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“It’s not your fault.” Dazai scoffs, privately he thinks he’d throw up if he heard that sentence again.
His mind is abuzz with worthless noise as he stares at the hole in the ground. His eyes are watering, and he can’t remember when that first started.
He wipes his face hastily, trying to pretend this isn’t bothering him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chuuya’s boots, coated in a thin layer of frost.
He glances up at the other boy and barely contains a wince. Chuuya’s sharp eyes meet his, glassy and sad. Dazai’s heart pangs and he sucks in a shaky breath.
“M so sorry for bringing you out here so late. I…” his words are interrupted by his own scoff. “I guess I didn’t want to do this alone.”
Chuuya just nods, holding out the shoebox Dazai had brought along, as a question. Are you ready?
He knows neither of them are, truthfully. Still, Dazai takes the box, guilt seeping in like the frigid cold.
He had tried to keep the kitten alive. He really, really tried. He’d found it on the side of the road and brought it to Oda, carried there in his coat and wrapped in some spare bandages where Dazai could see blood.
Oda, having more knowledge about caring for things, had nursed it back to health, with Dazai right by his side, visiting every day without fail.
He found comfort in the kitten, who had fought so hard to stay alive, who had the spirit of a lion contained in that tiny black body.
That was, up until Odasaku died.
That day had to be the worst. Ever. His kitten wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t play, and Dazai couldn’t fix it. Dazai couldn’t save his friend.
No one could.
Dazai remembered trying not to sob as he called Ango in a panic. Ango had been able to coax the kitten into eating, but not nearly enough.
So Dazai sat back and watched the life drain from the tiny kitten. He felt sick just for thinking it, but, to have the thing die in his arms, knowing it wouldn’t hurt anymore, brought him some weak solace.
And now, here he was. On the edge of the world, on his knees, sitting next to a shallow grave.
He places the box in the whole with trembling fingers. Chuuya walks over to sit by him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
The two sit like that a couple minutes, before Dazai decides it’s cruel to keep Chuuya here, and starts scooping the icy soil back into the hole. There’s dirt caked under his nails, and he gags, it looks like blood from this angle.
It is his fault.
Dazai stands on shaky legs, pulling some crumpled flowers out of his pocket and placing them over the patch of ground.
Then, he turns his heel and leaves. Chuuya doesn’t chase, only watching the figure of his friend vanish into the fog.
It feels like goodbye.