Fukuzawa thought bringing Dazai to the cemetery might ground him — maybe if he saw death with his own eyes, really saw it, he'd stop romanticizing it.

But Dazai only smiled, eyes wide and wild under the grey sky.

“Chat, I’ll be here one day!” he laughed, arms outstretched like he belonged among the tombstones.

Fukuzawa didn’t say anything. Just watched him with something heavy in his chest.

⋆｡°✩

The next night, Dazai told Atsushi he was going to die. Said it so casually — like telling someone he was stepping out for air. A whole bottle of Prozac or a shiny kitchen knife — he hadn’t decided yet.

He gave Kyouka his brooch.

“When I’m gone, it’s yours.”

She held it in both hands, silent.

⋆｡°✩

Kunikida was furious the next morning when Dazai didn’t show for work.

“Go to his dorm. Drag him out if you have to.”

Atsushi called as he approached. “Kunikida-san, I think he’s just not answering, maybe he’s—”

He opened the door.

The phone hit the floor.

⋆｡°✩

The funeral was quiet.

Traditional. A black-and-white photo framed by lilies. Kyouka wore Dazai’s brooch pinned neatly over her coat. Her expression unreadable.

Chuuya stood near the back, hat low over his eyes.

“You finally did it, huh… Dazai.”

His voice broke just a little.

Kunikida stood still, fists clenched, jaw tight. His eyes were closed, but not a single muscle was relaxed.

No one knew what to say.

Dazai had always smiled like nothing could touch him. Like he was already a ghost walking among them.

And now, he was.