Chapter Text
Dazai didn’t know what Ranpo had planned, but he knew better than to ask.
The next morning, when Dazai dragged himself out of bed, still feeling the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, he found Ranpo sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a blank stare.
“You’re awake early,” Dazai remarked, voice rough with sleep.
Ranpo didn’t look up. He was turning the mug slowly, lost in thought. “Yeah, figured I’d let you sleep in. You need it.”
Dazai hummed, rubbing his face. He didn’t *feel* like he needed it. If anything, the more he slept, the worse it got—the quieter the world felt, the emptier.
He sat down at the table across from Ranpo, avoiding his gaze.
Ranpo finally looked at him, his eyes soft but intent. “I wasn’t kidding last night, you know. I *am* going to make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.”
Dazai tilted his head, but his expression was unreadable. “And how do you plan to do that? Keep me locked in a cage?”
Ranpo chuckled, a sharp sound that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Nah. But I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine either. You’ve been doing that long enough. If you want to keep pretending you’re fine, go ahead. But I’m not going to sit back and let you ruin yourself.”
Dazai met his gaze then, his lips twisting in something that could have been a grin. “You make it sound like you care.”
Ranpo shrugged nonchalantly, though there was an intensity in his gaze that Dazai hadn’t expected. “I do. More than I want to admit, honestly.”
There it was. The thing Dazai hadn’t been ready to face yet: the faint, fragile thread of something resembling *concern.*
He wanted to laugh it off. Wanted to shrug it away. But it was harder this time.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to push the pressure in his chest down. “I don’t know how to stop, Ranpo.”
There. He’d said it.
Ranpo’s expression softened, just a little. “I know.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Dazai’s fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly, his mind a swirl of fragmented thoughts. *He didn’t want this.* He didn’t want *any* of it. But it wasn’t that simple, was it?
He had spent years running from it, running from himself. From the pain. The emptiness. The *darkness* that whispered to him in moments like this.
Dazai glanced back at Ranpo, who was watching him patiently, waiting for him to make the next move.
“Why are you doing this?” Dazai finally asked, voice rougher than he intended. “Why do you care if I—if I do this to myself?”
Ranpo didn’t hesitate. “Because you don’t deserve to be alone in your head. You’re not some kind of monster, Dazai. You’re just… lost.”
Dazai swallowed thickly. “I’m not lost.”
Ranpo tilted his head, his gaze unflinching. “Then why are you hurting yourself?”
There it was again. That question.
Dazai stared at the table, the words caught in his throat. “Because it’s the only thing I know how to do.”
Ranpo sighed, setting his coffee mug down. “And that’s why you need help. No one can keep doing that forever. It’s not normal, Dazai.”
Dazai wanted to laugh, but it didn’t come. Instead, his voice dropped, quieter now. “What happens if I can’t stop?”
Ranpo’s eyes flickered for a moment, the weight of the question hanging between them. But he didn’t look away. “You *will* stop. But it’s not something you’ll do alone.”
Dazai clenched his fists under the table. “I don’t know if I want to stop.”
Ranpo didn’t flinch. His words were steady. “That’s where you’re wrong. Deep down, you do want to stop. You just don’t know how to let anyone in.”
Dazai shook his head, standing up abruptly. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like in my head. It’s not as simple as just *stopping.*”
Ranpo didn’t budge, didn’t break his gaze. “Then let me help you figure it out.”
Dazai wanted to argue, to push Ranpo’s kindness away, to tell him that it wouldn’t work—that he would fail, that Dazai would disappoint him. But the words stuck in his throat, strangled by the rawness of what he was feeling.
Instead, he turned his back, walking toward the window. He didn’t want Ranpo to see the cracks forming in his composure.
For a long time, the only sound was the faint hum of the apartment, the occasional creak of the walls, and Dazai’s heavy breathing.
Finally, Ranpo spoke again. “Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m not saying I have all the answers. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Dazai didn’t answer at first. The weight in his chest had grown again, and it was harder now to breathe.
Ranpo’s footsteps crept closer behind him, but Dazai didn’t turn around.
When Ranpo’s voice finally cut through the silence again, it was softer. “You’re not alone. And you don’t have to do this by yourself.”
Dazai’s chest tightened. “I’m not sure I can trust anyone with this. Not anymore.”
There was a long pause.
Then, Ranpo’s hand gently clapped Dazai’s shoulder, his touch steady. “I get it. It’s hard. But if you don’t let anyone in, you’ll keep falling.”
Dazai exhaled sharply. His throat burned. “What if I’m beyond saving?”
Ranpo’s voice was low, but resolute. “You’re not. And I won’t let you keep thinking that you are.”
Dazai squeezed his eyes shut, the sting of tears threatening to break through. He didn’t want to break down. He didn’t want to admit that maybe—just maybe—he was more fragile than he had let on.
But Ranpo’s voice was like a rope thrown to him in the dark.
And for the first time in a long time, he considered the possibility of *letting go.*