[ His words are going to get drowned as it's his turn to share.
As he climbs the stairs to the second floor, his brain keeps circling back to the same thoughts. If only there was an off switch to his brain. He was executed just hours ago, and the thought of the warmth of the blood on his hands, and the person holding him for his final moments was still lingering there.
It figures that when he finally actually wanted to reach out to someone, that he maybe finally could call someone a friend, that it would all get taken away from him.
He knows they will all be fine. Dazai didn’t win any favors with his personality and kept trying to push them away or turn things around on them. Sure, Ayabe will feel guilty for a while over killing someone, but he will move on. Even if he swore he heard Chuuya banging on the barrier, he knew it was just tied to the one executing him. Chuuya will be glad eventually, and move on.
It’s what everyone in his life does anyways. Any time he wanted something or had people enter his life, they would always leave him in the end. Nothing was really worth holding on to or keeping hope.
It still hurts though. Even without the physical wounds, he still feels an uncomfortable twist in his chest. It’s the same pain he felt the night before when he realized there was no way for him to be saved. No one had any miracles in their pockets this time.
He finally gets to their room. He’s not expecting anyone to be there, but there is something like hope flitting inside. The room should be the same in this version of the House, right? When he opens the door, he feels the hope wither away completely. The room was devoid of his mess or Ayabe’s attempt of cleaning up. There was no chores list or rules of the house. There weren't any clothes or candles. Under the bed was empty of the craft supplies and a couple of guns he left under there.
This wasn’t his room any more, and there was nothing left to tie him to it. He walks in to grab a pillow and blanket, already knowing there is no way he could sleep in there. It was empty just as he felt on the inside. There wasn’t a place for him anywhere, and he was stuck in this quiet and suffocating limbo.
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[ His words are going to get drowned as it's his turn to share.
As he climbs the stairs to the second floor, his brain keeps circling back to the same thoughts. If only there was an off switch to his brain. He was executed just hours ago, and the thought of the warmth of the blood on his hands, and the person holding him for his final moments was still lingering there.
It figures that when he finally actually wanted to reach out to someone, that he maybe finally could call someone a friend, that it would all get taken away from him.
He knows they will all be fine. Dazai didn’t win any favors with his personality and kept trying to push them away or turn things around on them. Sure, Ayabe will feel guilty for a while over killing someone, but he will move on. Even if he swore he heard Chuuya banging on the barrier, he knew it was just tied to the one executing him. Chuuya will be glad eventually, and move on.
It’s what everyone in his life does anyways. Any time he wanted something or had people enter his life, they would always leave him in the end. Nothing was really worth holding on to or keeping hope.
It still hurts though. Even without the physical wounds, he still feels an uncomfortable twist in his chest. It’s the same pain he felt the night before when he realized there was no way for him to be saved. No one had any miracles in their pockets this time.
He finally gets to their room. He’s not expecting anyone to be there, but there is something like hope flitting inside. The room should be the same in this version of the House, right? When he opens the door, he feels the hope wither away completely. The room was devoid of his mess or Ayabe’s attempt of cleaning up. There was no chores list or rules of the house. There weren't any clothes or candles. Under the bed was empty of the craft supplies and a couple of guns he left under there.
This wasn’t his room any more, and there was nothing left to tie him to it. He walks in to grab a pillow and blanket, already knowing there is no way he could sleep in there. It was empty just as he felt on the inside. There wasn’t a place for him anywhere, and he was stuck in this quiet and suffocating limbo.
He didn’t want to die. ]