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“Please don’t do it.”
These four words were said to him or by him over a thousand times during his existence. They could be heard as a desperate plea, a broken yet still hopeful whisper or a silent wish, begging the gods—if they even exist. People rarely ever listened to these words, as if the voice had been just a breath of the wind. Even if these words will never reach the ears of the target, people still say them, over and over again, they have their hopes shattered over and over again. Why do they keep saying it if it’s useless?
…
The last time Dazai had said these words was the day the orphans were murdered and his dear friend had left without a single care about what will happen to him.
Dazai arrived too late.
His jacket flutters to the ground as he sprints to his fallen friend. He lifted the other’s head off the cold floor. He felt sticky liquid smearing across his hand.
Red, crimson.
Blood.
Odasaku wasn’t going to survive. Too much blood. The was a wound was fatal, after spending these years with Mori-san, he would know-
“I have something to tell you, Dazai”
“Shut up, don’t speak. We might be able to save you- no!”—Who was ‘we’? Mori-san wouldn’t save Odasaku and Ango already betrayed them—“We will definitely save you! So don’t-”
“Listen to me, Dazai!”
Dazai’s heart begged for him to stay. His heart ached and he prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in. His prayer was never answered, it was silent and lost in the pouring rain that weighed down his soul. All he did was stare at Odasaku’s back, bent with grief as his friend walked away. Dazai was a coward. His own cowardice burdened him like a heavy chain keeping him from reaching his friend. Why didn’t he stop him? Why didn’t Odasaku hear him? Maybe he thought that Oda wouldn’t really go through with it, with his ability he couldn’t get killed that easily, right? Odasaku will be fine.
That’s what he convinced himself.
Odasaku was not fine.
He was dead.
He wishes it had been him who died instead.
Red once again stained Dazai’s hands, but this time it wasn’t his own, nor was it an enemy’s and it certainly wasn’t the blood of his subordinates—it was a friend’s.
It was Oda’s blood.
Dazai does not cry.
He is the Demon Prodigy, the youngest Port Mafia executive in history.
He was trained to not feel emotions like sadness.
Mori-san had trained him not to cry.
He does not cry. He does not feel.
But if that was true, what was this suffocating feeling?
He felt like his heart was being strangled and his eyes stung. The tension in his body was building.
Threatening to spill over.
He wishes that Odasaku was still with him.
For a brief moment, Dazai lets himself feel openly.
…
It was ridiculous. Why say words that didn’t mean anything, that didn’t change anything for the person they were meant for? Why say anything at all if no one will listen when you scream?
“Mori-san, I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, dear Dazai-kun?”
“Why do they scream and cry so loudly when they know no one can hear them when they’re underground and no one will come save them?”
“Maybe because they still have a tiny spark of hope and they don’t want to let go of the light it gives.”
Dazai nodded, maybe that’s why he cries when Mori-san occasionally gets a bit too cruel.
“I think we should stamp out the tiny spark of hope he has left, then maybe he’ll stop being so loud. He’s useless now anyways, what do you think, Dazai-kun? It’ll be good practice.”
Dull eyes stared at his mentor before directing their attention towards the screaming prisoner.
“Okay.”
…
“Please don’t do it.”
If Chuuya knew beforehand that Dazai was leaving the mafia, would he have also said these words? Would his heart have begged silently like Dazai’s did when Oda left while his body unleashed his rage? Would he have yelled at Dazai and give him a couple punches accompanied with a kick laced with murderous intent or would he be happy that Dazai was finally gone? There would be no one to play jokes on him or tease him consistently during jobs. Maybe Chuuya would be happier if Dazai left.
It’s better like this.
“Oi, shitty Dazai! Stop playing and start helping me!”
“Stupid mackerel.”
“AUGHHHH! Why do you always win these things?!”
“I’m still growing, you bandage wasting freak!”
“Stop trying to kill yourself when we’re on a job, you suicidal maniac!”
Akutagawa would also be freed of his training. He had no doubt that the boy would be a great fighter and person if he just let go of that terrible idolism he had for Dazai. He shouldn’t admire someone as inhumane and horrible as Dazai.
“I’ll do better, Dazai-san.”
“I will never make this mistake again, Dazai-san.”
“Thank you for your time, Dazai-san.”
“Please give me another chance!”
But in the end, Dazai wouldn’t know what they thought. He could never hear his partner say those four words because they will always fall on deaf ears, gone with the wind, no one would even know they ever even existed.
…
Mori was the only person Dazai knew that would never even think about uttering that anguished cry or anything close to those four words. His mentor always had a carefree smile that could fool those who didn’t know better into believing he was in a good mood, but Dazai was no fool. Dazai knew better than anyone that that smile Mori always wore was just a facade. He knew that Mori could do the cruelest and most brutal things while always keeping that cheerful smile plastered on his face.
“Please stop!”
“It hurts.”
“Mori-san, I’m sorry!”
“It won’t happen again!”
“Please don’t do it.”
One of the first things Mori taught him that wasn’t strategy or poison resistance was how to always keep a mask on.
“You must never let others know what you’re thinking, so keep your emotions in check.”
Dazai learned quickly since he already had an advantage. He was used to faking smiles. With Mori’s daily lessons, Dazai soon became the renowned Demon Prodigy who had a single dull eye showing and a cold expression.
The only time Mori said those four words to Dazai was when Dazai was about to try a new suicide method in Mori’s office. Dazai knows that what Mori said was different from the broken whispers. The only thing it shared with the it’s twin was the word compositions and the fact that no one ever listens to it.
“Sweet Dazai-kun, please don’t do it.”
“Huh, but why not?”
Mori-san sighed. “Because you’ll ruin my carpet with your blood.”
“Oi Mackerel, what kinda shitty job is this, hah?!”
“Ah-ah-ah, Chuuya, you shouldn’t let your temper get the best of you here, or else they’ll think you’re a violent teenager with issues and kick us out. But I guess they wouldn’t be too wrong about that though, fufu!”
“I’ll kill you, you bandage-wasting machine!”
“Haha, please do, Slug. But you’ll have to tell Mori-san you were kicked out because you tried to kill your partner.” Dazai smirked.
“Ugh, fine, but why the hell are we here in the first place?!” Chuuya hissed
“Well, Mori-san wants us to buy him a new carpet since I stained the old one with my blood yesterday.”
“Hah?!”
…
It was surprising how no one ever listens to four words that are so direct. Dazai himself didn’t listen to them either. These were four words that are forever muted. Why do people still say it then?
...
Dazai climbed over the railing that outlined the roof of the building. The wind ruffled his hair as he watched the sun setting right above the waters of the Yokohama port. The orange rays dyed the city in warmth and Dazai felt at peace.
It was a long way down, he wondered if he would look pretty when he splattered on the pavement. Would his blood fan out like the fireworks when they burst in the night sky? Would the cement be painted in a deep, beautiful crimson like the current sun?
“If I had to go, I’d like to go out just as beautifully.”
He always wanted to go out spectacularly and today the setting sun would compliment his suicide so wonderfully! He didn’t need a beautiful woman when he had the beauty of a red star to accompany him when he died along with its light as death engulfed them both in its welcoming embrace. It would only be temporary for the star, it’ll rise again tomorrow with even more glory but Dazai would receive the gift of ending his pitiful existence.
Eternal peace at last.
“You know, Dazai-san, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go at all.”
“Please don’t say stuff like that, even as a joke.”
Dazai swung his leg back and forth in front of him, pretending he was taking his first step when crossing the bridge to the afterlife. He leaned forward, loosening his hold on the fence behind him and closed his eyes
“Dazai-san!”
Dazai doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who came to find him. His prodigy. That kid was too kind for his own good. He prepared himself for Atsushi to start nervously rambling about how his coworkers would be angry if kept the suicide joke going, but when the teenager opened his mouth, the winds carried his prayer loud and clear. It was a broken plea, desperate and hopeful one that Dazai himself has heard and said too many times. He always thought it was this wretched world that silenced those words, but now he hears them.
He can’t bear to face Atsushi right now, let alone look him in the eyes. Only in the end, when he’s ready to meet his end does he hear the words he so desperately wanted others to hear. Fate is so cruel. It’s his choice now, so will he listen to them?
“Please don’t do it.”