#Soukoku Sad Times AU:
When you die, your soul is left behind as a ghost to wander and ruminate in your regrets until the gods decide to let you into the afterlife. You can see, hear, and feel the world around you but youre incorporeal and nobody knows you’re there. Hear me out.

-Dazai and Chuuya had been in an established relationship for some time now. Long enough for the honeymoon phase to drift into comfort, lazy domesticity, and a bittersweet routine that isn’t exactly bliss but may as well be

-And, since life moves on and sometimes these things aren’t enough, Dazai spirals into another mental rough patch
-Maybe something went wrong on an ADA job or some other trigger, but whatever it was, it tipped Dazai’s suicidal ideations over the edge
-A dark cloud hangs over him

-With his friends and Chuuya’s insistence, he looks for help. Proper help. Therapy. Counselling. Pills. Everything
-The cloud doesn’t lift. Most days are worse. He rarely leaves the bed — only to go to work, if at all
-Everyone’s worried, but it’s Dazai. He always comes back

-The jokes about dying and finally putting an end to his misery take a darker tone, and everybody notices
-He doesn’t actively do anything serious or reckless, but the desire is there
-Dazai’s tired.

-An accident happens soon enough. A hit and run, someone attacking him as he’s walking home, it doesn’t matter: it just happens — so soon, so quickly that Dazai barely registers that he’s splayed out and bleeding at the side of a road, coughing and feeling like every dark thing

he’s felt these last few months coming to fruition
-And maybe he couldve called someone for help. It’s late, everyone’s sleeping, but somebody would come. If he asked.
-But .. hes just been so tired lately
-Its all gotten too much
-This isn’t so bad

-So he gives up. Bleeds out. Loses consciousness. Nobody knows
-A passerby finds him, but it’s already too late
-Dazai was dead

-Chuuya was in their shared apartment fiddling absentmindedly with the ring hed been hiding from Dazai for months now
-His boyfriend was late coming home, but that wasn’t new anymore
-Things have been so heavy. Lately.

-Hed been meaning to propose for so long it just .. never felt like the right time — and with everything being really hard these past few months, an engagement was the last thing on everyones minds
-At least, everyone but Chuuya’s

-He gets the phone call from Mori of all people
-It’s 3 AM
-Dazai’s dead.

-The funeral happens a few days later
-Just as the ceremony was reaching it’s conclusion, Dazai wakes up, blinking, not alive, but still here
-The gods leave him near his grave: It’s simple, abundant with flowers, and, to Dazai’s dumb surprise, surrounded by mourners

-Everyone — *everyone* — had come. From the Agency to the Mafia
-Even though the funeral had ended, violent sobs still punctured the twilight air
-(Figures Atsushi would stIll be crying. Kyouka, solemn but shedding no tears, consoles him quietly)
-It hurts.

-Some old Guild members were there, but only a handful: Lucy, and Poe standing behind a stoic Ranpo in black
-Ango, in the same suit Dazai met him in
-Akutagawa had dropped by, but upon seeing Atsushi’s sobbing form draped over his mentor’s gravestone, he turned around and left

-Mori had come by too. For what, Dazai couldn’t really say
-Fukuzawa, who had overseen all the funeral arrangements and the ceremony itself, stood next to Kunikida placidly, saying nothing
-Dazai was shocked to see tears on Kunikida’s face

-Looking at all of them, devastated (some more than others, but nonetheless: no one was happy he was dead), sends a shot of hurt through his soul
-For all the shit he pulled, Dazai actually mattered to these people
-They were here for him, to say goodbye. One last time

-The only one, Dazai immediately notes, who wasn’t there nor made an appearance that day, was Chuuya.

-Since the funeral had just ended, everyone had already begun to filter away: stiffly walking to their cars, their homes, or anywhere nearby but far enough from the cemetery because Osamu Dazai was dead and the world could only care for this long before it had to move on

-Watching everybody slowly leaving -- even Atsushi, though he had to be wrenched back to the car by Kyouka and Junichirou -- back into their own lives was ... a relief
-They were fine! Dazai achieved his goal of dying without causing anyone much inconvenience!

-Not knowing what else to do, Dazai flops onto his grave and stares dumbly at the now-empty cemetery his friends left behind
-(Surprisingly, he can still sit on it, but the coolness of the stone, the hardness of the rock, remain unfelt)
-He was dead, no doubt about it

-The sun was setting. The Yokohama breeze rises. What now?
-Shouldn't a beam of light, some choir of angels, or even the damn devil have shown up by now to .. uh .. claim him? It's been a few days, at least, what's taking the afterlife so long? Is there even an afterlife --

-Someone's come up to the grave and Dazai lifts his head to see .. Chuuya .. hat in his hands, copper hair a goddamn mess, bags under his eyes, and just barely sober enough to hold onto the boquet of crimson roses in his arms

-Despite himself, Dazai jumps off the grave and runs up to Chuuya, suddenly *aching* to see him. Touch him. Ask him where he had been until now
-"Chibi--hey, hi, are you okay? I'm sorry--" He reaches out to cup Chuuya's cheek, but, no more like air, his hand passes through him

-It's the moment it finally hits him: he was dead
-Up until now, ever since he woke up, he didn't really grasp it. He had watched his friends mourn him with a numb, awed indifference
-It took trying to hold Chuuya, failing, and knowing he will keep failing over and over

for that uncaring slice of mortality to weasel into Dazai's heart. He gasps, starts to tremble, but he can't take his eyes off of Chuuya
-The man with the roses, ring in his pocket like a weight sinking lower, doesn't see him. Will never see him again.
-Dazai *breaks*

-He forces himself to keep watching
-Chuuya, wound tight and fighting back so many emotions, puts the boquet atop the stone without a word. He stares at the flowers, palpitatingly gorgeous and catching the wind, for a second or so in silence
-The world, it seems, goes quiet too

-Chuuya inhales sharply, gloved fingers digging into the rim of his hat and shaking, before:
-".. Why didn't you call me?"
-A strangled noise leaves Dazai's throat. Instantly, guilt and regret wash over him like a typhoon

-More than anything, he felt sorry. But, of course, it's too late
-He hears small, choked murmurs coming from Chuuya, and Dazai stumbles to get closer to hear what he had to say

-He doesn't know what he was expecting: Chuuya, despite being one of the few constants in his life these past seven years; and despite them knowing each other so well--synchronized shadows and reflections of one soul--was still very unpredictable. Especially now.

-"The apartment's a mess," Chuuya finally says. Dazai purses his lips and forces himself to listen, knowing there's more, will always be more, Chuuya always had something to say
-He loved that about him, now that Dazai thought about it
-"They cleared out your desk at the Agency

and dumped the boxes outside my door. Aside from the shitton of paperwork you didn't do, there wasn't even much of a desk *to* clear out, shitty Dazai. Don't you at least have some fucking pens? Pictures? What about that photo we took in Kyoto? You didn't look too ugly ...

Definitely not ugly enough to be on your stupid desk at that stupid Agency of yours. Seriously, you've been there, what, two years and there was barely anything it's like ... like you were never there" Chuuya's voice cracks, but hell if he stops now.

-He keeps going: Babbling on about the aftermath Dazai had been spared witnessing for God knows what reason.
-Mori had told him. Chuuya can't really remember what happened after. There had been wine bottles, sloppily emptied only to be thrashed against the wall minutes later,

cigarettes that miraculously didn't start a fire, more blackness than sunlight, the windows shattering from something Chuuya threw, blearily marching to the bathroom cupboard and grabbing at the stupid fucking pills and medications that didn't work before flushing them down

the toilet and screaming as they plopped into the water without fanfare or mercy, the downpour of sympathies in emails and text messages, the nights in that fucking bed so cold so suddenly, waking up in the morning and remembering this is real.

-As he talks, more and more of what little was holding Chuuya together disintegrates. Rots off, like the body six feet under him, but he keeps going, keeps cursing--"Why didn't you FUCKING call me"--and yelling.
-Dazai stays beside him, aching too, breaking too, but helpless

-Eventually, the outburst and deluge of words that tripped over each other ceded, and leftover was Chuuya on his knees and weeping, fists clenched on the ground and crackling against glove leather
-The roses had started to wilt

-It had grown dark by then. Without a sound, Chuuya got back up, put on his hat, and only looked at the grave, at Dazai, for a second before shutting his eyes and walking away like the funeral-goers just hours before
-"Chuuya, no, don't .. don't go .. don't leave me here"

-Of course, Dazai's plea goes unheard, and, hard as he tried, he couldn't find it in himself to move further than the cemetery gates to follow Chuuya
-As he watches his beloved leave, Dazai realizes: he's stuck here. A prisoner.
-And there's nobody who will tell him why