bed. "it's been a long day."

"oh." you uttered, standing in the middle of the mess, unsure what to do as you quietly started cleaning up. you were just a bother at this point. the poor man was worn out by work and he had to come home to a madman everyday. a financial burden, an emotional burden, a waste of resources and food that could benefit a far more deserving person. "all the more reasons to kill yourself."

"don't." his response was lethargic and almost indifferent. "why won't you just go to the doctors? things would be better if you had medication."

"i'm sorry—"

"so you keep saying."

you sat with the pile of clothes on your lap. "should we stop this?" your voice was quieter than intended. "you—we don't need to be together."

"i'm not forcing myself to stay with you."

"it seems like you are." you turned your attention back to the clothes, folding it.

"i don't hate you, it's just...tiring." it was the first time in a while you heard tenderness in dazai's voice. "and i don't know what to do. i want to help, but how the fuck am i meant to help you live when i want to die? you're ill and i don't know how to help you and i want you to get better but you won't go to therapy and it's—frustrating."

"i'm, i'm sorry, therapy just—it just doesn't work."

"have you tried before?"

you nodded. "i'm sorry." you were discharged because they said it was your personality. there's nothing to fix if it's personality! or something. going to therapy might have been the only way you could have salvaged this relationship. "i just—if its personality, it's my fault right? it's my fault this relationship is failing, that we can barely make ends meet, that i always want to die—" you didn't hear dazai move, only noticing when he pressed his palm against your mouth.

"stop. you're—it's not you're fault. you're sick." he pulled his hand away, pulling you into a hug. "and it's tiring but i'm not going to leave you alone because i care about you, and i want to stay by you. it's not your fault. you're not a waste."

"oh." was all you could say, wiping away stray tears.

＊
"man goes to doctor. says he's depressed. says life seems harsh and cruel. says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. doctor says, "treatment is simple. great clown pagliacci is in town tonight. go and see him. that should pick you up." man bursts into tears. says, "but doctor...i am pagliacci."