In which Dazai meets a short, hat-wearing man who claims to be death. Dark Era Dazai.

"Hey Idiot!"

Huh. What's happening? He blinked groggily, stumbling as he pushed himself up. Did I succeed?

"No. No you didn't."

His vision was still blurry but he swore that there was this midget man standing before him. Long, messy red hair that he wanted to ruffle with his hands.

"What the fuck, I'm not part of your shitty BL fantasies, you suicidal freak!"

That made him smile. It was.. cute. Wait. Could he read my mind?!

"Well, no shit Sherlock."

Wasn't that voice familiar? He had dreams. Many where he had met a hilariously rude red head with the poorest taste in fashion-

A cool blade rested on his throat.

"My sense of fashion isn't fucking shit."

Hot tempered and easily offended. Like a child.

"Fuck off."

A smile graced his lips. His vision was still extremely blurry. Maybe the mushrooms that he had previously eaten were causing hallucinations? So, it didn't work. That was disappointing.

Who was this man?

"Now that you ask, heh, I'm Death," the petite man announced proudly.

He sounded very happy with himself. So happy in fact, it made Dazai chuckle a little at the absurdity.

Who knew Death was such an adorable, little, hat wearing, yappy teen?

"Speak for yourself shitty bastard, you ain't no fucking older than I am."

Oh. That's right. But it still made him laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He wasn't wanting to upset Oda, no no, but surely he would understand. Even at [insert Mafia Dazai's age here when he first attempted suicide], it was well thought out and for a good reason. What had he to lose?

"Everything."

He didn't have anything.

"Yeah, listen to yourself you fucking asshole." He sounded angry. Why? "Fuck everything that cared for you, huh? Selfish fucking bastard."

Ah. Selfish. That hurt.

"Time to wake up."