Chapter Text
dazai blinked up at his ceiling.
his clothes were uncomfortably twisted, blanket discarded a few feet away from his futon.
he sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead.
his skull was throbbing.
the pain extended back from his eyes, along the line of his jaw.
wonderful.
mornings were really great.
a moment of silent dread before the day that awaited him.
he turned over, and more than several sake bottles lined up beside his futon caught his eye.
right.
he had a hangover.
incredible news.
found the culprit behind the headache then.
he sighed again, in frustration this time, and pushed himself up off the floor, realising a little too late that he should have done so more slowly.
he blinked hard, attempting - rather successfully - to expel the dark haziness at the edges of his vision.
he took a steadying breath, glaring at the clock near his couch.
that was the second thing dazai noticed that morning, he was already an hour late for work.
no surprises there.
he walked over to his kitchen, a little unsteady, and stepped over the clothes and plastic bags that littered his floor.
he sifted through the thin layer of mess on his counter, torn cigarettes, small bags of pills, used needles, until he found a lighter that worked, and a loose sheet of paracetamol.
he retrieved a whisky glass from his sink and filled it with water, not bothering to rinse it out.
he let his eyes slip closed and downed the water, resting the glass back in the sink and pushing the paracetamol out of the sheet.
he popped four in his mouth, swallowing hard.
double dose for his doubly painful headache, it’s called maths.
he straightened out a bent cigarette and flicked on his lighter.
breakfast.
the most important meal of the day.
dazai could certainly agree with that.
he bent down, squinting at the battered radio perched on his counter, fiddling with it until it landed on a channel without too much white noise.
an interview with some celebrity.
at ten in the morning? when everyone was at work?
couldn’t be much of a celebrity to get this radio slot.
he stood up straight again and stumbled to the bathroom, loosely running his fingers through his hair and putting out his half-smoked cigarette on the windowsill.
he swiped up the needle that was staring at him from beside the pile of cigarette ash.
he sat down on the side of his bath, reaching for a bottle of propofol and sticking the needle in the lid.
he lifted it to eye-level, watching as the milky liquid was drawn up into the syringe.
he coughed and rested the bottle back on the floor, rolling up his sleeve and making a gap in his bandages.
he squinted down at his inner elbow, deciding on a vein, and stuck the needle in.
he pushed out the liquid, quickly pulling the needle from his skin and resting it on the side of the bath.
one.
two.
three.
four.
five.
six.
seven…
eight…
…nine…
…te…n…
he exhaled, tipping his head back and enjoying the mild euphoria.
he felt his hands go numb.
his breathing loud in his ears.
bliss.
he let his eyes slip shut.
inhale.
exhale.
and then a jolting slap to the side of his face.
his hand didn’t sting, but his cheek did.
he blinked hard and pushed himself off the side of the bath, running his fingers across the wall as he stumbled out of the bathroom.
he numbly pulled down his sleeve and went to get dressed.
his walk to work was slightly slower than usual.
he pondered the idea of turning around and going home, lying on his futon and enjoying the high for once.
he always pondered that idea, and yet he rarely did it.
some strange feeling of obligation always kept him walking on his merry way to endless piles of paperwork.
his mind was a little more clouded than usual. he chalked it up to the compound effect of the hangover and the drugs.
his thoughts slipped over one another like dead fish.
“guess who!” dazai called from around the agency door, grinning stupidly.
he made sure to never use too much before coming to work, so avoiding slurring was rarely difficult.
kunikida didn’t bother to look up from his typing, “you’re infuriating, just come inside and do what you’re paid to.”
dazai frowned and slipped around the door, sitting down at his desk, “kunikida-kun is such a buzzkill, what a way to start the day.”
the rest of the day proceeded much as usual, paperwork.
he was a detective, not some coordinator, they should really change the legal system, make their lives easier.
who really needed a report?
it happened, they solved it, people went to jail, move on.
kunikida seemed to enjoy it at least, perhaps they built that system around people like him.
so strange.
normally, dazai would be annoying him by now, but today he wasn’t in the mood, so he was mostly ignoring him in favour of resting his head on the desk and listening to music.
ah, kunikida-kun must have been relieved, it was really his dream come true.
“you seem tired dazai-san,” atsushi started, diligent fingers tapping at his keyboard, “did you not sleep well?”
dazai slipped one headphone off his ear, turning to the side and sighing.
“ah, no, what a tragedy,” he whined, “there was a mosquito in my room, so i spent most of my night trying to swat it. i’ll take my revenge later.”
“at least you didn’t get stung. don’t be so dramatic!” kunikida called over from his desk, “it’s no excuse to avoid your work. stop distracting atsushi.”
atsushi blinks over at him, “it’s okay, he wasn’t-“
“don’t encourage him.”
dazai frowns, “kunikida-kun is so mean, besides, i did get stung! several times!”
he rested his head back on the table, slipping his headphones back on.
the more pleasant effects of the propofol were starting to wear off, leaving him tired and dizzy.
his limbs still felt slightly heavy, but - to his great disappointment - he could feel the desk beneath his arms.
that ruled out the possibility of pretending to be floating as he drifted into daydreams of nothingness.
shame.
an hour later, dazai was starting to get fidgety.
only ten minutes left until lunch break, he could wait.
he bounced his leg under the desk, attempting to talk to atsushi at light speed, but kunikida kept interrupting him.
restless.
bitten nails dug into his palms, and he gritted his teeth.
it was fine, he could wait.
ten minutes.
right.
totally.
no wait, actually, that was bullshit.
he pushed his chair away from the desk with his usual dramatic flair, “i’ve been too kind to you today kunikida-kun, it really takes a toll y’know.”
he stood up and started towards the door, “i’ll have to start my break early, this is too taxing!”
before kunikida could grace him with a response, he’d already flitted out of the room, throwing an evil grin over his shoulder for good measure.
his break from the difficult task of not annoying kunikida was in fact a cigarette, and a little more propofol in his left arm.
he’d come down the stairs, and was now crouched behind a large recycling bin just off the main street.
a wonderfully hidden alcove, quite splendid.
a rat stared at him - rather boldly - as he prepared the needle.
he stared back.
all hope is lost when even rats stare at you.
he shot up and pulled his sleeve down, standing up to his full height and promptly scaring off the rat.
the numbness hit him when he stepped out onto the main street.
he stood there a moment, hand subtly pressed against the wall, waiting as the slight sensation of the wind dulled into nothingness.
he put his cigarette out on the brick, tossing it into the bin.
it appeared to dazai that he’d teleported back to his desk.
he had no recollection of walking up the stairs, of making the conscious decision to return before his break ended.
how strange.
he checked the time on his computer, finding that break had only officially started five minutes ago.
he had another twenty-five minutes to wander around aimlessly, to watch the wind move the trees without having to feel it.
why had he come back so soon?
he shrugged to himself, dismissing it as just one of those things, and stuck up conversation with atsushi and tanizaki.
he felt the most comfortable this way.
with the edge of unease taken off, free to be casual and loose.
the version of him everyone knew.
atsushi peered at him over his bento box, “aren’t you going to eat anything dazai-san?”
he normally wouldn’t be caught off guard by such a mundane question, especially not when it was asked with that level of innocent curiosity.
but atsushi had never asked that question before, in actuality, no one had.
it was sort of an unspoken fact that dazai didn’t eat lunch, no one really questioned it.
a lot of things went unquestioned at the agency, everyone had their thing, and dazai had quite a few.
whatever, it was just a question, easily avoided.
“nope! i have dinner plans, i don’t wanna be too full,” he winked.
it wasn’t that it bothered him, he just liked people who didn’t pry.
naomi leapt forwards, suddenly making herself part of the conversation, “oooo, is it a date?”
“i wish,” he whined, “women are so despondent after you ask them to commit double suicide, it’s really a shame they miss out on my charms.”
that saw the topic of food long forgotten.
he did enjoy the brief sense of control he got from these sort of things.
he sat back in his chair, “just seeing a friend. i do have them y’know, unlike the rest of you.”
naomi frowned, “hey, i have friends.”
he grinned evilly, “i fear we may be the only ones.”
“well who hurt you today?” yosano sighed, emerging from the infirmary.
“just spreading the joy as always, yosano-sensei.”
he made sure to turn his perceived energy levels up when she entered the room.
any doctor worth their salt could - upon close examination - discern when someone was under the influence of an anaesthetic drug.
as someone who hung out with a doctor, probably not a good thing to get addicted to.
but dazai didn’t make good choices, what harm was another bad one?