I HAVE A LOT OF REGRETS ABOUT THAT
osamu dazai x reader, 18 dark ages! dazai
you take care of dazai while he’s ill and in a rare moment of vulnerability.
for 🚬 anon! thank you for supporting 🤍
inspired by this is me trying
he didn’t think it was possible to be so ahead.
he was only 18, and had committed hundreds of crimes. he was a young man, and yet the star pupil of the mafia boss. he had only been in the world for less than a few decades, and yet knew the world better than anyone.
so was he ahead, or was he behind? perhaps he was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.
his head is pounding, feeling the ache in his eyes. his body feels slack, like its giving up on him despite only just growing it itself. he’s weak, and hiding out in his apartment like a coward. if someone wanted to kill him, now would be the time to do it.
luckily, thats not what you’re here to do. much to his dismay.
he was wary at first, letting you in. he says the usual- that he’ll get you sick and that he can handle himself. but the man who’s wrapped in bandages clearly can’t take care of himself, even if its just a simple cold.
so you trudge in anyway, sighing at his empty fridge with only a few expired contents. how he was surviving was a mystery to you.
so you put together what you can, forging a soup with crab meat so he’ll actually eat it. you don’t know, but he’s watching you from his bedroom.
he’s not used to being taken care of.
truthfully, he could follow his fears all the way down. he could let his shiny wheels rust, and succumb to the realities of life. its what he always preaches about, anyway. he says he wants death, but more so just a reason to go on. whether there was one for him was a different question.
he sighs wearily when you bring a bowl of soup to him, only realizing how hungry he is when he can smell it wafting towards his nostrils. “thank you, darling.” he hums, not caring for the way it slightly burns his fingertips when he takes it from you.
normally, he’d call you an angel for taking care of him, and ask you to commit double suicide holding his hand. you know he’s tired when all he can manage is a thank you before he’s eating the soup like its his first meal in days. honestly, it might have been.
“how are you feeling?” you ask, sitting next to him on the bed. he almost smiles when you put hour hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. maybe he loves your cold hands against his burning hot skin, or maybe he loves you. probably both.
he resigns to remain strong. because he doesn’t want to be an open wound. its hard to be anywhere these days when all he wants is you, but he can’t admit that. what would happen if he trusted? if he let himself be saved? who would he lose?
“i’m okay.” he says, curving his dehydrated lips into a smile.
you sigh.
his lies are a flashback in a film reel. you’ve seen them before, but they still hurt.
“don’t give me that.” you say, clutching his bandaged hands. “let me care about you, ‘samu.”
for just a moment there, his smirk falls.
he’s used to being told that all his problems are mental. he’s used to getting wasted at bars, like all his potential. he’s used to downing everything he could have been, had he not been exposed to evil at such a young age.
evil expects evil from others. dazai himself was evil. so why weren’t you?
he doesn’t know. but he knows he’s anything but okay right now.
“i’m… tired. and my head is killing me.” he whispers, setting aside his near empty bowl of soup. he looks tired.
you don’t say anything, but he does let you gently push him onto the bed. his heart flutters when he feels you tuck the blankets around him, and end with a kiss on his forehead.
“you rest.” you hum. “i’m gonna go do your groceries. you need more than just instant food, ‘samu. but you are paying me back.”
he’s too tired to protest, and maybe he loves being taken care of. this is him trying.