Nico^^

Im scared

Uh YAOI

He never wanted to be like this. Always was happy with his life. Until Mori, coming l

in as a family physician. An innocent motive right? No. Nothing goes well for Osamu Dazai.

Even though it was so many years ago, Dazai could still feel the cold hands and chapped lips on his own body. It made him disgusted, often making him late to work. And it wasn't one or two days. It was more like a week. Kunikida would come to his house the first few times this happened but stopped. It had been normalized. Dazai sleeping 'soundly' on his futon. His messy apartment with sake bottles and wrappers everywhere.

Some times Kunikida would clean a bit" when he was sleeping but it was rare. Dazai was in the office right now however. Staring at a report he had to fill out. He grumbled softly as the words blurred. Fuck. Was his iron low? Or his blood sugar? He never knows. It alls feels the same. His stomach growled softly, begging for nutrients.

"Dazai!!!" Kunikida yelled next to him, right up in his face. "You haven't even started on the report!" The blonde stared aggressively as Dazai makes up a stupid excuse.

"Well it's not my fault the reports are borrrinnng." He whined. Then he and Kunikida got into arguement. Kunikida screaming at Dazai and Dazai brushing it off, giggling and smiling. Yosano came out and yelled that they needed to shut up. They calmed down finally and dazai sits down at his wooden desk.

It reminds him of the floor in his apartment. At least it wasnt metal. The growling in his stomach continued. He opened up a drawer in his desk, various snacks and candy stashed. He remembered how he is so close to his goal weight. So close. Only a couple kilos..

His throat was scratchy from purging the night before after a company celebration. This made him drink lots of water to try to thrist the scratches in his throat. No matter how much water he drank it just persisted.

"Alright people, time for a checkup." Yosano yelled. Fuck. Fuck. No. Fuck. Fortunately Yosano grabbed Atsushi first. Dazai sighed in relief but knew he had to go.. He knew he was underweight.

Almost dangerously. 45 kgs would make Yosano worry, and if Yosano finds out.. then he'll have to gain weight. Fuck. That word. 'Gain'. It makes him want to kill himself more then he already does. And add 'gain' with 'weight'? Now its like the world wants him to die.

"Shit! Haha! I left my oven on! I'll be backkk! Don't miss me to much!" Dazai says springing up from his desk with a fake smile that looked to real. He had startled the others. They looked up at him and watched as he ran out the door. He could faintly hear Kunikida scolding him and Ranpo telling him to ignore him.

As soon as he got to his apartment he shedded his clothes and weighed himself. Did he gain weight? No no he couldn't have. He threw all of it up. No. No this isnt right. 45.9 kgs? Thats. Thats to close to 46 kg. He stares at the scale. Maybe its his clothes. Yeah. His clothes. He steps off the scale and strips his clothes off. Stepping back on. He sighs relieved. 45.7 its not as bad. Jesus.

He moves over to the mirror to check and see if his body was thin or still pudgy. His top surgery scars were dark and contrasted with his pale skin, as he stared at his body he saw his.. other.. scars. His left arm looked like it had been mauled, his thighs were bumby with scars. Not even his stomach was left untouched. He reached down and squeezed his thigh. Shit. He was still fat.

His thigh felt like pudding. So much fat.. and his stomach.. well. It was better than before. Before it.. it was so big.. round and.. and it disgusted dazai. He didn't want anyone in the agency or the mafia to know how fat he was. He used to wear bandages for fashion and to cover his arm.. but now its like a corset. Squeezing in his organs and all that disgusting fat.

He saw the way others looked at him. Like he was a huge beast. And it was hard to ignore that. Until one day he gave up trying to ignore it. Dazai put his clothes back on, hoping they would cover him up. Instead he just looked fatter. Fatter and more like a pig. He quickly turned away from the mirror before he punched it. He laid down in his futon quickly and could feel his thighs relaxing, they went to far out. Why did his thighs have so much fat? He felt to much of the blanket, if only he was smaller. Skinnier. Then he wouldn't feel as much as he did.

He closed his eyelids. He didn't want to feel the way the blanket touched him anymore. But with every movement it was like his brain was getting reved up again. Thinking, thinking about how big and pig like he was. Eventually, after an hour of trying to sleep he moved his hand to check his wrist. He took his right hand and made a circle around his wrist, he was struggling to fit the ring finger to touch his thumb. He knew he had to fast more than before, he doesn't know how to though.