𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐀, d.osamu | ✓

𝟬𝟭𝟯

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( 013. A PLACE OF TRAGEDIES )

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✧･ﾟ:┊HER SNEAKERS SQUEAKED AGAINST THE POLISHED FLOORS OF THE HOSPITAL.

Despression and desperation, the two going hand in hand were thick in the air, hospitals were always saddening like that. A place of tragedies, she used to think, and now that she breathed the same air as that tragedy, she felt more sick than ever. She refused to look at the bare walls, people in waiting, nurses and doctors a second time. She threw open the door to his room, worrying the door would fly off its hinges seconds after, brushing it off like a feather on her shoulder the next second.

There were no IV lines attached to his arm, just a machine next to his bed, reassuring her that he was alive and breathing. She needed to see to believe that. He was in one of those hospital gowns and a blanket was layed out over his slim figure. He looked much skinnier and Maya worried— once again— whether he was eating properly. His bandages were gone, exposing his porcelain-colored skin to her. He was barely awake, she could tell, so she sat silently, not daring to export any of her words into his head.

"Hello," he muttered, his charming smile— no matter how faint it was— gracing his pale lips. She exhaled through her nose, leaning closer to him.

"What happened, Dazai?"

He attempted to weakily chuckle and wiggled his toes under the blanket.

"I didn't know water could be so vicious,"

Maya visibally flinched, and scooted her stool closer to his bed, the metal of the seat scrapping against the white floor. She wasn't going to ask why he did it; some people tried to drown their pain with alcohol, drugs, anything, but Dazai tried to drown his pain and sadness by— quiet literally— drowning himself.

Dazai, no matter how amazing, was an incredibly sad person.

And even though Maya was there with him, seeing him alive and breathing and living, she couldn't help but worry— worry that he was going to destroy himself. It was probably foolish of her to try and stop him, but it was addicting, taking care of someone was like a duty now. Her bottom lip trembled and she hesitantly grazed her fingers against the old, faded bruise on the base of his neck. She was afraid to wonder how many more he had and how ugly and unslightly they were. He probably hated them, the scars, and maybe that's why he wore those bandages. To hide and not heal. And every time he tried to kill himself and never succeeded, he only found something else to loathe besides his rotten core.

She bent down a bit and pressed her ear to his chest.

The soft thump thump thump of his heart flooded her ears; like having her heart in her ears but it wasn't hers, it was his- it was comforting. It comforted her to know that he was alive; he was here, he was here with her and his heart was beating in a rhythm, like the soft drum music in a song. Right at the back, under millions of other melodies, but it was there. He was there. He was real, they were real. The soft thump thump thump of his heart proved just that. She closed her eyes.

"You're an idiot, Dazai."

(Idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot)

"You're probably the stupidest person in the entire universe." Then after a pause, "Why can't you just see that there are people out there who care about you?"

Dazai swallowed. He didn't want to have this conversation. Why can't you see that you're the only one who cares?

She didn't know how she was going to convince him to live. But it was selfish of her to even try. She wanted him to stay— she couldn't care less if he died or didn't if she didn't care so much about him. But she didn't want him to go. And it was scary; he would soon be another Kyo or her father.

But he wasn't wrong or bad to try and kill something that wasn't within the bounds of his control. There was fear. There was great sorrow. There was a cathedral filled to very brim of sins and terrors eating at his soul.
(It was sad that no one cared.)
He hated himself loud, he hated himself the most, at the top of his lungs. He balled himself in a corner and clasped his hands on his ears and never let another sound in so that he'd never have to experience everyone else's loathing for him.

And it meant he never got to hear their love. He drowned it out; he screamed his hatred over it. He never got to hear it.

"I'm tired," he murmured, a shaky hand reaching out to stroke her dark hair. "Stay for a little while, will you?"

Maya screwed her eyes tighter, crumpling the sheets of the bed in her hands. She meekly nodded, exhaling through her mouth.

Dazai could tell that she was overthinking again. He knew she was thinking about his suicide attempt. He didn't like his life very much, it was as simple as that.

"You're so beautiful, Maya-chan, you know that?" he asked, trying to ease her mind.

He couldn't see her face clearly, everything was blurry, and the medicine the doctors had given him was making him drowsy. He couldn't see that she looked like she was going to cry.

How can you say that when you tried to kill yourself?

"I think I might love you," he whispered, the medicine doing wonders to his mind; he felt like he was floating.

Maya shoulders tensed, and she looked past the glass of the window, at the sun in an attempt to not cry.

Please stop.

He didn't know why he said that. Maya made him feel different— warm and fuzzy and everything felt a tad bit brighter. He wasn't sure it was love (because how can you be sure when you've never felt something as wonderful and fleeting as love?), but it was what it was.

And it was absolutely lovely.

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1034 words of total and utter shit... wouldn't you agree?