nerdyparker616

kei

586 posts

The Ghost Of You

the ghost of you

osamu dazai x f!reader

wc: 6.9k

summary: atsushi suspects something is off about dazai. he meets you, and suddenly, everything falls into place.

contents: ghosts!!, lot of angst my fav genre, dazai as his own warning, atsushi and reader povs, gothic (?) romance bc that was its originial intention, soft dazai, also everyone is a little older than in canon for timeline purposes

authors note: i most definitely wrote this for halloween, but it wasn't finished until now. so i switched some things around to make it part of my holiday event. also this is my first time writing for bsd so i hope it's ok :)

Atsushi found him in the cemetery, staring at a grave with a name that he didn’t recognize. The air was crisp; Christmas was just around the corner and the new year loomed in the distance. Dead leaves puddled around the other man, creating a perfect beige halo on the ground.

The sight was so serene—Atsushi hated that he would be the one to disturb it.

“Dazai?” He approached cautiously, never quite sure how to anticipate his reactions. His boots made an overly conspicuous sound, making Atsushi cringe.

Dazai was silent, still staring at the grave in front of him. The mud from the previous night’s rainfall mucked up his trousers, heavy brown spots seeping through the cloth.

“Kunikida told me to come get you. The President wants to have a meeting.”

He’d been sent to fetch Dazai, as usual, to bring him back to work. A hilarious notion, considering that Dazai never listened to anyone, especially not Atsushi.

He shifted—the leaves broke under him, crumbling into a hundred little pieces.

Atsushi watched as Dazai swallowed thickly, his eyes holding more sadness than usual. Dazai was no stranger to sorrow. That was easy for anyone to surmise. Today, though, there was something off. He was acting differently than usual; a bad different, and one that Atsushi wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge.

“Dazai?”

Atsushi considered asking what was wrong, but he bit his tongue. Dazai would just give him a cryptic answer anyways, revealing not a scrap of the secrets he kept so close to his chest.

“Remind him what day it is.” Dazai finally spoke, his voice coming out so hoarse that Atsushi almost wondered if it was his imagination. He’d never heard a sound like that leave Dazai’s lips before. “I won’t be in today.”

“But—” Atsushi began, though he quickly stopped when Dazai turned to fully face him.

His features were so hollowed out and lifeless. There was something horrible in the way that his shoulders seemed to slump, leaning over the grave like he wanted to bury himself in it too. His hands had fallen in the mud haphazardly, creating patterns in the soil.

“Sure.” Atsushi put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll let him know.”

He watched for a few fleeting moments as Dazai turned back to the grave, pressing his palms to the dirt tenderly. He was in his own world and Atsushi, truly, didn’t know if he’d heard him at all.

Without another word, Atsushi turned, heading back towards the Armed Detective Agency. He only hoped that Dazai’s message would make sense to Fukuzawa; he certainly didn’t want to get chewed out by Kunikida for not delivering upon his request.

You traced the soft edges of the book as you came to the close of yet another chapter.

Already, you were near the end, even though you’d only started it a few days ago. Your large stack of to-be-read novels was quickly dwindling; you kept forgetting to ask Dazai to pick you up some new ones.

For a few more minutes, you tried to read, but the words failed to ingrain into your mind. You’d been distracted all day, and it was difficult to focus on anything but old memories.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to a break when the door opened and closed downstairs.

Finally, he was home.

You smiled to yourself, closing the book with a ribbon.

His footsteps were quiet up the stairs, but you could still sense them, just as always. The melody of his movements was soothing, familiar enough to always relax you.

You waited, though it was only a few moments before the door unlatched, the wooden frame creaking on its hinges.

Dazai seemed tired on the other side of the threshold, his coat already slung off in his journey to the second floor. His dark hair was a mess, falling in tangled strands all over his face, even darker circles forming under his eyes.

Fleetingly, he met your gentle gaze, and something in the brown irises changed after that. The troubled look in them faded faintly, softening as he took in the sight of you lounging in the worn leather reading chair, a book resting on your lap,

“You’re home early,” you said, tossing the book aside to greet him.

He was upon you in an instant, arms pulling you into his chest as he buried his face in your hair. The warmth from his body seeped through to your very soul, shrouded by a layer of cold skin that had frozen in the brisk winter.

He didn’t reply to your question. He was unmoving in your embrace, a grim statue, and you were skeptical of his silence.

Without alarm, you pulled back to peer into his eyes, hoping to find the answer you sought. “Osamu?”

He kept his face glued to the top of your head, gingerly pressing kisses there.

“You didn’t leave work early again, did you?”

“Of course, I did.” It was then that he pulled back, revealing the contrasting redness in the whites of his eyes. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dazai cry, but he was close to tears now. The lines forming in his skin were deeper than you remembered—he was aging without you, it seemed. “I couldn’t leave you here by yourself today.”

You sighed—you should’ve known this would happen. The date was marked on the calendar with black smudges, crossed out in an emotion-fueled rage. You’d known it was coming for a while now, and you were stupid to expect that he would carry on as normal.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Well, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” He forced a smile. A scapegoat—this was much more for him than it was for you.

He caressed your cheek lightly, expressing every delicate emotion that he couldn’t put into words through the slight touch of his hands. The two of you had gotten better at understanding each other over the years. Neither of you had to say much to be heard.

“Besides, I just wanted to come home and be with you,” he said, a comment left under his breath, though he knew you would hear it all the same. “I’d hardly say that’s the worst crime I’ve committed.”

You frowned. “I just—” you thought over your words, but stopped, finding no reason to argue. You were hurting just as much as Dazai was. It would be pointless to pretend otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” you said, meaning it wholeheartedly. Dazai seemed surprised by your swift apology but accepted it anyway. “I’m happy you came home, really.” That was quieter, but you could feel him smile, just a fraction, into your hair.

“I’m glad to be home, love.” Dazai pulled away from you and took your cold hand, leading you to the bed that was neatly made up in the middle of the room.

There was nothing seductive in his actions. His eyes were sullen and weary, exhausted from night upon night of sleeplessness.

He flung himself across the bed, his long limbs straightening out to all corners of the mattress. He hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes and they began to wrinkle.

Dazai regarded you with sleepy eyes as you slid onto the bed beside him, making your way into his embrace. He traced your features softly with the tips of his fingers, as if you weren’t really there at all.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, pulling you close to him. Your fingers dangled together against the sheets, his white bandages catching. “And all mine.”

“Always a charmer.” You kissed the tip of his nose before snuggling into him, tucking your head under his chin.

He was quiet for a while, before you felt him fall into fitful sleep. Never fully into a dream, but never away from a nightmare either. You brushed your hands through his hair, the strands tangling between your fingers.

You wished he had the luxury of peace in his sleep. Even that seemed to evade him.

Atsushi returned to the Armed Detective Agency defeated as he rubbed his eyes with exhaustion. Kunikida was already standing by the door, arms crossed as he eyed Atsushi with contempt.

“Well?” he asked, practically stamping his feet.

Atsushi sank back, shuffling. “He said to remind you of what day it was,” he said helplessly, still having no idea what Dazai’s message meant.

Kunikida blinked.

He checked his notebook, then his watch, as if he’d forgotten what day it was.

A silly thing to Atsushi. He was certain that Kunikida had never forgotten a thing in his life.

“Oh,” the blond man said, his face losing all of its color before recovering swiftly. “We’ll proceed without him then. Come, Atsushi.”

Kunikida turned, still leaving Atsushi in the dark about the entire situation. And the younger man sputtered in confusion, never knowing Kunikida to be accepting of Dazai missing work.

“Did you get groceries today?”

Dazai walked towards the kitchen, and you followed him, gliding down the stairs with ease.

It had been a nice nap; the first one you’d had in a while. You could still feel his arms around you, and it set a flame to your very heart.

“It looks to be that way,” he teased, nodding towards the empty paper bags on the counter. “Did you need anything?”

“No, I didn’t, smartass.” You began to sift through what was new in the pantry. He hadn’t bought much—just a few essentials, but it was enough to fix something up. You’d been getting onto him about not taking care of his health lately. “I was just going to make dinner for you.”

Dazai’s head shot up, and he instantly returned to your side. There was some sort of horror in his expression, like it was a crime for you to whip up an easy meal for him. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But—”

“Come on,” he said, stealing the pans from you. “I’ll make my own dinner.”

You pouted, though you let him stop you anyways. “You always do it, though. Can’t I just do something for you for once?”

“What do you mean, darling? You always do things for me.” Dazai stared at you, unrelenting, though you held your ground.

For a moment, he stayed serious. Then, he softened. A slight quirk of the lips as he smiled. “Alright, fine.” He pressed a kiss between your eyebrows. “But I’m going to help you.”

You considered arguing, but it would be in vain. His mind was made up. At least you could do something that would occupy your thoughts.

Dazai picked items from the pantry, assembling some sort of a recipe. It wasn’t much, but it would likely be enough. Dazai had been eating less recently, to your sorrow. He seemed to forget more than he remembered.

You took the knife, slicing the meat and vegetables as he prepared everything else. The two of you worked in ease, skirting around each other without even realizing when the other was in the way. It was seamless—you understood one another with just a look.

“Is everyone at the agency doing alright?” you asked, desperate to break up the silence. The sound of the knife against the cutting board was painful enough.

“They’re all doing well,” Dazai said, pausing for a moment. He turned to face you, but your back was to him, stiff as a board. “They miss you. Very much.”

“I miss them too.” You could feel tears in your eyes, though you refused them. There was no room for you to cry; that’s what you told yourself, at least. “Did Atsushi take my desk?” you continued to monotonously chop the vegetables. “That’s the new guy, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” You heard a few swift footsteps before Dazai was hugging you from behind, desperately holding onto you. He bowed his head into the back of your neck. “I’ve asked them to leave your desk as it was. No one really touches it.”

You put the knife down, stilling. “Osamu—”

“Don’t say anything.”

“You should let someone else have it.”

“I won’t. You’re here, aren’t you?” He could feel you begin to shake, your whole body buzzing from something inside.

You took a shaky breath. “I’m not here. Not really.” You set down the knife, grasping his hand tightly instead. Sometimes, you weren’t sure how Dazai could even stand to touch your icy skin. “I’ll never be back to that desk.”

He didn’t respond.

“Osamu, I just wish you would try to—”

“Stop,” he said, releasing you. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

He pulled back, and the warmth left you once again. You were locked into an ice box.

“No matter how many times you ask, I won’t do it.”

You opened your lips but were unable to get the argument out. There was a knock at your door after that, ceasing the conversation. It was so rare that you had visitors—you hadn’t really gotten any in the past year.

It was odd that someone would be visiting you at this hour.

Atsushi waited anxiously on the other side, shivering in the icy cold. He stared at the outside of the brick building, trying to make a connection between this place and his co-worker.

It didn’t seem like the type of place that Dazai would reside in. It resembled something from a Victorian novel: beautiful only to the imagination, but not a safe place to inhabit.

He waited a few moments, trying to calm his racing nerves.

There was shuffling on the other side, but no answer. Atsushi began to worry he had the wrong house. Dazai had only told a couple people where he’d lived, and it took some very intense persuasion to even weasel that information out of them.

Atsushi was worried in a way that no one else was, and his desperation led them to revealing the information. He’d become a trusted member of the inner circle, but everyone at the agency was still so cryptic when it came to the manner of Dazai’s disappearance, and with Christmas nearing, Atsushi just really needed him to know that he wasn’t alone.

He knew that Dazai had his issues—ones that he would likely never understand—but there was something different about him this time. In the months that Atsushi had known him, he had never been so worried that his passing comments about suicide might actually come to fruition.

Finally, just as Atsushi was beginning to give up hope, the door cracked. A singular dark eye peeked out before widening. The door opened even further, revealing a puzzled expression on Dazai’s features.

“Atsushi,” Dazai said, surprised. “How did you find my house?”

"I asked around,” he said vaguely, trying not to throw anyone under the bus. Even though he knew Dazai would find out eventually, just as he always did. “I just wanted to see…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling imprudent. Dazai seemed fine—or, well, he seemed just as he always was. “You were acting strangely earlier.”

Dazai’s confusion increased, and then he laughed. It was the sort of laugh that was so joyful it unnerved Atsushi, leaving him unable to ease a singular worry.

“I wasn’t aware that you were so concerned for me, Atsushi.”

Atsushi flushed, embarrassed by his mocking tone. “I just thought I’d check in. You seem to be doing alright, though, so I’ll just—”

He began to back away, but Dazai was faster and pulled him back towards the door.

He glanced around, cautious, presumably wondering if anyone had followed Atsushi. When he deemed it safe, he welcomed him in, tugging him across the threshold.

“Do you want to meet someone?” he asked, slamming the door behind Atsushi.

He jumped at the noise. Despite trusting the man, Atsushi, briefly, wondered if he was about to meet his demise at the hands of Osamu Dazai. While he strongly believed that Dazai was a good man, he was also unpredictable. And right now, he was acting… very odd.

“I guess.” Atsushi felt that he didn’t really have a choice.

Dazai smiled, and began to lead him along, bringing him through the house that was almost as dreary on the inside as it was on the outside. There were so many candles—an unnecessary amount. How there hadn’t been a house fire was a mystery to everyone.

“Dazai—”

“We have a guest, my love!” Dazai shouted across the room, and it was then that Atsushi noticed the food cooking, the smell wafting through the air. It was delicious and warming, and all of the sudden, Atsushi felt much more relaxed.

Then, he processed Dazai’s words.

You peeked your head around the corner, meeting Atsushi’s eyes for the first time, and he was stunned by your very presence. Everything about you was disarming, and he nearly tripped at the sight of you.

You were otherworldly, almost. A being that was neither here nor there. He had no idea how he’d never seen you before, how no one had even mentioned you. You radiated allure and were a force on your own; a greater force with the likes of Dazai.

“Who’s this?” you asked, throwing a cloth on the counter once you’d dried your hands. Atsushi had been led into the kitchen, where the freshly baked meal was cooling.

“This is Atsushi,” Dazai introduced, and then gestured to you. “Atsushi, this is my lovely wife. I’ve been hoping you could meet her, but there really was never a good time.”

Atsushi paled and blinked. “What.” He glanced between the two of you, finding it difficult to even form words. “You… What?”

You told him your name, but that didn’t seem to help. Atsushi just stared at you, dumbfounded and clearly out of the loop.

You sighed; you truly should’ve known better.

“Osamu didn’t tell you about me, did he?” you said, frowning at Dazai and Atsushi furiously shook his head.

He was unapologetic, shrugging as he sauntered over to you.

“Don’t be mad,” he said, quietly, hoping that Atsushi wouldn’t hear. His hands briefly took your own, rubbing out the tension in your knuckles. “It’s so difficult to—”

“I’m not angry,” you said, and truthfully, you weren’t. There was no way you could’ve expected Dazai to just accept everything that had happened and move on like you weren’t living in the most unconventional way. “It just makes me sad.”

He squeezed your hand, nodding, before turning back to your guest. With a wide grin that was almost entirely fake, Dazai said, “you hungry Atsushi? We’ve got plenty to eat!”

Dinner had gone well, and Atsushi left in high spirits, already caring for you deeply. You’d won him over with your easy charms—heartbreaking, really, considering you could’ve been good friends in another life.

Later, hours after the two of you had fallen asleep, Dazai woke up, noticing that you weren’t in the space beside him as you had been. He felt around the mattress, eyes still closed until he was met with nothing but cold, empty air.

Panicked, he sat up straight, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark—was this it? The time you finally disappeared for good.

Then he heard the sniffling; silent, shaking sobs that he was, unfortunately, attuned to.

He padded over the floor, squatting beside you, careful not to alarm you with his touch. Your entire body was trembling as you curled into yourself, trying to hide your cries from him.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

“Nothing,” you said, wiping your eyes furiously. It was embarrassing for anyone to see you cry, even if it was only Dazai. The one person you wholeheartedly trusted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He softly gripped your bicep, trying to ease you out of your tense position.

You blinked at him, wondering if you could hold the rest of your pain in, push it down to the very depths of your hollowed soul. A second passed. Another.

The tears flowed freely down your face as you sobbed, hands resting in your lap limply. Dazai stared back at you helplessly, hands hovering over you like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, wiping your eyes with so much force that it hurt. Over and over and over. “No, you’ve done nothing.”

“Then, what’s the matter?” His voice was softer—softer than you’d ever heard it. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Osamu.”

He hesitated. There was something stricken in his dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep ruining your life.”

He grabbed your hand forcefully, squeezing it like you were a lifeline. His hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, searching your face desperately for answers. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” You scowled, the unhappiness creasing your features. “I’m here and you’re there. I can’t go anywhere with you, I can’t see my old friends, I can’t do anything meaningful but rot. I’m stuck in this damn house, and you leave every day worried that I won’t be here when you return.”

He said your name softly, though you rambled on.

“I’m holding you back from everything. You’ll grow old, and I won’t. You’ll want kids and I can’t give them to you.” Your voice cracked; it was difficult to even meet his disturbingly sad eyes. “You could marry someone else if you wanted. Someone that could live a life with you. I really wouldn’t care.”

You would care—the thought of him loving anyone but you made you sick to your stomach. Still, you persisted, wanting nothing but happiness for him. As close to happiness as someone like him could get.

“Don’t ever say anything like that. This is a life.”

“Is it?” you asked, shaking your head mirthlessly. “Am I really worth all the pain that comes with me?”

“Of course you are!” Dazai exclaimed, frantically pulling you closer to him. “Do you really think I want any of that? I don’t care about kids; I don’t care about finding someone else. I don’t even care that you can’t leave the house. I just want to be around you for as long as I can. I’ll rot in here with you if that’s what it takes. I don’t ever want you to slip away.”

“Osamu, this isn’t healthy.”

“I couldn’t give less of a damn.” He said, peppering your faces with kisses. “I didn’t love you as well as I should’ve and I’m paying for it every day. Constantly reminded of all the times I fucked up, when I should’ve been appreciating every second, we had together.”

“You did your best,” you frowned, trying to still him, though your hands were shaking too. “Neither of us were in a position for a relationship. We did it anyway.”

“I should have been more careful,” Dazai said, cupping your face gently. He’d removed the bandages, and his sleeves slipped to expose his pale wrists. “I could’ve saved your life if I never would’ve asked you to marry me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, leaning into the warmth of his palms. You closed your eyes, inhaling the natural perfume of his skin. “I would never regret ever being with you. We had our ups and downs, and we got through them because we were meant for each other.”

Dazai brushed your tears away with his thumb, and you smiled, pained, as they drifted away.

“I’ve always felt loved by you, you know. You don’t have to make up for all the things you didn’t say. I would never want you to regret our relationship. That would hurt me more than anything.”

Dazai’s expression became conflicted, revealing more emotion that you knew he could really understand. “I know.” He closed his eyes. “But I was a stupid boy when I met you and I’ll die a stupid man.”

“Stop blaming yourself. Please.”

“I don’t know how not to,” he said, bowing his head into his chest. “I knew you could’ve been hurt, but I was so stupidly naïve—I could’ve saved you.”

“Osamu—”

“I could’ve done something.”

“No, you couldn’t have. I was dying. I was calling to tell you goodbye. That I loved you.” You smiled sadly. “And Merry Christmas.”

There was a long lapse of silence as he processed your words. You carded your fingers through his hair—it was getting long again.

“I don’t deserve to have another chance with you,” he finally said, sighing to himself. “But I’m so thankful that I got one.”

“So,” Atsushi said when Dazai had finally left the room, going on his extended lunch break. “Why did no one tell me that Dazai was married?”

Everyone stilled. And Atsushi, suddenly, felt very uncomfortable. It was completely silent—a pen dropping would’ve shaken the entire building.

“Who told you that?” Ranpo asked, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth. For once, even he seemed a little concerned. “Dazai?”

“He wouldn’t have, Dazai doesn’t talk about her,” Yosano said, getting a little too close to Atsushi for comfort. He cowered under her intimidating gaze, having no desire to be interrogated. “Did you go through company files or something?”

“No,” Atsushi swore, flustered from all the eyes on him. “Why would I do that?”

“How else would you have known—”

“Yosano, calm down,” Kunikida said softly, trying to decipher something in Atsushi’s behavior. “You can’t possibly think that he would do something like that.”

Yosano, at least, didn’t have any evidence to respond with. It wasn’t enough to calm Atsushi, though, with all the skeptical glances on him.

Kunikida faced Atsushi once more, delivering the response like it was just any boring lecture, as calmly as possible. “We didn’t tell you because Dazai didn’t. We wanted to respect his privacy and his wishes; it’s not our information to share.”

He made a face—Atsushi could understand privacy, but for something like this? It made no sense. “I don’t understand…”

“How did you even find out about that?” Ranpo kicked his feet up on the desk, his eyes contemplative. Atsushi felt like he was under a microscope with the way Ranpo was looking at him, determined to uncover every last secret. “Was someone gossiping because of yesterday? I wouldn’t be surprised,” he hummed, more to himself than anything.

“Probably Naomi,” Yosano added. “She thinks it’s all romantically tragic… I’d say it’s just plain tragic.”

“No, no, no.” Atsushi shook his head. “No one told me anything about her, I met her. Yesterday.”

A pause. Everyone blinked.

“What?” Kunikida seemed uncomfortable by the comment. His words came out more choked and uncertain than normal.

“Yeah,” Atsushi said, explaining as best he could. “I went to Dazai’s house yesterday because I was worried about him. No one explained what was going on, and then…” Atsushi told the rest of the story, from meeting you to sharing a meal together, and then leaving like the three of you were old friends.

It seemed to go over everyone’s head. They all stared back at him with blank eyes.

“That’s not possible. Dazai must have had someone else over.”

“What? She told me her name. They said they were married.”

“What did you take last night? I’d certainly like to try it.” Ranpo’s deadpan comment did nothing to ease Atsushi’s frustrations.

“What? Nothing!” He grasped at his white hair, feeling like he was talking to a brick well. “I told you I went to his house and met his wife, and we had dinner. Why is that such an issue?”

“Atsushi…” Kunikida exchanged a glance with Yosano. “It’s an issue because it’s not possible. She’s been dead for over a year.”

For the second time that week, a visitor came to your door, interrupting your lifeless routine. You muted the television, walking downstairs to retrieve your guest.

“Atsushi,” you said, unsurprised when the door revealed the young man. The appalled and uncertain expression on his face told you everything you need to know.

With a heavy exhale, you opened the door wider, beckoning him through it. “I take it you know, then?”

“Kunikida said that you’re dead.” Atsushi blinked; his feet planted into the concrete.

“I am.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“I am.” With a nod, you glanced around, desperately trying to get him through the door before anyone saw you. Your neighbors had never really been your friends, but last they heard, you’d passed onto another plane. “Please, come in.”

He didn’t budge. “You’re a ghost.”

You frowned. “I’m not an evil spirit, Atsushi. I’m the same as I was before, except now you know everything. Please, come in.”

“Dazai’s not here, is he?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “He’ll be home soon.” You took a heavy breath, stepping backwards into your home. “If you came here to talk, then let’s talk. If you’re going to stare at me like that, then I’ll ask you to leave.”

Atsushi blinked once more, and then made a face, finally stepping through the threshold. He paused when you shut the door, as if expecting the other shoe to drop, for you to attack him with a grotesquely transformed face.

You sighed and pushed past him towards the kitchen. “Would you like some tea? It should be done by now.”

Atsushi was silent, though you could hear him following you anyways. You poured two cups and put one in front of him, though he still stared at it mistrustfully.

“It’s not poisoned,” you said, sipping your drink mindlessly. It was boiling hot, but the temperature didn’t do anything to your lifeless body. The scalding liquid went down like cold water, tasteless. “You watched me pour it straight from the pot. One for myself, as well.”

“You’re dead,” Atsushi stated, making the point known for the third time that afternoon. “Poison wouldn’t bother you.”

“Right.” The thought was dismal, and your face fell, realizing that even after a year, you still acted sometimes, like things were still normal. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

You stirred the tea with sugar, and while you knew it wouldn’t change the flavor, you kept the same habits from when you were alive. Sometimes, the smell of food was so strong, it was enough for you to taste it. Most of the time, it was just empty nothingness.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Atsushi said, finally gaining enough courage to taste the tea. He was quiet for a few minutes, testing to see if his vision began to grow fuzzy. When he deemed it safe, he went on. “I don’t understand why no one told me. I’ve always wondered about the desk frozen in time in the corner of the agency. No one told me it was because of you.”

“There’s still photos of Osamu on it, aren’t there?” You smiled, remembering when you had framed them. There was really no reason, since you saw him at the agency every day, but you liked having such permanent and wholesome proof of your relationship there for everyone to see.

“I thought he put them there himself,” Atsushi said truthfully, almost grimacing.

You laughed. “Well, that honestly does sound like something he would do.” Guiltily, you looked down, away from Atsushi’s hopeful expression. “I told him to get rid of it. I’m sure it’s just wasting space.”

“Not really. There are other empty desks there too. Besides, I don’t think anyone wants the memory of you gone. Dazai, least of all.”

You grew warm at the thought of everyone you had worked with. Maybe, if Atsushi knew, Dazai would finally be willing to tell a few other people. You so desperately wanted to see them: Yosano, Kunikida, Ranpo. If even just to say goodbye.

“Why are you here?” Atsushi said, finally breaking the silence. “Did you die here?”

“I’m surprised no one told you.” Your eyebrows raised. “It was a big deal when it happened. They hadn’t lost an agent before. I was the first.”

“You died on a mission, then?”

You nodded. “I guess I could explain from the beginning.”

Atsushi didn’t say anything, so you decided to go ahead. The least he deserved was some sort of explanation.

“Osamu and I met when we were young.”

You recalled the period between your escape from the mafia and your incorporation into the Armed Detective Agency. The time when you felt invincible, like you could do anything, and the world was powerless to stop you.

Practically kids back then, so desperate to find a home. Your marriage was swift and foolish, but you would never regret it. After that, you’d been the happiest you’d ever been.

Atsushi seemed enraptured by the tale you spun—you didn’t tell him everything, but you told him enough. Probably more than Osamu would’ve, anyway.

“Then what happened on the mission?” Atsushi said, leaning forward, more trusting of you now that he’d been sitting there for a while. It was like all of the tension had eased away, and you were two old friends, reconnecting after a long time.

“I was sent on a mission and got caught in the crossfires. I was caught off-guard, and I shouldn’t have been.” You frowned, looking past his shoulders. As much as Dazai blamed himself, at the end of the day it was you who had gotten yourself killed. “An assassin in the Port Mafia took a shot at me—someone low on the totem pole who had no idea who he was dealing with and ignored orders from his superiors.” You sighed, shaking your head. “He didn’t last much longer after that. If Dazai hadn’t taken care of him, I have no doubt Akutagawa would’ve.”

“Dazai was with you?” Atsushi said, wringing his eyebrows together. “I thought—”

“He wasn’t,” you said simply. “It was the first time we’d split up for a mission. Everything was going well, and we thought it would be fine. It’d been years—no one in the Mafia was going to come after us.” You laughed mirthlessly, shaking your head. What a foolish thought. Even Dazai’s lasting reputation wasn’t enough to save your one life.

Atsushi seemed misty-eyed, his chest aching at your experience. He was no stranger to heartbreak, either. “He still blames himself, then.”

A statement, not a question. One you couldn’t argue—Dazai told you, over and over, that it was his fault. No matter how many times you swore that it wasn’t. You were in just as deep; you should’ve known to never drop your guard.

“I don’t know how I ended up back here. The day reset, and I was back in my bed, waking up to the sunrise. For a long time, I didn’t understand. Days went by where Osamu couldn’t see me, not until—” you stopped yourself, remembering who you were speaking to.

Even though you trusted Atsushi, those moments when you were never really there and Dazai was alone were not yours to disclose. Nor did you want to—they weren’t nice to relive. “Not until the days leading up to my funeral.”

Atsushi seemed to understand. He nodded, sinking back into his chair. “Do you want to move on, then?” You blinked, and he grew embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s what happens with ghosts, isn’t it? At least, in all the stories and stuff.”

“I knew what you meant.” you cut him off before he could make his way into a senseless ramble. “I just don’t know the answer. I thought I wanted to, but the thought of leaving someone behind.” You sighed. “I just don’t know if I could do it.”

Something clicked in your mind after that.

Dazai came back that evening much more cheerfully than he had left, the sullen expression gone from his features and replaced by a soft smile.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he said, coming up behind you to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Everyone at the agency is so much happier now. It never fails to amaze me that a singular date can put people in such high spirits. Everyone’s attitudes completely change leading up to the new year.”

“How lucky they must be to be excited for a fresh start.”

He rubbed your shoulders gently, noting the stiffness in your muscles with your response. You kept your eyes out the window, gazing mournfully at the falling snow.

“Most people are more fortunate than us,” he said, letting his hand fall away from you. You could hear the concern in his voice—you were so sick of putting it there. “That’s no surprise.”

A beat passed. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over the crystal grounds.

“It’s my second Christmas as a ghost,” you said, watching as a mother ran across the lawn with her young child, the two of them laughing joyously. You felt a stab of jealousy; you and Dazai had never talked about having kids, but now, you didn’t even have the choice. “How many more will there be?”

“Many more, I hope.” The conversation had come up many times in the past few days—too many times for Dazai not to be worried. “I don’t want you to leave, but you can’t stay here if it’s making you unhappy,” he said, pressing a kiss into your neck. “I’m a selfish man, but even I can’t ask you to forever exist in misery.”

“I’m not miserable,” you said, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “Not always. You make it all worthwhile.”

He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But it doesn’t matter anyways.” You looked down at his pale hands, his delicate and long fingers. “I can’t leave.”

“You can’t or you don’t know how?” A crease formed between his eyebrows. The strands of hair against his forehead were oily. “I figured you didn’t know how; I never thought I’d be the reason you stayed.”

You met his gaze sadly, shaking your head. “How can you say that? You’re the only reason.”

Dazai said nothing, though his expression shifted marginally. Enough for you to understand it exactly.

“I’ve thought it over so many times. I was ready to go, I felt satisfied with my life, and I didn’t mind dying, but I couldn’t leave you.”

“You should’ve.” His limbs grew stiff, and you could feel him pulling away, withdrawing until you brought him back to you. “I’m not deserving of that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are or not. I love you, Osamu Dazai, and I don’t know what will happen to you when I’m gone for good.” You traced your thumb against his cheeks, taking in every one of his features: his gentle brown eyes that contrasted with every other sharp line he had.

Eyes that were soft only for you.

“That’s why I won’t be able to leave, not until you’re gone.”

He studied you carefully. There were long minutes of silence as he studied you, trying to make sense of all the things that couldn’t make sense. “You’re here until I die. You’re so completely certain of that?”

“I am.” You nodded, dropping your head to his shoulder. He smelled crisp; the outside had already permeated its smell into his clothes. He felt like home. “I’ve spent hours thinking about it. What could possibly hold me here besides you?”

Dazai quietly traced each knob of your back with every ounce of his love. His touch was barely there, though you felt it all the same, like a spark of heat. “Does that upset you?”

“In a way. I just think you deserve more than a pitiful ghost of a wife. It’s not fair of me to hold onto you so tightly. You shouldn’t spend your life that way.” You sighed, trying to repress the aching hole in your chest. It grew each day, opening up into a sickening chasm. “Odasaku wouldn’t be happy with either of us, would he?”

“It doesn’t matter what he’d think,” Dazai said harshly, narrowing his eyes. “I lost him just as I lost you. I’m done listening to the words of the dead. He didn’t think I’d ever be happy, and he was wrong. You think I’ll be happier without you, and you’re wrong too.”

“You don’t know that—”

He was resolute, holding you with certainty. “I’ll live and die in this very home, and then, no matter what, we’ll be together.”

“You don’t mean that,” you said, staring at him blankly, only blinking when your lids ran dry.

“You can’t leave your life in my hands like that.”

“The minute you say the word, darling, the minute you can’t bear the horrible half-existence—” he pinched your chin between your fingers lightly, forcing you to stare to the very depths of his soul. To see that every word he spoke was with complete conviction. “I’ll be gone.”

He pressed a kiss to your lips harshly, insisting that he meant every word.

You fell apart silently in his arms, put back together by his soft touch. Dazai could be a hard man to love, but he loved you just as easily. Rarely did he utter the words, but he showed you more than enough.

To the bitter end, he would be by your side, even if he had to pull you out of hell himself.

It was an unfair request to ask of you, but you accepted it simply.

Dazai Osamu would meet his end at his own hands, that was a simple fact, just as the sun rose each morning.

Though the matter of when… that was entirely up to you.