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Odasaku picks up after a few rings. Probably not on a job, then. Good.
“Dazai?”
Dazai grins and shifts against the wall, shuddering as he curls his legs to his chest. He imagines the wall is Odasaku’s broad, familiar chest. That Dazai’s name isn’t tinny through a phone speaker, but soft and warm as Odasaku’s lips by his ear. The pain and cold seeping into his bones makes it a bit difficult. He focuses on keeping his breathing steady instead.
“Hey, Odasaku. How was your day? Do anything interesting?”
He asks it lightly, like they’re sitting at the bar. Ango is there too, and the whiskey heats his blood almost as well as Odasaku’s presence by his elbow. The usual jazz is smooth, comfortable. Everything glows a dim gold, his friends are close and alive and it’s all so warm.
“Not really. Just the usual.”
Dazai laughs. Odasaku has always been so silly. Anything he could say about his daily errands would be preferable to the never-ending storm swirling in Dazai’s head. So much to think about, and none of it pleasant. None of it warm. And under the surge, emptiness. His laugh ends in a harsh cough.
“Are you okay? Dazai?”
No, never. But he will be soon. There’s so much blood soaking through the fingers he’s clasped to his side, so much he’s swimming in it, so much even Chuuya won’t be able to save him in time. Soon it will be over and Dazai will finally be okay.
An unpleasant thought whispers at him through the thickening haze. He’s being selfish. Odasaku will be sad. He takes a moment to marvel at it. Dazai’s never thought of other people in relation to his death like that before. Odasaku is special, as always.
“I’m sorry, Odasaku. I think I might love you.”
That's what it is, right?
As the apology leaves his lips, Dazai closes his eyes. He thinks he can feel Odasaku wrap his strong arms around him, tuck him close to his chest so he can sleep at last. He sighs. It’s warm.