Let Me Help You

Part 1

TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DRUGS (?), AND ALCOHOL!!

With Dazai:

The constant ache in his chest. This is what Osamu Dazai felt every second of his miserable existence. Usually, the tall brunette could hide it. He could laugh, make jokes, act silly. After all, emotions are weak. They allow people to take the most vulnerable parts of you and use it for their own benefit. Dazai knew that better than anyone.

And this is why he was here. Sitting on the edge of his bathtub in his rinky-dink apartment. The bathroom was dirty, as was the rest of his "home." He couldn't find it within himself to clean. He was just so...so tired. He simply couldn't, no matter how much he wanted too.

There was blood on the floor. New, not just the crusted splatters which were mainly on the sink. He hadn't remembered doing it, nor felt the pain. But he feels it now. The tears, those of which prickled his eyes, he wouldn't let fall. Not even when he was alone could he let his suffering out. The man couldn't even sleep, not with the terrors that rampaged his dreams. All he could do was lay down or sit in the bath, dissociating and praying that he had enough energy to continue his facade the next day.

He glanced up at his sink, and on the counter stood a bottle of Xanax, for his especially bad days. Maybe he could...It couldn't hurt too much, right? 

He'd always wanted to end his life. But after he and Chuuya reunited, things seemed better. Not completely fine, far from it, but life seemed at least a bit more worth it. But now things were back to "normal." He was plunged right back into his own self-isolation and loneliness. And he was just. Done. He hated himself even more for it, wishing he were stronger. He stood, only to fall the short distance, barely catching himself on the counter. The lack of food was taking a toll on him. He felt dizzy and weak, swaying just from standing for more than 5 seconds.

 The pill bottle was right there. All he had to do was reach for it. So, he grabbed it and began walking to his kitchenette.

He trudged through, his knees feeling weak. He felt as if in a haze as he reached for the whiskey, nearly dropping it as his arms shook.

He hadn't shown up to work in about three days. When he got home on Monday, things went as always. He barely managed to get his shoes off before the crushing loneliness set in, worse than usual. He'd lied down, assuming it would pass. And things just got worse, and worse, and worse.

So, he put the pills in his mouth and screwed open the whiskey. He poured the alcohol in his mouth, as much as he could muster, and swallowed.

The man was on the ground within minutes; the tears he'd so long neglected rolling down his face.

With Chuuya:

"Uh, hi, is this Nakahara-san?" Chuuya had mistakenly answered the call from an unknown number, and now he heard the weretiger on the other end, sounding worried (and awkward).

"What do you want, weretiger?" he sighed, having just gotten off of work. His hat had just been taken off, usually meaning that he was closed for business.  But alas, curiosity had gotten the better of him when Nakajima called.

"Uhm..it's about Dazai-san." this peaked the ginger's interest, not that he would ever admit it. He began to worry as well, despite his best efforts.

"Continue." the ginger asked (demanded), so Atsushi did.

"Well, we don't know what happened but," Nakajima paused, "Dazai hasn't been seen for around three days. He seemed fine when he left on Monday, so we don't know if it's a kidnapping or a-a, murder," the weretiger spiraled, and Chuuya could hear the anxiety in his voice. He sighed, the sympathy in him taking over.

"I know where he lives. I'll head over and check on him, though I'm sure he's fine. Calm down, kid." he assures, softer than his original tone.

"Thank you, Nakahara-san." Atsushi sighed. Chuuya hummed a quick "Mhm." before hanging up again. He grumbled. Pushing his worry aside, he got up to get his shoes.

He's fine, Chuuya told himself, and when I get there, I'll give that damn Mackerel a good smack for wasting my time.

He headed out the door, got in one of his many cars (he didn't want to take his motorcycle...just in case he had to take the mackerel with him) and sped off.