Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cheers of the public made it difficult to hear the music in the venue. The lights hardly let me observe you; they reflected on your face and I couldn’t appreciate your blue eyes that would find me in the crowd — or at least that’s what I hoped. Even if I couldn’t see you and you couldn’t see me, I wanted you to know I was there. I knew that even though you said you didn’t want me at the concert, you hoped that I would be there to hear you sing again.

Did you really think I wouldn’t go? I knew each of those poems that you turned into songs, I knew each one of your verses. Seeing how each sentence reached more people than you ever could’ve hoped for was almost like putting an end to cycle.

The music, the lyrics coming out of your mouth, it filled the whole place, and it didn’t matter if I wasn’t the only one listening to you, it felt like we were alone and you were singing to me. You kept looking for me in the crowd, didn’t you? You weren’t sure if I was there, but deep inside you knew I was staring at you in complete silence and without blinking, unable to look away.

Just like those that surrounded me, I also wanted to scream, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I could only look at you, up there achieving one of the goals that you didn’t even know you had, surrounded by so many people that cared about you. That were happy for you.

I was too, even if you don’t believe me, I was also happy for you…

Hey, Chuuya, do you remember that day? The last day of our teenage years, two days before I left you. I can’t say I regret it, I don’t think I ever will. Call me cruel or unjust, but we both needed it. 

I was seventeen, you were eighteen. My birthday would be in three days, it seemed like we were so close to reaching the exit that would guide us to the life we wanted. And we did, just not at the same time.

The music was loud, we just finished having sex and I couldn’t breathe. What we were doing was wrong, but we needed it to forget everything. The world was a painful place, it still is, but we got used to living in it; resigned to the idea that there was little we could do to change it, or change ourselves. 

The song that was playing at that moment, the one that concealed the sound of your heavy breathing, filled the room with so much force. I actually had a headache at that time, but I knew that you had turned up the volume so that no one would hear our moans, nor the neighbors, nor your mother, who was in the kitchen pretending not to know what we were doing, or your father, in case he came home before I left. That man really hated me, I know he’ll never forgive me for “tainting” his only son, but I don’t regret it either. I know I was, and always will be, the worst influence you’ll ever come across in your entire life. 

I remember staring at your face. You were blushing, your skin was covered in sweat, and even though your eyes were open, you weren’t looking at me. The music was still playing, the singer’s voice bothered me, the verse ‘You’re a monster from hell’ repeated itself time and time again, and I wasn’t sure if that quote was talking about me, or if it was about you. 

Maybe both.

The noise annoyed me. I had a headache and so I decided to lean on your chest. I remember I tried to block out the sound like that, but the chorus kept going and it was unbearable. It pointed out my flaws, it pointed out that part of me that I so desperately tried to erase: my true self.

You’re a monster…

You’re a monster…

You’re a monster…

“I hate that song,” I complained that last day.

“You hate a lot of things,” you commented, absentmindedly running your fingers over my ever-tangled hair. 

I almost enjoyed the feeling. 

No. 

Scratch that.

I did enjoy it. Even if I never said it out loud, even if I acted like an asshole every day, I liked feeling that way: warm, calm, with who I believed to be my true love, but it wasn’t enough. I was whimsical and those moments weren’t enough to fill the emptiness I felt.

You weren’t the first one to say that I would never be able to fill that void, but you were the only one that had some hope for me. 

Life always seemed simpler when we were together. I felt calm, I almost began thinking that was enough: just the two of us against the world, a world that didn’t give a damn about us, but my need to fill that void continued. That desire to cause chaos wherever I went never disappeared, and that need for someone to look at me and understand what was happening didn’t either. It was so addictive and self-destructing that, when it hit me, it hit you too.

“I hate you too, Chuuya.”

I said that day, and I knew how much I hurt you with my lies, but I didn’t care and you pretended like you didn’t either. You just snorted angrily, almost hurt.

“Go to hell, asshole.” You tried to get me off of you, but I resisted. “Get off of me, you’re so fucking heavy.” 

I remember we started fighting, without really being mad, without hating us truly. We were still two kids playing to be adults. I complained about one too many things that I can’t even remember while I was getting dressed, but you ignored me for that small, worn notebook where you wrote each one of your poems.

I really hated poetry, it was more important to you than I ever was, or so I thought. But it always made you happy, and it was thanks to it that I met you. When you used to hide in the furthest corner of the school, on the stairs that led to the roof, to write verses. It was during my first day of school, when we were only just fifteen.

I remember you always wrote with so much pain, almost tearing the paper under the tip of the pencil while you wrote verses about abandonment. In those bygone days, Kouyou had left home, leaving you alone and to the total neglect of your parents. Forcing you to drown all ache and act as an adult for yourself and for me.

I doubt I’ll ever forgive your sister for leaving you, and I should have hated her more than poetry, because at least that was always there for you. Instead, I left you just like Kouyou did.

Still, even though I hated Kouyou for leaving you, I also had to be grateful. Her abandonment made you fall into my arms more easily, and you have no idea how much I needed you at the start of the story we wrote. I wanted company, someone to get in trouble with, who could keep up with me, who I could taint, who would look at me…

But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. I wasn’t your everything and I hated that. I hated that you cared more about writing poems than looking at me. I hated it even when I knew that each of your poems was written while thinking of me. 

I remember that that last day in your room, I got on top of you and took your notebook. You complained, you tried to get it back, but the shame and strange shyness that surfaced on your face held you back. I couldn’t understand why if I already knew what it was. What was in that poem that made it so special? What were you hiding in it that I couldn’t see?

And you weren’t hiding anything, you just showed in it my true self. So weak, so insecure, so alone and sad, way too naive even when I always tried to hide my inexperience and the pain of not being a perfect doll just like my parents, the world, and everyone else, wanted me to be.

Hey, Chuuya, do you remember that day? That night, in your room, just the two of us reading that unfinished poem that you wanted to give me as a gift on my birthday.

I didn’t know how to react. For the first time, I didn’t know what to think. I felt helpless, and you were the only one who could make me feel that way. You expected a compliment, a ‘thank you’, anything, but I couldn’t say a word. At any rate, you didn’t seem mad about that, I think my reaction was enough for you. And it was for me too. For a second, I swear I felt complete. 

But we were too young and naive, with many missing pieces, some that disappeared and some that broke with each blow, each rejection, but we didn’t know it. At that moment, we were complete. Time and the whole world felt endless, stuck inside a clock that refused to move forward. We didn’t think that eventually, the sand inside the delicate clock would fall, taking one of us with it and destroying the other. 

I wanted to kiss you. I swear that day, before leaving, I wanted to kiss you, but neither of us reached out. We stayed still, looking at each other, I had your notebook and you were still naked under the sheets. I wanted to kiss you, but I couldn’t move, and not reaching out to you is the only thing I regret. 

Your father arrived at that moment, yelling at the entrance door for you to turn down the volume. We heard your mother talk, trying to stop him from going towards us for at least some seconds. I remember that you pushed me, but I didn’t care. I took off and rushed to finish taking my things while you got dressed and arranged everything to normal. The music kept playing, the song had changed. I could only register a part of the lyrics, and I remember it said:
 

I wanna sing a song, that'd be just ours

But I sang’em all to another heart…

And I couldn’t listen anymore. You pushed me to the window, there wasn’t any other exit, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the first time I sneaked out through there, but it was the last. I laughed at your nervousness, although I was also afraid of what your father could do. You got mad, said I never took anything seriously, but you still tried to kiss me and I stopped you.

“No, no, no. Finish the poem first, Chuuya,” I whispered and touched your lips with just my forefinger and I smiled at you for the last time. I swear that smile was genuine, “and leave the kiss for later.”

For a brief moment, you were speechless, but you recovered quickly. The fear disappeared and we joked for the last time. 

“You’re so damn ridiculous. You owe me a fucking kiss, don’t forget it. Tomorrow in the same place?” 

“I’ll be busy,” I answered, without telling you where I was going, without telling you who I was going to see. You’ll know, eventually, when it didn’t hurt anymore, “but I’ll see you on Monday. Don’t miss me so much!”

“Why would I miss you? Go, I’ll see you on Monday.”

Hey, Chuuya, do you remember that day? I saw you on Monday, but everything had changed.

It was June nineteenth — my birthday. You finished the poem, but I never accepted it. I told you that I wanted to break up, that I had found someone else who I loved more, who filled the emptiness I felt. You didn’t say anything, I didn’t let you so. I left before you could say something, before seeing you cry or squeeze your hands with as much force as you could while trying not to break the poem, and I never came back. 

I never gave you the kiss I promised. 

Hey, Chuuya… do you remember that day? That day, when we saw each other again.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, on his first day after transferring to another high school, he met a boy who wrote poetry. 

His parents sent him there when he was expelled from the prior one just three months after classes started. They could afford private tutors but they didn’t want him home. It was easier to send him to a school and forget about him for a few hours, or until they inevitably get called and receive complaints about something  Dazai had done. 

Spread rumors and cause fights against classmates? It was easy.

Steal the answers for an exam and blame someone else? He had done it so many times he lost count. 

Sell those answers without getting caught? Easy money. 

And the best part was that everyone knew who had done it, but they didn’t have any proof. They couldn’t blame him. The only thing the headmaster could do was call his parents and hope that they’ll correct his attitude or make him admit everything. But they didn’t care. In the end, that school was able to expel him just because he wanted to be expelled. He let them catch him selling one of the exams. He waited for a reaction, a word, anything…

But no matter what he did, his parents wouldn’t look at him. 

‘I don’t care if you live or die, just leave us alone and go. ’ His mother told him that on the first day at his new school. And for a moment, he was willing to go along with it. He looked for an opportunity to sneak onto the roof of the school and leave a good first impression in the form of his blood covering the floor. But as he climbed the stairs, as he walked through the loneliest corridors, he saw a ginger boy writing poetry.

And that boy noticed him. 

For the first time in his life, someone noticed him .

But it wasn’t enough. Neither that attention nor those sentimental poems managed to be enough — not even that teenage love they once had. 

It wasn’t what he needed at that time, and so he didn’t hesitate to leave it behind. Still, there were days when he had to go back to poetry, and between disinterest and boredom, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to…?

“Achoo!”  

Almost everyone in the audience, including the one doing the talking, turned towards Dazai. With a calm expression on his face, slightly amused by the subsequent panic that his kohai would experience, he pointed to the white-haired boy sitting next to him, exposing the true culprit behind the interruption without pity or compassion.

“Sorry!” exclaimed the albino, immediately apologizing again, this time for the volume of his voice, “I’m sorry, really, uhm… you can continue, sorry for the interruption.”

The teacher at the front of the class nodded, though even from the distance you could notice he was bothered by the accidental interruption. Still, that didn’t seem to stop him from continuing the topic as if nothing happened. 

Slowly, his classmates' gazes left the albino and went back to looking ahead. Atsushi finally let himself take a deep breath. Meanwhile, Dazai was doing everything to hide the smirk he so desperately wanted to show.

“It wasn’t funny…” Atsushi muttered, almost whispering.

“I never said it was,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It sounded exactly like the sneeze of a little cat though. Ah, wish I had recorded it.”

“Dazai …”

“Shhh, Atsushi, you'll attract attention again. Besides, the discussion on European poetry is so interesting, it’d be a pity if I missed it out," he sighed, leaning back in his chair and almost sliding off it. "I didn't sign up for poetry to hear this, do you think I can just leave?"

“I guess you could… but Fukuzawa-sensei would scold you again.” Dazai sighed yet again, Atsushi also felt the need to do it, but more with a sentiment of wariness than boredom. “It’s not that bad, poetry was important in different eras.”

“But not in this era,” the brunette objected, shifting uneasily and scratching the skin on his bandaged arms. “I prefer novels.”

He heard Atsushi sigh, but the eighteen-year-old boy didn’t speak again. He was focused on the presenter, writing notes in his opened notebook. Dazai kept scratching his arms, the skin under his bandages itched, he had been doing it all morning, and that sensation, at least, managed to distract him from the boring presentation.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the best distractor for someone like him. He had felt that discomfort ever since he woke up — the need to scratch off the scabs over the wounds that had long since healed. It was really hard not to go back to his self-destructive behavior when he had to listen to a two-hour lecture about poetry and couldn’t escape.

It was the worst day. He only slept for four hours, he didn’t have time to eat breakfast, he was being forced to listen to an exposition about one of the things he hated in literature, his skin itched and it didn’t matter how much he scratched it, it was still itchy. The old scars burned, hurt, and made him feel like an addict. His fingers trembled, yearning to take the thinnest blade and open his skin again, hoping the pain would make him feel alive, hoping someone would notice him again...

But he had promised he would stop. He had sworn not to do it anymore and he almost went back on his word. He didn’t know what he was thinking when he decided to become an honest man and force himself to fulfill that single wish: to stop hurting himself and others, to look for something that would fill his life, have a dream, a job, something to hold onto, someone by his side.

He was trying. Dazai thought he was doing well, or as well as he could. After all, his teenage plans didn’t reach as far as him going to university, let alone studying Linguistics and Literature in Kyoto, and he never thought he would be twenty-two years old. Yet here he was, in his junior year in Kyodai, in the most boring lecture and listening to the lives of poets that didn’t matter to him in the least. He preferred novels, no matter which genre: romance, fantastic, realistic, or science fiction. He loved them all, but his favorites would always be those he discovered thanks to Odasaku. 

Thinking about Oda made his scars itch more. Remembering all the hours he spent listening to him talking about each of his favorite authors, all those afternoons spent reading books, and all those mornings spent critiquing each work while eating breakfast, only made his anxiety worse. His fingers scratched the fabric with more urgency, wanting to bury his nails in his own skin. 

“Are you okay?” Atsushi whispered, managing to bring him back to reality.

Dazai turned his gaze towards the boy sitting beside him, his eyes slightly widened as if he was really surprised by that question. However, his expression relaxed and he nodded, regaining a false sense of calm and comfort.

“Just bored” he lied, looking straight ahead, observing all the students inside the auditorium as if they were the most interesting thing in the world and not just some random distraction. “You know, Akutagawa isn’t here. Kinda odd, he would never miss one of these talks.”

Atsushi visibly perked up upon hearing the name of the other literature student. He leaned slightly towards Dazai, whispering in a failed attempt to conceal his excitement.

“He’s probably practicing with his band. They have a new singer and they’ll perform tonight with him.”

“You really know a lot about Akutagawa, don’t you?” muttered Dazai. Atsushi could only nod excitedly, ignorant of the way he was reacting. The dark-haired man touched his chin with his index finger a couple of times. Then, his lips spread into a smirk that was both mocking and deceitful, “Did you already confess your undying love to him?”

For the five seconds that Dazai bothered to count, Atsushi’s mind got lost in its own world. Then, just as he expected, Atsushi jumped up from his seat, nervously dropping the notebook he had and interrupting the speaker again without realizing what he was doing.

“I’m not interested in Akutagawa in that way!” he exclaimed, his face turning redder by the second, not noticing all the attention he was getting. “What are you saying?”

“Me? Whatever could I be saying, Atsushi.” He said with feigned concern, standing up from his own chair and placing his right hand on Atsushi’s forehead. “Ah, your temperature is way too high! Are you feeling alright? Are you sick? It’s almost winter, you really need to take better care of yourself Atsushi. But worry not, I’ll take you to the infirmary. Don’t want you to infect anyone! Aren’t I the best friend you’ve ever had?”

“What? No…” 

“Don’t waste your energy like that!” he quickly interrupted, picking up his own belongings as well as the albino’s. He grabbed the younger boy’s arm and began dragging him towards the exit, ignoring both his complaints and the confused stares of the others. “I’ll take him to the infirmary before he starts being delirious! Please continue without us!”

It probably wasn’t necessary to make such a scene just to sneak out of the talk, but what’s the point if they didn’t have fun? Atsushi’s utterly mortified expression was amusing, his cheeks still retained a slight rosy hue, and he kept looking at him as if he was the cause of all his problems. Which might be true to some extent but regardless, Dazai continued walking down the hallways of the Faculty of Humanities. Technically, he was making his university life ten times more interesting and Atsushi’s social life changed since he enrolled at Kyodai so, can you really blame him? 

At first, Atsushi kept to himself. He was shy and insecure, like a puppy that wasn’t so sure of whether it was fine to walk around the campus or bark. He talked to some people but he never actually befriended anyone, not even those he shared classes with. At the beginning of that year, Dazai became one of Fukuzawa-sensei’s helpers, helping out in the Contemporary Literature class, and while others didn’t seem to pay attention to him, Atsushi did. They easily bonded over many novels and authors, and the essays or reviews that the albino wrote were simply brilliant. Of course, he wasn’t as good as him or Akutagawa, but he was getting there.

Recalling the other boy he helped during his first year at Kyodai, he focused his gaze on Atsushi. He didn’t see Akutagawa as often as before, which was strange. Last year he could always find him in some corner, in the library, reading a book on any of the benches, or simply chatting with him, trying to have a conversation with Dazai, one in which he wouldn’t show any interest even if it was about one of his favorite books. 

It wasn’t the best year of his life and he probably gave Akutagawa a terrible impression, but that didn’t matter.

Anyway, the campus was too empty for a Friday. It was barely six in the evening, classes were not over yet, and it wasn’t strange to see groups of friends gathering nearby and planning what they would do that night. But during the afternoon, the faculty looked empty, as if everyone had decided to go home because it was too cold and they didn’t want to get sick. However, even though they were only mid-way through autumn, the temperature wasn’t the lowest of the week, and the only one who really seemed sick was Atsushi, who couldn’t stop sneezing. 

His cat-like sneezes were funny, but it can get tiring when they came one after another almost without stopping. 

“Is it contagious…?” Dazai asked, taking a step back from the albino with an expression of concern and disgust.

Atsushi didn’t bother to be offended by his attitude. He expected it.

“It’s just an allergy due to the change of season.”

“Atsushi, it’s autumn, not spring.”

“The leaves are still falling.” The younger one pointed out, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezing again. “And as long as they keep falling, I’ll keep sneezing, I’ll be fine in winter and it’ll happen again in spring”

“I really don’t envy your life.”

The boy sighed. Regardless of whether the older one stopped or not, he slumped against one of the benches outside the Humanities building. With his backpack on his lap, he rummaged for his allergy medicine, hope reflected on his face only to be ruined by the finding of an empty box.

Dazai could clearly see his expression going from hopeful to disappointed in a matter of seconds, and then he sneezed again, shaking his body from head to toe. He took another step back. 

“It’s not fair.” He muttered with a mournful tone and sneezed again. “I really wanted to go see him play tonight”

“Look, I know you like Akutagawa, but…”

“I don’t like Akutagawa!” He immediately corrected, raising his gaze and fixing it on the older man, sneezing again before continuing. “I like his band ! His music , not him ! Akutagawa is… weird, he never likes the reviews and essays I do in Japanese Literature, for some reason he has no eyebrows and always dresses in black, but the music he makes is…!

Atsushi fell silent. Dazai waited for him to continue, sure that he was remembering something else and not just looking for the right words, but in the end, the albino decided to keep what he remembered to himself, looking tired and defeated.

“I really wanted to listen to the new song”, he muttered under his breath. “I was going to ask you to go with me to the bar…”

“Atsushi, I’m not the type to go to bars, I have some decency.”

“I know you lie but it’s usually not that obvious,” a third voice mentioned.

Upon hearing the new voice, both bicolor and brown gazes turned towards the woman wearing a white coat, approaching them while holding her purse in one hand and carrying heavy medicine books in the other, its pages old and scratched, the only color being the hundreds of post-it notes sticking out of the book.

“Yosano!” Atsushi greeted, his face filling with enthusiasm again. “Aren’t you far from the Medical Faculty?”

“Yosano!” the brunette complained. “What lie? I go to only one bar, and it’s not even that often.”

“And I never said that was the lie,” the woman replied, placing her heavy books on the bench next to the albino. “What happened? I just heard something about a bar.”

“That’s all you care about, right?” The woman and the brunette shared a smile. Atsushi sneezed again.

Although Atsushi said that there wasn’t a lot to tell, Yosano wanted to hear the whole story. She also noticed the younger’s allergy, realizing that they needed to move from that place.

She didn’t give them time to decide whether they wanted to accompany her for a coffee or not, though technically, they didn’t have much of a choice. On one hand, Atsushi seriously needed to get as far as possible from the trees around him. Dazai had already lost count of how many times the albino has sneezed in the past twenty minutes; his nose and eyes were red, and his condition would worsen if he stayed there. What kind of person would he be if he didn't care about his allergic friend? Besides, Yosano had agreed to pay for their coffee, and who was he to say no to such an offer.

They walked to the farther cafe on the campus, the one that almost bordered the main street where little to no trees could be found, only tall and medium-sized buildings, both commercial and residential. 

They looked for the table farthest from the windows and the rest of the people, like the three social misfits they were… Well, only Dazai was one. Atsushi still sneezed from time to time and didn’t want to bother the other customers so he preferred to sit at the most hidden spot until the swelling in his eyes lightened a bit and he could go to a pharmacy to buy medication. 

As for Yosano, she wasn’t really averse to people, not that she could be as a medical student. There was no other profession more humanistic than that, Dazai thought, so different from the one he chose — preferring to read about a bunch of lonely people who couldn’t fit in…

Just like Odasaku. Maybe that’s why he liked Odasaku so damn much.

“I know the place, it’s not far from here,” Yosano said, her voice interrupting Dazai’s thoughts.

Fuck, he got distracted again, and the scars started to itch. He hadn’t paid attention to what his friends were talking about, but he could pretend he had.

Glancing sideways, he noticed how Atsushi, with his hands wrapped around his cup of hot chocolate and sipping slowly, nodded in response. The swelling around his eyes had subsided a bit, his cheeks had a gentle pink hue, but this time it was from the warmth of the drink and not Dazai’s comments. 

“I really want to go” Atsushi mentioned, looking away a little embarrassed, “but I don’t want to go alone, and I don’t want to keep sneezing all night either…” 

Yosano laughed and reassured him; he wouldn’t miss the chance to go see his favorite band, with or without allergies. Both she and Dazai would accompany him that night. And no, she didn’t really care if the brunette didn’t want to go. She didn’t have the right to decide that but they had the responsibility to take care of Atsushi. She knew it would be the first time Atsushi went to a bar, and she didn’t want him to drink too much or do anything stupid without someone to supervise him or record it to embarrass him later. He was too young, Yousano mentioned, only eighteen, the perfect time for him to make too many mistakes, but always under the watchful eye of someone older.

After hearing that, Atsushi wasn’t so confident, but his desire to go see the band prevailed. He nodded with conviction and thanked them both for accompanying him, ignoring Dazai’s cries about being forced to go.

With a cup of coffee in her hand, the woman with short hair mentioned that she had more than enough allergy medicine in her shared apartment with her best friend. The plan was to stop by her place to not only give the medication to the albino but also for her to take off her medical coat, take a shower, and change clothes. She wanted to look absolutely stunning and not like some medical student whose sleep schedule consisted of only six hours of sleep that week.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” complained Dazai, already seeking for a way out, “and I’m not going back to my place. Dostoyevski is probably there and I don’t want to hear him or see him fucking his boyfriend.” 

“You’re just jealous he’s getting laid and you aren’t,” Yosano answered, ignoring Atsushi’s pale and mortified face in response to the conversation.

“I really don’t want to hear this…”

“What are you saying?” asked Dazai, without paying attention to the albino. “I could get anyone I want!” 

“And I don’t see you doing it. Even Kunikida is getting some action and he’s Kunikida for fuck’s sake,” she pointed out mercilessly, shattering Dazai’s ego with only one blow. Ignoring his cries and Atsushi’s disgusted expression, she crossed her legs, took a sip of coffee, and added: “Plus, if you’re not going to bring someone to your bed tonight you don’t need to dress fancy or anything. You already look homeless, you’ll fit right in with the place. “

The moment Yosano lifted her coffee cup from the table, Dazai let his body drop dramatically onto it. The impact of his head hitting the wood startled Atsushi, but neither she nor the other customers paid any attention to the mumbled complaints of the brunette.

Once they finished their drinks, Yosano led them straight to her own apartment. Atsushi walked beside her, talking nonstop about all the bands that would be performing that night.

Most of them were comprised of university students and some high school students. He was familiar with the scene in which these types of groups operated, performing at bars, some venues that occasionally organized a battle of bands and music festivals for emerging artists, hoping to gain the attention of a record label or simply for the sake of participating.

That night, many groups made up of students from Kyodai or local high schools would be performing at the bar, Atsushi explained. Some bands were more known than others, either debutants or already with considerable experience. Akutagawa was one of those who already had a reputation within those circles, he commented, disregarding the looks both Dazai and Yosano gave him when he began talking about the other literature student. 

The second-year student had been playing since middle school and had been the guitarist for at least four different bands since then, but he didn’t last long in any of them due to creative differences and conflict among the members. So far, the band he had formed at Kyodai was the longest-lasting one he had been a part of, already approaching the one-year mark since its formation.

“I know he writes almost all the melodies and rhythms,” Atsushi mentioned, “and he’s really strict with the outcome. Their previous vocalist left because Akutagawa was never satisfied with the lyrics for his songs.”

“I thought Akutagawa kicked him out,” Yosano commented. Walking behind them, Dazai wondered how the woman knew about that, “or so I heard.”

“A bit of both, but I’m not really sure what happened.”

“Really?” Yosano smiled and teasingly poked the albino’s side with her index finger, “That’s odd, you’re always paying attention to anything Akutagawa does.”

“I told you Yosano,” Dazai commented, catching the attention of the other two, and with an exaggeratedly sweet tone, he added: “Atsushi over here has a crush.”

For the rest of the way, they blatantly ignored Atsushi’s complaints and his long list of reasons why they were mistaken.

Once they arrived at Yosano’s place it was almost seven and a half. She shared the place with her best friend, Ranpo, but he wasn’t there. When Atsushi asked for him, the woman muttered that he was probably with that American student he had met at a book signing at the beginning of the semester. 

What was Ranpo doing with him? Who knows, and they didn’t care that much. Sometimes they did want to know, but only to have something to gossip about. It had been a while since they had something interesting going on, and the last time was when Dazai’s antisocial roommate actually got himself a boyfriend.

Anyway, they were going to wait until Ranpo felt confident enough to tell them what he was up to. It’s not every day that he was interested in someone, honestly, it was something worth celebrating.

After changing clothes and giving Atsushi some allergy medicine, the trio was ready to leave. However, the albino didn’t want to go when the effects of his allergy were still clearly noticeable on his face and preferred to wait until they disappeared. So they sat in front of the television, and started talking about everything and nothing at all, wondering if they could convince Kunikida to join them as well, but finding it difficult to actually do it. They knew the blonde was on exam period and, unless one of them was in a life-threatening situation, he wouldn’t leave his books and essays. 

Thirty minutes after taking the medicine, Atsushi was ready. He excused himself to go to the bathroom before leaving. He needed a moment alone, and the other two knew it. The boy looked nervous, excited, and absolutely scared — all at the same time. His mind desperately trying to prepare him for that night’s events but failing miserably at doing so. 

Once the albino disappeared from the living room, Dazai’s gaze focused on the woman who was relentlessly typing on her phone as if there was no tomorrow. She also looked anxious and nervous. 

“Why do you want to go?” Dazai asked. “Yosano, you don’t care about the bands.”

“Maybe I just want to drink,” she replied, putting away her phone and looking directly at him. “Each time there are performances, all drinks are 2 for 1. You think I’m going to pass up that opportunity? I don’t have much money Dazai, I’m still a student.”

“It’s not enough reason to go,” he insisted, “What are you really planning?”

Yosano smoothed her clothes with slightly trembling hands and confessed.

“Alright, fine. Remember when I visited the Heian Shrine with Ranpo in the summer? Well, while we were walking around, the idiot left me alone and got lost. While looking for him, I met this beautiful woman who was also looking for her little brother. We talked for a bit, we searched together for both idiots, and well…”

Yosano sighed, her expression reflecting the idyllic memory of that day. Dazai had never seen such an emotion on her face, but he could understand her. She had that same look he used to have when he was with Odasaku, when he was talking to him, or just thinking about him.

The scars started to itch again, that void he always felt deepened, and no matter how much he tried to stop thinking about his pain — his heartbreak — it was still difficult to get Oda out of his mind. It was a lost cause, he might never be able to. Ever since he met him when he was seventeen, he has been on his mind all day. 

Slowly, he rubbed the back of his wrist, feeling the bandage around them, knowing perfectly the shape of each scar it concealed.

Yosano kept talking, unaware of his state. Or perhaps she did sense that something was wrong. Perhaps she knew who Dazai was thinking about. But if she did suspect anything, she kept it to herself.

“Anyway, before I could ask for her number, her brother called her and told her where he was. She left and I thought I would never see her again.” For a second, her face reflected something akin to sadness, which was quickly replaced with happiness, “but a few months ago, I was scrolling through the Instagram account of a model and she mentioned her designer, and guess what? It was that beautiful woman. I sent her a dm even though I thought she wouldn’t remember me, but she did, and so we started talking.” 

“So what?” the brunette asked. “You’re going to take advantage of the 2 for 1 at the bar and get drunk so you can confess that you’re a lesbian for her?” 

“I don’t need to be drunk to confess that. And no, I want to give her a present of sorts. Her little brother also studies at Kyodai, he’s in one of the bands performing tonight or so she said. Right now, she’s in Sapporo, and the last time we talked she was really sad because she wouldn’t be able to see her brother sing. So I said I could record a video and send it to her.”

“And win her over.”

“And win her over,” repeated Yosano. “Anyhow, with or without you guys I was planning to go to the bar tonight, and since Atsushi wants to see Akutagawa and you have to go, I thought that going together would be better.

“Or you could just go with Atsushi and let me go home. Then again, I’m not looking forward to going back and dealing with Dostoyevsky.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t want to go but what if you find someone and then deny you like them just like Atsushi does with Akutagawa.”

“I don’t want to meet anyone.” Dazai sighted. “So, which band is he in? How do you know who he is?”

“You idiot, don’t answer me like that,” she added before the brunette could say anything else. “I don’t know which one is his band, but my girl sent me a picture of him. I think he’s really hot, the kind of guy you would like. Look, let me show you the picture she sent me…”

“I’m ready!” announced Atsushi, his smile so wide that Dazai couldn’t be mad at him for his interruption. “Shall we go?”

Yosano nodded. She turned off her phone before Dazai could look at the photo, but he was sure he got a glimpse of reddish hair, a shade that could almost pass as orange, a shade that seemed quite familiar to him. While it wasn’t a common color, it wasn’t one that no one had either. 

Forty minutes after leaving the apartment, they finally reached the bar. The line was long and full of people, as expected for a Friday night in which both new and already-established bands were going to perform.

At some point, while they waited to enter and the music could be heard from inside the building, Atsushi’s face flushed with nervousness and anxiety, fearing that they might miss the only performance he was interested in. However, Yosano had a schedule; the performances started around ten thirty, and it was only nine o’clock with the line moving quickly. All those instruments that they heard were from the bands rehearsing and they still had plenty of time to enter.

They managed to get inside around ten o’clock. The venue was packed to the brim, with simple beats playing from the speakers and multiple conversations regarding the upcoming performances. The bartenders seemed to have no rest as they prepared drinks, and it was quite easy to get lost in the crowd. Atsushi clung to Dazai, and the brunette made sure not to lose sight of Yosano, who led the way straight to the bar. 

They only needed a small place at the bar, Yosano mentioned, just a small one. The plan was to order their drinks and then move to any other place to watch the bands. 

And as if it were their lucky day, they saw a blond man wearing dark glasses walking away with two drinks, leaving a small empty space behind. The woman wasted no time in pushing the crowd and taking the spot, ordering their drinks without giving the bartender a chance to ask for their order.

“Whiskey for you Dazai?” The brunette nodded. Yosano’s gaze turned towards the youngest one. “Atsushi, I’ll order something light for you, don’t worry.”

The albino had no time to say no to the drink. Yosano had already turned around to talk to whoever was attending, and Dazai started a conversation with him. 

“Did you see that guy?” Dazai asked Atsushi, keeping his eyes on the stranger in the crowd. “Who wears sunglasses inside a venue at night?”

“I mean, you’re wearing bandages and you’re not really being discreet about it…”

“You wouldn’t understand my sense of fashion, Atsushi. I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s superior.”

“If by superior you mean ridiculous then yes,” Yosano added, handing them their drinks and keeping two to herself. “Let’s find a spot to watch the performances, they’re about to start.”

They managed to find a good place to watch from before the first band got on stage. The music started to play with more intensity, accompanied by the voices of the people around them. Fortunately, Yosano and Atsushi were close enough to Dazai that they didn’t have to raise their voices too much, and besides, the conversations they had among themselves were more entertaining than the music itself. It wasn’t bad music, it just… didn’t make him feel anything. No excitement, no sadness, nothing. 

Dazai had been observing the performers on stage and those who followed. None of them were interesting enough to catch his attention. Yosano didn’t look too interested either, it seemed like that girl’s little brother wasn’t in any of those bands. Atsushi paid some attention to them, occasionally commenting on whether a song was good or not, but none of them compared to Akutagawa’s group, he mentioned, and just for that moment, the other two decided not to tease him. 

Yosano was already on her second glass of alcohol while Atsushi hadn’t even touched his, and Dazai was still on his first sip. The whiskey in his hands was more enticing than the music, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting once again as he watched the liquid shimmer gently under the venue lights, knowing it would stay on his palate for only a short while.

The whiskey Oda drank was better.

Suddenly, the music stopped. The host of the night thanked the previous band and bid them farewell before introducing the next performers. Out of the corner of his eye, Dazai noticed  Yosano turning around, reaching for her phone and setting up the camera. Atsushi’s face lit up, his smile widened, and his gaze remained fixated on the stage, almost glowing. 

Ah, so that boy was in the band with Akutagawa.

And yet, he wasn’t interested in watching the little brother of his friend’s love interest or the other student. He kept his gaze on the whiskey, occasionally tapping the ice floating with his index finger, causing it to sink and resurface repeatedly as the announcer mumbled a name he didn’t bother to remember.

Applause filled the air immediately, and Atsushi joined without hesitation. He listened as the instruments were tuned, and a different voice greeted the audience from that night. He realized it wasn’t Akutagawa’s voice, he recognized his tone of voice, but not of the one who was talking and was carrying a bass in his hands. 

“Hey everyone! We’re Black Ocean!” 

Dazai thought the cheers were a bit too much. How could a mere name evoke such a reaction? Little did he know, he would eventually discover that same emotion and would share it with the public, he would then understand them.

“I know it’s been a while! We missed being here, but we had to take a hiatus while searching for a new lead singer, and we found one! He even writes his own songs, which is the best part!” A collective laughter spread through the bar, gradually subsiding. Yosano was already recording, Atsushi held his glass with both hands, and Dazai continued to gaze at the whiskey. “So, let’s welcome our new singer with tonight’s song: Setsuna no Ai.”

Cheers resonated as Akutagawa’s guitar began to sound. The lights in the bar dimmed just as they had for the previous bands, but somehow, the atmosphere felt different than the earlier performances.

When the song started and the singer’s voice reached every corner of the place, Dazai understood why he had been anxious all day. He knew that voice, even though it had changed a bit, he could recognize it anywhere. 

He knew its tone, the way it said each word, how it expressed each emotion. Its laughs and cries were engraved in his head so that he could remember them for eternity, and so he did. He remembered it.

What is the true identity of this uncomfortable feeling 

Which lurks gently inside of you as if being entangled 

Soaking me so empty that it burns me out 

And having the chaotic afterimage lingering 

Receiving unwanted stimulation and peaceful contradiction at the same time 

Making me subtly and exquisitely crazy

He didn’t want to turn around, but before he could fully realize what he was doing, he turned and saw nothing but the bright lights shining directly on the figures on stage, on the fingers strumming the guitar and bass, on the hands gripping the drumsticks tightly, and on the singer. His reddish, slightly wavy hair — longer than he remembered — could be perfectly appreciated among all chaos. 

His lips could no longer savor the whiskey, and his gaze was fixated on the vocalist, and the vocalist only. Beside him, Yosano said something, Atsushi seemed to agree with her, but Dazai didn’t understand what they were saying. He could only watch, motionless, without averting his gaze, without saying a single word.

I'm super troubled to taste the act of being loved 

Continue to pay for the pain it brought 

Opening a trance enough to make my heart shiver for a moment 

I'm being controlled by the increasing anguish

 Even though I know it's only a Momentary Love 

Even though I deemed this stretched love to be no good 

I thought that I wanted to hear more of your pure and innocent voice 

That I heard while gazing at the night sky 

The moon up there is beautiful

There was no way he wouldn’t recognize those blue eyes. He never found anyone else who had that same shade or that could express so much without uttering a word. He could never forget them, even if he tried and started to prefer others. His image would always return from time to time like a little reminder of what he did, what he left behind, all the promises he never fulfilled, and all the poems he never read. It was a reminder of the boyfriend he had in high school, his last connection to Yokohama, to his past, that beautiful and broken boy he left so abruptly without saying anything. 

And it made him tremble. His body shuddered with an unpleasant feeling as he listened to that perfectly tuned voice that once recited poems just for him. Telling tales about love and dreams he wanted to share, an emptiness he could never fill with his verses or loyalty. 

Dazai focused on the way the singer’s lips articulated each word he perfectly recognized. He observed his body moving to the rhythm of the music as if he was hypnotized, perhaps thinking about the past they shared, perhaps thinking about nothing at all. Lost as if there was no real emotion behind the song’s lyrics.

I've thrown away those regrets of love 200 million years ago 

This uncertain despair is a necessity 

This wild and crazy dance which is supposed to be flat, just like a scattered flower petal 

I became too absorbed in it that I keep tripping my footsteps 

Opening a trance enough to make my heart shiver for a moment 

I'm being controlled by the increasing anguish 

Even though I have this Momentary Love 

It was the poem his ex-boyfriend wrote for him on his eighteenth birthday. The one he believed the ginger had destroyed after he broke his heart and left him without giving a reason. 

It was his poem. There was no doubt, he didn’t need to keep listening. He remembered it perfectly, even if he never finished reading it. He could recall the way the words were arranged, exactly the same as the writing style he remember, exposing all the things he said to Chuuya in his teenage years. 

And he didn’t know how to feel. Why something that was meant to be only for him was being heard by so many people? Was it something that no one else should know about? Something that belonged to him? Discomfort and possessiveness invaded his chest, but he had no right to feel offended, not when he never even read the final version because, on the day he ended his relationship with Chuuya to follow Odasaku, he refused to read the finished poem. 

But now he could listen to it. Now that he knew everything it conveyed, he didn’t like it. He truly hated poetry. 

Let's try to forget you little by little, 

until I could remember you no more 

I want to swallow a flood contains only of joy

The screams around him weren’t loud enough to drown out the voice, not even the instruments managed to sound louder than the vocalist, yet everything blended harmoniously. The lyrics and the music were perfect for each other. Atsushi was right, Dazai thought, Akutagawa was really good at composing melodies, and knowing that made him feel even more empty. The scars started to itch again. 

He couldn’t believe Akutagawa read the poem that was meant for him before Dazai himself. He couldn’t believe he dared to take it and turn it into a song. 

He couldn’t believe that Chuuya was singing for all those people and not for him. He truly didn’t know what to think or how to feel. 

I'm super troubled to taste the act of being loved 

Continue to pay for the pain it brought 

Opening a trance enough to make my heart shiver for a moment 

I'm being controlled by the increasing anguish 

Then, Chuuya made a gesture that Dazai knew all too well, a gesture that made him tremble from head to toe. It made him want to look away, but he couldn’t, he was being hypnotized by that boy. 

The redhead brought his index finger to his lips for a second, and as he let it drop, he sang: 

Leave the kiss for later 

I'm being controlled 

Even though I know it's only 

a Momentary Love

The music ended with a final flourish from the guitar. Applause and cheers filled the entire bar. Yosano stopped recording and set aside her drink to join in the applause, so did Atsushi. The smile on the albino’s face remained, the gleam in his heterochromatic eyes, which only reflected Akutagawa, outshone the lights of the venue. 

Dazai simply looked at Chuuya in complete silence, without any expression and, finding him unintentionally amidst the crowd, a blue gaze met him for the first time in four years of silence, shattered poems, and kisses that were left for later.

Chapter Text

There was something extremely addictive about being on stage. Hearing the screams, the applause, the cheers, not knowing when his voice disappeared to make way for the sounds of the crowd. When did the song end? When did he stop singing? When did the rest of the band stop playing their instruments? On rehearsals, those four minutes felt like an eternity, but now, in front of a group of people that couldn’t take their eyes off the stage, those four minutes weren’t enough, they went by in just an instant. 

At that moment, Chuuya could only focus on the feeling that took over his entire body. His breath trying to catch up with all his excitement, feeling the aftermath of the effort he put into singing. Did he make any mistakes during the song? He wondered briefly. 

The sensation of the lights shining all over his body distracted him; he felt warm, not knowing if it was because of all the brightness surrounding him or the adrenaline running through his veins, keeping his heart racing. 

And that feeling coursing through his body, that fullness, that bubbly emotion he seldom felt during his life. It was addictive, more addictive than any other feeling he had ever felt. It made him want to cry and laugh at the same time — but he wouldn’t cry in front of so many people. His lips began to stretch into a sincere smile, one he couldn’t hold back any longer…

And then he noticed him. 

There he was, among the crowd. Not applauding, not screaming, just looking at him. He didn’t need to wonder who he was or where he had last seen him, he could recognize him anywhere. There was no way he could ever forget those brown eyes that sometimes took on a reddish gleam depending on the light surrounding them. They were still just as cold, Chuuya noticed, just as empty . They manage to both irritate him and make him shudder.

Of all the damn places away from Yokohama, he had to come and find Dazai here in Kyoto. 

Of course he had. 

His smile and all the excitement were no longer there. Disappearing in an instant and giving way to the old resentment he thought he’d forgotten. He stepped away from the microphone and from the light shining down on his head. 

Taking the lead, Tachihara addressed the audience while holding the bass, thanking them for their attention and the reception of the new vocalist. Ryuunosuke and Gin had already set aside their guitars, a serious expression on each of their faces, one being more expressive than the other. Higuchi stood up from behind the drums and smiled at the crowd. Chuuya didn’t stay on the stage much longer, not waiting for any more applause or cheers. 

Once he was down, he distanced himself from the attention of the people before feeling even more suffocated — before feeling Dazai’s gaze upon him, observing every movement, recognizing them, relearning them. 

“Nice performance” the owner of the venue, Hirotsu, commented just after he got downstage. “Do you guys want to play another song?”

Before Chuuya could say anything, the rest of the band came down the platform, and Tachihara took the lead yet again. 

“We don’t have any other song for now,” he replied, glancing sideways at Akutagawa, who nodded before passing by the rest of the band members. “Lately, our focus has been only on tonight’s song, and our singer has yet to learn the others…”

Tachihara stayed behind chatting with the owner of the venue, while the rest moved to the area reserved for the bands of that night. They search for Akutagawa, finding him at the same hidden table he had claimed since they arrived at the bar around seven in the evening. He had already ordered a drink for each of them, and without wanting to leave immediately or show how uneasy he felt knowing that Dazai was there, Chuuya settled into one of the seats, with Gin to his right and an empty seat to his left. Higuchi sat directly next to the dark-haired man, taking the glass her boyfriend offered with a smile and leaning in a little closer. 

“The performance was alright,” Akutagawa mentioned as they settled in. “It could’ve been better though.” 

“Cut Chuuya some slack, it was his first performance,” commented Tachihara, approaching the table and taking the empty seat. “The public liked the new song. And I’ve already heard some compliments from other bands, they liked the new voice.”

“I’m not talking about Chuuya. His voice was good, but you guys kept making mistakes in some parts.” His gray eyes landed on the blonde by his side. Shyly, Higuchi tried to look elsewhere. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you almost dropped a drumstick.” 

“I’m sorry! I was more nervous than usual…”

“You’ve played in front of people before.”

“Yes, but not in front of so many people…”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“As much as I'd love to stay and continue listening to you two fighting,” the ginger interrupted, “I honestly don’t care. I’m out” 

He got up from his chair, ignoring the gaze the rest of the group gave him. It seemed like none of them dared to ask about the reason behind his sudden departure, but it was the quietest member who could sense that something was wrong. Slowly, she questioned the boy, not pushing beyond the trust they’d established so far.

“Are you okay?” Gin asked, her voice gentle and soft, barely audible over the noise. Chuuya made an effort to smile at her and patted the high school student on the head. 

“I’m fine, just a headache.”

The girl didn’t seem convinced by his response, but she didn’t push any further.

With a quick goodbye, he stepped away from the reserved area and entered the common zone. A new group was on stage, drawing much less attention. Most people had returned to their tables, focused on their drinks and private conversations. Some remained standing, and perhaps by good or bad luck, Chuuya couldn’t find Dazai.

Had he left? Or had he simply mistaken somebody else for his ex-boyfriend? No matter how much he looked around, he couldn’t find him anywhere. Dazai had vanished so abruptly that Chuuya began to seriously question his mental health. It couldn’t be that he imagined him, he thought, because even when he did imagine Dazai, he didn’t look at him with so much coldness.

He suppressed a sigh, trying to push the image of the man out of his mind. He shouldn’t think about him anymore, it was a story already finished — even if he didn't understand the ending, — it was a torn-out page from his notebook, all crumpled and burned. 

Even if Dazai was there, there was no reason for him to seek him out. At that moment, they were nothing but two strangers in the same damn bar, with some background story, yes, but two strangers nonetheless. Because if the other person never cared, then Chuuya wouldn’t care either.

However, he still wanted to leave the bar and return to his apartment. 

He couldn’t go alone though. 

He quickly blended in with the people in the crowd, searching for the secluded corner where he knew his friends were.

He didn’t have to search for them for long, he easily spotted the table where the handsome blond man with a mole beneath his blueish left iris was waving at him. Before he could get closer, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him towards somebody’s body. He felt the strong, heavy scent of alcohol hitting his face with every word that came out of him.

“Chuuya! That was amazing,” Albatross exclaimed as he approached the table. “I don’t get why you never wanted to sing with me on karaoke night when your voice is so good.”

“Because the songs you always choose suck.” The boy answered, lifting the arm that resided on his shoulder, but not getting away from him. “And when you sing you sound like you’re dying. Believe me, I’m not about to waste my beautiful voice in a duet with you.”

“You’re so cruel.”

“But he’s right, that’s why we always avoid going to karaoke,” joked the blond man, Lippman, and without moving from his seat, he raised a glass to the ginger. “Here, we got you a drink as a gift for your first performance. How are you feeling?” 

He wanted to say he was feeling alright, excited even. That he could still feel the adrenaline running through his entire body after almost ten minutes since he came downstage. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t say he was feeling alright, just as he couldn’t help but look around and try to find those brown eyes that reflected nothing but cold.

Ah, he hated it.

He really hated it.

But he didn’t know if that hatred was directed towards Dazai or himself.

Feeling the need to drown any and all intrusive thoughts, Chuuya took the glass. He didn’t care if it was alcohol, he didn’t care if it was light or not, he just wanted to drown every memory and, motivated by the anxiety he was desperately trying to keep under control, he drank the whole thing in just one gulp. 

Ignoring the surprised gaze of his two roommates, he focused on the aftertaste and the burning sensation in his throat. 

Ew. 

It was whisky.

“Are you okay…?” Lippman asked, not taking his eyes off Chuuya and almost standing up to make sure the other didn’t feel sick.

“I feel like crap,” Chuuya replied sincerely, slamming the glass on the table. “Can we go? I’m going to throw up.”

“Yeah, no shit. You’re not used to drinking everything all at once,” Albatross patted his head gently as if offering consolation. “You’re like a baby, almost zero alcohol tolerance.”

The ginger squirmed under his touch. On any other day, he would’ve endured their teasing a bit longer, but not right now. He was trying not to turn his head from side to side as if he was being pursued. He didn’t feel well, he felt restless and anxious, torn between wanting to leave and wanting to stay. Those conflicting feelings of his were so damn shitty. The desire to stop thinking about him and move on with his life clashed with the need for answers that would hopefully fill the last verses of an unfinished poem he thought he’d forgotten. 

But who was he kidding? He never forgot him, he just pretended to. And if he didn’t leave at that moment, his whole act would fall apart once he searched for that gaze in the crowd.

“I’ll go,” he declared, taking a step back and preparing himself to leave all on his own. “If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll go alone, just know that I won’t open the door for you two, and I won’t give a damn if you’re stuck outside or not.”

His discomfort was evident. Chuuya had always worn his heart on his sleeve, so they couldn’t ignore the signals he was sending at every moment. The tension in his shoulders, his brow more furrowed than usual, his constant restlessness, his hands that he kept taking in and out of his pockets, the gleam in his eyes reflecting an anxiety he didn’t want to confess, the one he kept at bay and struggled to prevent from taking control of his body.

Glancing briefly at each other, Albatross and Lippman nodded. 

“Okay then, let’s go back. I’m tired and I have an exam on Monday anyway,” Albatross said, sounding nonchalant and shrugging. “Sadly, I’m not young enough to stay up all night anymore.”

Chuuya tried to force a smile, but it came out as an uncomfortable grimace that his friends overlooked. Lippman laughed openly, pretending not to notice the tension in the air, and got up from his seat.

“I’d normally say that you’re stupid since you’re just 24 to be feeling like that but honestly I feel just as tired. University came and took like ten years out of my lifespan while making me age another ten, keep in mind we’re only at the end of the first semester,” the blond man replied.

“Want to bet on who has slept less this week? Don’t envy me but I barely managed five hours in total.”

“It’s not a competition, Albatross,” Lippman sighed, got up and gestured towards the exit. “I’m going to call a taxi. Let’s go.”

Understanding how the ginger felt, both of them walked towards the exit, one on each side of Chuuya, as if forming a shield between him and the rest of the world. 

Chuuya wouldn’t admit it, but he was truly grateful for their attitude. With them by his side, it was easier to resist the urge to look around and find Dazai again. Surely he had already left. The air around the bar felt lighter, but even that sense of calm was bleak.

They left the bar and waited at the taxi stand. Albatross kept talking nonstop at his side, and in the other, Lippman responded to most of his nonsense, but Chuuya couldn’t find the energy to join the conversation. 

For the first time that night, he let his gaze wander and it settled on the entrance of the bar, hoping to see someone coming out. But every person that went through that door was just a stranger, none of them was him. At least the coldness in his gaze remained the same. 

The taxi stopped in front of them, and they let Chuuya take the seat by the window. Albatross sat in the middle, and Lippman entered last, instructing the driver to their apartment complex. The blond resumed his chattering, casting concerned glances at Chuuya from the corner of his eye but giving him a moment to himself. Giving him a space to think, even if it wasn’t ideal.

He could only think about how little he’s worth.

He was never that important to Dazai, was he? He didn’t even deserve an uncomfortable ‘hi’.

At least that would’ve been enough, he desperately thought. Even if he didn’t get an answer to the questions he asked on that last day, a simple word would’ve been enough…

═════════════

“Let’s break up, Chuuya”

The poem he held between his fingers suddenly felt so damn heavy. Or was it his heart? He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure, his mind only processing that coldness he suddenly felt. Was it because of the place they were in? No, no it wasn’t. It wasn’t cold in that corner of the school, away from all the other students and their curious gazes. So why did he think he heard something break? Why did his body felt so… so numb? There was no wind, no clouds, the temperature was pleasant despite it all, and yet, he felt his skin turning icy. 

“What…? What the hell are you saying Osamu?” He huffed, forcing a smile despite his troubled feelings. “It isn’t funny.”

He almost laughed, almost thought it was one of those stupid jokes that Dazai loved to play, but the seriousness on his face, those cold eyes that silently observed him, it all screamed that everything he had just heard was real.

Dazai wasn’t joking, there was no hesitation behind his words. 

He was truly ending their relationship. He was leaving him. After two years of being together, of being their ‘first’ in many of their experiences, was he really being left like this? With a simple sentence? Without saying anything more or even looking a bit hurt? 

It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true…

“Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered, feeling how even speaking became a great effort. “Stop playing, Osamu. Here, I finished the poem, see. It’s your birthday gift, I tried to make it perfect, and I…”

“I hate poems, Chuuya, I’ve always hated them” he interrupted calmly, with that same cold expression of his. He took a step back, rejecting the poem, his affections, and the two years they had been together. “Keep it, I don’t care. I have to go.” 

He looked at the envelope in the ginger’s hands with almost absolute contempt. It was blue, his favorite color. There was a perfectly written message in beautiful calligraphy in one corner — a dedication, a message that express part of what he couldn’t say with his own voice, something he struggled to expose to the world, but that was so easily rejected, just like that sealed envelope containing the poem Chuuya had written while thinking of him. It wasn’t the first one, but it was the longest, the most expressive, the one he couldn’t finish reading last Friday. 

He would never read the original verses again. In the future, Chuuya would change each phrase, keeping those who hurt the less and changing the rhythm of each verse for melodies in a song. 

But at that moment, in that past, without saying anything else, Dazai began to distance himself from him. Without looking back, without hesitating in any of his movements, without expressing any pain or remorse. Walking away with confidence, as if the two years they had been together meant nothing to him. 

And little by little, he started to believe it. 

Slowly, he understood how little he meant to Dazai. 

The poem between his fingers became so heavy, he couldn’t clench his teeth and hold onto it at the same time. But, just like the letter, the question he dread to voice slipped past his lips uncontrollably. The poem fell to the ground with a soft thud that felt so damn jarring. The words forced their way out of his mouth, managing to reach Dazai, but they didn’t make the brunette stop.

“Why…?” He stepped forward, leaving the poem behind and grasping the brunette’s right hand, trying to stop him desperately, hoping that he would stay. But he wouldn’t. “Osamu…”

“Let go of me, Chuuya,” Dazai struggled. 

“You can’t end our relationship like this… Not without telling me anything!”

“Let go of me, Chuuya, I’m serious.”

“At least tell me what I did wrong…!”

Dazai freed his wrist from the other’s grip with a single abrupt movement, nearly causing the redhead to stumble. Desperately, Chuuya searched for the other’s gaze, but all he found were cold eyes that looked at him as if he held no value. As if he never did. 

In that moment, he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that two years truly meant nothing to the other. But in the future, days, months, years later, he would be absolutely convinced that he never mattered to Dazai.

“That’s what you want to know?” The brunette muttered, his voice lacking any emotion, his eyes not looking at him. “Nothing, Chuuya, you did nothing wrong. Just leave me alone.”

“Osamu…”

“Don’t call me, I won’t answer.”

“Osamu…!”

Even if he raised his hand, even if he tried to reach out to him, he couldn’t do it. He could only watch as Dazai walked away, turning his back on him without looking back, without caring about leaving him there — alone, completely alone, without anyone to lean on, without anyone to trust. 

He didn’t know how much time passed since the brunette left him. He didn’t know how long he stood there, motionless, staring at an empty space, hoping for someone to return. 

What was he waiting for? Why was he waiting? Maybe all of this was a damn joke, Chuuya thought, slowly retracting his steps and picking up the unread poem with numb fingers.

Maybe Dazai would come back. Yes, he would return and tell him that it was all just a twisted game on his part, that he meant none of the things he said, and he would promise once again that they would always be together. He owed him a kiss, didn’t he? The one he didn’t receive last Friday amidst blaring music and desolate lyrics.

It was a joke. 

It was all a joke. Nothing else. 

Just a joke. 

A sick, twisted joke. 

Maybe if he said it enough times he would convince himself of that, right? 

They promised to be together, they promised they would always have each other even if the world turned into a monster worse than it already was. But promises made between teenagers couldn’t be taken seriously, they were filled with illusions and impossible wishes. The true monster was never the world but those around them, his own self, Dazai… But he trusted that the brunette would come back. He trusted that he would give him the kiss he left for later. 

The bell rang, signaling the start of the last period of the day. Chuuya tucked the poem away and made his way to the classroom, letting himself be carried by the routine already imprinted on his body. 

He passed by Dazai’s classroom, hoping to see him, hoping that he would laugh in his face and clarify that it was all a damn joke while telling him that he never intended to leave him because he loved him, even if they never said those words. But he wasn’t in his classroom. His seat was empty. He left his textbook under the desk; the one for his Japanese Literature class, the same one from which he had torn out every poem when he was bored, leaving only the stories or quotes from some novels. 

Dazai wasn’t in his classroom. Nor was he in the infirmary, in the library, or on the rooftop. He asked Dazai’s classmates if they knew where he was hiding, but the only thing they knew was that he decided to leave school early, probably sneaking out without telling anyone, not even Chuuya. 

Surely, he would come back, right? It wasn’t the first time Dazai had skipped class to go buy something or find a place to take a nap. Besides, lately, he brought a novel to school every day, kept it in his locker, took it out during lunch, and took it home. He wouldn’t leave without his book, he would come back for it no matter what. 

But the locker was empty. Neither his shoes, the umbrella, nor the novel were there. There was nothing. 

He really wasn’t coming back to tell him that it was all a joke, right? He really wasn’t going to come back for him, just like Kouyou…

For the first time in a long while, he went back home with no one by his side. His mother seemed ecstatic about the tranquility he was immersed in, happy to no longer hear her husband’s complaints about the son they both raised and had long ceased to worry about. 

When his father arrived that evening, he felt just as jubilant as his wife to see him feeling more dead than alive, more lost and empty than ever before. 

For the first time in a long while, at dinner, he didn’t rant about the girl who left home three years ago. He didn’t call her an ungrateful bitch. 

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t mention how much Chuuya disgusted him with his mere presence, nor did he express his disappointment in his obvious homosexuality, which he believed could be eradicated with violence. 

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t shout about how much he hated his life and the two mistakes he made years ago with the ginger western woman sitting next to him at the table. 

And his mother remained silent, even when the insults were directed at her and her ‘inability to keep her legs closed.’ She didn’t care what he said about her, nor did she care about her children. 

He knew it, he always knew it. She didn’t care. He didn’t either. 

Perhaps they did care about him at some point, but since he flourished under Dazai’s influence, he became a second mistake. 

But even if he knew all that, even if he knew he was never important to his parents, his older sister, or Dazai, it still hurt. It would always hurt, and now he had no one to call.

“Answer me…” he muttered. That night, he had locked himself inside his room, his fingers holding his phone tightly, almost trembling, securing it as if it was his lifeline. He had dialed the number he knew by heart, desperate to hear the voice on the other side, desperate to find some sort of comfort. “Answer me, damn it. Tell me that at least I mattered to you, Kouyou…” 

But no one answered. The voice of his older sister, whom he had always found solace in, didn’t respond to his call. Why did he think she would? It’d been three years since Kouyou left home and never returned. Chuuya called that number hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and no one answered. 

He knew she wouldn’t answer, and yet he still tried to reach out to his sister. Despite his words, he tried calling Dazai. Whether it was Kouyou or Dazai, it didn’t matter which one, he just needed someone to answer and lie to him once again. He needed to hear their empty promises of always staying by his side, but both of them left him in the same way. Without telling him anything, where they were going or why they were leaving. Without taking him with them, without telling him what he did wrong, where he went wrong, without telling him what made them leave him behind. 

Accepting that neither would return, accepting that no one would answer his calls, he threw the phone against the wall. And as it shattered upon impact, his own emotions overflowed. The sound of the device crashing was enough to drown out his sobs.

They weren’t coming back, were they? He mattered so little, he was so insignificant, that he didn’t even deserve an uncomfortable ‘goodbye’.

No matter how many poems he wrote for both of them, no matter if they were the people he once loved the most. Both left in the same way, and on that day, amid sobs, holding tightly his poetry notebook in one hand and unable to tear open the blue envelope in the other, he finally accepted that his sister would not return and that Dazai wouldn’t either.

He would never know what he did wrong. 

He would never know the reasons why they left him; one breaking their sibling bond, the other breaking their two-year relationship.

It was no longer worth wondering. He no longer needed to write more poems to empty his sadness. Whether it was Kouyou or Dazai, neither would come back for him. 

═════════════

“Morning, darling.”

Chuuya sighed, cursing under his breath. 

Great, and here he was, thinking he could get out of this apartment before the other man woke up. Guess luck wasn’t on his side that morning. 

Buttoning up his dark shirt, the ginger walked past the man he had slept with the night before without looking at him. He didn’t even remember his name. He probably did mention it the night before, he looked like the type of idiot who enjoys having his sexual partner moan his name as if his dick was the best thing in the damn world. He didn’t even have to chat much with him at the bar to realize he was that kind of person. 

He’d just returned to Japan after four years abroad. He needed to do something stupid on his first night and that guy looked like the perfect mistake to complain about later and laugh at himself, wondering what the hell he was thinking when he agreed to sleep with him. 

But now here he was. Sober, with a slight hangover, an idiot bragging about how amazing he was in bed, his suitcases still in his hotel room waiting for him to go get them, and a shared apartment with three other Kyodai students to visit. He needed to take a shower, he couldn’t meet his new roommates with the scent of alcohol clinging to his body. 

“What happened? Why are you leaving so early in the morning?” the man questioned as he noticed the ginger putting on his jacket from the previous night.

“I have stuff to do, didn’t I tell you last night?” he responded, putting his phone into one of his pockets and walking towards the door without looking back. “I just arrived to Kyoto from France, and I need a place to stay. Anyways, it was a nice night, I won’t forget it or whatever, goodbye.”

“Wait! You can live with me. I wouldn’t mind sharing,” the man mentioned, approaching the ginger and stopping him from his quick escape. He hugged him, pressing his body against his back, rubbing against him and placing his hands on his waist, caressing his sides in a ridiculous attempt at seduction. “Actually, you can stay with me as long as you want, all I’m asking for is a second round and maybe something more… how does that sound?”

“Take your damn hands off of me” he ordered. Without giving the other a chance to think about acting, he distanced himself with abrupt movements that made his rejection clear. “I’m not looking for a relationship or a second round, not like I think you could handle it anyway. Just be satisfied with last night.”

“But…”

“Yeah, yeah. If you really want to you can go and tell all your friends that you gave me the ‘best’ sex of my life, if that makes you feel better about yourself,” he mocked, opening the door and glancing over his shoulder at the man he would never see again and exclaimed,  “By the way, don’t call the number I gave you, it’s fake.”

He heard a groan and some insults as he closed the door, but whatever the other man did or said was no longer his concern. He was probably just throwing a tantrum, Chuuya thought as he entered the elevator. 

And before the metal doors could close and take him down to the ground floor, the door of the apartment he had just left swung open, and the same man rushed out, trying to stop the closing doors, which descended without stopping, not having a reason to stay opened. 

“What a loser,” he muttered, without the energy to laugh or do anything else but massage his temple. 

He had a headache, yet he had no time to rest. He had to move to his new place and get used to living in Kyoto before classes started. He needed to call Kouyou too once he settled in — she promised she was going to visit him with Kyoka over the weekend, and they could go to the Heian Shrine before the break ended. 

Some time ago, while he was still in France, Kouyou contacted him. He knew that his older brother, Paul, was still trying to find his mother’s children from her second relationship, but Chuuya thought that he had stopped once he found him and took him away from his inept parents. When his brother brought up the idea of finding Kouyou again, the ginger was hesitant, but there was nothing he could do or say to stop his brother’s efforts. Just days after mentioning it, his brother managed to get in touch with Kouyou.

Paul assured him that he wouldn’t have to talk to Kouyou unless he wanted to. If he didn’t want to hear her reasons and her side of the story, that was fine. No one would force him. Not Paul, not his brother-in-law, and certainly not Kouyou. He didn’t have to accept and forget all the years of silence and abandonment.

But he couldn’t resist listening to her voice for much longer. He spent years yearning and missing his older sister’s voice, calling a phone number that probably stopped existing the day Kouyou left home. He was still angry about everything, but he wanted to know her reasoning. He wanted to know why she left him, even if he didn’t like the story. He wanted to have her back in his life, even if that meant pretending that the past didn’t matter anymore.

Perhaps he stopped feeling lonely — or stopped caring about it, — when Paul found him and took him to France. When he offered him a home where he wouldn’t be judged and attacked on a daily basis. Where he could have moments of peace and build that adult life that he didn’t even know when or where it began. Sometimes he had days when he felt lonely, not quite ready to be an ‘adult,’ but he had the support of an older brother, one he didn’t know he had until he was almost 19. He had Arthur, his brother-in-law, who accepted him with open arms without asking questions or demanding anything from him. He was away from his parents and from any other asshole who ever made him feel like he didn’t matter. 

But he always missed Kouyou. He was still angry and hurt, yet he felt like something was missing when she wasn’t there.

And hearing her voice was enough to forgive her. Hearing her sob through the phone was enough. He quickly accepted and understood the reasons behind her sudden departure and years of silence. He understood that he wasn’t the most important thing in his sister’s life, he was not her priority, never was, and never will be, but that’s okay. It hurt because he consider her such an important part of his life that her mere abandonment led him to a place in which writing hundreds of poems seemed to be the only way out. 

But he understood that he was never as important to her as she was to him. 

He couldn’t tell if those apologies were sincere or not, and so, he didn’t need more of those. He didn’t want more words of remorse that made him feel uncomfortable. He only wanted the reasons, only her side of the story, only to know if he did something wrong that caused Kouyou to leave. At least he could be at peace knowing he never did anything wrong. He could forget the past as Arthur always advised him and focus on the present, ignoring that lingering thorn that still demanded answers. 

Going back to Japan reminded him of certain things for which he never received an explanation, but a lot of time has passed since then, and he should only focus on the present: moving into a shared apartment with three other people near his university. 

But he knew the year was going to be a pain in the ass when a blond guy wearing sunglasses while he was indoors opened the door. 

“Hey!” greeted the young man with such a friendly smile that had him thinking that maybe, just maybe , it wouldn’t be a lame ass year after all. But it all went downhill when the guy looked him up and down and spoke again with an even friendlier smile, “Are you lost, kid?”

“Excuse me…?”

“Ah, sorry! Are you the new neighbor? Where are your parents? I can call them for you!”

“Albatross!” scolded the second man, pushing the other guy away from the door. His hair was white, with black streaks as if they were piano keys. With a strained smile, he greeted him. “Sorry, don’t mind this idiot. You’re Nakahara Chuuya, right?”

Before he could respond, the blond guy with sunglasses continued speaking.

“What? He is our new roommate?” he asked incredulously. “Dude, he looks like he just got out of middle school and the guy we talked to said he is twenty-two.”

“Anyways, why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable.” He offered, ignoring the blond man and pushing him away from the door. “I know we sorted out everything over the phone, but I’d like to go over it all again.”

Still unable to speak, feeling something between dazed, confused, and utterly offended by everything, he entered the apartment, dragging his suitcase and ignoring the sound of a thud, a groan, and whispers coming from behind him. 

“What was that?” Whispered the white-haired man, thinking he was being discreet. The other guy wasn’t as interested in keeping his voice down though, if his volume was anything to go by.

“What was what? I didn’t say anything bad, I basically said he looks young! That sounds like a compliment to me.”

In the future, he would blame Albatross for all his problems. It didn’t take much for Chuuya to start a mental list of all the complaints he could think of about his roommate. For instance, it was because of him that he couldn’t remember his real name, nor the name of the white-haired guy, Pianoman, or even the other blond guy who arrived minutes later at the apartment, Lippman. 

Well, he couldn’t blame him for giving them nicknames they were already familiar with — although he still thought Albatross gave himself the best nickname — after all, they were older than him. They had been living in that place and going to Kyodai for several semesters. They called themselves ‘Flags’, saying that it was a fraternity even if there were only the three of them, the landlord, and one of the neighbors from the third floor they used to talk to or drink with from time to time. But alright, they were a fraternity of sorts no matter what others said.

Despite the terrible first impression Albatross gave him, they were actually a nice enough group to live with. They welcomed him with open arms, and made him feel comfortable quickly, often treating him like a damn baby just because he was two or three years younger. He couldn’t say he disliked that treatment all that much though.

It was almost like being back in Charleville-Mézières with Paul and Arthur, surrounded by people who genuinely cared about him, without judging him for his tastes or personality, just wishing him the best. 

And even if it wasn’t real, Chuuya didn’t have the energy to resist those small displays of affection and concern.

After nearly four years of doing nothing with his life other than fixing himself, starting university in Kyoto wasn’t all that bad. The apartment he lived in was nice, and Pianoman, alongside Lippman, were two people he could trust blindly. Albatross was an idiot, but he was a nice guy and was grateful to be able to call him his friend. 

Kouyou used to call him at least three times a week to ask about his day or at the insistence of his niece, Kyoka, who was always excited to talk to him. He spoke with Paul and Arthur every weekend, sometimes even more, as winter had arrived in Europe and he knew his brother-in-law easily caught colds — his calls managed to reassure his older brother a little, and the promises to return to Charleville on holidays were a placebo that everyone was aware of, but as long as it worked, a couple of white lies didn’t matter. 

He started university four years late, but he wasn’t the only one. The classes were challenging from the first day, and fatigue clung to his body during the initial weeks, but even that made him feel good. It made him feel alive and satisfied with his life, with the people around him, and with himself. 

He had his shared apartment, his friends, his classmates or fellow faculty members whom he would occasionally go out drinking with or to a karaoke room. He had two siblings and a brother-in-law who constantly kept in touch with him, and although he couldn’t sustain a romantic relationship for more than a couple of nights or a month, it was okay. He didn’t need anything more, he didn’t miss anything from his past.

Then, Pianoman bought a poetry book. 

Why did he buy it if he didn’t enjoy that kind of literature and, like most people, preferred novels? No idea, maybe it was on sale or he thought it was a book written in prose, but one day he came home with it and left it on the coffee table, forgotten and unread, and that’s where Chuuya found it. Although he tried to resist, he just couldn’t . It was a collection of poems by his favorite author. 

It was like returning to the painful place where he was once happy. Where he could forget the world, and all that mattered was how the poet felt, the lyrical subject, his own self.

Reading it made him feel nostalgic, it made him yearn for what he left behind and forgot along with his teenage years. And maybe it was melancholy, maybe it was fate speaking or just a moment of foolishness, but one day in the middle of his first semester at Kyodai, while rummaging through the old things he asked Paul to send him from France, he found his old and only poetry notebook and started reading it.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he read each of them. His early poems were so awful, they lacked meter, rhythm, had discordant syllables between each line, and with a bunch of allegories and metaphors that made no sense at all. But even that ugliness made him smile, and when it was time to leave for another day of classes, he tucked away his old poetry notebook and noticed the unopened blue envelope. 

His last poem, the one he thought was perfect. The one he wrote for Dazai.

It was a foolish decision no matter how you saw it, but he chose to keep it and thought of reading it when he had the time, in a public place surrounded by people where he wouldn’t allow himself to cry once he recalled all those feelings he poured into each verse for an ungrateful idiot. 

And he didn’t know when he lost it. He didn’t know where or when. He opened and closed his bag so many times that day, took out so many notebooks and books, and wandered through so many places on campus that his last poem could be in any damn corner of Kyodai. He tried searching everywhere, even in those areas he remembered not stepping foot in, but he thought that perhaps the wind could’ve carried it from one place to another, but he didn’t find it.

The day ended, night fell upon him, and he couldn’t go on anymore. He had lost it, the last and strongest connection to his teenage years was somewhere in a corner or a trash bin. And he should be relieved, right? He should feel better, not having to reread the state his heart was in days before it was broken forever. 

That night, when Lippman asked him why he looked so sad, he simply said that he felt tired. The day had been long, the classes exhausting, and he had lost that poem which, despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to tear apart.

And then he met Akutagawa. 

“You’re Nakahara Chuuya, right?” a black-haired boy asked him one day. 

It was around eleven in the morning, during his first break on that day. He hadn’t eaten breakfast before leaving his apartment, and in class, he had only thought about buying a coffee and a croissant, but he couldn’t even start eating before his late breakfast was interrupted. He was tired, he had a headache, he was hungry and he wanted to get back his poem, but life wasn’t so easy.

Everything would be better if that boy would just leave him alone and fuck off, he thought. It was too early to deal with idiots approaching him and flirting with him, praising his eyes and hair color, asking the stupid question of whether his parents were from around there or not. Of course not, it was more than obvious. His damn mother was French, and every idiot who asked about that pretended to be surprised when they received the expected answer. He really didn’t have the energy to recount his life story to another moron.

“Depends, who’s asking?” he inquired, already praying that his questions wouldn’t be the usual ones or that he would leave quickly. 

“I’m Akutagawa Ryuunosuke,” he introduced himself, his stoic expression unchanged. “I study in the Faculty of Humanities, specializing in Japanese Literature.” 

“Ah, good for you. What do you want?”

“Tachihara told me that you study here in the Faculty of Economics, and I have something for you.”

He knew Tachihara. They weren’t in the same class, but they were in the same faculty. He had gotten drunk and went to karaoke with him and other students one too many times, but they hadn’t exchanged many words. 

He only knew that the guy was also in his first year and that he played in a band. What band and what kind of music they played? No idea, he never really cared about that. 

Focusing his attention back on Akutagawa, he saw the boy rummaging through his backpack and pulling out a blue envelope. Sensing where this was going, Chuuya sighed.

“I’m not interested in love letters, y’know? I’ll spare you the embarrassment,” he mocked, lacking enthusiasm. He stood up, taking only a sip of his coffee before setting it aside and giving the other guy an annoyed look. “And if it’s from Tachihara, tell him that if he likes me oh so much, he should just tell me directly instead of sending you as a messenger. Anyway, goodbye.”

Putting his croissant somewhere in his backpack, he walked away without looking back, believing there was nothing more he would ever want to hear from that conversation. But once again, he was so damn wrong. 

“But you are interested in writing poems. Right, Nakahara?” Akutagawa questioned. “Especially writing about someone named Osamu.”

Coming to a halt, Chuuya turned around without waiting a single second to do so, still trembling at the memory of the boy from his teenage years whom he thought he’d overcome. 

As he turned, he saw Akutagawa holding a blue envelope between his fingers. It didn’t look the same as the last time he saw it. It was opened. 

“Did you read it…?” he asked, clenching his fists tightly. “That’s fucking disrespectful, you know that?”

“I was curious.”

“That’s a lame ass excuse.” He stretched out his hand, palm open, desperately trying to control the tremor he felt. However, Akutagawa made no move to approach or return the poem. “Where did you find it? Give it back.”

“This poem is quite good. It’s been a while since I’ve read something so… profound.” 

“Thanks, now give it back.” 

“Would you be interested in turning it into a song?”

That question was enough to throw him off for a brief moment. The sudden change of subject and knowing that his poem hadn’t disappeared forever but that this boy had read something so personal unsettled him. 

He wanted to sit down, but he forced his legs to remain steady and maintained a defensive stance.

“The hell are you talking about…? Just give me the damn poem,” he insisted, but once again, the boy ignored everything he said.

“I have a band. I’m the lead vocalist and guitarist. I know Tachihara because he’s my bassist, and when I came to pick him up for rehearsal, I found the envelope near the entrance of the main building,” finally handing the envelope to Chuuya, who didn’t move from his spot, Akutagawa explained, “I didn’t want to read it, but then I saw the dedication, and knowing it was a poem… I couldn’t resist. You have a lot of talent, Nakahara, please let me turn it into a song.”

“Thank you, but no,” Chuuya held the envelope close to his chest, as if protecting it from the world. “You read it, you know what it says. I wrote it to a guy I liked, it’s something private and very personal. I don’t want any idiot to sing it.”

“Then do it yourself. Tachihara told me you have a good voice.”  

Akutagawa approached him, catching Chuuya off guard once again, and in response to the ginger’s confused expression, the dark-haired boy added with absolute seriousness and determination: “Be the vocalist for my band, and let me turn the poem into a song.” 

If he had known that three months later — after rereading his poem, changing some things, and turning it into a song — he would encounter Dazai again, he would’ve said no that day.

Chapter Text

Just like the day they met each other, Chuuya noticed him. 

Even if he was far away, surrounded by a sea of people who couldn’t stop screaming and moving, Dazai knew the ginger noticed him. Despite the distance, the lights, and the chaos, he was there. He didn’t expect to find him in that distant and secluded place, away from their past in Yokohama. 

He was surprised but tried to conceal it as best as he could. The same could not be said of Chuuya though, he reflected a shocked expression to anyone who cared to look at him long enough.

Would he approach him or just ignore him? Whichever option Chuuya chose, Dazai would disagree. He reminded himself that he had no right to decide, but still, that didn’t stop him from wanting to know why the ginger turned the poem he wrote for him into a song. Why that poem? The one he didn’t fully read, the one he didn’t accept, yet still felt like it belonged to him . Surely he had more poems, why not choose one of those? Maybe one he wrote after their breakup? And why the hell did he let so many people hear him sing it? 

He knew it was foolish, he knew he was acting like the selfish and spoiled brat he once was, but that’s just what happens when you bring Chuuya into the equation. He always brought out the most imperfect part of him, the part he didn’t want anyone else to see, the part he had worked so hard to suppress. He didn’t want to be that kind of person again, even if it was the most natural thing to him, he didn’t want to disappoint Odasaku.

“Stop staring, he’s gone,” Yosano said beside him. Her voice made him avert his gaze from the stage and his futile attempt to find Chuuya. He focused his attention on his friend, and she observed him with a mocking smile. “He’s your type, isn’t he? You like gingers.”

If only Yosano knew that the reason why he likes gingers is the man that just got downstage, she wouldn’t be smiling so smugly… or maybe she would. Anyway, she didn’t need to know that. 

Returning the smile, he turned his back to the stage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have an ‘ideal type’,” he said with a mischievous tone and, in the same manner, called out to the albino. “Atsushi, let’s go have a few drinks!”

Atsushi, diverting his gaze from the stage once the band had fully disappeared, questioned if it was really necessary to keep drinking. Yosano said yes, and so, she dragged him back to the bar for more. 

Dazai followed them, discreetly looking around, hoping to find somewhere in the crowd that same boy he remembered, not really taking into account the four-year gap that now existed between the Chuuya he left behind and the one that was on stage.

Once they were back in front of the bar, he couldn’t keep searching. He pretended to listen to Atsushi’s comments about the bands of the night and waited for his drink, looking around from time to time. They were seated far from the exit of the venue, but he had a perfect view of the door. Feigning disinterest, he observed each person entering and leaving, looking at each of their features and ignoring the relief and frustration he felt when none of them had the blue eyes and ginger hair he remembered.

That’s when the doubt hit him. Maybe the vocalist wasn’t Chuuya, he thought. How can he be so certain that it was the same chibi he dated back when he was just a brat? Throughout the entire night, he kept his distance from the stage, both because it was nearly impossible to move forward and because he wasn’t interested in any of the bands. 

The lights barely allowed him to see anything on the stage, and the people in front of him moved from side to side and raised their arms multiple times during the songs, obstructing his view on more than one occasion. Besides, the Chuuya he remembered had short hair, he never let it grow…

But he wanted to. He always wanted to grow his hair long, the only reason he never did it was that his father wouldn’t allow it because ‘it wasn’t something fitting for a decent man,’ and more than once, the Chuuya he remembered called him at midnight to complain or cry because once again, they had forced him to cut the hair he was so diligently trying to grow. 

And Dazai always answered the phone because, despite everything, he couldn’t afford to lose Chuuya during that time. He didn’t want to be alone, and he didn’t want the ginger to be with someone else. His feelings for him were always contradictory, selfish and possessive, independent and dependent at the same time, and he expressed both with harsh words. 

Whatever complaint he had that night, Dazai would always tell him it was nonsense. Then he would hang up, leaving Chuuya to his own devices, and go to sleep. But the noise of his father fucking the maid in the adjacent room was unbearable. So he would call the ginger again, knowing he would always answer and forgive him no matter what he said. He pretended that each of his words was just some bad joke on his part, and while the other boy complained and cursed at him, Dazai always made sure to speak and laugh loudly enough for his parent to be aware that he knew everything he was doing. It didn’t make the noise diminish, but the next morning his father would always behave a little kinder and more attentive towards him, and that was all he wanted, even if he knew it was a lie. 

Taking the drink Yosano offered him, and without listening to any of her words before she got up and left him alone with Atsushi, Dazai thought about the broken teenager he once was. He couldn’t say he wasn’t selfish anymore since he definitely was, but at least he hoped he was no longer the kind of person Odasaku would despise. 

And if he kept searching for any trace of his past endeavors in the present, he would become that kind of person again, and he would disappoint Oda. He didn’t need to find Chuuya, he didn’t need to think about him again, and yet, his gaze remained fixed on the door, hoping to see him once more. 

“Is something wrong?” Atsushi questioned by his side.

“What could be wrong?” he asked in return, giving the boy a smile to distract him. “I was just thinking that we should go, unless you want to talk to Akutagawa.”

Atsushi seemed to consider the idea and looked around. He stopped at an area of the venue that Dazai hadn’t noticed until that moment. It appeared to be a restricted area, reserved only for the bands, and while the albino searched for the other literature student, he did the same. He couldn’t find anyone with ginger hair, but he did notice Akutagawa kissing a blonde girl, followed by a look of defeat on Atsushi’s face. 

But just as quickly as the disappointment appeared on Atsushi’s face, it vanished into a smile meant to cover the traces of sadness that could be seen. 

Ah… he knew that feeling. 

“A lot of people probably already congratulate him for the show, it wouldn’t make a difference if I do it,” he said, looking elsewhere with that false smile. 

“Are you okay…?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. 

“Forget it,” he turned his gaze forward, finally noticing the drink that Yosano ordered for him. It was wine. Gross. “I just thought you really wanted to go and say hi, maybe tell him how much you like his band and all of that.”

Atsushi shrugged, toying with the rim of the glass, his focus solely on the liquid inside. 

“There’s no need for him to know that I like his music,” he mentioned, taking a sip of his drink with a grimace and setting the empty glass aside. “Besides, I’ll see him on Monday. I asked him for help with my Chinese literature essay, and I need to mentally prepare myself for him to point out everything I did wrong. I really don’t want to talk to him right now.” 

He knew Atsushi was lying, but he let it slide. Letting out a sigh, he leaned against the albino and complained. 

“Now I feel sad Atsushi, you could’ve asked for my help instead!”

“But you specialize in contemporary literature.”

“Even so…” 

He sighed dramatically. Atsushi did so too and asked him to get off of him. Yosano returned at that moment, complaining about the long line in the bathroom and the terrible phone signal in the place. However, as soon as she took a sip, the woman perked up and managed to distract the albino from any previous thoughts. Still leaning on Atsushi, Dazai let his gaze wander through the venue, pausing a little longer on the area reserved for the bands, there was no trace of Akutagawa or the blonde girl, let alone Chuuya.

Turning his gaze forward, wandering through the areas where people were bustling, he caught sight of the blond man wearing sunglasses whom he had noticed upon entering the place. He was about to point him out and wonder why he was wearing sunglasses indoors when, next to the blond man and another person, moving through the crowd towards the exit, he noticed the ginger hair. It was longer than he remembered, slightly wavy, and he knew exactly who it was even if he only saw his back. 

Chuuya.

“Where are you going?” Yosano asked the moment Dazai stood up, almost unaware that he had done so. “Don’t think I’ll let you escape, Dazai. You promised to get drunk with me if I paid for each of your drinks, and that’s what I’m doing.” 

“If I get drunk, who will safely take you home?” he asked, avoiding looking towards the door even though he desperately wanted to. 

Yosano snorted and pointed to herself. 

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” she pointed at Atsushi, who watched them with confusion. “And I can take Atsushi home too. We both know who the most responsible person is when Kunikida isn’t around.”

“Alright then, let me go get some fresh air,” he sighed and gestured around. “There are way too many people here, and you know I hate crowded places.”

“Touché. Go then, but if you don’t come back I swear you’ll regret and I won’t pay for your drinks anymore.”

Promising to return, he quickly passed through the crowd with his friends’ gazes on his back, but the unwanted attention was the least of his concerns at the moment. He couldn’t see Chuuya anywhere, he had probably left the place while he was talking to Yosano. He shouldn’t be too far away, he thought, not really thinking about what to do or say once he faced the ginger again. He didn’t even know why he wanted to find him. Maybe he just wanted to complain about the song and ask for the poem he didn’t deserve. 

No matter the reason, he left the establishment. The cold of the night enveloped him. The music inside the bar was overshadowed by the gentle noise of cars passing by on the two-way street. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his long coat, he looked around. Few people were walking around at that late hour, some glanced at him, while others simply walked past. 

Moving away from the entrance, he decided to circle around the perimeter of the venue. He knew there was a parking lot and a taxi stand a little further ahead. He had seen them upon arrival and believed that, given the late hour, Chuuya wouldn’t be walking through that area to reach wherever he was heading — even though they used to do that, he recalled with a blank expression and his eyes lost in his surroundings, or perhaps in the past.

Every time there was a problem in their childhood homes — either fights, tensions, or anything — they would call each other and escape for a couple of hours. They would walk the streets of Yokohama at night, even in the areas that weren’t the safest. Almost laughing, he recalled the many occasions when, sometimes unintentionally, they stumbled upon a gang gathering and had to flee. Of course, from time to time they stayed to fight, or rather, Chuuya fought while he watched, but on other occasions, there were too many and they had no choice but to run away. Regardless of the situation, they always ended up sitting next to each other in front of a park or any random street, sometimes sharing a drink from a nearby vending machine, sometimes a bottle of alcohol that Dazai stole from his parents’ collection. Then, when they became lovers, those fights and chases would end in messy and bittersweet kisses. 

Who would’ve thought that now they were trying to be decent citizens? Dazai supposed that such a drastic change was inevitable as they grew older. Either they continued down the same path or adapted as much as they could to a society that never gave them anything. 

Both took the second choice, to adapt to the rules of this world. 

Now he could only watch as the ginger got into a taxi and left without looking back.

Both chose to change, and in order to achieve that, their separation was needed. 

═════════════

“We could’ve just left him in the bar,” Dazai complained, holding Atsushi’s arm tightly, who was sound asleep between him and Yosano. “Can we go back?” 

Yonaso huffed. If she had a free hand, she would’ve punched Dazai without hesitation. 

It was all his fault, she thought. If Dazai hadn’t been annoying Atsushi and his obvious crush on Akutagawa — which he was futilely trying to deny — he wouldn’t have accepted drink after drink in hopes of Dazai finally shutting up. 

She knew she should’ve stopped him, she knew she should’ve forced Dazai to shut the hell up, but she got distracted just for a second. Next thing she knew, Atsushi was already drunk. The worst part? Apparently, Atsushi was a hyperactive drunk, the type to do stupid things and have erratic moments of false bravery.

After his tenth drink, he stood up from his seat, glass in hand, and boldly declared that he would go talk to Akutagawa and say who knows what, Yosano couldn’t understand him amidst his drunken babbling. Luckily for Atsushi’s dignity, the guitarist had already left the venue. It seemed that the disappointment at the absence of the other caused his hyperactivity to abruptly subsided, so instead he fell asleep like a damn baby who was, at that moment, being carried to his university dorm room. 

“Atsushi,” Yosano called out. “At-su-shi, I need your dorm key.” 

The albino mumbled a couple of words and, without opening his eyes, he leaned closer to Dazai, just like a little cat seeking warmth. The brunette was tempted to let go and move away, but a single glance from Yosano stopped him. 

“Find the key,” the woman ordered, bringing the albino closer to her as Dazai rummaged through his pockets.

“He doesn’t have it. He probably left it in his backpack,” he mentioned, and before Yosano could ask, he added, “The one he left at your apartment. I say we leave him in the hallway and just go.”

Before Yosano could scold him, the door to the room opened. A boy with orange hair peeked in, and Dazai immediately recognize him as Tanizaki, Atsushi’s roommate whom he had bumped into a couple of times during the first semester of the year. The boy greeted them with a slight wave of his hand and mumbled that he overheard their argument. 

“Is he alright?” asked the young man, looking at his roommate’s sleeping form being tossed onto one of the two beds without flinching at the rough movement. 

“You should get him something to throw up into,” Yosano advised, covering the albino with a small blanket she found at the foot of the bed. “And medicine for stomachache and headache.” 

“Awww, I would’ve loved to see him suffer all through his first hangover,” Dazai commented, almost like a loving father. And as quick as that attitude came, it left, just like him. “Anyways, shall we go? We have to walk about ten minutes to your apartment.”

Making sure Atsushi is comfortable and warm, they bid farewell to the other boy in the room and left. 

The street was empty, and although it wasn’t the safest area of Kyoto, both of them were used to moving at night with the looming danger following them. However, Yosano noticed something odd. Usually, Dazai always found something to say or comment on, but throughout the entire journey, he remained silent, staring at the passing cars and lost in his own thoughts. 

“What’s wrong?” Yosano asked. Dazai’s surprised expression turned to her, feigning ignorance about the reason behind her questioning. “You’ve been acting weird all night. Just as annoying, but there’s something different about you…” 

“Maybe I’m just tired,” he said, turning to look forward with empty, darkened eyes. Yosano couldn’t tell whether that expression reflected fatigue or if there was something else behind it. “It was a long week, I haven’t slept enough and it’s almost the anniversary of…” 

“You still think of that?” she interrupted, already knowing what the boy meant, “It’s been two years, right? I mean, I know how much it hurt you, but it’s not like you can change the past...”

Dazai didn’t answer. He didn’t stop walking, and he kept his eyes focused solely on what was in front. He paid no attention to the people passing by them. 

Then, once they were alone, walking beneath a moon hidden by thick clouds, Yosano sighed. She moved closer to him, gently nudging him with her shoulder in a silent apology for bringing up a topic he hated to remember. Dazai nudged her back, accepting the apology and asking for a change of subject.

“It was a nice night, wasn’t it?” Yosano asked. “Atsushi was right, that guy is really good at playing the guitar.”

“Mhm, I wonder where he met the vocalist.” 

“Are you interested?” she joked, nudging him again. “He looks like the kind of guy you’d get along with really well.”

Dazai shook his head, chuckling under his breath and giving Yosano a look meant to convey all the things she didn’t know.

“I doubt it, I bet we would hate each other.”

The hallway light in the old building was dim, barely illuminating anything. Yosano’s heels echoed with each step she took, blending with Dazai’s complaints as they climbed the stairs up to the third floor. His grumbling didn’t cease until they stood in front of the apartment door, not bothering to lower his voice or worrying about waking the neighbors, who were probably still awake or not even at home on that Saturday at three in the morning. 

Yosano carelessly opened the door. Even though she wasn’t as drunk as Atsushi, the alcohol made her forget how to control her strength, and the wood collided directly with the wall. The loud noise startled them, thinking they would wake up the other person who lived in that place. 

However, they soon noticed the lights on and the person sitting on the couch with a bag of candies on their lap, some already in their mouth, glasses perched on the bridge of their nose, and their greenish eyes focused on the TV, playing a crime series. 

Upon seeing the newcomers, the other person simply raised a hand in greeting. 

“Ranpo!” Yosano exclaimed, quickly taking off her shoes and running towards her best friend. With a silly smile on her lips, she hugged him and rubbed her cheek against his, while the other made no effort to pull away. He remained still, eating as if nothing happened, and to Dazai, they both looked like a pair of cats grooming each other. “You abandoned me! You left me alone and I had to take care of Dazai!” 

“Take care of me …? I’m the one who had to babysit you and Atsushi!” he retorted, closing the door with one hand and pointing at the woman with the other. 

“Not true!” 

“Yeah, I’m sure he's lying,” supported the man with the glasses. “How was the drink?” 

“Alright, but not enough for me,” Yosano rubbed her cheek against Ranpo’s one last time before pulling away and leaving him be. With her hands on her hips and an air of confidence masking her drunkenness, she added, “I could keep drinking. I think there’s some wine left… Dazai, wanna join? 

With a sigh, Dazai declined, sitting on one of the individual sofas. 

“No thanks. You know I hate wine,” he replied, leaning his head back while ignoring Ranpo’s gaze upon him. 

Yosano mumbled something like a “More for me then,” and the sound of her steps vanished as she moved closer to the kitchen. The show on the television served as the only distraction left, but Dazai wasn’t so interested in it. He used to watch it when he had nothing else to do, but at the moment, his mind could only focus on those blue eyes and ginger hair that hadn’t crossed his mind for more than a few seconds in the last four years.

He could still feel Ranpo’s gaze on him. He supposed his unease must have been quite noticeable if even Yosano picked up on it. It wasn’t surprising that the man with green eyes would notice as well, but for now, it seemed like Dazai would escape his questions. 

He didn’t want to talk, not with them. They wouldn’t understand. The only person who could’ve ever understood wasn’t by his side. And the other person who seemed to understand, at least during his adolescence, was the problem.

“What?” Dazai inquired without looking at the other man in the room. 

“Nothing, at least for now,” Ranpo replied, diverting his gaze back to the television without paying much attention to it. “Are you staying tonight? It’s late and this neighborhood isn’t the safest in Kyoto.”

“I could just call a taxi.”

“As if you have money, you study literature .”

“I can always walk and take my chances of being robbed and murdered,” he commented playfully. “It’s a win-win!” 

“Oda wouldn’t like that.” 

And just like that, the playful smile on his face faded away, along with any feigned or genuine excitement he may have had, leaving him utterly empty.

Among the many things he despised and refused to admit, one of them was the use of that phrase as an argument for anything he said. Yes, he knew that Odasaku wouldn’t be too happy with him treating his life as something so insignificant, but at least he only thought about death, he hadn’t come close to it in two years. 

He still wanted to die, but he promised he would live. 

Yosano returned to the room with a bottle of wine in hand, drinking straight from it. She sat down next to Ranpo, leaning almost completely on him while texting on her phone with her right hand. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her pupils dilated, and the foolish grin on her face widened. Still, there was no doubt that she could handle all the alcohol she’d consumed and more.

Despite the television still playing that same series, the room felt as if it was in complete silence. A palpable tension covered the place, but no one made any effort to dissipate it, hoping it would vanish on its own. Then, Yosano’s phone rang, alerting them and drowning out any other sound, filling the void that didn’t exist outside, but did inside.

Yosano’s gaze lit up, as did her smile, and the fatigue that weighed on her throughout the night vanished. She nearly dropped the bottle, her nervous fingers unsure of what to do, but Ranpo took the wine before it could spill, not even flinching as she leaned on him again to get up and walk towards her room. She murmured that she would be back soon before answering the call and saying that name that had been lingering in Dazai’s mind since he saw Chuuya on that stage.

The woman he only met through pictures, the woman Chuuya always called, and the woman who never answered. 

“Kouyou!” they heard Yosano greet. “What are you doing awake? It’s three in the morning, you should rest…” 

Her voice drifted away, her footsteps towards her room almost imperceptible, but the sound of the door closing was as clear as it was jarring. 

That name still sent shivers down his spine. It reminded him of all the times Chuuya talked about her, always with an unconditional love that the woman didn’t deserve, a longing that was unnecessary. He was so jealous of her back then. He hated not being the most important person to the ginger, he hated that most of his poems were for her and that the first contact on his phone was her. He hated that Chuuya missed someone who had left without saying a word while he was there with him, at least before everything went downhill.

Maybe that childish resentment was the reason why he left in the same way, without saying anything and without answering any of his calls. Ironic, he thought. He followed the steps of the person he claimed to despise, all because she took away a handful of verses that he himself never read. 

Leaning back further against the individual coach, Dazai tried to focus on the television, on the final credits of the series, and on its cliché music. On the black screen with white letters, at how the light from the lava lamp in the coffee table reflected on the glass, or how Ranpo’s silhouette was projected on the screen, or how his own half could be seen there too, leaving his right side out and cut off as if he was nothing more than half a monster. 

Unable to bear the sight reflected on the screen and to control his intrusive thoughts that refused to disappear, he got up from the individual couch. He feigned a long yawn and muttered a poor excuse about not wanting to sleep on such a small couch like his friends’, opting to go home even if it meant enduring his roommate.

“It’s three in the morning,” Ranpo mentioned without moving or looking at him, not feeling the need to clarify the intention behind his own words. “You know you can stay.” 

“And you know this isn’t the first time I’ve walked through the city at night, I’ll be fine.”

Dazai headed to the exit, thinking that the other man would let him go without further discussion. Ranpo knew him well enough to know that he could take care of himself most of the time, he was aware of the troubles he had gotten into in his teenage years and all the experience he had in getting out of dangerous situations. Moreover, if both Yosano and Atsushi had noticed his strange behavior but didn’t press him about it, he knew Ranpo would be the one to dare mention it directly. 

He just didn’t think he would betray him in such a cruel way. Bringing to the surface the thoughts he didn’t want to entertain until he was alone. 

“Your habit of walking away without saying goodbye will bring you trouble one day,” he said, and when the brunette stopped almost abruptly, almost surprised , Ranpo smiled with sarcasm. “Or rather, it already did.”

Turning around, his back against the front door, Dazai smiled.

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t? I’m just saying that it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye to Akiko” he commented, eating a couple of candies and leaning back against the soda. “I’m you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I know you can go back to your own place without any troubles, but I’m more worried about you strolling through the streets until sunrise.” 

Of course Ranpo knew that he wasn’t planning on going straight to his apartment. He almost wanted to congratulate him for discovering what he was thinking of doing so easily, but instead, he just put his hands inside his pockets.

“You scared that I’m going to get myself in some kind of problem?” 

“I know you won’t, you’re not the same problematic child you once were.” Green eyes stop looking at the screen and, with a seriousness that was rarely seen, his gaze landed on the youngest among them. “But in some things, you’re even worse. Don’t go making anything stupid, okay? I don’t want to visit one of my friends at the hospital again.”

It wouldn’t happen. He promised that what happened two years ago would not happen again, and that was a promise he was willing to keep even if he felt like breaking it most days. 

With a silent promise to not do anything idiotic, Dazai nodded and raised his voice, bidding farewell to the woman who was still talking on the phone in her room. Once she heard him, Yosano questioned why he wouldn’t stay for the remainder of the night. Dazai didn’t respond, he left the apartment before the medical student could follow him or insist on him staying. He knew that she wouldn’t follow him, Ranpo would probably convince her to let him go without asking too many questions.

He stood in front of the building’s entrance, all alone except for the darkness of the night surrounding him, acting as his only companion. He looked up at the windows on the third floor, specifically at the apartment where his friends lived. The living room light was still on, but it quickly went off, and the darkness felt just a little bit heavier.

He didn’t care, he was used to that sensation, he thought as he began walking in the opposite direction of his own apartment.

Walking at night was as terrifying as it was relaxing. There was always the possibility of getting lost, but after four years in that city, with nights lonelier than in company, he could almost say that he knew by heart each of those passages he’d walked through on more than one occasion, seeking to disappear from the sight of the world or find solutions for everything he couldn’t control. 

There were no cars on the streets and most people were already asleep. He was far enough from the center of the city to appreciate any open store at that time. The sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk blended with the ambient sound — a hidden cricket chirped from a bush. He heard some barks, perhaps from a pet dog, perhaps from a stray one. Cats were up to their antics on the rooftops, and he knew that any shadow he saw out of the corner of his eye was nothing more than an animal. 

The nights in Kyoto weren’t as cold as those in Yokohama, but they felt much lonelier. Odasaku never wanted to go with him and explore the city while everyone else was asleep. Ever since they arrived in Kyoto, Oda changed, and it took him two years to get rid of his bad habits, both the self-destructive ones and those that were easier to ignore. 

He remembered the first few days in the new city. All those sleepless nights, Oda sleeping by his side, unconcerned about the world or about him. And then, he couldn’t stay in bed or in the room without doing nothing but staring at the ceiling. He needed to move, he needed some fresh air, he needed a different kind of darkness than the one surrounding him inside that place. 

Odasaku didn’t wake up when he ventured out for his early walks through Kyoto. He never woke up, but Dazai didn’t mind walking alone. However, each street felt the same as the previous one. Dull, an exact copy, as if something was missing, something that Kyoto didn’t have but Yokohama did.  

Now, four years later, walking through the same boring streets, he understood.

Walking alone at night wasn’t as fun as it was during his teenage years in the port city. He didn’t have Chuuya to keep him company, he couldn’t call him and wait on the side of any road, trusting that the ginger would always come and make his nighttime stroll a bit more entertaining. He never forced him to talk about his insomnia or any of the reasons that pushed him to leave his old home in the late hours of the night. He was willing to listen if he wanted to vent, ready to stay silent if that’s what he needed. 

But there was nothing to complain about in Kyoto. He was far from his parents, far from his own past. Oda always felt like a calm place, and he gave him all the attention he craved, telling him about books, authors, and novels that few ever read. In Kyoto, he shouldn’t have suffered from insomnia or needed nighttime walks, but old and bad habits die hard, and on those days when he relapsed, on those nights when he wandered the streets until dawn, he missed Chuuya’s company. 

He missed walking with him, he missed how Yokohama’s streets never felt empty by his side. 

When the traffic light on the other side of the street turned red, Dazai stopped. Even if there were no cars passing by, he didn’t cross, lost in his thoughts about everything that had happened that night. Thinking about the poem he never read, about the song it had become, and about the ginger he thought he’d left behind. He turned around and retraced his steps, walking back along the lonely, dark street that led to other apartments. 

The whole situation felt like a nightmare. Oda wasn’t by his side, he could just go back to his apartment and wait until sunrise only to hear him talk about novels. He didn’t have Chuuya to walk with on sleepless nights, talking about everything and nothing at the same time under the dark sky, discussing poems and dreams for the future that had long since slipped through their fingers. 

Arriving in front of a new apartment complex for Kyodai students, Dazai didn’t hesitate to climb up to the sixth floor. The elevator was working, but he opted for the stairs, wanting to feel physically and mentally drained. He needed an excuse, he thought, otherwise the other person wouldn’t let him in. 

He knocked on the third door to the left three times until he heard sounds coming from inside. As he heard heavy, probably angry footsteps approaching, he made sure to keep knocking on the door until it opened, revealing a blond man with dark bags under his eyes. 

“What the hell, Dazai?” he asked, looking at him with small, menacing eyes, both due to the lack of sleep, the absence of his glasses, and his anger. “It’s four in the morning!”

“A good reason why you shouldn’t be shouting at this hour, Ku-ni-ki-da,” he answered with that same tone of voice the other disliked. “Anyways, I need a place to stay! I’m going to keep you company, alright? Thanks!” 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He tried to stop the brunette from entering the place, but his movements were clumsy, and before he knew it, Dazai had already made himself comfortable on his couch. “You have your own place!”

“But it’s far,” he whined, grabbing one of the pillows and hugging it against his chest. “And I don’t want to go back right now.” 

And his original plan changed, he thought. He didn’t want to be alone in that moment, wandering through the boring and empty streets. 

Weird enough, he noticed the blond man’s complaints had ceased. When Dazai looked at him, Kunikida was already watching him without taking his eyes off him, even as he slowly closed the door. His brow furrowed slightly, no longer reflecting anger but concern, which he didn’t wait to voice. 

“Do you feel okay…?” he carefully asked. 

“Why does everyone keep asking me if I’m alright? I’ve never been but that’s how you guys met me so why are you concerned all of a sudden.”

“No idea, maybe because you’re our annoying friend and because after two years, it finally seemed like you were beginning to feel better?” 

“Are you asking me or just confirming it?” 

“Nevermind. Just forget it,” he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, reflecting genuine concern in his actions. “I’ll bring you a blanket, stay as long as you want. It’s Saturday anyway.” 

He didn’t deserve any of that concern, but he was selfish and so, he took it, he treasured it, and he wanted more. 

“Will you make me some pancakes for breakfast, mom?” 

“Shut up and go to sleep.” 

═════════════

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” Akutagawa suggested once the music in the rehearsal room faded away. “Then we’ll go back to the old songs that we haven’t practiced with Chuuya.”

The instruments were put aside, the amplifiers were turned off, and the microphone returned to the place where it belonged — silent, without raising the sound of a voice that quickly got used to hitting every high, middle, or low note on each of the songs Akutagawa wanted to rehearse or perform. And although that ease was a blessing for the band, it wasn’t the same for Chuuya, he felt so fucking tired.

Looking sideways at the rest of the band who were exchanging a few words, the ginger said that he would go out for a bit in order to get some fresh air and, without really knowing if they heard him or not, he left the room.

He stepped out of the venue and leaned against the side of the building, phone in hand. Hidden from people’s gazes passing through the area, he replied to some of Kouyou’s messages, sent a text to his roommates telling them he’ll be back after nine, and sent his brother a message, reminding him to call him when he had time so he could talk with Arthur for at least five minutes.

When there were no more messages to read or reply to, the phone screen turned off and all that was left was the darkness that mirrored the sky above his head. 

Sighing, the ginger tilted his head back. The lighting in that area was terrible, he thought, the artificial light of each lamppost reflected little to no glow, and the starless sky made him feel nostalgic. That empty and silent sky was the same as the one from his teenage years. The one that always accompanied him when he ran away from home, on sleepless nights caused by the multiple fights between his parents or the pain of the hits and words he always received. 

During that time, he preferred to be anywhere else. The farther from home the better, he thought, and even though most of Yokohama’s streets were dangerous, being used by homeless people or gangs, he never really felt like he was in much danger. He never walked alone, Dazai was always by his side. Be it day or night, they had each other, and the empty streets never felt like that when they were together. 

But everything had changed, he reminded himself, shifting his gaze from the starless sky and down to the asphalt beneath his feet. The streets he now walked were Kyoto’s, the sky above his head was different from the one in Yokohama, years had passed since he talked to his parents and, even if he saw him three weeks ago on the night of the concert, Dazai wasn’t by his side. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He couldn’t stop wondering where he was. Was it just a one-time encounter? Perhaps, he thought on the first night. Maybe he wouldn’t see him again, but before he could convince himself of that, more questions arose. 

What if Dazai was in Kyodai? He never showed any real interest in going to college, even if he was smart enough to enroll with one of the highest scores in the national exam. Still, he tried to find him. 

Those three weeks after their brief and distant reunion at the bar, he tried to find him in the faculties he thought could spark genuine interest in the brunette. However, there was no one named ‘Dazai Osamu’ in any of the classes, and when he asked Tachihara if he knew someone with that name, the bassist of the band — who knew almost every Kyodai student — mumbled that he’d never heard that surname before. He also said that Akutagawa sometimes mentioned a guy named ‘Osamu’ who was in his third year of literature and often helped him with his essays and such, but he couldn’t recall his last name. Still, Tachihara suggested him to visit the Faculty of Humanities to check if it was the ‘Osamu’ he was looking for. But despite considering it for a moment, Chuuya dismissed the idea. 

It couldn’t be the same ‘Osamu’ as the one he knew. The one from his past only read a novel from time to time, he didn’t like literature that much and he also hated poetry. 

The only options left were that the other man was on Kyoto only for that weekend, or maybe he lived and worked in the city, but he’d hardly find him again unless it was by chance, a situation that may repeat itself in four or more years. 

If he’d run out of options, if he would never find Dazai and know exactly what he thought that night at the bar when he heard the poem he wrote for him turned into a song, then he could forget about his existence again, right? 

No. 

No, he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t get him out of his damn head and that exhausted him. 

Three weeks. Three damn weeks and he still thought about the asshole that left him and walked away without saying anything and without answering his calls. Not even the fact that his older sister somehow had a recording of him singing that night annoyed him as much as the idea that, at least for a moment, he and Dazai were under the same sky again. 

“I hope you’re not smoking, you promised not to do it again.” Upon hearing Akutagawa, he looked away from the floor and instead turned to the boy, who was slowly approaching him. “Why are you here? I almost thought you went home.” 

“I told you I was going out to take some fresh air, the break’s over?” he asked. Turning on his phone, he noticed that barely five minutes have passed since he stepped out of the room. 

It felt like an eternity, he thought. It felt like the same endless nightmare he went through after Dazai left him to his own devices. 

“So… what?” he asked again, putting his phone in one of his pockets and looking at the black-haired boy. “Are you going to cut down the break? Tachihara and Higuchi won’t be happy about that. Gin won’t say anything, but we’ve been rehearsing non-stop for like an hour, Ryuu.”

“I’m not going to do that, but I do want to talk to you.” He pointed next to him, specifically the empty space beside him. “Can I?” 

Chuuya nodded and moved a little to the side, Akutagawa made himself comfortable next to him. 

“You look tired,” said the ginger, “you sure you don’t want to end today’s practice earlier?” 

“No, it’s still not enough,” he answered quickly. “And I’m not tired, you’re seeing things.” 

He was lying, weariness was something difficult to hide. 

Chuuya knew about the two part-time jobs the other had to take in order to pay for the apartment he shared with his younger sister, and he knew that Gin also worked on weekends or some days after school. However, most of the burden fell on Ryuunosuke, but he never heard him complain about it. 

He didn’t complain about all he had to achieve academically either. On the contrary, his grades had always been excellent since his first year, his essays and literary critiques were praised by various professors, and his scholarship was never in jeopardy. He was without a doubt the best in his field, only surpassed by that guy in third year who had the same damn name as his high school ex-boyfriend.

And, with all that, Chuuya couldn’t understand how Akutagawa still had the energy to practice with the band. They always rehearse for three days on weekdays and two Saturdays each month, sometimes even more when they have a performance coming up. In the nearly four months that Chuuya had been with them, not a single rehearsal was canceled, even if Ryuunosuke looked more dead than alive sometimes. But the moment when he started playing the guitar, all the exhaustion vanished from his body. The strings sounded perfect, never out of tune or missing a note, and even his own body seemed a bit healthier, his skin not so pale, his eyes not so tired.

It was astounding. That was real passion for music and for every aspect of his life. He managed to balance each one of them, maintaining a romantic relationship with his drummer and paying enough attention to Gin so she never felt alone. 

Chuuya really admired him for that and, at the same time, he envy him a bit. He wanted to have that same balance as Akutagawa, he wanted to feel passionate for every aspect of his life, but as long as his mind still dwell on the fact that Dazai had been so close to him, and he didn’t even try to question him, he felt as if he couldn’t move forward, still stuck on the memory of that night. 

Sighing, pushing away all thoughts of the brunette to the back of his mind, he turned to the boy by his side. 

“Alright then, you’re not tired, but you do look stressed,” Chuuya mentioned, his face turning forward. “Is it because of that guy with white hair?” 

Akutagawa clenched his jaw and nodded. The ginger mentally prepared to listen to each of his complaints, he was starting to get familiar with it. 

“He has so much talent for writing, but he’s an idiot and wastes it focusing his essays on easy topics that are anything but deep,” he complained, sighing wearily. “He always focuses on the obvious, and every time he does that I just want to punch him with the paper he gave me. And then I want to keep punching him when he comes back with that same essay, but this time it’s absolutely brilliant. It almost looks as if he fails just so Fukuzawa-sensei forces me to help him.”

“Don’t take it personally…” 

“Music and literature are my areas, Chuuya, of course I’ll take it personally,” he proclaimed with genuine seriousness. He sighed again, still looking mad but just a bit calmer. “Anyway, I don’t want to think about Nakajima right now… are you okay?” 

Chuuya almost felt the necessity to tilt his head in confusion at the question. 

“Do I look okay or not?” 

“I’m not sure,” he replied, turning his head forward, “but I don’t think you are. Whatever the case, I realized that even though you learned all the old songs and the sound is pretty good, you don’t look comfortable with them. You don’t sing them with the same emotion as when we were practicing Setsuna no ai.”

“And? What’s the problem?” Chuuya asked harshly. “You want to keep performing that song until you, me and everyone else hates it?” 

Dazai most certainly already hates it, Chuuya thought. 

“Of course not, but you could write more poems and I’ll turn them into songs.” 

“Ryuu, I showed you my old notebook, there you have all the verses you could want.” He crossed his arms, shielding himself from the cold night wind. “Choose one and do your magic.” 

Akutagawa sighed, and it was only after that gesture that Chuuya understood what the boy wanted to achieve throughout that whole conversation. 

Looking through his pockets, the guitarist found a piece of paper neatly folded in the middle. For a brief moment, Chuuya thought the situation felt eerie similar to that day when Ryuunosuke gave him the poem he thought he had lost. 

Without saying anything, the black-haired boy gave him the paper. He opened it and read its content quickly, stopping midway to appreciate the Faculty of Humanities logo printed in the top left corner and tracing the black letters with his fingers. 

He reread it again and understood the real purpose behind all of this. He didn’t wait long to reply.

“No,” Chuuya said. “I won’t do it, Ryuu. I’m not going to be part of a fucking poem contest just so you can have a new song.” 

The expression of the twenty-year-old turned sour, annoyed, almost as if he was about to have an outburst, but the ginger couldn’t be certain if that was the case.

“Why not?” he insisted, taking the paper from his hands. “Chuuya, it’s not only for a new song. You have real talent for poetry, I’m certain you could even win the contest. You were basically born a poet, looking through your old notebook I realized how fast you learn and improve in writing. I don’t even know why you study in the Faculty of Economics.”

“Why do you study in the Faculty of Humanities?” he asked back, feeling annoyed but without wanting to lash out at the other. “You have a talent for music, and yet you’re not in a music academy.”

“I love literature and music,” he answered with certainty. “They don’t rule out each other, instead, they complement the other — that’s not the same as poetry and economics.” 

“What do you know…”

Chuuya sighed. There was no point in arguing with Akutagawa, he would defend whatever he believed in. Besides, he saw him almost as the little brother he never had, he couldn’t get mad at him. 

But he didn’t know how to tell him that all his inspiration went away after writing that poem for Dazai. It disappeared just like the brunette did, and it didn’t answer to all his calls either…

His head couldn’t make up any new verses. His thoughts no longer matched or rhymed. He forgot how to express what he felt, how to hide the things he wanted to say behind metaphors and allegories. He was just an empty shell, without any lyric, without a poetic motive, without something to show to the world.

“I don’t write poems anymore Ryuu,” he said, trying to calm himself. “I stopped doing it a while ago…”

“But you used to,” the other insisted, looking at him with shiny gray eyes, “and the ones you wrote are amazing. Now you can write even better poems than the ones you used to, haven’t you thought about it?”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied with a certain tiredness in his voice. “Let’s just forget about it. Besides, why don’t you participate in it? I know you’re better at writing short stories but you can probably write good poems too.”

Ryuunosuke crossed his arms and shook his head a couple of times. 

“I can’t participate, Fukuzawa-sensei chose me to be a judge in the contest.” 

“Another reason why I shouldn’t participate. You’d vote for me just because I’m the singer in your band, and because you want a new song.” 

“I do want a new song,” he confessed without any embarrassment, “but I want you to sing with real emotion even more.” 

“What makes you think that I can’t sing any of my old poems with emotion?”

“A hunch,” he replied, not saying anything else, as if that word could explain it all. “Besides, I’m sure there’s something else you want to portray, you’re just being stubborn.”

Chuuya sighed. Who was been the stubborn one here? he thought. Portray something? What would he want to portray? There was nothing that really annoyed him that much, besides the fact that he saw Dazai again, and feeling that that night, and that man looking at him, was nothing but a nightmare. He almost began thinking that the other guy wasn’t there and it was all the result of his mind playing games. That the real culprit was that part of himself that clung to the thread that connect him to the memories, and feelings, of the teenager he once was. 

If he thought about it, it made sense for it to be an illusion. That night, he sang to the world the verses he wrote for Dazai, it made sense if his mind decided to play games and made him believe the brunette was there. Making him remember all those feelings he threw away in the original poem: a naive and immature love, a lost illusion, their firsts, the memories of walking through Yokohama at night, strolling next to him under the starry sky. The imperfection that existed between them and that he embraced, not caring if his bad habits — or Dazai’s — hurt them or not.

Fuck, he really was an idiot in love when he was a teenager. He almost felt like going back and punch himself, but also warn his younger self that that boy he met on the first day of classes was going to be the reason why he stopped writing poems and that, after four years, he would think of him again and how the world felt a little less lonely when he was by his side…

Oh, great . Now he felt more annoyed and tired than before. Stupid poems. Dazai you son of a–

“Chuuya,” Akutagawa called, bringing him back to reality and, although mad and feeling an oncoming headache, the ginger paid him attention, “I’m not going to keep insisting, I promise, just…” the guitarist gave him the flier, hiding his hands inside the pockets of his dark coat before the ginger could try and give him back the paper. “Think about it.”

Akutagawa muttered that they would restart the rehearsal in five minutes. As the boy walked away and entered the building once again, Chuuya crumpled the flier and kicked it towards the darkest corner of that corner. 

═════════════

“The reception of the contest was better than last year. More students from all over Kyoudai participated,” Fukuzawa said to the group of literature students in front of him, a pile of envelopes sitting in the middle of the table. “It’s quite impressive. Usually, more people take part in the short stories category instead of the poetry one, but it exceeded the number we estimated. In any case, I recommend that one of you read each poem aloud, that way the work will be easier. Any questions?” 

“Yes, do I really have to do this?” Dazai asked, throwing his upper body against the table. “You know I hate poetry, Fukuzawa-sensei.”

“And that’s why you’re going to be the one reading them.”

Dazai complained and hide his face in between his arms, claiming that he didn’t want to be the one reading each poem, but if Fukuzawa-sensei demanded it, he wouldn’t have any other choice. The rest of the students, both men and women, observed the brunette; some with concern, others with annoyance, Atsushi with an almost exasperated expression, and Akutagawa remained stoic through the whole ordeal. Fukuzawa cleared his throat, the attention of five of the six Kyodai students returning to him. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you to work. When you vote for the winners, if you can’t reach an agreement, remember you must call me and my vote will determine the winner. For now, focus on working diligently.”

When the professor stepped out of the classroom, silence filled the room. Not knowing what to do, none of the students moved, either because of nervousness or lack of interest in the activity. Dazai kept his head between his crossed arms, not really caring about the contest.

It’s not like he didn’t want to be there, but Fukuzawa-sensei had chosen each one of them because they were the best in their classes. And, no matter if they liked poetry or not, after writing so many essays and reviews they had developed a critical mindset perfect for the task, or so Fukuzawa had mentioned. Honestly, Dazai only heard half of what he said.

“So… how should we begin?” Atsushi questioned, looking at the pile of poems in front of him. It almost looked like a nightmare, it would be a long work. “Should we divide them based on the faculty and we read them in order or…?”

“Don’t be an idiot, all envelopes are blank,” scolded Akutagawa, taking one of the poems and approaching the albino’s face. “The names are written inside at the end of every poem so that our votes aren’t biased.”

“How was I supposed to know that?! It’s my first year in Kyodai!” Atsushi defended himself, taking the envelope that the other boy was holding. “I don’t know how this works, Akutagawa- senpai . You could at least help me.” 

“I’m always helping you with your miserable essays and even then they’re still terrible,” he lied, but he managed to infuriate the other boy.

“You…!”

“Get a room or something,” Dazai interrupted. Disregarding their complaints and the clear nervousness on the albino’s face, he took the poem Atsushi had. “Let’s finish this already, I want to go home early.”

Opening the envelope, Dazai started reading the poem aloud, perfectly reciting the poem without trying or showing any interest in it. But soon, just like those around him, he felt immersed in each verse. 

He had never read a poem like that. He was waiting for something cliché and cheesy like a love poem, or something classic and easy to describe like heartbreak or the constant dreading of death. But that poem portrayed genuine resentment that the poet couldn’t leave behind. A fear and desolation that they were sometimes able to shut, but on the coldest and darkest nights when the stars didn’t shine, the roses of confusion bloomed, and its thorns dug into their skin, it made them remember everything he ever tried to forget, deceiving them and making them see images where there were none. 

There was no fear of death or love, just uncertainty. Just agonizing questions to which they never knew if they’ll ever get the answers they wanted, and they were terrified of both never knowing the answers and someday finding them out. 

That confusion, that reflection of the soul, that duality of conflicting emotions captivated both Dazai and those who were listening. 

Then he finished reading. The rest of the judges started talking about the first poems immediately, excited, mesmerized and worried at the same time, if all of the other poems were as good as the first one, choosing the winner would be difficult. There wouldn’t be a better one, thought Dazai, this one was already perfect, it managed to captivate him like any other poem he ever had the misfortune to read ever did. 

Anxiously and with a smile, he searched for the name of the poet. He went through all the verses again until he reached the signature at the end of the paper. At that moment, he stopped. The smile vanished from his face, he could no longer listen to the other people in the room and, just like that night, he could only look at the name without blinking, without breathing, without thinking. 

There it was, at the end of the page, where the black ink draw the letters pertaining to that name he recognized so well:

Nakahara Chuuya.

Chapter Text

As the lonely teenager he once was, it’s not surprising to know that he spent an insane amount of time on the internet. But if it wasn’t for that, he would’ve never found that song, nor the guitarist that wrote it. 

Two years before moving to Kyoto and enrolling in college, his adoptive mothers, Chiyo and Taeko Nakajima, had to move from Tokyo to Yokohama in the middle of his school year. Atsushi left behind the few friendships he’d managed to make in the last years, as well as that small house with the big garden, a place he loved ever since he arrived there when he was six years old.

The day they were moving, once everything was already inside boxes, the moving truck in the entrance and him inside the car, embracing Byakko — his cat —, he couldn’t help but cry a bit. 

He felt embarrassed when his mothers noticed his sixteen-year-old self crying, and so, he hid his face in the white fur of his pet. Taeko tried to comfort him, telling him that the new place they were going was going to be better, that he would make more friends, and that he would like his new high school. Atsushi knew it wouldn’t happen, not only because he would arrive in the middle of the school year when everyone already had their own friend group but also because he was adopted. 

Even though he was listed as their biological child in official documents — to avoid the prejudices Japanese society had due to the lack of blood ties — they would soon realize that it was all a lie.

Although Chiyo had always made an effort to keep her hair bleached and platinum to resemble him more, the questions about his family never stopped.

He knew all the muttering and whispering would continue. They all knew. They knew they would still be judged not only for the son they adopted but also for the lifestyle they desperately wanted to keep hidden from people’s eyes.

It’d be nice if no one talked and acted so friendly in front of them, only to turn around and judge them later. It’d be nice if their words weren’t so contradictory, but that’s how it always had been, and at this point, they were used to it. 

Still, getting used to it didn’t mean that it’d be easy to just arrive at a new place that would force them to go through all of that again. A place with new neighbors that would talk behind their backs, with classmates that would look at him as if he was the weirdest thing they’ll ever see because of his hair color and family. 

At least he had books and music, he thought. At least, there would be someone who would accept him, unlike anyone else.

The trip to Yokohama wasn’t far, it lasted about fifty minutes. Throughout the entire journey, his mothers kept the radio on, sometimes changing the station to the ones they knew Atsushi liked, and glancing at the teenager through the rearview mirror. In the back seat, with Byakko asleep on his lap, the albino remained silent, reading a book, unwilling to get his hopes up about his new life in the port city. 

Unsurprising to everyone, it all went down like he thought it would. The new house was comfortable, a little bigger than the one they had back in Tokyo, and they were on a nice street, not that flashy but not that dangerous either. His room was bigger, Byakko seemed to like the new cat tree they bought for him, but the garden was way smaller, almost empty, it didn’t have enough flowers and grass; neither he nor his cat enjoyed going outside. Besides, it was still autumn, and Atsushi couldn’t go out without sneezing. 

His allergy caught the attention of everyone at school, his sneezes always interrupted class and he, ashamed, frantically apologized while ignoring the looks everyone gave him. No one talked to him. All the friend groups were already established and he ate lunch alone every day, with a book on his right and his phone playing music on his left.

Going to school was torture, and so was the walk back home. The neighbors always saw him leave and go back to his house, they always gossiped about him and his mothers. They quickly realized he wasn’t the biological son of any of the two women, and they also caught on to the relationship they had. And all the gossip just continued non-stop. 

But when they got closer, when they talked to his family, they hid everything they truly thought behind words that contradicted themselves after they walked away.

“I’m sorry darling,” Taeko said one night when they were eating dinner on that small table in the kitchen. “You have to suffer through all of that just because of us…”

“Eh? No, I… You don’t have to apologize,” he replied, averting his gaze and focusing on his own meal. “We knew this would happen, didn’t we?”

Both women nodded, they looked at each other, and in their eyes remained that spark of concern they still felt.

“Still, you shouldn’t go through all of this just because of us…”

“You regret adopting me?”

“What? Never!” Chiyo exclaimed, she was the one who kept her hair silver so she could look a little bit more like him. “Don’t think we ever regret adopting you.”

“Then don’t apologize for that,” he pleaded, smiling at them. “I’m here with you and there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

He wanted to go back to Tokyo, he wanted to go back to his friends and his old house, he wanted to go back to the garden where, in summer, he could lay on the grass despite his allergies, where Byakko rested beside him, and then followed every bug that passed by him.

But he couldn’t say that to his mothers, he couldn’t tell them he had yet to make any friends and that he spent each recess listening to music and reading book after book. At least his grades in literature improved, and he quickly became the best in his class in that subject, but apparently, that didn’t sit well with his classmates, who used that improvement as another reason to talk behind his back, making that lonely feeling grow.

Luckily for him, he stayed home the next day. He woke up feeling bad, and when Taeko went to his room that morning, she noticed he had a fever. She called her professor to tell him he wasn’t going to school. Then, she asked him if he was alright with both of them leaving him alone for the day since they still had to go to work. Atsushi muttered half a reply and covered himself with more blankets, Byakko giving him company by going to his feet and purring. With barely open eyes, he saw someone putting a glass of water and a box with pills on his nightstand, he felt a kiss on his forehead, a pat, and a whisper telling him to call either of them if he started feeling worse. 

He slept through the morning but got bored once the afternoon arrived. His headache stopped him from reading one of the books he bought, Byakko abandoned him so he could lie on top of his closet, and the closest thing was his phone. Some music should help him forget the betrayal of his cat and help pass the time until one of his mothers came back. 

And by listening to anything that came up on his recommendations, by not having anyone to talk to, he found that song.

It was a video of an unknown band’s performance, the bandmates being all high schoolers or in college. It was such a bad recording with horrible audio, and yet, the song could still be appreciated. The sound of the guitar playing overshadowed the singer’s voice, the other instruments, and the noise in the place it was recorded. Although he couldn’t fully see the black-haired guitarist’s face, he could only look at him, mesmerized by how with some chords, he could express more than books with sad stories and tragic endings ever wish they could.

He could see the pixelated movements of his fingers going through every chord without a doubt. His blurred face always composed, not looking at the crowd, with his eyes almost closed, as if he could feel every note and vibration sent by the instruments, as if that song was his, and only his. And, by reading the comments of that video, he learned a few things.

The guitarist was a boy of his age that also lived in Yokohama, but he went to another high school. Atsushi would’ve noticed him on the first day if they were in the same school. That song was written by him, as he thought, and it was the last one before he left the band. He was known as “Hellhound” and he never stayed more than three months with a band. He always disagreed with the other members, either because of the difference in their personalities, artistic ideas, or because he thought they weren’t good enough to perform his songs. 

He was infamous around all the non-professional bands, but no one could deny that he was an excellent guitarist and that every song he wrote was flawless. Every time he left a band, there was already another one asking him to join. He was mildly known around those areas, playing with different people, participating in contests for small bands in Yokohama or in some bars where ‘music night’ was awaited excitedly by people every time he performed. 

Atsushi could see why. With some chords, with only one song, only by listening to the guitar and looking at his blurry image enjoying music, he was captivated. Only he could make him feel so many emotions without saying any words, and those lyrics he wrote… they always had that poetic feeling to them. Each chord told a story that left him wanting more.

And on that night and the next days, once his sickness had gone away and he had to go back to school, he kept looking for songs and performances in which the boy participated. He only wanted to listen to him, to his guitar or with other instruments. It didn’t matter if there was a lead singer, their voice couldn’t overshadow the story the guitarist told. 

The lonely recesses felt a little less cold with books and the guitarist’s songs by his side. He was able to find the boy’s personal channel where, from time to time, he uploaded guitar solos, some covers, or songs he was working on. He found video after video of his performances, some with better quality than others, allowing him to memorize his face. He had gray eyes, always cold with a hint of pain. He wondered what he was hiding, what the true story was that he always tried to encapsulate when he played the guitar.

Listening to music, waiting for new songs, watching videos of his performances, it all fell swiftly into place to become his new routine. Even when he managed to make some friends in the literature club, he never stopped listening to him. And soon, he met some people online who also followed these kinds of bands, who also knew the guitarist, who he could talk to and get excited with each time Hellhound uploaded a new song or a cover to his channel. 

And on one day, near the end of his second year of high school, he got a notification on his phone: Hellhound would perform for the last time with his band this Friday night. The guitarist would be leaving Yokohama next week to study college.  

“Please, please, please!” Atsushi pleaded, falling to his knees and clutching onto Chiyo’s leg. “It’s only going to be for a little while!” 

“Atsushi!” The woman tried to free her leg from the boy’s grip, but every time she succeeded, his arms would cling back as if she was his lifeline. “Sweetheart, no! The event is at almost eleven at night! It’s far from here and you’re only sixteen. You are still too young to go to a place like that!”

“Then you or mom can come with me!”

“Are you crazy?! Your mother doesn’t like those kinds of places, and I have to work the next day!”

She was able to free herself once more. This time, the boy didn’t cling to her leg, but intead fell face-first into the floor. For a moment, he remained still and went silent, Chiyo started worrying before noticing the boy’s body trembling ever so slightly.

Byakko approached Atsushi, rubbing against his side, and before the cat could run away, Atsushi caught him in his arms and held him close, refusing to let go. At least Byakko only meowed in protest and didn’t scratch him, the woman thought. 

“Sweetheart…” Letting out a sigh, she leaned down beside him and gently stroked his back. She heard Byakko meow again from the place where Atsushi held him captive, and she could see his white tail with black stripes peeking out from the side. “I promise you, when you turn seventeen you can go to this kind of events, alright? Just wait a little more.”

“But I can’t wait…”

“Why not?” She asked, using that same gentle tone she used when her son had just arrived.

“Because he’s leaving Yokohama to who knows where and I won’t have another opportunity to watch him live.” 

“Who?”

Setting Byakko free, the teenager stood up. Still seating on the floor, with his mother in front of him, he pulled out his phone and searched for one of Hellbound’s performances. All of them were his favorites, but he decided to choose the video with the best quality. He gave his phone to his mother and approached her to watch the video with her. He smiled to himself, focusing on the guitarist, on each chord, on how his fingers easily walked from note to note, and on the pale face that was always composed.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he asked once the video ended. He analyzed the calm expression on his mother’s face, and when her gaze settled on him, he couldn’t contain the excitement showing all over his voice. “He… he’s the best guitarist I’ve ever heard.”

“The guitarist, eh… He seems to be your age, is he your first platonic love?” 

Blushing and taking his phone from his mother’s hands, he averted his gaze and shook his head.

“I like how he plays the guitar!” He answered, ignoring the teasing and adoring smile on the woman’s face. “It’s so… unique. I don’t know how to describe what he makes me feel when I listen to one of his songs, and I really want to hear him play live. He’s leaving Yokohama to go to college, I won’t have another opportunity to go to one of his performances! So, please, mom…” 

“Sorry sweetheart,” Chuyo murmured, moving closer to his son and kissing him on the forehead. “I’m sure you’ll have another chance to see him in person.”

“And what if that never happens…?” 

“Then you can resent me for the rest of your life, and I won’t ever reproach you.” 

Atsushi sighed. Hugging Byakko, he let himself fall towards his mother, supporting his head on her lap and feeling the fingers that slowly started to run over his hair. 

“As if I could do that…” 

His last performance was amazing, all the chords were perfect, the rhythm left him awestruck, and his face was always so composed. Atsushi knew it would’ve been better to see it and hear it in person, but he had to settle with the video. At least he had that, he thought. 

But still, he was feeling down because he couldn’t go, and that feeling only worsened when Hellhound announced on his channel that he would be gone for some time and that he wouldn’t upload anything; he needed to get used to the new city and to college. It was understandable, the albino thought while listening to his songs. 

His last high school year went by slowly, less lonely, but the absence of music could be felt. He couldn’t find anything that started resembling what the guitarist made him feel. There was nothing that could even compare to it, no song made him feel so many emotions at the same time. But books did. Stories did what no other songs could. It was the closest thing he could find and, clinging onto every reading and every author, drowning himself in whatever lay in the novel he was reading, he ended up choosing literature once the moment to decide whether he was going to college or not arrived. 

Literature was what made him feel some kind of emotion, not the same as that guitarist’s songs, but it was enough. 

His mothers supported him. If studying literature made him happy, then they were okay with it. Byakko also seemed to support him — he always fell asleep on Atsushi’s pile of books.

That school year went by in an instant, and before he knew it, Atsushi received his acceptance letter to Kyodai. His mothers hugged him and also took a picture of him with Byakko in his arms. Then they cried once they realized their son would be moving almost five hours away from them by car, but they supported him nonetheless. If he wanted to go to that university and live on his own, then so be it. He was young, and he would always be their little tiger, but they also knew that at some point he would leave to find new horizons and people. 

They couldn’t be more proud of him. 

They helped him settle into his new dorm room, which he shared with another student. Neither of them could go without making him promise to call every day, to come back to Yokohama on holidays, and giving him a small white tiger plushie so he wouldn’t forget about Byakko. 

When Atsushi had the plushie in his arms, his new roommate entered and noticed it. His mothers laughed at his embarrassed face, hugged him, kissed him on his cheek, and reminded him that if he ever needed anything, he should call them. The albino promised he would and asked them to send him a picture of their cat every day.

On his first night in Kyoto, after putting everything together in his room while talking to Tanizaki, his roommate, and learning everything he could about the new school year, he lay on his bed with his phone in hand, his attention being drawn by one of his friend’s notification. 

Hellhound uploaded a song. He announced that his year-long hiatus had ended, and he would soon be performing in various venues for non-professional bands. Atsushi suppressed the urge to scream with joy. 

Could that year get any better? Yeah, it sure could. 

In his first few weeks at the new school, he met Dazai, a third-year. The older student immediately took him under his wing, and they bonded over novels and authors. Soon, Dazai introduced him to his group of friends, who despite being way older than him, welcomed him with open arms and looked after him. 

Dazai helped him with his first essays and critiques, advising him on what he should focus on each time he was reading, and how he should write all the academic texts his teacher requested. He helped him as much as he could with Japanese and Global literature, but he couldn’t help him with Chinese literature. It wasn’t his specialty, said the brunette, and instead told him to go seek another student: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, a second-year. 

May arrived, and on one of the various afternoons, sitting at one of the tables in the library of the Faculty of Humanities, listening to one of the new melodies that Hellhound had uploaded to his channel while waiting for Akutagawa, Atsushi felt like he was dreaming. He looked at his phone and the song it was playing, then towards the boy with black hair, pale skin, and gray eyes who was approaching him, holding his backpack in one hand and his guitar case in the other.

I couldn’t be, he couldn’t… was he real? He wondered. He put his earphones away, turn off his phone, and got up from his seat. 

It was him. He finally met him, the guitarist, the one who wrote those songs he hummed all day…

“You’re Atsushi Nakajima, right?” he asked. 

His voice matched his face so well, Atsushi thought. With all his nervousness and excitement, he stuttered, struggling to keep at bay the smile he wanted to show.

“I– yes, I’m Atsushi. Are you… Akutagawa Ryuunosuke?” Or Hellhound, the guitarist I’ve admired ever since my second year of high school, Atsushi thought, unable to look away once the black-haired nodded. 

“Dazai showed me your essay about Lu Xun,” the boy said, and before Atsushi could reply, he added with an offended tone. “It’s garbage, how can you write such rubbish?”

His shy smile shattered, replaced by a blank expression, followed by confusion and finally setting on the same indignation that the other boy expressed in his voice. 

“Sorry…? What did you say?”

“Ah, and I also need to repeat to you what I said,” he answered impatiently. Akutagawa put his backpack on top of the table and opened it, taking out some papers and giving them to the albino. “Your essay. It’s absolute garbage, rewrite it.” 

“Now?”

“No, tomorrow,” he joked. With an annoyed expression, he swiftly put the guitar next to him and sat on the chair in front of Atsushi. “Of course now! Don’t make me waste my time and get to work, I have other things to do.”

Atsushi wanted to just throw the essay to his face, but instead of letting his actions get controlled by his rage and dissolution, his fingers sank into the paper without breaking it. Sending a glare to Akutagawa, he sat down, took a pencil, and opened his notebook to rewrite his essay under the watchful grayish gaze. 

He never thought he would ever get a chance to see the guitarist he admired in person, neither he thought this would be the way they would meet, destroying any and all the situations he ever imagined. 

He always pictured a tender, quiet and serious boy, with a hidden sadness portrayed only by his music. Instead, he got a rabid dog in front of him, criticizing his work every five minutes, taking away his pencil and crossing all paragraphs he deemed as ‘not enough’, forcing him to rewrite everything, change all ideas, connectors, words, think about synonyms, write in a more academic way rather than a personal approach. 

And after that first day with Akutagawa, he didn’t want to see him again. He wanted to forget he was the same guitarist he admired. With his shattered delusions, he called his mothers to complain all about his rewrite session. He told Chiyo he managed to meet the guitarist, but lord could someone just erase that memory? He wanted to forget about that, he wanted to forget that his platonic love from high school and that rabid dog were the same person. His mother only laughed and sent him a photo of Byakko to comfort him. 

Byakko was amazing, he was a tad bit fatter, but his indignation and disappointment continued. 

In the next few days, he tried to stop listening to his songs, he ignored all the newest videos of his performances, but he couldn’t resist for long. He loved his songs, he loved the passion with which he played the guitar, and although he hated the way he did it, rewriting his essay worked. His new essay was perfect, the best of his class, and he could apply to his other papers everything he learned with Akutagawa in only one session.

So, he decided to separate the guitarist and the person. He could admire Hellhound and hate Akutagawa, right? He always heard everyone say they should see the artist as someone different than his work, but this whole plan shattered the moment he realized that no, he really couldn’t. 

The artist, their life, how they thought and how they felt, it all had a big influence on what they created. Each song had Akutagawa’s personal touch, and it was that emotion that made them unique and special to Atsushi. He didn’t want those feelings to change, neither those the black-haired boy portrayed, nor those the albino had. 

And when he read one of Akutagawa’s essays, the idea of the artist and their work being one and the same solidified in his mind. What he wrote was just as powerful as what he composed. Perfect in both grammar and rhythm, with so much coherence and simplicity at the same time. Understandable to anyone, even those who had no relation or knowledge of literature. You could see the love for that branch of humanities by only reading it one time, it managed to stir emotion and captivate the reader from the very first line. It was incredible. 

Atsushi noticed the clear passion for music and literature Akutagawa had. And he sighed once he accepted reality and, at the same time, embraced it. 

Akutagawa wasn’t like he imagined he would be, their first meeting didn’t happen like he thought either, and his dreams seemed nothing like what he truly was, but that didn’t matter. He admired his passion for literature and music; he wanted to learn from him, to get to know him better, to keep listening as he played the guitar and delighted both men and women just as Orpheus did with his lyre. 

And just like that, his platonic love from his teenage years came back, just as distant and silent as before. He listened to his songs, he watched each video of his new performances, he asked for tutoring sessions with him, and he saw him from afar as he walked through the faculty, holding hands with a blonde girl.

═════════════

“Dazai? Where are you going?!”

Atsushi couldn’t stop the brunette. When he almost caught up to him, the door closed in front of his face and, if it wasn’t for his fast reflexes, that would’ve hurt a lot. 

Sighing, both tired and annoyed, the albino opened the door and thought about shouting to the other for him to come back, maybe even go after him and bring him back by force, but he knew he was being too naive. When he poked his head, Dazai was already long gone.  

Yeah, just like he thought. When Dazai wanted to, he could move faster than anyone else. 

“Just let him be, it isn’t worth it,” advised Akutagawa. 

Closing the door and leaning against it, Atsushi looked at the black-haired boy. Akutagawa didn’t return the look, he remained focused on the papers on the table, putting in the envelopes the ten poems they read and evaluated that afternoon until choosing three winners. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked, walking away from the door. “He left us to do all the work!”

“Don’t be an idiot, we both knew that would happen the moment he said he would clean everything and needed our help.” 

He didn’t want to accept it, but Akutagawa was right. He knew the possibility of Dazai leaving them to do all the work was always there, but he had the habit of ignoring that voice in his mind telling him not to trust, and yet he did, he chose to trust Dazai and hoped the best from him. 

One day he’ll learn his lesson, he thought knowing all too well how much of a lie that was. Sighing once again, he approached the table and considered helping Akutagawa. Organizing wasn’t such a tedious job, nor something that would take too long. The classroom was practically in order, he’d already erased what they had written on the blackboard while voting, and all that was left was to put each poem in an envelope. But as Atsushi was about to pick up one of the papers, he noticed the guitarist rereading them.

He seemed to be searching among the dozen poems for one worth turning into a song, Atsushi thought. He reviewed them word by word, line by line, stanza by stanza with absolute focus. However, Atsushi noticed that none of them were good enough for him, he barely finished rereading one before setting it aside. 

What kind of lyrics was he looking for? What did a poem have to have for it to be turned into a song? What requirements did it need to meet for Aktuagawa to notice it? Atsushi asked himself, unable to take his eyes off him, quietly observing those gray eyes moving from line to line with gentle motions. 

“Stop staring at me,” Akutagawa grunted, still reading the poem in his hands.

Once caught, Atsushi put some distance between them. He felt the heat rise to his face quickly, but instead of letting the embarrassment show, he furrowed his brow and responded with the same defensive tone he always used with the other. 

“I wasn’t staring at you,” he lied, immediately noticing the instrument beside Akutagawa. “I saw your guitar, that’s all. Are you going to rehearse with your band today?”

“How do you know I have a band?” he asked, looking away from the poems for the first time in a while to focus on the albino next to him. “I could just be someone who comes to class every day with a guitar, which could also be a bass.” 

“Why do you talk so much? Your face is not of someone who talks non-stop. You gotta fit the image.” Akutagawa send him a deadly look he easily ignored. Then, he turned his attention back to the poems, not noticing the small smile on Atsushi’s face. “Anyway… I saw you performing with your band at the bar near the intersection.” 

Remembering that night made him smile a little bit more. Finally being in one of his performances was like a dream come true, Atsushi thought. He wanted to see him live for so much time, imagining how he would feel once it happened, and how every expectation he had was surpassed. 

The recordings never did him justice, if he was amazing in those, in person he was astounding, and on that night, the way he played the guitar was different than before. It was more expressive, as if he was truly enjoying the song, the vocals, and the sound of the instruments. Though Atsushi could hear some mistakes coming from the drums, it wasn’t something that couldn’t be improved or overlooked by anyone else with less acute hearing, unlike him. 

And for the first time, although his attention was always on the guitarist, Atsushi shuddered at the sound of the other instruments. He was amazed by the vocals of the singer and the lyrics. He was happy that, at last, Akutagawa found the perfect bandmates for the band he always wanted.

“The song was really good, the new singer was amazing,” he commented, keeping his eyes on the discarded poems that were been put inside the envelopes. “You were also… the guitar was the best, at least for me.”

He felt Akutagawa’s gaze on him. He waited for an answer to his obvious compliment, but the guitarist decided not to say anything and, instead, he brought back his attention to the verses he kept rereading, and disregarded the last words from the albino. 

“That song was a poem. Chuuya, my singer, wrote it. I wasn’t expecting him to have a good voice. I guess I was lucky when I found him.”

Atsushi smiled to himself, not noticing the almost imperceptible smile on the other boy. 

The convo could’ve easily ended there, but when would such an occasion happen again? When would he have another opportunity like that? The two of them talking without criticism or angry glances, without arguing about Chinese literature essays and differing opinions about authors, just calmly discussing music, rereading poems with his guitar by his side, waiting for its owner to make it sing and allow the albino to listen to it fill the silence. 

He knew that moment wouldn’t last forever, but for at least a little more… at least some more seconds before returning to reality…

“Wasn’t there a participant named ‘Chuuya’?” Atsushi asked, taking the discarded poems Akutagawa gave him almost automatically. “Is it the same guy? Your singer?” 

The guitarist nodded and, upon the mention of his singer’s poem, he started to search for it in the pile of unreread poems.

“It is, and he promised me to let me turn that poem into a song.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be an amazing song,” Atsushi supported. “That poem… it was the best. Sad, melancholic, but there’s nothing better than a song that makes you cry.”

Akutagawa mocked him. 

“What are you, a masochist?”

“Don’t be a jerk, we were fine without you acting like one,” he answered without missing a beat. “You know what everyone says: ‘When you're happy you enjoy the music, but when you're sad you understand the lyrics’.”

The black-haired boy nodded in agreement. Atsushi didn’t need more. The smile on his face was still there as he watched the guitarist dig through the papers, searching for his vocalist’s poem. But as time passed, the albino noticed that his movements became tense, slightly nervous, and he kept picking up the same poems over and over again. He flipped the pages, looking at the blank backside that remained untouched. 

His search became erratic, even picking up the poems he had already reread. He pulled them out of their envelopes, checked the author’s name at the end of the last stanza, and his face grew even paler. Atsushi’s concern increased.

“Akutagawa?” he called softly with concern.

“It isn’t here,” the other muttered, looking at the poems without noticing the albino’s confused stare that, upon hearing his next words, changed into a fearful expression like the one he had. “Chuuya’s poem isn’t here.”

═════════════

His phone lit up with Akutagawa’s name, but Chuuya didn’t notice it. His blue gaze wandered around the table, but by that moment, the screen had already turned off. Even though the light at the top kept blinking, indicating there were new notifications and messages, the ginger continued to ignore his phone and focused his full attention on the silly story Albatross was telling. 

“So, I told the idiot not to place that piece there because it would make the mini windmill’s propeller spin too fast and detach,” recounted the blonde with glasses, leaning back in his chair, causing the front legs to lift a couple of centimeters. Despite his relaxed posture, his arms were crossed and his brows furrowed. “And yet, he went and did it anyway! The propeller came loose, hit me, and broke my glasses.”

The other three men at the table laughed, unable to take seriously his story. 

“So that’s why the other day you were using those heart-shaped glasses I gift you as a joke for Valentine’s Day,” Lippman mentioned, chuckling at the memory. “You looked adorable.” 

“Yeah, weird enough, you looked less like an idiot with those,” Chuuya joked, hitting back Albatross on the leg.

They shared a couple more blows under the table and the harmless violence soon turned into peaceful smiles. The stories continued, taking advantage of the moment to complain about the stress and weariness through absurd tales and light jokes, enjoying the not-so-good food of the Faculty of Economic’s cafeteria. 

Anyone would think that living under the same roof would give them enough time to talk between themselves, but the differences in their schedules, their grades and specialties left them tired at the end of the day, and when they came back to the apartment they only greet each other, asked whose turn was to cook, wash the dishes, take out the garbage and any other domestic activity they couldn’t leave for the weekend. Then, they locked themselves to study until one or two in the morning, sometimes pulling an all-nighter, and the next morning they just saw someone going out of the apartment more dead than alive, wondering if this torture really was worth it. 

The answer was both yes and no. Sometimes it was worth it and sometimes it was an absolute shitshow where the best course of action is to just fall asleep for fifty years. Who hated the world and themselves so much to think that staying up til night studying and then waking up early was a good idea? It was cruel and heartless, but it was what society expected them to do. 

Adulthood really got them feeling and recognizing loneliness; so little time to see friends and family, or to do just about anything else, like staring at the ceiling and stop worrying whether what they were studying will give them enough income to survive, or if there would be a climatic cataclysm that would end everything, including that aberrant routine they were forced to have. 

But those days when they were able to eat together and those weekends when they didn’t have much homework, it really seemed like it was worth it. Simple things, Chuuya thought, listening to Lippman’s story and drinking the bitter juice he had bought. 

Listening to them, and being listened, really eased the pressure he had felt for the past two months. Stopping thinking about Dazai, and the possibility of ever seeing him again, was difficult, but he had got it all out of his mind, pushing all that resentment and need for answers to the back of his head. Writing that poem so Akutagawa could have a new song was torture — only his roommates knew how many torn sheets and crumpled papers he ended up with during the process. 

Writing again wasn’t easy, he was forced to remember how he felt in his teenage years and, at the same time, return to those lyrical subjects for which he always poeticized. Recalling the pain his lonesome self didn’t know how to manage was hard, a torment, but he wrote that fucking poem and, at least, Akutagawa smiled when he gave him his work for the contest.

Now he could relax for a bit, he thought. Forget all about poems, forget he had an exam tomorrow, and get rid of those bitter feelings that hit him every time his mind started to wonder if Dazai was in Kyoto or not. 

He smiled to himself. He took his phone for the first time in that hour and noticed Akutagawa’s message. He read it quickly, not understanding what he meant by: ‘Your poem got lost.’

“Chuuya.”

And then, the thief appeared.

“Who would’ve thought I would find you here?”

Drawn by that voice he thought he’d forgotten, his body turned towards the person standing two or three steps behind him. There, with a relaxed and confident posture bordering on arrogance, stood Dazai. His calm demeanor contrasted with wide blue eyes that expressed nothing but a surprise he was unable to hide, not to mention the fact that they were so close again.

Then, after four years, he saw that smile of superiority he hated begin to form on Dazai’s lips.

“Why the long face? You look ugly! Well — I guess you always did,” he mocked him, not caring about all the attention he was getting. “Ah, you really haven’t changed.”

And the memories came back to hit him like a coldwater bucket drenching him from head to toe, forcing him to remember who the man in front of him was. And though he wanted to scream, his voice could only form the name that he had thought of countless times, but never spoken during all that time.

“Dazai…”

“Chuuya, who is he?” Pianoman asked, catching Dazai’s attention. The elder of the group looked him up and down with contempt as if he saw nothing more than trash in front of him. “Who the fuck are you to talk to him like that? Get out of here.”

Dazai maintained his artificial and practiced smile on his face, disregarding the three pairs of eyes he didn’t recognize, who watched him like a pack of dogs about to bite him. Then, turning his gaze back to the blue and irate eyes he never brought himself to forget, he dared to speak once again without fearing the consequences.

“Oh? Chuuya hasn’t talked about me?” His face saddened at the declaration, but the ginger knew he was only faking it. “I’m hurt. Chuuya, I thought I was more important to you.”

The initial shock subsided, giving way to the outrage that caused his hands to tremble. His body became tense all over, he clenched his fists to hold back the shivers running down his spine, and his gaze turned cold, openly expressing how much he wanted the other person to either disappear or answer some questions.

“You’re no one,” he finally responded, regaining the volume of his voice. He looked at his roommates and then stood up, facing Dazai and futilely trying to shield his friends with his body. “He’s no one. Nothing more than an asshole who should come back from where he came from.” 

“Already? I walked a lot just to see you, Chuuya,” he mentioned. That expression of absolute desolation was still present on his face, and the ginger wanted nothing but to just make it disappear. “And am I really nothing to you? How weird, I was once the most important thing you had in your life.” 

“You said it, ’you were once’, past tense. Now you’re nothing more than an awful reminder. Go away.”

“Always so resentful. Why don’t you come with me so we can catch up, mh?”

Chuuya snorted and turned his back to him. 

“No. You should disappear from my life like you did four years ago. You’re really good at that.”

He couldn’t sit back down. A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers gently digging into his skin like a knife. That made him tremble, sending shivers down his spine that made nothing but increase his indignation.

“Chuuya,” he insisted. His grip tightened, not caring if he was using too much force or not. “Let’s talk. I have something for you.”

“How interesting, when I had something for you, you disregard it without a second thought.” With a sudden jerk, he broke free from the other’s grip and confronted him once again. “You’re so fortunate that I’m not like you, right? Follow me, I’m not going to talk with you here. You’re ruining the place.” 

Chuuya exchanged gazes with his roommates, promising that he wouldn’t take long and that he would answer any questions later. He left the Faculty of Economics’ cafeteria, leading the way with Dazai following one or two meters behind. He could feel his eyes on him, he could hear each one of his steps, and the million emotions going through his body just made him more unease, a feeling he desperately tried to keep at bay, but that only seemed to want to unravel, making him wonder if maybe it was all a game, a joke, and the brunette wasn’t really walking behind him. 

He wanted to turn around to make sure Dazai was there, to confirm that he wasn’t an illusion destined to leave him walking and talking alone. Now he clearly understood the anxiety Orpheus felt as he left the underworld after begging for his wife, but, even though he understood it, he couldn’t make the same mistake of looking back just to lose Eurydice a second time. 

He didn’t want to experience that and feel utter disappointment. He knew it wasn’t the same situation and that the one following him wasn’t that idyllic love he would give anything for. Instead, it was Hades, the one that left him trapped in the underworld. 

When the walls stopped enclosing them and they stepped out into the open area, Dazai noticed how different the Faculty of Economics was compared to the Faculty of Humanities. The place he came from was so full of colors, the plants grew as much as they want and the paths were decorated with leaves. The red bricks composed the final image of each structure, and its architecture was a mix between baroque and neoclassical. It was as if the past was trapped in every classroom and hallway. 

On the other hand, the buildings in that faculty made him think of an unwanted and futile future. Wherever you go, straight and harsh lines would follow you, the white facades uncomfortably reflected the weak sunlight. The asphalt formed perfect squares that hardly left any room for vegetation, and even if there were a couple of trees around, they all looked fake. 

And when they stopped, when he could finally look at the ginger hair with its profound blue eyes contrast with the stiff buildings and the lack of vitality in the surroundings, he couldn’t help but think that Chuuya didn’t belong there.

Nothing looked good, his colors didn’t match with the gloomy hues that surrounded him. That was not the place he was supposed to be, it wasn’t a scene he truly fit. And he wondered if when Hades saw Persephone wrapped by the void and darkness of the underworld, he thought the same. 

“Chuuya, what are you doing here?” he questioned, standing in a secluded corner away from the other students who were walking around the area, as well as those resting on scattered benches. “You were never smart, how did they accept you?” 

Seeing the way those blue eyes darkened in anger was so nostalgic. Almost a treat, almost something he never wanted to see again. 

“What? Is your ego crying because you aren’t the only one who can enter Kyodai?” he scoffed, surprising the brunette with the quick and composed response he got. “And here I was thinking you were more mature. You aren’t the smartest person in the world Dazai, you’re just another narcissistic bastard. Grow up” 

“I matured, more than what you think, and I grew up,” he observed the ginger from head to toe, then returned his gaze to his face and lingered there. “I can’t say the same about you though.” 

His brow furrowed, distorting his facial features, which, he had to admit, had become even more attractive over time. He waited for the ginger to succumb to the provocation, but despite the evident anger in every one of his movements, he managed to maintain an unexpected calmness that wasn’t in him years ago. 

And that calmness, that unknown control, annoyed Dazai. He had everything he already knew in front of him, and he hated everything he didn’t. 

“What the hell do you want, Dazai?” Chuuya questioned, one hand on his hip and the other in the air, silencing anything the brunette wanted to say. “No, don’t tell me. You came to annoy the shit out of me like the asshole you always were, right?” 

Dazai smiled. 

“How touching, you still know me so well,” he responded with a dramatic, and yet fake, cheerful tone which, as quick as it arrived, vanished. His cold and empty gaze was something Chuuya was used to and, because it wasn’t unknown to him, Dazai didn’t try to hide it behind feelings he didn’t feel. “Just answer the question Chuuya, what are you doing here? You’re far from your home at Yokohama.”

“Why should I tell you what I’m doing here?” he questioned back, taking on a defensive attitude. “You have no fucking right to ask me anything. In fact, I should be the only one asking questions here.” 

“Go ahead, I have nothing to hide.” 

“Why did you leave four years ago?” Dazai kept his mouth shut. Chuuya was already expecting it, but he still insisted more. “Why did you leave Yokohama? It’s one thing if you broke up with me, but it’s another if you disappeared without telling me shit and now I have the bad luck of seeing you here in Kyoto. Couldn’t you have chosen another damn place?” 

“Couldn’t you have chosen another city?”

“Don’t answer me with another damn question!”

“That’s what you’re doing, Chuuya.”

The ginger sighed. The anger seemed to dissipate for a moment, replaced by a weariness that he wasn’t sure when it started, perhaps days, weeks, or even years ago. Maybe it was everything finally catching up to him, be he had become an expert disregarding any weakness.

“I didn’t get enough sleep for this shit, and by shit I mean you,” he clarified, one hand managing his temple and the other pointing at the brunette. “Are you done? You interrupted my lunch. If it gets cold, I’ll find you and I’ll make you swallow it whole.” 

“Heh, you used to say that in another context.” 

For his mental health, he chose to ignore the clear meaning of that phrase. After all, he hadn’t changed that much. Perhaps he was taller, maybe he looked a little bit more mature and seemed to carry a different type of darkness, but the rest of him was just like that teenager that broke his heart. 

And seeing the similarities between that boy he knew and the man in front of him irritated him. 

“I really hate you,” he muttered and, as expected, the other looked pleased with such an answer. 

“The feeling has always been mutual. In any case, if you’re done acting like a brat, I have something for you and something to tell you.” Before the ginger could question him, Dazai pulled out a familiar white envelope from his pants pocket and waved it in front of his face. “Congrats Chuuya, you lost! Don’t feel bad though, you were always a loser.” 

Before he could try to snatch the poem from Dazai’s hands, the brunette took a step back and raised his arm, laughing at Chuuya’s anger and indignation. He almost wanted to make him jump for that piece of paper, but he knew the ginger’s pride would stop him from doing so. 

“Where did you get that…? Give it back!”

“Should I break it? I mean, it’s not a winning poem so who cares.” 

He was bluffing, but the tension in the ginger’s body told Dazai that Chuuya truly believed he was capable of doing that and more, as if he was that cruel. He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

“Don’t you dare…” Chuuya muttered, his jaw and fists clenched. 

“Why so eager to get back a piece of paper?” he questioned and sighed, knowing he should just shut up and hand over the envelope without saying anything else, but unable to control himself. “It’s a bad poem Chuuya, it’s awful and has no depth. I told you countless times, you’re not talented for this, why do you keep writing? It’s a waste of time.” 

His palm opened, and the envelope succumbed to gravity. He let the envelope fall, not caring about anything, and yet, the paper never reached the floor. Centimeters before crashing against the ground, Chuuya caught it with delicacy, as if that piece of paper was a despised and trampled jewel.

He knew Chuuya’s pride was fragile, he knew he hated when others questioned his ability to write poetry, however, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he hurt him once more. But still, when the ginger looked up, when he looked directly at him, he could see those blue eyes reflecting nothing but indignation and sadness hidden behind a fog of anger, and Dazai wondered why he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He didn’t want to see that expression, even if he was the cause of it. 

“You really haven’t changed,” he said, his voice a mix between shaky and hostile that managed to numb part of his body, “you are still the same monster you always were.” 

And just like how he knew what to say to hurt Chuuya’s pride, Chuuya also knew how to hurt him. Maybe he wasn’t aware of what his words did to Dazai, perhaps he didn’t know how much he hated being compared to a monster, but he wasn’t going to stop there. Neither of them would, not until they opened a deep wound the other couldn’t forget easily. 

They were truly meant for each other, Dazai thought, and he hated how well they knew each other despite the four years worth of silence and distance. 

“Don’t be so mad about it,” he muttered, his fake smile still hiding the effects the other’s words had on him. “It’s not mature of you to get mad because someone told you the truth.” 

Chuuya didn’t respond. He turned to the envelope in his hands, he observed the crumpled sheet and then, he crushed it a bit more. He took a step back and looked at Dazai as if he was the worst nightmare he ever had, the one he couldn’t forget, the one that started as a sweet and naive dream, but that turned into a painful memory in a matter of seconds. 

And he needed to push away the pain. When presented with the necessity to forget it all again, either with silence or harsh words, Chuuya chose the latter option, the same one that Dazai preferred. 

Dazai couldn’t blame him for opting to go with that strategy, after all, Chuuya learned it from him. 

“Yeah, you’re right, but you know why the poem is terrible?” Even though he looked tired and broken, Chuuya smiled with an arrogant grin that mirrored his own. “Because I wrote it thinking about you, so it’s not that surprising if it’s dreadful, just like you.” 

And then he struck his chest with the poem, surprising him in the act and making him take a step back. 

“Keep it,” he said, turning back and walking without looking at his again. “Both you and the poem should be in the garbage, exactly where you belong.” 

The ginger walked away, hands inside his pants’ pockets. Dazai crumpled the paper between his fingers, clenched his jaw and fists when no one was looking, and turning his back, he called him again. 

“Chuuya, I’m not done talking to you, come back.” 

Chuuya didn’t acknowledge him, he kept walking towards the Faculty of Economics cafeteria. With a tense body and frustration running through him, Dazai turned and watched him walk away, calling out to him once more, knowing that he wouldn’t achieve anything. 

“Chuuya!” he yelled, but the ginger ignored him. 

Being alone in there, surrounded by the gray and high buildings with fake vegetation, Dazai thought about breaking the poem Chuuya had left, as if that childish act would magically make him come back. And even if he didn’t, who cares? That poem was trash, right? The ginger had said so, he said it was as much of a waste as Dazai was, it wasn’t even a winner poem that actually mattered. 

He looked at the envelope, he opened it, he took out the poem and he reread it. Then, he crumbled the paper and he started walking again, going back to the building he had just left, walking past a garbage can. 

═════════════

Chuuya went back to the cafeteria without looking back. Hearing Dazai shout his name with frustration made him shiver from head to toe, a thin layer of contentment filling his body like it never did, and a part of him, the worst one, wanted to come back and find out if he could get something more than mere troubled feelings out of the brunette. 

But he wouldn’t do it. He was better than that. He was no longer that kid who easily fell for Dazai’s games and, despite getting hurt and being utterly humiliated time and time again, always went back to his side like a pathetic little puppy. Withdrawing was the best choice here, alongside forgetting everything about that encounter. Forgetting Dazai, the poem, all those verses he wrote while thinking about Dazai…

His chest filled with rage and an old pain he perfectly knew when and where it originated, but he disregarded it. He kept walking without looking back, unsure if Dazai would follow him or not. Wishing, deep down, that he would follow his steps like he never did before, just to prove that he had changed as much as he claimed he did.

But he knew Dazai would never do such a thing. He would never follow him, not even for a stupid fight like the one they had. He wasn’t important to him, he wasn’t important enough for anyone to run after him.

“Chuuya!”

He came to a halt halfway between the cafeteria’s windows and the tables where his roommates were still waiting for him. He turned his head to find the source of the voice and noticed Akutagawa walking quickly towards him, accompanied by a boy with white hair, looking both worried and nervous. However, the white-haired boy didn’t seem to acknowledge him more than once, as if he was searching for someone else. 

“Chuuya” Akutagawa repeated once he got closer to him. “Did you read my message?”

Sadly, Chuuya nodded.

“I’m really sorry,” the black-haired boy apologized, his body tensed and his hands tightly clenched into fists. “I don’t know where it is. I have a hunch, but I…”

“I know where it is,” he interrupted him, managing to surprise him and drawing the albino’s attention to him. “I gave it to an idiot.” 

“What…? You gave it to someone? I thought I was supposed to turn it into a song…”

With a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, Chuuya tried to calm himself. But, in the eyes of the other two in front of him, he looked tired and resigned.

“Ryuu, I know what I said, but right now I don’t feel like talking about poems, songs, or anything at all.” Without turning around or looking back, he pointed with his thumb towards the same area he came from. “If you want that poem so much, go ask that asshole outside, but I doubt he’ll give it to you.”

The ginger walked away despite the gentle way the guitarist said his name. He looked one last time to his bandmate and the albino, before approaching the table and exchanging a few words with his roommates. 

Akutagawa kept his gaze on him until he noticed the four men gathering their belongings and leaving the place with an unfinished lunch and without looking back. And just as the group exited through the main door of the cafeteria, Atsushi called out to the man who entered.

“Dazai!” Atsushi exclaimed, approaching him as the brunette looked around the place, searching for someone before setting his attention on the albino. “What did you do…?” 

“You took the poem,” Akutagawa affirmed. By his side, Atsushi noticed the slight tremble on his hands, the strange respect he felt for the eldest of the three being the only thing barely containing him. “You’re the one Chuuya was talking about… why? What did you do with it?” 

Atsushi almost felt the need to intervene between Akutagawa and Dazai. When the latter smiled, he could see the guitarist’s fists clench a bit more, vexed and confused with the situation.

“Oh come on, why are you looking at me like that?” he said, that menacing smile still on his face, doing nothing but making the other two nervous. “I just wanted to talk with my ex-boyfriend and telling him how much of a loser he is was the perfect excuse.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” Atsushi mumbled, raising bit by bit his voice. “The vocalist in Akutagawa’s band is your ex-boyfriend? And you told him he lost?!”

“Someone had to give him the good news!” he excused himself with a shrug. “Besides, didn’t I mention it? I thought I had told you about the little chihuahua with anger issues I dated back in high school.” 

“You only talk about Oda,” Akutagawa said, managing to briefly diminish Dazai’s smile. But just as quickly as it wandered, it stabilized again. “You never mentioned anyone besides Oda.”

“To be fair, did Chuuya ever talk about me?” 

Akutagawa remained silent, and the absence of an answer was an answer by itself.

“See? That’s why I didn’t say anything, we don’t really get along.” 

“Then give me the poem.” Akutagawa raised a hand without taking his eyes off Dazai, his palm open and facing upwards. “Chuuya promised to let me use it for a song. Give it to me.” 

“Hmmm… no.” The hand in front of him clenched into a fist, but the brunette continued. His gaze turned cold, and he kept his hands inside the pockets of his coat. “I’m mad, Akutagawa, do you even know who Chuuya wrote all his poems to? No, you don’t. Besides, I don’t have it anymore. I threw it away.”

Both Akutagawa and Atsushi’s eyes reflected the shock they felt. But while the albino’s bewildered look remained still, the confusion in the gray eyes that never looked away from Dazai turned into outrage.

“It’s not funny, Dazai…” The albino tried to let out a nervous chuckle. Instead, a worried whimper left his lips, and their surroundings got colder. “Give Akutagawa the poem, we need to go back to the faculty…”

“He’s not joking,” Akutagawa muttered by his side. 

“No, I’m not.” Dazai shrugged, disregarding the gloomy look from the boy in front of him and the astonished gaze he received from the albino. “Chuuya said that poem was trash, so I did him a favor by throwing it away.”

Just how hard was Akutagawa trying to contain his anger? Atsushi wondered. At the moment, he was only a speechless spectator, not knowing what to say and desperately wishing for Dazai to shut his mouth, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. He couldn’t calm down Akutagawa either, even if he wanted to hold his hand and try to stop the tremble in it, he knew he would only cause the opposite effect. 

“That poem was going to be my next song…”

“Then you should thank me, that song was going to be awful.” Not wanting to stay in that place any longer, he approached the black-haired boy and put both hands on his shoulders, hitting them gently and ignoring the threatening look the other had. “Follow my advice, Akutagawa. If you want to keep your band, find another singer. Chuuya doesn’t know how to write poems and his voice is hideous.”

Before the boy could respond, Dazai took a step back. He said goodbye to Atsushi, not caring about the baffled and worried expression on the albino’s face. With both hands back in the pockets of his coat, he walked away, feeling the gaze of the other two on his back, but he couldn’t care less about that.  

He just wanted to get out of there. He was tired of the whiteness adorning each wall and the plants that invaded the place, looking fake and ruining the area. Besides, Chuuya wasn’t there. It wasn’t worth it to stay in that place any longer.

Just like when the ginger walked away, Akutagawa’s eyes remained on his back until Dazai disappeared. Only then, when he gave up on finding the poem, the tension covering his body evaporated, leaving on his shoulders a cold feeling with absolute dread. 

What would he do now? He thought that maybe, through the contest, Chuuya would finally write poems again, poems which he would turn into songs and gave them some rhythm, but instead, the opposite happened. He was sure his singer won’t want to write anything more, and everything was his and Dazai’s fault; after all, he didn’t notice Dazai leaving with the poem, and who knows what he said to the ginger. 

What would he do…? 

The hand that gently rested on his back felt comforting. And when he looked to his side, he was met with bicolor eyes that were watching him with concern, almost wanting to apologize for the other’s actions.

What an idiot, he thought.

“Akutagawa…”

“Shut up, I’m sure you’re going to apologize for Daza’s attitude and I don’t want to hear that.”

Atsushi sighed. His face became slightly offended, but his hand continued to rest against the other’s back.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” he responded, looking elsewhere in an attempt to hide the obvious lie. “I was just thinking… if he really thinks the poem is awful, why did he vote for it?”

That was true, Akutagawa realized, he had overlooked that detail.

After reading all the poems, setting aside the best ones, and trying to choose the winner, Akutagawa had to pick someone else, even when he knew their poem wasn’t as good as Chuuya’s. However, Atsushi voted for him, and Dazai did too, but while the albino was expressing everything he liked about the ginger’s poem, the brunette kept quiet and never said his opinion. 

At that moment, only one vote was needed for it to end in a draw. If that would’ve happened, Fukuzawa-sensei certainly would’ve chosen Chuuya’s poem. But another judge ended up going for the other poem and, when his disappointed gaze traveled around the table, the black-haired boy was sure he saw a blink of annoyance on Dazai’s face. But as soon as those feelings arose, they hid themselves.

When they chose the second and third place, history repeat itself. Each time, Akutagawa noticed how Dazai always voted for Chuuya, and yet, he still lost. 

That didn’t make sense. If Dazai insisted on giving Chuuya’s poem at least a second or third place in the contest, why did he throw it away? why did he search for him only to give him the bad news and anger him?

He would never understand how his senpai thinks. Some time ago, when he first enrolled in Kyodai, he tried to understand him, but quickly realized how impossible that would be. It was a waste of energy and time to try and figure out what was going on in his head, and why his actions and words always contradicted themselves.

“Forget it,” Akutagawa advised the albino next to him. “It isn’t worth it to try and understand Daza.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just curious… that’s all.”

The hand that rested on his back moved away, and the warmth it left behind dissipated quickly. The absence felt uncomfortable, more than he anticipated. Unconsciously seeking that comforting feeling again, the words slipped from his lips without realizing the offer he was making.

“Follow me,” Akutagawa said, unable to take back his words once he noticed them. “I left my guitar in the classroom, I was composing a song and I need someone else to hear it.”

Confusion and surprise came over the albino. The nervousness quickly took over him and his attempts to hide it and control it were futile. He ended up pointing to himself, unable to believe that Akutagawa was requesting him that.

“What? Me? Shouldn’t your bandmates be the ones to listen to it?” he asked nervously, still looking at him with a hidden illusion in his eyes.

“We aren’t rehearsing today. Gin is at school, Tachihara has an exam and Chuuya is angry, I doubt he wants to see me right now.”

“Then, what about your girlfriend? She’s probably available…”

“Higuchi thinks everything I compose is amazing, I need an impartial opinion.” Without waiting for an answer, he began walking. They had to walk through the whole campus to arrive at his faculty. Pressing forward, he asked: “Are you coming or not?” 

The answer was left unsaid, only footsteps from behind him could be heard. He didn’t know if the albino was following him, he didn’t know if he was walking alone or if the footsteps belonged to a stranger. He didn't want to turn around, but he had to, he had to make sure which was the correct answer. And that’s how Orpheus turned around to confirm that his lover was following him out of the underworld, even if that condemn them. Akutagawa did the same.

And walking behind him, without fading away like Eurydice once did and sending him a small smile, was Atsushi. 

═════════════

That night, when he arrived at his apartment after a long day of university and losing himself amidst the corners of Kyodai, Dazai walked directly to his room, not caring to greet the other man that lived with him. 

His phone was filled with messages, some from Yosano, various from Kunikida, one from Ranpo, and a lot from Atsushi. He had read all of them, especially the ones from the albino, committing to memory each of their questions. When had he met Chuuya, why did he never talk about him, and why did he vote for him just to throw away the poem later. What did he tell the ginger that afternoon and more, so many questions that he wouldn’t answer today, nor tomorrow, and perhaps ever.  

When a new message arrived, Dazai turned off the phone and took one of the few poetry books he had bought, more for duty than for his liking. However, some poems were good, and yet he couldn’t understand them at all, but he could see the beauty behind them, just like he recognized the magnificence with which Chuuya wrote. 

And for that same reason, no matter if the ginger thought it was trash or not, he put between two pages of that book the poem Chuuya wrote while thinking about him.

The poem was beautiful, almost perfect, and that afternoon he couldn’t break it nor throw it away. Instead, he chose to hide it from the world, so that no one but him could read it. 

He knew their actions were contradictory. Because, despite everything they said, despite four years of distance after which they still knew exactly what to say to hurt the other, Dazai saved the poem as if it was a treasure. And even if Chuuya said he was no longer important to him, that he preferred to be away from him and forget he ever existed, he still wrote a poem with him on his mind. 

When it came to Chuuya, Dazai knew he loses all logic. And when it came to Dazai, Chuuya couldn’t take him out of his mind. Their actions contradict each word they ever said, and that hadn’t changed despite the unanswered calls and the unfulfilled kisses that were left for later.

Chapter Text

That night, when he arrived at his apartment, regretting not paying attention to his last classes of the day because his mind was full of the memories of a certain idiot, Chuuya wanted to go directly to his room. But his roommates, who arrived earlier than him due to their schedules, were still waiting for an explanation.

They looked relaxed, but the ginger knew they were far from it. Pianoman was in the kitchen, making some tea as if it was a day like any other. Lippman was in one of the chairs in the kitchen, trying to refrain from asking all the questions the moment Chuuya crossed the threshold. Albatross was on the couch, his legs on top of it and looking straight at him, knowing what his part was in all of this: be the first to ask, tact be damned. 

“No,” Chuuya stated before anyone else could say anything, knowing that the other three would disregard his refusal. 

“Yes,” Albatross replied without moving from his place on the sofa. “Chuuya, we respect your privacy and your wish of not talking about that during classes, but we reaffirm our authority as your roommates by asking who the fuck was that asshole.”

Chuuya sighed. He hadn’t even closed the door and the interrogation had already started. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to brush them off, he dropped his backpack full of books on the floor and entered, ignoring Lippman’s annoyed gaze at the mess he left behind. Alright, he could also play this game, if they wanted to bother him with their questions, he would do the same.

“He was just an idiot,” he muttered, slowly lifting his eyelids and gazing toward the ceiling.

“An idiot that said many things,” Pianoman commented from the kitchen. “And he made it pretty clear that he knows you long before either of us did.”

“Besides, if he really was just another idiot, talking to him wouldn’t have affected you as much as it did,” Lippman added, unable to see the conflicted expression on the ginger’s face. “Chuuya, we ain’t blind, we know you better than what you think. You still have that look on your face that we just can’t decipher, it’s almost as if you want to…” 

“I want to what?”

“Scream or cry,” he completed with a gentle voice. “Maybe both, and that worries us. I know we just met a few months ago, but we’ve never seen you so… hurt by someone. Not even for those guys you tried to go out with at the start of the year but things didn’t work out.” 

If things didn’t work out with any of them, it was Dazai’s fault, he thought. It was his fault for confirming something Kouyou had already stated: it was easy to leave him behind. 

He never said it to anyone, but he was scared to be abandoned again. He couldn’t be in a stable relationship without thinking the other person would eventually go in silence, with words left unsaid and a lack of any sort of explanation, emphasizing just how unimportant he was to the rest. So before that happened, before anyone could hurt him again, Chuuya preferred to be the one stepping to the side instead of moving forward. 

It didn’t matter if the relationship was going well, or if he liked someone more than what he remembered liking Dazai at the beginning of their relationship. Maybe there was good chemistry there and they looked like the perfect couple. And yet, he left them before any of them could leave him. 

He didn’t want to be left behind, he didn’t need others reminding him how little he was worth to them. 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he answered after a big pause. 

Under the watchful eyes of his roommates, he got up from the couch. He picked up everything he’d left scattered when he entered and headed toward his room. To do so, he had to pass through the kitchen, where Pianoman was, discreetly trying to block his path. He was trying to convey through gentle gestures and soothing words that he could trust them, expressing unwavering support that Chuuya wasn’t sure was genuine.

“Chuuya,” the older one called, placing his hand gently on the other’s shoulder. “Talking about it would help.” 

“And we’re willing to listen,” getting up from the couch and slowly approaching the ginger, Albatross added. “Without judging, we promise.”

“You won’t press?” the ginger questioned. The other three men nodded, and Pianoman replied on their behalf.

“We won’t.” 

“Then don’t make me talk about it.” The hand on his shoulder slid gently. Blue eyes reflected a silent plea, a faint desperation. “For now, just forget about what happened today. That asshole was no one, I don’t have anything to do with him, so please…” 

He hated Pianoman’s compassionate expression, the absence of words from Albatross and Lippman, the tension in the air, and the feeling of suffocation. 

With a slight nod, the older one let him enter his room. Chuuya didn’t look back as he dragged his feet to his own room, nor did he worry about where he left his belongings, as he locked the door. He sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the soft murmurs coming from the kitchen. His roommates were talking about him, saying many things he couldn’t understand through the wall that separated them. 

Sighing, he leaned back, bouncing slightly against the mattress, his hair almost brushing against the wall on the other side of the bed, he tried to push all the words of that day out of his head. Whatever Dazai said shouldn’t affect him, at least not anymore. 

Dazai wasn’t the first one to tell him how horrible his poetry was, his father did too, even some of his teachers and classmates from high school who, more immersed in this literature world than he was, despised whenever he was praised for his writing. So then, why did it affect him? Why, if Dazai was the one judging him, did it hurt so damn much? 

He never cared about what others said about his poems, even if it did affect him in some ways, he never showed it. Unless said critics were from Dazai. If the harsh words were coming from his lyrical subject, who remained hidden amidst words and verses, then it hurt. And yet, just for a moment, with the image of the brunette looking straight at him from the audience while he sang, he thought that Dazai had changed. But he was wrong. He had expected way too much from someone who did nothing but lie and hurt others and himself. 

“What an idiot…” he muttered, not knowing if those words were meant to describe Dazai or himself. 

Standing up, he moved towards the desk against the wall parallel to the bed. He opened one of the two drawers and took out his old poetry notebook. He had reread it over and over during those past few weeks, especially while writing the poem that Dazai had destroyed. During that time, those childish verses provided some solace, an escape to a time when life seemed easier, when he dreamt of a future where he could spend every day just writing verses about a brunette who, he hoped, would never leave his side. But he left, and all that remained of that dream was an incomplete old notebook. 

And under that old notebook laid the same phone he had thrown against the wall after trying to call Kouyou one last time.

He didn’t know why he keep it. He stopped using it after that last call; the screen was shattered, and he didn’t know if it still worked. But he kept it, just like all those things from his teenage years that, although were related to some bad memories, were also connected to good ones. He knew that somewhere deep inside his closet was an old stuffed animal of a sheep that his mother had once gifted to him before everything went downhill and he started showing clear signs that he was gay, tendencies that his parents loathed and desperately tried to repress. But the phone, the notebook, and the toy were things he couldn’t get rid of, even if he wanted to.

He returned to his bed with the phone in one hand and the notebook in the other. He set the notebook aside and connected the phone to its charger; the battery icon filling up appeared immediately. He didn’t expect it to work, but it did. The screen lit up effortlessly, and although the thin lines on the glass were uncomfortable, he could see the photo that appeared before his eyes as the lock screen background: Dazai and him, both sixteen, with their cheeks pressed together. His smile was wide, and the brunette had an expression of boredom, but by the sparkle in his eyes, he was actually having fun. Neither of them was looking at the camera, instead, both were focused on each other. 

Chuuya remembered that day. It was after math class was finished, during recess, a time they spent together hidden from the rest of the people. That day, they stayed in their classroom, eating together, talking, joking, and looking through the window to see the football team eating as fast as they could so they could go back to play.

He remembered himself complaining to Dazai about wanting a new wallpaper for his cellphone. He had seen the one the girl that sat beside him had; it was a photo of her and her boyfriend, and he wanted one like that. 

“Your father is going to kill you if he looks at your phone and sees a photo of us,” he recalled Dazai saying. “If you die, who am I going to annoy?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Yeah, obviously.”

“I’m going to break up with you.” 

“Don’t. If you do, who am I going to annoy?” 

He remembered throwing his chopsticks at him, but Dazai easily dodge them. A couple of laughs later, the brunette finally agreed to take a picture. He moved his chair closer to Chuuya’s and got closer than necessary, but it didn’t matter, he enjoyed that closeness. The recurrent loneliness he always felt faded away only when he was with Dazai.

The picture was perfect. With the sunlight shining through the window beside them, it completely captured their childish feelings that changed so quickly in just a couple of months. After taking that photo, they kissed without caring much whether someone would see them.

They should’ve cared, though, but they wouldn’t realize that until much later.

At some point, Dazai had taken the phone from his hands and snapped another picture, the one he’d seen that night when he got home, and which, till this day, remained as his lock screen wallpaper. 

He’d forgotten everything about that photo, brought back to his memory by the countless pictures in his old gallery — pictures where his happiness was reflected, a feeling he also forgot he had felt during those times. His mind could only recall the promises and shattered dreams, and how Dazai was once the one afraid of the day when they would separate from each other, and yet, he was the one who put an end to their relationship and left the other.

Not wanting to see that old image anymore, he opened his contact list. There were only four; his parents, Kouyou and Dazai. The last two were at the top, the ones he called the most during that time, and also the last ones before breaking, and thinking, that the phone would never work again. 

His thumb paused over his sister’s name for a moment, smiling bitterly to himself as he realized he no longer needed to remember that series of numbers. If he wanted to talk to Kouyou, he could call from his own phone and she would answer almost immediately. However, Dazai wouldn’t. He knew he no longer had a way to contact him, and as much as that relieved him, it also hurt.

He remembered Dazai’s old number much better than Kouyou’s. Even after he stopped using his old phone, on those days and nights spent outside his house, unable to bear his parent’s attitude and comments, he would always dial that number in any telephone booth he could find. Wishing each time that the brunette would answer, seeking comfort, answers, hoping to somehow turn back time and return to the days when he was happy and he didn’t know it. When he wasn’t lonely, when he thought that he was important to at least one person in the world. But Dazai never answered, and three months after their break up, and after the brunette left Yokohama, he accepted it.

And even though he knew that, even though he went through all that already, on that night, after a long day at university, after hearing his harsh words, he called him again.

The call was connecting, the signal on his phone still worked. Like a never-forgotten habit, he brought the phone to his ear and waited to hear a voice on the other side. He laid back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the dial tone. He smiled melancholically to himself, with a bit of disappointment and resignation.

He knew no one was going to answer, he knew Dazai had long since…

“Chuuya…? ”

He answered. The voice he always hoped he would hear each time he called that number answered.

“Chuuya,” the voice on the other side called again. But his side just remained silent. “ I know it’s you. I remember this number… ” 

He hung up. Before his lips could dare to say whatever his mind was conjuring, before he could utter how much he needed, at some point, to hear his voice, he chose to hang up.

His eyes kept looking at the dark ceiling of his room, his hands kept holding his old phone as if it was his lifeline, his body lay on his bed, his breathing got slower, and bit by bit, he started to disassociate. He was desperately trying to convince himself that nothing had happened, that it was just his mind playing games, that it wasn’t the first time he thought he heard the brunette’s voice calling out his name or answering his calls…

Why would he answer? He wondered, letting the torrent of doubts and questions pour in without doing much to stop it. Why now? Why not before? Before, when he would’ve felt so damn happy with hearing his voice on the other side of the call, when he didn’t feel emotions such as disappointment and anger. It was way too late to start answering calls and reading poems. But each time he thought he knew how Dazai thinks and acts, he did the contrary to whatever he was thinking, putting his stability in shambles. 

Then, music started playing, his phone vibrated, and the lyrics of a song he had long set for whenever Dazai called him pulled him out of his thoughts. 

I came along 

I wrote a song for you 

And all the things you do 

And it was called "Yellow" 

So then I took my turn 

Oh, what a thing to have done 

And it was all yellow 

Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones 

(Ooh) turn into something beautiful 

(Ah) and you know, you know I love you so 

You know I love you so…

Before realizing it, he got up from the bed and threw the phone against the wall, exactly like he did four years ago. The only difference was that this time, it broke. 

The song fell silent, and the brightness of the screen disappeared. It vanished like all the pictures of a past spent with him, of moments full of shared kisses and days where some comfort and happiness could be found with Dazai. Those were nothing but bad memories, he thought as he approached the wall and started picking up the pieces on the floor. 

Now he should feel better, right? He had finally gotten rid of that old phone. He had finally destroyed the few records of a relationship that had given him hope only to shatter it completely. 

He should be fine, shouldn’t he? Relieved, content, calmed, so then… why did he feel so much regret? Why did he desperately want the phone to work again? 

At that moment, someone gently knocked on the door. The sudden noise startled him. He thought someone would go through the door just to find him on his knees, with a broken phone in his hands, but he faintly remembered locking the door after he entered the room.

“Chuuya?” Lippman called, knocking again with hesitation. “Are you okay? We heard a noise…

“I’m fine! I just… There was a bug on the wall, so I threw a shoe at it.” 

On the other side of the door, Lippman fell silent. Chuuya didn’t need to see his face to know that the other didn’t believe him, but the blonde ignored his obvious lie. If the ginger wanted to steer the conversation elsewhere, he wouldn’t stop him. From his three roommates, he knew he was the less likely to force him to talk and tell the truth.

“Okay then, I believe you. Just… please don’t do that again, you scared us,” he commented, and with a soft voice, he added: “Are you going to eat dinner with us?”

“I’m not hungry,” he responded, trying to fit every piece of the phone in its original place. “I’m… busy right now, I’ll eat later.”

Silence surrounded them again. From the corner of his eye, Chuuya noticed the doorknob trembling, as if someone was trying to open it and enter, but once they realized that wouldn’t work, they quickly gave up.

“Alright,” said the blonde on the other side of the door. “If you need anything, tell us. We’re here.”

The ginger didn’t reply. 

He listened to Lippman’s footsteps fade away in the distance. His hands fit in each piece of the broken phone. The night had arrived, and the faint light of his desklamp wasn’t enough to illuminate the whole room, but when the screen of the phone lighted up again, when he saw that picture of the two of them, he wouldn’t need more light. 

Alas, the phone didn’t turn on, and when Chuuya felt the panic start to set in, and a heavy feeling set up in his throat, he forced himself to make no sound at all. 

═════════════

Now that he knew Dazai was in Kyodai, he couldn’t help but look everywhere while walking in the open area of the Faculty of Humanity, a place he had quickly committed to memory. He had no idea where the other studied, so after crossing the university from one end to the other, the only thing he had left was to pray that he won’t find a brunette with tangled hair that, he knew, would fit right in with the nature of the ends of November that surrounded him. Actually, just thinking about Dazai’s image contrasting with the scenery made him mad. That part of him that still felt bitter and hurt because of the words the other had said to him the day before was bigger than the part of him that tried, desperately, to turn on the phone and save all the pictures of a happy past.

He chose to embrace the anger and push the distress away into the back of his mind. Scolding himself for the sleepless night spent trying to make the phone work. What the hell was he thinking? He was over it, whatever Dazai said should not affect him, losing good memories shouldn’t either, and yet, it did, and he didn’t understand why. In such a situation, embracing the anger was the best option, especially when you wanted to ignore the part of yourself that frantically tried to get back the memories and answers to countless questions.

Sighing, adjusting his coat around his body after he felt a cold breeze that foreshadowed the imminent arrival of winter, he tried to think of anything else while he walked. He just wanted to quickly find Akutagawa. The boy sent him a message in the morning, telling him that he would cancel, for the first time since Chuuya joined the band, that afternoon rehearsal. However, he asked him to meet up regardless, and even though he didn’t want to see anyone else, saying no to Ryuunosuke was quite difficult. 

At least he could see the building he liked, Chuuya thought. The architecture of the Faculty of Humanities always left him in awe and, at the same time, established a certain feeling of melancholy in his chest. Seeing the classrooms from afar, seeing so many people carrying a fiction or poetry book, listening to them discussing a novel, author, or poem — it was as if he was standing face to face with that dream he let go a long time ago and still couldn’t catch back.

And it was almost cruel to think that growing older made him cast aside his dream, abandoning those old classrooms where he knew he was meant to be for old and boring rooms where imagination and passion were forbidden. 

Those buildings would’ve been the perfect shelter for his reencounter with Dazai, but it was far from his reach. A faraway place, only existing in his dreams pertaining to a time when the world seemed to promise him a gentler future…

The soft sound of a guitar pushed away his thoughts. He recognized the notes that reached him and gave him a certain tickling sensation in his vocal cords, handing him a need he didn’t know when or how it appeared. 

Following the melody, he walked away from the tall buildings and went towards the scattered tables that adorned the outside area of the faculty; those that were always covered by water or snow, serving as a resting place for the leaves that fell off the skeletal trees around him. There were various students sitting in groups around the tables, some talking and sharing snacks, coffee cups, or a book that changed pages every minute. And away from most of the tables, at the one closer to the shrubs that had already shed all their leaves, he spotted Akutagawa. Playing the guitar with agile and experienced fingers, his gaze focused and his expression serious; books on the table, a novel on top, bags to the side. But he wasn’t alone. In front of him, without looking away, stood a white-haired boy.

He’d seen this guy before, hadn’t he? He was with Ryuu after…

“What do you think?” he heard Akutagawa say while he was coming closer to them. He had stopped playing the guitar, and he was only looking at the person in front of him.

“I like it, but I’m pretty sure you played a part slower than what the music sheet says.”

He noticed how the black-haired boy’s expression briefly turned annoyed, and although it wasn’t a deep feeling, it lingered within him.

“What the hell? You have perfect pitch?” he asked. The albino chuckled, and when Akutagawa diverted his gaze, he saw the ginger approaching them. “Chuuya!” 

With weary movements, the ginger raised a hand. Both gray and bicolor eyes set on him. When the guy with lighter hair turned around to see him, he finally recognized his face. Yeah, it was the boy from yesterday, he was with Ryuu after his meeting with Dazai... 

“Hey,” he greeted, forcing a smile that was first directed to the black-haired boy, and then to his companion. “I’m not sure what your name is, but Ryuu has told me about you. You’re Nakajima, right?” 

The albino nodded and he returned the smile. The ginger noticed how it kind of looked like something between a polite grin and an apologetic grimace. 

“You can call me Atsushi, it’s weird for others to call me by my surname,” he mentioned, and his gaze went back to Akutagawa for a second, before looking at Chuuya once again. “Although he does it. What has he said about me? Please don’t tell me he only complains about my essays.”

Letting out a sincere laugh, Chuuya sat in between the other two. 

“You didn’t have to state the obvious. Anyway, what are you doing here? It’s way too cold.” 

“I was just asking for his opinion about something I’m composing,” Akutagawa replied, holding his guitar and stroking its strings gently. “I needed a subjective opinion.”

“And Higuchi?” Chuuya questioned, noticing, from the corner of his eye, how Atsushi’s expression fell and recovered in an instant. “You usually ask her or Gin. Sometimes even Tachihara. But never me though. You’re the worst, Ryuu.”

“In Higuchi’s eyes, everything I do is perfect, and that kind of feedback is useless to me, and I’m sure any melody would also be good for you,” he responded, and Chuuya muttered that, at least on this, he was right. “As for Tachihara and Gin… Both are busy. Gin is getting ready for the entrance exam.”

“She’s also applying to Kyodai? That’s going to be hard.” 

“She was also thinking about Handai, Todai or maybe going back to Yokohama, but I know she’ll get into Kyodai.”

“I see,” the ginger affirmed. The albino’s gaze went back and forth between both of them. “You don’t want to be far from her again.” 

“Uhm, I’m really sorry to interrupt, but…” Atsushi mumbled, managing to catch the other two’s attention. “Who’s Gin?”

“Ah, his little sister,” Chuuya replied, pointing towards the black-haired boy. “And our second guitarist, she’s in her last year of high school.” 

Surprise wash over Atsushi’s face, and so, he turned his attention back to Akutagawa.

“You have more family in here? I thought you were alone in Kyoto, like most of us.” 

“It’s only the two of us,” Akutagawa clarified, looking back to his guitar. “It has always been like that.” 

Atsushi knew when was better to stop asking questions. He only nodded and went back to the chord notebook lying in between them. Silently, the ginger saw them exchange opinions about the melody.

How curious, he thought. When Atsushi pointed out something that could be changed, Akutagawa seemed to actually consider it without much complaint. He dedicated some minutes to observe their dynamic, to listen to the albino’s opinions, to hear Ryuu playing his guitar — sometimes playing his own chords and, from time to time, adding the changes Atsushi proposed —. And the most surprising thing was that, although Akutagawa had that serious face of his and kept on saying his typical harsh words, he also joked with the albino. Said harsh words were told with no weight behind them, they weren’t meant to hurt anyone or start a fight, and were only told because they felt comfortable enough to throw some insults at the other and keep on talking as if nothing happened. 

He had never seen Ryuunosuke so comfortable with anyone other than himself or Gin. Neither was he the type of person to let others into his personal space so quickly. Chuuya had been the exception to that rule a long time ago, but now there was someone else who made him feel at ease. Not even with Higuchi did he act so freely, so relaxed, so willing to listen and talk. 

And Chuuya couldn’t help but look at them, feeling a bit nostalgic, remembering the only person that made him feel so comfortable so fast, with whom he could joke in that way: without caring so much about his words. Knowing that no matter what he said, if it sounded bad or not, the other knew exactly what he truly meant.

That moment could’ve continued, but like everything in life, it came to an end. The albino’s phone started ringing. Atsushi diverted his gaze and, when he read the contact name of whoever was calling him, his face turned a bit pale. He looked at Chuuya, looked back at his phone, and answered.

“Senpai?” he greeted. Chuuya kept his eyes on the albino, not noticing how Autagawa’s expression staggered for a second and how he also looked at him from the corner of his eyes. Silence surrounded them for a couple of seconds while the person on the other side of the call talked without pause. “Right now? I’m busy… You want me to drop everything and go where you are?”

Atsushi let out a tired sigh. Chuuya wondered what kind of asshole he was talking to. 

The boy nodded, he muttered a series of “yes”, “mhm”, “okay”, and “I won’t do that”. Then, with an apologetic smile, he looked at Ryuunosuke.

“Is it fine if we leave it here — at least for today?” 

Akutgawa shrugged. Atsushi took that gesture as a ‘yes’ and turned back his attention towards the phone.

“Fine, I’ll go. But I’m only going to accompany you and then I’ll go home!” 

As soon as he hung up, the boy put away all the books he’d left on the table and took his backpack. He muttered that, as they probably imagined, someone needed him somewhere else at that exact moment. Before walking away, he told Chuuya that it was nice talking to him and that he liked the way the ginger sang. Then, he directed his gaze towards Akutagawa to tell him that, if he wanted his opinion, he always knew where to find him. 

The phone began ringing once again and Atsushi retreated while answering. Chuuya kept his attention on the albino as he walked away, thinking about the call he rejected the prior night.

“He’s a nice guy,” Chuuya commented, looking back to Akutagawa once he could no longer see the white-haired boy. “I don’t get why you complain so much about him, he has a good ear for music.”

“He has, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an idiot who I have to help with his essays.” Putting the guitar in its case, Akutagawa turned his body towards the ginger. “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday…”

“About the poem?” he questioned, and when the other nodded, he knew he was right. Leaning his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, with his back slightly hunched, he sent a small apologetic smile to the other. “Sorry Ryuu, I know you wanted a new song.” 

“It’s fine, I’m not mad about that. It’s just… Why did you give it to Dazai?” 

“Dazai?” he murmured. Once the word registered on his mind, he straightened his posture immediately, looking at the boy next to him, thinking, wishing , that he misheard what he said. “Did you say ‘Dazai’?” 

Akutagawa returned his gaze with a puzzled expression. Seeing a plethora of emotions wash over the ginger's face — disbelief, confusion, anxiousness, and fear — he nodded hesitantly. Quite uncertain, not sure if what he was going to say would help Chuuya or make everything worse. 

“I told you about him,” he muttered, looking straight at the ginger’s face and searching for any change in his emotions. “The third-year guy I usually ask for advice on my essays…”

He was used to hearing his strong voice, to seeing the emotions reflecting so easily in him, to the words he always knew when to use. But Chuuya remained silent, and that absence of sound, that lack of a reaction, that emptiness, did not sit well with Akutagwa. It didn’t suit his vocalist. 

“You gotta be kidding me…” Chuuya whispered after a few seconds, eyes cast downwards, not knowing whether to laugh at the situation or remain stoic. “I didn’t think that Osamu and the one I know were the same person…”

“Osamu?” he parroted, just as he silently began fitting in the pieces of an incomplete puzzle. “The poem I first read written by you was for an “Osamu”, and yesterday Dazai said that you were his ex-boyfriend…”

Chuuya didn’t reply, instead, he glanced at him briefly and then looked away. He supported his chin with the palm of his hand, refusing to look at the boy next to him or acknowledge the sigh he let out.

“So you wrote that poem for Dazai…”

“Yeah, Ryuu, I did,” he responded, clenching his fists instinctively and returning his eyes to the other. “Judge me as much as you want. So, I wrote a poem to a boy I was in love with when I was seventeen, big deal.”

“I’m not judging you,” he replied, but after a beat, his words contradicted themselves. “Or maybe I am, just a little. Of all the people in the world, did you have to write poetry while thinking of him ?” 

“What? Why do you look so offended? Do you hate him?”

“No– I mean, yes. It’s complicated. I respect him, he knows what he’s doing when he writes, but he’s an idiot in pretty much anything else.” 

“Oh yeah, I know that better than anyone,” he said, letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was containing. “He was my boyfriend during that time, of course I ended up writing him a poem, even if he always was the biggest idiot in the whole damn world.” 

“You wrote him two,” he commented, remembering the one the ginger had recently written. “And he threw away the second.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me, he said he would do that,” he sighed. He rubbed his forehead with the tip of his fingers and then tangled his hand in his own hair. Despite his reluctance, he focused on the detail he’d been ignoring. “You said you ask him for advice on your essays…”

Akutagawa nodded.

“Yes, we study the same, he’s in his third year.”

“Is this some kind of joke? Does it look like I’m laughing?” 

“Is it wrong for him to study literature?”

“Of course it’s wrong!” he exclaimed. “Of all the damn people in the universe, of all the fucking majors he could’ve chosen. Literature? Really? Please, he never liked more than one or two novels!” 

“I doubt there’s people outside of this planet, to say the universe is kind of…”

“You’re missing the point!” 

Akutagawa fell silent. Chuuya let out a groan and almost dropped his head onto the table, but instead of doing so, he kept his gaze forward; seeing the naked trees, the old buildings and the grayish color that decorated the November sky.

Thinking about Dazai being in that very same spot, surrounded by the expression of both high and low human emotions, made him a bit more angry, wondering why the brunette, of all people, decided to go to that place that Chuuya first dreamed of.

What changed? What or who made Dazai look at something he was never interested in? Why couldn’t he stop wanting answers out of him? 

“You look like shit,” Akutagawa commented, managing to get Chuuya out of the river of thoughts he was beginning to get drowned in.

“Yeah, Ryuu, I love you too,” he grumbled, not bothering to hide the fatigue and discouragement that easily clouded his features. “I just had the worst damn week of my whole life. I never thought I would see him again, I thought I was free of his bullshit but now here we are, four years later, still having to deal with him. To make things worse, now I know that he, of all people, is studying literature when not even I…"

Was able to make him like all the poems I wrote for him , he completed in his mind. And that ache filled his chest yet again, the discomfort of never being enough for anyone. Completely worthless and unimportant.

Why could he never change that in Dazai? Why could he never make him like poetry? What did he do wrong? What did he have to change…?

“You wanna kill me?” he asked with a listless tone, and then offered: “I’ll let you punch me with the guitar.”

“I won’t do that, I don’t have another guitar.”

“You have to say you don’t have another Chuuya, asshole.”

He smiled at the black-haired boy, trying to cheer himself up, but it wasn’t easy. Almost impossible, he thought. His smile was far from a happy one, it reflected the mental and emotional exhaustion he felt, and Akutagawa wasn’t about to overlook this.

“Chuuya”, he called. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I never saw when he took the poem. And I didn’t connect what happened with… you know. And I also never noticed that your Osamu was the one I knew.”  

“He’s not ‘my’ Osamu.”

“But I called you here because I thought of something that may help you relax.” 

Once that was proposed, Chuuya silently observed him for a moment. He let his gaze travel over the other’s expression and silhouette, then returned his focus to the pale face, furrowing his brow slightly.

“Ryuu, I’m flattered, but if your idea of “relaxation” is the same one as the one I’m thinking, then I’ll have to decline.” 

“Don’t be a jerk, I have a girlfriend.”

“And I see you as the little brother I never had,” he responded, feeling relieved that his initial idea was incorrect. “I’m tired. I only slept four hours because… whatever, doesn’t matter. What did you have in mind?” 

“There’s something I have to do, and I might need a singer.” 

“You said that we weren’t going to practice today.” 

“I know, but I feel tense and playing the guitar calms me.” Standing up from his seat, he took the case with one hand while the other hold his backpack. “And maybe you don’t notice it, but I’m not blind, after singing you always look more relaxed. So, you coming?”

Despite Ryuunosuke looking at him as if he wouldn’t accept a ‘no’ for an answer, Chuuya knew he could decline. However, when the black-haired boy started to walk without waiting for an answer, he took all his things and followed him.

He had no idea where they were going or what they would do, the only clues to reach a conclusion being that Ryuu was going to play the guitar and he would sing. Alright, it shouldn’t be something that requires much thought or effort, he concluded, and taking his own things, he stood up and walked behind the other, shouting that he should, at least, wait for him and tell him what he was planning. 

Akutagawa said nothing. 

He thought they would spend the day in the other’s apartment, playing the guitar and singing the list of old songs Ryuunosuke asked him to learn, but they just passed by his place to pick up two portable amplifiers and a microphone. Gin was there with her study group. When they entered, she greeted them, asking his brother if he would do ‘that’ today, and the only response she got was a nod from Ryuunosuke. She returned the gesture and went back to her books and notebooks. When Chuuya asked about whatever ‘that’ was, the only answer he got out of the two siblings was a small chuckle from Gin, followed by a murmured ‘you’ll find out in a bit’.

When he got out of the apartment, following Akutagawa somewhere, carrying one of the amplifiers in his hands, and the microphone and wire in his backpack, his confusion only grew.

Ryuunosuke kept walking without giving him an answer. Only repeating that when they arrive at the area, everything would make sense, but Chuuya only noticed that the further they went, the nearer they got to one of the most crowded places in that part of Kyoto; far from most of the residential buildings where most of the Kyodai students lived. 

He knew that area fairly well. It was the perfect place to spend the day, rest and distract yourself. There were some stores around there where you could buy food or something else. There was a bookshop where you could always find the oldest or exclusive editions of multiple novels. That was his favorite store, and you could often find him there in his spare time, although it had been a while since he visited the place, Chuuya thought as he followed Akutagawa and got distracted by all things around him.

The area’s central plaza was surrounded by trees that, due to the time of year, were naked. The grass was painted with a yellowish hue, the dirt was visible, but that was not an impediment for people to lie in it and rest for a second. There was a fountain in the middle of it all, and despite the cold, it kept on working and some people sat on the edge without caring about the hard material. There were some spectacles for kids, someone selling candies and balloons, someone offering drawings to anyone passing, and someone playing an instrument. Most people walking by stopped to observe that guy, leaving some coins in the open case on the floor, clapping and, while some left afterward, others stayed to keep on listening. 

“Ryuu, what are we doing here?” he questioned, looking at his surroundings and dodging some people while he walked. “Don’t tell me you brought me to watch one of those spectacles. In that case, bringing all of this was way too much.”

“This seems like a good place,” said Akutagawa to himself, coming to a halt and leaving the amplifier he’d been carrying on the floor. 

The black-haired boy took the amplifier from his hands and placed it next to the other one. Carefully, he set his guitar aside and Chuuya turned around to take out the microphone and wires from his bad. Without saying anything, Akutagawa connected everything. He took his guitar out of its case and placed the open case in front of them.

Chuuya noticed other people starting to glance at them, some seemed to want to get near and watch them from a closer distance, but ultimately, decided to wait. Wait for what? He wondered, and then Ryuunosuke gave him the microphone.

“Ryuu…?” 

“Did you memorize the songs I told you about?” he questioned, without looking at him, and slinging the guitar strap over one shoulder.

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything? Are you…”

The guitar started to play, overshadowing his voice with its sound. At some point, Akutagawa had turned on both amplifiers. He played some chords, resonating around the plaza, catching people’s attention and, when Chuuya accidentally brushed against the microphone head, he realized that it was also connected and turned on.

Startled, he quickly turned off the microphone before inquiring: “You want me to sing here?!” 

“You’re stressed, right? Singing will help,” he mentioned, playing another chord and tuning his guitar one last time. “Besides, it’s a way to gain some extra money. My part-time jobs aren’t always enough, I’ve played the guitar in public zones since middle school. If it worries you so much, we can split in two whatever money we get.”

“I don’t want half of anything!” he exclaimed, noticing how more people gathered around them. “Ryuu, I don’t need money, and I’m not going to sing in this place…!”

“You’ve already sung in front of people, Chuuya. Singing on the street won’t be so different,” he countered, playing with the strings and, not wanting to hear more complaints, he said: “Call me by Blondie.”

The first chords of the song were played. Some people got closer to them bit by bit, recognizing the sound, attracted by him, or just plain curiosity. Ryuunosuke ignored it all, both himself and the public.

“Ryuu…”

The guitar kept on playing, the gray gaze didn’t focus on him, or on the people attracted by the melody. He was focused on each string the guitar possessed, on the tempo of the original song that both of them remembered. The ginger knew the part with the voice was about to start, he knew what the song said, in what tone to sing, how fast to do it, but he couldn’t sing.

Not in that place, not in the middle of the day where people could see him so easily. Not in a space that lacked walls, walls that would hide part of his voice. He couldn’t, he…

“I’ll make you pay for this,” he muttered under his breath.

He turned on the microphone, his mouth drew near to it, and then…

Colour me your colour, baby 

Colour me apart 

Colour me your colour, darling 

I know who you are 

Come up of your colour chart 

I know where you're coming from

The sound of his own voice managed to surprise him for a moment. It sounded insecure, with an almost perfect, yet trembling, pronunciation. No, it couldn’t be like that. He needed to stabilize himself. He needed his voice to match perfectly with the sound of the guitar.

Gaining confidence, he left any hesitation behind, and his voice stabilized itself, escaping the amplifier with clarity. He chimed in and complemented perfectly the melody produced by the guitar, as if they had practiced a thousand times. No one could say that was the first time they sang that song.

Call me (call me) on the line 

Call me, call me any, anytime 

Call me (call me) 

I'll arrive 

You can call me any day or night 

Call me

The arrival of the chorus attracted even more people. The initial panic Chuuya felt had long since vanished without him even realizing it. By the time he finished the first chorus and continued singing the song, he could only focus on the sound of his voice, trying to hit every note and sing in tune. His body had started to move out of his own volition, feeling the rhythm of the melody in all his body, just like the guitarist beside him.

He assumed he was doing a good job, if the amount of people gathered and the coins left on the guitar case in front of him were anything to go by. When he glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, Ryuunosuke seemed pleased. 

Cover me with kisses, baby 

Cover me with love 

Roll me in designer sheets 

I'll never get enough 

Emotions come, I don't know why 

Cover up love's alibi 

Call me (call me) on the line 

Call me, call me any, anytime 

Call me (call me) 

I'll arrive 

When you're ready we can share the wine 

Call me 

He couldn’t think of anything but the effort of his vocal chords, and how much he enjoyed the vibration they produced. The noise surrounding them had disappeared by this point; the bustle of the city, the cars passing by, the light conversation of people around them, the sound of their own footsteps, their voices, the heat of their bodies surpassed the cold of the day. His own singing outshined the thoughts that still lingered in his mind since the prior night.

Why was he so stressed and depressed? He wondered, unable to recall what once tormented his mind. That person, that message, that poem, or that call, all of this made him anguish on the night before. But he forgot them. And that emptiness, that lack of worry and memories felt so damn good. 

Oh, he speaks the languages of love 

Oh, amore, chiamami, llámame 

Oh, appelle-moi mon cherie, appelle-moi 

Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, any way 

Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, any day

In between those lines, he’d started interacting with the public. Walking as far as the microphone’s wire let him, and the people seemed to get excited every time he passed near them. In between those quotes said in perfect French, he flirted with some people as part of the act, leaving them delighted and never forgetting to wink at them. He couldn’t help but smile at the flustered faces of the women and men he left behind.

When the guitar solo started, Chuuya stepped back and approached Akutagawa. He knew the boy had seen the whole act, but he never stopped playing. However, going by the almost invisible smile on his lips, he also seemed to be enjoying the show.

All gazes were focused on them, his voice didn’t overshadow the sound of the guitar, and the guitar didn’t outshine the sound of his voice. During the solo, the people kept their eyes on them, attracted by both Akutagawa and himself. He noticed that some of them were recording, others were taking pictures, but he didn’t care. He just needed to sing, to finish the song, there was still a part to express. 

Call me (call me) on the line 

Call me, call me any, anytime 

Call me (call me) 

I'll arrive 

You can call me any day or night 

Call me

It was only when the song ended that the sound surrounding him came back. The applause, the noise of the cars, the voices, the conversations, his racing heartbeat and heavy breathing. He hadn’t noticed the effort, nor the heat he felt despite the cold wind that adorned the air. It was like losing himself in a world where the only thing that mattered was what he felt as he sing, what the song tries to say. That was the only truth he needed at that moment, the only one that managed to remove the pain and worries he was often unable to escape.

But at that moment, those three and a half minutes were enough to relieve the tension. And with that feeling, flowing all around his body, he diverted his gaze from the audience and looked at Akutagawa, who captured his eyes and smiled at him. 

“One more song?” the black-haired boy questioned.

He leaned over, still holding the guitar. He pulled out a water bottle from his bag and tossed it to the ginger. Chuuya caught it easily, opened it, took a sip, and returned Akutagawa’s smug smile. 

“One more song.”

═════════════

“Atsushi, remember that time when you said you didn’t want to come and ended up buying more books than what you needed?” Dazai teased him, pushing the door of the bookstore to let the albino and his other friend out.

Atsushi looked at him from the corner of his eye with shame, a feeling he couldn’t hide behind his hands due to them being busy caring a pile of books. He didn’t have enough space in his bag to put the six volumes he ended up buying, despite Kunikida — who went with them to the store — telling him to not get too excited with the books. The plan was to listen to him, but each time he found a novel he’d been meaning to buy, Dazai instigated him to get it. And he was weak, way too weak and the temptation way too strong, and he ended up doing what the brunette suggested. 

Now, as he was being accompanied by his other two friends to the train station, where he would meet with Tanizaki since he couldn’t carry all of the books, he couldn’t look at Kunikida without feeling ashamed. At least the blonde pitied him and helped him carry some of the books. As for Dazai, he refused to carry anything else besides the two novels he’d bought.

“I’ve told you many times not to listen to this idiot, and yet you still do so,” Kunikida commented without hiding the long sigh that escaped his lips.

Atsushi looked downside, embarrassed once again. But deep inside, when he remembered each title he bought, he couldn’t regret it.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being sincere.” 

“No, but I’m sorry for not being sincere.”

Dazai, walking behind them, laughed. He stepped forward and positioned himself between the two, giving the blonde a slight push to his left and ignoring the angry glare he received.

“Leave the poor boy alone, Kunikida,” he said, talking with that carefree tone of his he knew irritated Kunikida. “After three years with me, you should know how difficult it is for a literature student to not spend a little too much in books.”

“At least he didn’t spend all the money he has,” he commented, and his harsh gaze focused back on the albino. “Or did you? We are just halfway through November, Atsushi.”

“It’s alright, I have enough for the month,” he replied, smiling in a way that mixed the courtesy and happiness of knowing someone cared about him.

“Ah, being broke as a student is so hard,” Dazai added nonchalantly. 

Beside him, Kunikida nodded, but also muttered that, if the brunette had financial problems, it probably was because he lacked anything resembling the knowledge of how to manage his own money. Dazai ignored him, letting him talk to himself and turning his attention to the boy to his right.

“By the way, Atsushi, who were you with before I called you? You seemed to be having fun.”

Atsushi was about to respond without thinking too much about his words, but he remembered who were the people he spent part of the afternoon with, and his lips sealed again. He glanced at Dazai, and he recalled the ginger; his tired face, how he acted as if he was okay, pretending to be strong, with blue eyes reflecting a sadness that, he was sure, the brunette beside him had caused. So, wanting to escape his scrutinizing gaze, he averted his face. He bit his lower lip and looked around, thinking about what to say. 

“I was just… Talking about music with some of my classmates.”

He was lying, Dazai noticed, but he didn’t force him to tell the truth.

Outside of the train station was Tanizaki waiting for them, just like he promised when Atsushi noticed he wouldn’t be able to carry everything to his apartment. He had brought another bag to take all the books his roommate had bought. The albino thanked him profusely, murmuring that hw was the best roommate he could’ve asked for and apologizing for making him do a long trip.

“Thanks for coming with me,” the albino said to the other two. “What will you do now?” 

Before the blonde could answer, Dazai clung to his arm, pulling his body in sync with every word that came out of his mouth. 

“Kunikida is going to take me out on a date, right?” he asked, batting his eyelashes as he looked at the blonde.

Getting away from Dazai was not an easy task. The brunette clung to his arm as if his life depended on it, and he laughed at his face each time he told him to let go. Atsushi noticed the excess of attention they were getting, and while some months ago this would’ve left him really embarrassed, at this point he was used to it. 

Once he managed to anger Kunikida, Dazai let him go willingly, stepping back a bit. Sighing, repeating ten times that there was no reason to be mad, the blonde calmed himself down and brought back his attention towards the albino.

“I’m going to go to his apartment. I asked him to review a report I wrote for a class and he, being the idiot he is,” he glanced at Dazai with repressed anger, “forgot to bring it back to the university. I have to submit it tomorrow.”

“I see, good luck with that,” he said, and then he looked at the brunette. “Please don’t bother Kunikida way too much.”

“Atsushi, you’re asking too much of me.” 

“Stop with your nonsense, Dazai, let’s go already. Goodbye kid, see you.”

Dazai’s apartment was in the opposite direction of the train station. The quickest way to get there was to cross the central plaza and reach the intersection that will eventually bring them to that place. But still, the distance between the two places was quite big, and Kunikida couldn’t help but ask again why he didn't live in one of the college dorms, like the rest of them. Besides, it’s not like he gets along with the guy he shares an apartment with, he mentioned. They didn’t argue per se, at least they didn’t scream at each other, but the blonde had seen them look at each other without blinking and a cynical grin on their faces. When he told that to Ranpo, he said that Dazai and his roommate seemed to be in some kind of cold war where hand-to-hand combat was not the main thing, and only the intellectual part of it all mattered. And after mentioning all of this to the brunette, he did nothing more than shrugging and changing the topic. 

Yawning, Dazai gave him the same excuse as always while they walked amidst the growing crowd. Mainly, he didn’t like the dorms. They were way too small and had less privacy than what his shared apartment offered him. Besides, he was used to his roommate by now, he didn’t want to know everything about the other. And maybe, perhaps, if he gets the chance to live alone in the dorms, or with a cute girl or boy, he would consider moving. 

Kunikida commented on how difficult it would be for him to have a dorm all by himself, and although he wanted to keep talking, as they came closer to the central plaza, he noticed how there were more people than usual, and they all seemed to gather around a certain area.

Then, he heard the sound of a guitar. The tempo was slow, as if it was singing a love song, or perhaps one about mourning. The feelings it express we as clear as they were confusing, soft and harsh at the same time. Just by listening, Kunikida felt a knot in his chest that brought back memories that, like many others, he tried to suppress deep in his mind. But they were always there, he thought. Always, ready to come back in your weakest moments, raising by themselves or summoned by heartbreak songs.

He glanced at Dazai, he wondered if the brunette was also affected by the sound, but his face was composed, uncaring about the noise, the people, the music or the feeling the instrument evoked. 

It was then that he heard the voice that accompanied the song, giving sense to the melody and managing to increase that knot in his heart. And only at that moment, he saw Dazai flinch.

I know that you're wrong for me  

Gonna wish we never met on the day I leave 

I brought you down to your knees 

'Cause they say that misery loves company 

“Dazai?” he called out. “Hey! Where are you going? Dazai!” 

The brunette ignored him. He followed the melodic voice that mixed so well with the rhythm of the guitar. The same one he’d heard months back, singing each verse that was once his.

He easily made his way through the crowd, and even though he never reached the front of the group, it wasn’t necessary. He could perfectly see Chuuya from where he was; in the middle of a crowd that never stopped looking at the handsome man that seemed lost in his own world made up of memories, letting the song express by itself what he felt and would never admit.

And each time he sang, each time he quoted something in both a soft and harsh tone, each time he felt in the deepest parts of himself all the feelings printed in the words, it looked as if Chuuya was torn between wanting to cry or scream. 

It's not your fault I ruin everything 

And it's not your fault I can't be what you need  

Baby, angels like you can't fly down hell with me 

I'm everything they said I would be  

Even when the song ended and the people around them started to clap and ask for another one, Dazai stood motionless. He didn’t divert his gaze from the shy smile on Chuuya’s face at hearing all the sweet words some dedicated to him. He didn’t overlook the faint blush on his cheeks, either caused by the effort he was putting into singing or the fact that his breathing was faster than usual, and his eyes seemed a bit lost, as if they were still submerged in the world that song transported him to.

He knew he had to go. Turn around and forget that, after some months, he finally got to hear his voice once again. He didn’t think it would be so alluring, so difficult to leave behind. But just like he was never able to forget the few poems he ever read, he would never forget the expressive voice belonging to the only person connecting him to the best time of his past.

Then, he noticed that Chuuya wasn’t alone. Once again, Akutagawa was beside him, and seeing him there made him feel an uncomfortable sensation he didn’t know how to describe. He saw the boy talking to the ginger, passing him a water bottle and turning towards the people around them. He thanked them for their time, and explained that that had been the last song. The discouragement of the crowd was remarkable, but they understood the pair couldn’t continue with the show. The sun was beginning to hide in the horizon of the old city.

Another round of applause fill in the place. Chuuya looked at the crowd again with a small smile, which disappeared the second he noticed the person that only once had answered his calls. 

Chuuya had a habit of always finding him amidst a sea of people, he thought, not knowing if that was good or bad. 

Just like that night at the bar, they hold each other gaze as if the rest of the people didn’t exist. But, unlike that night, the ginger didn’t look eager to escape the attention; he was just as mad, with a resentful look he could not hide. Then, his blue eyes looked elsewhere, and he turned around towards Akutagawa when he noticed the person approaching Dazai.

“Dazai,” Kunikida called, and he felt his hand on his shoulder. “You already listened to what you wanted, let’s go, it’s getting late.” 

“I need to talk with someone, it’ll only be one sec,” he replied, removing the blonde’s hand from his shoulder and starting to make his way towards the blue-eyed man with his back turned.

“Dazai, it isn’t time to flirt with that singer!”

Ignoring Kunikida, he walked towards the ginger. Akutagawa noticed him approaching them, and he immediately said something to Chuuya. The black-haired boy seemed to be uncomfortable with his presence, and he couldn’t exactly blame him after everything that happened yesterday. However, the ginger somehow convinced him to relax and go away for a moment, since the moment Dazai reached both of them, Akutagawa just looked at him one last time before walking away and letting them talk.

When Chuuya turned around to see him, Dazai tried to stay focused despite the afternoon light shining on his skin and hair. Those shades looked better on him than on the cold and boring buildings of the faculty he’s found him, he thought. And it was always like this. The natural colors of the day always looked good on him, the same could not be said about those pertaining to the night, those with which the brunette felt comfortable.

“What are you doing here?” Chuuya questions with contempt, putting him out of the distraction he himself caused with his mere existence. “I hope it’s just a coincidence and you aren’t stalking me.”

Dazai smiled at him, trying to divert his gaze from the alluring image in front of him, but it was impossible to not think about colors and Chuuya.

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who called me, remember?” Uncaring about the threatening smile, he came closer to the other. He leaned until his lips were next to the ginger’s ears, feeling the light tickling caused by the copper hair brushing against his skin. “And then you didn’t answer my call.”

Chuuya shuddered upon hearing the voice so close to him, but both decided to overlook that small detail, although Dazai saved that moment in the deepest part of his memories. The ginger put a hand on his chest to push him away, making him step back a bit, and try to regain control of the situation through rough gestures.

Dazai was waiting to receive words filled with anger, not a discouraged tone and a listless look that, deep down, asked him to let behind any ulterior motive he could have.

But he wasn’t thinking about anything, he had no plans. Chuuya didn’t give himself enough credit. He was the only person that could make him act without thinking, the only one who could attract him easily with just a poem or a song.

“What do you want?”, the ginger asked tiredly, his shoulders slightly slouched. “Didn’t you have enough of torturing me yesterday?” 

“You’re cruel Chuuya, I did no such thing,” he responded, not noticing the volume of his voice lowering. “But I did ask you to talk.” 

“We talked, we don’t need to do it again.” 

He knew so well the actions that preceded his words that, when the ginger wanted to turn around and walk away, Dazai stopped him before he could even begin the movement. His fingers closed around his left wrist and as he imagined, Chuuya didn’t try to free himself. He just stayed there, looking into his eyes again and waiting for him to make sense of what he was doing.

And knowing Chuuya kept reacting and yielding more to the physical contact than words, it caused him a weird sensation. He didn’t know how to classify it or describe it, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the opposite. He didn’t know how to call it, but he was sure he’d felt it years ago; in another place, but in front of the same man.

“Chuuya, we’re in the same city again, and we go to the same university,” he said, and he let out a sigh instead of freeing the hand he held. “Like it or not, we’ll end up seeing each other more than one time. So why not genuinely talk and stop making this uncomfortable for both of us?” 

The ginger seemed to consider it for a moment, but quickly ruled that out, instead of trying to free himself. 

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re everything but genuine? I doubt you can have a sincere talk,” he countered, satisfied to notice how Dazai’s expression turned almost imperceptibly bitter to anyone else but him. “Besides, there’s nothing between us that should make us uncomfortable.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We had a relationship that, I think, still matters to you. If that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t have called me yesterday.” 

He noticed how he clenched his fists and looked downside, hiding part of his face behind his long bangs. With his jaw clenched, he spoke again, not thinking or wanting to hide his feelings any longer.

“And what if I still care…?” he uttered, almost as a whisper going unnoticed by everyone but Dazai. “Why did you answer?” 

Because I was reading the poem you wrote me, because I was thinking of you , he said to himself, and Chuuya was right. He couldn’t talk sincerely. Not yet, not at all. 

“It surprised me that you still had my number…” he replied, mixing his poor excuses with reality. “I didn’t think it was you, so I…” 

His fingers closed a more around the other’s wrist. He felt his pulse, hitting against his fingertips; rhythmic, calm and constant. He felt the warmth of his skin, the same warmth that he unintentionally shared with him. 

“You what?” Chuuya insisted.  

When did he divert his gaze? Dazai wondered, but he understood why he did it. He couldn’t focus on the other’s face without recalling some things, without trying to find a color palette that contained the exact shade of blue that adorned Chuuya’s eyes. He couldn’t focus on his expression either; so confused and yet anxious for answers he wasn’t sure if delivering would do him good. 

If he told him everything, would he understand? Would he understand why they need to be far away from each other? And knowing how difficult it was for him to not think or seek him out at that moment, would he accept or forgive the decisions he took? Would he overlook that, for four years, he was not a recurring memory, but one that seldom appeared and only in his weakest moments? And if he told him that, would he hate him a little bit more? Would that be enough to stop thinking about the other and their shared past? Perhaps he should do it, it seemed to be the best choice, but deep down he didn’t want that to happen. And he didn’t understand why he was so scared of losing a connection he rejected so many years ago…

“Dazai.” Kunikida approached them the moment he saw how the ginger’s expression turned both confused and hurt by his silence. The blonde’s hand on his shoulder made his fingers lose all force, and Chuuya stepped back immediately. “I’m sorry, was he bothering you?”

Those blue eyes left him and turned to focus on Kunikida. He saw how the ginger looked at his friend from head to toe and then shook his head, not knowing what to say.

“No, he…”

“Yes, he was,” Akutagawa intervened, deciding he’d seen enough. “Sorry, Dazai, but I need to borrow Chuuya right now. It’s getting late.”

Following how previous actions, the black-haired boy held the ginger’s wrist to keep him far from his side. Dazai couldn’t overlook this action, nor how easily Chuuya got closer to Akutagawa.

“I didn’t think you were that kind of man, Akutagawa,” he commented thoughtlessly, not sure about what he was saying, but aware of how his empty eyes posed on the youngest without minding all the attention around him. “I thought you were loyal to your girlfriend.” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened, he heard Kunikida mention his name with surprise and warning, but he only paid attention to the shocked expression on the ginger’s face, who was looking at him again as if he couldn’t believe he dared to say such a thing.

But he should know, shouldn’t he? Given that Chuuya, sadly, was the person who knew him better.

“You know nothing,” Akutagawa responded, keeping his emotions at bay, trying to control the annoying feeling his posture reflected. “At any rate, I don’t care. Think whatever you want.” 

He released Chuuya’s wrist, and Dazai had to suppress the satisfaction he felt as he watched the guitarist turn around and walk away from them without looking back, picking up the guitar case he had left aside and a few other things. He would’ve smiled if it wasn’t for the ginger, who decided to follow the boy without thinking twice.

“Ryuu!” he worriedly called and, before going after him, he looked at Dazai once again; amidst the anger that was shown on his face once more, he could see a spark of disappointment in him. “You were doing well, but you always have to say something stupid.”

“Chuuya,” calling out his name captured a bit of his attention one last time. Blue eyes turned to him again, as impatient as they were confused. “Call me.”

The ginger didn’t reply, but based on the emotions shining in his eyes, Dazai could guess he will call… eventually, someday maybe. And this time around, he will answer. Perhaps just to have a closure, or to draw a new beginning. He still didn’t know.

He observed Chuuya taking one of the last things Akutagawa had left behind and then following him, saying something that, due to the distance, he couldn’t hear, but Dazai was sure those words were meant to reassure or solve the effect his words had on the boy. 

Letting out a sigh, he began to walk toward his apartment. Kunikida silently followed him for some streets, not knowing where to start with all his questions. He’d never seen the brunette acting in such a way, not even with his friend group. If he had to mention someone who had made Dazai act with so much trust, he’d say Oda, but still, he could hardly compare with his interaction with the ginger.

With that guy, it was as if… as if Dazai stopped pretending to be someone he wasn’t. As if he could take down the mask he always carries without worrying about being judged for who he really was.

“How do you know that boy?” Kunikida asked when they arrive at the building.

Looking at the distance, Dazai replied.

“He’s someone from a good and bad memory that I shouldn’t ponder about.”

“I hate when you talk like that,” the blonde muttered, sighed and not wanting to press the other, he added: “Ranpo does the same.”

Dazai only chuckled at that and he guided him to his apartment. 

His roommate wasn’t present, and the brunette didn’t know whether he’ll be back that night or not. Whatever the case, he didn’t care. Kunikida slumped onto the couch and reviewed the grammar and style corrections he’d asked Dazai to make. Meanwhile, Dazai sat by his side, listing all the corrections he’d made and why. 

To anyone else, it probably seemed like the brunette was focused and acted as he normally did, but the blonde noticed how he kept his phone near him, and every time he got a notification he would check it instantly. The disappointment reflected on his face each time he read the name of whoever sent him a message was really notorious. 

When they finished reviewing everything, Kunikida was hesitant to go. It didn’t look like a good idea to leave Dazai alone at the moment. They talked about anything, from classes to the plans Yosano had for that weekend that, obviously, included them. The blonde complained once he realized he didn’t have an excuse to free himself of that, and the other just laughed at him, but mentioned that it wouldn’t do him bad to go with them and relax for a bit.

In between the exchanged words, Kunikida recalled that the local Yosano wanted to go to usually had live music. While he talked, Dazai got distracted, his mind focused only on that last detail, and he mumbled to himself in maybe Chuuya would sing someday in that place.

“It’s fine if you don’t answer, but I’m curious… how do you know that guy?” 

“Chuuya?” he questioned, and Kunikida nodded. Dazai diverted his eyes, who ended up looking at the black screen, and then he replied. “He was my boyfriend back when I lived in Yokohama. We broke up before I moved to Kyoto.” 

He didn’t expect a sincere answer, nor a relationship between Dazai and that ginger. However, based on the way that guy looked at Dazai, and the way Dazai looked at him, he’d suspected something like that.

“Four years ago, huh…” he murmured, not knowing what to say, but oblige to let some words out. “You were, what? Seventeen?” 

“Eighteen,” he corrected without looking at him. “I broke up with him on my birthday.” 

Once again, the sincere answers caught him off guard. There was so much he didn’t know about Dazai. Everything he knew was from his time in Kyoto, but what about Yokohama and his life before meeting Oda? No one knew. Not him, not Yosano, nor Ranpo, and much less Atsushi. 

“Why…?” he asked, although he could imagine the reason behind their break up.

“I met Odasaku,” Dazai responded. “He left Yokohama, and I didn’t want to be without him, so I left Chuuya and followed him here. You know the rest.” 

“But he doesn’t know it. Chuuya doesn’t know it.” 

“He just knows the important part. He knows I left him for someone else, but he doesn’t know that that ‘someone’ was who started, well, all of this.” He pointed to himself, smiling and laughing at his own self. “If I tell him, do you think he’ll hate me…?” 

“It’s been four years, Dazai. You both were children, right?” Dazai nodded. “He may not hate you, but I can’t say that, what you’ll tell him, won’t affect him, I don’t know him. Hell, I’m not even sure how you would react and I’ve known you for three years.” 

“I’d be mad,” he replied, keeping his eyes in a faraway place, distant from the person on the other side of the coach. “If I know Chuuya left everything to be with someone that wasn’t me, I’d really be mad… Maybe I’d hate him because that’s easier than forgiving and forgetting. If he’d hate me, everything would be better.”

“Would it?” 

“I’m not sure,” he confessed, and this time, while thinking about someone else, he smiled to himself. “Chuuya was always too unpredictable. That hasn’t changed.” 

Dazai’s attention remained on his phone, fingertips touching the flat screen. It was still black, not a single incoming call or insecure message. Kunikida observed him in silence, then turned to the clock on the wall. It was getting late, but he still thought he should stay with Dazai for a bit more.

“He has an amazing voice,” he commented spontaneously. Seeing Dazai nod from the corner of his eyes. 

“He has,” the other replied, leaning his head back against the couch’s backrest and gazing at the whitish ceiling. “He also writes beautiful poems.” 

Dazai’s roommate arrived half an hour later. Kunikida greeted him with tense words, and he apologized for not telling him he’d be there. The dark-haired man with almost red eyes didn’t mind that much. He passed by his side, he and Dazai shared one of those empty looks they exchanged from time to time, and he walked towards his room, wishing the blonde man goodnight. Well, despite the weird vibes the other always gave him, at least he had some education, unlike his roommate. 

Kunikida left at about eight o’clock, thanking his friend for helping with his report. Dazai mentioned that he would eventually charge for the help, once he thought about something he wants. While the blonde walked away muttering that that attitude shouldn’t surprise him, the brunette saw him leave with a smile that disappeared as soon as he reentered his apartment. 

Dostoyevski hadn’t gone out of his room since he arrived, he was probably studying again, and assumed the other had eaten outside. Whatever the case, he didn’t cook anything that night. He wasn’t hungry, and it wouldn’t be the first time he skipped a meal either. 

Sighing, he turned off the lights in the room, uncaring if it was too early to sleep. He could read for a while, he thought. Maybe start the new novel he’d bought that afternoon. 

Then, as he walked in the dark in between the coffee table and the couch to take his phone, this one lighted up with an upcoming call. 

He didn’t recognize the number, but he replied nonetheless. Bounded by the dark, he sat again on the couch, letting out another sigh, he raised up his phone to his ear and answered. 

“Hello?” 

“What do you have to do tomorrow?” 

He didn’t think the call would arrive so soon, and the surprise made him lose all words for a couple of seconds. His mind kept on repeating the voice on the other side of the call and when he finally recognize it, he responded with his new-founded voice.

“Chuuya…?”

“Yes, asshole, Chuuya,” he huffed. Dazai could perfectly imagine his annoyed expression, and that image almost made him laugh, almost made him feel better. “Answer the question.”

“It’s a school day,” he replied with a carefree tone, “but my first class starts at one.” 

“Fine, meet me in an hour at the plaza from today’s afternoon.”  

“What? You want to reminisce on old memories and walk in the night?” 

“And what if I want to do that? Go ahead, judge me, I don’t care.” 

Dazai remained silent. He looked at the small glow that entered through the window between the television and the bookcase. Without noticing, he smiled to himself and spoke.

“I’ll see you there.”

Chapter Text

He’d been walking for about fifteen minutes in between faintly lit streets. He could’ve taken a taxi, but preferred the comfort and freedom of strolling. The restaurants by the side of the road were still open. In there, office workers — both men and women — met each other to eat the last ramen of the day, or to share a bottle of sake; momentarily forgetting the routine of adulthood, that had no meaning or hope than the one society desperately gave it: work to get things, get things to fill the emptiness, fill the emptiness with people, people that might stay or may leave at any time. 

Even after hitting the twenties, the projection of such a routine and meaningless life was like torture. But, as time passed, he started to resign himself to that lifestyle. There was no other way of living, or perhaps there was, but it was unreachable for most people. However, solace would always be found in art. 

Walking with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, without letting his eyes wander to any direction that wasn’t forward, Dazai passed through a group of people talking non-stop. They weren’t wearing suits like everyone he’d seen since his apartment, so he guessed they were a group of university students like him. He heard their noisy talk without paying much attention; they were talking about going to a place with loud music and drinking before the night finished. It sounded like the perfect place to drown all his worries for the future and the phantoms that still chased him from his past. Be it any other day, he would’ve followed the group to the bar they were talking about, drunk a shot or two, chosen someone from the crowd to spend the night with and bring her home, making as much noise as possible, during as much time as it was necessary, to annoy his roommate. Then, on the following morning, when the other person left, he would forget her face forever. 

Yes, any other day he would’ve opted to follow the group and lose himself in the lowest of all addictions, but not that night. There was a more important place he had to be in. 

After another twenty minutes, he arrived at the plaza he’d visited on that same afternoon. It looked different under the watchful eye of the moon, with little to no people, lit evenly by the moonlight and patronized by the streetlights, which broke the equality that existed in the place by lighting up some places more than others. That nocturnal image looked more delighting than the one wrapped under the afternoon light.

And sitting on the edge of the turned-off pool, with a phone in hand and different clothes than the ones he was wearing that afternoon, combining perfectly with the background, was Chuuya. And all talks about music and drinks he heard on the road were pushed aside.  

Before he could approach him completely, Chuuya looked up and his blue eyes landed on him, noticing him in the dark with such ease that made Dazai feel a bittersweet nostalgia. 

He always noticed him, he always found him so easily. If he passed through a crowd, Chuuya would be the first person to turn around and look at him. 

And knowing that fact was as sweet as it was painful. 

“You’re late,” Chuuya said once he came to a halt in front of him. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes.” 

Dazai let out a groan as he sat down beside him on the edge of the fountain, muttering how tired he was from walking so much just to hear the other’s complaints. 

“My apartment is far from here, Chuuya,” he replied, glancing sideways at the ginger sitting at a considerable distance from him. Chuuya kept his gaze forward, and Dazai did the same. “I have no idea how you arrived so quickly, the university dorms are five stops away.” 

“I don’t live in the dorms. My apartment is like ten minutes from here.”

“Must be expensive,” he commented, thinking how their exchange of words seemed more akin to a fictional and monotone script. “Living near this area.” 

“It is, but it’s worth it, the train station is almost on the other side of the street,” Chuuya responded, taking out a cigarette and a lighter.

Dazai looked at him again once he heard the snap of the lighter. The reddish light coming from the small flame lit up Chuuya’s face, and the smoke opaque his colors when he exhaled it. 

He’d seen Chuuya smoke when they were teenagers, but the picture he remembered and the image beside him were alike in some aspects, but different in most features. Even his expressions and movements changed, he noticed. The way he held the cigarette, how he brought it to his lips, and every time he did so, his eyes would slightly close. He looked almost graceful, poetically resigned to the future in front of him.

“You nervous?” he asked, catching the attention of blue eyes. Chuuya’s face reflected confusion, and Dazai added, “Some say nicotine helps with anxiety, you feel nervous by my side? How beautiful.”

He’d almost forgotten what expression Chuuya had when his words surprised him in a good way. His eyelids opened a bit more, letting the blue color of his iris out for the world to appreciate under his reddish eyelashes. His lips faintly separated, speechless. The red hue that used to adorn his cheeks when he was a teenager visited his face again. Dazai recalled how every time Chuuya had that expression, he used to kiss him just to embarrass him even more, and briefly, wondered just what would happen if he did it again at that moment. 

But as fast as that flustered expression appeared on his face, it vanished. His lips pressed into a tense line, his eyelids fell and his eyelashes darkened the azure color of his iris. The blush left his cheeks, his skin returned to an even color; faintly grayish due to the moonlight, and he looked elsewhere, carrying the cigarette back to his mouth and breathing heavily.

“I didn’t call you to hear all your bullshit,” he clarified, unable to hide completely the pain in his voice. “Though I’m not surprised you’re saying all that, you either lie or spit out the first stupid thing that comes to your mind.” 

“You’re so mean,” Dazai complained, leaning back and supporting himself with the interior edge of the fountain. His fingers wrapped around the bent structure, feeling the cold water with his fingertips. “Why did you call me Chuuya? I knew you would eventually do it, but I never thought that eventually would be the same day.”

He’d estimated the other would call in about a week or two, but like always, Chuuya was an ever-changing variable he could never control, even if he tried. He couldn’t lie to himself either and deny that the call arriving earlier than expected didn’t make him a tad bit happier. Why? He wasn’t sure. He kept repeating he ought to keep his promise and forget the type of person he was when he and Chuuya were together, but there was a vast difference between saying it and actually doing it.

Besides, Chuuya had nothing to do with who he was before, right? That self-destructing teenager so needy for attention… was he always like that or did something change when he met Chuuya? He couldn’t remember which one was the case, he was only certain that the ginger did nothing to try to stop him, but Odasaku did.

Poems weren’t enough to fill in the void, but novels were. And yet, here he was, sitting beside the person he left behind and promised to forget. 

And although a part of him was screaming, shouting that this was wrong, that he was breaking that promise he made by being here and trying to reconnect with an important part of his past, the ginger’s presence was familiar, it was comforting. He felt as if he could stop putting so much effort into being someone he isn’t and act like himself without the fear of being judged.

“I thought about what you said today,” Chuuya said, inhaling the nicotine and catching Dazai’s attention once again. “I guess you were right.” 

“I’m always right,” a smug smile meant to hide all his thoughts appeared on his face.

And just as the smile materialized, a puff of cigarette smoke hit him on the face. 

His grin was quickly replaced with a series of coughs. It’d been a while since he stopped smoking, and that absence was enough for him to no longer be used to it, he thought as he frantically shook his hands in front of him in hopes of dispersing all the smoke. Chuuya didn’t react to this, his eyes still looking forward, bored, and with his cigarette in between his fingers. 

“As I was saying before you started acting like a complete idiot, you were right,” he repeated. “Like it or not, we’re in the same damn city again and we study in the same place, and I’m not thinking of moving, obviously.” 

“You could,” Dazai suggested, regaining a steady breath. “There are other good universities in Japan besides Kyodai.”

Chuuya stood up and walked away briefly. He dropped what was left of the cigarette and stepped on it, extinguishing the faint flame, Then, picking up what he’d discarded and walking to the nearest trash bin, he responded to the idea of the brunette.

“I won’t do it, I like this place and the people I met. I won’t go just because I have to see your ugly face again. If I have to see you each time I go to the literature building to meet up with Ryuu, then so be it.” 

“Ryuu?” he muttered, looking at the ginger as he approached him, but didn’t sit down again. His gaze and voice turned cold as he realized who ‘Ryuu’ was. “Ah, you mean Akutagawa…”

“Why do you say it like that?” Chuuya complained, crossing his arms. “As if you despise him… what did he do to you? Actually, what did you do to him?” 

“How low of an opinion do you have of me, Chuuya?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

Dazai chuckled emotionlessly. He noticed Chuuya’s shoulders tensing, clearly annoyed by his reaction to the other guy's mention. He didn’t hate him, but they were unlucky to meet each other when Oda had just left and he couldn’t do anything to stop him. That was a bad year for his mental health and, unintentionally, he was an asshole to the boy that only wanted to learn from him.

However, Akutagawa never complained nor treated him differently. And that behavior angered him at the time, but he forgot it and they eventually found some sort of balance that broke the moment Atsushi and Chuuya appeared.

He could bear the arguments between Atsushi and Akutagawa, he even thought it was funny to see them fight over an essay or just about anything, but he didn’t like how protective Akutagawa was when it came to Chuuya. Neither did he like the closeness that existed between the two and the relationship they built without him noticing.

When he was a teenager, he hated the idea of Chuuya paying attention and trusting someone who wasn’t him. He thought those feelings vanished the moment he broke up with him and stopped seeing him for four years. But turns out he was wrong, said feelings were only under a deep slumber, to which seeing Chuuya once again worked as a wake-up call, and he had no idea how to put them to sleep again.

“What’s going on between you two?” he asked before his mind could fully realize what he was saying. “What’s your relationship with Akutagawa…?”

He didn’t regret his words despite Chuuya’s baffled and mad expression. He kept his stoic gaze on the blue eyes that expressed more indignation as time passed. Dazai noticed that the question surprised him as much as it offended him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted an explanation, but deep down he knew he wouldn’t get it. His behavior and Chuuya’s responses would do nothing but push them towards endless discussions, carried by harsh words that he was trying to avoid that night…

“He has a girlfriend and he is younger than you.”

But it was probably unavoidable. Even if he could feel a faint comfort and familiarity between them, the gathered tension was trying to get freed in whatever way it could, and they couldn’t avoid it forever.

“He’s just two years younger,” Chuuya replied, and a hypocritical grin appeared on his face, sending chills down Dazai’s spine. “And do you really think I care if he has a girlfriend? Wouldn’t be the first time I’m the ‘lover’.”

The brownish red gaze turned colder. He remained stolid, focusing entirely on Chuuya’s smile. He hated to see himself reflected on it.

“I didn’t think you were that kind of person, Chuuya.”

“Oh, really? But I learned it from you, Dazai.” He knew he would say something like that, but he didn’t stop the ginger, even if he had an idea as to where this conversation was going. His arms uncrossed and he placed a hand on his hip, taking advantage of the fact Dazai was still seated, looking down at him. “Do you remember how we met each other? Before you kissed me in the library and tricked me to go out with you? Every day, there was another bastard wanting to punch you because you either kissed his girlfriend or showed her how good your fingers were in the bathroom. Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you did it?” 

The brunette didn’t answer, and Chuuya didn’t insist. He knew the other wouldn’t say a word, and that didn’t bother him. He would keep pushing until  

“You said and I quote: ‘Do you think I care if they have a boyfriend? It’s not my relationship, and they’re the ones who decided to do something with me. They should be loyal, not me’.”

There was still no reaction coming from Dazai. Chuuya walked towards him. He leaned down and took the other’s chin between his hands. The brunette looked up meekly, making the ginger feel satisfied that the cold, dark eyes were still focused on him. He observed the other’s face; starting with the irises that kept staring at him, then the straight nose — slightly colored at the tip by a crimson hue due to the cold —, and finally his mouth. Cruelly, he passed his thumb over his lower lip. Dazai didn’t move. He went back to looking at his eyes, noticing the surprise in them. Chuuya smiled as he leaned even more.

And before he could close the distance, he stopped. He tilted his face and moved until his lips were next to Dazai’s ears, exactly like the brunette had done that same afternoon. The messy and tangled hair tickled, but that sensation didn’t distract from his words and intentions.

“Thinking of that, I wonder just how many times you cheated on me…” he muttered, noticing how the brunette tensed at the words. “How many times did you go to the bathroom with some girl, Dazai? With how many people did you cheat on me during those three years?”

With a blunt movement, Dazai removed the hand that held his chin. Chuuya backed down, without a smug smile, no emotion showing on his face, just a blank gaze. Listening to the offended words.

“I never did that,” Dazai responded, and Chuuya could finally see something else besides emptiness. “We spent all day together, do you think I had time to do something like that?” 

“You stayed at school after classes,” he retorted. “We were in different clubs. You had time to do it.” 

“I never cheated on you, I didn’t even think about it.” 

“Really? You left me for someone else, Dazai.” The memory drove him mad and, unable to keep his emotions at bay any longer, he said with venom lying in each word: “How many times did you fuck him while we were together…?” 

That accusation got him the reaction he’d been seeking. Despite his facial expression being more stoic than what should be permitted, Chuuya couldn’t overlook the clenched fists.

“I never did that,” he repeated, and although he tried to keep his volume stable, this one acted on its own, reflecting what he’d been trying to hide. “Odasaku and I never…!” 

“Ah, I finally got the name,” Chuuya interrupted, looking at his surroundings as if the whole situation was just a hassle he could easily ignore. “It’s nice to know the name of the person you left me for.”

Dazai could not believe it. Neither the behavior of the ginger nor the words coming out of his mouth. He sighed and rubbed his face with his right hand, feeling frustrated and thinking, deep down, that Chuya was the only person who could make him feel too many emotions in such a short time.

“Was that what you wanted?” he questioned while massaging his temple. “You called me and threw all these things that I never did in my face, just for a name?” 

“I deserved to know,” Chuuya responded, crossing his arms again and looking down at him. “I must’ve looked so fucking dumb cursing someone for ruining my relationship and not even knowing their name.”

“You could’ve just asked.”

“I did it. Many times too.” Dazai looked up again, finding blue eyes that reflected pain. “But you never answered your phone.” 

Yes, he knew. And while in the past he never regretted not picking up any of his calls, now he did. For six months, he ignored all his calls and blocked all unknown numbers that tried to call him. He knew it was Chuuya, the ginger was the only person that tried to find him after he left Yokohama. But the brunette never answered, and he felt relieved once the calls stopped. 

He never regretted leaving and following Oda, but two years later, when everything he knew was collapsing around him, he wished to hear Chuuya’s voice again and see the only person who fulfilled each promise he ever made to him. That led him to recover his old phone, even if he knew he wouldn’t see Chuuya again unless he went back to Yokohama.

But he was wrong, and the ginger that sat next to him at the edge of the fountain confirmed it. 

Silence befell them. They kept looking forward; seeing the faint light of the stores and the quiet movement of people coming in and out of there. Part of the tension between them had disappeared, but there was still some left, and that was what prevented him from falling into the comfort and familiarity with which the night started.

Sighing, Dazai averted his eyes towards the sky. The night was strangely clear, to the point he could see some stars. Not many, but enough to push him to clear the misunderstandings Chuuya had.

“I never cheated on you,” he repeated, knowing the other’s attention was on him, even if his eyes wandered elsewhere. “I could’ve, but I never did it. It’s true that I don’t give a fuck about respecting other people’s relationships, but I respected ours, even if you don’t believe it.”

“I don’t believe you, you cheated.” 

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did you fall in love with someone else?”

Dazai’s gaze descended from the firmament and settled on the azure eyes that watched him with an expression he couldn’t bear. The yawning ache Chuuya thought he forgot could easily be seen on each of his attributes. It was as daunting as the first day, as if the wound was recent and he didn’t know how to make it heal. He wasn’t sure if one day he would.

“Even on the last day, you lied to me,” Chuuya muttered, keeping his gaze still without hiding what he felt. “You tricked me. You said you wanted to be with me forever, you made me believe you truly loved me, that I was important to you… But now I know that while you said those things, your mind was thinking about someone else.”

It was like he was facing the same eighteen-year-old boy he left behind, Dazai thought. Everything looked like the last memory he had of the other; from the hurt reflected in his voice, to the tension in his body and the fragile gaze that wouldn’t let itself cry in front of him.

Seeing that expression on Chuuya was an uncomfortable and harmful thorn, but he deserved that pain. 

“While you were with me, for how long did you love him?” the ginger questioned. “How long did it take you to decide you wanted to be with him instead of me?” 

What did he have that I didn’t…? Is what Chuuya wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to know the answer. He didn’t want to know the hundred qualities the other had that he didn’t. He would probably lose it if he knew. 

“I don’t know,” Dazai responded, leaving some sort of void in Chuuya’s heart. “It just happened one day…”

“You could’ve told me that you didn’t want to be with me the same damned day you realized you liked someone else.” 

“I was seventeen, Chuuya, I was still an immature kid,” Dazai said gently. “I made promises I didn’t know I couldn’t keep.” 

“I was also that,” Chuuya mumbled, averting his gaze and looking at the distance once again. “I was also a brat who decided to believe you.”

And nothing good could come out of two brats making promises, Dazai thought. It was doomed to fail before it started. The percentage of people who fulfilled every promise made when they were younger was minimal, just like the relationships that started at fifteen, almost sixteen, like theirs. 

But not having a bit of illusion was impossible, Chuuya pondered. If their heads hadn’t been filled with absurd ideas, if literature hadn’t shown unlikely and idyllic love stories, none of this would’ve happened. Not to him, nor anyone else. The only thing that was left was to accept that promises and stories of eternal love not always became true. Life was like that. Each path was full of thorns and nettles instead of camellias and daisies. 

Silence filled the gaps their thoughts left. At that point in the night, they were the only people on the plaza. Some stores were still filled with people, but being a weekday, these would close soon enough.

The sky was still clear and the stars twinkled, they were reflected on the peaceful water of the fountain, and although the landscape was beautiful, Dazai could only observe the man beside him. He watched his silence, his distant look that expressed a pain induced by the memories of an old scar that, although it has long since healed, it itched. However, Chuuya looked more calm than before. Resigned, not relieved, the brunette noticed, but it was a needed progress for both of them. 

And when the tension produced by harsh words lifted, blue eyes cleared with a resigned and calm shine. And, with the same tone of voice, relaxed and distant, he talked again. 

“I know you never cheated on me, even if you started to like someone else while we were together,” he commented, closing his eyes for a moment, a serene expression on his face. “If you’d done so, I would’ve known. You think you know how to keep a secret, Dazai, but for me, you were the most open book I’ve ever known.”

Chuuya laughed. The sound of his chuckles took him by surprise, as well as the quick steadiness the ginger recovered. 

“Even now, I still know you better than anyone else, and I’m the only one who can make you go in full panic,” he mocked. The smug grin accompanied by a mocking tone were still there when he turned to the brunette. “You should’ve seen your face! You really got offended when I called you a cheater.” 

It was his turn to look elsewhere. Not because he was annoyed the other pointed out the obvious, or perhaps he was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, turning his head a little bit more, and hiding the smile that posed on his lips when he heard the ginger’s laugh.

“Sure, act like an idiot once again. I bet you’re back to being the womanizer I met.” 

Not really. Perhaps he sometimes slept with someone he met at one of the bars Yosano forced him to go to, but that was all. He was no longer interested in playing to destroy as many relationships as possible, he’d had enough of that after destroying his relationship with Chuuya and Odasaku.

Then, thinking about the ties he let go easily, he recalled what had started that discussion. He wanted to ask again about the relationship between Chuuya and Akutagawa, but before he could open his mouth, the ginger beside him stood up and his attention went back to focusing on him. 

He complained about how uncomfortable the ceramic lining the fountain edge was. He stretched his arms, then his back, and looked up at the sky. He paid no attention to the reflection of the stars in the water, why look at the mirrored image when you have the real one above you?

The sky in Kyoto and Yokohama was the same, Dazai thought. In four years, the firmament above them suffered no change, the uncomfortable places they chose to sit in during the night were still the same, and Chuuya’s complaints remained. Both now and when they were teenagers, neither of them proposed to sit on one of the benches, or in some other place more comfortable for their backs. And knowing that detail remained the same made a sweet feeling rise in his chest. 

“This feels nostalgic,” Dazai murmured. And with a genuine smile, he searched for the blueish gaze that had left the firmament to look at him. “We used to sit in places like this one during our night strolls through Yokohama.”

Chuuya nodded in agreement, and although he was looking at Dazai, the brunette could swear he was watching their old and sweet shared memories. 

“You didn’t give a damn about waking me up at three or four in the morning for your walks.”

“But you never complained,” Dazai replied, smiling at the distant memory. “Well, you kinda did, a lot, but you never said no. You always joined me, it didn’t matter if the reason I gave you to wake you up made sense or not” 

Unlike Odasaku , Dazai thought, averting his eyes from the sky and turning towards the floor. 

Chuuya always said yes at that time, he never left him alone during one of his night walks, and although he always got mad at him for waking him up way too early, he listened to his stupid reasons and never asked for more than what Dazai was willing to reveal. He followed him, no matter how far they walked from the houses they couldn’t call home. It didn’t matter if he was tired or if he was cold, if the following day they had to go to school or if their parents could find out they weren’t in their rooms. Chuuya never let him walk alone during that time, but Oda did.

Oda had more important things to worry about than accompanying Dazai during his insomnia. But for Chuuya, he was the most important thing in his life. Both he and poetry. 

“Do you still carry your poetry book each time you go out at night?” he questioned, finally standing up from the cold edge of the fountain and approaching Chuuya until he reached his side, looking at the sky. 

“I stopped writing a long time ago, Dazai,” he responded without letting his voice show the pain and regret that sentence brought him. “I don’t write poems anymore.”

However, that response did manage to surprise Dazai. It sounded like a joke, could it really exist a Chuuya that didn’t write poetry? It was almost laughable.

“Why? You loved poetry…”

Chuuya huffed. A bittersweet laugh came out of his mouth.

“There are things you love that aren’t meant for you, Dazai,” he muttered, gazing at the man next to him before turning his attention to some other place. “I guess accepting that reality is part of growing up.”

But accepting it wasn’t so easy, Chuuya thought. Letting go and accepting there was no future in the poems he wrote took him a couple of months. Even after leaving Yokohama, trying to write remained just that, nothing more than a poor attempt. He had no ideas, he couldn’t express the anxiety he felt, he could only convey an emptiness that a piece of paper could never fill, so he left it. The same happened to what he once felt for Dazai. He hung on to those feelings for so long until they eventually rotted and became a deep resentment he couldn’t forget. He wanted to believe that he would, that from that night onward everything would be better, but he wasn’t as naive as before.

He wasn’t sixteen anymore, nor was he forced to endure a horrible life with his parents. He had Kouyou back, he had his older brother, he had other friends, and Dazai was only a note at the end of the page. They were nothing, they once shared a bond, but now? They had nothing to do with the other's life, there was nothing that connected them besides a shared past.

And yet, although painful, being by his side always felt right. As correct as it was wrong, as good as it was bad, as tempting…

How would Dazai react if he kissed him at that moment? Would his lips taste the same as before? Would it feel the same? Did he still kiss as if he wanted to leave him breathless forever? 

He could easily make that mistake again. He just needed to reach out and think about nothing at all, not even the regret he’d feel right after…

“It’s getting late,” Chuuya commented, trying to keep a stoic face, distant from the man next to him. “I should go.” 

“Do you want to drink something?” Dazai offered. His hand held the other’s instinctively as soon as he noticed that the ginger began to walk away from him. His skin was warm, so unlike his, he wanted to stay like that. “We used to steal a bottle to drink from our parents, but we don’t need to do that now. I overheard someone saying there was a place with good music and cheap drinks…” 

“You still eavesdrop? Damn, you conserved your worst traits,” he joked, refusing to look directly at the browning red eyes in front of him. Softly, shaking his head, he declined the offer. “I pass. I’m busy tomorrow, I don’t want to be hungover all day.” 

For the first time since their reencounter, he gently released the hand that was holding his wrist. Dazai’s fingers turned cold immediately, he couldn’t help but miss his warmth. 

“I’ll see you around, Dazai,” he mumbled, daring to look up and observe the other’s face. “After all, we are in the same city and study in the same place. We’ll probably see each other again… as long as you stop being an asshole.”

Dazai smiled.

“But it’s so fun to annoy you!” 

Chuuya huffed. He turned around and walked away, muttering under his breath that, without a doubt, there’ll be things that will never change. 

He had a great distance to cover. The nighttime temperature was steadily dropping, and he knew that it wasn’t long before his roommates would start calling, demanding to know where he was and when he would be back. However, after a couple of steps, he came to a halt. He knew Dazai was still there, near the fountain, staring at him. 

“Answer me one last question,” he requested, never turning around to see the brunette’s curious expression. 

Letting the silence fill the atmosphere for a few seconds, Chuuya wondered if he should just ask, after all, he needed to know the answer. It was the only genuine answer he always wanted to get…

“Why did you leave without telling me anything?” 

The response was instant. As if it was part of an already written script that had been rehearsed a thousand times for the moment anyone, whether he or someone else, asked why he was in Kyoto out of all the cities in Japan. 

And hearing the obvious lie coming from Dazai hurt. 

“I couldn’t bear to be in that house any longer, you know how much I hated that place,” the brunette narrated. His voice and the feelings he radiated would’ve fooled anyone, but not Chuuya. “So, when I turned eighteen, I decided to go. I never picked up any of your calls because I was sure my parents would go ask you about me, and I didn’t want them to do so.”

He knew it was a lie. Dazai was also aware that he knew, and he still chose to hide the truth. It was painful, but it was what he expected. At least, he could have this version and act as if it was real, even if each word was but an absurd excuse mixed with the truth.

“Yeah, they asked me about you a couple of times, but they eventually stopped,” Chuuya lied, and Dazai knew that he was doing so, but he let it slide. “It’s nice to know the truth about, well, everything. See you, Dazai.” 

“Chuuya, wait…” 

He couldn’t take a step before coming to a sudden halt. It was getting late and Dazai kept stopping him. And the worst part was that he allowed it. He really was a fucking idiot, Chuuya thought to himself.

At the request, he turned around and observed the brownish red eyes that were clouded by hesitation. Seldom were the times he’d seen Dazai doubting something in the past, and he never thought the day would come when he would see it happening again. How much was he thinking? What words was he searching for that took him so long to say what he wanted?

“Dazai?” he called out, and the other glanced at him.

He paid attention to each inch of his skin, starting from the long ginger hair and the bangs that vaguely covered the blue eyes he could never forget. He stopped at his nose, at his cheeks; the faint, almost invisible freckles still embellished on him, only noticeable if you looked at Chuuya longer than you normally would. And, finally, he reached his lips. He remembered how it felt to kiss him, the color and taste were perfect for him, and those details probably hadn’t changed. 

When he was a teenager, he relished kissing Chuuya. He spent hours waiting for recess just so he could bind together their lips, during the most boring classes he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, and every time they would reach the same conclusion: he wanted to kiss him, the feeling of touching him was pure bliss. Recalling all that got Dazai thinking just how would the other react if he decided to kiss him at that moment. 

Nothing good would come out of it, he concluded. The type of person he was now, the type of man Odasaku would be proud of, wouldn’t kiss his ex-boyfriend, even if that was his biggest desire at the time. 

“Never mind,” Dazai responded, sending a smile the other didn’t return. “I also got to go. See you, Chuuya.” 

If he kept getting stuck in the past, he would never walk forward. And with that mindset, both took a different path, one that guided them away from the fountain and the plaza.

═════════════

The week went by fast, just like the weekend in which he declined the idea of going to a new bar with Yosano. Dazai preferred to stay in his apartment, reading some books, writing essays and scrolling through his phone. The new number he’d saved as Chuuya’s hadn’t called again since that night, and he hadn’t seen the ginger around on the campus either. He could’ve asked Akutagawa about him, but he ultimately decided not to. He still hated the idea of the black-haired boy being so close with his ex-boyfriend.

He knew he could just send him a message or call him, but each time he thought about doing it, he couldn’t. He was always uncertain. 

If he called, would Chuuya answer? If he answered, what would he say? He didn’t have a plan, he just wanted to feel the same as that night: comfortable with someone with whom he could act exactly like he was, without the need to pretend to be someone else, with whom he could drop the smile and keel his facial expression empty and relaxed. But he couldn’t call, going back to that place was a step back from everything he promised. 

Maybe he should delete the number and forget about Chuuya. Forget every moment, ever since he saw him again at that stage, to that night where he recalled how well the other knew him, how easy it was for the ginger to corner him, and how much he wanted to kiss him. 

He had to forget it. He knew that was the right thing to do.

And yet, at the hours when the moonlight shined its brightest, he still reviewed the only poem book he had, and he reread those last sentences Chuuya wrote thinking about him. 

“What’s up with you?” Yosano asked him that afternoon. “The waitress just flirted with you and you didn’t even bat an eye at her.” 

“Oh, really?” he asked in return, looking at his surroundings and perceiving the attention coming from the woman Yosano was pointing to. “I didn’t notice.” 

His friend muttered something under her breath, Kunikida observed him with strangeness, though Ranpo didn’t even pay attention to him. Dazai took his phone again, checking the last messages and missed calls. There were none marked with the name of Chuuya. Sighing, he put away his phone and enclosed his fingers around the cup before him.

A second week had almost passed. With little time to see each other, Yosano called them to the cafe they usually frequented near the Faculty of Medicine. Halfway through the journey, Dazai encountered Kunikida and when they reached the place, Yosano and Ranpo were already there, saving them a table. Although he wasn’t always with them, they tried to invite Atsushi, who mentioned that, at the moment, he was busy, but would come sometime during the day. 

When the other three questioned Dazai about what was keeping Atsushi busy, he shrugged and muttered that he wasn't the albino’s babysitter. He didn’t always see Atsushi at the university, they didn’t share any classes and they didn’t have the same schedule, he didn’t bump into him daily and, on that particular day, he hadn’t seen him. And, while he answered that, he got distracted once he saw a ginger entering the local by the corner of his eye, but when he glanced at the other, he realized he wasn’t Chuuya. 

He didn’t even look like him. His hair wasn’t the same color as Chuuya’s, it was a shade darker. It wasn’t long with smooth curls, and his face was different; he didn’t have the same blue eyes, nor the faint freckles, and he was taller than his ex-boyfriend. He had no idea how he could’ve mistaken him for him. 

After the brief disappointment, he turned to his phone and stopped at the number of the ginger. He sighed, the waitress walked towards them and he told her his order. When the woman came back with the requests, Dazai was still looking at the distance, thinking about the copper hair and azure eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the woman’s antics that, had she done so any other day, he would’ve returned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kunikida asked him, averting his gaze from the opened laptop in front of him and drinking his cup of tea. “I haven’t seen you much this week, but you’re acting weird since that day at the plaza…” 

“What plaza? Dazai, what are you hiding?” Yosano questioned, carrying his eyes to the man beside her. “Ranpo, what is he hiding?” 

“Why are you asking me?” he inquired, sipping his milkshake. “I haven’t met up with you guys for almost three weeks. I have no idea what they’re talking about, Akiko, I’m no omnipotent.” 

“You should be.” 

“About all this,” Dazai added, raising his voice a bit to catch the other’s attention. “I’m not hiding anything and nothing’s happening. I’m not weird, just the usual.” 

“Don’t lie in front of my face, Dazai,” Yosano demanded. 

“Exactly. Besides, you do look different since last time,” Kunikida supported. “Did it affect you that much talking to your ex-boyfriend?” 

“What ex-boyfriend?” asked the woman in the group again and, noticing he’d let slip something he shouldn’t have said, Kunikida paled. 

He really wanted to curse Kunikida right now, but he endured the need to do that and the desire to send him an annoying look. Yosano repeated her question, Ranpo focused solely on him, and the blonde turned to him with an apologetic gaze. Dazai just sighed, looked back at his phone, and refused to respond.

At that moment, the door opened and Atsushi entered. When he found them, he approached the table with a wide smile that hadn’t vanished since he stepped out of the Faculty of Humanities. But, as he stood in front of the group and noticed the tense expressions they all wore, the happiness he felt diminished to make way to confusion and worry. 

“Is something wrong?” the albino asked, sitting slowly in the empty space between Dazai and Yosano. “Sorry for the wait…” 

“Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong,” Yosano responded for the rest of them, sending a smile to the youngest. “You looked happy, where were you?”  

Atsushi didn’t reply, he turned downwards and with a small smile on his lips, he mumbled that he was in the faculty helping a ‘friend’. Yosano didn’t ask more, but when she turned back to Dazai, he noticed the brunette was looking at the albino. Probably, the woman thought, he knew who Atsushi was with. 

“Also, Atsushi,” Yosano called out. The bicolor gaze focused on her immediately. “Someone told me Akutagawa’s band will be playing again in the Falling Camellia, wanna go? I was thinking to go drink this weekend anyway.” 

“You always drink,” Ranpo vaguely said. “At this point, being an alcoholic is almost a requirement to get into medicine.” 

“What can I say? Us humanities people are mostly alcoholic.” 

“You study under the science branch, not humanities,” Kunikida answered back, focusing on the laptop in front of him.

While the other three got themselves tangled in the argument of whether medicine could be considered a humanities branch, Atsushi perceived a missing voice. He looked at Dazai, still with his phone in hand, his cup of coffee remained untouched, and the waitress’ gaze on him ignored. At some point, the cafe worker gave up on trying to catch the brunette’s attention and sighed, audibly, as her last attempt, but Dazai’s focus was centered only on the phone in his hands. 

He seemed to be writing something and deleting it right after, then writing again and erasing everything, the cycle repeating for what felt like an eternity. With each word, his frustration rose, and so did his disappointment, perhaps at himself more than at anyone else. Although he tried to keep the phone away and focus on whatever the others were discussing, his eyes always wandered back to the device. He wasn’t even trying to act as if he was interested in the conversation, not cracking a joke or smiling. And Atsushi wondered who the person he wanted to talk to was, and what it took for the brunette to act as he truly was. 

“Dazai?” he called, leaning towards the brunette and, accidentally, reading the contact name of whoever he was writing to. “ ‘Chibi’...? ” 

“Atsushi,” he interrupted, turning off the phone and putting it away. The albino was startled, already formulating an apology in his mind. Dazai played it off and added: “If you go to see Akutagawa’s band this weekend, I’ll go with you.” 

“Eh? Really?” Dazai nodded. The boy smiled, but when he recalled who the band’s singer was and the relationship he had with the brunette, he couldn’t help but look at the other cautiously. “Why? If it’s for…”

“I just want to listen some music,” Dazai clarified, going back to his nonchalant attitude. “Something wrong with that?” 

“No, I guess not…” he muttered, unsure of the words and behavior of the other. However, he couldn’t deny that he didn’t want to go alone to the performance, even if, at that point, he was no longer another fan to Akutagawa. “So, Friday night?” 

Dazai nodded. He took his phone and wrote a message he finally sent.

Chapter Text

There were two days left till the performance and Akutagawa was enslaving them.

All week went by the same. They rehearsed for more than four hours, with breaks that barely passed the fifteen minute mark. Did they complain? Of course they did, but no matter what they said, Akutagawa ignored them and forced them to continue. 

Well, ‘forced them’ may be a bit of an exaggeration, Chuuya thought. If they didn’t want to practice until they were dead, they could simply put the instruments aside and walk away like nothing happened, and yet there they were. He could see Higuchi spinning the drumsticks between her fingers and striking the drums again. On the other side, Tachihara kept playing with the strings of his bass, reviewing the chords Akutagawa wrote. Gin was doing pretty much the same, listening to the instructions coming from his older brother and correcting the mistakes he mentioned. Meanwhile, he was in front of the microphone, with a small opened notebook in his hands, reading the lines he’d written that night after talking to Dazai. 

He could hardly call what he wrote a poem. That night, after returning to his apartment and exchanging a couple of words with his roommates, he reopened his old poem notebook. He reread each one of them, recalling the feelings he’d once felt for the brunette. And damn, what he wrote was so fucking corny that, feeling disgusted with himself for all the sappiness but also sad at the way in which the stories told in those pages ended, he took a new sheet and began writing words that contradicted all the fondness he showed in the past. 

In that old poem, he portrayed the trust he had in Dazai. How much the vague promises and kind words made him believe in a future together, a time where that was a reality that couldn’t be shattered by the realization of it being an illusion that would eventually break.

What he now wrote described how he wished he would’ve discerned the lies from the truth that, in due course, would unite in a hurtful ending — all of this with the desire to not suffer the painful aftermath of the situation. The deceptions coming from Dazai seemed never-ending, and that fact remained despite the four years that had passed. 

Mad, resentful more for his present actions than the past ones, he went to sleep when he finished the text and reread it when the sun rose. What he wrote that night had no meter and in many cases didn’t even rhyme, but when he showed it to Akutagawa, the boy liked it. 

They changed a few words, added others, deleted some, and Akutagawa finally got the song he wanted. Chuuya couldn’t say he was happy with how it turned out, but the black-haired boy looked satisfied, and that was enough to sign the band in a new music night at the Falling Camellia. 

Adding the other instruments to the song and rehearsing it was complete torture, they only had around two weeks before the show, but at least, between his hard work and all his classes, his mind was pretty occupied to spend a lot of time thinking about Dazai. 

Sure, he thought of him each time he had to sing the new song, but at least the anger that flourished fitted just right with the lyrics and his expressive voice. Akutagawa was amazed at the depth he portrayed, however, when he learned about the meaning behind the melody he not only scolded him for reuniting with Dazai, he also felt guilty for being so excited about a song born out of a recent sorrow. 

It didn’t matter, Chuuya told him to calm him. Even if the new lyrics were brought by anguish, after singing he felt relieved, and as time passed, it hurt less. 

“Let’s take an hour break,” Akutagawa announced, catching everyone’s attention. “I reserved the room until six, so you can go and have lunch.” 

“There’s a cafeteria near here,” Gin commented, putting her guitar aside. “Brother, we should go eat something, I know you didn’t eat breakfast.” 

“You didn’t?” Chuuya inquired. “That’s irresponsible, Ryuu! I didn’t raise you like that.” 

“Shut up, you didn’t eat either, you’re as irresponsible as me,” he countered, throwing his guitar pick, and wishing he had another when the ginger only laughed at his reaction.

“Anyway, what Gin said is a good idea,” Tachihara argued. “The cafeteria she’s talking about is near the Faculty of Medicine.” 

“I didn’t get out of uni just to go back,” Higuchi complained from behind the drums, drumsticks still in hand. “Tachihara, why don’t you go buy something for all of us? I don’t want to move but something sweet right now would be nice…” 

“I’m not your servant. Besides, as far as I know, Akutagawa is your boyfriend, shouldn’t he be the one to go buy you something?” 

All gazes turned to the black-haired boy who, until that moment, had ignored the conversation in favor of picking up the guitar pick he threw. Once he felt the attention focused on him, he looked around him, observing everyone until he reached his girlfriend. The blonde behind the drums watched him with shiny eyes, almost like those of a little puppy; excited for whatever prize they could get. But the guitarist did nothing besides crossing his arms. 

“I won’t go to the cafeteria.” 

“Not even for me?!” Higuchi cried out. “I’m your beloved girlfriend! And you could also buy something for yourself!” 

“I don’t want anything sweet,” Akutagawa replied, averting his eyes. 

Higuchi let out a groan and dropped her head onto the drum, releasing the drumsticks and sobbing as they hit the floor. 

“You never want anything sweet…”

Tired of the whole scene, Gin sighed. She took away his brother’s guitar, disregarded his complaints and the angered look he sent at her, and she put it next to hers. Then, he clung to one of his arms, uncaring whether the other wanted to get away from her or not. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scolded him before looking back to the rest of the band. “I assume Tachihara wants something to eat from that place, just as Higuchi. Chuuya, what about you?” 

“Anything that isn’t sweet.” 

“Alright. Tachihara, you go to the cafeteria. I know there’s a store nearby that sells onigiri and such, I’ll buy something there.” 

“And what do I have to do with all this?” Ryuunosuke asked, trying to push the other guitarist away.

“You’re too picky with food, so you’re coming with me to choose something to eat,” she scolded once again and turned to the others. “We’ll be back soon.” 

It didn’t take much time for Tachihara to leave after both siblings stepped out of the room. The bassist asked Higuchi what she wanted and offered to get a coffee for Chuuya, but the vocalist declined, saying he didn’t need anything from the store. Tachihara nodded and mumbled the same phrase the other two had used upon leaving, promising he would try to come back as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t make any guarantees as the place would likely be crowded at that time. 

It really didn’t matter. Ryuunosuke gave them an hour break and they would make the most of it. 

Putting the microphone aside and closing the notebook in his hands, Chuuya searched in his bag for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He’d promised the guitarist he wouldn’t smoke again, but the tension he’d been feeling those last days and his talk with Dazai, only helped push him deeper into the claws of that addiction. 

“I’ll go out for a while,” he informed the blonde girl in the room. 

“Chuuya,” Higuchi called out, making him stop in front of the door. “There’s… something I wanted to ask you.” 

Sighing, Chuuya took the cigarette in between his lips and set it back in the box. He put it in the back pocket of his jeans, did the same with the lighter, and he leaned against the closed door, with his arms crossed and his gaze directly on the girl. Silently, with a soft movement of his head, he signaled her to continue.

Hesitant, Higuchi looked at her surroundings before getting up from the seat behind the drums and moving to the place where most of their belongings were, not far but not near to the ginger either.

“You’re… close with Ryuunosuke, right?” she uttered, a certain sadness lingering in her voice. “He even lets you call him Ryuu…”

“It’s not like he lets me,” he corrected, unsure where the conversation was going. “I just started to call him that and he never complained.” 

“Then he lets you,” she insisted, eyes falling. “Just you and Gin can call him that. I get that Gin can — she’s her sister after all — but I’m her girlfriend and he doesn’t let me… So then, why do you can?” 

Fuck, he didn’t like the path those questions were creating. Was Higuchi getting the same ideas as Dazai? Did it really seem like there was something going on between them?

Chuuya was used to deal with people like Akutagawa, that’s why it wasn’t hard for him to get close. He rapidly understood the other’s personality and learned what signals he gave when he let others get past the boundaries he’d set, but beyond that fraternal trust, there was nothing more. He believed both he and the guitarist had made that clear, but seeing it all, he could see how their bond was misunderstood. 

Still, it was annoying when it happened. He hated giving explanations.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, it isn’t true,” Chuuya clarified, feeling the need to smoke all of a sudden. “There’s nothing like that going on between me and Ryuu.” 

“I never thought something was happening,” Higuchi replied, looking at him with distrust. “But now that you say it…” 

“Shit, no, it’s not like that. I see him as a brother, and I’m sure he also sees me that way.” 

Higuchi remained silent, his words unable to convince her. Chuuya wanted to punch himself for accidentally giving her reasons to doubt Akutagawa. At any rate, the guitarist didn’t even look like someone who would cheat on his girlfriend. He was rarely interested in the prospect of socializing, and he knew by what he once heard, that it took Higuchi a while before finally catching his attention. 

“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to ask you,” Higuchi said, making the vocalist sigh in relief. “Gin says she doesn’t know but maybe you do… Lately, he’s always with a boy from his faculty. Each time I call him or go see him, he’s with him . And besides spending time together, Ryuunosuke also lets him listen to the songs he’s working on…” 

Higuchi breathed out. Her eyes stopped looking at the floor of the room in favor of focusing on the ginger. Chuuya could notice the utter despair hidden in them, and he couldn’t help but relate to that feeling. 

“Maybe Ryuunosuke has told you about him? He’s albino.” 

Albino? Did he know someone like that…? It took him some seconds to remember the first-year boy who was with Akutagawa that day almost two weeks ago. But once he did, he couldn’t keep his expression of recognition at bay. It was fully visible to Higuchi, and her first reaction was to frown in both fear and sadness. 

“You know who I’m talking about, right?” she inquired without hiding the worry in her voice. “That guy…” 

Before he could formulate a response, someone opened the door, pushing him against his will. The movement startled him and almost made him fall, the wall serving as the only reason why his face didn’t end up against the floor. He sighed with relief, and then he turned to look at whoever had returned to the rehearsal room. 

On the other side of the door, with a hand wrapped around the doorknob and the other holding a bag, Ryuu looked back at him. Gin peered over his shoulder, and both siblings observed him with confusion at his ridiculous pose after nearly falling, accompanied by his surprised expression. Momentarily, he thought this was the moment everything would go to hell and the guitarist would begin to ask about his talk with his girlfriend. He briefly wondered whether he’d heard something or not. 

However, Ryuu’s grayish gaze wandered towards the pack of cigarettes peeking out of his pocket. 

“Did you start smoking again?” Ryuunosuke questioned with such indignation that made Chuuya anxious. 

“This box had lasted two weeks,” he mumbled, not knowing if what he felt was nervousness or guilt, “my voice won’t get ruined just by…” 

“You said you quit.” 

That sole phrase felt like a stab. It hurt more than a real punch, and Chuuya understood where the guilt was coming from. He’d failed him, somehow, he betrayed the trust Akutagawa had in him with something so simple, and he could only think about the parallels between what he’d just done and what Dazai had done to him years ago. 

It was a horrible feeling, it almost made him throw up. He wanted to hide wherever, throw up again, and swear he wouldn’t do it again, as if he was a little kid scared that, due to a mistake like that, he would be put aside… 

Akutagawa looked at him with disappointment, and Chuuya really hated that expression. He could stand that emotion, wishing it would just disappear. 

“Alright, fine, I’m sorry. I promised I would quit and I didn’t,” Chuuya said. He took both the box and the lighter out of his pocket, and he let them fall towards the trash can. “There, happy? It’s in the garbage now, and it’ll stay there.” 

The guitarist huffed. 

“It’s not like you couldn’t just take them out later.” 

“I won’t.” He sighed again, wanting those damn cigarettes back and a longer break. “Have some faith in me, Ryuu”

The boy didn’t reply. He gave him a bag containing what he’d bought for him. Then he approached his girlfriend and, handing her a dorayaki, he managed to vanish any spark of insecurity that surrounded the girl while he wasn’t there. Higuchi hugged him and kissed him right there and then, suffocating him with warmth and mumbling that she knew she was important to him. Ryuunosuke didn’t respond, however, he didn’t walk away either. He returned the hug and the kiss, subsequently sitting beside her to eat together. Gin sat next to the ginger, giving the couple a bit of privacy. 

Good, that solved one problem, Chuuya thought while sitting still, letting Gin lean on him as she ate in silence. She always had a certain calmness on her that she could easily transmit, thus, she was his favorite between the two siblings. 

Tachihara returned a few minutes later, talking non-stop and telling the guitarist that he saw that third-year guy Akutagawa had mentioned a couple of times. Upon hearing the clear mention of Dazai, Chuuya almost choked on what he was eating; and when the bassist mentioned the first-year boy Ryuu was always complaining about, Higuchi almost let her food fall. 

But, despite it all, it was a good rehearsal. 

At the end of the practice, Akutagawa looked pretty content. He said they would rehearse again tomorrow just for four hours, they would refine some details, and then wouldn’t meet up again until the soundcheck on Friday night. While the rest of the group chatted, Chuuya remembered he hadn’t checked his phone all day and, probably, he had one or two missed calls from his roommates, maybe even Kouyou, although his siblings always waited for him to call them or for the clock to mark nine. 

And when the screen lighted up, amidst all the notifications, he could only observe one coming from an unregistered yet memorized number.

Dazai’s number…

<< Lately I’ve been lucky enough to not see Chuuya anywhere, so I guess I’ll have to go see him sing this Friday  ╮ (¯ ~ ¯) ╭  >>

If he gave him so much bad luck, why did he want to go see the performance? And what was that fucking face? Ah, he’d forgotten how much he hated those kaomoji Dazai always used in his messages. Unable to resist, he replied. 

<< Go to hell, how do you know about that? If I give you bad luck then don’t go >>

The message had been read, but Dazai didn’t respond. Chuuya observed his phone a bit more, waiting for an answer, but it was getting late and Akutagawa was saying something he ultimately ignored. 

Whatever, he didn’t have the energy to deal with that jackass. He desperately wanted to go to the trash bin and get the pack of cigarettes, but he wouldn’t do it, he didn’t want to disappoint Akutagawa anymore. 

At least after the show, he could get lost and drown in drinks. It was a nice idea, what could go wrong?

Ah, famous last words. 

═════════════

Standing in front of the bar counter, Dazai awaited his drinks. 

The venue was packed out. All the tables were full, alongside the few seats at the counter. There were so many people standing, looking at the stage or trying to observe through the thick curtain separating the public zone from the area reserved for the bands. At one point, Dazai thought about sneaking in or peeking inside the site just to make sure Chuuya was there, but obviously, he had to be there. How could the band perform without a singer? And when he imagined the ginger’s voice, he wondered if they would play the same song as the first time, that poem he declined and he couldn’t read again. 

When he asked Atsushi about it, without revealing who the poem was written to in the first place, the albino said he didn’t know. Not all bands announced what songs they would present during the night, very little did actually. But the unspoken rule almost everyone followed was that each time a band performed, a new melody would be added to their roster. So, if he had to take a guess, Akutagawa’s band would also switch to another song.

Good, that was nice and disappointing at the same time, Dazai thought. On one side, he didn’t want people listening to that song again and, on the other hand, he wanted to hear Chuuya singing it. 

Hiding what he truly felt, he offered to go and get the drinks. Yosano was down, by her side, not interested in what was happening around him, Ranpo told him what drink he wanted. Kunikida, upset for having to be there, did the same as the other man with the addition of a long list of specifications as to what the drink had to have. It’s no wonder Dazai memorized none of it, he figured he would buy anything and call it a day. As for Atsushi, he only asked for something light. He still remembered the shameful behavior he displayed for the world to see on his first night drinking alcohol, besides the horrible hangover that followed it. 

Laughing at the memory, Dazai walked away. He passes through the crowd, watching his surroundings in search of a ginger in there, despite knowing he was on the other side of that screen separating them. 

He approached the bar and asked for the drinks, sighing when the bartender informed him that he would have to wait a couple of minutes because the place was full and there were so many people waiting before him. Alright, he had time, the show wouldn’t start until about fifteen minutes. 

“Oh, I know you,” said a voice from behind him, and when he turned around, he stood in front of that blonde guy who always wore sunglasses no matter where he went, recognizing him as one of the group that was with his ex-boyfriend. The guy smiled at him, although fakely, he didn’t seem to have any bad intentions, he was just amused. “You’re that idiot from a while ago, the one that knows Chuuya.” 

Dazai gave him a smile despite the insult that the other didn’t care whether he directed it to a stranger or not.

“My name’s Dazai, not ‘idiot’,” he responded. He extended his hand and waited, still wearing a fake smile on his face. “Nice to meet you… whoever you are.”

The other man returned the smile.

“Albatross,” he introduced himself, letting go of his hand and leaning against the bar counter. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Stalking Chuuya? You really upset him that day, we hate people who do that, are you always that much of an ass?” 

“Do you always talk like that with strangers?” 

“Only with those who deserve it and you do.” 

Chuuya got himself quite the friends, Dazai thought. He averted his eyes from the blonde in front of him, searching for the other two guys he saw on that day eating with his ex-boyfriend at the Faculty of Economics. He easily found them chatting between them at a table near the stage. However, they stopped once they felt his attention on them. The grins they both had disappeared immediately, and Dazai knew that was the moment to focus back on the less hostile member of the ‘pack’.

“I see you came to see the performance.” 

“Of course, Chuuya’s an amazing singer.” 

“I guess.” He was, he totally was. He had one of the most beautiful voices he’d ever heard, Dazai thought, deciding to keep those observations to himself. “Can I ask you something, Albatross?” 

“I won’t give you Chuuya’s number.” 

“No it’s not that,” he assured. “I’m just curious… why the glasses? It’s pretty dark in here.” 

Albatross didn’t reply, at least not with words. He didn’t hesitate to lower his sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose, revealing the reconstructed skin over the socket where he had no eye.

“Third degree burn from when I was a kid, my left eye was unsavable.” He adjusted his glasses again. 

“Makes sense,” Dazai commented. “It doesn’t look so bad. You could use a pirate patch.” 

“I do that on Halloween. Fine! My turn, why the bandages?” 

Dazai stretched an arm between them and lifted a portion of his bandages, revealing thick scars that ran both vertically and horizontally across his skin. 

“Self-harm and a suicide attempt.” 

“Yeah, that explains much. You could always tattoo your scars.” 

“I don’t want to be mistaken with the yakuza.” 

“Wait— you aren’t? With those asshole vibes of yours, you could’ve fooled me.” 

Dazai genuinely chuckled. At least one of Chuuya’s friends was bearable.

The bartender called out Albatross and the blonde signaled, smiling as his drinks were brought over to him. 

“Fine, see ya. Don’t give Chuuya problems or I’ll kick your ass.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything he doesn’t want,” he replied mischievously and, before the other could go far away, he called out to him again. “Also, Albatross… I don’t need you to give me his number, guess who already has it.” 

Right when he finished saying his sentence, his drinks were delivered, and the brunette turned around before the other could say something. With a sly grin on his lips, he returned to his table and gave the others their drinks. Kunikida’s complaints became background noise the moment he sat between Atsushi and the blonde, who kept saying something about the drink being nothing like what he ordered. 

The lights on the venue weaken and the deafening talks hushed. The local owner, a man in his fifties bordering to sixties, got up on stage and welcomed everyone to another night filled with music. He mentioned stuff that Dazai opted to ignore, and then finally let the real presenter of that night’s show take on the microphone. He livened up the crowd and talked about the performances. As time passed, people grew impatient, and that’s when the man allowed the first band to go upstage, applauses and cheers resounding in the room.

“They look like professional bands,” Kunikida commented, looking directly at the stage despite de great distance there was and how little he could really see.

“Since its opening thirty years ago, the Falling Camellia is known to be the place for bands and artists to debut,” Atsushi mentioned, watching the band onstage but never digressing from the explanation he was giving. “All bands that want to pursue a future in the music industry come here, but not everyone can perform though. Hirotsu, the owner of the venue, asks for a demo of a song from each band, and if he likes it then he lets you perform here on this type of nights. So, this place is full because the bands Hirotsu chooses are always good. Some producers even come here from time to time to see the shows.” 

“Do you think one of them is here now?” Yosano mumbled, wine glass near her lips and eyes wandering through the place. 

Atsushi shook his head, then nodded. Unsure what to answer, he shrugged.

“No one knows. They never tell when a producer is coming to see the show.” 

The first performance ended and the claps echoed in the room. The band members said some words before going downstage and letting the conductor return to his place on the platform. At that moment, Atsushi stood up from his seat and walked away without saying one word. Knowing why he did it, Dazai muttered to the rest that he would accompany the youngest of the group and follow him. 

Momentarily, he lost the albino in the crowd. As if to help him, the lights in the venue turned on, aiding him in his search for white hair that easily reflected the colors glowing above them. Breaking through the mass, Dazai reached his side and, upon seeing him there, Atsushi gave him a strange look that was quickly replaced by a gentle smile. 

The presenter kept chattering. Dazai and Atsushi were in the middle of a sea of people, just like last time. Not far from the stage, not near either. If he turned his head, due to his stature, he could easily see the table where Yosano, Kunikida and Ranpo were, observing them from afar with drinks in hand. Looking in the opposite direction, he found Albatross along with his other two friends, also standing up in the crowd, although closer to the stage than him. 

“I’m sure you’re all eager for the long night full of music we got here, so I’m not going to make you all wait any longer!” the presenter said. His voice resonated through the loudspeaker, however, it wasn’t enough to overshadow the cheers and applause coming from those who knew what band was next. “Without further ado, give a warm welcome to Black Ocean!” 

The lights disappeared. The place was submerged in a state of complete darkness. Atsushi clung to the rim of Dazai’s coat, both disoriented but the lack of brightness. 

They heard a couple of steps, the instruments being taken by new hands, a different guitar being connected to the loudspeaker, and someone tapping the microphone with their fingertips. The lights were still out, people were getting impatient; they murmured, cheered, kept silent, and went back to murmuring. That mood was even affecting Dazai, but Atsushi beside him continued to stare at the dark stage he couldn’t make out, excitedly gripping the fabric.

And then, a lonely voice began to sing.

Back then always thought that you had my back 

You were just there to stab it 

Hindsights 20/20 should've seen it then 

Maybe I should get glasses

The sound of a guitar filled the place alongside the other instruments, merging together in sync with the voice. Bit by bit, following the lingering harmony in the air, the lights turned on. A reddish hue blazed the venue, and when the glow finally revealed who was on stage, the crowd applauded and cheered. Next to him, Atsushi joined the ovation. Releasing the cloth he clung to, he clapped, staring at the band, trying to memorize each movement produced by the members. Meanwhile, Dazai observed him in silence, just like each time he heard him sing, motionless, unable to look elsewhere.

From the distance, Dazai noticed the smile that slowly formed on Chuuya’s face, excited by the crowd that praised him as if he was a god in front of the microphone. His lips kept voicing the lyrics, fixated on the music instead of the people around him, perhaps unable to identify them at all due to the lights hitting him directly on his eyes, making the azure tone shine a little bit more. 

Screw me over like you didn't know my name 

Oh I was so convenient 

I don't know why you wanna play me like a game 

True colors show 

Now I can see 

Exactly who you are pretending 

We used to be alright don't lie 

'cause now I can see 

That you were never honest with me 

I will never let you back into my life

When the first chorus ended, the instruments kept playing by themselves. The lack of a voice did nothing to the mood of the public and, taking advantage of the small break the absence of lyrics gave him, Chuuya took the microphone out of the stand and wandered through the stage, smiling at those in the front row, touching gently with his fingertips some of the hands that stretched towards his direction. But he didn’t get distracted by them, still wandering and looking everywhere, perhaps searching for someone. 

Dazai wondered if he was that someone. 

When the next part of the song started, with the microphone in hand, Chuuya leaned in and knelt down close to those at the front, singing to them, making the volume of their cheers increase even more.

Where do you go when it should have to be here? 

Do not expect anything in return of your lies 

Even the sound of something broken was still beautiful when it's balanced 

You’re still connected by the skin of your teeth

The resentment and anger portrayed through the song was palpable. Chuuya always had such ease to convey what he felt, especially if it was anger, Dazai thought, still watching him from the distance and listening to the chorus repeat with the instruments in the background. 

Who was he singing to? Where was that feeling coming from? He could ask himself that and play dumb, but he perfectly recognized the exchanged words from two weeks ago in the lyrics. He also understood why Chuuya felt like that. 

His behavior around him after meeting again was so ambiguous. Not good or bad. Even his own thoughts split between wanting to see him again and being as far away as humanly possible, reminding him how much he hated him or showing him how much of a lie all that hate was. He acted like an idiot around him, and then showed some decency, confusing both the ginger and himself. 

Now I can see 

Exactly who you are pretending 

We used to be alright don't lie 

'cause now I can see 

That you were never honest with me

He understood if Chuuya resented that attitude and decided to express it in his new song. Honestly, he didn’t tolerate himself either. 

He got the message with that last quote and turned around, walking away from the stage and going back to his table, not looking back or noticing that Chuuya found him amidst the crowd. 

I will never let you back into my life

When the song finished, the applause resonated all around the venue alongside the cheers. 

Dazai returned to his table, ignoring the confused and curious stares he received from his friends. He sat down next to Kunikida and picked up the untouched glass of liquor, drinking in long sips, drowning in alcohol the search for explanations for the ambiguous behavior he always exhibited in front of Chuuya.

He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what he wanted. He was torn between keeping his life just like it was — peaceful, acting like the person Oda wanted, and with no one that could momentarily erase his loneliness —, or chasing back that small part of his past that gave him some happiness and company, those same moments he didn’t treasure years ago and decided to throw away. But he didn’t know what to do about him. 

Chuuya wanted him away. He said so a hundred times, and each time, it was Dazai who insisted on getting closer despite all the warnings. 

The best option was to stay away, he thought. His actions left both the ginger and him in a state of pure confusion. It destabilized the decisions he took a long time ago. 

“Where’s Atsushi?” Kunikida asked, diverting his attention from the liquor in his hands.

“Somewhere in the crowd,” he pointed towards the group of people, and then, faking fear, he added: “I don’t recommend going in there, it’s terrible and everyone is shouting at your ears.” 

“What were you expecting? Can’t really blame them when there’s a hot guy singing,” Ranpo commented, his eyes fixated on the brunette, waiting for some kind of reaction. 

However, Dazai didn’t reply. He just shrugged as if the topic didn’t interest him and went back to drinking. Instead, it was Yosano who kept the conversation going. 

“Don’t say that,” she demanded, letting out a groan and leaning on Ranpo at her side. “He’s the younger brother of the woman I like, I don’t want to think those things about him!” 

Upon that mention, Dazai felt Kunikida’s eyes on him, but he disregarded it and kept drinking as if nothing happened. The blonde looked at Yosano, then at Ranpo, who returned his gaze, and back to the brunette at his side. He assumed that his friend had no idea about Dazai’s past relationship with that singer, maybe Ranpo did, but he wouldn’t say anything. Instead, the eldest of the group solely focused his attention on his best friend by his side.  

“But you’re lesbian,” Ranpo said.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when a guy is attractive,” she commented, wandering her gaze through his friends and settling it on the brunette sitting next to Kunikida. “For example, there’s Dazai. He’s hot, I’ll give him that. Such a waste since he’s an idiot though.” 

Dazai sighed. 

“This week I’ve heard enough times that I’m an idiot, could you not mention it?” 

“But it’s the truth.” 

“I’ll go for another drink, any of you want something?” he offered. 

Yosano forgot any other topic the moment alcohol was mentioned, and she replied saying she needed another glass or maybe two. Ranpo said he’d have another drink and Kunikida declined, guessing he’d be responsible and take care of his friends if they got drunk. 

The band onstage changed. When Dazai stood up and walked away, Atsushi returned with a wide smile, asking the others for their opinion on the song and talking non-stop. 

With a smile that reflected nothing but melancholy, Dazai mixed with the crowd, refusing to look at the stage or at the curtain behind which he knew Chuuya was. 

═════════════

They occupied a table reserved for them the moment they went downstage, right after hearing some congratulations and listening to some of Hirotsu’s advice. Akutagawa could only see how Tachihara and Chuuya drank anything and everything they saw. 

Be it any other day, he would’ve told them something, saying that they were a bad example for Gin, covering her eyes as if they didn’t grow up with a father that came back drunk every damn day. But that was all in the past, that man was somewhere in Yokohama and they were in Kyoto. Besides, his bassist and singer deserved this moment. 

The performance was good, better than the prior one, and it was all thanks to the confidence his lead singer had gained those last days. Chuuya had accepted that, whether he liked it or not, he’d always be the main focus of the band, and he adapted to his role perfectly. However, despite his act being steady for most of the song, just as this was about to end, Akutagawa noticed that the ginger got distracted and looked at the crowd. Afterward, when Tachihara thanked everyone for being there, Chuuya was the first one to descend the stage, and almost as soon as he touched the reserved zone, he was already tipsy. 

An hour had passed since then. They’d stayed in that area, listening and chatting about the other bands that performed. Tachihara and Chuuya were the only ones drinking as if there was no tomorrow. Higuchi, by his side, still had the piña colada glass she’d ordered when they arrived. As for him, he preferred not to drink, and Gin couldn’t since she was still a minor. 

The only reason why she could enter the venue so easily was that the owner, Hirotsu, had known Ryuunosuke almost from the moment he first arrived in Kyoto, and ever since his sister started living with him and became his second guitarist, he’d always proven to be the responsible adult the girl needed. 

Nevertheless, he could only look out for his younger sister. Luckily, Gin was quiet, unlike his bassist and vocalist. At least Higuchi always stayed by his side and didn’t go around wandering from table to table as Tachihara did, but even then, the bassist was better at handling alcohol than Chuuya. Ryuunosuke tried to ask the ginger several times to slow down with whatever he was drinking, but the other just ignored him and, at some point, he stood up and mumbled that he would go see his roommates in the public area. 

Akutagawa recalled the faces of the three men Chuuya lived with, they were people he could trust, so when his vocalist walked away to search for them, he didn’t stop him. His roommates could handle his drunkenness, he thought. He needed to look after Gin and Higuchi. 

“It’s almost midnight, we should go already,” Ryuunosuke commented to the girls next to him. 

“Oh, sure brother, let me just say goodbye to everyone here,” Gin replied. Higuchi told him she would accompany the other girl and that they would see him at the entrance. 

Nodding, he stepped out of the reserved zone and mixed in with the public. He knew some people recognized him and began talking about him, but he disregarded most of them and kept walking towards the exit. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chuuya at a far table with his friends. He had a glass in his hands and he was talking and laughing with one of them, he looked way past the drunk state, or so he guessed. Shrugging, he pondered that perhaps this was what some needed from time to time just to relax. He kept walking, scooching through the people till he left the crowd behind, strolling without the need to evade so many bodies. 

However, he noticed a whitish hair in front of the counter, talking with one of the bartenders. This made him go back to the group. 

“Nakajima,” he called out without meaning to do so, gaining the attention of the other boy that managed to hear him over the loud noise. 

“Akutagawa!” he greeted excitedly. His lips stretched into a wide smile he didn’t care to hide. 

Such happiness was strange. Atsushi had never sent him an expression like that, Akutagawa thought. He did give him some small smiles, but not one so wide and sincere that reflected the pleasure of seeing him there. It was weird, different to what he was used to but.. it wasn’t so bad. 

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, approaching him and noticing how his pupils, wrapped by an amethyst and gold hue, were softly dilated by the alcohol. “I’m surprised they let you enter and drink, you’re what? Sixteen?” 

The smile fell down, but amusement remained in his gaze, and huffing, the albino responded. 

“I’m already eighteen.” 

“You’re still younger than twenty, so you were basically born yesterday.” 

He thought he would upset the other, but what followed his sentence was exactly the opposite. Atsushi just laughed. And, somehow, his chuckles were contagious. He smiled without noticing and leaned on the counter, just like the boy next to him, turning his back to the crowd, the lights, and the music. 

Atsushi was silent, following with his eyes the movements of the bartender, who was preparing a drink that wasn’t for him. Akutagawa observed him. He noticed how the lights on the stage colored his hair, changing its shade to red, blue, purple, and so on. It was almost hypnotic, way more than the music around them. 

“Did you see us?” he asked, almost without thinking.

Atsushi fixated on him and nodded. You could even say his gaze shined as he talked, and his excited tone overshadowed the guitar playing in the background. 

“It was amazing. The lyrics Chuuya wrote matched well with the melody you created. It was perfect, at least for me. All the instruments were in sync and I noticed you kept some of the arrangements I proposed, and well… I…” he averted his eyes, as embarrassed as he was in awe, remembering the song that was still fresh in his mind. Then, he glanced back at the guitarist at his side, with the same wide smile as before, but this time, a tad bit gentler. “I loved it.” 

Many people had told him they loved the songs he created, but none of those compliments made him feel something like what the albino’s words did. 

That phrase made him feel the same as when he was eight years old and learned how to play the guitar just so he could write a birthday song for Gin. And that night, in his chest, resided the same excitement he felt when he saw his sister’s smile after she got such a simple gift. But this time, the smile that moved him was Atsushi’s. 

The albino truly liked the song, the guitarist noticed. He didn’t say it just for courtesy or to make him feel better. He was sincere. It was a genuine compliment for the effort that Akutagawa always put into each of his melodies.

And that made him feel good. That sincere acknowledgment and genuine appreciation made him feel good. Because he knew Atsushi was truly interested in his songs, he truly listened to them.

“Ryuunosuke.” 

A body pressed against his side, and two hands gripped his arm. Atsushi’s smile and gaze fell, gone almost completely as he turned to his surroundings, glancing anywhere but towards the blonde girl next to the guitarist.

“Who is he?” Higuchi asked, smiling. But Akutagawa noticed that it was faked happiness. “A friend?”  

Akutagawa looked between the two of them. He picked on the sharp stare Higuchi tried to conceal, that which focused solely on the boy in front of them. When he turned towards Atsushi, his expression had morphed into something bitter and nervous. 

The hands clutching his bicep tightened, and the fingers dug into his skin. It wasn’t painful, but the pressure was enough for him to realize what his girlfriend was thinking. 

“He’s…” 

“A friend, or so I hope,” Atsushi replied, letting out a nervous chuckle and refusing to look towards them. “You’re his girlfriend, right? I’m Nakajima Atsushi… I also study literature.” 

Higuchi observed him from head to toe, searching for any kind of signal that justified the ideas that were forming in her mind, but she couldn’t find any. 

“Yes, I’m his girlfriend, we’ve been together for almost a year. Higuchi Ichiyo,” she introduced herself, stretching out a hand to the albino who hesitantly took it. “I don’t remember Ryuunosuke mentioning you…” 

She was lying. Akutagawa had complained about the albino more than once, and every time he had to help him with his essays, he always said so to his girlfriend. Even in these last weeks, when he met with Atsushi to get an objective opinion about his songs, Higuchi always knew where he was. And the girl never said anything against it. Ryuunosuke always made sure to tell her exactly on what part of the Faculty of Humanities he was in case she wanted to see him, but she always preferred to keep her distance. 

So now, he didn’t get why she was lying. Why was she jealous? He never gave her any reasons to be, he never focused on anyone else. Atsushi was just… weird. He didn’t know if he considered him a friend, but he didn’t hate him as much as before, so he had no idea how to classify their relationship, but it definitely wasn’t something to be jealous about. 

If she had to be jealous of someone, he would’ve guessed it’d be Chuuya, although he had always clarified that he saw him as the older brother he needed when he was in Yokohama. Yes, it’s true that the ginger sometimes told him that he loves him, usually as sarcasm, but that was all. He also said that to Gin, adding that she was her favorite between the pair. It wasn’t anything strange. It’s not like Chuuya ever tried to hug him or kiss him…

Except he hadn’t met a drunk Chuuya, and when he finally did, he was already trapped between the arms of the ginger. Where or when did he appear behind him? He could only guess as the ginger took him away from Higuchi and started to kiss his cheek. 

“Ryuu!” Chuuya babbled happily, grasping tightly the dark-haired boy under the watchful eyes of Higuchi and Atsushi. 

“Chuuya, how much did you drink? Let me go…” 

“Ehhh? Why?” he questioned, forcing the other to lean down till he could rub his cheek against the other’s. And he kept babbling, paying no attention to anyone else at that venue. “Have I ever told you how much I love you? Although you’re a bitter bastard on most days, I still care about you because… I don’t know, but I don’t give a damn if you have no eyebrows, or if you look as if you haven’t showered in weeks, I love you.”  

And he kissed his cheek again. He messed up his hair, preventing the dark-haired boy from escaping his grasp and murmuring a string of words of which only half were comprehensible. Atsushi quickly noticed that, at its core, all his behavior seemed like that of an older brother. However, for the perplexed woman at his side, that wasn’t the case. She almost looked on the verge of tears. 

“Chuuya!” Higuchi sobbed. “You said nothing was happening between you two!” 

“It’s not like that!” Atsushi muttered, trying to calm down the girl who looked as if she wanted to run out of the whole scene. “It’s not like that, Chuuya is drunk, he’s just… clingy when he’s drunk…?” 

Higuchi was having none of it, and Chuuya didn’t appear to want to let go of Akutagawa any time soon. But when Gin approached them and gently asked him to let his brother go, the ginger’s attention shifted to the girl, and he began to shower her with affection, confirming Atsushi’s suspicion: he saw them as kids, and yes, he was a clingy drunk. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for Chuuya to also see him as a kid, since when he got bored of pampering Gin, his eyes landed on Atsushi and he walked towards him, each step shakier than the prior one, eyes set on giving him the same treatment he gave the two siblings. The albino tried to step back, not knowing how to feel about all this. Should he be thankful or worried that the singer was already fond of him? But before the ginger could trap him in his arms, someone stopped him and held him before he tripped on his own feet. 

“You’re making a scene, Chuuya,” Dazai commented, stabilizing the body he was holding against his own while sighing and looking around. “Where are your friends? Or at least Albatross. You’re wasted…” 

And he hoped he didn’t try to kiss his friend too. He’d had enough with watching from afar how he pampered Akutagawa and Gin, and his attempt to do the same with Atsushi was what finally made him walk there before he could continue the act. He didn’t want to see that, he wasn’t in the mood for this whole thing, although maybe he could’ve left the ginger stumble and crash his face into the ground. 

He could always release him and let him fall, he thought. But when he glanced at the ginger by his side, his face lost, his pupils dilated, and his cheeks red from the alcohol, trying to recognize him, the thought momentarily left his head. And it completely disappeared when a hand posed on his cheek, softly stroking the skin as if it would break if even the slightest force was applied, hesitant as to whether he was really there or not. 

“Osamu…?” he murmured, unsure, but when he stared at the brunette, his gaze lit up, and the next thing Dazai registered was Chuuya’s arms wrapping around his waist. “Osamu!” 

Dazai shivered from head to toe as his name rang out again and the weight of the ginger’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten what Chuuya’s arms intertwined around him felt like. His instinct told him to return the gesture. And yet, his hands only trembled — a reminder that whatever he did, he mustn’t hug him back. 

“Chuuya, let go of me,” he demanded, his voice desperately trying to hide any kind of emotion and his hands attempting to unwrap the other’s arms. However, Chuuya babbled his name again and hung onto him even more. Not knowing what to do, he turned towards the black-haired boy that observed him without any reaction. “Akutagawa, you know his friends, right? Go find them so they can take him home. As he is right now, he’s easy prey for any asshole.” 

Surveying the place, he easily caught various gazes fixated on the ginger. They saw him as a fucking piece of meat when they noticed how wasted he was. And although he knew Chuuya could defend himself even in his current state, the looks they had on their faces made him want to envelop the other’s body with his hands.

“Akutagawa,” he insisted, this time with impatience and clenched fists. 

The guitarist sent him an annoyed look but conceded to the request. 

“I want to be with Osamu,” he slurred, leaning his head against the brunette’s chest and ignoring the awkward situation he was putting them into. “Besides… Albatross is an idiot and he made me lose. I don’t remember in what, but he did! I don’t want to go with them.” 

The arms around him tightened. Chuuya buried his head in his chest and, letting out a comfortable sigh, he stammered:

“Come home with me, Osamu.”

Why was Chuuya so ambiguous with his words and actions? Just an hour ago, he’d been on that stage singing and reminding him through lyrics everything he did wrong and how much he loathed the idea of him being back in his life. And now, he hung unto him as if that was the only thing he wanted to do. 

It confused him, it made him doubt himself and his own words, but it wasn’t something to be surprised about. Just as Dazai’s actions were ambiguous, Chuuya’s were the same. Both contradicted themselves constantly. 

“I don’t know where you live, Chuuya,” he replied, somehow overcoming the initial shock that his words and actions produced him. And, sighing again, he added with all the sincerity he could muster: “You’re so annoying…” 

“You’re the annoying one!” the ginger countered, still holding him. He looked up and observed his face, frowning softly and squinting in confusion. “You look… different.” 

Because you’re way too drunk and you’re looking at who I used to be, who you really wanted, and not me , Dazai bitterly thought. 

His eyes roamed the place, asking for help, he looked at Gin, Atsushi, and even Higuchi, but none of them knew what to do. Akutagawa tried to pry him, alas, it was a failed attempt and there was no other option. He couldn’t call the rest of his friends and ask them to help take the ginger away, and Chuuya’s were who knows where. He didn’t even know if they were searching for him or if they didn’t give a damn if he was wandering through the venue like that.

Okay so, the only way to do something was if Chuuya accepted it. But he was always so stubborn, and just like he held his body as if he was his lifeline, he would also hang on to every logical or drunk thought that crossed his mind. 

“Chuuya, go with Akutagawa and search for Albatross or someone, and then go home,” he asked, but the singer ignored him again and rested his head against his chest. “Chuuya…”

Letting out a groan, the ginger glanced up and locked eyes with him. He didn’t look so pleased, he still hung to him, but it seemed like he was considering Dazai’s words. 

It took him a couple of seconds to decide, but in the end, he chose to surrender. He unwrapped his arms from the brunette’s body and took a step back, almost tripping and startling everyone around him. He quickly regained his balance, crossed his arms, and watched Dazai with annoyance. 

“Fine, let’s go search that idiot,” he muttered, and before Dazai could walk away and forget everything about the feeling of the other’s arms around him, he took his hand, “but you’re coming with me, Osamu.” 

Dazai turned to Akutagawa as if silently asking if he was fine with all this. But whether he said yes or no, it didn’t really matter, everything depended on Chuuya and what he wanted, even if for some goddamn reason, somewhere deep in his drunken mind, what he wanted was Dazai. 

Fine, whatever. He’d leave the ginger safe and sound with his friends, and then he’d keep drinking with Yosano. Maybe he could force Kunikida to get drunk too, and Ranpo would have no other option than taking care of them. Yeah, that sounded like the perfect plan to forget everything about that moment.

“Sure, whatever, let’s go search for your friends and then you’ll go home.” 

Chuuya huffed, turned his back, and let go of his hand, starting to walk into the crowd. Dazai glanced at the others one last time, stopping at Atsushi, muttering that he should go back to their table and tell the rest of his friends that he’d be back soon. Using that as his chance to scurry away, the albino nodded and walked away the moment Dazai began to follow the ginger in between the masses. 

He could feel Akutagawa’s eyes fixated on his back, making sure that nothing bad happened to his singer, but what could really happen? It’s not like Chuuya could go so far with him being drunk and almost tripping with every step.

A pity he underestimated Chuuya’s ability to trick him though. 

He trusted Chuuya and so, he followed him blindly, pushing away all hands that dared to try and touch the ginger anywhere. Occupied by that task, he didn’t realize Chuuya wasn’t guiding him to the table where his friends awaited him, instead, he led him towards the exit in the back of the venue, and before Dazai could stop him, he opened the door and walked away. 

“Shit… Chuuya!” he called out, but he didn’t have any other option than going after him. 

When he stepped out of the room, the cold breeze of the night hit him, although he couldn’t worry about any of that, focused only on chasing the ginger that ran without an apparent direction. 

Cursing under his breath and wondering how the hell he was running when just a few seconds ago he was basically stumbling on his own feet, Dazai chased after him. He crossed out the idea of going back to the venue and asking someone for help, he had no time for that. If he did, he would lose sight of Chuuya, and he had no idea where he could end up with how disoriented and wanted he was. 

He hated the concept of exercise, and yet, he ran after the ginger, shouting for him to stop just to get a refusal and a burst of drunken laughter back. 

Luckily, the streets were kind of empty, and little to no cars were circulating at such a late hour into the night. There were only some people in the path who, perplexed and with fast reflexes, cleared the way for them, letting the ginger and brunette pass without any obstacles. Dazai knew they were catching the attention of curious glances, and eventually, they’d be the main topic of a conversation between those looking at them, but he couldn’t care less about that. He just wanted Chuuya to trip already and come to a halt, but that didn’t happen, and the ginger kept running and mocking him. 

He didn’t know where Chuuya was taking them. He could only focus on the pain in his calves and lungs due to the effort, nevertheless, he couldn’t stop. If Chuuya didn’t do it, neither would he, that didn’t mean that this whole situation didn’t annoy him though. He wished the other would just trip and fall to his face. 

Unsure of how much distance they traveled, they arrived in front of the plaza where they talked nights ago and, in that place, in front of the fountain, the ginger slowed down so Dazai could catch him. 

When the brunette caught up to him, he crashed against the other, almost making them lose balance, but regaining it just as quickly. He held Chuuya by his shoulders, he heard his laugh endlessly despite his uneven breaths. That careless, reckless, and drunk behavior annoyed him even more. 

“What the hell was that?!” he inquired breathlessly, but the ginger kept on laughing at his face. “Chuuya!” 

“Osamu,” he replied with a sluggish, yet superior, smile that made him even more mad. “Now will you come home with me?” 

He wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time because he was the only person who could trick him and make him run who knows how much. Maybe he should hit him, he thought, or push him towards the fountain and then walk away, leaving him there like a drenched dog. Anything to shut the fierce chuckles directed at his face. 

“You’re the worst,” he muttered, looking back at the distance they traveled. Sighing, he turned to the ginger with an annoyed gaze, knowing damn well he couldn’t do any of the things he thought. “I hope the alcohol lost its effect and you stop doing nonsense.” 

Chuuya replied with a sly and seductive grin.

“Take me home and discover for yourself whether it lost effect or not, you coward.” 

Perhaps he looked more conscious, but for the most part, the alcohol was still inside his system. His words and attitude confirmed it. He acted like the teenager that Dazai remembered, who didn’t want him far from him, who annoyed him to no end, and who walked by his side or a few steps before him during the night. 

The trip from the plaza to the ginger’s apartment was short. He recalled the other mentioning his place was less than ten minutes away walking, but he realized it was less than that.

The streets were empty, Chuuya could walk freely, laughing at his own clumsy feet that minutes ago could perfectly run a great distance without tripping. Eventually, although still a bit upset, Dazai found himself smiling at the other’s foolish attitude. And with each voiced laugh, Chuuya returned him the smile. Seeing that expression directed at him hurt a bit. 

If he wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t be smiling, Dazai thought. He wouldn’t be so happy strolling beside him. Chuuya wouldn’t cling to his side, he wouldn’t playfully push him, he wouldn’t act as if four years, a break up, forgotten poems, and lies didn’t get in the way between them. But perhaps he could forget all that for just one night, focusing on the feeling of going back to that comfort and simplicity that existed between them, even if it was fake.

At least, the ginger had the keys to his apartment. The trip through the elevator was awkward for Dazai. Chuuya’s movements got clumsier to the point where he had to help him walk. The other man complained about being thirsty and dizzy till they got to the door. Dazai didn’t do anything to help him, he only responded that of course he would feel that way after he had the great idea of running almost all the way there. 

Opening the door was a challenge with a drunk ginger holding him. With the lights out, they both tripped when they entered the place and fell painfully against the wooden floor. Chuuya laughed in his ear, and he chuckled even more when Dazai complained under his breath that it wasn’t funny and that he should, at least, try to get up on his own. 

“Uhm, I can’t move,” the ginger babbled, lying on the floor without attempting to get up. “Osamu, I’m sleepy, take me to my room.” 

“I’m not your servant,” he spitted out, closing the door and feeling how Chuuya kicked his leg continued times. “Stop doing that!” 

“Take me to my room!” 

“You’re so annoying, especially when you’re drunk,” he complained but still helped the ginger get up from the floor. “You’re not cute at all.” 

“Shut up, I’m always cute.” 

Turning the lights on wasn’t worth it, not like he could do it anyway with the ginger in his arms. Chuuya slurred out the directions to his room, and Dazai guessed that, like him, he shared the apartment with others. Based on the silence and the fact no one poked out at the noise they made at the entrance, they were alone. 

Finding Chuuya’s room was easy enough. He would drop the ginger there and walk away before he could do anything that, both he and Chuuya, would regret later. Besides, he was genuinely tired. He’d had enough exercise for the week. 

But, the moment he tried to leave the ginger at the entrance to his room, Chuuya pulled him inside, closed the door, and pushed him against it. Before he could say anything and ask what the hell he was thinking, Chuuya put his hand on his chest and shut him up with a kiss.

At first, he refused to reciprocate it, but Chuuya kept moving his lips the way he always liked it. He tried to deepen the contact, moving his tongue over his lower lip, closing the distance between them, rubbing against him. Before realizing what he was doing, Dazai gave in, attracted by the bygone memory of the kisses they shared in the past and the intensity that, not even at that moment, changed. 

Putting both hands on Chuuya’s waist, he brought him closer at the same time he opened his mouth. His own tongue found the other’s, easily wrapping each other. Soon, he entered the ginger’s mouth without much resistance besides having to lean their heads to deepen the kiss. 

Chuuya’s unique taste still lingered there, mixed with the flavor of alcohol that hit his tongue the more he relished it. The ginger kept making the same sounds as he once did in the past, and he kept triggering the same sounds from him. The friction between their bodies was known, enjoyable, but not enough. Dazai put his leg in the middle of the ginger’s leg that happily parted to give him space, increasing the friction against their clothed members in a way he knew would drive both of them crazy.

The warmth in the bedroom increased. The silence was quickly overshadowed by their kisses and moans, echoing against the four walls and arousing them even more. It wasn’t enough. Kissing, rubbing against the other, it wasn’t enough. 

Biting down Daza’s lower lip and getting a moan in response that was quickly shut by his mouth, Chuuya stepped back, his hands wrapped behind the other’s neck and pulling him towards the bed. Dazai didn’t notice when their bodies shifted and the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed with Chuuya straddling him on his lap. Their kisses never stopped, the friction over their growing erections was still there. 

“Chuuya…” he murmured, trying to hold back the moan that wanted to escape his mouth as he felt the ginger moving so deliciously over him. “Chuuya, wait…” 

“Osamu,” he replied, kissing him again and putting his hands over the brunette’s chest, pushing him gently towards the mattress. “I don’t want to wait.” 

“You’re drunk, you’ll hate me in the morning,” he muttered, letting himself fall over the bed and looking at the handsome man sitting over him. “Chuuya, listen… You don’t want this, you’ll regret it.” 

“That sounds like a problem for future me.” 

Making a circular motion with his crotch, he managed to cause some moans from Dazai, giving him a sense of thrill and satisfaction. 

Without adverting his lustful gaze, losing himself in the image of the brunette, he took off his shirt and threw it somewhere. Dazai couldn’t look away from the naked skin, and he couldn’t resist when Chuuya took one of his hands and directed it to his own chest, letting him feel the warmth of his skin.

“You owe me some kisses, mind paying your debt now?”

Chapter Text

There was a certain warmth lingering in the air and he was so comfortable that the mere prospect of waking up sounded like punishment, but the constant headache and dizziness put a halt in his sleep. 

Letting out a groan, he cuddled against the source of all this warmth, a source that easily accepted him and enfolded him. He felt an arm lying on his waist and his legs were tangled with others. He heard slowed breaths and a whine came from another throat the moment he moved and made himself comfortable. It sounded familiar, he thought with his eyes still closed and the world paralyzed around him, reluctant to leave the warmth and arms that embraced him. 

Sleepy, he wondered what time it was, what day, or what year. He had no idea, the only fact his mind could muster was that the warmth enveloping his body was familiar, just as the scent, and the legs intertwined with his. That comfort eased the headache he felt and the dizziness he had, it also helped him ignore the pain in his thighs and waist that he slowly began to recognize. Why did it hurt? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t recall anything that happened. 

Slowly, feeling the hand on his waist move away, he opened his eyes and gazed at the sleeping form beside him. Dazai looked so relaxed, his breaths were calm. His lips were barely open, but he wasn’t snoring. He didn’t make a single sound, looking so akin to a porcelain doll. Chuuya recalled how much he loved seeing the other sleep.

He loved to see that calmness that barely existed in him, he cherished the brown and tangled hair perfectly falling in cascades over his slumber, the faint blush that covered the tip of his nose and cheekbones due to the warmth that wrapped him, it fascinated him.

He was gorgeous. He loved it. He wanted to kiss him. 

But when he was about to close the distance and wake up sleeping beauty, he remembered he was no longer his. They weren’t boyfriends anymore, their relationship had ended four years ago and they shouldn’t be sharing a bed. 

Clouded by panic, he sat up, his eyes focused on the sleeping man by his side. Desperately, he searched for a way to flee before Dazai woke up, but he soon noticed they were in his own room. How did Dazai know where he lived? When did they return to his apartment? He couldn’t remember, and that lack of memories did nothing but cause him an unsteadiness. 

What the hell did he do last night…? The uncomfortable friction of the sheets against his body made him notice his naked chest. He found his shirt on the floor, next to a coat that wasn’t his. The pain in his legs and waist only helped him come to the disgusting realization of the mistake he’d committed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The dizziness now accompanied by nausea increased, the world began to spin around him, and this time it wasn’t because of the excessive amounts of alcohol he had drunk the prior night. 

Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Dazai shouldn’t be in the other half of his bed. He shouldn’t be under his sheets, or in his room, or his life. He shouldn’t be naked, he shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. Although he couldn’t remember, it was obvious he was the one who took him to his own house. And Dazai followed him, why did he follow him? What would he do now? What should he think? What should he say? What…?

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” the other person in the room commented. 

As he turned his head, Chuuya noticed Dazai sitting up. As if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t slept together, the brunette stretched just like any other morning. He yawned and messed with his hair in a futile attempt to arrange it in a way that didn't cover his face. With narrowed eyes, Dazai returned his gaze and the ginger shivered upon observing the playful smile on his expression. 

“Is sleeping with me really that awful?” he joked, uncaring about the paleness in the other’s face or the azure eyes filled with indignation. “You used to love doing that back when we were teenagers, and I gotta say, while you wrapped your arms around me you looked like you enjoyed it.” 

That grin gave him goosebumps, it was enough to send shivers down his spine.

“What are you doing here…?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked in return. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, Dazai,” he hissed, gripping the sheets tightly, feeling himself shiver at the cold air hitting his bare back. “You know what I’m talking about…” 

“Chuuya,” he interrupted, taking the sheets and blankets off himself, and sitting on the edge of the mattress. Fully dressed, back turned towards him, looking at the poem notebook on the desk on the other side of the room. “I’m hungry. The least you could do after I had to deal with you all night is give me something to eat.”  

His hands clenched into fists until he could feel the pain of his own nails digging into his palms. And yet, he never broke the first layer of skin; he didn’t hurt himself. With a trembling sigh, he released the pressure and channeled all the indignation and pain he felt into a gaze directed at the brunette. But, just like his hands, his gaze also relaxed until it dropped, leaving behind an empty shell of resignment, weariness, and pain. 

Deal with him? Was that everything he was to Dazai? Just another problem he had to deal with? It almost made him laugh, but the nausea reminded him that, even after Dazai did whatever he wanted with his body last night, he was still just a problem in his life — something he had to get rid of. 

Not even his body was enough for Dazai, he didn’t even care he was drunk…

“Chuuya,” the brunette called out to him once more. “Look at me.” 

Although he didn’t want to, the ginger glanced at him once more. Dazai calmly observed him, with eyes lacking any shine and a stoic expression. It was as if the other knew what he was thinking, and if that was really the case, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise. But then, the empty gaze was filled with resigned sadness. 

And when he smiled at him again, before getting up from the bed and taking his coat from the floor, Chuuya noticed that the grimace was filled with disappointment and self-hatred. 

“First look under the sheets, then think whatever you want about me.” 

When the door opened and closed behind the man who left the room, the azure eyes remained focused on a nonexistent place, looking to understand words that were already gone. 

Slowly, he removed the sheets from himself and moved to the edge of the bed, sitting in the same spot where Dazai had been moments before. Looking downside, he observed the fabric of the trousers that covered his legs — there were some wrinkles, one of the ends covering more skin around his ankles than the other, but they were still tight and closed around his hips. 

Letting out a shaky sigh, he covered his face with both hands and hunched over. On the other side of the door, walking away as he put on his coat, Dazai turned towards the exit. 

It was around eight in the morning, the perfect time to go back to his place. The apartment was silent, just as his barefoot steps. He didn’t know if whoever lived with the ginger had come back or not, but whatever the case, he preferred to go before someone saw him. However, the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen told him that he wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Suppressing a sigh, he decided to walk towards the exit as if nothing happened in that place. With his eyes focused on the entrance door, he walked, noticing his neatly arranged shoes next to Chuuya’s. Yeah, they weren’t alone, and that detail increased his need to leave quickly. But, when he passed in front of the kitchen, the image of Albatross leaning against the counter, smiling at him, two cups of coffee in hand and without sunglasses, made him come to a halt. 

The blonde seemed to tease him with a grin as if he knew something he didn’t.

“Morning, lover boy, won’t you stay for breakfast?” Albatross asked, offering a mug of coffee that Dazai declined. 

“I doubt my stay is welcomed,” he replied, looking at the comfortable clothing the other was wearing and stopping once he noticed how homely the other seemed. “I didn’t know you were Chuuya’s roommate.” 

“He never told you? Me and the other two guys you’ve seen with Chuuya had shared this place before he joined us,” he explained, taking a sip out of each cup in his hands. “Luckily for you, I’m the only one who’s seen you.” 

“Until now,” a third voice mentioned. 

When he turned around towards the owner of the new voice, Dazai saw another blonde, with clear eyes and a mole on his left cheek. Albatross greeted him and muttered a nickname, Lippman, and the brunette wondered what was the need to call each other by any name but the real one, he didn’t voice his thoughts though. He remained in the same spot, in front of the counter, so close and yet so far from the exit.

The other man didn’t even look at him, he walked straight towards Albatross and took one of the mugs.

“Stop drinking from my cup, it’s disgusting,” Lippman complained, cleaning the edge of the porcelain with a napkin.

“We’ve been living together for like four years, you should be used to it by now,” Albatross reminded him, before shifting his attention back to Dazai. “You sure you don’t want coffee?”  

Dazai declined yet again. He stepped back and pointed towards the exit. 

“No, it’s fine, I think I should go.” 

Albatross shrugged and turned around. The other man, Lippman, didn’t look at him, fixated on the phone in his hand and the cup of coffee from which he drank. Feeling like he didn’t pertain in that place, nor was he welcomed, he muttered a quick goodbye and went back to walking towards the exit. 

And when he was putting on his shoes, the men in the kitchen focused back on him. 

“Thank you for bringing back Chuuya,” Lippman said, leaning on the counter and watching the backside of the brunette. “Akutagawa told us what happened and that Chuuya forced you to take him home. He also told us you convinced him to search for us, but I guess he ended up getting away and making you run half the way here, right?” 

“Huh, so it’s not the first time he does that,” Dazai commented sarcastically, finishing putting on his shoes before standing. “He wasn’t like that when we were teenagers.” 

“You know him since then?” Albatross questioned, as surprised as his other roommate. “I didn’t know…” 

“There are many things you don’t know, but it’s probably better if I’m not the one who tells you all that,” he added, opening the door and looking back to the two men before going. But, instead of his eyes landing on them, he glanced at the ginger peeking out of the hallway and observing him almost in secret. “Oh, by the way, when we arrived, Chuuya fell down at the entrance. So if he complains or something, it’s probably that. See ya” 

The blueish gaze stayed on him, but Dazai forced himself to leave, going forth and trying to forget the prior night. Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Chuuya went to the kitchen, sitting down in one of the chairs, profusely trying to remember everything that happened. 

Albatross and Lippman greeted him, asking if he was feeling good enough to eat breakfast with them. No, he didn’t want to eat anything, at least not right now. He needed to take a shower, he muttered, and walked towards his bedroom in search of clothes for the day and then to the shower, complaining in between whispers about the discomfort enveloping his body. 

He didn’t feel good. The nausea accompanied him wherever he went, and trying to ponder on what produced it was a whole other can of worms; was it a late reaction to all the alcohol he drank or the look Dazai gave him before stepping out of the room?

And honestly, what was he supposed to do? Of course he would think the worst. When he was on his own, he never got wasted to the point of not remembering anything the next morning, he only did that when he was with his friends so it made sense if he let it happen yesterday. On any other occasion, when he made a stupid mistake or slept with some random guy, he was always aware of what he was doing and what he let the other do. 

What was the other expecting? Of course he would start panicking the moment he woke up and couldn’t remember how Dazai ended up on his bed, and Dazai knew what ideas he would get. 

Standing in front of the mirror, completely naked, and his clothes of the night before lying somewhere on the floor, he observed his smooth skin lacking any kind of marks. He was frustrated, both for the empty spaces in his memories and the effect that had on him just a few minutes ago. 

He shouldn’t feel like an idiot for his reaction, it was the most natural way to proceed in that situation. And yet, he couldn’t get Dazai’s expression out of his head. Hurt, disappointed, but not surprised that he thought the worst of him. He no longer knew how to feel about all that with what happened in just a few hours.

Perhaps he should’ve looked under the sheets before assuming anything, he reflected as he turned the shower handle to let the water fall before setting under it. Perhaps he should’ve focused more on the fact that Dazai was fully clothed in his sleep and that the pain he felt was because of his habit of getting away and running when he drinks a little too much. He now knew why his legs and his hips hurt; the fall the brunette mentioned left a bruise on his skin. 

Leaning his forehead against the cold ceramic surrounding the shower, Chuuya tried to calm down his nausea that, just like the bruise, wouldn’t disappear so easily. It would keep reminding him of the absence of memories and encouraging new questions that would receive no answer from Dazai. 

He closed his eyes and let the water fall freely through him. The world was spinning around him, both literally and figuratively. It was annoying, frustrating, and the constant hits on the bathroom door increased said feelings. 

“What?!” he replied, his forehead still touching the wall, but with his eyes wide open. “Give me five fucking minutes alone, would you?!” 

“You’ve been in there for more than fifteen minutes and you’ll use up all the hot water!” Albatross responded on the other side. “Get out of there soon! Lippman went to buy you something for the hangover, eat something, and then go to sleep, kid.” 

“Who’re you calling a kid? You’re older for just four years!” 

Albatross said something else, but Chuuya decided to ignore him. Fifteen minutes under the hot stream was not enough to forget Dazai, but he couldn’t spend all his life in there, even if he wanted to. 

Stepping out of the shower, drying himself off, dressing himself, and looking at the mirror one more time, he observed his paled face with notable eyebags. However, the remaining steam in the air and the warmth loitering in the room relaxed him. It calmed down his nausea and made him recall the feeling that enveloped him that morning with Dazai by his side. It was nice, comfortable, and familiar. Despite the horrible hangover, he hadn’t slept so soundly in a while. 

He shouldn’t be missing that feeling, he thought, exiting the bathroom and going back to locking himself in his room. However, the disorganized bed, the imprinted form of Dazai’s head on his pillow, and the coziness lingering inside those four walls made him miss and torture himself one more time — trapped in the riddle that was Dazai’s real intentions.

Why did he bring him home? Why did he stay? He could’ve left the moment the alcohol had knocked him down. That way, the following morning Chuuya could’ve lived under the blissfully ignorant idea that his roommates were the ones who took care of him, but no, he had to assume his ‘responsibility’ till the end. 

He stayed, tucked him under the sheets, and slept by his side, he completed all those blank spaces with the few and distant memories of mornings spent together when they were teenagers. Then, when Chuuya thought the worst about him, he didn’t complain. Anyone else would’ve been offended, but then again, Dazai was never like everyone else. 

At that moment, he had no idea what the brunette was thinking, nor was he sure about his own decisions. It was unfair, both of them were. Despite last night's song being about wanting to stay away, and Dazai always insisting on keeping their distance, they still gravitated towards the other. 

Dressed and with his hair slightly wet, he got out of the room and went back to the kitchen, trying to stop his train of thought. Albatross and Lippman were still there, Pianoman had joined them at some point and they were chatting, murmuring words about the prior night that stopped as soon as Chuuya approached them. 

Everyone’s attention fell on him, almost as if they were silently judging him. As if he was a fucking child or a teenager who did nothing but make mistake after mistake; unaware of himself and the rest, acting recklessly, thinking solely on his self-pity.

Yes, he was pretty aware that all his decisions from last night weren’t the best, so what? He was a damn adult, he knew what he was doing and he accepted the consequences, he could endure all the punches life threw at him. 

However, he often forgot that being an adult meant absolutely nothing, not even maturity. Having the age to be considered an adult didn’t mean he knew what to do and that he wouldn’t make mistakes; hell, it was the exact opposite of that. He could commit more errors than when he was a kid or a teenager. Even if he was aware of what he was doing, being conscious of something and actually being able to do anything to mend or accept what happened were different things. Punches would still hurt no matter the age. They would always leave a scar.

And yet, everyone loved to act as if they had their shit together, as if they never committed any errors and everything they did was correct.

“Stop staring at me, do you like me that much?” Chuuya interpellated, keeping his distance and with his arms crossed.

“Yes actually, you’re hot, a bummer it came with being an idiot,” Pianoman replied, signaling him to join them at the table with a hand movement. “But to be fair, we’re all idiots at some point in our lives.” 

Sitting next to the eldest — with Albatross and Lippman across from them —, he absently accepted the cup of coffee and a box of pills the blonde gave him. He wasn’t hungry, and the medication wouldn’t alleviate his nausea for about 20 or 30 minutes, but if he didn’t eat anything, he would only increase the worry coming from his roommates and he already had enough with the glances they kept aiming at him. 

As if he was a kid that did nothing but make mistake after mistake. As if it wasn’t worth it to stay by his side, because he would always do something wrong. 

Letting out a sigh, he forced himself to take a bite of the bagels that he didn’t know when one of them had bought. 

“You don’t look good,” the man with silver hair commented by his side, way too calm for his liking. “You drank too much, though I won’t scold you for that, I’d be just a hypocrite. I just would’ve liked it if you didn’t run away from us last night.” 

“I don’t even fucking remember when I did that.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he breathed out, trying to control his older brother side that always surfaced when he was around the ginger. He knew that, if he said anything with that tone of his, he would only start an argument. “Luckily, that guy brought you here, Dazai, was it? At least he took care of you.”

With a sarcastic tone, Chuuya replied:

“Didn’t know you all like Dazai now.” 

“It’s not that we like him,” Lippman responded instead of the eldest. “But he brought you home and made sure nothing bad happened to you, even though you made him run half the way here.”

He did? The mere idea made him smile… maliciously. He wished he remembered that. He knew how much Dazai hated exercise, it would’ve been such a treat to see his suffering…

“He also tucked you up,” Albatross added, smiling in mockery and batting his eyelashes. “You both looked so cute cuddling each other. Y’know, we entered your room as soon as we returned, we were worried you were wandering around the city or something, but the moment the door opened all we saw was a couple of lovebirds sleeping together.” 

That made him recall the way he woke up that morning, enveloped in a known warmth he’d missed, and that made him as nervous as he was embarrassed. 

“Fuck off. No. Don’t get any ideas,” he pleaded, “What happened last night won’t happen again.”

Albatros ignored him and turned to the blonde next to him. 

“Wanna bet on their relationship?”

“The hell? I’m here you know,” Chuuya complained just to be ignored once again.

Unfortunately, Lippman agreed. 

“I bet they’ll be dating in about six months,” the blonde with a mole said. The man beside him nodded and shook his hand before giving his own prediction.

“I bet they’ll do it in a couple of weeks. Luckily, nothing happened right now, but there’s definitely some tension going on between them.”

“What…? There’s nothing between us!” Ignored one more time, he slid down in his chair, grumbling and almost wanting to hide under the table. “Ugh, I hate you…” 

“Yeah, yeah, we love you too.” 

Both laughed, and soon enough, Pianoman joined in too. Damn it, he hated them, they were the worst, he should really start considering moving to another place and never seeing them again. 

But he knew he couldn’t. Despite them treating him as if he was a child from time to time — which was pretty frustrating —, he was also thankful for them worrying over him. They, unlike anyone else, unlike Kouyou or Dazai, never left him behind despite the many mistakes he made. Although that didn’t mean they weren’t annoying and so damn nosy. Luckily, it was something he could bear.

Fortunately, as the morning went by, he felt better. The nausea was almost gone, just like the panic and the subsequent guilt he felt on that morning. Dazai’s expression still lingered on his mind and, despite one part of him begging him to forget it like everything else he did the prior night, another part of him insisted on talking to him, especially with all that ‘tension’ Albatross mentioned.

Maybe it was just that, he pondered. Maybe that was the reason why he couldn’t get him out of his mind. To him, Dazai was always more than attractive, hell, his ‘ideal type’ was crafted after him… At least physically, because his behavior was fucking garbage, just like himself, but that’s beside the point. 

The point here is that he still thought that Dazai was pretty damn hot. The past four years had certainly done him good, and he was aware there was some tension since their reencounter. He thought it was because of his old resentment, but that subsided a bit after their talk some nights ago. And although the answers he got weren’t enough and were a far cry from satisfactory, he resigned to the idea that he wouldn’t get anything more from him. He wasn’t so content with not receiving the whole truth, but what could he do? If Dazai didn’t want to be genuine, nothing could force him to be so. 

But his behavior on that morning and on that forgotten night was sincere. Furthermore, he did take care of him, even if he was just another problem he had to ‘deal’ with, and his body didn’t lie. The warmth that embraced him on that morning and the arms clinging to him didn’t lie. 

He hated him. He puzzled him. He had no idea what Dazai wanted from him, nor what he wanted from Dazai. The relationship they had in the past? No, that was already gone. A friendship? Impossible, they didn’t tolerate each other, even if what happened on the prior night and that morning told him the opposite. The only option left, the one Albatross mentioned, was pure sexual desire. 

Their bodies didn’t lie. Their words and feelings could do so, but not their bodies. Maybe that was why they searched and found each other without really meaning to, maybe that was why they gravitated towards the other. They didn’t like each other, they didn’t need each other, on good and seldom days you could say they barely tolerated the other, but they probably acted under the influence of a sexual attraction neither of them wanted to recognize.

And everything being reduced to such a primitive desire saddened him, even if he didn’t know why. But he thought that, if they had done what would’ve happened the prior night, perhaps he could finally get him out of his mind.

═════════════

“The party must’ve been good, you look absolutely wrecked,” Dostoyevsky commented the moment he stepped into the apartment. 

He considered going back out and walking away even if he had just arrived. He could always invite himself to Ranpo and Yosano’s apartment, or he could invade Kuinikida’s or Atsushi’s place. However, he’d already taken off his shoes at the entrance, and the thought of putting them back on was quickly denied by his laziness. He could endure the suffering called Fyodor, even if he really didn’t want to. 

Letting out a sigh, and remembering he hadn’t checked his phone in hours, he entered the area and walked towards the kitchen, disregarding the gaze coming from the living room. He had a headache, who knows what caused it, but he was willing to drown himself in painkillers. Anything to forget the prior night.

“Why are you awake at this hour?” Dazai questioned, swallowing a pill and staying in the kitchen, a considerable distance from the other if you ask him. “Go to sleep anemic. You’re going to be low in sugar and I don’t feel like going out to buy you a candy.” 

“As much as I appreciate your concern, no. I’m going out, I’ll probably be back at night.”

“And why are you telling me this? I don’t really care,” he responded, swallowing a second painkiller, adding with a fake smile: “Unless you’re telling because you’re going to search for a new place to live in. In which case, good luck!” 

“I’m telling you so you don’t bring anyone to the apartment,” he clarified, looking at Dazai with an empty smile that the other returned, “and if you do, I hope they leave before I arrive. Ah, don’t forget to bleach everything afterwards.”

Dazai let out a groan and slid one of the kitchen chairs, collapsing onto it with a pack of painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“I don’t complain when you bring your boyfriend.”

“You do.”

“But I don’t force you to clean anything.” 

“Because unlike you, Nikolai and I have some decency and we don’t do anything here. You don’t even care if others see you.” 

“If you’re so ashamed of me, there’s an easy way to solve this. Just move to another place and leave me the apartment all to myself.” 

“I’m planning to do that eventually,” he replied, standing up from the couch and taking some of the things he’d scattered away, “but it’d be such a pity to leave you alone and miss out on the rare moments when you show some kind of weakness.” 

“You like to see me suffer that much?” 

“Love it, I thrive from it.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Dazai responded, frowning when he noticed the empty box of analgesics. With a sigh, he threw it towards the garbage can. Sadly, he landed it. He would’ve preferred if he didn’t so he could bother Fyodor some more before he left. “Anyway, don’t worry, I agreed to tutor someone in the evening so I won’t have time.” 

“I pity the innocent soul that has to put up with you.” 

“I’m sure people told Nikolai that same thing when he started to date you.” 

“Quite the opposite, that’s what they told me when I started to live with you.” 

“Don’t lie, they congratulated you, of course. I’m the best roommate you’ll ever have.” 

They could’ve continued throwing passive-aggressive remarks at each other all day, but neither of them was in the mood to do so. 

Opting to ignore that last phrase, Fyodor left, reminding Dazai one last time that, if he wanted to invite someone who wasn’t one of his friends, they better leave before he gets back. He didn’t want to bump into a mortifying scene again and see the couch being desecrated. It took him three weeks to sit there after what happened. And the worst part was listening to his roommate’s constant teasing throughout the whole act.

That was a nice memory, Dazai thought, and he would’ve happily gone against Fyodor’s wishes and called someone he’d slept with before just to annoy his roommate and his conservative ideas of decency, but he really wasn’t in the mood. 

The moment the door was shut and he was alone again, his smile fell.

He sighed and dropped his head onto the table. He momentarily closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing at all, but it was impossible. He couldn’t forget Chuuya’s face, he couldn’t get that phrase out of his mind…

“You owe me some kisses, mind paying your debt now?”

Damn . Only thinking about it gave him goosebumps, and that quote wasn’t even the worst. No, it wasn’t the one he couldn’t get out of his mind. 

He got up, leaving the glass in the sink to clean it later, and he headed to his room. He still had some hours to spare before leaving, he could lose himself in one of the books he’d yet to finish, or he could call one of his friends in search of a brief entertainment, although he didn’t want to see them, he didn’t care much to answer all their messages when he checked his phone either, plugging it into the electricity before it turn off completely.

He left it there, quickly writing in the group chat that his battery was pretty much dead and he had just woken up, that he went back to his apartment sometime in the early morning, and that, even if he knew they weren’t worried, they shouldn’t be all concerned. Afterwards, he left the device somewhere, and he lay down on his bed with a book in his hands, reading it, unintentionally analyzing its structure, the words that were chosen, the way it was written. Fleetingly thinking about how much Odasaku would enjoy that novel, but the more he tried to think about him, the less he could genuinely do it.

The novel wasn’t enough to draw his attention away from the matter, his thoughts easily finding their way back to Chuuya and all the memories from the prior night.

He could picture Chuuya’s image in his lap. His astray and lustful gaze, the warmth of his body, and that sinful attitude he knew exactly how to use to have him eating out of his hand. His skin was still as smooth as he remembered it, the weight over him felt right; it was a bode of pleasure once forgotten that could never be replicated. 

He couldn’t think of Chuuya’s movements without shivering. His body was always so receptive to the ginger’s, eager for its touch and attention, unable to hide the necessity he had. And Chuuya knew what he elicited, his reaction didn’t change despite the four years that had passed since they were in a situation such as that, and he dared grin in that alluring way that always drove him crazy. 

Then, still gently moving against his crotch, he leaned down. Dazai instinctively posed his hands on the other’s hips while Chuuya approached his face, searching for his lips one more time, wearing that winner smile and looking at him with nothing but desire. But, instead of shoving the ginger closer to him, he removed him from on top of him. 

He shifted their positions, letting Chuuya fall against the mattress and, albeit surprised, he didn’t seem all that upset. The ginger licked his lips and looked at him with desire, spreading his legs to let him settle between them. And so he did. Dazai leaned down, drawing closer to the other’s face, keeping a hand on the ginger’s jaw, keeping him still, calm, completely unaware. 

“You always looked better under me, Chuuya,” he whispered that night above his lips, and he moved away from the ginger before he could do something he’d regret once the morning arrived, leaving the other, once again, without the kiss he so desired. “But I won’t do this with you.” 

“The hell…?” he recalled Chuuya babbling, as angry as he was drunk. “Osamu…!” 

“I’m no longer ‘Osamu’ to you, remember? It’s just ‘Dazai’ now,” he muttered, caressing his hair and ignoring his furious gaze. He couldn’t take him seriously, not when he had no idea what he was saying or doing. 

He recalled that Chuuya kept complaining. He tried to seduce him again, but Dazai disregarded each attempt no matter how enticing it was.

There was a moment when the ginger almost stripped, making Dazai mumbled that it was enough for that night. Somehow, he convinced the other to button up his trousers, but not his shirt. He didn’t even want to change into something more comfortable, but at that point, the brunette couldn’t care less if the other wanted to sleep in those cramped pants or not. He looked good in them, there’s no way he’ll deny that, it made wonders for his physic, but they weren’t for sleep. 

Whatever, didn’t matter. It was hard to convince Chuuya that going to sleep before he did something he’d regret later was the best option here, and despite his energy seeming never-ending, the alcohol eventually tired him out, and the ginger yawned. Dazai didn’t let the opportunity pass and, showcasing how comfortable and warm the bed looked, he persuaded the other into lying down, still grumbling like a child, but no longer trying to seduce him.

“You’re so mean, Osamu,” he muttered, looking at him from under the sheets with childish anger. “You don’t want to do it with me? Why? How disgusting am I to you?” 

Dazai sighed, shaking his head a couple of times, and pulling the sheets until they completely covered the other.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous, but you won’t remember anything tomorrow, not even what you just said. Besides, I really don’t recommend waking up next to someone, not knowing how you got there or what they did to you. It’s not that fun and it’s definitely not worth it,” he explained, lost in a cloud of memories and bad decisions taken sometime during those four years that had transpired. 

Sighing, walking away from the mist made out of memories driven by the regret, disgust, and desolation he felt on the morning after a drunken night, he returned his attention to the ginger. Chuuya had lowered the sheets again to expose only his head; his body remained covered, and he didn’t try to get out from under the comfort. He blinked slowly, like a cat caught between being mad or sleepy, a step away from falling asleep, but refusing to fall into a slumber just because of his stubbornness.

Damn. He looked so pretty, Dazai couldn’t help but chuckle.  

“Just sleep, Chuuya,” he advised, running his fingers over the other’s hair. It was still so soft, and the other was just as receptive to such touches. “You’ll feel like shit tomorrow, you need to sleep.” 

The ginger whined, muttering that he’d be fine, that he didn’t need to sleep, and that Dazai was an idiot. The brunette giggled at the situation, still playing with his hair. He remembered that kind of gesture always calmed down Chuuya, and by the looks of it, that fact hadn’t changed, the motion luring him to close his eyes, babbling something in between whispers, losing the fight against exhaustion, and succumbing to the fatigue brought on by the eventful night mixed with all the alcohol in his system. 

And Dazai remained there. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, silently observing him, his hands still tangled in the long, soft, and reddish curls.  

He’s forgotten how at peace Chuuya looked when he slept. The image in front of him was almost like the one pertaining to the boy he left in Yokohama with his heart broken and more questions than answers, and thinking about that made him upset and he knew damn well why. 

Looking at him like this, so relaxed, his face absent of any kind of tension, slow and yet deep breaths, it all made him wonder why he left him. Because he fell in love with Oda despite having the perfect boy by his side? Even the features his ideal type had were shaped after Chuuya — ginger hair and blue eyes, a steady personality that could counter and keep at bay his own character so that there was no risk of any of them crumbling due to the chaos that he was in his teenage years.   

It was funny that Oda, somehow, fitted that model almost as if it was made for him, having nearly all the physical and behavioral characteristics, but there was a difference that came into play at the end of the day: while Chuuya was brimming with energy and countered his personality with his, Odasaku did so with his calm demeanor. 

Calmness , that was what was missing in his adolescence, and he only found it with Oda.

Now he didn’t have Oda, but he’d managed to copy some of that composure, especially when confronted with a set of decisions to choose from. And between all the options he had, the right one should be to stay away from Chuuya before this tension could grow, before it forced them to make a mistake in which the conclusion would be harmful to both of them.

Stroking his hair one last time, contemplating kissing him on the forehead but regretting it at the last moment, Dazai stood up. He turned off the lamp on the nightstand and ultimately decided that it was enough; it was almost two in the morning and the journey he had to make was a long one. 

But a hand caught his before he was far enough to leave, and just as this time Chuuya managed to stop him, he too looked back. 

“Don’t go,” the ginger murmured in between dreams, narrowed eyes looking up at him. 

“I gotta go, Chuuya,” he insisted, keeping his volume down and pulling his hand gently. “If I stay here, I’m sure you’ll think something happened and you’ll hate me more.” 

He tried to walk away, but the fingers wrapped around his hand tightened, being stubborn as usual. Letting out a sigh, way too tired — both physically and emotionally — to deal with this, Dazai focused on Chuuya, choosing to go back to the hateful and defensive attitude he’d been displaying since their reencounter. 

But he wasn’t prepared for the expression that looked back at him, nor the words that echoed in the room. 

“Stay,” he pleaded, observing him with shiny and yet sad eyes, covered by a drowsy desperation that reflected in the tone of his voice. “Don’t leave me again, Osamu…”  

The guilt shouldn’t have hit him so hard, it shouldn’t have made him feel bad. It never affected him, no matter where or from whom it came, he could always stay firm enough and emotionless, always controlling every little aspect of the situation. But Chuuya was the exception. 

He thought he wasn’t. He thought he didn’t care whether he hurt or annoyed the ginger. He thought he no longer had influence over what he chose or how he acted, but he was wrong. He was mistaken for four years, and that night he realized that, on that last day at Yokohama, if Chuuya had asked him to stay, and if he had turned around to glance at the boy he was leaving behind, he would’ve doubted if he should go. Why? He didn’t know, he just knew that would’ve happened. 

But the ‘would’ve’ doesn’t exist. He left without looking back so as to not doubt his decision, chasing what he thought would give him peace and make him happy, and now he saw what consequences that decision brought. He observed Chuuya and regretted leaving him. He may never voice that thought and he may be the only one who knew about that notion, but that was enough. 

Now he couldn’t force himself to walk away again and deepen the sadness reflected in those blue eyes that looked at him with such intensity. 

“Chuuya, promise me you’ll remember you asked me to stay,” he requested, leaning down towards the ginger, trying to truly see him despite the absence of light in the room. “Promise you’ll remember I only slept next to you.” 

The ginger perked up once he registered his words and nodded, pulling him by his hand, moving to the side of the bed that clashed with the wall and leaving enough space for him to lie next to the other.

“I’ll remember, I promise.” 

No, he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t and that’d be a problem, but Dazai figured he would worry about that in the morning. 

“Liar,” he commented, taking off his coat, leaving it on the floor, and getting under the warm blankets, his eyes never leaving the blue irises that studied each of his movements. “You’re such a liar Chuuya, maybe even worse than me.”

“You’re the worst one,” he muttered, getting closer to his side and snuggling. 

He couldn’t help but wrap his arms around the other’s body. He flinched when he felt Chuuya intertwining their legs, drawing closer to him, passing his arms over his waist, refusing to let him go.

And then, letting out an almost happy sigh, he easily fell asleep, as if having him by his side was everything it took for him to relax and let himself fall. That was quite the contagious feeling, so much so that Dazai instantly felt the drowsiness clinging to him. 

But he didn’t fall asleep immediately, even if his body demanded it. He pondered over the last words Chuuya had muttered, and he agreed with him. 

“Yeah… I’m worst.” 

And he was, because he knew that by staying he’d only complicate the situation between them. Because he knew that when Chuuya woke up — assuming he woke up before himself, which ended up happening —, he’d see him sound asleep by his side, and his mind would go straight to the worst scenario once he realized the absence of certain memories in his head. 

And Dazai wished to have been wrong this time, he wished for Chuuya to act the opposite of what he envisioned, but alas, for once in his life, he accurately predicted his reaction. 

Accepting his drunken request and sleeping by his side was the worst idea he could’ve had in the last two years. Not only for the response he got when he woke up, but also because he couldn’t forget Chuuya’s face: lost, influenced by every drink he’d had, and yet genuine. And, who was he trying to fool? Feeling like someone needed him, that someone genuinely wanted him next to them, felt good. 

But he knew that, at that moment, Chuuya was seeing who he really wanted next to him; someone who no longer existed. And not being appreciated for who he was at that moment hurt, but it wasn’t something he wasn’t used to.

After all, he’d spent almost all his life acting in a good or bad manner in hopes of someone noticing and recognizing that his existence had at least some sort of sense, that he wasn’t just an error committed by two people on one night, but everyone proved him the opposite, even Oda did. He thought Chuuya was still the exception to that rule. He was always the first one to truly see him behind everything he did or said, but the prior night he only saw what he wanted; the good memories he had from his teenage years, the boy he met, and not the man he reencountered. 

At any rate, he deserved it. He knew he did. He himself had caused all that, and now he could only think, trapped in a loop, in the loneliness that enveloped him, an isolation he himself caused. 

However, the cellphone ringing put away any emotion and recollection of the prior night, he stood up and took his phone, almost letting it drop when he read the name of whoever was calling him. 

It was Chuuya.

His first thought was to answer, and the second was not to do it. He didn’t feel fine, not with everything that transpired and all the words trapped in his mind since he woke up, but the phone was still ringing, vibrating on his hand, and the guy on the other side didn’t seem to want to hang up any time soon.

However, he knew exactly what to do. Taking into account everything that happened since they saw each other again, remembering what he’d done in the past, he knew what was best for the two of them. So he hung up. 

And when his phone rang up again, he hung up and blocked the number. Deciding that, as the mature adult he was, it was better to leave again, without looking back beyond the memories he held, and avoiding dragging Chuuya into his own troubles and sorrows.

There was a small problem with his plan though, that being that he had no idea what would happen next, and he definitely didn’t expect how Chuuya reacted to his new rejection.

Chapter Text

He refused to let that bastard do this shit to him a second time. 

Who the fuck did Dazai think he was to deny all his calls and block his number? What fucking right did he have to ignore him again? 

First, he treated him like utter shit, then he searched for him, then he acted like a decent human being, and for what? Just to forget all about him and act as if he hadn’t been sending mixed signals about what he thought and wanted from him? 

And he wouldn’t let him. He’d rather die than let that asshole play him like a fucking toy again. He wouldn’t let himself be all depressed over that ambiguous behavior of his either — which he’s guilty of reciprocating sometimes, adding more confusion to the already messed up mixture. 

He knew that situation would be ideal. He could’ve forgotten about the brunette one more time and moved on with his life, and he genuinely considered doing that the first three days after realizing Dazai was back to ignoring his existence. He spent all weekend and the first hours of Monday being mad about this whole thing, repeating to himself that he didn’t need an idiot like that back in his life. But as more time passed, as he thought about going to the Faculty of Humanities and searching for him, the more he realized he was back to being intoxicated with his presence, making it difficult to ignore him. 

If someone were to ask Chuuya if he wanted Dazai, the response they’d get would be a resounding no. He didn’t want him in any romantic way, neither did he need him. But Dazai had something no one else had: he knew the worst parts of him and he didn’t give a shit. There was a tacit trust that never vanished despite all odds. A certain familiarity still lingered between them, and it was so addictive to people like them, who were used to the coldness brought by loneliness instead of the warmth felt when in company. 

So no, he didn’t want Dazai. He wanted that comfort of yore. And he’d get it, both for his injured pride and the fact he knew his stubbornness would annoy Dazai, because of course he wanted to annoy the hell out of him.

With the anger being used as fuel for his actions, he spent the week looking for Dazai around the Faculty of Humanities, but each time he finally found him, that bastard slipped through his fingers. He had no idea how he did it, he even skipped some classes, and yet, he couldn’t catch him off guard. 

At first, he didn’t want to ask Ryuu for the brunette’s schedule because he knew if he did, he’d get rebuked and he didn’t want to sit through that conversation, but when Friday fell upon him, he put what little dignity he had inside a box and threw it out of the window, deciding to just ask Akutagawa. 

That afternoon Friday, around one o’clock, he went to the cafeteria of the Faculty of Humanities. He knew Ryuu was there. Usually, the dark-haired boy was at the university since dawn, no matter if he had class in the morning or not, and because often he didn’t have time to cook something and bring it here, he always ate at the university. 

That’s where he found him, at the farthest table, slowly eating with Higuchi across from him. The blonde girl was talking non-stop, to which Akutagawa’s responses ranged from a nod to monosyllabic words.

He wondered what the girl was doing in that area of the school. He knew Higuchi studied on the other side of the campus, but assuming she just wanted to spend time with her boyfriend, and ignoring the image of an albino boy eating alone at a table somewhere around there, he approached the guitarist and collapsed in an empty seat.

Higuchi greeted him, surprised to see him, cordially asking what he was doing there. However, the ginger just muttered some excuse and focused on Akutagawa. His intense gaze got no response whatsoever, it didn’t even make the other divert his eyes from his lunch.

“Tell me, where’s Dazai?” he asked, straight to the point.

“Good afternoon, Chuuya,” Akutagawa greeted him. He took a bite out of his food, and he chewed it as slowly as humanly possible, taking all the time in the world to swallow it. It was only after that that he answered. “No.” 

“Ryuu!”

“Why are you asking?” he inquired, letting out a sigh and looking tiredly at him for being distracted from his meal one too many times. “Dazai just gives you problems.” 

Fair, there was evidence that could prove that, but that’s beside the point. Pushing to the back of his mind all those bad jokes Dazai ever played on him, he focused on the past weekend. 

“He took me home last Friday.” 

“He did?” Akutagawa questioned with confusion. “I thought your roommates had taken care of you.” 

Embarrassed by the events of his latest drunk endeavors, Chuuya crossed his arms and diverted his gaze. 

“Yeah, well… There was a change of plans and he took me home.”

“Did he do anything?” Akutagawa inquired, showing some genuine worry. “You were pretty drunk.”

“That’s true,” Higuchi added, looking from one man to the other, sharing the same worry as her boyfriend. “You could barely stand up on your own… did he take advantage of you?” 

“What? No! You really think he’d do something like that?” 

Akutagawa and Higuchi shrugged. Chuuya didn’t know what to think of that gesture. 

“No idea, I don’t know him well enough. But he is a man.” 

“You’re also a man,” Chuuya pointed out, and then pointed to himself. “And so am I.” 

“You know what I mean. I’m a man, but I’m not an idiot, I know what the violence rates are, and I have a little sister, of course I’m wary of all men, even myself.” 

“Gin could kick your ass if she wanted to.” 

“And I’m proud of that,” he responded, turning back his attention to the food in front of him, “but that’s beside the point. Why do you want to see Dazai? You always look upset and depressed after talking to him.” 

“That's a lie…” 

Akutagawa’s grayish gaze locked on him, judging and scolding him at the same time. Chuuya sighed. There was no point in denying what the minor said, not when he was right, but even if he knew that, he wouldn’t change his mind. 

He wouldn’t let Dazai slip through his fingers again, not without a good and genuine explanation. 

“I need to talk with him,” he commented, not wanting to reveal anything more despite Akutagawa’s pressing eyes. “It’s something… personal.” 

“Personal enough that I can’t know?” 

“Ryuu…” 

The dark-haired boy sighed. He looked back at his food, then his eyes wandered through the premises until they landed on a table far from theirs; a table where an albino boy was gathering his books and cleaning all his leftovers. 

“Nakajima talks a lot with him,” he replied, observing every movement the other boy made, ignoring Higuchi’s bitter expression, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Chuuya. “He should know where he is.” 

Muttering a quick thanks and saying he didn’t need any of Akutagawa’s warnings when it came to Dazai, he walked away from the table and towards the albino before he could leave the area, before he lost him amidst the various classrooms of the faculty. 

Atsushi was pretty surprised to see him there, but he still greeted him with a smile and asked him if he needed something. Upon hearing his question about Dazai’s whereabouts, or when he could catch him off guard, the smile on his face shattered, however, contrary to Ryuu’s reaction, the albino didn’t inquire about his reasons. 

He didn’t ask many questions, nor did he warn him about the many things that could — and perhaps would — go wrong when it came to Dazai. He mentioned that, even though they didn’t share the same classes, he talked to him in the morning and the brunette said he’d be at the library killing time till his next class. He could’ve eaten lunch with him or been in any other place on the campus, but Atsushi mentioned that Dazai had clearly stated he preferred to lock himself in his cage made out of books and avoid seeing ‘someone’. Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh at the message the other showed him. 

Dazai wanted to play cat and mouse? Fine, he’ll be the goddamn cat, and if he caught him and scratch him without realizing it, it’d be his fault. 

Without wasting more time, he thanked the boy and walked away, saying he knew where the library was when Atsushi offered to accompany him. Be it any other time, he would’ve accepted the company, but not that afternoon. That was his own lonely hunt.

Walking through those halls and passing by the literature classrooms still filled his chest with a certain nostalgia carried by the thought that, in some other universe, that was the place he ought to be in. At least those feelings had subsided as time passed and he no longer pondered that much on the poetry he left behind. His mind only focused on songs and on finding Dazai. 

Unlike the university, he remembered that the library in his high school was often empty, the only spike in visits was during the exam season, when everyone was cramming all the subjects in hopes of passing the test. You could also find some people who had no one to spend the recess with and couples hidden behind bookcases making out. He did that too with Dazai sometimes, he recalled as he moved between the students that filled each small corner of the place, with open books or notebooks in his hands, most of them studying, some killing time while reading, or with laptops as they wrote essays non-stop. 

There were some empty seats, Chuuya noticed, but in front of those seats, there was always a notebook or laptop, indicating that the place was already occupied. He didn’t see Dazai in any of the tables or the empty seats. However, the row of books was pretty massive. 

Sighing, more with nuisance than weariness, he walked into that maze, looking at his surroundings, both towards the titles of books, reviews, and essays neatly pilled up, and towards all the people. Almost everyone had the brownish hair he recognized, but it wasn’t quite the exact same shade. 

The brunette’s back was everything he could see of him at the end of the alley, and yet, that wasn’t enough to conceal the image of a woman with long and dark hair talking to him. He didn’t know what they were saying, it was as if they were uttering a goodbye, or at least that’s what he assumed when he saw the girl drawing closer to Dazai’s face, kissing him on his lips or the edge of them. Then, the woman just walked towards the exit, noticing his presence and passing right next to the ginger, never giving him a second glance as she took the route guiding her away from that dead end delimited by books. 

Chuuya didn’t know why, but he felt paralyzed for at least one second, which was more than enough time for Dazai to turn around with a listless expression adorning his face that quickly morphed and reflected the same surprise the ginger was feeling.

“Chuuya…”

His body acted on its own. He turned around and considered leaving, but as soon as the tip of his foot touched the floor to take the first step, he turned around yet again and went back to observing the brunette. 

Why would he leave? He wondered. He didn’t care if he just saw Dazai with his new girlfriend or whatever. That wasn’t important, he had some matters to settle with the bastard in front of him. 

“Dazai,” he called out, losing all words and senses, noticing the way the other kept on staring at him.

Dazai looked at him as if he couldn’t believe he was there. As if, all week long, he’d hoped Chuuya would give up and forget him alongside the whole mess. That was… sad to think about, it almost made him turn around and leave him there, but his pride was bigger than any other emotion at that moment. Dazai should know he wouldn’t accept being ignored again without a damn good reason.

And the look of surprise and disbelief on the other began to bother him, it also made him feel anxious, because the brunette was watching him as if he was relieved that, despite all odds, he was there. 

“Quit it with that face or I’ll punch you,” the ginger threatened, crossing his arms, “and you know I’ll do it— actually, you know I want to do it.”

Those words were enough to get a reaction out of Dazai. All shock abandoned his face, and in its place, a fake confident smile appeared, hiding from the rest of the world the way his eyes desperately wandered in search of a way out. The ginger clenched his fists. 

“What a nice surprise! Chuuya, what are you doing here?” he questioned, a sweet and playful tone lingering in his voice. “You’re quite far from your faculty, shouldn’t you be in class?” 

“Shouldn’t you be in class too?”

“My class starts in a few minutes, so I really need to get going.”

Chuuya, unimpressed, observed him from head to toe. Dazai remained smiling, but the ginger knew his presence there was making the other anxious. 

The brunette tried to leave, acting as if nothing happened. Neither that encounter, nor the one before it, and definitely not the unanswered calls. And honestly, Chuuya was pretty fucking tired of playing that game, although he did enjoy seeing that anxious face the moment he blocked the exit to prevent Dazai from leaving.

“You and I have something to talk about,” Chuuya said, stepping to the left at the same time Dazai did so. “You blocked me again.” 

“Why do you sound so surprised? I’m just a ‘bastard’, aren’t I?” he objected, stepping back and searching for another way out. “Of course I’d block you and move on as soon as I got bored of this game.”

If those words had been said in the past, maybe some weeks ago, it would’ve stung really hard, but now the situation was different. Dazai wasn’t even trying to hide the obvious lie, Chuuya no longer fell for it. Everything that happened during the weekend, all the alcohol, the songs, sleeping together, Dazai’s behavior, his words, his expressions, his care, what was left unsaid, it all changed something between them. 

And he couldn’t help but run after what changed. 

“I want an explanation,” he demanded. “You’re a piece of shit and I deserve an explanation as to why you’re like that.” 

Dazai sighed, way too tired of hearing the same thing from him.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want, but I’m busy right now so maybe another day?” 

“I’m not stupid Dazai, I know you too well for my liking,” he grumbled, moving to the right and taking a step forward, blocking and pushing the brunette back. “Your ‘let’s talk later’ means ‘never’.”

“You think too badly of me.”

“I wonder why,” he sarcastically replied.

Dazai moved to the left again, Chuuya did the same. He blocked his path, forcing him to step back. For a second, the brunette forgot where he was and turned around, only to find a dead end in the form of a wall of books in an alley made out of bookcases.

Momentarily leaning his head against the spine of every volume, he sighed. Then, he turned around once again and looked at Chuuya. The smile was now long gone. 

“Chuuya, I really need to go to class.”

The ginger let out a bitter laugh, as entertained with the situation as he was annoyed with what he’d seen minutes prior. 

“If you’re in such a hurry, why didn’t you leave before? You could’ve done that, but you stayed here talking with some girl,” he had no idea why he felt so annoyed, nor why his words were delivered with a certain harshness, or why Dazai’s face filled up with surprise and horror. “What? Is she your new girlfriend? You don’t answer her calls either?” 

“What? The hell are you saying? She’s not my…” he forced himself to say no more, going as far as biting his lower lip in an attempt to shut himself. “It’s none of your business.” 

Knowing there were more things Dazai was hiding upset Chuuya, but he wasn’t stupid and he wouldn’t lie to himself. Even if a sense of familiarity still existed between them, it was minimal and was clinging to the present only because of memories and the unexpected and messy encounters they’d had during that time. And if he thought about it, those moments were a few, just like the new and forgotten messages, and the calls, and the last two poems he wrote for him. 

Many things happened during those four years, many things he didn’t know, but he wanted to. He wanted to know the fucking answers he deserved, alongside whatever Dazai went through in that time. 

Fuck, he was now a nosy old hag. He wasn’t proud of that, but neither was he ashamed. 

“How many classes do you have in the afternoon?” he asked, catching the brunette off guard. 

Dazai looked at him with confusion, however, he quickly replied while still trying to turn all the pieces in his favor. 

“Just one, to which I’ll be late if you keep blocking the way. Why don’t you go to your class and we talk later? At four and a half maybe.” 

“You think I’m an idiot?” Dazai didn’t reply, and Chuuya tried not to get mad. It was a futile attempt. “My faculty is on the other side of the campus. It’ll take me ten minutes to get here– more than enough time for you to run like the coward you are.” 

“Ah, right. Sorry, my bad. Forgot that our faculties were so far apart and I don’t know if I’ll want to wait because well, as you said, I’m a ‘coward’” he lamented, a fake sadness attached to his voice, almost letting a winner feeling slip through. “See? Fate doesn’t want this conversation to happen–” 

“I’ll go with you,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest and clearing the way for the other to move. Despite that, Dazai stood still. 

“Chuuya, are you listening to me?” he questioned, trying to figure out what the other was thinking, but coming out empty handed. “I have to go to class, and so do you.” 

“I’m listening to you, asshole, do you think it’s that easy to ignore your annoying voice?” he asked in return and, almost as if explaining it to a brat, he spoke slowly. “I’m going to go. With you . To your class. As an auditor. And don’t worry Dazai, my classes are already over.” 

Ah, how he loved to see that mixture of bewilderment, confusion, and frustration. Happily, he would’ve laughed right there and then, but he had some respect for the other students in the library, so he suppressed his chuckles for the time being, waiting until they got outside of the room, and only when they were walking towards the classroom did he allow himself to laugh at Dazai’s face.

The brunette tried to talk him out of it. Sending excuse after excuse at him, telling him he wouldn’t escape and that they’d talk later, so he could go back to the Faculty of Economy and wait for him. He promised to unblock him and send him a message as soon as the class was over, but Chuuya wouldn’t yield. He knew the other was lying and spouting whatever his mind could conjure just to get his way, and he wouldn’t let him. Dazai would not escape this time. 

He remained steadily, denying all his offers. Sometimes suppressing a laugh when he noticed how frustrated Dazai was with the whole situation. The brunette even tried to lose him by going up and down the stairs, but that didn’t work either. Eventually, Dazai gave up, letting out a sigh and accepting his fate. Chuuya would follow him straight to hell just because he couldn’t let go of a stupid idea, and he was already ten minutes late to Fukuzawa-sensei’s class. Sadly, he didn’t have the luxury to skip it, assistance was a requirement. 

Damn him, he thought, glancing at the man walking next to him with a smug expression that no one would erase from his face. Fuck, why did that grin make him nostalgic? It was like old times, when they walked side by side through high school, arriving late to class, often holding hands, bickering with each other, joking around, forgetting about the problems that awaited them as soon as they went home. 

But now, family problems didn’t exist. He didn’t have to bear them, neither did Chuuya. There were some other issues, but he could let them drown by looking at the guy walking beside him who, despite the unanswered calls, decided to search for him, only demanding some reasonings and nothing more. 

The reason didn’t matter, the fact he searched for him made him a tad bit happier and, at the same time, it made him feel like the worst person in the world. That wasn’t so far from reality as some may object, he thought, wondering what else could he do to make Chuuya go away. 

He wasn’t good for him, he wasn’t good enough for anyone. Not Chuuya, and definitely not Oda. 

Despite their tardiness, Fukusawa-sensei forgave him and let them enter. The curious gazes landed on the ginger, and some students started to mutter amongst themselves, their eyes never leaving their image as they sat in two empty seats at the end of the room. 

He would’ve loved the attention on any other day, but with Chuuya enjoying his suffering, he couldn’t.

Fukuzawa-sensei asked for the ginger’s name and what he was doing there, but upon hearing he was only there to listen, he nodded and continued with the class as if nothing happened. Eventually, the rest focused their attention back to the man in front of the blackboard, attentively listening to the explanation regarding poetry.  

For a moment, fully aware that Chuuya had abandoned poetry, Dazai thought the topic of the day would make the ginger walk away all depressed. However, much to his dismay, when Fukuzawa asked something about it, Chuuya eagerly answered before anyone else; excited, fully immersed in the class, he demonstrated everything he learned during his time as a ‘poet’. He was absorbed into a talk about poetry with the teacher and, to everyone's amazement, his responses managed to create an almost unnoticeable smile on their stoic professor’s face, before moving on with the topic and asking to one of his actual students. 

And Dazai could do nothing but look at the man next to him. Chuuya still had that smug smile on his lips, and the brunette observed how his reddish hair, his blue eyes, and everything about him fit right in that old classroom. 

Chuuya belonged there, inside those walls, in those tables and chairs. Poetry belonged to him as much as songs did, and Dazai desperately wanted to know what caused the ginger to stop writing poems.

He couldn’t focus on whatever was being said in the class. He could only glance at the man next to him, paying attention to what he was listening to, and at some point, he had taken his notebook and started to take notes; writing with perfect calligraphy all the things that caught his attention. 

Watching Chuuya on that ambient felt nostalgic. It reminded him of his first day at his last high school, when he realized he shared classes with the same boy who noticed him over the multitude of people who were better, more desirable, and less broken than his shattered self. 

On that bygone day, he wasn’t sure if the ginger knew they shared classes, or maybe he did, but he just didn’t care. During the lesson, Dazai, sitting on the other side of the room, observed him write. His mind was never in that class, he answered all the questions directed at him with little care, and then he went back to his own little world.

Afterward, he recalled that the young image of a ginger boy stopped writing and stared back at him. He noticed his eyes from far away, from over their classmates in that class, and that feeling of being recognized, of not simply being a phantom who could easily get lost in between the people and the walls enclosing them — it felt good.

And Chuuya kept catching his gaze even after four years, still finding him amidst the better and less broken people around him. 

“The fuck are you doing?” he inquired under his breath, his eyebrows furrowing. “Pay attention to the class.” 

“Why?” he replied, copying the same volume as the other while adding a more playful tone. “You’re taking notes for me.” 

“I’ll tear off the page and burn it.” 

“Rude.” 

“That’s everything for today’s lesson,” Fukuzawa announced. His rough voice echoing over their whispers managed to scare them and, immediately, Chuuya moved away from him again. “Remember the deadline for the essay is next Wednesday. Have a nice weekend.” 

Most of the students replied in a similar manner, standing up from their seats, gathering their things and stepping out of the room. With laziness lingering in each movement, Dazai did the same, mustering as much effort as necessary to take back his notebook before the ginger could rip off the notes. Chuuya’s annoyed face made him smile, just to remember that now that the class had finished, there was no way out of this mess. Now that both of them were on the same page, Chuuya’s smug smile adorned his expression, while Dazai could only sigh and accept, albeit reluctant, his destiny. 

While he packed his things as slowly as possible, Fukuzawa-sensei approached them. Dazai thought the man wanted to talk with him, and that would be the perfect excuse to free himself from Chuuya — if only fate was so kind to him. Instead, the teacher turned to the grumpy ginger with crossed arms that awaited him next to his desk, almost blocking the exit. 

“I’ve never seen you around here, but your remarks were splendid,” Fukuzawa congratulated. “What major are you studying?” 

“Economy,” he replied plainly, tone almost bordering on disinterest.

“If I may ask, why? I don’t need to see more to notice you have an amazing potential to be a literary critic.”  

Chuuya’s only response was a smile, yearning for something that never happened. 

“My sixteen-year-old self would’ve liked that, but things change.” 

“And they can keep changing,” Fukuzawa insisted. However, he retreated upon seeing that Chuuya remained stoic. “At any rate, if you change your mind and decide to transfer to this faculty, I’d be more than happy to have you here.” 

The ginger nodded and bid farewell to the older man. Before leaving, Fukuzawa told Dazai not to arrive late again. The brunette just replied with a nonchalant yes. 

With the professor gone, the classroom was empty aside for them. While gathering his last items, Dazai glanced sideways at Chuuya again. The ginger returned the attention, still with his arms crossed over his chest and an impatient face that looked so good on him.

“You still want to talk?” Dazai questioned. 

Chuuya huffed, looking up till his pupils got lost almost in their entirety behind his upper eyelid. 

“Yeah, you won’t get away from this. Follow me.” 

If he ran away, would Chuuya follow him? Probably, he pondered, recalling that the ginger was pretty fast — faster than him —, and he was sure that was still the case. He would get caught easily, it wasn’t worth trying. 

With no other option, he followed the ginger out of the campus, walking by his side and trying to keep a nonsensical conversation, but Chuuya remained silent. He just glanced sideways from time to time, as if to make sure he wouldn’t try and run away, still ignoring all his attempts to dissuade him. 

The area surrounding the university was filled with streets, some residential districts where most students lived, and recreational and commercial zones. Bookshops and restaurants could be found everywhere, just like stores dedicated to selling educative and artistic items. 

After going to Kyodai for three years, Dazai knew most of the shops. He’d worked in one of them during his first year in Kyoto, while he was trying to figure out what to do with his life from that point onwards. 

He worked in the afternoon. He’d taken that shift because it aligned with Odasaku’s school schedule, and that way he had something to do while the other wasn’t around. Besides, when he had some spare time, Odasaku always visited him and made his work hours more enjoyable. He could happily listen to the older man talk about his classes and how excited he was to graduate soon and begin teaching in any school around the district. Of all the things he said, at best, Dazai heard half of it; he was always distracted, thinking and imagining what place he would occupy in Oda’s life after he achieved his dream of becoming a professor. 

He pictured so many times the bouquet of red gardenias he’d gift to Odasaku on the day he would graduate. He thought about the new apartment they would share, he thought their relationship would go far and beyond, that Oda would keep seeing only him, that he would keep giving meaning to his life, filling that void and need for companionship he felt since he was a child. 

But three years later, he didn’t work in the same store, and he didn’t live in the same small apartment. Odasaku was no longer in Kyodai, nor in his life, and the scars on his wrist still itched. It hurt, and he had no idea what to do with his life besides trying to become the kind of person Oda would’ve loved. 

He had no idea if he was following the right path towards that goal, but maybe, if he gave Chuuya the answer he wanted, he could get closer to what Oda wished for him. 

Opening the glass door of one of the many cafeterias around the university, Chuuya let him in first, his eyes never leaving his back in a clear sign of distrust. Dazai sighed and went it, looking at his surroundings, recognizing the new place that opened just a couple of weeks ago. It looked good, but what actually caught his attention was the albino behind the counter who smiled and was saying goodbye to a client. 

“Oh, Atsushi!” he greeted, suddenly livened up upon seeing the boy there, approaching without worrying about the looks he was getting from other customers, or the glare a redhead girl who worked there was sending him. “What are you doing here?” 

“Working?” he replied, stating the obvious and pointing towards the uniform he was wearing. 

“Eh? But you don’t need to. Didn’t you say your mothers took care of all your bills?” 

“Yes, but I don’t want to depend so much on them…” he bashfully admitted.  

Dazai didn’t overlook the expression on his face, leaning over the counter to reach one of the boy’s cheeks. 

“Awww, that’s so mature of you. You’re all grown up now!” 

“Stop pestering him,” Chuuya scolded him, pulling Dazai by the neck of his coat and pushing him away from the counter. Disregarding the attention they were getting, the ginger turned towards the albino. “I’ll have a coffee, it’s fucking freezing outside and I need the energy to put up with this idiot.”

Atsushi nodded, not wanting to ask what they were doing there and what they were planning. He scribbled the order in a small notebook and gave a small smile to the ginger before turning around and telling something to one of his coworkers. 

“What about me?” Dazai asked, looking at the albino walking away. “You dragged me all the way over here and you won’t even buy me something?” 

“You don’t even deserve a coffee,” he responded, pushing him to one of the tables in the place, far from everyone else. “Depending on what you’ll answer, I may consider giving you some of mine.” 

“You want an indirect kiss, Chuuya? My, you’re making me blush!” 

The ginger let out a groan, as mournful as it was furious, that echoed through the premises accompanied by Dazai’s laughter. From behind the counter, Atsushi sighed and apologized to his coworkers for the behavior of the other two. He muttered to himself that he would take care of the ginger’s order so no one else would have to go to the area in which they’d gotten comfortable: far from almost all the customers and the counter, there was also quite a distance between them and the windows, a spot almost hidden, giving them the privacy they needed. 

Acting carefree, Dazai made himself comfortable in the seat that collided with the wall. Meanwhile, Chuuya sat across from him, blocking his view to the exit and all the people who entered from time to time. He really wanted his undivided attention, Dazai thought, and he leaned back, keeping his posture calm, which only deepened Chuuya’s furrowed brow.

“So?” he inquired, faking a yawn. “Chuuya, it’s cold and I have an essay to finish, if you could just get to the point and let me go, I’d be rather grateful.” 

The ginger huffed, he averted his gaze momentarily and muttered to himself. 

“Of course you’ll always wait for me to carry the fucking conversation.”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Dazai replied with a sardonic smile. “Don’t think I’ll be the one to start a heavy conversation.” 

“And I can’t think you’re going to be genuine and direct either, that was always more my thing,” he complained. His eyes returned to the brunette in front of him, and he resigned himself to his destiny. “Fine, to hell with this. Why did you block me again and start ignoring me? You were the one who asked me to call so we could talk.” 

“You were the first one to call.” 

“You send the first message.” 

“And you replied.” 

Letting out another groan, Chuuya opted not to fall into that game. He knew Dazai was doing it just to divert the talk or to make him impatient enough for him to forget who he was there in the first place, and he wouldn’t let him, not again. 

“I’m being serious, Dazai,” he clarified with a resolute tone, deleting the smug grin that posed on the other’s face. “I’m tired of this crap. Could you, for once in your fucking life, stop playing with people and take something seriously? I’m not asking for something impossible! Just for you to stop being a piece of shit for a second and be sincere.” 

Dazai didn’t reply. He observed the ginger across from him with an emotionless expression; his eyes examining every inch of his face, momentarily stopping on the details, lingering on the blue eyes that said way more than what his words could ever try to express. 

Diverting his focus from the attractive color, letting all theatrics fall, he rested his elbow on the empty table that separated them, propping his chin against his open palm.

“Chuuya, what do you want me to say?” he asked, without smiles and all games already forgotten. “What are you expecting to hear? You know you can’t even trust whatever I say, it could be the truth or I might as well lie.”

“Yeah, you always lie, but that’s what makes me different from all the people you’ve met in your pathetic life.” He pointed to himself, not feeling proud of the fact he was about to claim. “I know when you’re lying, I always know. I just choose to ignore what you’re doing or act as if I’m satisfied with what you said, but not today. I want a real explanation. Why did you ignore me again after what happened last Friday?” 

Having Chuuya’s gaze directly on him managed to make him feel a little nervous, and that was as good a reason as any to look anywhere but toward those big blue eyes. 

He truly hated the fact that Chuuya could have that effect on him. Technically, he was the only person who could make him feel vulnerable and have him between the sword and the wall with only one look. But, although he hated that emotion, it also felt good. Being able to be weak, vulnerable, and human — it was good. 

“No idea,” he replied, with more feebleness in his voice than what he would’ve liked, but being genuine for the first time in a while. “I don’t know why I stop answering your calls. I thought the best was for me to be away from you and finally free you of my wonderful existence. That’s what you wanted since we saw each other again, wasn’t it? For me to keep my distance, because you were still mad about me breaking up with you and breaking your heart.” 

Chuuya denied it, letting out a sigh that carried all the weariness he felt. However, he glanced at the brunette, wondering how much of an idiot the other was, and then, proceeded to talk slowly, as if that would make Dazai understand him better. 

“Dazai, I’m not a teenager anymore. Yes, it hurt that you broke up with me, and seeing you made me remember that, but knowing why you broke up with me is not what I wanted, I want you to tell me why you left Yokohama without saying anything.” 

He rested both arms on the table, almost wanting to let his head drop between them, but he remained still, eyes fixated on the surprised face in front of him. He would’ve laughed at his face, but he didn’t have the energy to do so.

“Even before we were dating, we were friends, Dazai,” he mentioned, trapped in the claws of bittersweet memories. “I couldn’t stand you at that time either, but I cared about you. I knew everything that happened in your house and– damn, I panicked when I couldn’t find you anywhere.” 

He couldn’t keep seeing Dazai, not when the other looked so startled as if he couldn’t believe the worry he felt in the past. If he kept on glancing, he would end up reaching out and caressing his face, so he turned downside. He looked at the empty table between them, and he continued.

“I called you thousands of times,” he recounted, aware that Dazai knew what he was talking about, but not the whole story. “I even asked your parents where you were, what happened to you, why didn’t you answer. But they didn’t know, nor were they interested in finding out. You could say they thought you were dead, and didn’t give a shit about what happened to you, but I did. I did care.” 

He could see Dazai’s hands over the wood; large and a bit reddish, trembling in such a way that would go unnoticed to anyone else, slowly closing into a fist, increasing the distance between them.

Chuuya wanted to decrease the distance and, unknowingly, he did so with his words. 

“I cared about you, Dazai, I loved you,” he admitted, still with his gaze down, not noticing the way his words profoundly affected the brunette. “You were my boyfriend, my friend, the only one who made me feel in company, and I just wanted to know where you were, if you were fine, if it was worth it to leave everything behind.” 

… If it was worth it to leave me behind , he thought, and four years later, Chuuya knew that it was. Leaving him behind, both for him and Dazai, was something necessary. It took him some time to accept that. It hurt for a couple of months, years even, but now it didn’t. 

Since he stopped writing poems in exchange for composing songs, every injury from the past stopped affecting him as much, because he knew if the forgotten feelings drowned him, he could spill them out into a song that wouldn’t get ignored by the rest of the world. 

“I just wanted to know why, not drag you back to Yokohama or with me,” he said, looking up at the stoic face in front of him; a face that expressed no emotion and uttered not a single word. Chuuya huffed, trying to break the tension he himself had created. “Damn, did you really think I would’ve put myself through the humiliation of begging you to come back?” 

“Maybe you would’ve,” finding his own voice, though still tense and unstable, Dazai replied. “You were… different. Always prideful — like now —, but you clung to me.”

“And you were no different. Always so damn clingy, so of course I got worried when you changed from one day to another and left,” he reaffirmed, looking at his surroundings with faked carelessness, “and that’s what I wanted to know, that’s the reason why I resent you all this time, but that’s on the past now.” 

“Is it? The reason I gave you was enough?” Dazai questioned, letting escape a spark of surprise that he quickly hid. “You know what I said on that night wasn’t the whole truth…” 

“I know. I’m fully aware you didn’t tell me everything, but I’m fine with what you said and that’s not what I want now. I don’t want the relationship we had either, I don’t even want you to tell me why you ignored my calls.” 

“So, then what?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuuya noticed that Atsushi was approaching them with the coffee he’d ordered. Both he and Dazai kept quiet, drifting their gazes far from the other’s, acting as if the tension caused by the conversation was nonexistent. Both smiled nonchalantly at the boy who walked away quickly, awkwardly, and apologizing for interrupting, even though they couldn’t get mad at him for doing so. They needed that break, the atmosphere around them was way too heavy. 

Sighing at the same time, their gazes wandered towards the table, refusing to look at each other. Chuuya took the cup in front of him and took a sip. Dazai remained silent, watching his surroundings, thinking of something to say. He had some ideas, so many words, scrambled in a puzzle he wasn’t able to solve in time. Chuuya took the initiative. 

“You feel it too, right?” the ginger questioned, slowly lifting his eyes from the brown liquid towards the eyes that shared the same color. “Despite everything, there’s ‘something’ between us. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s nostalgic, familiar. Even when we’re with others, do you feel as comfortable with them as you do with me?” 

No, he didn’t feel as comfortable with anyone but Chuuya, Dazai admitted to himself. 

Neither with his friends nor with anyone else did he feel as comfortable as he did with the ginger. Perhaps Oda was the one who came closer to that level of comfort, but he never quite reached it, and then it was too late for him to do so.

And yet, he still thought it was a bad idea. All of this conversation, all of the words Chuuya said. So he glanced elsewhere, refusing to respond or recognize he felt the bittersweet, yet addictive, comfort that lay between them.

“What’s the point of all of this?” he questioned, tired, a bit depressed. 

Chuuya shrugged, drinking from his cup slowly, with an attractive grace that so easily caught Dazai’s attention. 

“You know, as some say: ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’.”

“Now I’m your enemy?” Dazai questioned, letting out a sarcastic chuckle. 

“You always were, since the first day of high school when you interrupted me while I was writing poetry, since the day I found you in the crowd of my first performance,” he replied, mirroring the smile the brunette had, and then he added: “You’re who knows me best, and thought you’re an asshole and I barely put up with you, I don’t have to act as if I’m not a piece of shit too.” 

“You just want to curse at someone who doesn’t care if you do.” 

Genuinely, Chuuya laughed and shrugged. 

“Maybe, but let’s be honest, I’m the only one who puts up with you as you are.” 

“As I am?” 

“Y'know, an asshole who acts all mighty as if you had everything under control, when in reality you’re screaming on the inside not knowing what to do,” he explained, absentmindedly stirring the coffee with a silver spoon. “But I’m exactly the same. Damn, you’re not better than me, Dazai.” 

No, he was much worse, but he didn’t need to tell Chuuya that. He already knew it. 

He thought about standing up and asking for a coffee, he deemed it necessary once a headache started to form, but he didn’t have the energy to move. It was easier to let himself fall over the table, glancing at Chuuya for as long as he could. He wished for that moment to end, while also desiring that it last forever, but he knew that wasn’t the best for both of them. 

Before, he was sure they had to be far from each other, but now he wasn’t so certain. However, he’d still insist on keeping his distance, thinking that’s for the best, because he didn’t know what Chuuya wanted from him, nor what he wanted from Chuuya. 

He preferred to stay only with the memories of shared kisses, including those Chuuya didn’t remember. 

“So, what? You want the ‘friendship’ we had when we were fifteen?” Dazai asked sarcastically, trying to push away the ginger again, searching for reasons to make the other desist of whatever idea he had. “We know next to nothing about the other’s life, why insist? Isn’t it easy to just be away and ignore the familiarity we have?” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” he insisted, disregarding Dazai’s hassled expression. “If I keep my distance and forget everything that happened these last weeks, then I’d be giving you what you want, and that would be so humiliating.” 

Dazai sighed. 

“Chuuya, this doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense and I perfectly know what I’m doing.” Chuuya stood up, still with the cup in his hand and with a brownish gaze fixated on him; both annoyed and upset. “We are in the same city again and we’re going to see each other, like it or not. So, instead of ignoring each other, why not make this easier for everyone? Besides, I know how much that annoys you, and I want to annoy you.” 

He took one last sip from his coffee and left what remained in front of Dazai. The smug smile had found its way back to his face, silently telling the brunette that, although he didn’t have the answers he wanted, he got enough out of him and he deserved at least one or two sips of his drink. 

“I’m going to insist and I’ll be updated on the shitshow you call your life,” he said, leaving the money for the coffee on the table. And, before stepping out, he leaned down toward the brunette, reducing the distance that had been established between them during the talk. “So, Osamu , you can throw all the tantrums you want for as long as you want. I’m going to bother you until you get used to my presence again, and after that, you won’t even think about hanging up any of my calls.”

Chapter Text

Honestly, he hadn’t believed much of what Chuuya said that day at the cafe. 

That Friday, when the ginger left the building without saying goodbye to him but doing so to Atsushi, Dazai laughed at each word he uttered and finished drinking the cup of coffee, telling himself that, despite what the words exchanged suggested, nothing would happen. Chuuya would keep his distance, so would he, and all calls would be left unanswered. 

He kept that mindset during the weekend, repeating it like a mantra on every waking moment, almost to the point of obsession. 

When the Monday arrived, there was still no sight of the ginger. The same happened on Tuesday, which was good for him, or at least that’s what he told himself. He could focus on finishing the essay for Fukuzawa-sensei without thinking about Chuuya. 

And yet he did. 

At some point, his mind started to wander and would — against his will, might he add — think of him. Sometimes he pondered on other people as well, like his friends who, weirdly enough, had been pretty silent on those days and hadn’t proposed any sort of outing. But most of his thoughts were composed of two people: Oda, accompanied by everything he promised to the other man almost two years ago; and Chuuya, alongside the anxiety produced by recalling his words. 

“I’m going to bother you until you get used to my presence again, and after that, you won’t even think about hanging up any of my calls,” he promised, so where is Chuuya? He understood if they didn’t see each other over the weekend, but it was so much easier to encounter each other at the university, especially when you take into account the weird relationship the ginger had with Akutagawa. 

But thinking about that did nothing but bother him, he didn’t get why though, and he opted to push the topic onto the deepest parts of his mind. However, by the time Wednesday arrived, and when he finally believed all thoughts regarding Chuuya were subsiding, he saw him right outside of the building of humanities. 

There he was, comfortably sitting on one of the benches, unfazed by the cold or the gray sky that announced the arrival of the incoming snow. His body was covered by thick layers of clothing, giving him a calm and fancy aura. His hands, clad in dark gloves, held a freshly baked taiyaki that he slowly ate. That image was perfect, akin to a novel, but the hat covering his hair destroyed the narrative for Dazai. 

“What are you doing here?” he inquired, not knowing when he walked towards the other, but disregarding that little detail, scrutinizing with contempt what covered his hair. “And where did you find that ugly hat, Chuuya?” 

“It’s not ugly. My brother-in-law sent it to me from afar,” the ginger scoffed with his cheeks full, glaring straight at Dazai. 

Was he talking about Kouyou? He wondered briefly, deciding to save that information to tell Yosano later, when he had time, that the woman she liked was just playing around with her. Whatever, he was never fond of Kouyou anyway, he just knew who she was based on old pictures he saw when he was a teenager. 

“It is, it’s hideous and absolutely revolting, but who cares about that right now. What are you doing here?” 

“I told you I’d annoy you till you get used to me again,” he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That’s what a stalker would say, Chuuya, and I wanted a secret admirer, not this .”

“Drastic measures are always needed when it comes to you.”

Sure, fine, fair assessment considering everything. 

Stepping off the rocky path on which other students usually walk, he sat next to the ginger; staring at him, waiting for him to go. But Chuuya was still there, chewing off slowly, returning his gaze, with a stoic expression bordering on annoyance, not enough to make him go, which was a bit concerning. 

“How did you know I was going to be here?” Dazai questioned, anxious by the silence echoing in the vicinity. “I don’t have class in this building all the time, so what, your animal instinct told you I’d be here?”

“Who are you calling an animal, asshole,” he grunted, crumpling the paper that enveloped what was left of the taiyaki and throwing it at the brunette. When the material rebounded against his face, he easily caught it and ignored all of Dazai’s complaints, categorizing it only as a bothersome background sound. “A magician never reveals his secrets and someone sold you for a bag of candies.” 

Dazai whined, this time with frustration. 

“So it was Ranpo?” he guessed, the ginger nodded. 

“Yeah. Atsushi was done with me asking him what your last class of the day was, so he led me to that bastard,” he explained, and his expression contorted as if he was recalling a nightmare. “I never thought there could exist a bigger egocentric piece of shit than you. Aren’t you jealous someone stole your first place?”

“A pity,” he responded, and although only a moment had passed since he made himself comfortable on the bench, he stood up. “Anyway, I don’t know what you want and I don’t care, but I’m busy and I need to study. Later.” 

He walked away before Chuuya could say anything about it. When he looked back, the ginger was still in the seat, finishing his taiyaki calmly, as if he had all the time in the world to do so, as if his only worry was existing and nothing more. He didn’t even return his gaze and, although that saddened him a bit, he turned his focus forward and kept on walking. 

After taking just a couple of steps in the direction of Kyodai’s central library, he felt someone walking alongside him, and when he glanced sideways, he noticed Chuuya.  

Damn, he was really fast. 

“Don’t follow me.” 

“I’m not following you,” Chuuya answered, without looking at him or being affected by his irritated tone of voice. “I also need to study, do you think I enrolled in Kyodai because I like it and that I don’t do anything?” 

“Your faculty has its own study area.” 

“So does yours, and yet you’re walking to the central library which you don’t own, Dazai, so shut it and walk faster, it’s cold and your voice is giving me a headache.” 

“Go away if I bother you so much.” 

“You do bother me, but I know this is more annoying to you than it is to me,” he replied, grinning smugly at him. “And I enjoy your suffering.” 

Of course he did, he thought and sighed. Almost everyone liked to see him suffer, it wasn’t something new, but when Chuuya said it, he couldn’t feel truly hurt or upset. Somehow, he knew the ginger didn’t mean it, and neither did he, for that matter. They were only the usual jokes that they used to throw around back in high school; lacking malice, without any intention to hurt. It was natural. 

They quietly strolled to the central library. Even the absence of words felt comfortable. They didn’t even need to utter something when they wanted to walk faster or slower, to turn to the right or the left, or to sidestep to let someone else pass. They just did it at the same time and kept on walking, escaping from the decreasing temperature of the day, a cold that made them get near the other unconsciously in search of some kind of warmth. 

Upon arriving at the automatic doors of the library and entering the place, they let out a sigh simultaneously. Enveloped by the coziness found in the interior of the building, they did not need the warmth of the other anymore. It was then that they realized how close they were, and staring at each other with blank faces, almost showing the disgust and contempt they didn’t feel, they stepped sideways. 

Chuuya was the first to move towards an empty table. Dazai followed him without much thinking. At any rate, who was he to complain about the other finding some place for them? The library was packed; some students were studying while others were protecting themselves from the cold that increased with each passing day. Besides, the area the ginger found for them wasn’t all that bad, the literature section was near them and they had the equipment to search for information nearby, although Dazai didn’t need it, he already had everything he required for his work. 

Sitting next to each other, among other students of who knows what majors and yet to exchange any words or insults, both of them took out their laptops and notebooks. Their movements were still in synch; they opened up their laptops, turned them on, searched something on their notebooks, opened up a document, and so on, all at the same time as if they had planned it. Even if they didn’t so much as glance at each other, their actions perfectly mirrored the other, which would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so irritating. But that mimicry felt so natural that both of them chose to ignore that meaningful detail.

They followed their own routines as if it was a normal day after class; focusing on their own homework, on the topics they needed to review or write about, paying no attention to the world, but being aware as to who was sitting next to them. 

The person beside him was so familiar and an element well-known that Dazai quickly forgot the ginger was there. The deeper he delved into each line he wrote, the more he disregarded the world around him. However, this didn’t bother the man at his side. Chuuya knew that, when the brunette fixated on something, he couldn’t care less about his surroundings, about what was going on, and about the signals his body sent him of his growing fatigue.  

And he noticed it. He noticed his weariness, it was a mirror of his own, the one he insisted on hiding behind any other emotion. And it seemed to be screaming, shouting, and wishing for someone to listen and understand how mentally exhausting it was to act as if everything was fine, or as if he didn’t care nor was affected by what was wrong. But, just like him, Dazai continued scribbling, filling page after page with long paragraphs. Ignoring what his body said, what he felt, and all the tangible and real things that surrounded him.

“What you wrote sucks,” Chuuya commented, breaking his cold and solitary bubble. 

Almost half an hour had passed since they arrived there, and when Dazai looked at his side, he noticed the ginger leaning towards him, staring at one of the paragraphs on the screen. His brain finally registered what the other had said, and once he understood it, he looked at Chuuya with annoyance.

“Chuuya, do I need to remind you who’s studying literature and knows what they are writing?” 

“Then you’re wasting your time, what you wrote is dogshit.” 

“My essays are always perfect,” Dazai replied, rereading the same paragraph again and again, tempted to turn his laptop away from the azure eyes. “I’m the best of my generation, everything I write is practically flawless.” 

“Bullshit. Even a little kid could write something better. Y’know who actually knows how to write?” 

“You?” he sarcastically asked. 

“No, Ryuu,” Chuuya clarified, going back to write something for his homework. “I’ve read his essays, they’re incredible.” 

Dazai didn’t say anything in return. What was he supposed to feel after hearing something like that? He wasn’t sure and Chuuya certainly wouldn’t tell him. The ginger just disregarded him and turned his attention to his own screen. Typing away various numbers and other things that, if he had tried, Dazai would’ve understood, but he wasn’t interested.

He just wanted to know what kind of relationship Chuuya had with the guitarist. He’d seen how they interacted with each other, but not enough to categorize their closeness as something platonic or romantic. And he didn’t know why that bothered him. At some point, he got bored of pondering around the topic, but the feeling still lingered and he wanted to know. 

“Really, what’s going on between you and Akutagawa?” he questioned, to which Chuuya answered with confusion and ignorance.

“Should something be happening?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Chuuya, are you truly the ‘lover’ and you’re just waiting for Akutagawa to break up with that girl?” 

Slowly, the ginger stopped writing and turned to him; emotionless, not even offended by the question. He seemed to be analyzing the words spoken before finding something to reply. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me why, out of all the things you could’ve studied, you chose literature,” Chuuya responded. “You never really liked it, needless to say about poetry, so then, why?” 

Because Oda loved literature and he loved Oda, simple as that. And going by this logic, he thought he’d remain close to him once the other left his side, he mused to himself, and his lips closed tight, silencing the response Chuuya wanted.

His expression turned stoic and his head filled up with thoughts regarding the man he no longer had by his side. Recalling what he promised, what he had to do,he glanced at his computer again, refusing to allow the guy beside him to read him like an open book. 

“None of your business,” he muttered with an icier tone than what it was intended. 

He thought Chuuya would get mad, which would’ve been the perfect excuse to insist on keeping the distance. However, the ginger just shrugged, dismissing his response as if it wasn’t something important, something akin to a wall between them. 

“And my relationship with Ryuu is none of your business either,” he blurted out, turning off his laptop and gathering the pencils and notebooks he’d put over the table.

“What? You got mad?” Mockingly, Dazai questioned.

The ginger glared at him, but it wasn’t deep or powerful enough to make them argue till the point where both of them came out injured. Chuuya didn’t waste much time on him. He finished putting away all his stuff and slung the backpack over his shoulder. 

“No, idiot, but it’s almost six and I need to rehearse with the band,” he explained, glancing at his phone screen for a second, before putting it in one of his bags, his attention landing back on Dazai. “So your torture is done for today.” 

“Horrible service, Chuuya, it wasn’t fun and I’m saying that as a masochist.” 

“Should I be grossed out with that information? Because I’m not surprised.” He lifted his middle finger and flashed it at Dazai before leaving. “Later, asshole.” 

Even if he didn’t want to do it, Dazai followed with his gaze the image of a ginger marching off without looking back. He saw him taking out his phone and carrying it to his ear, softly talking to whoever was on the other side. The more Chuuya distanced himself, the less he could hear his voice, and the more he thought he could be the one answering his calls next time if only he unblocked his number and stopped running away. 

But thinking it was easier than doing it, and he accepted that, that afternoon in the library and the one spent at that cafe, were nothing more than two isolated instances that would hardly repeat themselves. 

It was better that way, Dazai thought, trying to convince himself of that statement. He should focus on the formulated and already-in-motion plan; continuing with his studies for a reason that no longer made sense, and just exist, try to be someone moderately decent, ignore the void he felt, and wait for something to change. 

At least he hoped Odasaku was proud of him, even if he couldn’t see all the steps he took.

When he could no longer see Chuuya, his attention returned to the laptop in front of him; the white screen was painted with a series of dark lines that merged to form a bunch of scrambled letters. He reread the whole text, and when he reached the paragraph the ginger had pointed out, he told himself that it was good, it was perfect. 

And yet, he changed. He rewrote it once, twice, thrice. And when his phone lit up, silently vibrating, showing the alarm that indicated it was almost seven thirty into the night, he read that paragraph again. He saved the document, turned off the computer, took all of his things, and exited the central library thinking that, surely, Chuuya would like what he wrote, but the ginger couldn’t read it since he doubted that afternoon would occur a third time. 

Night had fallen by the time he exited the university area. With the winter being almost there, the sun hid earlier than usual, and Dazai couldn’t decide whether he preferred the night to arrive faster or not. On one hand, he did because the darkness was more comfortable than the persistent sunlight, however, even that pleasure was forced to change to align with what Oda hoped from him. 

Thinking about the man who brought him to Kyoto and the poem he wanted to reread, he lazily walked towards the stairs connected to the train station. Before stepping on the first set of stairs, he noticed the man on one side of the entrance with his phone in hand and writing non-stop. 

“Ranpo,” he called out, easily catching the other’s attention. 

“Ah, Dazai,” he greeted, smiling with that airy grin he was more than used to by now. “Isn’t it late for kids to be outside their homes?”

“You’re older than me by just four years,” he reminded him, returning the grin and climbing up the stairs two at a time alongside the other man. “Where’s Yosano? It’s weird for you to go home without her.” 

“She’s already there, her classes finished before mine. What about you though, I haven’t seen you a lot these past two weeks. Hope you aren’t going back to your self-destructive tendencies, we’re way too busy to deal with that right now.”

“I’m not ‘going back’ to anything, what makes you say that?” Dazai questioned, walking side by side in the crowd of office workers and students. “I’ve been busy with classes.” 

Ranpo nodded, not fully trusting his words. Due to the masses that awaited the incoming train, they moved to the corner of the platform, somewhere where they wouldn’t obstruct the path. They’d wait until the multitude decreased, neither of them seemed in much of a hurry to go back to their place. 

“I’m sure I saw Tomie strolling through the Faculty of Humanities the other day. That girl was never a good influence on you,” he commented, leaning on the wall surrounding the platform with Dazai at his side. 

“The last week time I saw her was last week,” he confessed, shrugging. “Besides, who’s to say I’m not the bad influence here.” 

“Oh, you sure are, but you also met Tomie when you were at your worst. It wouldn’t be surprising if she searched for you thinking she’d find someone to repeat what happened two years ago.” 

“And offer me sex, drinks, and drugs?” Dazai said, almost as if it was something to laugh about, downplaying both his words and the other’s warnings. “It’s been two years since that, Ranpo, it won’t happen again. Tomie never had as much influence as everyone thinks, she was just an escape.”  

“Right, I forgot the only person who had — and still has —, some kind of influence over you is Oda.” Dazai visibly tensed, Ranpo paid no mind to that act. He continued talking without caring about the reaction he’d get from the brunette. “Tomie or Oda, I’m not sure who’s worst of an influence on you– Actually, I only need to look at you to know.” 

Silence engulfed them. The train arrived at the station and, slowly, the people boarded it. The transit was constant, but they remained far from the crowd, leaning against the wall, in a corner of the platform. With their eyes focused on the other, their faces a blank canvas, devoid of any emotion, a place where both empathy and contempt were absent.

The loudspeaker announced that the train doors were about to close, that all people should step far from the edge of the platform, and that they should wait patiently for the next one. When the train left, packed and a person away from overflowing, the words resurfaced. 

“What’s the point of all this?” Dazai inquired, his voice reflecting a spark of indignation. “Odasaku was also your friend, and yet, each time you talk about him is like you despise him.” 

Ranpo maintained eye contact all the time, imperturbably, thinking that maybe he had a child in front of him instead of an adult. 

“I’m bored, Dazai,” he simply replied. 

“I’m not one of your psychiatric patients, Ranpo, though I’m sure you’d like that.” His lips bent into a sweet yet poisonous smile, utterly fake, and one that, if presented to someone else, it would’ve made them shiver. “I’m not your toy, and I don’t like when you talk about him like that.”  

“Why not? The one who has you all stagnant because of a stupid promise you made is Oda.” 

No. It was his own fault, not Oda’s , Dazai thought. 

He could not become the person the other man hoped for. He couldn’t get rid of all his bad habits from the past, nor the intrusive and destructive thoughts, the itching in his wrists, the tiredness that lingered on his body all the time, and the necessity to be recognized amidst a crowd of better and less broken people around him. He couldn’t change each despicable part of him to become the kind of human Oda would love no matter how hard he tried.

He insisted on searching for Chuuya because that familiarity that existed between them, and the fact he could be himself without any restrictions, was comfortable and gave him a sense of freedom.  

It was his fault, he’s the one failing.

“It’s been two years, Dazai,” Ranpo said, pulling him out of his thoughts with more harshness than what was necessary. But he knew that if he didn’t use any harsh words, the other would never listen. “Oda is not here, accept it. Even Yosano, Kunikida, and I are already used to his absence, and we were his friends before even meeting you.”

And despite the coarse tone that carried merciless words, he looked at the other with pity. 

“You can’t keep living like this, trying to be someone you aren’t and clinging to a pointless promise.” 

“It isn’t pointless.” 

“It is,” he insisted, not knowing what buttons to push so that the other would understand. “Oda won’t come back no matter how much you change. You could become a bhikkhu and even ascend to nirvana, and he won’t return. You can’t keep living for him, making decisions based on what you think he’d want or accept as correct. I can see how tired you are.” 

It was at moments like those that he truly hated Ranpo. He hated how blunt he was, he hated that he didn’t mind shoving the truth he was well aware of, but preferred to ignore. That attitude, those words, were so like Chuuya. 

And he didn’t want to think about Chuuya. He didn’t to get his hopes up or keep failing. 

The next train to arrive at the station was empty, and both of them, without voicing their decisions, chose to get on it. Dazai was the first one to move and board it, running away like always, Ranpo thought. But, at least for that day, he decided not to tell him anything. He’d already said what he wanted and now he could only wait to see the results. 

He was tired of seeing Dazai taking each step according to what Oda would’ve wanted or done. 

Ranpo couldn’t figure out which Dazai was worse; the one he met when Oda was there with them, or the one who they had taken care of since two years ago. The former live for the attention and validation of Oda, the latter live for the wishes the other left; both thinking that if they showed their true colors, with all their flaws and immaturity, their existence would become non-important for everyone else and they’d disappoint someone who wasn’t even there anymore. 

Did they ever see the real Dazai? He wondered once more, standing next to the brunette in the interior of the wagon, looking at the window instead of the one beside him, but capturing their reflection and their emotionless expression. 

He could count on one hand the number of times Dazai let himself be vulnerable and human, always acting as if nothing affected him, as if everything was a joke to him, but he knew how fragile he could be. He’d never forget that last day at the hospital, when two years ago everything got to the point where Dazai broke down and tried to commit suicide.  

That was a difficult year, Ranpo recalled. There was some progress, but Dazai fell to the lowest point in his life, and the only person who could make him see what was truly happening made promises he couldn’t keep. 

“I can’t keep seeing you like this, I don’t want to see you like this. So at least, do it for me, get better for me. You’ll always have me by your side, and I’ll always be there for you. I promise, but please, just stop with all of this.” 

And he did, Dazai stopped almost immediately, and Oda was there for him. It was as if they were seeing life through pink-tinted glass. Sadly, it eventually shattered. It happened when Dazai realized Oda wasn’t happy being there beside him and so he began to walk away, still keeping their promise, but he ignored all of the other’s attempts to amend things between them, until it was too late. 

Calls were left unanswered, Oda was no longer in their lives, Dazai kept his part of the promise and changed, but for what? He was nothing but a meaningless and unwished existence, a waste of space, just like his parents told him. Chasing and living for someone who wasn’t there, trying to be the kind of person the other would’ve loved.

Idiot, no one would love something fake. 

It bothered him how smart and foolish Dazai could be at the same time, but it wasn’t so surprising. What he excelled in reasoning was lacking in emotional stability. That’s why he thought that singer was good for him. That guy knew the real Dazai, didn’t he? He was the only one who could make him act as he truly was. And maybe, if they were lucky, he’d show him that he didn’t need to behave in some way to be fine. 

He’d show him that all of them, even Oda, accepted him as he was: a child and teenager whom his parents hurt, someone who needed a bit of attention, a vulnerable idiot who could show a moment of weakness and fail, and someone who they were willing to listen and help if he ever needed them. 

“Why are you smiling to yourself?” Dazai questioned, looking at his reflection in the window. “It’s creepy.” 

“Just thinking how stupid people can be,” he replied, maintaining the grin on his face. “That always makes me laugh.” 

Dazai muttered to himself how bad Ranpo was, but that at the end of the day, stupid people also made him laugh. 

“By the way, I know you sold me for some candies,” Dazai commented, acting as if he’d forgotten the words exchanged just minutes prior. “You’re the worst, Ranpo.” 

The other only chuckled. 

“I like that singer, he has a strong and stubborn personality, enough to deal with you, and that’s already pretty impressive.” The train stopped upon arriving at the next station, and Ranpo walked towards the door. “He’s interesting.” 

“Chuuya? Interesting? Hardly. He’s the simplest man out there,” Dazai commented, looking at the window and not towards the man who was leaving. “I’m sure he’d be happy living a peaceful life with someone who loves him, without anyone bothering him, maybe having a dog and writing poems.” 

“Doesn’t sound too bad of a life if you ask me, and I’m sure that lifestyle would also suit you.” 

The train doors closed before Dazai could give a response. Glancing through the window, he saw the smug grin resting on Ranpo’s face, accompanied by a small wave, before turning around and getting lost in the crowd. 

Dazai kept looking at the distance till the train left the station. Thinking about the conversation, pondering on what Oda wanted, and the kind of life he could envision Chuuya having. 

He wondered if that lifestyle would do him better than the one he currently had, however, he couldn’t dare of dreaming about something like that. He didn’t deserve it.

═════════════

Maybe the god he did not believe in, or the fate that always failed him, insisted on shattering each of his ideas and plans, because the next afternoon, after his last class on Thursday, Chuuya was there, sitting on the same bench outside the building of Humanities. 

As sheltered from the cold as the day before, with the same gloves and the same ugly hat. This time he was eating a dorayaki, looking at the distance as if nothing else existed, but he always had a knack for noticing him.

Even if he was lost in thought or his surroundings, he always found him. Dazai couldn’t even take a step away from the door of the building before the blueish gaze landed on him. 

“I told you I’d annoy you till you get used to me again,” the ginger said as a greeting, approaching a vexed Dazai, who was full with an endless list of feelings he couldn’t name. “Let's go to the cafeteria where Atsushi works, I passed by the central library and it’s full. Besides, it’s going to snow and the cafe is closer to the station.” 

“What are you doing here again…?” 

“Who cares,” he replied, holding Dazai by the arm and forcing him to walk. “You look stupid standing there in the middle of the road, move your ass, let’s go.”

“You look stupid with that hat,” was his automatic response. He tried to free himself from the other's hold, but it was impossible. Chuuya was always stronger than him, and his feet — the traitors — followed the ginger without listening to any of the clear messages his brain was sending. “Let me go! I’m busy, I need to study.” 

“You can study in the cafe, I know you brought your computer. And didn’t you hear me? I told you it’s going to snow in a while.” 

“How am I supposed to hear you when you’re like 30 centimeters tall? I need an amplifier just to hear your annoying voice!” 

“Ah?!” 

He tried to resist one more time, but the more Chuuya pulled him, the more all those promises made two years back tore apart. The more he succumbed to the tiredness of acting like the good and not-broken person he wasn’t, the more he thought Ranpo was right and it didn’t make sense to cling to a promise made for someone who was no longer there.

Oda would be disappointed to see a repetition of who he was before meeting him, but, at least for one day, he’d just have to forgive him. 

Throwing meaningless insults and arguing like two kids, they walked side by side to the cafeteria. The attentive gazes that followed them didn’t matter, nor did Atsushi’s disappointed and tired gaze upon seeing them enter and listening to their bickering. 

Even from behind the counter, the albino couldn’t hear them insulting and attacking each other. He concluded that it was just a matter of time before either one of them — possibly Chuuya, Atsushi thought —, punched the other. However, when he glanced back in their direction, his mind starting to formulate a way to prevent the discussion from escalating, he noticed that all phrases were said with little to no meaning behind them and that, behind a book or a screen, both of them were smiling. 

He’d never seen Dazai with an expression pertaining to someone who’s genuinely having fun. And, although Chuuya looked annoyed, Atsushi also noticed that the bother reflected far from real. That situation, that nonsensical discussion, seemed to be something natural between them, something they made a million times and could resurface without any malice.

It was a strange scene, Atsushi thought, but it also seemed to place some pieces in a puzzle he wasn’t aware was incomplete. Chuuya was still the same guy he knew, but Dazai… looked more real? More genuine? More alive and happy? It was hard to describe, but ever since he met the brunette, he always felt as if he wasn’t seeing him wholly, as if he was never 100% sincere around him. However, there with Chuuya, studying and arguing at the same time, comfortably throwing the most obnoxious and weird phrases, getting a similar response from the other, he thought he was finally seeing the real Dazai. 

And they continued in a similar matter for the rest of the afternoon. Studying, doing their respective homework, insulting each other, teasing Atsushi when he approached them to ask for their order or to deliver it. Trying, for once, not to ask any question that would cross a line and push them into a genuine argument. 

Snow started to fall at around eight, but the interior of the building remained warm. However, Chuuya put away all his things and left over the table enough money to pay for what he had ordered, muttering that his torture was done for the day. He had to go before it started snowing even more. 

And Dazai bid him farewell with bitter words that the other easily corresponded. When Chuuya flashed him the middle finger before leaving, the brunette pretended like he wasn’t disappointed the evening had ended. Surely, that would be the last time, he thought as he stepped outside of the cafeteria half an hour later with Atsushi walking next to him towards the station. 

“It was a nice evening, wasn’t it?” Atsushi said, not able to bear Dazai’s silence for too long. “You seemed like you were having fun.” 

“Annoying Chuuya is always fun,” he simply replied. “Won’t happen again though.” 

“Why not?” he questioned, taking the brunette by his coat and pulling him away from the yellow line at the edge of the platform. “Chuuya also seemed to be having fun.” 

“Am I not such a terrible person for bothering others?”

“I mean… you also annoy Kunikida a lot, but it’s not the same?” Atsushi commented, searching for the right words to describe his thoughts, a search from which he emerged empty handed, unable to find the perfect ones. “When you bother Kunikida, you do it just to make him lose his composure for a while, for him to calm down and focus his attention on anything else besides whatever was stressing him at the moment, but he never realizes that, nor does he play along, he just walks away, thinking you’re an idiot. But Chuuya stays. He plays along, he tells you you’re an idiot and, by what I heard, all the jokes he throws at you are just as bad or worse than yours.”  

Atsushi could recall the endless string of chuckles he heard on that afternoon. He didn’t believe most of them were coming from Dazai. It was different from what he was used to, but it wasn’t ‘strange’ per se. On the contrary, it sounded more genuine, natural and relaxed. 

“Chuuya didn’t seem to care if you’re childish around him,” he commented, looking at the arriving train. “He accepts you like you are, though I heard how much he despises you, I doubt he was telling the truth.” 

He was, he was telling the truth. Despising him and accepting him weren’t mutually exclusive. Like the ginger said, both of them couldn’t give a shit if the other was the worst person in the world, they accepted the other exactly as they were. However, Oda wouldn’t do that, he thought, boarding the train alongside Atsushi, and exiting it two stations later, still thinking that Odasaku only accepted good people, so that afternoon should not happen again. 

That was the last time. It won’t repeat itself. He was sure that now Chuuya understood it was better if he kept his distance and without exchanging calls. That it wasn’t worth it to waste his time with someone who kept on living more for someone else’s wishes than his own. But the afternoon had been so fun, so comfortable, and he didn’t have to fake his laughs and grins with Chuuya. When was the last time he acted like himself without feeling the need to hold back something? He couldn’t even remember, but two years ago would be a pretty good bet, perhaps even more. 

And he wanted that day to happen again, he hoped it’d happen again, but that was a lot to ask for. And the snow kept on falling. It fell all night long and the following day, a Friday marking the beginning of December, the snow fully covering the ground that led to his faculty. 

And when his last class finished, Chuuya was there once again. Waiting for him, wearing something different than the day before. The same gloves, the same hat, and this time drinking a coffee. 

“I told you I’d annoy you till you get used to me again,” he greeted on that Friday, and the following Monday, and the next Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, all the way back to Friday.

And he didn’t care if he was being childish, petty, bold, annoying, depressive or silent. He always dragged him somewhere to spend the day, all under the excuse of studying together, whereas they rarely did that. 

Sometimes the afternoon was spent in the library of humanities, oftentimes in the one of economics, and usually in the central one. They visited the cafeteria where Atsushi worked and annoyed the albino with their bantered talks, and even ran into Akutagawa, who was there with the other boy. 

The first time that happened, the guitarist only looked at them with disappointment, asking Chuuya to talk, and after that conversation, his judgmental gaze lightened around Dazai, though it was still wary. 

Each time they entered the place where Atsushi worked, it only took five or ten minutes for Akutagawa to appear. You could find him alone, with Gin, or accompanied by Higuchi. And although he never approached them and kept away from where they were, chatting with Atsushi, his sister, or at a faraway table with his girlfriend, Dazai could swear his eyes were always focused on him. As if he was paying attention to each of his words and movements, worried and taking care of Chuuya from the distance. 

He hated that look, it made him remember he wasn’t good for Chuuya, Oda, or anyone.

But then again, the ginger easily distracted him with only one word. Sometimes a joke, maybe a quick critique, usually with his absentminded humming while doing math equations.

Little by little, he found himself wishing to hear him sing again. Anything, didn’t matter if it was one of the poems he wrote for him or the most haphazard melody. He wanted to hear him, but he settled for that humming, with those makeshift study sessions. And every time his ‘torture’ ended, Dazai thought it’d be the last, but Chuuya did promise to bother him and, unlike himself, he stayed true to his word. 

After a while, he realized their schedules were pretty similar and almost all of the ginger’s classes finished half an hour before Dazai’s; plenty of time to go buy something to eat, walk towards the Faculty of Humanities, and wait for him on that bench every afternoon. 

He sometimes had to go early because of his band’s rehearsals, sometimes they stayed together till eight at night. And after every reunion, Dazai walked home feeling a little better with himself. Less empty, less lonely, more lighter from all the effort it took to pretend that he was fine and content with his existence. 

They didn’t always study or enveloped themselves in a meaningless argument, sometimes they just walked in silence. Side by side, glancing at the snow around them, clinging to the other when the ground was way too slippery and caused them to stagger. 

“The fuck are you doing? Let go of me!” said Chuuya each time the ice below them made them slip and Dazai took a hold of him. 

“Chuuya, you basically look like a walking stick, do your job and support me!” 

And without fail, Chuuya pushed him into the thin layer of ice that covered the floor, but since he was holding him, both of them fell. 

They argued, they blamed each other for the most senseless reasons, then they laughed it off and tried to stand up. Supporting each other, sliding off, helping the other without having to utter a single word. Afterward, they continued walking, carefully, stepping on the snow and complaining about the cold. Muttering how they couldn’t wait for Christmas to arrive and forget about university for some days. But honestly, Dazai didn’t want those days to arrive. 

It was so easy to get used to Chuuya’s presence again, so much so that he began to eagerly await the afternoon. It was so easy to drown himself in similar talks and discussions to the ones he had when he was a teenager, so pleasant to fall into a moment of comfortable silence when he knew he didn’t have to say something, that he wasn’t obliged to talk non-stop and maintain a simple that barely reached his eyes. Chuuya didn’t give a shit as to what he said; be it good, bad, weird or normal. And somehow, without having to spell it out, they established some sort of limit as to what they could and couldn’t ask, waiting for the other to be ready and answer by himself. 

By that moment, with one week remaining before Christmas holidays started, Dazai had so many questions about what Chuuya’s life looked like during those four years, but he knew that, if he didn’t say anything, the ginger wouldn’t either. 

He still thought it was a bad idea to try and tell what went down since he left Yokohama, that all these afternoons shouldn’t happen. But as time passed, as Chuuya was still waiting for him on that bench, showing he didn’t feel as comfortable with others as he did with him, and that their dynamic was unique, the whole script that related what his life would become wobbled, and it began to seamlessly lean into the side that claim a rewrite was in order. 

And for the first time in a long while, the idea of rewriting everything didn’t feel like a step back. 

The snow had increased during the last few days, but it wasn’t so surprising. Trying not to fall, Dazai stepped out of the building of humanities and walked towards the comfortably sitting ginger on the same bench as always. He tried to catch Chuuya’s attention and complain, playfully, about how much of a sorrow it was to see him there again, but upon noticing that he was talking on the phone, he slowed his steps and overheard a part of the conversation. 

“You want me to go to Tokyo?” He heard him say. Even from a distance, he could see his furrowed brow. “I guess… it’s far though, and it’s not like my semester has finished yet. Why don’t you come with Kyoka? You said you’ve been meaning to come back to Kyoto. Ah, and I think Lippman is going to go visit his family during the festivities, you can always use his bedroom.”

He remained silent, listening in on what the unknown person said on the other side of the phone. Dazai kept on walking, eyes fixated on the soft expression that appeared on Chuuya’s face.

“Hey, he’s the cleanest in the apartment,” he insisted, letting out a genuine chuckle. “Alright, sure, after me, but don’t say I didn’t offer. If you want to pay for a hotel so badly, well, up to you.”

He was still quite far away, but as always, that didn’t prevent Chuuya from noticing him. He looked up and, the moment his eyes landed on him, he smiled before returning his focus to the phone, giving Dazai a weird and warm feeling in the stomach.

“I gotta go, sis, let’s talk later. Say hi to Kyoka for me.” 

“It was Kouyou?” the question was blurted out the moment the ginger hung up, and with a layering sarcasm in his tone, he added: “So she finally answers your calls.” 

“Unlike someone who hasn’t unblocked me.” 

Fuck, right. He’d gotten used to seeing Chuuya without the need of calling him that he forgot to unblock his number. 

Quickly, he took out his phone, and almost without thinking, he unblocked the number of the ginger, sending him the first nonsensical thing that came to his mind, making the other smile the moment he opened the notification. 

“Anyway, Kouyou is going to come for Christmas?” he asked, Chuuya nodded. “Oh, I never met her but I remember I hated her back then.” 

“She doesn’t like you too much either.”

“I didn’t like her first,” he childishly commented, sitting down next to the ginger. “I truly hated her for leaving you alone in that house with those beasts you called your parents.” 

“To be fair, you did the same — you also left me alone with them,” he replied, drinking nonchalantly the hot drink in his hands, disregarding the slight flash of guilt that crossed Dazai’s eyes. “But you both had your reason and I get that, though she did tell me everything, unlike others.” 

Despite the bitter words, Chuuya smiled at him, leaving Dazai confused and without time for him to ask anything else. He handed him the rest of the cappuccino he’d bought on the way and got up. 

“Anyway, since you had my phone blocked until 30 seconds ago, I came here to tell you I won’t annoy you today. There’s going to be an event on the 23 and 24 at the Falling Camellia and they’re going to pay us to play, so we have to practice.” 

The moment he heard him was the moment his mood roundly fell, but he didn’t let that show. He shrugged and took a sip out of the coffee, placing his lips in the same spot from which Chuuya sipped a moment ago.

“So what? Just go, Chuuya. It’s not like I like you so much or I wanted to spend the afternoon with you,” he answered, joking and hiding behind a carefree voice the disappointment he felt.

“I don’t like too much either, asshole, but whatever. I wanted to ask you if you want to come to the rehearsal,” he explained, crossing his arms to shield himself from the cold in the ambience, pleased with the almost indiscernible surprise in Dazai. “Atsushi will come too. Ryuu told me he asked him to take the day off to go listen to our practice and give us an objective opinion.” 

“I still don’t get why you want Atsushi’s opinion.” 

“The damn kid has perfect pitch, he catches mistakes even Ryuu overlooks,” he responded, letting out an impatient sigh and wrinkling his nose. “So, you coming or not? I could leave you here and let you die because of the cold, I’m sure that’s a win for you.” 

Dazai pretended to consider what the other proposed, even if he already had his answer and knew what he wanted to do. Under the impatient blue gaze, he took his time, scratching his chin and with eyes reflecting on something profound as if what he had in front of him was something truly important.

After a couple of seconds and a warning from Chuuya about pushing him into the snow, he replied.

“Buy me something.” 

The expression of pure indignation on Chuuya’s face made it worth it, and it also made him genuinely laugh.

“Ah? I gave you my fucking cappuccino, what else do you want?” 

“Chuuya, I’m hungry, I didn’t eat anything,” he complained, whining, hugging his own stomach and throwing his full body into the cold bench in a fetal position. “At least buy me some cookies! I’m going to die of hunger, and I don’t want that! Are you going to let me die like that? You really are mean, Chuuya, so mean. And I here I thought you cared about me…” 

His whinings saw no end, catching the attention of everyone passing by the bench, and embarrassing Chuuya for the act he was making. 

“Dammit, fine! Just shut up or I’ll leave you here,” he warned, groaning when Dazai stood up, clapping and blabbing how much he loved to have a servant who attended any and all of his whims. For his mental health, Chuuya chose to ignore him. “Let’s go already. The rehearsal is in twenty minutes and I don’t want to be late.” 

“And my food?” 

“After practice. We’ll eat ramen. Take it or leave it.” 

Dazai accepted without much complaint. Chuuya began walking without waiting for him, still embarrassed about the unwanted attention they got in a matter of seconds. Dazai followed him quickly, finishing what was left of the cappuccino and throwing the empty cup into a garbage can. 

He easily caught up to Chuuya and walked by his side, laughing at him and happily answering all the insults the other threw at him. On the course there, due to the ice over the pavement, both of them lost all balance more than once and, although they tried to cling to the other, they ended up tripping and falling. However, in between hurtful groans, some chuckles were let out, and they continued walking.

Step by step, they attempted to maintain their balance, keeping a tight hold on the other’s wrist in case either of them fell. Because if they did, they’d be damned if they didn’t take the other down with them.

The painful falls didn’t matter, it could never be enough to shut down the noise of their laughter or make them forget the fun brought by afternoons spent in the company of the other. However, the comfort, ease, and trust that lay between them and was easily recovered did not mean the same to one as it did to the other. 

Chapter Text

“You want me to what?” Atsushi questioned, taking off his headphones. The music was still playing, but the voice pertaining to the other boy was more important at that moment. 

On the other side, in front of the main door that directed them to the Faculty of Humanities, Akutagawa intercepted him after his last class of the day and before the start of his shift at the cafeteria. The guitarist talked to him almost immediately, giving Atsushi not enough time to even greet him or pause the song he was listening to. So of course he couldn’t hear him clearly, it was more than justified; and yet, Akutagawa still had the nerve to look quite mad at having to repeat his words.

“Ask for the day off,” he demanded. “And come to my rehearsal.” 

Setting aside the brief spark of emotion he felt, his lips wrinkled in dissatisfaction at the explicit demand. 

“Uhm… why?” he inquired with certain and fake distrust. “I mean, you’ve never ‘invited’ me to one of your rehearsals, and although I’ve helped you with your last songs you didn’t even thank me.” 

Akutagawa dismissed those last words without a second thought. Atsushi didn’t have enough energy to get upset over that, especially with all his energy being occupied with fighting the increasing cold. 

At any rate, when he helped him, he never expected something in exchange, not even a friendship, and much less his feelings being reciprocated. He was aware that last part was next to impossible. He just liked music — his music —, and it made him happy to spend time with him. That was enough to calm down all his illusions. 

Sighing annoyedly, Akutagawa told him about the annual event happening on the nights of the 23 and 24 of December at the Falling Camellia. The guitarist didn’t even need to tell him everything in detail. Atsushi was quick to realize that Black Ocean was invited to play on those nights. 

And he couldn’t help but get excited at the news; almost feeling as if his hands were trembling as much as the muscles in his face that wanted to form a smile and cover his amazed expression. He knew what playing on the Christmas performances at the Falling Camellia meant. Always, without fail, the first to secure an entrance to the event were music producers from various discographies all around Japan. Performing on the night of the 23 and 24 guaranteed the bands that, at the very least, they’d get a place on the radar of some record label.

And if that’s what they wanted, if that’s what Akutagawa wanted, then he’d fully support them. 

“I’m so happy for you!” he exclaimed, unable to contain himself. 

Akutagawa looked at him with surprise, startled by the emotion and the words that so easily escaped his lips. For Atsushi, it seemed as if the other didn’t know what to make out of his excitement. It was as if he wasn’t expecting it. As if performing in that event wasn’t that big of a deal or something important. 

Why wasn’t he excited? Wasn’t it an amazing opportunity for the band? He knew how much dedication Akutagawa put into each song and show, so then, why didn’t he look happy? It seemed like, at the end of it all, succeding on this didn’t matter. It wasn’t the reason why he played. 

So then, what was it? What was the thing he yearned for when he composed and played? 

“You don’t look happy…” Atsushi commented. “Don’t you want a record deal for Black Ocean?” 

“Yes, Gin and Tachihara were quite excited with the idea and the invitation,” he explained, not providing more details or speaking on behalf of himself or the other two missing members, “but not even them reacted as excited as you did.” 

Feeling exposed and embarrassed, Atsushi averted his eyes. Moving away from the library entrance, and from Akutagawa, when he noticed they were blocking the entrance and exit for other students.

“I told you I like your band and the music you make…” His volume decreased little by little at the end of the phrase. However, he raised it again when he returned his gaze to Akutagawa, almost forgetting his questions and everything he didn’t know about the other. “Anyway, I assume you want the performance to be perfect and you want me to ‘supervise’ the practice? If not that, then I don’t know why you want me to go with you.” 

It’d be nice if it was just to spend time together and get to know each other better; to see a side other than music and literature, but Atsushi knew that wouldn’t happen. At any rate, listening to him and knowing Akutagawa trusted him with this was enough. 

“You’re an idiot, but you’re more of a perfectionist with music than with your essays,” Akutagawa replied. Atsushi chose to ignore the obvious insult. “And yes, I want our performance to be perfect and you have a good ear for that. Are you coming with me or not?” 

He didn’t even need to think about it. He took out his phone and sent a text to his boss, explaining that he had something important to attend to that afternoon and couldn’t go to work. As soon as his message was sent, he received a positive response, an answer he promptly shared with the guitarist while wearing a shiny smile.  

He was excited, alright? Their relationship had improved since the day they realized they both liked music a lot and it was hard not to miss the conversations they hadn’t shared in a while. He even began to miss the insults and reviews Akutagawa did every time he saw his essays. But he understood that they didn’t have time to see each other often or talk for a bit, especially with all the exams they had to do before Christmas holidays. 

But he missed it, and he didn’t get why. Yes, he knew — and had long since accepted — that the admiration he felt for the guitarist turned into love at some point, but, so what? If you didn’t count their shared interest in music, Akutagawa still hated him, right? They still argued about authors, essays, literature, and critics. 

They weren’t friends, they didn’t get along as badly as before, and Atsushi wanted to remain close. At least he wanted to keep listening to the songs he composed, and that wish is what made him accept so easily to leave his work behind and accompany him. 

Walking side by side, they crossed the campus heading towards the west exit. It was the nearest one to the commercial area of the sector, Atsushi recalled as they moved in silence among the students and professors going back and forth; some walking slowly, others practically running, escaping from the cold or enjoying it; lost in their thoughts and feelings, or perhaps ignoring them.

And despite the silence comfortably lying in the air, there were so many questions to ask, so many things he wanted to know outside of music and literature. But the only thing he dared to ask about was pertaining that which bound them together somehow. 

“Did you already choose the songs for those days?” 

“I’m missing one,” the guitarist confessed, always looking forward and stepping on the snow with no fear of falling. “The two songs I wrote alongside Chuuya are on the list, but we’re missing the third one…” 

“Ah, that’s bad, there’s only two weeks left for the event… maybe you could add one of the old songs?” 

That idea didn’t seem to please Akutagawa so much, and Atsushi felt like a complete idiot to mention such a thing. He knew what the other was thinking: despite the old songs being good and the fact that Chuuya could easily sing any of them, even give them more expressiveness, it was not what he wanted to present. The lyrics were not perfect, they didn’t match the image of Black Ocean. 

He’d heard most of the old songs, you could almost say he’d heard all of them, even some demos the guitarist had showed him when he was in a good mood. What those songs said, and what those he wrote with Chuuya expressed, were fairly different. Some shared the same themes, especially those describing loneliness and heartbreak, but when listening and comparing them, it wasn’t the same. He could understand why Akutagawa disliked the idea of performing one of those songs at an event of that caliber, but really, what other choice did they have? 

“Maybe you can perform only those two songs,” Atsushi commented, unable to find a solution and not wanting to press any further in the matter. He sent him a smile he hoped could mend any problems between them, “and even if your time on stage is less than the others, I’m sure it’ll be amazing. It always is.” 

He turned his face away and hid his smile from Akutagawa’s attention, not noticing the way the guitarist was fully focused on him. At any rate, it’s not like he would figure out what the other was thinking, and perhaps, it could even be something he didn’t want to know. It was cold, and little by little the sky was beginning to darken, just like the eyes next to him, sharing colors with the gray-tinted sky above them. 

Akutagawa didn’t reply. They exited the campus without saying anything else. The guitarist walked in front of him, guiding him and taking him through different streets. Atsushi followed him, not upset by the silence between them. It was comfortable, he didn’t mind if the other didn’t want to talk, he accepted it, and he liked it. 

At some point, he dared to look over the other’s shoulder and noticed the phone lying in his hands; searching and reading something. Afraid of having witnessed a private message between Akutagawa and someone else — maybe his girlfriend? —, he backed away immediately. He didn’t want to see any of that, he thought, and his steps slowed in an attempt to put some more distance between them. 

However, seconds after his indiscreet glance, Akutagawa came to a halt and turned around. Upon noticing the distance, he merely arched one of his thin, almost imperceptible eyebrows and handed him the right side of a pair of red earphones.  

Not understanding, Atsushi took it, looking towards the object and then at Akutagawa. It was then that he noticed the guitarist still had his phone in his hand; the screen was lit by an audio track.

“Did you record the last songs?” he questioned, approaching the other boy and making himself comfortable on his side, the earphone now on his ear. 

“No, these are old recordings,” he explained, starting to play one of them. “I need a third song and I don’t have time to write one, help me choose.”

If only Akutagawa knew the effect those small moments when music connected them had on him, how happy it made him feel the fact that he trusted him enough when it came to music, how much he missed him on those weeks with the absence of melodies coming out of a guitar, and how much he just wanted to hold his hand while listening to the tracks… he would surely avoid all of this as if it was the plague. 

He never made himself any illusions when it came to love, and not about his closeness with Akutagawa either. He still wasn’t sure if they were something more than just acquaintances, perhaps friends, maybe nothing at all, but just for a moment, he let himself dream. 

He could focus on the song playing, on its lyrics and its melody, drowning himself in the sound of the guitar, and trying to imagine what was going through Akutagawa’s head when he composed it; what he wanted to achieve, how far he wanted to reach. He wanted to know everything and more, so much more than just music, so much more than what their favorite books and songs said. 

“So?” Akutagawa questioned when the first song ended. “I’m not convinced with this one. I know Chuuya would probably sing it perfectly, but there’s something that doesn’t fit” 

Atsushi agreed. 

“I liked the lyrics, but I don’t think the rhythm matches well with the new songs. It’s too cheerful.”  

“Mh, who knows what I was thinking when I wrote it.” 

“Something stupid, probably,” he joked, laughing when Akutagawa crashed into him on purpose.

“The only one who thinks stupid things here is you. Now shut up and listen.”

The albino chuckled before going silent. A second song began playing. They continued walking side by side, sharing earphones, passing through the people who made way for them as soon as they saw them so close to each other. Some, especially the elderly, looked at them as if there was something wrong, and others didn’t. Atsushi wondered if any of them thought they were a couple sharing music. 

He liked to imagine that that was the case. At least for that moment, he could act as if Akutagawa was his. 

The second song was also discarded, just like the third and the fourth one. They quieted down and focused on the melody; discussing it, never stopping their stroll. 

They were so fixated on the search for a third song that neither of them noticed at what point they arrived at the entrance of the place for their rehearsals. That didn’t stop them from continuing to listen to the demos and recordings that the guitarist had on his phone though. They didn’t even put a halt to their search when Akutagawa went to the receptionist to confirm his reservation in the same room they always used. They walked towards it, still connected by the red cable of the earphones, debating and giving out the reasons why they dismissed one of the songs. And when they arrived at the room, all the lights were off. 

Atsushi couldn’t help but feel relieved at being the first to arrive. At least that gave them some more time to be alone, solely accompanied by the other. He knew that soon enough, when the blonde drummer arrived, he wouldn’t be able to keep daydreaming that he was in his ideal world, a place where Akutagawa was his…

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner 

Breathing in your dust 

I wanna be your Ford Cortina 

I will never rust 

If you like your coffee hot 

Let me be your coffee pot 

You call the shots, babe 

I just wanna be yours

“Arctic Monkeys…?” Atsushi muttered when the earphones disconnected from the phone and the song resonated through the tiny speakers.

“Ah, I forgot Gin had saved that song in my playlist.” 

Akuatagawa moved to pause it, but before he could do so, Atsushi’s hand landed over his, moving the pale, slender fingers away from the screen. 

“Leave it, I like that song.” 

Akutagawa observed him for a moment without an apparent reason. That attention focused solely on him always made him nervous, especially when the other observed him so profoundly and with no emotion at all. Atsushi never knew whether the black-haired boy was going to say something, punch him, or kiss him — though he always discarded that last option. He didn’t even know if Akutagawa was interested in men, probably not, or at least that’s what he told himself. So when he observed him in that manner, he just assumed he was mentally insulting him. 

This time around, however, his thoughts were never voiced. He moved his hand away from the other’s touch and before Atsushi could feel rejected, he gave him his phone and walked away; putting the guitar’s case away and taking out his instrument, connecting it to one of the amplifiers while the song kept on playing, filling the silence of the room.

Secrets I have held in my heart 

Are harder to hide than I thought 

Maybe I just wanna be yours

Atsushi sat down in a corner, still with the phone in his hands and looking at Akutagawa tuning his guitar. The whole image in front of him; the guitarist, himself, the song in the background, it all made him feel as if he was in one of those romantic novels he seldom read, allowing himself to do so only when he wanted to dream for a bit. 

Akutagawa wasn’t looking at him, so he let himself observe him as the teenager in love he was back in high school; with an idiotic smile on his face, daydreaming, wishing for the song to tell what he dread to say and for the other to understand.

It was almost funny to think that the same person he had a crush on just by watching blurred videos and songs was the same as the one he had in front of him. It was poetic, so viciously poetic. 

Because he couldn’t have him. He couldn’t be his, even if he wanted. And god did he want it, he wished for it, he desired it so badly…

I wanna be yours 

Wanna be yours 

Wanna be yours 

Wanna be yours

“What if you do a cover?” Atsushi suggested when the song finished. Before a new one could start, he paused the track. “I know it’s not the best idea, but think about it. Choose a heartbreak song like the ones you’ve written with Chuuya and surprise the public with Black Ocean’s version.” 

“I’m going to surprise the public either way,” Akutagawa replied, pausing his guitar tuning to look at him. “But is… a decent idea.” 

“You like my idea, you’re just too prideful to accept it,” the albino teased him, standing up to return the phone before going back to the corner. “There are many songs about heartbreak, just choose one and change it.” 

He wasn't so eager about his idea, he could guess that much based on the bitter expression sitting on his face, but he still laughed about it. 

He knew Akutagawa preferred his creativity over playing anyone else’s song, but he couldn’t think of any other solution. All melodies heard on their path to the room for rehearsals were discarded, none of them were good enough. They agreed that Chuuya could sing either of those and add his own touch to it, but the feelings and emotions didn’t match up. They weren’t the same as the piercing heartbreak, sorrow, and loneliness shown in the ginger's poems. 

“Which song do you like?” Akutagawa questioned, easily pulling him out of his thoughts. 

With a surprised gaze, his eyes landed on the guitarist’s silhouette. He didn’t return the gaze, he was still looking at his guitar, but he wasn’t tuning it or playing it.

“Eh? Why are you asking me?” he bashfully questioned. “The whole band should decide that…” 

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Akutagawa averted his eyes. Atsushi caught a whimper of surprise before it escaped his throat and tried to not glance at the guitarist, but it was impossible. When would he have the chance to see Akutagawa like that? Never. And though he didn’t want to believe he was seeing things… if you asked him to describe the expression on the other’s face, he’d say it was kind of embarrassed… sheepish maybe? 

Why was he embarrassed?! God, he was having no compassion for his heart rate that day. At least, if sometime in the future he ended up developing a heart problem he would know when it started. 

“You have good music taste, it’s not the same as mine, but is… good regardless,” Akutagawa admitted with way too much effort, as if he’d never imagined that he would, eventually, give some kind of ‘compliment’ to Atsushi. But frustration and anger quickly covered those emotions, and the exasperation he was so used to seeing appeared in front of him. “Just name a damn song, Nakajima!” 

How could he name something when he could barely think? Directing his eyes towards the wood floor, he went through his mental list to try and identify the perfect song amongst the thousands he had heard in his life. However, each time a melody came forward as the ideal candidate, he remembered the lyrics and realized most were just love songs. 

Painfully cheesy, filled with idyllic promises and feelings almost no one had managed to experience in their life, sentiments only the lucky ones knew first-hand, emotions he, as so many others, desired to one day finally meet. 

Damn you Akutagawa, he wouldn’t be thinking about love songs if it wasn’t for him. And upon recalling once more that all the excitement he felt for the situation was nothing but a one-sided fantasy, the songs that filled his mind began to be drenched by the dark and hollow rain of sadness, a precipitation that soon turned into a pit of burning fire.  

“Set fire to the rain,” he muttered to himself, unsure about the song he proposed. The glare Akutagawa sent him from the other side of the room mirrored his uncertainty and confusion at his choice. Swiftly, Atsushi explained. “I know it’s technically pop-soul and it’s more fitted for a woman’s voice, but it’s a great song! Its theme is the same as the songs you’ve written, and I know Chuuya can do the high notes, maybe it won’t be identical, but it’ll be similar based on his vocal range.” 

One more time in the last hour or so, Akutagawa didn’t look so eager with his idea. Atsushi considered counting each time that expression crossed the guitarist's face, and tried to distract himself with that task, trying not to focus on the nervousness that still lingered on him, or on the anxiety the contemplative silence brought. 

Luckily, the lack of words and absence of sound didn’t last long, and Akutagawa sighed.

“I’m certain Chuuya can do it,” he commented, and he looked back to his guitar, absently touching the strings with his fingers and feeling the tension in each one. “And I know I can change it to fit with our style.” 

“So? What’s the problem?” Atsushi questioned. “If you don’t like that song it’s fine, you didn’t have to ask me in the first place-” 

“Shut up. Let me think,” he spat out, thinking whether to throw the pick at the other boy or not, choosing the latter at the last second and opting to strum the strings with it gently. “It won’t be hard to change its style, others have done so before, and the lyrics sound like the kind of thing Chuuya would write…” 

Remembering the melody and quickly recognizing the chords, Akutagawa began to play the first notes of the song. It sounded completely different and yet recognizable. Atsushi was, once again, mesmerized by the ease and expertise with which the other made the tune his. As if he had practiced it a thousand times, as if he could recognize the feelings behind the composition with only one note. 

Atsushi could easily imagine the end result; the sound merging with the other instruments, Chuuya’s voice reaching all notes with practice expertise, the guitar serving as the best accompaniment. He knew his imagination couldn’t do reality justice, the performance would certainly surpass any vision he could make up. It’d be ten times better, ten times more emotional. 

“Ah, I really wish I could go to the event and see y’all playing that song,” he absently commented, accepting the resignation that landed on his chest, “but the tickets sold out almost immediately.” 

Akutagawa stopped playing. For a moment, Atsushi thought the other was upset at being interrupted, but when he looked at him, he noticed the calmness surrounding the other. He went back to tuning the guitar, never returning the gaze nor feeling upset by his presence or the words he let out. That detail made him a bit happy, and his heart rate stumbled when the guitarist talked again. 

“They give each band an extra ticket per member,” he commented, as if it was nothing out of this world, not knowing what it evoked in Atsushi. “I’ll give you mine.” 

Did he want him there? Why? Why did he not realize what he was doing to his naive heart?

He didn’t get much of the things Akutagawa said or did, like asking him for help with his melodies, essays or giving him a ticket for the event; but really, all those gestures did nothing good to his poor and utterly helpless heart. And he couldn’t lie to himself and say that didn’t make him happy. He still wasn’t sure what he was to the other, probably just an acquaintance, maybe — hopefully — a friend, and definitely nothing romantic. But that was enough. 

Still, how long would all of that last? He was scared to be greedy with that attention, with what was happening between them. The more time he spent by his side, the more he wanted to stay. He knew that wasn’t his place and, even if he was fine with the role he was destined to play, there would come a day he’d want something more. 

He’s going to crave more. Something he couldn’t have, something he couldn’t dare to snatch away. For that moment, however, he only smiled with as much gratitude as resignation, and declined the ticket. 

“Thanks, but I’ll go back to Yokohama for Christmas. I can’t go even if I want to.” 

Akutagawa’s only response was a nod. Whether he was disappointed or not by his future absence, Atsushi wasn’t certain. His expression went back to stoic; his eyes fixated on the strings, playing another melody he already knew. And perhaps he was seeing things, but he could swear he saw a brief spark of disappointment and resignation. 

“I didn’t know you were also from that city,” he commented, carrying the brief conversation onto another path. 

And even if he wasn’t seeing him, Atsushi sent him a smile. 

“There’s a lot of things we don’t know about each other.” He shrugged, looking solely at the boy in front of him; playing the guitar with a contagious calmness. “We just talk about music or argue about my ‘horrible essays’, and lately about what’s going on with Dazai and Chuuya, but we don’t know much about each other…”

“Then we should talk more,” he said, managing to put a look of surprise on the other’s face, an expression that was quickly hidden when the grayish eyes sought his. “You have my number, right? Write an essay about your life and I’ll tell you how horrible your grammar is.” 

If Akutagawa knew how those words made him feel, how would he react? If he knew the absurd amount of things he wanted to tell him and the even bigger pile of things he wanted to ask, would he stay? He wasn’t sure. The guitarist in front of him expressed nothing but a recurring calmness that increased every time the instrument was in his hands. 

He wondered if, each time he played a tune, he had someone in mind. Not the reason behind the song, but the reason why he learned to play the guitar. 

Atsushi leaned back on the wall behind him and talked, enjoying that moment surrounded by music, but without being overshadowed by it. 

“There wouldn’t be much to tell.” 

“I imagine you were a nerd and boring child.”

The albino chuckled and nodded. 

“I was. Just a shy and boring kid who was bullied by his classmates because of his hair color. No one played with me and staying in the library always felt like solace.” He smiled to himself. ”I didn’t have friends or someone worth remembering, I doubt I can name you anyone back from the orphanage, elementary, or middle school. It’s weird to look back at those times and realize I’m no longer alone, even if I’m far from home.” 

“Orphanage…?” he repeated, bewildered, before stopping his movements with the guitar in favor of paying attention to the other boy. “Are you…?” 

Atsushi nodded. 

“I was, but I got adopted when I was six.” 

For a bit, Akutagawa didn’t know what to say. Atsushi was used to that. It was always the same, he thought. No one ever knew how to react to a detail such as that. If he remembered correctly, the only person who had answered without delay after hearing that part of his life was Dazai, but then again he only said ‘that’s good’ and changed the topic into something else. 

Akutagawa didn’t let go of the topic, neither did he look at him with the pity others offered him at some point, and he was grateful for that. 

“I always saw you as an overprotective idiot who had an easy life; a functional family with economic stability and all that,” he mentioned, and although he wasn’t expecting that answer, it made him laugh. 

“I’m sure I had it easier than others,” he replied, shrugging. “Maybe I don’t know my biological parents and that used to hurt, but it doesn’t anymore. The rest of my childhood was good, even if it wasn’t always easy to be raised by homosexual mothers, and much less with all the prejudiced people and their children who repeated all their comments.” 

Those weren’t good memories, but time had passed; the wounds had healed, and none of that hurt anymore. 

He still had bad days and sometimes he wanted to return to Yokohama. He sometimes missed being a child, not the part when he was lonely and was rejected by practically everyone else, but he did want to remember the excitement he felt when he was adopted. He probably cried, like on so many occasions, because of an overflowing happiness, an overwhelming amount of punches, or countless rejections that no longer mattered. 

Thinking about who he was and who he is now brought him a flicker of calmness that was swiftly reflected in his voice. 

“Music was always there for me, in both the good and bad days,” he explained. “Music and books, actually. Wasn’t it the same for you?” 

Akutagawa nodded. The pick brushed against the taut strings again, making them vibrate; the soft sound of the electric guitar, without the amplifier turned on, easily dissipated. 

“With the father I had, reading or listening to music was the only thing that could keep you sane while growing up.”  

“I’m sorry that was the case…”

“Why? I’m not the only person in the world who had the bad luck of being born on a sorry excuse for a family. On the contrary, I think that’s the norm,” he bitterly jocked, and the guitar played again. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, I’m far away from there. I have Gin with me, my scholarship, and the band. That’s enough.” 

That’s more than what he ever thought he would have, Atsushi guessed, and he couldn’t help but feel another wave of admiration for him. Now he knew a bit more, details as ambiguous as they were revealing, and that was enough for the moment. 

Little things, baby steps, steady ground below their feet. 

At that instant, after a long wait, the door of the room opened up. The second guitarist of the band entered, glancing sideways at Atsushi and then towards his older brother. 

“I heard my name, what were you saying about me?” she questioned, casting the second guitar aside and hugging the dark-haired boy without being pushed away, though Akutagawa still looked at her with anger. 

“That you’re an idiot and that you should arrange your own clothes.” 

“Ah, I knew I forgot to do something this morning. Thanks for reminding me, but you could’ve done it.” 

“I’m not your servant.” 

“You sure about that?” she joked, not getting a laugh out of her brother, but doing so out of the other boy, and her grayish eyes so similar to the other guitarist landed on Atsushi. “Hey, sorry for the wait, I know being alone with my brother is torture.” 

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t.” He smiled and took out his phone while he continued talking. “Besides, we weren’t waiting for that long, just… half an hour?” 

How can time pass by so quickly? He didn’t even realize it, and the surprise he felt briefly reflected on Akutagawa’s face. When their gazes found themselves, both thought the same; there was no time to voice this notion though, since the door opened once more and two more members of the band entered the room. 

And all Atsushi saw was a girl with blonde hair, observing only Akutagawa. Higuchi mumbled how much he’d missed him, she leaned in and kissed him. Not caring about the people around her nor the guitarist’s complaints because of the increasing amount of pampering, and much less about Atsushi being there. 

Seeing that kiss hurt. It hurt so much that Atsushi had to avert his eyes, looking away before knowing when it ended or who leaned away first. 

He truly wished that was him, the thought crossed his mind before feeling utterly guilty for the sentiments of jealousy and desire that clouded his head. 

“Ah, you’re here,” the bassist greeted, pulling Atsushi out of his brief and cruel daydream. 

It was only when Tachihara noticed his presence that Higuchi did the same. 

“Uhm… what is he doing here?” Higuchi questioned, hastily explaining herself when she realized how her question could be interpreted. “Not that I’m mad about it…! I just- I didn’t know he’d be here…” 

“Eh? But Akutagawa told us he’d bring him,” the bassist replied. The girl turned towards her boyfriend, a little upset and nervous. 

“You didn’t tell me you would…” 

“I did, I sent a message on the group chat so I wouldn’t have to explain it individually.” 

“Ah… I guess I didn’t see it.” 

“Yes, I supposed that would happen,” the guitarist muttered, drawing the girl into another kiss, trying to dispel that look of dissatisfaction and guilt in her. Atsushi looked elsewhere. “And I can’t believe you’re making me explain this again, but long story short, we need someone to listen and point out the mistakes we make.” 

“Is it really necessary?” the blonde questioned, glancing sideways at Atsushi. “We don’t make mistakes, we don’t need him to correct us.” 

The message was simple, she didn’t want him there. He noticed that the girl didn’t quite like him, even though he hadn’t given her a reason for that… or had he? 

Shit, did she realize it? Did she notice he was also in love with Akutagawa?

“What do you mean? It’s necessary,” Akutagawa responded, taking a step away from the blonde, taking a step towards Atsushi, pointing at him. “You made some errors in the last performance, and maybe I didn’t catch them, but Nakajima did. So whether you like it or not, he’s staying.“

“Ryuunosuke…” 

“Akutagawa, it’s fine, really. I don’t want this to be uncomfortable,” Atsushi clarified, getting up from his seat, looking straight at the dark-haired boy in front of him; trying to ease the situation, even if just a bit. “I know it’ll go well, don’t worry about the details, you’ll be good… So, I can go. I have no problem with that.” 

“No. You’ll stay,” he demanded, giving him no time to complain or contradict him. Then, his stoic gaze landed on the rest of the members. “Gin, Tachihara, don’t let this idiot go. Ichiyo, come with me.” 

The girl said nothing more, she looked down and nodded. 

“What about the rehearsal?” the bassist asked. 

“It’ll start when Chuuya arrives, he should be on his way already. We’ll go buy some drinks and snacks,” he explained, taking the hand of his girlfriend, opening the door, and looking back just to glare at the other members in the coldest way he could muster. “Then I’ll make y’all practice till your fingers are bleeding.” 

The door was closed with quite a force, not enough to produce raucous noise though. At any rate, he didn’t need to do anything else to show how annoyed he was. Atsushi couldn’t help but feel guilty about what he had caused, adding to the pile of guilt his selfish desire for that moment spent only with Akutagawa to last just a bit more.

He thought the other two members of the band would blame him for the argument, but when he turned towards them, he found Gin and Taachihara sighing simultaneously. 

“To think he looked happy when we came, now he’s going to torture us all afternoon,” the bassist lamented, walking towards his instrument, resigned to his destiny. 

Meanwhile, Gin approached the albino and placed her small hand on his shoulder. She seemed embarrassed, but it was more of a second-hand embarrassment than anything else. She didn’t blame him, didn’t think his presence had triggered the entire argument. She didn’t look at him as if he was a hindrance, someone who shouldn’t be there, near his brother during his rehearsal. 

“Sorry about that, those two… they haven’t been doing good since Chuuya joined us.” 

“What does Chuuya have to do with anything?” he asked, showing genuine confusion. 

Gin shrugged and, slowly, slid down the wall behind her and sat down, pulling the other by the hand to do the same. The act felt natural, Atsushi thought, wondering if each time Gin wanted Akutagawa to sit by her side, she took and pulled his hand in the same manner.

He couldn’t say no. He slid down with the wall pressed against his back, landing in the same spot from which, a couple of minutes before, he could see Akutagawa playing the guitar in front of him.

“My brother got really close to Chuuya, you know? Faster than with anyone else, including Higuchi, and the same happened with you,” Gin explained, letting out a sigh way too deep and tired for a sixteen-year-old girl. “I can’t blame her for being jealous about Chuuya or you, anyone would feel that way when it’s a well-known fact that my brother takes his sweet time to know and trust someone.” 

“Akutagawa didn’t trust me right away,” Atsushi clarified. “True, we just met this year but we never really got along until we realized we both had a thing for music.” 

“I know, but Higuchi doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see the biggest difference between you and Chuuya either.” 

“Which is…?”

“Chuuya doesn’t feel anything for my brother.” She stood up, searching for her guitar, but she glanced straight at the albino once again. “He’s not the one who’s a threat to their relationship.” 

Chuuya isn’t, but someone else is. Someone else, someone else…

Ah… She knew.  

═════════════

“Sorry I’m late! This happened,” Chuuya pointed to Dazai, “and I had to bring him with me.” 

When they entered the room for rehearsals, Akutagawa didn’t look so happy to see him there with Chuuya, but he didn’t say anything. However, Dazai did notice the silent conversation between the guitarist and the singer, expressing all the unspoken words with only their eyes; and whatever they were saying seemed to reach a conclusion, because the black-haired boy’s expression turned resigned, and he fixated his eyes on something else, turning his focus on the rest of the members. 

Dazai truly envied that silent exchange; typical of two people who knew each other so well words were no longer needed to understand what the other was thinking. He missed that. Chuuya always understood him in the past and he never needed to say much. To see that he now shared that ‘bond’ with someone else hurt, but he knew that he had no one but himself to blame for not having that anymore. Neither should he desire it back, he thought, but god did he want it. 

Keeping a fake smile on his face when the other members of the band turned their focus on him, he noticed the albino boy in a corner of the room; looking at him with surprise, then glancing at Chuuya, turning to Akutagawa, and back to him. 

Ah, so Chuuya decided to bring him at the last moment. Alright, didn’t matter, neither did the questions floating all around the room. 

He walked towards the excluded boy in a corner, asking why he was far from the others, even though he already had a pretty good idea as to what the answer was. He only needed to see the drummer’s behavior to know, noticing how, every time she had a chance, she kept herself close to Akutagawa.

“Oh! Atsushi!” he greeted. “So Chuuya wasn’t lying when he said you’d be here.” 

“Ah, yeah, Akutagawa asked me to watch them practice… what are you doing here?” the albino questioned, glancing at the upset expression on the main guitarist at the other side of the room. Dazai was aware of that, but it was easy to ignore; so was keeping the smile that always fooled everyone, all people except for a certain ginger.  

“Oh you know, I adopted Chuuya as my dog and I brought him here so he can bark for a while, I’ll take him out for a walk later and I’ll give him something to eat.” 

“The fuck? You’re the pet here,” the ginger clarified, approaching them and pushing the brunette with his shoulder. “I take you out on walks and I give you food, though I’m seriously beginning to consider putting you to sleep.” 

“How mean! And here I thought you liked me even a little…” 

“Ah? Isn’t dying a reward for you?” 

“So you’re saying you do like me and want to give me a reward?” he queried with a cheery tone lying on his voice while trying to hug the ginger; enjoying the frustration and annoyance shown in his face. “That does not help my daddy issues but please give me more.”

“Oh, fuck off, I’m beginning to regret all the bad decisions I took that lead me to meet you. The first one was being born.” 

“Chuuya, is he your boyfriend?” Higuchi asked, and Chuuya didn’t know whether to be grateful that question distracted him from Dazai or not. 

“He is?!” Tachihara exclaimed, and the ginger wondered why he seemed so worried about that being a possibility.

On one hand, Higuchi was hasty for an answer, wishing it was affirmative and she could finally ‘kick him off’ from her relationship. On the other hand, Tachihara seemed eager to get a negative response. As for Gin, she didn’t look all that interested in the topic. Akutagawa exchanged glances with Atsushi, easily finding each other across the room, and both of them impatiently awaited his response.

Realizing that if he didn’t remain calm, no one else would, he pushed Dazai away and denied it. 

“No, he isn’t.” 

“I’m not,” Dazai repeated. “But I was, back in high school.” 

Chuuya sent him a glare. Dazai shrugged and disregarded his expression.

“What? People always ask what we are or where we met, it’s easier to tell them the truth and say I’m your ex-boyfriend.”

“Whatever, just go sit somewhere and don’t bother me,” Chuuya instructed him with a hand gesture. 

For the first time in his life, Dazai listened to him and made himself comfortable next to Atsushi in one of the corners, still wearing that desperate grin he knew was fake; that which only sought to deceive others so they didn’t notice how much of a piece of shit he truly was, all so he could laugh at them afterwards. What an idiot, he thought, and yet he couldn’t help but laugh at his childish behavior. 

Chuuya moved towards the microphone, trying to ignore the eyes boring into his back and the expressions painted over the faces of his bandmates. Tachihara didn’t look so happy after hearing the response. From time to time, he glanced at Dazai and asked himself — almost whispering — what did Chuuya see in the brunette that led to him dating him. The ginger would’ve loved to answer that he had no idea, but he wasn’t an idiot nor was he blind. Dazai was always attractive. An imbecile? Yes. A disgrace in his life? Sure, but he was stupidly hot and the type of man that pushed him out of the fucking closet all those years ago. 

Moreover, he could hear Higuchi murmuring to Gin something about how a romance could be reborn, or whatever nonsense that Chuuya chose to ignore. Luckily for him, Akutagawa made them shut up and focus, so the rehearsal could finally begin.

And when the music started, Atsushi’s eyes immediately landed on Akutagawa, while Dazai’s focused solely on Chuuya. 

Although as a teenager he hated when Chuuya focused on something that wasn’t him, at that moment, four years later, he liked to see him lost in his own world and the words he sang. His voice was firm and clear, he fully enjoyed the effort played by his vocal chords and, at the same time, made it seem easy to hit all those high notes perfectly. Perhaps because it was always something natural to him, Dazai pondered. Just like writing poems, singing was something Chuuya did with ease, and he understood why it took him so long to realize that was the case.

Mr. Nakahara hated noise, didn’t he? He recalled how he hated all the screams that weren’t his, laughs and music included. The woman in that house always talked quietly, remaining calm despite everything and, when he first met Chuuya, he did the same. He was more silent, reserved, never singing or listening to music at full volume in his room; his only semblance of freedom fell upon the poems he wrote, and then, Dazai invaded his life. He could see the bad influence he had on him, but looking back, seeing Chuuya singing in front of him, he couldn’t regret what he did. 

He never changed him like the ginger’s parents always suggested, but instead brought out his real personality. Chuuya was always like that. With his parents, he had to restrain himself, but with Dazai, he didn’t. He felt secure and accompanied. When he was with him, locked in his bedroom playing videogames or getting to know the other’s body, he turned on the radio at full volume more as an act of rebellion than to hide their laughs or moans. 

Singing was the culmination of everything he went through, Dazai thought, listening to the same chorus he’d heard a while back; the poem he never read, the song with which he found Chuuya again. 

He felt kind of nostalgic, a little bittersweet, a tad bit excited to see where the music would end up taking Chuuya. Maybe it’d be to that place he dreamed of when he was a teenager, or to a different one, one where Dazai didn’t have a place. 

Whatever the end may be, he wanted to see it. Whether it hurt or not. 

For a moment, he got completely lost in Chuuya’s voice, but managed to hear some mistakes coming from the instruments, a muttered ‘fuck’, and the subsequent silence believing the error was noticed by no one. That was not the case. 

During the rest of the song and the whole rehearsal, he spent the time observing Chuuya and commenting with Atsushi about all the errors he noticed, adding his opinions to the suggestions the albino had and expressed each time the band stopped playing. 

It was weird yet interesting to see Akutagawa so receptive to Atsushi’s criticism and suggestions. He argued about very few of them, accepted most, and they continued to play the same two songs under the albino’s guidance. Sometimes changing the speed of the notes, removing some, and trying to pay more attention to the small details. But what never changed and remained perfect was Chuuya’s interpretation. He always showed purely all the feelings he portrayed when writing the original poem.

Listening to ‘Setsuna no Ai’ and the reflection of Chuuya’s feelings for him during his adolescence, accompanied by the pain and resentment after he left him, made him feel uncomfortable. Guilty too, but not regretful.  

Walking away was for the best at that time, and he didn’t doubt that. But now, in the present, his whole plan of staying away kept staggering. And he was still there, static, inside that rehearsal room, listening to him sing.

He so desperately needed the rest that, now that he could finally quiet down all the voices lurking in his head and focus solely on Chuuya, he could fall asleep placidly.

He wanted nothing more than to sleep.

As the minutes passed and the rehearsal continued, he leaned back against the wall, letting his head fall onto it, closing his eyes and allowing his body to relax. He let go of all his thoughts, listening to the instruments playing, but never managing to be so interesting to overshadow Chuuya’s voice. And before he realized it, the clock ticked — it was a little past eight. 

“Did you sleep well back there?” Chuuya asked with a mocking and ironic tone in his voice, yet not deep enough to be real. 

“Are you mad I fell asleep?” 

“I don’t care,” he replied, disconnecting the microphone and rolling the cable. “It’s not like I expected anything else from you, I guess you got bored of me singing the same two songs.” 

As if. He listened carefully each and every time a song repeated. He silently enjoyed the tranquility that Chuuya's singing brought him. But he would never say that aloud, it was the kind of thing better kept to himself. 

“You owe me a bowl of ramen,” he commented instead of voicing his thoughts. “I swear I’m about to die of hunger.”

“As if whatever you swear becomes real,” he scoffed, averting his gaze towards the rest of the band. “Hey! Any of you want to go eat ramen?” 

“What…? Chuuya, it’s supposed to be just us. It’s a date.” 

“Shut up, it’s not, and I’m the one paying. I’ll invite whoever I want.” 

Luckily for him, all of them declined the offer. They all had plans, everyone except Atsushi. And although the boy tried to decline the invitation, saying that he didn’t want to intrude on whatever was happening between the two of them. Chuuya made him shut, assuring him that, between himself and Dazai nothing was happening, much less what he was thinking. Dazai confirmed it, advising him to take advantage of this since the ginger was going to pay either way. 

Ignoring the small discussion that rose between those two, Atsushi’s eyes wandered through the room. Tachihara had already left. Gin was waiting for one of her friends to come pick her up. According to what he heard, the guitarist was supposed to stay at one of her friend’s place to study and give his brother a moment of ‘privacy’ with his girlfriend to do whatever they wanted. 

And that was a scenario Atsushi didn’t want to imagine. But he wasn’t an idiot or a child. He knew exactly what they would do.

“I’ll go,” he responded, averting his gaze from the couple on the other side of the room, trying to hide the envy, disillusion, and resignation he felt. “If I’m not too much bother, of course…”

“You aren’t, only Dazai is, but he’s still coming,” Chuuya clarified, disregarding the brunette’s complaints. He bid farewell to the rest of the band and walked to the exit. 

Dazai followed him, saying goodbye as if he was everyone’s closest friend and, behind him, Atsushi was apologizing for his behavior. He didn’t approach anyone though, not even Akutagawa. He just smiled as a farewell, stopping before the guitarist to mumble that he knew the show would be amazing, so he had nothing to worry about. 

It was a shame he couldn’t go see it nor assist with any more rehearsals; he’d already decided to go to Yokohama earlier than expected. He needed it. He wanted to see Akutagawa, but… he needed some solitude at the same time. 

He walked behind Dazai and Chuuya, trying not to think. He answered each time either of them looked back to talk to him, but he tried to keep his replies as brief as possible, smiling softly in an attempt to divert the other’s attention. He knew he was fooling absolutely no one, lying was never his forte, and hiding how he felt was hard. But it shouldn’t even affect him, he thought. It’s not like Akutagawa would ever know or correspond his feelings, It’s not like sharing earphones and songs meant something. It’s not like his wish of seeing him amidst the crowd in the event had some sort of romantic meaning. 

Surely, Akutagawa only wanted him there to show him that he did help. Yeah, that made more sense. Friendship? Love? There was none of that. He was the idiot drowning himself in illusions and seeing things where nothing would happen. 

When the other two asked him if he had any restaurant in mind, he mentioned the one closest to the station. It was good enough for him, and it was the closest to the university dorms. He just wanted to eat dinner and go to his room, hide under his blankets, and fall asleep without dreaming anything until tomorrow. 

At least Chuuya and Dazai were fine with his proposal, and so they went there. It was kind of empty; most of the tables were unoccupied and only a couple of people were there, probably eating and resting after a long day at work. The owner and the chef greeted them, the former pointing them to where they could sit, and little by little, the cozy and warm atmosphere in the building managed to calm down Atsushi. He even joined in the conversation between the other two, and he let himself laugh at some of Dazai’s jokes. 

However, he mostly stared in silence at the dynamic Chuuya and Dazai had. Listening to what they said, from the most childish insults to the jokes only they understood. He observed their relaxed postures, a stance that could almost completely hide the tension of things that were still untold, of secrets that they couldn’t yet confide. But all things considered, they looked comfortable. And it was always like that, Atsushi recalled. All the times he saw them from behind the counter in the cafeteria, there was always a lingering feeling of familiarity between them, and although they argued about the most nonsensical things, they always looked relaxed.

Deep inside, he wished to have something like that. Without the shared past and memories of a broken relationship, of course, but he wanted that same level of trust and familiarity they seemed to have.

Sometimes, he thought he found it with Akutagawa, but that was nothing more than just an illusion.

They still hadn’t served them their food, and the boy stood up, excusing himself to use the restroom. As soon as the albino left, with movements that reflected his total discouragement, Dazai shifted his focus on the ginger in front of him, and the senseless jokes and discussions vanished almost immediately. 

“You wanted to invite only Atsushi, right?” he asked, Chuuya nodded.  

“I think it’ll do him good to distract himself,” he explained, both arms crossed on the table and leaning over it, glancing at the small hallway of the restaurant through which the boy disappeared. “It probably wasn’t easy to see all the kisses Higuchi stole from Akutagawa every chance she got, especially knowing that right now they are probably fucking.” 

“Ah, so you know about that.” 

“He isn’t that good at hiding it, and to be fair, I wasn’t either, you could always see how much it affected me to see the guy I liked with someone else.” 

“It hurt you to see me with other people?” 

“I wasn’t talking about you,” he huffed, glaring at the brunette. “How important do you think you are? You’re not the only one I’ve liked, Dazai, it’s been four years.” 

Their ramen arrived at that moment. They quieted down and thanked the waiter for the food. Despite Atsushi and Dazai ordering the same thing, and the quantity being the exact same, the brunette still changed their plates, muttering that the one for the albino had more substance when Chuuya asked him what the hell he was doing. Chuuya chose to ignore him, it wasn’t worth it to fight for something so trivial. 

They agreed to wait for the boy to return before starting their meal and, lazily mixing around the food on his plate, Dazai began to talk as if they were never interrupted and silence hadn’t placed itself between them. 

“Whatever the case, I know how it feels.”

“Sure you do.” He got a facetious remark in response. However, Dazai remained stoic and distant. 

“Really, I get it,” he replied, fixating his gaze on the food before him, but Chuuya easily guessed he was observing some bitter memory. “Seeing who you love with someone else… it makes you want to die.” 

His empty eyes said it all and yet hid each word. Chuuya tried to read in them the secrets Dazai kept to himself, to understand where this newfound disillusion came from, because it wasn’t there the last time he saw him, back when they were eighteen. Where was this weariness coming from? Who created it? Who managed to turn Dazai into everything his parents always wanted? Someone alive with death lingering to them, who existed more for others’ sake than himself, who hid what he really wanted and acted as if he liked everything just to receive some attention and acceptance. 

He didn’t like that Dazai. It depressed him. And he wanted to both punch him and hug him; sing him until he fell soundly asleep. 

“Is there something I should know?” he cautiously asked.

“Is there something I should know, Chuuya?” Dazai returned the question, concealing his physical and mental fatigue with a playful grin. “How many people have you dated since then?” 

“Why do you care? If you want to know just to turn it into a competition and brag that you’ve been with more people than I have, then go to hell.”

“How low of an opinion do you have of me?”

“Seriously? The opinion of someone who was your only relationship that lasted more than a month. Us being together for almost three years was quite a record for you.”

“Mh, true, but I’m not like that anymore,” he clarified, setting the chopsticks aside and moving his plate away once the ingredients mixed into something unrecognizable. “I was only with one person, but that was two years ago. Besides, I’m not even sure it counted as a real ‘relationship’.” 

The eyesore that was now Dazai’s bowl of ramen was not enough to startle him as much as those words did, and before he could restrain his curiosity, he blurted out: 

“Why?” 

Dazai shrugged. “Being with someone is not necessary,” he replied, losing himself in vexed memories, as scrambled as the ingredients lying on the bowl in front of him. “I just… after that ‘relationship’ I didn’t want to force or search for anything. I don’t need to look for someone to not feel alone.”  

He always felt that way, anyway. It didn’t matter if he was with someone or not. The void was not about to be filled with someone else. 

For just a moment, Oda covered the solitude, as Chuuya did before him; but the other man, who was no longer there, taught him what it was to be alone, teaching him to accept that emptiness as the most human feeling to ever exist, an inescapable emotion he could never outrun. 

There was a bit of coziness and tranquility in that solitude, Dazai thought. He didn’t like it all the days, he didn’t always bear it, but, at least, in contrast to his seventeen-year-old self, he was no longer frightened by that loneliness. He didn’t need someone constantly by his side either, be it as a friend or as a romantic partner.

But Chuuya… Chuuya was always the exception. A weird constant in his life, someone who he thought would never stay despite the fights and breakups. He could live without him, however, he liked it more when they were together. 

“Of course, if I meet someone and like them enough, I guess I could try,” he commented, pushing away the thoughts about the ginger, despite him knowing that that was impossible with him in front. But even so, he could always act, “but I’m fine like this.” 

When he looked up from the once recognizable bowl of ramen, he was confused at the expression the ginger had. Why was he so surprised? It almost felt as if he didn’t believe his words, or he hadn’t processed them all yet. 

It took him a while, but he eventually came to his senses. However, the disbelief was still there. And what was that that he saw in his eyes? That shiny, profound, sweet in taste yet strong in savor, like a coffee with a hint of chocolate; so soft that it helped him wake up and relax. Was it pride that reflected on the endless blue? He wasn’t sure, but neither could he look away. 

“Huh, I didn’t believe it, but as it turns out you actually aren’t the same idiot as before,” Chuuya commented, opting to joke and chuckle in a calm and familiar way. 

Dazai couldn’t do much but smile at him, without the need to act offended or upset. Just plain happiness, nothing more. 

“You said it yourself. It’s been four years,” he responded, pausing to observe the gentle smile and light pride shining on those blue eyes. “Something had to change.” 

Something had changed in both of them, but they still hadn’t quite discovered it. They still weren’t sure what was hidden under the skin of the other; that which was unknown to them, something that tautened the familiarity and the comfort they had quickly regained. Simultaneously, they both thought they should give the other some space, and maybe wait it out till time came to align their lives on its own, and reaching that conclusion before Atsushi returned to the table, they decided not to speak further. 

When the albino returned and before sitting down next to Dazai, he saw the dish the brunette had destroyed and moved away his own, afraid that it would suffer the same fate. His classmate only smiled at him, with a fake innocence Atsushi didn’t believe. 

The dinner was peaceful. Chuuya and Dazai talked almost the entire time, commenting on anything and joking with each other, never forgetting about the boy with them. Always, regardless of what topic they were on, they tried to include Atsushi; asking him what he thought, teasing him and joking around. Always keeping their jokes away from his crush on a certain guitarist. 

Akutagawa’s name was not mentioned even once during the whole thing, but both Dazai and Chuuya knew that on more than one occasion, when the bicolor gaze got fuzzy and distanced itself, his thoughts wandered until they landed on him. 

And they couldn’t blame him for those small instances of desperate dissociation. They couldn’t scold him —, Dazai definitely couldn’t. 

He got it. He understood so horribly well how it felt. At least Atsushi was controlling it better than he did three years ago. He didn’t run out of the rehearsal room despite the many kisses he had to see. He still retained that gentle smile for Akutagawa, he continued to confront him, putting the admiration he felt for the guitarist first; pushing away to the deepest parts of his mind his real wishes and desires. He hid what he wanted, satisfied with only a couple of chords, a melody, a smile. 

Not like Dazai. Not like him who, from the first instance, couldn’t act like everything was okay. He couldn’t hide or put what Oda wanted over his own selfish desires. He couldn’t bear it and preferred to look for an escape, something to shut away the pain and attract the attention of everyone at the same time, but the only thing he managed was to ruin everything. And no matter how much he changed, he could never repair what finally broke two years ago. 

All the people at that table and in that place were better than him, he thought, looking at his surroundings, at the albino sitting next to him, ignoring the ginger who noticed the change in his attitude and the dark train of thoughts he easily subdued himself to. 

And Chuuya wanted to bring him back to reality, to get him out of the gloomy waters that drowned him a long time ago. Before he could do anything, however, a phone rang. It was Dazai’s. 

For a moment, when he recognized the number of whoever was calling, Chuuya could bet Dazai’s face paled. But as fast as the color drained his skin, it went back to its original shade, and the apologetic smile that fell on his lips didn’t fool him. 

“I’ma go answer this,” Dazai said, standing up immediately. “I’ll be right back.” 

Absently, eating his noodles and lost in his thoughts, Atsushi murmured a ‘sure thing’. Chuuya only nodded and glanced at the back of the brunette until he stepped out of the building. 

Sighing, resuming his meal, the ginger thought that perhaps he should make a couple of calls too. After all, he hadn’t spoken much with his brother or his brother-in-law lately. He owed them that, he thought, deciding to wait a bit before getting up and also leaving the place to make or take a call.

═════════════

It would probably snow again that night or the next morning, Dazai thought upon exiting the small restaurant, with the phone ringing again before he declined the call. He was certain the other person would call a third time, so he didn’t care to answer. 

Looking up at the sky covered by thick clouds from which snow would eventually fall, he wondered if, when he was a kid, before he was fourteen, he ever liked to see the snow. He couldn’t recall a single instance in which he enjoyed winter. The cold meant more time indoors, more time indoors meant more time trying to make his parents proud, something he never achieved. 

Nothing he ever did was good for them, never smart or bad enough for them to react in some kind of way, be it positive or negative. He was just a nuisance, something best when it was ignored. A mistake, if you may. The boy was born out of an infidelity, an event that was the shame of the Tsushima family. He was so despised they didn’t even care to give him that surname, a mere acknowledgment, a simple legal certificate. He was the shame of that godforsaken family, the reason why his parents married, the excuse used to explain why his progenitors had no right to get a part of the inheritance. 

He could understand why his father hated him, but he didn’t think he deserved that when he was a kid. He deserved it when he was a teenager; since he turned fourteen he became a fucking idiot and did everything to get a measly amount of attention, but when he was a kid? He always behaved perfectly so as to not bother him and make him feel satisfied with his ‘slip’, but it was never enough. 

It didn’t matter if he was better than his cousins or any other of those bastards his aunts and uncles begot, it didn’t matter if he was more capable or smart than them either. He was still a mistake. And each winter, every time snow fell and he couldn’t go outside, his father and mother always made sure to remind him of that fact. He wasn’t enough. They were trapped in that oppressive engagement and it was all his fault, nothing he could ever do would change the resentment they felt at his birth. 

At least he met Chuuya and could escape with him every snowy day. Playing on the snow, making snowmen, joking around, and fighting despite the cold; all the things he never did before he turned fifteen. And then he met Oda and obtained the attention and care he always wanted, he left Yokohama, not giving a shit about his parents anymore. They sometimes passed through his mind, and the absence upset him some, but he didn’t need them. He got used to the loneliness. 

And thinking about that, thinking that, at the end of the day, his parents were right for despising him and that he would never be enough for anyone, he picked up the third and last call. 

“Ango.” 

“ Dazai, ” responded the voice on the other end. “ This is the first time you reply in six months… ” 

“You only call every six months, as if making sure I’m still alive,” he joked, letting out a bitter chuckle and leaning on one side of the entrance to the restaurant; not too close to it, but not too far either. “Now you know I am, surprisingly. I’ll hang up. I was busy.” 

“ Dazai, wait… ” 

The brunette sighed. He moved the phone away from his ear for a moment, thinking of just hanging up and forgetting that call ever happened, but he wasn’t ready to go back in. He wasn’t ready to see himself reflected in Atsushi’s situation, he didn’t want to look at Chuuya and realize that his absence was what the ginger truly needed instead of his company. He wasn’t ready, not yet, and so he chose to continue this awkward call.

“Yes?” he questioned, mentally preparing himself for the answer. 

“ It’s going to be Christmas soon, ” he commented as if Dazai wasn’t aware of that. “ And it’s been a while since I saw you. A year, to be precise, when you rejected my invitation. ” 

Dazai huffed. “Are you still mad I rejected your invitation to the ‘family’ dinner on Christmas? But I sent you a gift! Besides, no one wanted me there.” 

“ Everyone wanted you there. ” 

“Don’t try to fool me, Ango, I’m not stupid. Do you think I don’t notice how you all look at me after what happened two years ago? That I don’t know what you think? No one wanted me there, everyone is better off if I’m not around.” 

“ You know that isn’t true. I don’t think that and neither does… ” the next word was never voiced, and Dazai thanked that. He didn’t want to think about that, so he felt relieved when the person on the other side of the call sighed and chose not to end that sentence. “ Anyway, forget about that. They won’t come this Christmas, okay? And I know you don’t have anyone to spend those days with so just… Come here. This time it’ll be in my house, you won’t even have to go back to Yokohama. It’ll be like old times, alright? Just us. ” 

“‘Like old times’? Stop trying to joke around, Ango, you’ve never been fun,” he spat out, squeezing the phone between his hands more than necessary, relaxing his grip when he realized the strength of his fingers. “Nothing will be like before. Besides, the trip to Tokyo is way too long. I’ll be fine.” 

“ I don’t want you to be alone, ” he insisted, and Dazai could clearly hear the hesitation in his voice; uncertainty, about to utter the wrong words. “Oda wouldn’t want that either… ”  

Hearing that name felt like a punch in the guts each time. It left him breathless and threw him into a spiral made out of sadness and pure upsetness, but if there was something he was good at, it was acting as if everything was okay and nothing was happening. 

“Why do you always try to use Oda to convince me of something?” he questioned, trying to keep his emotions at bay and hide behind the shadow of disinterest. “Next time try something else, would ya’? I’m getting tired of the same thing.” 

But sometimes, on those cold and dark nights, he couldn’t control what he felt. 

“ I do it because if it was him asking, you would do it without hesitation. ” 

He would, sadly he would. But the chances of Oda asking him that were next to impossible. 

His body shivered for a second, even though the wind was mostly still, a gentle breeze wandered the streets. He began to miss the warmth inside the establishment, the soup he had destroyed, and his conversation with Chuuya.

Chuuya…

“I got plans,” he replied after a long silence, And the memory of that afternoon, the songs he listened to and the ginger waiting for him inside the restaurant managed to cheer him up a bit. “Recently, I met this singer and I really hope I get to see him sing on Christmas. Maybe score a date and trick him into paying dinner for me.” 

Somehow, that lightened up the conversation, and Ango laughed. 

“ That does sound like a plan that would make you happy. ” 

“Happyness doesn’t exist,” he retorted back. “It just… It’ll entertain me for the night. Christmas is only enjoyable to children and, thankfully, I’m not one anymore.” 

“ You could’ve fooled me. Sometimes it seems like you’re only five. ” 

Dazai genuinely laughed for the first time since the start of that call. He didn’t regret answering as much as before, but that brief moment of laughing couldn’t last forever. 

The annual question would eventually arrive, a trembling and insecure whisper would be uttered, but Ango had to do it, didn’t he? He always insisted, even if he, better than anyone, knew what the answer would be. 

“ Are you going to come for the anniversary…? ” 

“You’re asking for too much,” Dazai murmured, almost in a soft and silent plea. “I’m still not ready for that…” 

“ I know, call me whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there with you, ” he proposed, easily empathizing despite the kilometers dividing them. “ After all, I know what it feels, and I envy you. At least he was yours for a moment. ” 

“Not in the way I wanted,” Dazai simply replied. The door of the building opened up, and a ginger man stepped out of the restaurant, finding him with ease despite the cold dark of the night. “Later, Ango, call again in a year, yes?” 

The man on the other end just laughed, and that was all. Dazai hung up and pocketed his phone before Chuuya reached his side.

“‘Ango’?” the ginger shamelessly asked. “Who was him?” 

“An old friend, I guess. I met him when I moved to Kyoto.” He shrugged, downplaying that situation, and glancing to the ginger, curious that he settled beside him. “What are you doing, Chuuya? Now you eavesdrop? That’s rude.” 

“Shut up, I’m going to make a call.” 

Since he didn’t tell Dazai to go, he stayed there. Curiously, the weather didn’t feel as cold while he observed Chuuya calling a number that was almost at the end of his contact list. 

He observed each of his movements, and was greatly surprised to see how quickly the call was answered, as well as Chuuya’s attitude when the person on the other end greeted him. 

“Hi. Yes. Shut up, I don’t want to talk with you,” he clarified, his words rough, but keeping a childish smile on his face. “Pass the phone to Arthur.” 

The other person seemed to complain a bit, but they easily complied. It took about one minute for the ginger to start talking again, and when it happened, Dazai understood absolutely nothing. The rest of the conversation developed in a perfect French he wasn’t aware the other dominated, but he only had to look at his face and the expression that formed with each word to know what emotion was lying behind everything he was saying.

A tone of appreciation remained there for most of the talk, mixed with worry, respect, and care, but the affection prevailed; just like the soft feeling of genuine gratitude that was pasted in each one of his words. The previously mentioned name, Arthur, kept repeating all throughout the talk, and with each mention his curiosity grew. So much so that, when the call ended, he couldn’t help but ask. 

“So, who’s ‘Arthur’?” 

“My brother-in-law,” Chuuya plainly explained, putting his phone in one of his pockets. “The one who sent me the hat you hate.” 

“Ah. I didn’t know Kouyou was married.” 

“Kouyou? My sister who’s lesbian?” Chuuya let out a brief laugh. “Idiot, he’s my older brother’s husband. And now that I think about it, my mother really had a knack to give birth to only homosexuals, huh…” 

Before Chuuya could get lost in the details surrounding his and his siblings' sexual orientation, Dazai took him by his shoulders and shook him violently, demanding answers that the other was willing to give on that cold night. 

“You never told me you had a brother!” 

“Oh, right, you never met him. He doesn’t live in Japan, he’s in France.” It was his turn to shrug and downplay that fact. “I didn’t know Paul existed until four years ago. He came searching for our mother to demand some kind of explanation for his abandonment, and instead, he found me. So he took me with him.” 

“And you agreed to the kidnap?” 

Chuuya shrugged again. 

“It was better to be sold to some sort of trafficker than to stay in that house. I wanted to be as far away as possible, and what better place than France? At any rate, it all went well. Did you know that bastard married some rich kid? God I’m jealous, Arthur is the best, and he’s high on money.” 

“Of course you’re only interested in the money.” 

“Who isn’t? That’s why I’m studying economics, idiot. The plan is simple, I’ll show Arthur I’m a better option than Paul, and then I’ll get them to divorce. After that, I’ll marry him and keep everything to myself.”  

They laughed, and Dazai wished to know more. Every detail, how they looked like, the kind of relationship they had which Chuuya other than family and being related by blood. Based on what he could notice during the call, it was a pretty damn good relationship. 

They seemed to be the kind of people Chuuya needed when he was a teenager; the older sibling he needed at home, protecting him and keeping him away from his parents, although he took his time to arrive, it seemed he did everything he could to repair what the others broke. Just like his brother-in-law who appeared to, in some sort of way, fill the void that Kouyou had left on Chuuya when she walked away. 

Was there someone who filled in the void Dazai left too? Did someone like that exist? He wanted to ask, but before his curiosity could take the best of him, Chuuya handed him a small piece of paper. 

“By the way…” Dazai looked at what he was giving him. An hour and date were written in a fancy font on one of the sides, and on the other was printed a logo and a name of a certain place he knew. “Here’s your ticket for the 23rd and 24th. I think you said something to your friend about ‘scoring a date with a singer and making him pay for the dinner”.”

“So you heard that…” Dazai mused, feeling a little embarrassed for no reason at all. 

“You weren’t being so discreet,” Chuuya said, looking elsewhere, “and I didn’t want to interrupt so I stayed inside and overheard everything after that.” 

He didn’t say it aloud, but Chuuya hoped he didn’t mind him knowing some details he hadn’t revealed yet. Surely, he also had his own questions about that, but he kept them to himself. Dazai did so too and, replying to the unspoken question between them, he took the ticket and pocketed it immediately, as if it was something precious. 

“I hope to see you there,” Chuuya said, smiling when he noticed he hadn’t been rejected. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dazai responded, returning the same gentle expression to the ginger, and, walking together, taking the same steps simultaneously, they headed back into the establishment, talking once again. “If Chuuya sings out of tune, I’ll make fun of you all night.” 

“Idiot, my voice is perfect.” 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” 

Chapter Text

Christmas break was so boring, it wasn’t even worth it to try and piece back together what was left of his sleep schedule after the semester destroyed it. 

It was in moments like this, when he had no responsibilities thrown at him constantly, that Dazai wished to have a good relationship with his parents, or with the people of his past for that matter. That way, he would have a reason to endure the four-hour journey from Kyoto to Yokohama and kill time over there like Atsushi was doing. 

Ah, wouldn’t that be nice? But instead, he wholeheartedly hoped his parents were still trapped in that misery of a marriage without seeing even a cent of the Tsushima inheritance; their suffering always put him in such a good mood. Besides, he did have someone from his past in Kyoto, a pity he was busy. 

Ever since vacation started, he’d barely seen Chuuya. With all this new free time they now had, and the Falling Camellia throwing their Christmas event in just a week, Akutagawa was practically enslaving them. They knew this would happen, or so Chuuya told him during a midnight call. The performance was important, and so were the rehearsals, especially now that they decided to add a new song at the last minute. When Dazai asked about that, the ginger refused to give him any details, he just told him that, at least during those days, Dazai wouldn’t get ‘tortured’ and he wouldn’t be there to annoy him until after the new year. 

So there’s that. This news did manage to lower his mood, but he didn’t let that reflect on his voice for Chuuya to notice. He just muttered that it wasn’t a fun torture to begin with, and on the other end of the line, Chuuya chuckled and reminded him that he didn’t have to cry and miss him, he had a ticket for the event and they would see each other on the 24. 

While the event was supposed to run for two nights, Black Ocean ended up listed only for the night of the 24. Few were the bands who would play on both nights and, for a second, Akutagawa was upset to know their performance would last only one night, on the other side, the rest of the members of the band were glad this was the case. 

Performing on two consecutive days put a lot of pressure on them, and the possibility of one show being better than the other in some way and the subsequent comparison between the two acts didn’t sound like something to look forward to. At any rate, Chuuya told him that the ticket was for both days, so if he wanted to go see the bands that would perform on the 23 he could, but why would he? He wanted to listen to him, the others didn’t matter, so he had to wait another day. 

It was a relief to know the day had finally arrived and he could see him. Everything was dull without Chuuya present. 

Whatever the case, he knew he shouldn’t attach himself to the ginger so much. It wasn’t right, they were no longer together so as to walk in the same direction as the other. Chuuya had his band and his own friends. So did he. And since he had nothing to do, no singer to annoy, he had to kill time and reconnect with his own group.

He was aware he’d left them aside those last few weeks. Both exams and Chuuya consumed all of his attention, but neither Ranpo, Yosano, nor Kunikida seemed mad about that. Quite the contrary, the brunette was sure his lack of communication was something those three enjoyed — even Atsushi enjoyed it too —, and if they called him or sent him a message from time to time, well, it was only because they didn’t have a good enough reason to leave him yet; because he fulfilled the role they wanted of him. 

For Ranpo, Dazai was the person he could have deep and complex talks with. For Yosano, he was the drinking buddy who could always keep up with her. For Kunikida, he was the nuisance in which he could focus all of his pent-up anger. And for Atsushi, he was the first person he met at the university, someone he learned from, and who led him towards a friend group. But if you looked further than that, he was nothing. 

He was nothing else for any of them. They never looked further than what a single glance could tell them, they never saw his real self. Dazai knew that the day they finally decided to look a little deeper, they wouldn’t hesitate to push him away, and despite him not needing them, that didn’t mean he wanted all that to happen anytime soon.

Ah, he truly missed Chuuya, he pondered, entering the cafeteria where Atsushi worked. 

Chuuya knew the worst parts of him and still reached out once more. He was such an idiot for doing that, it was wrong , but he couldn’t help it. Being near the ginger felt good, even if he made him contradict all his words and ideas, even if he knew Chuuya only wanted the comfort they once had in the past and not something they could shape now in the present.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. Not being appreciated was something he was used to since the day he was born.

“Oh, Akutagawa,” he greeted when he opened the door of the establishment and noticed the dark-haired boy in front of the counter. He approached him, disregarding the tense and uncomfortable expression the other didn’t try to hide. “Are you looking for Atsushi? Didn’t he tell you he went back to Yokohama?” 

“He did,” the guitarist replied, keeping his gaze straight on the girl preparing his order. “I’m not here for him, I came to buy something… what about you?” 

“Same thing. I’m craving a coffee right now.” 

Words died after that. They looked forward; watching the calm movements of the barista as she prepared Akutagawa’s order. Since it was around noon, it wasn’t surprising for the girl to be working alone, at any rate, he wasn’t in any rush. But, from what he could see of Akutagawa, he wanted to leave as quickly as possible due to his presence.

Glancing back at the barista, he counted the number of coffee cups she was preparing: five to be precise.  

“And Chuuya?” 

“What?” 

“Is he good?” Dazai inquired, coking his head and looking at Akutagawa with tranquil yet cold eyes. “Your rehearsal had monopolized him, I haven’t seen him in days.”

Even if Akutagawa seemed uncomfortable under his gaze, he didn’t turn elsewhere. He stood his ground, his features didn’t change, and Dazai almost wanted to applaud him for that.

“I wasn’t aware you wanted to see him that much,” the guitarist responded. Dazai just smiled emotionlessly, not confirming nor denying anything.

“Oh, don’t be jealous,” he playfully added, “Chuuya is all yours.” 

Still, he wished he could whisk him away, but he shouldn’t. He knew that when it came to how close they were, for Chuuya, Akutagawa was way above Dazai.

And that was something they both shared, he thought. Both Chuuya and Oda had other people who were more important than Dazai, not that he could blame them. He made sure to push himself to the end of that list out of his own accord. 

“I’ll be at the event anyway,” Dazai informed, smiling at the barista when she approached him, and in return, he gave her his order before talking to the guitarist next to him. “Did you know Chuuya gave me his ticket?” 

Akutagawa nodded, carefully taking the various coffees, biscuits, and bagels he’d bought for the band; they were rehearsing one last time since way too early in the morning, and most of them didn’t have the chance to eat breakfast.

“Yes, he told me. I was going to give mine to Nakajima, but he said he wouldn’t be here for Christmas. I didn’t think he would leave the next day though…” 

“He didn’t tell us either,” Dazai clarified. “I sent him a message the Saturday so he could accompany me somewhere but he was already in Yokohama. He left on Friday afternoon.” 

“He didn’t tell me anything…” 

“Should he have?” the brunette inquired, observing each possible change in the guitarist's expression. “Are you two friends? You two never seemed so close to me.” 

Hiding his thoughts in the deepest parts of his mind, Akutagawa averted his eyes and momentarily left his order on the counter, searching for his wallet. Did he forget to pay? Dazai wondered, but instead of taking out money, the dark-haired boy took out a similar paper to the one Chuuya gave him days ago. 

“It’s none of your business what me and Nakajima are,” he answered sharply. Dazai shrugged, keeping his smug and calm grin. “Do you mind if I give you my ticket? I don’t care who you bring, the more public the better.” 

“Since you’re asking so nicely, I think I know who to bring.” He took the ticket and pocketed it, never declining something free. “Tell Chuuya that I’ll see him tonight and he has to buy me a drink.” 

The grayish gaze turned angry. Akutagawa took his order and walked away from the counter, not giving one last glance to the man who tried to be close two years ago. 

“Tell him yourself. You have his number, I’m not a messenger,” he grunted, and Dazai, in front of the counter and watching him go, only laughed. 

“Man, you’re no fun!” 

His order was ready seconds after Akutagawa left. 

Ah, maybe he should’ve followed him to the rehearsal, Dazai thought when he had his coffee in between his hands. It'd be nice to listen to Chuuya singing in their practices again, but he’d already promised to go to Yosano and Ranpo’s place for an afternoon with his ‘friends’. 

As far as he knew, Kunikida had been there since ten in the morning, the exact time Yosano asked them to go to her place. Now, it was almost noon, and although Dazai initially thought of declining the invitation, he chose to leave behind his bed at the last moment. 

At least that was a good thing. He remembered the days when he couldn’t get out of bed for any damn reason and he didn’t miss that feeling. Sometimes though, some weekends or on days when classes were canceled, he could still spend all day beneath his sheets till the next day arrived; till a moment when he had a reason, a liability that pushed him to get up and go outside, came knocking at his door. 

He didn’t have a genuine reason to get up on that day. The event was at night and he had the rest of the afternoon to reread poems or ponder on what to wear. Whatever Yosano wanted to talk about, it wasn’t enough incentive for him, but he missed Chuuya and the ginger wasn’t replying to any of his texts because of the rehearsal, and he needed a distraction. If he stayed in his apartment — which was empty, Dostoyevsky was staying at his boyfriend’s until new year —, he would do nothing but sleep and scroll through his phone; awaiting a message from Chuuya, rereading the same poem, reading some random book that barely interested him. 

At any rate, he was already there. Dressed, not very fashionably, but dressed nonetheless, knocking on the door to the apartment while he finished drinking his coffee. And he only waited five seconds before the law student answered the door and observed him from head to toe with spite. 

“What happened?” Kunikida inquired, moving aside to let him in. “Why are you two hours late?” 

“I didn’t want to come,” he heartily answered, passing by the blonde and walking directly to the sofa, greeting Ranpo and sitting next to him. “Where’s Yosano? Didn’t she want to see us?” 

As if he’d summoned her with his question, Yosano stepped out of her room as soon as Dazai’s lips shut. Upon noticing the brunette was finally there, she walked to the sofa with anger showing in each step, she took one of the pillows lying there and didn’t hesitate to hit him with it. Disregarding all of Dazai’s complaints and pleadings to let him go, Kunikida’s bored gaze — too used to this situation —, or the total calmness with which Ranpo was acting, doing nothing but moving one seat to the side and continuing reading the book in his hands, ignoring the victim and aggressor next to him. 

“I wanted to see you two hours ago, asshole!” she complained, and when she got tired of attacking him, she put the pillow in its original spot and sighed. “Should’ve known you’d be late as always.”  

“I arrived at the perfect time!” Dazai excused himself, and when he could properly observe Yosano’s face, he noticed the irritation lingering in her sclera along with the reddish tone of her nose and cheeks. It was such a strange sight that he couldn’t maintain his nonchalant and relaxed attitude. “What happened?” 

Yosano sighed and let herself fall next to Ranpo. Without answering, she leaned her head on Ranpo’s shoulder, feeling how he let his own head fall over hers in silent comfort. Dazai, on the other side, kept his attention on her. His eyes wandered for just a moment to glance at Kunikida, who had all his weight supported by the side of the sofa, but he didn’t reply either. He removed his glasses, cleaned them with the cloth he always carried, and set foot into the kitchen, muttering that he would make some lunch for them.

“Bring me some wine,” Yosano requested when the other man left, and from the kitchen, she heard a clear ‘no’. She sighed again. “Jerk, I need a drink…” 

“It’s too early for that,” Ranpo commented, motionless and with the book still in his hands. 

“It’s never too early,” she returned and looked straight to Dazai. “Besides, Dazai is here now. Do you want to get drunk?” 

“Sure, though I’d be nice to know what calls for the occasion,” Dazai responded and insisted. “Why do you look as if you were crying?” 

Which was strange, he thought. He’d never seen Yosano cry. 

When it came to emotional stability, Yosano was always the one who remained untouched despite all setbacks, and seeing that expression on her was worrying. Punches didn’t make her cry, and neither did the arguments, breakups, or all the deaths she oftentimes saw at the hospital. If there was something that truly affected her, it was frustration, but not even under the guidance of that emotion did she cry in front of him once. He only knew what that emotion caused because she confessed it to him herself, and Ranpo confirmed it, on one of their many visits to bars.

Further than that, he didn’t know what could affect her so much, but he did have an idea as to who could evoke that frustration that was printed on her silhouette and was attached to her amethyst eyes. The same person who left Chuuya first despite all the poems he wrote to her.

“I guess she got bored of me,” Yosano murmured on the other side of Ranpo, and it’s been so long since he last heard that disappointed and resigned tone coming from her, that Dazai thought he’d forgotten it. “Kouyou hasn’t talked to me in weeks…” 

And frustration posed itself on her yet again, dyeing her emotions into a deep ache that she carried in her back, heavy feelings that obscured the color of her eyes and robbed them of their glow. For a moment, Dazai wondered if every time he didn’t answer Chuuya’s calls, his mood mimicked Yosano’s.

“What happened?” he questioned, this time with more interest than worry, setting aside all his thoughts regarding Chuuya, but having them present at the same time.

“Who knows, sometimes it just goes like this,” Yosano shrugged. “I thought everything was going good, we even talked with fondness and we planned to see each other on Christmas since she would probably come to Kyoto and stay here until after the new year. I thought of where to go with her, what places to visit, dates, and telling her I wanted something more formal, even if we were far from each other… I guess I shouldn’t have hoped for a lot.” 

Yosano wrapped her arms around her best friend’s torso and settled in closer to his side. From the other side, Dazai felt like Ranpo had turned into a personal comfort pillow. He wondered just how many times this had happened. His silhouette still looked rather calm, though he wasn’t reading anymore, only pretending to; the page remained the same, never changing despite the five minutes that had passed.

“Did you ask her why she didn’t reply?” Ranpo questioned. 

Dazai was sure Yosano flinched at the question and, hesitating, she responded. 

“I didn’t want to bother her,” she clarified. “You know how this works, Ranpo, people leave when you’re too…” 

“Insistent?” 

“Desperate,” she corrected. “Not that I’m desperate! I just… I rejected other girls for her.” 

“Without really seeing her?” Dazai inquired. “How many times have you seen her in person, Yosano? Once? And that was almost a year ago.” 

“Yes, yeah, I know, I’m pathetic. But you don’t get it,” she said, trying to defend herself. She left Ranpo’s side, now sitting on her own, and directing her eyes toward the empty television — a show wasn’t necessary, she could easily picture it all on her own, her memories were now a movie that kept replaying in her mind without ever coming to an end. “I know I only saw her in pictures and every time we video called, but you don’t get it. I know there was some kind of connection the first time we saw each other. It was as if we knew each other since forever, as if I could confide the worst of me in her and she would never leave…” 

He got it. It was the same way he felt with Chuuya and Oda, but he was the one who left. And just like he did, he considered telling Yosano that Kouyou was more than capable of doing it too. That the living proof of all the things she’d done and could very well repeat was just a call away. But, for some reason, he chose to shut up and continue acting as if he didn’t know the person his friend was talking about. 

He wanted to barge in while also not wanting to do it. He wanted to warn her, but he also wanted her to learn the lesson on her own. Was he a horrible friend? Yes. Besides, he was sure Yosano wouldn’t listen to whatever he said and would end up doing whatever she wanted. It was in that stubbornness and self-reliance that she and Chuuya were so similar.

“Not like I could call you pathetic anyway,” Dazai murmured, more to himself than for everyone else, but being listened to either way. “After all, it’s been two years and I’m still thinking about someone who isn’t here.” 

By that point, Yosano wasn’t the only one who felt depressed, but she didn’t try to hide it or act as if everything was alright. Anyone who glanced at Dazai would never notice the emotional turmoil that was happening in his head, the fatigue that was so deeply rooted in each of his nerves, but that was almost unnoticeable in the brownish glint of his eyes, a light change that only two people could see. One of them was practicing with their band, the other was sitting between Yosano and himself. 

“You’re both pathetic,” Ranpo said, looking straight at Dazai while he spoke. “You’re both focused on people you haven’t seen in months and refuse to notice those who want a chance with you.” 

When those words were directed straight at Dazai, the brunette perfectly knew who Ranpo was talking about. He was wrong though, more wrong than he could ever imagine. He didn’t know everything, he didn’t have the whole context, he wasn’t aware of all the pretty and bitter details to which his mind returned to with more insistence each time, and Dazai told him all this with the light chuckle he let out. 

“Whatever, what matters right now is Yosano’s feelings,” Dazai pointed out. “And what do we do with feelings? Exactly, drown them in alcohol.” 

The pure mention of alcohol was enough for the girl’s attention to shift and land on him. Even if she looked as if she had no energy to get dressed or step out of the apartment, Dazai knew her enough to know that when it came to staying at home and letting herself feel prey to any kind of depressive thought, Yosano would always prefer to go out and drown all the voices in her head with one of the oldest addictions she knew. And searching to feed on that necessity for an escape, Dazai showed her the tickets for that night’s event. 

Ranpo didn’t have to say anything, his eyes alone expressed how much he was against that idea, but he, better than anyone, knew that there was nothing he could say to change Yosano or Dazai’s plan. However, he could try to, and so he asked the brunette if he had another ticket for him. 

“Ranpo, these are very exclusive, do you have an idea of how much it cost me to get my hands on these?”

“You do know you’re stealing my best friend on Christmas Eve, right?” 

“Oh, come on, we don’t even do much,” Yosano intervened. “We always watch those old Christmas movies and eat a lot of candy, and no, I won’t watch The Grinch again, I’ve memorized the whole script by now and I’m not happy about that.”

Ranpo complained, but nothing he said made her change her mind. In the end, Yosano agreed to accompany him to the event and Dazai gave her the ticket Akutagawa gave him that noon. While Kunikida finished cooking lunch, they agreed on what time to see each other and around what time to go back, although that was always up to change depending on how many drinks they’d have. Still, both Kunikida and Ranpo asked them to return early. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back at a reasonable time,” Dazai joked, winking at Yosano and getting a pillow launched at his face in response. 

After lunch, and when Yosano looked more relaxed, Dazai decided to return to his own place to get ready. Before leaving, Ranpo insisted one last time that they return early from the event and for him to spend the night with them. He wanted to at least watch a movie together, and he didn’t care if they returned to the apartment a glass away from fainting, he wanted them there. 

Dazai conceded and left, telling Yosano that he would send her a message thirty minutes before the time they agreed on. And as he stepped down the stairs directing him to the first floor of the building, his phone rang. He didn’t even need to look to know who the notification was from, and way before reading Chuuya’s text, his lips had already morphed into a smile.

The night looked promising. Perhaps the sky was covered by a layer of clouds and would eventually snow, maybe even rain, but none of those possibilities could burn down his surroundings.

═════════════

It’d been a while since he felt so nervous. Was it because of his surroundings? Because of all the things that made him feel like this was way more professional than what he ever imagined? That night felt different from the other ones, as if it was the beginning of something he wouldn’t be able to stop; a downfall, a rise of something, a path he never dreamed of. 

Christmas decorations filled the place to the brim and somehow still managed to be discreet and sophisticated, perfectly blending with the atmosphere of the place. The public area looked different too. Since there would be a specific number of people at the event, tables and chairs filled the venue, which would otherwise be empty, settled in that way for those who preferred to watch the show standing in front of the stage. But on that night, comfort and business came first. 

There was no longer a curtain dividing the area reserved for the bands from the public. He could easily go from his assigned table to the place from where producers would observe him; although he knew that he wouldn’t approach them at any point during the night. No, he would go straight to Dazai. 

Would he be there? The brunette replied that he would when he texted him at noon and, despite him saying he was only doing it because the ticket was free, Chuuya wanted him there. And that whole notion made him feel even more nervous, even when the logical part of him was saying it was absolute nonsense. 

He hoped the feeling would vanish before the event started, which was in around three hours, Chuuya reminded himself, and he couldn’t let the idea that everything felt different go. Something would occur that night, something would change — or maybe it already did. 

The tables were still empty, people were doing soundchecks. In two more hours, the doors would open, and sixty minutes later, the first band would start performing. Black Ocean was the seventh; they’d be playing at around eleven p.m., almost midnight. 

“Chuuya,” Akutagawa called out, and it was only then that he realized the rest of the band had already stood up from their respective seats and were walking towards the small staircase that lay at the side of the stage. “Come on, we have to check the stage.” 

Chuuya immediately stood up and followed them. Akutagawa waited for him and walked by his side; going onstage and taking their respective places at the same time. At any rate, they were fairly close. As everyone expected, he — the lead singer — was right in the middle, then stood Ryuu, on his right, with Gin and Tachihara on his left, and Higuchi occupying the back. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” the singer asked, adjusting the microphone stand to a comfortable height for him. 

The rest of the band were giving some last-minute adjustments to their instruments. Plugging in his own guitar and checking the volume of the amplifier, Akutagawa returned the question without glancing at him.

“Should I be?” 

Chuuya shrugged. 

“It’s an important night, I guess,” he commented. “And we were against time when we practiced that last song. I know you’re not sure about that one, Atsushi wasn’t here to help you after all.” 

Behind him, a sudden noise resounded as an object — a drumstick — hit the ground, but both he and Akutagawa ignored the sound. However, the guitarist didn’t disregard his comment and his expression fell back onto his upset facade, combined with displeasure and a bashfulness that he completely hid. 

“I don’t need Nakajima to check on the rehearsals.” 

“But he is helpful.” 

“Boys, shut up already,” Gin demanded, signaling something to the sound engineers. “We are going to do a soundcheck.” 

They practiced for so many hours and those three songs went by so fast, but all the effort they put into each of the rehearsals was for those nine minutes, bordering on ten, to be executed flawlessly that night. 

They did well during the soundcheck, Chuuya pondered. Everything was perfect; his voice, the instruments, everything , he had no reason to feel nervous, and maybe he wasn’t nervous at all, he thought. If his heart rate was going miles per hour and his throat was practically dry, it was because of the effort he put into each song. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Nothing bad was going on, he just needed to calm his imperious need for some water. And with that desire clouding his mind, he didn’t stay for too long to listen to the sound engineers or the other bands’ opinions; he quickly stepped down from the stage one more time. 

It’d be a great night. That uneasiness could fuck off, it meant absolutely nothing. 

═════════════

The bar looked pretty adequate and the seats her associate got for them were in a good location; not too close to the stage, but not too far either. She could spot Chuuya perfectly from her seat, and she was sure he would find her with ease. 

She wanted to surprise him. She didn’t tell her younger brother that she would arrive before December 26 to Kyoto, and she didn’t mention anything about going to his show. 

The trip from Tokyo was not an easy one, and it got even more complicated during those days, but Kouyou managed to free herself from work until the new year, and the prior afternoon, she took the train to Kyoto. It wasn’t in her plans to not tell Chuuya that she was already in the city, but when one of her coworkers found out that she would stay there till January, he invited her to the event in which he knew her younger brother would be, and so she chose to keep quiet until the night of the 24. 

Getting a babysitter at the last minute was impossible. Fortunately though, she secretly managed to get in touch with Chuuya’s roommates, who would stay at their place since they didn’t get tickets for the event, and they agreed to look after Kyoka. She thanked any god out there that her daughter was on the quiet side and could keep the secret when Chuuya called them that afternoon, although she still had to promise to buy her another plushie for her to keep her mouth shut. 

If we ignore the stress she went through trying to find a hotel room and someone to take care of her daughter for the night, everything was going fine. When she arrived at the venue with her coworker, the place was already full, though there were still some empty tables around there. They arrived almost thirty minutes before the bands started to play. They got comfortable on their seats and got themselves some light drinks to start the night; chatting about work and their personal lives. 

While she talked, her eyes wandered in search of Chuuya, and despite the venue being even more full and the fact that not all people were sitting in their respective places, she still caught a glimpse of that orange tone of hair that was so similar to her mother’s. And she didn’t want to think of her, nor the massive kinship her older and younger brother shared with her, or all the things she herself shared with her father, but she couldn’t help it, that specific night made her nostalgic for some reason. 

“Are you alright, Ozaki?” her associate asked, following her eyes and noticing Chuuya in between the crowd. “Is that your brother?” 

Koutoy nodded and, seeing Chuuya laughing in the distance, she averted her gaze and focused it on the elegant flower arrangement at the center of the table. 

“I’m quite excited,” she confessed, wanting to take one of the camellias in the arrangement, but going against it at the last moment. “I feel like this is an important moment for him, and I’m glad I can witness it.” 

And deep inside, she hoped her presence could settle part of her absence in the adolescence of the other. She knew Chuuya would never forget those times, even if he said he did, and she would never forgive herself for all the decisions and actions that, despite everything, she couldn’t regret. All she could do was try to make him understand that she had to be selfish in the past, that that didn’t mean she didn’t love him, and that she would never fail him again. 

They weren’t children anymore, they were no longer in Yokohama or under the same roof as their abusive parents; they didn’t need each other like before and, although a part of their relationship would remain broken forever, Kouyou liked to believe that knowing that the other ginger was fine and was building his own life was enough for her. 

But, for how long? She knew she failed him and she had no right to demand anything from him, but a part of her, that little girl that always took care of him until she no longer could, was jealous of the place Paul and, especially Arthur, had on Chuuya’s life. 

She wouldn’t tell him that though, just like all the other things she preferred to keep quiet about in front of everyone else. Her mouth would remain closed until the day rain turns into fire. 

The last people entered the venue. They talked amongst themselves as they were guided to their seats by the waiters and workers. Just like every time someone new joined the place, all eyes fell upon them, even if few were genuinely paying attention. Kouyou was one of those few. 

She noticed a tall man with dark hair, walking towards a table away from hers along with a woman from which she could only see part of her red dress and the glow of a plain, yet elegant, butterfly hairpin. That ornament was familiar to her and, even if she wanted to see the face of the woman, her attention focused on the man. 

She was certain she knew him. Perhaps not in person, but through photos or a sad story she couldn’t quite remember. 

She continued observing the man and his companion till they settled at their table. The woman, whose dark and short hair was eerily familiar, was sitting with her back facing her, the brunette across from her. Kouyou could now see his face in detail, and the frustration at not being able to figure out from where she knew him increased, but the lights around her turned off and the music was about to start. She forced herself to look ahead, even if she was uninterested in bands other than the one her brother sang in. 

Throughout the performances, she exchanged words with her coworker, sparing some minutes from time to time to message Kyoka and ask if everything was alright, occasionally glancing at the table so far from hers. They didn’t seem interested in the presentations either; they were talking and trying the new drinks described on the menu. From afar, she noticed the man laughing and his eyes wandering around the venue, as if searching for someone important to him, but with the crowd and the darkness engulfing the area, he couldn’t find what he wanted. 

However, when the sixth band finished and the seventh went onstage, even from a distance, Kouyou could perceive how his mood brightened up. And when she directed her attention to the stage, she saw Chuuya standing behind the microphone. 

And the ginger noticed her. Even if he could conceal his shock, Kouyou noticed it, and she did nothing but send him a smile that Chuuya returned. Then, her brother looked around the place, and the smile that stirred from seeing her grew more; excitement and glee loitering in it. She tried to find the person his brother was looking at, and by following the path of blue eyes she landed on the same man she noticed entering. 

And he returned the smile. He tried to keep a tranquil expression, to cloak his excitement, but when the band started playing and Chuuya sang, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Spellbound, he focused on Chuuya, harking every word and intonation.

Who was he? How did Chuuya know him? He looked so familiar, but she couldn’t quite figure out where she saw him…

The music and her brother’s voice compelled her to divert her attention from the other man and focus it on him. Even if it wasn’t one of her favorite genres or something she would normally listen to, opting for something slower and with other instruments, she couldn’t deny that Chuuya’s voice fitted right with the song. He looked so different from the boy she grew up with, a boy who wrote poetry to convey everything his childhood home never let him express. 

How many poems did he write after she left? Who was this song for? A song that, she was sure, was meant to be read in silence and not for the world to hear. 

Why did the man at the other table seem so influenced when he heard him sing? He never stopped staring at Chuuya and, wherever the ginger’s silhouette moved to on the stage, dark irises were sure to follow; acting with disinterest when their eyes met, smiling to himself when no one saw him. 

That broad smile on him looked so comfortable and relaxed. And Kouyou had yet to remember from where she knew him, but the more time passed, the more she felt like she recognized him from a forlorn tale. 

When the second song ended, applauds echoed through the establishment. Kouyou just smiled with pride when Chuuya gazed at her. Nevertheless, his eyes didn’t stay at her table for too long; he kept looking into the distance, easily finding the person he wanted there more than anyone else.

“Thanks for the attention and all the cheers,” the bassist said, looking at the public and his teammates. “For our last song, here you have a new version of Set fire to the rain.”

Applauds echoed once more. Lights dimmed to submerge the place into a state of profound darkness. Then, calling out on its own, a lonely voice rose, filling the place with a subtle melancholic mood. The instruments remained silent, the lights reappeared slowly, and those of soft lighting, mostly colored blue, landed on Chuuya. 

By the end of the first stanza, the instruments began to play at the same tempo as the original song. The lead guitarist, strumming through gentle notes, played as close as he could get to an acoustic guitar, copying the first notes until, bit by bit, the rhythm abandoned the pop-soul genre and shifted into rock. 

The drums resounded, establishing the base tempo; the guitarist and bassist joined in the style, maintaining the rhythm of the melody and flawlessly blending with the voice that repeated the initial verse a second time, adding a newfound force to the song.

I let it fall, my heart

And as it fell, you rose to claim it

It was dark and I was over

Until you kissed my lips and you saved me  

The people in the adjacent and far-from-the-stage tables started to cheer, but the bustling was hardly enough to overshadow the sound that enveloped the place, reaching each and every corner. Even if the style was still not something she would usually listen to, Kouyou couldn’t look away, awestruck at the version of the song that was playing in front of her.  

Just like the other listeners, Kouyou wanted to take out her phone and record; maybe save the moment for herself or send it to Paul. But just like the man with dark hair on the other table, she could only stare at Chuuya, delighted by the music.

My hands, they’re strong

But my knees were far too weak

To stand in your arms

Without falling to your feet  

It was then that, averting her focus to find out if the other man was still lost in the image of Chuuya, almost figuring out where she recognized him from, her eyes crossed with amethyst ones, irises that were observing her from that same table and that she recognized as if with practiced ease. 

Yosano…

But there’s a side to you

That I never knew, never knew

All the things you’d say

They were never true, never true

And the games you play

You would always win, always win

“Ozaki?” her coworker called her, confused when he saw her standing up. 

Kouyou maintained a serene smile, looking to shut down any question the man could have. 

“I’ll go to the counter, I have a complaint about my drink,” she lied and walked away, glancing at Chuuya one last time, catching the fact that the brunette accompanying Yosano was still observing her brother, and the woman with short hair was no longer there. “It won’t take me long.” 

Before getting a response, she turned away without looking back. Not noticing Chuuya’s eyes falling over her leaving form, but being so used to Kouyou leaving him behind, the ginger carried on singing with a tad bit more expressiveness and strength.

But I set fire to the rain

Watched it pour as I touched your face

Well, it burned while I cried

‘Cause I heard it screaming out your name

Your name

Despite most of the public still focused on the stage, few were not the people who’d stood up from their seats after the sixth band. And, as expected, most of them were gathered in front of the bar counter, completely disregarding the empty seats; always standing, with drinks in hand, listening to the music in silence or humming to themselves in a conscious state or halfway to drunkenness. 

Blending with them, Kouyou moved forward until her forearms hit the wood counter. She politely smiled at the bartender and muttered the name of a drink on the menu. The man returned the smile and asked the woman standing next to her for her order, but she murmured that she was still thinking about what to order. 

The song at their backs continued, their surroundings were mostly in silence, putting all their attention on the melody, but this was not enough to overshadow Yosano’s bitter words.

When I lay with you

I could stay there

Close my eyes

Feel you here forever

You and me together, nothing gets better

‘Cause there’s a side to you

That I never knew, never knew

All the things you’d say

They were never true, never true

And the games you’d play

You would always win, always win

“It would’ve been nice to know I’d see you here after so long,” Yosano muttered. “Or at least you should’ve told me you didn’t want to talk with me anymore.” 

Kouyou accepted the liquor given to her with the same polite smile. Giving it a sip, she kept her eyes on the reddish liquid inside of the glass; the lights were still soft, most were focused on the stage, and yet, amidst the darkness, she could still see her own reflection.

And upon leaving the glass on the counter, the reflection grew and allowed her to see Yosano’s silhouette next to her. She looked gorgeous that night in her long, red dress that opened from the middle of her right thigh, but she refused to be distracted by that detail. 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to talk with you, I was busy” she partially lied.  

She was so busy she forgot to check her phone, but she knew if she confessed that there were more important things than replying to messages and answering calls from someone she only saw once, Yosano would only feel worse. 

She admitted that she liked their conversations and that, at some point, they turned into a fundamental part of her daily routine, becoming an instant when she could forget everything about all the work she had to get done, but it wasn’t so easy.

She was only a distraction, a plea for something she wished would happen, but that mustn't occur.  

“You could’ve said that,” Yosano insisted, and Kouyou knew she was right. 

Sometimes I wake up by the door

That heart you caught must be waiting for you

Even now, when we’re already over

I can't help myself from looking for you

“It would’ve also been nice if you told me you didn’t want anything serious with me,” Yosano mentioned, and Kouyou should’ve known that recrimination would be thrown at her sooner rather than later. “Or did you want it?” 

She wanted it, since the day they met each other at the Heian temple and searched for Chuuya and her friend together, she wanted to know more about her. 

For some time, she resigned herself to the idea that Yosano was the kind of person who you would only see once in your entire life, yet would linger on your mind for the rest of your existence as someone who you would’ve liked to know more about. When she got her message on the Instagram account she used only for work, she almost thought it was too perfect to be real. 

But it was. It was real and for the initial weeks, it was like her own little personal fairytale. She thought that at some point, being the kind of person she was — busy, a single mother, more worried about work than any other thing —, Yosano would get tired of talking with her. That certainly didn’t happen. The other woman continued all her talks and made her feel like she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

She awaited her messages and calls with great excitement. She wanted to see her. The photos and videos weren’t enough. She wanted to take the first train to Kyoto and see her each time they started flirting and talking about the idyllic dates they planned for pure fun. 

But it wasn’t so simple. Her life in general wasn’t so easy. So at that moment, much like before, she chose to remain quiet and let the other woman direct all the pent-up anger and pain that reflected in her eyes with ease, at her. 

I set fire to the rain

Watched it pour as I touched your face

Well, it burned while I cried

‘Cause I heard it screaming out your name

Your name

I set fire to the rain

And I threw us into the flames

When it fell, something died

‘Cause I knew that that was the last time

The last time

Frustrated by the lack of words from the redhead next to her, Yosano had to suppress the impulse to throw her fist against the counter to catch her attention. She thought about taking the glass in her hands, speaking forcefully and louder than the voice behind her. But when she talked, when she found the words that were missing, she could only whisper. 

“Just tell me if you wanted it or not,” she requested, almost pleading, and let the frailness and desolation show in every inch of her face; desperate for an answer that would counter all the thoughts going around in her head. “Was I just a game for you? Some kind of distraction? Kouyou…” 

Kouyou looked up and, at last, observed her in the eyes. It wasn’t the way Yosano wanted to be observed, and definitely not the feelings she hoped to find in her. There was a smile she wasn’t sure how to interpret. Was it disinterest? Pity? An apology? 

She hated it. She wanted none of that. She wanted something different. She wanted Kouyou to apologize and tell her that it was just the initial fear of starting a formal relationship. For her to reassure her that she would give everything she had for whatever they had to work despite the distance between the two cities and the busy schedule of classes and work. She wanted to hear her say she felt the same; that she knew she was the one she always wanted even if, for so long, they only talked through messages and videocalls in the early hours of the morning. 

A pity that’s not what she got. 

“I think you that better than me, Akiko.” 

Oh, oh, no

Let it burn

Oh, oh

Let it burn

Let it burn

“Yes, I think I know,” she murmured and, looking down, she walked away from the counter. “I guess I know.” 

If Koyou followed her with her eyes or not, she didn’t know. 

As applauds and cheers resounded through the whole place after the song reached its end, Yosano returned to her table and, when she looked back towards the bar counter, she couldn’t find Kouyou. She left once she had the opportunity, leaving her behind. 

Idiot, she told herself. Idiot, of course she wouldn’t go after you. You’re not that important, just another girl. 

Upon returning to her table, after the seventh band had gotten downstage, she noticed Dazai playing with the flower arrangement; taking out a camellia from the ornament and putting it inside the front pocket of his dark shirt. The red of the flower contrasted with the dark blue of the fabric, but it didn’t look bad, Yosano thought, searching to distract herself from the prior encounter with anything. 

“Stop ruining the place,” she scolded, sitting back down and signaling one of the waiters to order another drink. 

The waiter said nothing to Dazai for his blatant vandalism and, even if he had, the brunette was fine with only taking that one camellia. He asked for another glass of whisky from the worker and, when said worker left, he returned his attention to the woman in front of him.

“What were you doing at the bar?” 

“You know what I was doing,” Yosano sighed, almost wanting to drop herself over the table. “Don’t play dumb, I know you saw everything from here when you weren’t so busy drooling for that singer.” 

“I don’t ‘drool’.”

“Sure you don’t.”  

The waiter returned to the table faster than expected, but prompt service was always something nice. Dazai immediately brought the liquor glass to his lips, savoring the bitter taste and letting out a deep groan at the burning sensation that settled in his throat from the first sip. Across from him, Yosano did the same. She brought the glass to her lips and sniffed the liquid; the aroma was good, she liked it and imagined the taste it would leave on her palate, but she couldn’t drink. 

Sighing a second time, she put back the glass over the table and, lost in thought, she observed the lighting reflecting on the liquor; letting herself indulge in the song that could be heard inside those four walls. 

She wanted to turn around and search for Kouyou. She wanted to tell her they could try, that she understood if she was afraid or hesitant about starting a formal relationship with her, but that she would give everything she had for the relationship to work. That it didn’t matter if she was busy with work or if other things stopped her from giving Yosano the attention she wanted; she would accept it and would be by her side. She would help her. 

But the prideful side of her, that part that knew she shouldn’t beg, and that no one deserved her pleas, prevented her from saying all that. The reasons didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if there was something that stopped Kouyou from accepting to try and have a relationship, if she truly loved her or not. 

With what happened that night, everything was clear. 

“I guess it’s time to go, right?” Dazai commented, catching her attention. 

“I haven’t drunk enough.” 

Yosano forced herself to swallow the drink, but after only a gulp, she regretted it and put it back on the table. She almost looked disgusted at the same thing she enjoyed and, at her bitter facial expression, Dazai smiled at her; bordering on sympathy, like he understood her feelings or was beginning to.

“You still want to keep drinking?” he asked, letting a slightly mocking tone show in his voice. 

Resigned, Yosano pushed the glass away from her and called the waiter, asking for the bill. After paying, she stood up, feeling overwhelmed by all the people around her.

“I’ll go to the bathroom and then we get out of here.” 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll wait by the door. I’ll also send a message to Atsushi. It’s already Christmas.”  

═════════════

And somewhere in Yokohama, his phone lit up, announcing the arrival of a new notification. 

Atsushi, without moving Byakko from his lap, reached out for his phone on the round coffee table next to the single sofa. 

Before scrolling through his notifications, he glanced at his mothers on the biggest couch; they were still absorbed by the movie they’d decided to watch after dinner and, despite him not being really interested in the plot and wishing to be, at that moment, watching a certain band playing, he didn’t voice his desire to go to bed early and, instead, got comfortable with Byakko on his lap, forcing himself to not look at his phone every five minutes. 

One of them glanced sideways at him when she noticed his phone in his hands, but she didn’t say anything. He was no longer the little kid they could rebuke for using that device on a family moment, so she pretended to not notice anything and turned to the tv. Meanwhile, Atsushi replied to the messages his friends in Kyoto sent him. 

First, he responded to his roommate’s texts, then his coworker’s, and lastly, the most recent one: Dazai’s. The brunette had sent him two pictures of Black Ocean onstage; you could see the whole band in the first one, the second however, was a shamefully close shot of Akutagawa’s face — both photos were supposed to be his Christmas gift. 

Atsushi replied that he was ridiculous, and if he double-checked that he did save the pictures and lingered for a second too long on the one that showed Akutagawa, well, no one had to know. 

Still, it was pretty pathetic. He had Akutagawa’s number and yet he didn’t dare to send him a message to, at least, find out how the show was or wish him a Merry Christmas. 

Whatever the case, the guitarist didn’t seem all that interested in talking to him. The rehearsal he went to was the last time they spoke, and he didn’t even tell him he decided to go to Yokohama earlier than expected. Akutagawa didn’t ask anything about it, and he didn’t send him a text either. He probably found out about his journey through someone else, and that notion depressed him. 

He was so unimportant to him that he wasn’t even interested to know why he left without saying anything to anyone. And, at the same time, Atsushi knew he was being childish for wishing for a bit more attention from someone like Akutagawa. 

He didn’t want to look all gloomy in front of his mothers, he calmed himself by running his fingers through Byakko’s soft fur. He set the phone aside and tried to focus on his pet, enjoying and smiling at the relaxed purring of the cat in his lap, chuckling softly when it rolled over and showed him his belly. Atsushi knew he shouldn’t rub him there — he’d be attacked immediately —, but he needed it. 

And before he could do it, before getting attacked by little claws and fangs, his phone vibrated again, and the screen lit up with a new notification. Confused, he grabbed the device and almost dropped it onto Byakko when he read the name of the sender. 

Akutagawa…

He felt his mother’s eyes on him and he forced himself to put on a poker face. Spending time with Dazai at least taught him something, and he could keep a relatively tranquil expression convincing enough to not alert the women’s attention and make them think that something was wrong. Meanwhile, he was clicking on the message while his heart rate increased to dangerous levels, and he was putting in so much effort to try to control the tremble in his hands. 

There were three messages. The first one was an audio message, the second was a link, and the third was a simple ‘Merry Christmas’. Something so little, so dry, and with nothing that special made his heart beat a little faster — if that was even possible —, and he felt a simultaneous rush of excitement and anxiety. 

God, he hated the effect Akutagawa had on him…

He removed Byakko from his lap and excused himself, saying he was going to get a glass of water from the kitchen. However, he veered off to his room and quietly went upstairs, closing the door. He knew he hadn’t fooled his mothers, but that mattered so little at that moment. He sat on the edge of the mattress and connected his headphones to his phone, playing the audio that Akutagawa sent him. 

He was ready for sarcastic words and insults, the best he would get was maybe something simple and cold. He was ready for anything, really, it’s just that a song wasn’t on the list of possible things. A demo at that. It was the acoustic version of Set fire to the rain. 

You could only hear Akutagawa’s guitar and Chuuya’s voice. The other instruments were absent, as if recording that was a last-minute idea. As if it was something special made in secret that only Atsushi was allowed to hear. 

And he wanted to believe that was the case. He wanted to think he was special, so he closed his eyes and listened, entranced by the voice, the guitar, daydreaming how the moment they recorded it must’ve looked like. Was it Chuuya’s idea? Was it Akutagawa’s? If it was Akutagawa’s, did that mean he devised it while thinking about him? 

Was he important to him? 

When the song ended, he could still feel all emotions so vividly. His nervousness and excitement hadn’t vanished, and with a grin he couldn’t contain, he looked back at Akutagawa’s messages. He reread the simple text and opened the link below the audio message. When the link took him to a recent video, Atsushi thought he would bawl with excitement. 

Almost ten minutes. Three songs. The whole performance of that night at the Fallen Camellia. 

The shot was recorded from the perfect spot; you could see all the members distinctly, and the sound was crystal clear. It wasn’t a video made at the last moment or on purpose, it wasn’t a fan video either. 

Akutagawa, personally, requested someone to record it, because he knew how much Atsushi wanted to go to the event and listen to the songs, especially the cover. 

It was his gift for him . It was his way of saying, without having to explicitly state it, that he was important and he thought about him even if the albino couldn’t picture it or believe it. 

He was important. Akutagawa thought about him. Akutagawa…

“You’re the worst,” he mumbled, unable to prevent a small smile from spreading across his lips or his eyes from shining with adoration as he watched the guitarist in the video, touching his image on the screen with the tips of his fingers, wanting to touch the real person and be with him. “You really are the worst, it’s unfair… how am I supposed to get over you if you give me something like this?” 

It’s unjust, it’s cruel. For how long would he be able to hide how much he wanted him? The more days went by, the more he learned about him, and the less he could hide it. 

He wanted him so badly that the idea of disregarding his actual relationship increased with each passing second. Even if it was wrong, even if that went against everything he stood for. 

He wanted him. He desperately wanted him, and every day it got more difficult to resist and look from afar. He wanted to cross that stream of water that separated them, but he knew that the moment he did it, his surroundings would begin to burn in fire, it would scorch, and it would hurt. 

But all burns would be worth it because he would be by his side. 

Akutagawa would be his, and he would be Akutagawa’s.

═════════════

Standing next to the counter, Dazai was focused on his phone. Yosano still hadn’t come back, though it had only been five minutes since they parted ways. At any rate, he sent her a message, telling her where he would be waiting, ready to go to her place and watch a marathon of bad Christmas movies. 

He read Atsushi’s response and cackled, but he didn't reply. Instead, he sent text after text to Chuuya, joking and complaining about the show, falsely lamenting that the ginger didn’t sing out of tune and asking him, in too many messages, if he saw him in the public. Even though Dazai knew that, on more than one occasion, their gazes met and he could bet that the ginger was satisfied by seeing him there.

Dazai regretted not recording the performance. He’d like to go back and relive that moment, try to notice if the camera could capture the moment Chuuya searched for him, only to quickly find him in the crowd. Now he only had his memories to compare that moment with the first one he lived.

There was a great difference between Chuuya’s first performance and the one of that night. A significant growth, a confidence in himself and his voice that he quickly, yet progressively, developed during those months and the prior shows. His voice and form onstage shine like never before. It was perfect, jaw-dropping from all perspectives, and Dazai couldn’t look away at any moment. 

Songs never meant anything to him, they didn’t move him as some others liked to proclaim, and well, poems were no different, really. But when Chuuya was the one who wrote them, who sang them, they always had a deep effect on him. It was as if the ginger was the only one who could muster the exact amount of expressiveness to make Dazai feel alive. As if what he wrote and sang could express all the emotions the brunette liked to suppress and didn’t know how to explain.

Expressing what he felt always came easier to Chuuya than him, and that detail was greatly understood by the ginger, so Dazai never needed to do anything. Was he sad? Then Chuuya wrote a poem with blue ink for him. Was he angry? Then the letters turned red. Was he happy? Then the verses were yellow and reflected the sun. At least, that’s how it was in the past, and he wanted to know if that would happen again in the present.

And wishing to know if Chuuya could still read his emotions inside a blank book, and could fill in the pages with the poetry he wrote, he kept sending text after text; asking if he was so little that he got lost somewhere amidst the tables, scrutinizing his outfit choice for that night and questioning why did he think it would be a splendid idea to wear that ugly hat of his. 

Sending random letters, kaomojis, dots, colons, numbers, and any other symbol that appeared on his keyboard till he felt someone hitting him in the back of his head. 

“Stop that! My phone is about to explode, asshole,” the ginger grunted and, when the brunette turned around, he noticed him with his phone in his hands, his brows furrowed and reading his messages. “And the hell do you mean it’s a pity I didn’t sing out of tune? You’re the worst.” 

“I really wanted to make fun of you for that,” he excused himself, smiling when the other’s upset expression landed on him. 

Chuuya looked far better from up close, he thought, absorbing every small detail of his attire from head to toe. It was simple in general, but the subtle nuances accentuated him in all the right places, giving him an image that was both sophisticated and rebellious. 

The leather pants hugged his thighs, tracing his muscles perfectly. The high-platform boots almost reached halfway up his calves, adding a couple of extra inches to his height. Up top, a nearly transparent white shirt covered his chest, the top buttons were undone, allowing Dazai to glimpse at his collarbone and the thin chains that cascaded from the necklace around the midpoint of his neck. But what made the most striking impression was the corset covering from his hips, at the beginning of his pants, up to his waistline. It was black like almost everything he was wearing, but it featured delicate silver details, like clasps and smaller chains, which shimmered whenever the venue’s light hit them. 

Dazai always thought that clothing style would fit Chuuya to a tee. And damn, was he right. Still, what he envisioned could hardly compare to what stood before him now. He wanted to run his hands over his waist or touch his thighs, to determine whether everything beneath the fabric was hard or soft. 

“What are you doing near the counter? You have a table for yourself, or are you going to leave already?” Chuuya asked, and Dazai obliged to look up. At any rate, he liked the ocean blue eyes in front of him just as much, if not more, than his legs covered by leather. “I thought you wanted to force a certain singer to buy you a drink.” 

“Do you think I can get a date with the singer of the band that went after you? She was gorgeous! A little too short like you, but pretty nonetheless.” 

He pretended to search for the girl with his eyes wandering over the public and the dozens of tables. In front of him, Chuuya sighed and his expression turned into something akin to someone regretting all the decisions they took in their life. 

“Why do I still talk to you?” 

“You love me, of course, and I have this theory that you also like the sound of my voice,” Dazai replied, laughing when Chuuya glanced at him with exasperation and resignation.

“I gotta admit, you sometimes say something funny, but only one out of the millions of things to come out of your mouth is actually worth it,” he joked, and his expression relaxed to match the smile on Dazai’s lips. “Seriously, Dazai, stay a little longer. I’ll buy you a drink, or we can share one…” 

“Are you planning to get wasted again?” he questioned, looking around. “Your roommates aren’t here to take care of you if you get drunk, or are you going to bully Akutagawa or Kouyou into taking care of you?” 

“You saw Kouyou?” 

“I was surprised she was here, and finally meeting her from afar. She really looks like…” his thought was never fully voiced, although he knew Chuuya could complete the sentence on his own. They opted to ignore that detail, and quickly, and to the ginger’s relief, Dazai changed the topic and acted as if nothing was about to escape his lips. “Anyway, even if I love the idea of you spending your money on me, I can’t stay. I came with a friend and she isn’t feeling well, so I’ll have to take her home.”  

Some of the initial emotion and sympathy disappeared from Chuuya’s face who, unconsciously, took a step back, putting more distance between them and leaning more against the counter. 

“Right, your ‘friend’,” Chuuya ironized, crossing his arms and staring at anywhere else but the man in front of him. “Ryuu told me he gave you his ticket, I didn’t think you’d bring your date.” 

Why did he look so upset? What was he thinking of? 

Dazai perfectly knew what the singer was thinking, but he’d like to hear him admit it. He knew damn well that Chuuya wouldn’t bouch and say anything about it, but who cares. Seeing that annoying expression was enough, even if it did him things he didn’t know how to name.

“Is that jealousy, Chuuya?” he questioned, starting as a joke that brought with it many ideas on how to proceed, and following each one, with a smug grin, he leaned down towards the ginger, invading his personal space. He reached for his ear, and with slow movements, he tucked some of the coppery hair behind his lobe and spoke, feeling how his own voice ricocheted against the other’s skin. “Don’t worry, you’re the only pet I own.”

Chuuya pushed him away with a punch straight at his chest and although it hurt, Dazai could only laugh. Despite the darkness around them and the colored lights that did little to brighten that area, he could perceive the shadow of a blush on his cheeks and his eyes illuminated by the anger.  

“I hate you so much.” 

“The feeling’s mutual,” he joked, laughing at the annoyed expression that promptly relaxed when Dazai added: “Really, she’s my friend, who isn’t even into men, and it’s better if I take her home.” 

Knowing Yosano’s orientation seemed to tranquilize the ginger and he took a step towards him again. Dazai hid the fact that Chuuya’s sister was the reason his friend wasn’t feeling alright. It wasn’t something he should be meddling on, he reminded himself, and focused all his attention back on the man in front of him.

“At least now you’re a decent friend, that’s good to know,” the ginger mocked. 

“I always was!” No, not always, and Chuuya knew that. But he chose to ignore that fact, and so did Dazai. “Anyway, as the amazing friend I am, I know that after a show people usually give singers a bouquet of roses, right? So, while I don’t have a bouquet of roses, I do have this, take it as a gift for not singing out of tune.” 

Taking the camellia he had in the front pocket of his shirt, he extended it to Chuuya as if it was the most eccentric and expensive thing he’d ever have. It almost looked like Dazai wanted to lean down while he gave him the flower, though he would only do it to make fun of him and embarrass him in front of dozens of people.

With his arms crossed once again, Chuuya observed the flower with some interest, as if it was something trivial and cheap. He’d noticed the ornament when he first approached Dazai, but he didn’t stop to question it, nor did he think that it was the same flower that decorated every table in the venue.

“What the hell, Dazai?” The situation was so exhilarating he couldn’t contain his laugh. “You stole it from the decorations!”

“Shhh, don’t focus on those details!” he pleaded, and while the ginger was laughing at him, he took his right hand and forced his fingers to grab the camellia’s thin stem.

When he felt the texture and the scent coming from the flower, Chuuya stopped laughing. He glanced at the camellia he now held, then at Dazai, and he lingered in the warmth that his gaze conveyed, the same that reflected in his voice once he spoke again. He was sure a ballad was playing in the background, but its rhythm and serenity didn’t hold a candle to the one he heard coming from the person in front of him.

“Merry Christmas, Chuuya.” 

The smile the ginger gave him was so soft that it enacted emotions that Dazai couldn’t put a name to nor classify. He knew they were warm and nice, as known as they were unknown. They made him feel a slight tingle in his stomach, but they were comfortable regardless. And when Chuuya replied, it did nothing but deepen what he already felt.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas for you too, Osamu.”   

He wanted to stay there, for the night to last more than the mere hours of darkness that it granted, but he had to go. At least, when Chuuya bid goodbye and left, he did so with the camellia in hand, a simple flower that had quickly gained some sort of meaning in a matter of seconds.

With a smile and holding the flower, the ginger walked away. Dazai followed him with his eyes till he lost him somewhere in the crowd of people standing, and he returned to the table where his bandmates were waiting for him. 

He wasn’t aware he was smiling like an idiot till Yosano came back and pointed it out, asking what he was so happy about. Was he happy? He couldn’t tell if he genuinely was, but he felt good, he mentioned, and then he commented that, despite everything, it was a good night. 

Yosano agreed. It was a good night indeed until she saw Kouyou, but after a long reflection and an internal debate in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she decided she would try not to think about her till tomorrow evening. It was enough for that night, and she let Dazai know this as they exited the bar. 

As they walked toward the taxi station, Dazai got one last message from Chuuya saying to tell him whenever he got home. The brunette texted him to tell him the same, and for him not to drink too much. Chuuya said he would try.   

They were in front of the station for almost twenty minutes. Not a single car passed and, the more minutes it transpired the more cold the air felt. Dazai proposed to simply walk back to the apartment. It wasn’t that far and they knew some shortcuts. Yosano complained and reminded him how uncomfortable it was to walk with the platforms she was wearing, but since no taxis pulled over in front of them, there was really no other choice. At least, that way they wouldn’t be as cold. It looked as if it was going to snow again, or maybe it would start to rain.

And it did. It started to rain. Lucky for them, the water began to fall as soon as they arrived at the door of the building and they hurried inside. 

Complaining and laughing about it, Yosano called Ranpo, telling him that if he appreciated his life he better have a hot drink prepared for her before she arrived to the third floor, otherwise, he would regret it because they were soaking wet, though in reality only a couple of waterdrops fell onto them. On the other end of the call, they heard Ranpo sighing, mentioning that he would force Kunikida to prepare them some tea, and that was enough to quiet down her demands.

When they stood in front of the door to the apartment, knocking on the door and shouting that they forgot their keys, Dazai’s phone started ringing. He thought it would be Chuuya, and with an involuntary smile, he searched for the device and was about to answer before realizing that the number was unknown. Someone probably made a mistake, he thought at the same time as the door was opened by an annoyed blonde who was expecting them to be drenched from head to toe. 

“Who is it?” Yosano questioned.

“Who knows, I’mma get it. Don’t close the door.” 

The woman nodded, and she alongside Kunikida returned to the interior of the apartment, leaving the door slightly open and giving Dazai some privacy.

Moving away from the entrance, knowing the innate curiousness his friends had, he leaned against the wall in one corner; next to the window that had a view straight to the street and that allowed him to observe how the rain hit against the pavement with more intensity each time. Returning to his own place in a couple of hours would be hard, he thought, and the phone in his hands continued ringing; the caller still unknown.

He thought maybe it was Chuuya. Maybe his battery had died and he was calling from one of his friend’s phone. Pondering on that possibility and remembering how nice the night was for them despite how little they talked, he answered. 

“Hello?” he greeted and then mocked, with a peachy smile stuck on his lips. “Chuuya? Are you drunk and lost your phone?” 

“Dazai.” 

He felt cold, as if the rain truly had drenched him from head to toe and then burnt everything inside him till only ashes were left. 

The device almost slipped through his fingers, but his hand clenched around his phone at the last second, and his voice, tensed, shaky, and weak, forced itself to mutter the name pertaining to the person on the other side of that call. 

“Odasaku…”

Chapter Text

“Odasaku…”

The rain poured through the darkness with prevalent intensity. In some places, parties were still going despite the freezing cold that little by little settled in the streets, but in other places, such as someone’s own mind, the light atmosphere and good memories of the night were quickly overshadowed by voices of the past that were thought forgotten.

But it was impossible to continue forward and leave them behind. They would always come crawling back in the most dire situations to either stumble and try to destroy what you were building, or to defy the existence of certain foundations. 

At that moment, that deep and calm voice, which was always relaxing to hear, shattered the smile on his lips and the image of a singer lingering on his head. It pushed far away all the emotions of that night and established, in his chest, the most bitter and addictive sensation, cutting his breathing and cracking each of his thoughts. 

“Dazai,” he repeated, almost like a mantra, with a tone that made you picture the smile he was wearing. “Hey, hello.” 

His voice. God, his voice. How long has it been? When was the last time he heard his name coming out of those lips? It still sounded so good even through the phone, it sounded so right, as if his name was only created for Oda to say. 

But it wasn’t his name, he recalled. It was his surname. His surname. Not his name. But, did it matter? No, it sure didn’t, because time had passed and he’d missed it. He’d missed it so much, that he could almost picture him by his side, right against his ear and not through a phone. 

“Dazai? ” Oda said again, and the brunette could hear him moving the phone side to side. “Are you there? Dazai…” 

“Yeah, yep, Odasaku, I…” His throat closed up, taking away with it all the sounds he could muster for what felt like a never-ending second. And when it came back thanks to his efforts, his voice turned into something akin to a trembling whisper of someone who was at the brink of tears or about to run away. “You… how…?” 

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” the man on the other side replied, with that genuine tone of his, the one that left Dazai unable to do something that wasn't believing in his apologies and all excuses. “I know it’s pretty late, but I assumed you wouldn’t go to bed so early today. And yes, I know, I may have used a dirty trick for you to respond, and I know you don’t want to talk with me, but…”  

“It’s not like I don’t want to–” he interrupted, cursing himself when his voice and words were mere millimeters away from trembling. “ I just didn’t think you wanted to…” 

“Well, I’m not the one who kept declining all calls,” he joked, and although Dazai wanted to laugh, he couldn’t. His silence immediately alerted the man on the other end, and his worry was reflected in his voice. “Are you okay? Are you taking care of yourself? I talked with Ranpo some days ago and he told me you look better lately. I’m glad of that. And yes, I know, it would’ve been better to call you directly, but I knew you wouldn’t answer, so I asked him. Still, I’m glad you answered today, I really missed talking to you.” 

Please, don’t. Don’t talk to me in that tone, don’t say those words, don’t miss me, I know you don’t miss me the way I miss you. I’m weak. Always been so weak when it came to you. All weak and hungry. I thought I didn’t want what you could offer me anymore, even if it were mere crumbs, I thought I didn’t. But I, still, even in this moment, I…

“I’m keeping my promise,” he said, words escaping without them being prompted or needed, as if they had a mind of their own. He felt his voice stumble once more, nervous and anxious, but it forced itself to remain firm, reaching for something that he wouldn’t obtain. “I… I’m trying to be a better person than I was when you were here. I’m still on Kyodai, I’m the best of my generation, I don’t get in trouble anymore and my scars are still close, so…” 

Come back, please. I’m better than I was before. Look, my arms are only covered by scars, bandages are still clean of crimson petals. I like to sleep now, because that way I don’t have to think or realize that the other person in my apartment isn’t you. I’m better at smiling, they always think I’m joking, and I let my bangs grow a little more, so that no one could see my empty eyes. So, please, come back. I’m better now, I’m the kind of person you like, someone you could love…

“Are you happy?” 

The troubled and broken smile that covered his lips vanished slowly, as the voice that came from the other end was forgotten, blending with the silence around him, filled only by the rain hitting the ground outside of those four enormous walls.  

“Does it matter…?” Dazai asked. His fingers clenched around the phone with force, still trembling. “I’m trying to be the kind of person you’d be proud of…” 

He knew he’d fucked up, again. 

He said the wrong thing, again. 

Oda’s only response was a stretched silence, again.

He didn’t like that lack of sound, he couldn’t guess or imagine what was going on in Oda’s mind at the moment, or how he would respond. Maybe it would piss him off or break his heart. Perhaps it would be a solace or a total breakup. And the more time passed without a reply, the more nervous and anxious he felt, the more he needed a reply, a reward, for the other man to assure him that he had said nothing wrong and that everything was okay. But he seldom got what he wanted. 

For Oda, his nervousness and dependency didn’t matter. He either pushed him away or hugged him thigh, saying what he thought was right, voicing the things he thought Dazai needed to hear. But Dazai never wanted to hear. He didn’t want words, or a reality check so sudden. He could deal with reality later, before all that came crashing down, he wanted Oda to hug him and kiss him, he wanted him to reassure him that he was doing things correctly and that he could relax. He wanted to close his eyes and worry about everything the next day. He wanted the other man to, at least for one night, sing him a lullaby and promise him that, when the sun rose again, he would feel better than he did when he went to sleep.

But Oda couldn’t sing, and even if he wanted him by his side, Dazai knew he couldn’t have it.

“Just kidding! Of course it matters!” Dazai laughed it off, changing his voice into a false and desperate tune of happiness that wasn’t enough to fool the other. “I’m doing great! Everything’s good here! What about you? Are you okay? How’s work? Ah, I don’t get why you decided to move to Osaka, Kyoto is way better…” 

And he continued spouting whatever nonsense came to his mind. Saying all the words the other man wanted to hear, talking to him as if there wasn’t a long distance separating them, as if there weren’t a thousand words that were left unsaid. And despite Oda knowing the happiness in his voice was all but real, he didn’t voice that thought. Instead, he replied and accepted each of his acted responses, counting them as genuine, not knowing what to do for Dazai to be sincere with him. 

He talked about his work at school, about his students, and his coworkers. He mentioned the house he had found in one of Osaka’s best areas, and all the historic places he had visited since he moved to the city. He talked about the Christmas gift he’d gotten for Dazai, and how much he wanted to give it to him in person, but he doubted he could go to Kyoto in the next three months. When he eventually went though, he wanted to reunite with Dazai before anyone else. 

“I have another gift for you from last Christmas. I went to Kyoto at the beginning of the year and I wanted to give it to you in person,” Oda commented, “but I wasn’t sure where to find you, you never told me you moved.”   

And you never told me you were here in Kyoto, Dazai thought. Brushing away the pain caused by the lack of communication he created all on his own, he maintained the cheerful tone in his voice, controlling the tremor so it stayed away from reaching his vocal cords. 

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot about that.” He excused himself, leaning against the window behind him, observing the darkness of the hallways and ignoring the rain droplets outside. “I’ve been… rather busy.” 

So much so that, for a moment, he felt good. Without thinking about the promise he made, about Oda, about novels, and anything at all. But he always knew it would be difficult not to fall for him again, because he only needed to get one call, to hear his voice once, just to want Odasaku by his side and promise him that, this time, he would fulfill his side of the promise if that meant he would stay next to him. 

But Oda was far away, and his voice — distorted by the call — was a constant reminder of that. 

“I get it, this year was a busy one,” Oda murmured. From the other end, Dazai could catch some of the noises in his surroundings. Was it also raining there? He wondered, but the other man’s breathing and voice easily attracted him again. “We’ve been busy, but I’m sure we can make some time to meet up… Why don’t you come over for the summer? You’ll love Osaka and the place I got. It’s wide, I even have a library at my house and you’re old enough to drink, right? Though I know you’ve done it since before we met, but now I can take you to a bar I know.”  

“And spend the night drinking and talking about literature?” Dazai asked. 

“Of course, doesn’t it sound like the perfect all-nighter you could pull?”  

He could picture it. Sitting side by side, next to each other, glasses in front of them. In the background, a slow tune would be playing, or perhaps a comfortable silence. Talking about some random book, maybe an old story, perhaps one that just got published. Exchanging words about their favorite parts, about the moments they hated, criticizing everything about the author, or praising them, adding things they would’ve changed in the story or things they rather keep no matter what version is told. 

Yes, he could perfectly picture that moment, and although that notion alone was able to evoke a slight twitch on his lips, even in his own fantasy, a wall was standing between them, a barrier he never quite found out how to break through. That closeness wasn’t what Dazai wanted, that relationship was shaped out of a form he didn’t desire, the string that connected them was yellow and bright, but not red and attractive like the color of the camellia he gave Chuuya on that night. 

Chuuya… How much would that image change if, instead of Oda, it was Chuuya at his side? Would the music be different? What about the silence? Would books be replaced by poems and songs? 

He didn’t know who he wanted next to him in that fantasy of his, if Oda or Chuuya, but it didn’t matter if he wanted one more than the other. At that point, he couldn’t choose, because he didn’t deserve them, and they wouldn’t stay by his side either. Probably, they wouldn’t even accept that empty seat even if that was the only place left at the bar. 

Surely, if he ever went to that place, Dazai would be sitting alone in front of the counter. 

“Sounds like your ideal date,” Dazai commented. He was tired, and he had no idea how his voice was still stable and with that friendly tone. “Maybe I’m not the person you should take out to that bar.” 

“What? Of course you are. There’s no one else I’d like to take.” 

It hurt. Every word hurt. It was nothing more than an illusion, affection that never took the form Dazai wanted. And yet, he’s still waiting. He still dreamed about the day Oda would return to Kyoto and stay by his side. 

He knew it wouldn’t happen, but he wanted to trick himself and, under the influence of that idyllic yet impossible dream, a melancholic smile appeared on his face.

“You want to see me…?” 

“You know I do,” Oda replied. He could hear movement on the other side, it seemed like he was moving around the room and looking for a place to sit down. “Despite everything that happened two years ago, I was never mad — in case you’re worried about that. I get that you needed space and it’s fine if you didn’t want to answer the calls, that doesn’t change anything, you’re still important to me.”  

“And so are you,” he admitted.

“It’s nice to know that.” 

He could easily picture the smile on the other man. Warm, gentle, that which he didn’t usually wear, but when he did, was the most beautiful to ever exist in Dazai’s eyes. The one he always wanted to see and for it to be only shown in front of him and for him. He wanted it to be the first thing he saw when he woke up, to be there during lunch, to remain even when the sun had long since hidden under the darkness of the moon, and to stay there no matter what happened. 

And thinking of that, he couldn’t help but ponder at the greediness that was always present in each fiber of his body. It never left, he only got better at hiding all those actions that Oda would reject. 

Maybe Odasaku always knew he was greedy and selfish, thereby, he never loved him. Couldn’t blame him though, now he knew he deserved someone better, and so did Chuuya.

“Odasaku,” he called out, nearly savoring each syllable that merged to create the childish nickname. 

Softly, letting his voice get lost in the bast and dark hallway, lit only by the tall streetlights outdoors. And with the same faintness, with words both delicate and hushed, Oda responded and muttered his name. 

“Yes, Dazai?” 

No, not his name. His surname. The same as his mother’s, the same everyone used to put distance between him and them. It hurt, but he paid no attention to the wound, instead, he let it bleed as he was so used to doing.

“If I was different, do you think we…” he stopped there. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, an expression bordering on defeat, troubled whether to continue with his lies or accept that which he always declined in favor of conserving crumbs of what others call hope. “No, I guess not. Doesn’t matter, I’m gonna hang up.” 

“Dazai, wait…”  

“Bye, Odasaku. I’ll call you.” 

He hung up. Oda didn’t call again. 

What he was supposed to think was unknown, a never-ending solitude added fire to the already burning void he felt. Dazai let himself slide off the wall till he touched the cold ceramic that covered the floor. Leaning against the brick that kept the window firm and steady above his head, he looked at the darkness and tried to concentrate in the rain outside. The phone was still in his hands, waiting for something — he had no idea what, but surely there was something. If Oda called again, he would probably answer without hesitation, even if he knew he needed some time alone. 

It still hurt, he still yearned for him and wanted him by his side. He wanted his relaxed words and his silent company. He wanted to talk about books and dream of something he didn’t deserve. He wanted the safety he made him feel on that night they met each other, when with only a few words he turned his whole world upside down and gave him what he wanted, what he desired to the point it forced him to leave his boyfriend in Yokohama and move to another city. 

But none of that existed anymore. Not the comfort in warm words, not the sense of safety, not the closeness, and certainly not the illusion of some type of love that would always stay unrequited. Despite everything, there still remained a spark of yearning, but time rarely goes on without causing something, and now that spark was almost dimmed by the rubble of what he constructed in some weeks with songs and poems. 

If Chuuya saw him at that moment, he would undoubtedly be disappointed in him, but that didn’t matter. The ginger was used to that destruction more than anyone.

One of the doors in the hallway opened, and someone stepped out from inside one of the apartments. Dazai kept his gaze in the darkness, and although he noticed the other person approaching him, he didn’t raise his head, nor did he show any interest in the man who leaned down and took the phone from between his hands. 

“It was Oda, wasn’t it?” Ranpo questioned, glancing at the number from which said man had called.

Slowly lifting his head, Dazai centered his tired gaze on green eyes, illuminated only by the artificial lights. 

“How did you know?” 

“You only look like that when it comes to Oda,” he pointed out and sighed. He gave him back his phone, standing up and extending a hand for him to take, a silent order he soon voiced. “Come on, let’s go inside.” 

He didn’t even have the chance to decline or tell the other he needed some time alone. Before any movement or complaint, Ranpo leaned down and took him by the arm, caring so little about Dazai being taller than him. The door was opened and he could hear the movie playing on the tv; a catchy and cheesy Christmas song echoed, alongside Yosano’s complaints about the tune and Kunikida’s comments to the woman, bordering on scolding for moving around so much with the glass of wine in hand. 

His friends seemed happy. Yosano sounded back to normal, perhaps with a depressed tone lingering somewhere in her, but she was definitely better than minutes prior. It was unbelievable how everything could come crumbling down in just a matter of seconds, Dazai thought. He’d been looking forward to watching bad movies and stuffing himself in candies he didn’t like. And now, after the call, he only wanted to return to his own place and be alone. Take out a novel and reread it. Go back to imagining how his life would look like if he wasn’t who he was and if Oda was still by his side. 

It would be a real torture to fall asleep while remembering a life he never had and a love he didn’t deserve, but he did say he was a masochist and he wanted that moment. To fool himself some more, maybe gaslight his mind into believing he would have an opportunity that never even existed.

And as if he knew he desperately needed some sort of comfort, his phone lit up with a new notification. With measured and listless movements, Dazai looked at the device, and his heart skipped a beat when he read Chuuya’s name. He didn’t have to think twice, clicking on the brief, and concise message, containing everything he needed: ‘I’m home.’

And his plans changed. He pushed away the need for solitude and fake scenarios of things he didn’t deserve, quickly replaced by memories of that place and that night that so disastrously relighted the connection between them. 

He wanted to go. He wanted to go where Chuuya was. He didn’t care if his roommates hated him, if Kouyou was there or not, he only wanted to see Chuuya. He needed it, he craved it, he was the only person who wouldn’t judge him.

“Who is it?” the green-eyed man questioned before he promptly tried to snatch the phone away. However, Dazai was faster and moved it far from his reach, afraid of someone taking away that small message that seemed like the only drop of water in a large and endless desert. 

He saw the surprise reflected on Ranpo’s face at his reaction, puzzled, both confused and curious. Letting the nonexistent calm cover his features, Dazai showed him the screen, hiding part of the message behind his thumb and only letting the sender’s name be read.

“Chuuya,” he explained briefly, and before pocketing the phone, he reread the message. It wasn’t an invitation, but he had a hunch that, if he went to the ginger’s place at that moment, he wouldn’t be rejected. “I’ll… go to his place. You don’t mind, right?” 

“I do, actually,” Ranpo replied, but he let go of his arm, allowing him to go, “but as long as you go straight there, it’s fine.” 

Dazai let out a brief, slightly sarcastic chuckle. 

“Seems like you like Chuuya a lot, more than any of the others.”  

“Right now, I like him even more than Oda,” he confessed. Then, he sighed, and with repeated hand movements, he let Dazai go. “Go. Send me a message when you’re already there.” 

Dazai didn’t even hesitate. He nodded and said goodbye, walking towards the exit, ignoring Ranpo’s shout about giving him an umbrella. It wouldn’t be necessary, he thought, he would soon be in a place much warmer. 

While he walked down without really looking at the stairs and arrived on the first floor without any accidents, he sent a message to Chuuya, saying he needed to see him and would soon be crashing his apartment. Before stepping out of the building and getting drenched by the rain, Chuuya answered, and although he threw an insult here and there — because he was about to go to sleep —, he also said he’d wait and to let him know when he was near his apartment. 

That small detail, so trivial, so simple, made him smile. At that moment, the droplets of water that fell from the sky and the cold that increased as the hours passed matter so little. It would certainly snow in the coming days, Dazai thought, and he wondered if Chuuya would be down to repeat one of those bygone nights when they walked under the moon’s watchful eye, stepping on the slippery snow and playing with it, a time when they only had each other. 

And currently, as the rain clung to his clothes, and as he clearly pictured the ginger screaming at him for arriving at his place all drenched up, he pondered if, once again, Chuuya was the only person he had. Once again, he was the only person he could fully trust, who didn’t care if he was good, bad, or anything at all. The only one who, despite everything he said and did when he was a brat and when they saw each other again, still wanted him close, even if it was more because of that pride of his and his total refusal to give in to Dazai’s wishes of staying as away from each other as humanly possible. 

He still didn’t quite understand Chuuya and why he did what he did, but just like before, he never had to understand him, just trust him. And that notion made him smile even when his hair began to stick to his face and the rain streamed over his eyes. As quickly as he felt that hidden adoration, however, the cold understanding arrived to freeze him from within. 

What did he do with Chuuya’s trust? He asked himself, the distance between each step growing smaller. Right, trample all over it time and time again. No matter if it was the past or the present, the only thing both times had in common was that he always trampled over it and he didn’t care if that hurt him, he didn’t really care until not too long ago. What assured him he wouldn’t do it again? He didn’t even manage to change for Oda, much less could he be a decent friend to Chuuya.

He wasn’t good enough for Oda, he wasn’t good enough for Chuuya, he wasn’t good enough for anyone. Both of them and everyone else had someone more important than him and he didn’t blame them. If he was any of them, Dazai would also prefer to stay away from someone like himself. 

And halfway to his destination, he stopped. Allowing the water to soak his silhouette, not caring whether the phone stored in the inner pocket of his trench coat got damaged or not. It somehow survived the water, or so he noticed when a new message arrived and the device vibrated. With shaky hands, he took it and looked at the screen. It was Chuuya again, asking where he was, offering to go pick him up wherever he was, and asking if he even had an umbrella with him. 

He wanted to say he was almost there, that he didn’t have an umbrella, and that yes, he wanted him to go find him. But he didn’t do it. Instead, he sent him a text saying he had a change of plans and that he would go back to his own apartment, then he turned off the phone, pocketed it, and continued walking. To a place far from those streets, far from where Chuuya was probably waiting for a reply, as he looked out of the window and saw nothing but a dark canvas with small and scattered light bulbs. 

He didn’t deserve him. He wasn’t good for him, he couldn’t even change and be good for Oda, much less for Chuuya. How could he, if when he was with him, he was like the person his parents hated, the one who didn’t care about anything, the one who left the ginger years ago without saying one word, the one who two years later walked away from Odasaku. 

He’d never seen a darker sky in his life, so deep and yet empty, as if reflecting what he felt. The street lamps on the sidewalk didn’t elicit a glow bright enough to light beyond the concrete he stepped on in that endless and manmade hell, composed of tall buildings and senseless streets. 

Disregarding the cars passing next to him, dismissing the possible calls his now-dead phone might be receiving, ignoring the curious gazes of the few people who went back home during the early hours and in the rain like him, he walked as if he didn’t have a fixed course. He’d eventually go to his apartment, just not yet. At that moment, he didn’t want to be surrounded by books and poems, much less songs. He just wanted some silence, or any other distraction. Be it good or bad, it didn’t matter. Anything would be fine, even those he promised not to touch again, those he abandoned years ago…

A car pulled over next to the sidewalk. A taxi, Dazai noticed when he glanced sideways for a brief second. He brushed it off and continued walking, not stopping when the door open, but waiting a moment when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Walking in the rain at this hour? Something must’ve happened,” the woman still inside the taxi said. “And without an umbrella at that. You look like a stray dog, Dazai.” 

“You never run out of nice things to say, Tomie,” he replied, letting out a humorless chuckle.

When he turned around, Dazai only sent her a smile. The woman looked at him again, from head to toe, and lingered in the expression of the other. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, covering his face, and yet the hair split, letting her observe his eyes. 

“Ah, it’s been a while since I saw that expression on you, when was the last time? Oh yeah, when you said you didn’t want to play around with me anymore,” she commented, almost grinning with excitement and nostalgia. Upon witnessing that playfulness in her, Dazai remembered why he initially approached her two years ago.

“You still mad about that?” he questioned with the same mocking tone she was using.

“Of course. You have no idea how frustrating it is to finally find someone who thinks like you, just for that person to turn around and decide they now want to be a ‘decent person’ or whatever,” she complained. She left the taxi door open and moved to the side, giving him space in the back seat. “Get in, I’ll take you home. I doubt our cabbie minds if you wet the seat, right?” 

The driver didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to fully agree with his presence there, but he didn’t dare to voice any complaints. Dazai shrugged and decided to get in, sitting next to the woman and ignoring her when she immediately leaned towards him; complaining about the dampness of his clothes and offering ways to warm up. 

Dazai scoffed. His eyes fell to the pronounced neckline, but showed no interest in the skin before his eyes or in her suggestions. His lack of interest only encouraged and amused the girl. He hated her, he truly did, but in his worst moments, she had been a good distraction nonetheless. 

The similarities they both shared were what attracted them to each other at the beginning, Dazai recalled. Their family background was much the same, both were self-destructing and showed little interest in whatever happened around them. They were empty, constantly searching for something to pass the time and distract themselves; be it a person, or a thing. They took the same path and stepped on the same places in the world, never knowing what they wanted or needed, living just because they were already there. However, while Dazai always felt as if he was drowning in that lifestyle and wanted nothing but someone to reach out a hand and offer him an exit to the endless cycle, Tomie seemed to enjoy it.

She cherished the role she played in front of everyone else. She toyed around with them, offered them a momentary distraction, had them wrapped around her finger, and then dropped them off as if they were an old and worn out object. If you ask anyone, they would say she was a bad person. If you asked Dazai, he would say she was merely human. She chose her victims, enemies, and allies — just like anyone else would do.

Three years ago, she tried to turn Dazai into her new toy, unaware that the brunette always knew about her intentions and accepted them for his own benefit. And not having him dancing on the palm of her hand like any other man would, really amused her. At some point, she even called him her best friend, and they were always seen together for months. Tomie thought he enjoyed the liberty and debauchery of such a lifestyle, but after all the things that happened and the promise he made to Oda, he put her aside. 

Just like he did with Chuuya, Dazai left Tomie for Oda. But she couldn’t care less about that. The absence of an explanation didn’t hurt her like it hurt Chuuya, and she quickly returned to the market in search of new toys.

But, from time to time, you feel nostalgic for that favorite toy you thought was long lost. So you clean your room, dust your shelf, and organize everything, moving forward with your life but looking out in case you see it. Eventually, you’ll look under your bed, gazing at that discarded and pitch black place where monsters and nightmares hide, ready to scare away the sweetest of dreams in the darkest of nights. And there, you’ll find it. And when you do, you can’t help but want to play with it again, even if it's inherently wrong.

The rain stopped for a moment. The taxi stopped in front of his apartment after a short and silent trip. The woman let him go, still wearing that mocking smile and muttering for him not to worry about the money, she would pay for the trip when she arrived at her own place. 

Without refusing that offer, Dazai nodded and said goodbye. Opening the door and getting out of the car, he looked up and observed the building in front of him. All lights were off, and he didn’t want to be alone in that darkness. 

“Do you want to come over?” he offered, not contemplating fully what he said and looking at Tomie with the same empty and emotionless face she remembered. 

“Do you want to remember the good old times, Dazai?” she asked with a lustful smirk that Dazai returned. 

And leaning down towards her, he touched her hair in the same way he did Chuuya’s that night. The notion that he preferred the wavy and reddish hair over the dark and flat one that ran around his fingers passed through his mind. But, at that point, it didn’t matter anymore. 

He didn’t deserve Chuuya, he didn’t deserve Oda. He didn’t deserve anyone, Tomie was like that too. And perhaps it was because of that shared similarity, that they deserved each other. 

“I guess I’m down to making a mistake or two.” 

═════════════

He returned to his apartment alongside Kouyou at around one in the morning.

It wasn’t too late, so his roommates were still awake, watching some cliche Christmas movie. The coffee table was packed from side to side with snacks and junk food. As the responsible people they were, they didn’t give any of that food to his niece. 

As for the eight year old girl, she had stolen Chuuya’s bed as soon as she ate dinner, and is now sound asleep in his room, tired of the bad jokes Albatross made and of all of her mother’s messages she had to be constantly replying to.

They could’ve stayed up a bit longer, maybe caught up after so long, but Kouyou looked tired and disheartened. She declined the spare room and muttered that she could share a bed with Kyoka without any problem. They could spend the following day together and catch up as a family. Chuuya muttered that that sounded like a perfect idea.

And it would’ve been, he was sure, but then Dazai stopped replying after that last message, and that ruined his mood a little bit. 

He wasn’t mad about his sudden desire to see him, quite the contrary, actually. He felt… excited by that message, and it was both a nostalgic and new feeling that it kept him awake to wait for the brunette. 

He didn’t know what Dazai wanted, but if he wanted to see him in that rainy moment, he wouldn’t say no. He felt like there were still some pending ‘matters’ between them since their brief encounter at the Falling Camellia, and despite him wanting to desperately deny it, he knew it had something to do with attraction. 

And that disturbing and wrong feeling scared him shitless, but the camellia in his hands and what he felt each time he looked at it gave him some optimism.

Maybe he could bear that trepidation. Maybe Dazai wouldn’t fail him this time around, and he thought he would have an answer to that possibility when Dazai arrived. 

But the brunette changed his mind without consulting him and without asking if he was alright with that. He turned around and decided to return to his own apartment, and Chuuya wasn’t upset per se, just disappointed, but not depressed. 

They could see each other later, he thought. He could get the answer he wanted later, he shouldn't be all depressed about that. But the well-known sadness was inescapable, and the nail that finally closed the coffin of that premature hope was the turned-off phone on the other side.

He wanted to convince himself that maybe he’d run out of battery. Perhaps he forgot to plug it in when he arrived home. Maybe he fell asleep quickly. But the following morning, when the rain had stopped and a clear, blue sky spread from side to side over his head, the phone was still pretty much dead. 

Why did it feel like a second abandonment on his part…? 

“At least he didn’t block my number this time…” he mumbled, laughing to himself; once again, in front of the window, with his phone between his hands, looking at the distance. 

“Who didn’t block your number?” a soft and childish voice asked. 

Turning his head, he noticed Kyoka beside him, staring directly at him. Chuuya wondered at what moment the girl had arrived by his side. He hadn’t even heard her steps approaching him. 

“Your mother never taught you not to eavesdrop on others’ conversations?” he tried to scold her, but she didn’t budge. 

“You were talking with yourself.” she pointed out. 

Chuuya sighed. He put his phone aside and patted the girl’s head. 

“Yeah, true. Sorry, Kyoka, I’m kind of tired.” 

That was an understatement, he was way beyond tired. He barely slept. He tried to do it, tried not to think about Dazai’s reasonings for turning off his phone, he tried to forget it and even forget his own existence, but it was rather impossible. He had no idea for how long he tossed and turned in bed trying to shut off his brain, and when he finally did, it was an empty, dark dream, with absolutely nothing in it. And almost five hours later, Kyoka woke him up. 

She wanted to eat breakfast and she didn’t want to wake up Kouyou. She mumbled something about her mother looking a little sad even in her dreams, so she thought it was best not to wake her up and let her rest for a little longer. On the other side, Chuuya seemed trapped inside an uncomfortable dream, so she thought she was doing him a favor by waking him up and, at the same time, she would get to eat. Clearly a win-win situation. 

At any rate, Kouyou woke up as soon as she noticed her daughter was not with her, and Chuuya couldn’t fall asleep again. 

Kouyou offered to cook, Kyoka stayed around her almost all the time, murmuring what she would like to eat, while Chuuya picked up his phone again and checked the messages. It was around ten in the morning, but no new notification popped up, there were no missed calls, and no signs of Dazai. 

“The food is ready,” Kyoka said, pulling him out of his thoughts once again. “Mom said we would eat outside, so we have all morning to do whatever we want.” 

“Yeah, we have plenty of time…” 

He recalled Kouyou liked to eat at around two p.m., which gave him around four hours to spare, and yet he was still thinking about Dazai. He kept glancing at his phone, waiting for a message from him, a call, or anything at all, but the screen remained blank.

For a moment, he decided the best option was to forget about him and wait until next week to find him at university, punch him, and then ask what was his fucking problem and why he turned off his phone. Dazai would probably evade the topic and make up some lame excuse, but he’d get the truth out of him anyway. 

The problem with that? He didn’t want to wait. The anger and disappointment were strong in his chest, unbearable, and he didn’t want to handle them maturely. He didn’t want to wait for Christmas break to end to hunt down the brunette once more and force the answers out of him. The sooner the better, right? And maybe he didn’t know where Dazai lived, but they were in the same damn city and he knows someone who can help him…

“Do you know what time it is?” Akutagawa replied after the fourth ding.

“Early enough,” Chuuya said, ignoring the complaint from the other end. “Ryuu, tell me where Dazai lives.”

Akutagawa quietened. After a few beats of silence, he sighed as if he regretted all the decisions he’d taken until then, or maybe he was just tired. He knew the boy seldom slept enough, he used weekends and holidays to catch up on all the sleep lost. Momentarily, Chuuya felt bad about waking him up, but before the guilt fully attacked him, the other replied.

“Why are you asking me? I have no idea, Nakajima should know…”  

Knowing he was close yet far from what he wanted impatient him and, without meaning to, he ended up raising his voice. His sister and his niece eyed him from the kitchen, but ultimately chose not to intervene. 

“Then call Atsushi!” he demanded. “Or give me his number so I can ask him. I have four hours before lunch and I need to go punch that asshole right now.”

On the other end of the line, Akutagawa just groaned. 

“Alright, fine! Stop screaming in my ear.” 

Those were his last words before he hung up, leaving Chuuya with the words not quite out of his mouth yet. The ginger was about to call again, this time to shout at him for hanging up, but before he could click on the call button, the guitarist beat him to it.

“He doesn’t know where Dazai lives either,” Akutagawa said before Chuuya could even open his mouth. Disappointment once again visited him like an old friend, but as quickly as it arrived was it kicked out of the door, right from where it came from. “But he said someone named Ranpo, who apparently you already met, knows. I gave him your number, he’ll send you the address. ”

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Chuuya smiled to himself.

“Thanks, Ryuu, what would I do without you?” 

“Something stupid,” he responded, pausing for a second, and then, with a resigned tone, he added: “And even so, you still do. Just don’t do anything stupid right now or else I won’t be able to go back to sleep.”  

“Can’t promise anything.” 

Before hanging up, he heard Akutagawa let out another groan. He almost felt bad for annoying his guitarist in that way; perhaps he had somehow acquired that bad habit from Dazai. With that in mind, he hurried to eat the breakfast his sister had diligently prepared.

Kouyou looked exhausted, as if she had a lot going on in her mind right now and needed someone to talk to. However, Chuuya knew firsthand that, even if he asked, his sister wouldn’t say anything until she organized her thoughts and came to the realization that yes, maybe she does need some help or support. Still, his head was focused on another thing at that moment, and even if he did want to spend Christmas with his sister and niece strolling around Kyoto,  he first needed to see Dazai.

When he finished his breakfast, he got up from the chair and got ready in less than ten minutes. Kouyou asked him where he was going, but his only response was a kiss on the cheek of both his sister and his niece, murmuring to the woman to simply leave the dirty dishes in the sink for Albatross to clean, as it was his turn. Then, before leaving, he asked her the location of where they would eat lunch, saying he would meet them there. 

He bid them a hasty goodbye and left, not staying enough time to listen to what Kouyou told him and barely distinguishing Kyoka’s uttered: “See you, good luck”. 

Once on the first floor, he looked at his phone. There were no messages from Dazai, but there was one from an unknown number. Must be Atsushi, he guessed, and after registering the number, he read the directions and called the number the other had sent him. While leaving his apartment complex and heading towards another one, estimating it wouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes on foot to get there, the person he was calling answered. 

“Who are you and why do you have my number?” Ranpo responded.

“I'm Chuuya, remember me? The guy who asked you for Dazai’s schedule. Atsushi gave me your number.” 

“Oh, yeah, the singer, what do you need?” he questioned, and Chuuya could almost imagine his mischievous grin. “You can’t get Dazai out of your apartment and you need me to go search for him?”  

“He told you he’d be at my place?” The other man hummed in lieu of an answer. “Right, well, that’s the problem, Dazai never arrived. He told me he’d changed his mind and since then his phone’s turned off.” 

“Shit, give me a second.” He moved the phone slightly away, but Chuuya still managed to hear Ranpo speaking with someone else. “Akiko, call Dazai.”  

He overheard someone else ask a quick ‘why?’. Ranpo repeated his request, and then silence took over the place. The call was still ongoing, with both Chuuya and Ranpo, on the other end of the line, attentive to whether the call would be answered or not. Nearly two minutes later, the other man returned to his own call.

“It’s still off,” he informed, and going by the tone in his voice, Chuuya guessed that result didn’t please him so much. “Now you know you’re not the only one he isn’t answering to, anything else you need of me at such an early hour?” 

“It’s almost noon,” he huffed. “Give me the address to Dazai’s apartment.” 

“I doubt that’s the best idea right now, yesterday Dazai–”

Ranpo interrupted himself, it almost seemed as if it was entirely on purpose. As if he’d let escape willingly some crumbs of information for him to pick up, wishing to find out if Chuuya would insist on some more. 

Of course he would, he was already halfway there.  

“You can tell me where he lives over the phone or in person, Atsushi told me where you live and I’m near there already.” 

“Oh, you really are someone to be reckoned with, huh?” The man sighed. Chuuya wasn’t sure if he was pleased or worried. Maybe both. “I’ll wait here, there are some things you should probably know before going with Dazai.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he informed him before hanging up. 

And true to his words, ten minutes later he was standing in front of an unknown door knocking. 

He only had to do it three times before the door was opened by a woman with dark, short hair, the same girl he’d seen with Dazai the previous night. She looked bored and tired, muttering to the other person in the apartment that, surely, the food they ordered was already there. However, much to her surprise he was not the food delivery guy, something she soon realized when she finally observed him, recognizing him almost instantly, and looking quite bewildered. Chuuya met her gaze, raising an eyebrow. 

“You… what are you doing here?” 

“I came to see Ranpo,” he explained matter of factly. “Something about Dazai, didn’t he tell you?” 

The woman almost seemed betrayed the moment he mentioned the brunette’s name. Not a lover’s betrayal, Chuuya noted, but that of a friend that she once believed she could fully trust. 

Yeah, Dazai was like that. You can’t trust him as a friend or as a partner, Chuuya thought, and he empathized with what the girl was feeling at the moment. However, as much as he wanted to rant about the brunette, he had no time for that.

“You know Dazai…?” 

“Yes?” Frustrated, he crossed his arms and tried to remain calm, though it was hard. He was anxious, he just wanted to get the info he wanted and go. “Are you going to let me in? I’m kind of in a hurry.” 

The woman nodded. She pushed the door ajar a bit wider, stepping to the side to let him in. As their shoulder brushed past each other, she spoke again, her voice tinged with betrayal, intertwined with a hint of sadness and a dash of hope that quickly faded away.

“Kouyou didn’t tell you about me?” she questioned. “About someone named Yosano Akiko?” 

“Kouyou? My sister?” Yosano nodded. Chuuya observed her from head to toe, but he couldn’t recall that name being mentioned in one of their conversations; never during their calls, and certainly not last night when they returned to their apartment. “No, sorry Yosano, she never said anything about you…” 

Her facial expression, the ache in her eyes, the sour sound of her voice, it all was something Chuuya could identify himself with.  He’d also gone through all those emotions when Dazai left him, and some of those resurfaced the prior night due to a turned-off phone. He could understand her, hell, he might as well understand her better than anyone, and he wanted to ask how she knew Kouyou, but at the same time, didn’t want to know. 

He would probably prefer not to hear the answer, and he needed to see Dazai at that moment. So he didn’t dare to ask, and she hid the sadness beneath a mask of fatigue.

“Don’t worry, I’m no one, just an acquaintance,” she sighed, and after closing the door, she pointed towards a small balcony. “Ranpo is out there. Make yourself comfortable.” 

Chuuya gave her a quiet ‘thank you’ to which she only nodded. She walked away, locking herself up in what he could only assume to be her bedroom. The ginger made sure to remember her name and face to ask Kouyou about her during lunch, but for the time being, he had another matter to attend to. He crossed the room, walking towards the place from which the most amount of light came, distracting himself for just a second with the scattered books over the coffee table.

And that second is all it took for him to almost collide with the man entering with a watering can in his hands. Fortunately, Chuuya managed to react in time and take a step back. And of course he wanted to complain to the other, but Ranpo’s serious expression dispelled any lingering trace of irritation he might have felt.

“Dazai got a call last night,” Ranpo informed him without being prompted, momentarily puzzling the other till he put the nonexistent pieces together, understanding where all of this was going, “before you messaged him.” 

“And I assume that call has something to do with what I have to know before I go see that asshole?” 

Ranpo nodded, placing the silver watering can on a piece of furniture near the window, and then he turned around in a silent signal for Chuuya to follow him outside. The ginger didn’t hesitate, he leaned on the railing beside the other, gazing out towards the horizon, switching to the street below them from time to time. 

He wanted to know what was up with that call and what made it so damn important. He was there wasting his time, and he didn’t want to wait for the answers he deserved, nor did he want to keep his sister and naive waiting for lunch. He knew, however, that rushing Ranpo would be next to impossible. 

“It may look as if I couldn’t care less, but I do worry about Dazai,” the raven-haired man admitted, looking into the distance. Chuuya noticed his clenched fists, an almost imperceptible tension lying there, one that would be overlooked by almost everyone, but he was so used to that kind of action; Dazai used to do the same. “He’s an idiot, he’s… He was such a disaster two years ago and getting him back was hard. I’ve been checking on him to make sure he doesn’t relapse, but I guess he never let behind any of that, though he does act like he did.”

Ranpo laughed, not at the situation or the person next to him, but at himself. 

“I thought he would finally stop acting like someone he isn’t with you,” he mumbled. “But I never considered the possibility of Oda contacting him, what an idiot…” 

“Oda?” he inquired, drawing the confused eyes of the other towards his own. “That Oda you talk about… is he the same Dazai calls ‘Odasaku’?” 

Ranpo nodded, slowly, testing the ground he was stepping on, calculating each word that was and would be said.

“You met Oda?” Chuuya shook his head.

“I know him solely by name,” he clarified, trying to ignore the sour aftertaste the word left, a series of syllables that reminded him of that man whose face he didn’t even know. What’s that he felt? Resentment? Envy? Jealousy? “I just recently found out the name of the person Dazai left me for.”  

“He left you?” a third voice inquired, and when both of them turned around, they saw Yosano standing a few meters from them, picking up some things from the coffee table, overhearing without meaning to. “What are you of Dazai, exactly?” 

Yosano didn’t want to pry or listen to another word. It was just a coincidence that was meant to happen, one way or another. He knew Kouyou’s brother was at her apartment because of Dazai, that he knew him, and that her friend never said shit about it, but as soon as the feelings of betrayal for that absence of communication arrived, she thought it was all senseless anger. There was no reason for her to be upset, after all, it’s not like Dazai knew who Kouyou was besides what she told him, right? So she tried to calm down and opted to organize the place while the other two talked and wait for the food to arrive. 

But the more she heard, the more Ranpo’s face turned serious and upset, the more she wanted to know. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer, but she’d already asked, and now there was nothing she could do to stop the incoming words.

“His ex-boyfriend, we dated back in high school. We broke up before he came here to Kyoto.” 

So, four years ago. For how long? Yosano wondered. How long did Dazai date that guy? How much did he know about him? She quickly pushed aside those questions and allowed herself to be enveloped by treachery, a feeling returning with greater force. 

Dazai knew who Kouyou was all along, and yet, he chose to say absolutely nothing.

“Did you know?” Yosano hissed, looking at her best friend. “Did you know he knows her?” 

“Akiko–” 

“Just tell me if you knew!” 

“Hey, I have no idea what the hell’s going on here,” Chuuya said, interrupting the starting dispute. “And honestly, I don’t care. I don’t care if Oda called Dazai or if he never told you we dated, just give me his damn address and I’ll go.”

Yosano remained visibly upset, yet she forced herself to quell her emotions and averted her eyes toward the ginger on the balcony. Despite her outward appearance of composure, the chill in her eyes spoke volumes. The story of betrayal lay in her amethyst irises, an expression Chuuya could relate to once again.

He remembered that same look within himself, and he wished fervently that, at the time, someone had been able to understand him. But he had no one, Yosano had him. And when the woman’s gaze met his own, he didn’t even flinch.

“You want to see Dazai?” A certain sharpness could be found in her voice if you searched for it long enough.

Chuuya resisted the urge to snort or restate the obvious. It’s what he’d been saying since he arrived, after all. Instead, he held onto the well-known anger, an emotion he could easily find himself in, and nodded. 

“It’d be nice to see him in the next two hours, I have other things to do.”

For a brief moment, their eyes met. Yosano looked back at her best friend, recalling the prior night, placing each piece on the puzzle to reconstruct the image she tried to destroy, remembering all the times she talked about Kouyou in front of Dazai and how he never told her he knew her. Did he know things wouldn’t work out with her? Did he know she was merely a distraction for Kouyou? Did he have fun watching her wait for a love that would be unrequited? 

Did he take her to that event knowing damn well that Kouyou would be there? 

The questions were piling up. She wanted to get answers out of the ginger, but Chuuya was also lost in an ocean made out of pure doubts and assumptions.

She could relate to that feeling and need for a response. 

“Fine, I’ll take you to his apartment.” 

Chuuya now looked more upbeat, as for Ranpo though, he visibly paled. 

“Akiko!” 

“What?” she questioned, turning around and looking at her best friend over her shoulder, “Dazai has some things to tell him, right? Well, now he also has something to explain to me!” 

Out of the possibilities, this was probably the worst scenario, Ranpo thought, and there was nothing he could say to stop the anger in his best friend from enveloping her whole or to satisfy the ginger’s insistence.

“This is not a good moment.”

“I don’t care if it isn’t!” Yosano exclaimed, raising her volume way higher than his, overshadowing any of his protests. She walked away after giving her best friend one last upset look; things between them were yet to be settled and would be resumed once she was back. “Boy, are you coming or not?” 

Chuuya didn’t hesitate. Glancing one last time at Ranpo, he followed the woman, shouting at her that he had a name and to call him by it. Both ignored Ranpo’s words and his attempt to persuade them to wait five damn seconds and listen to him.

He soon noticed both were equally stubborn and nothing he said would make them stop. They stormed out, slamming the door shut, the walls reverberating with the impact. And for a second, Ranpo considered following them and slamming the door too. 

“Shit…!” he yelled at the now empty apartment. 

He quickly searched for his phone and tried to call Dazai one more time, but the device was still off. He called time after time, but the operator’s message remained the same. When he looked out through the balcony, he couldn’t catch a glimpse of Chuuya or Yosano. He tried calling Dazai one last time. It was futile. 

With no other option left, he opened his messaging app. 

‘I hope you didn’t do anything stupid or this will get worse for you’ he texted, a message he was sure wouldn’t be read until hours or days later, but what else could he do? Try to get to Dazai’s apartment before Yosano and Chuuya? It was impossible. With how mad they were, they were probably halfway there by now. 

He considered calling Kunikida and hope he arrived before the other two to Dazai’s place, but before dialing his number, a passing thought expressed that maybe it’d be best to let everything crumble down. 

Perhaps something would come out of all of this. Nothing good certainly, possibly nothing bad either, just a step forward. And Dazai, more than anyone, needed that push. 

═════════════

From the edge of the mattress, adjusting the last bandages over the biggest scar on his left wrist after showering, Dazai observed his phone on the desk in front of the only window in the room. The curtains were still closed, barely any light passed through them, alerting him of the blue and clear sky that was waiting outside. 

He wanted to get up and open the curtains, turn on his phone again, and look whether Oda had called him again or not. He didn’t want to see that blue sky though, too clean, too shiny, so different to him; and he didn’t want to find all the missed calls either, to regret the wasted opportunity of hearing Odasaku and the never-ending calmness that resided in his voice. Or was it disinterest? He wasn’t so sure now, he couldn’t recall it properly, he could no longer differentiate between calm or indifference in his tone. 

Every time he talked to him in that way, it hurt. It hurt to realize how little importance he held to him. Was he ever important to begin with? Maybe he was, at the beginning, when he was trying to be a decent person and he was satisfied with the crumbs of love Oda gave him. But eventually, he wasn’t. Why not him? Why did he not deserve him? What else should he do? When he got tired of the leftovers, when he couldn’t even force himself to swallow them down, he met Tomie, and since that moment, he turned into a worse disaster than the one his parents had to deal with. 

Maybe, if he’d ignored Tomie three years ago, when she offered him some toxic tranquility, Oda would still be there. If he hadn’t seen himself on her, relating to the emptiness she also felt and that need to shut down the emotional and mental pain by whatever means necessary, the scar on his wrist wouldn’t exist. 

Maybe, if he hadn’t slept with her that first night, nor that last one, Oda would still be by his side, he thought, glancing at the naked woman, asleep in the other half of the bed. 

There was a certain peacefulness and serenity in her form, like a corrupted nymph who fooled everyone with her sweet and delicate appearance. It almost seemed as if monsters weren’t dwelling on her mind, as if she wasn’t one herself. So beautiful, so broken, so fake. To look at her and know that he, in front of everyone else, shared that same appearance, made him want to throw up. 

He wanted to blame her for everything, to hate her and show her the wide scar that she — although indirectly — caused, but it wasn’t her fault, he pondered, running his fingers over the long obsidian hair scattered on the pillow. Tomie stirred in her sleep, like a little girl searching for comfort. Anyone would’ve been touched by that reaction, but not Dazai. 

Since the first moment, he knew what type of person she was, what she wanted, and what she offered. She didn’t force him to drink himself into unconsciousness on that first night, nor did she coerce him into joining the subsequent debauchery that, countless times, made him wake up in his bed or anyone else’s without remembering a single thing, with a ton of missed calls, and Oda’s disappointed gaze, the one that welcomed him once he returned to their shared apartment at noon, or sometimes days later. 

It wasn’t her fault. Sure, maybe she pushed him into a dead-end road where only bad habits awaited him, and self-destructing yourself was a norm, but Dazai always knew how to get out of there, and yet, he didn’t do it. 

He didn’t walk away from Tomie or any of those bad ideas she offered him because he wanted to keep seeing that worried expression of Oda’s. He wanted to keep hearing all his scoldings, his advice, his attention, his anger, his tenderness, everything, anything he offered him. For how much he proclaimed to not want those crumbs of love, he was always longing for them because he knew he wouldn’t get anything more. 

Till one day, the worry and fondness went away. His voice became apathetic when it was directed at him, the kind and understanding look turned harsh. 

At that moment, he didn’t endure it. It hurt he hated Oda for leaving him aside and forgetting about him, but he realized he was hurting Oda with his attitude, and he loved him so much that he didn’t want to see him tired and broken, he didn’t want to destroy him more. So he distanced himself.

He tried to change, always thinking about Oda, always trying to remain close to his silhouette despite the distance that now lay between them. He studies literature thinking about how much Oda loved books and various authors. He became friends with his friends, he consumed the same drinks he called his favorites, he visited his preferred places in Kyoto, he listened to the same music he liked, he tried to be good, he began to fake a calmness and stability he did not possess; always happy, always laughing, always joking, always, always, always…

And then Chuuya returned, and he no longer had to fake it all. 

He could take a break and breathe. Look at his surroundings. Look at himself. Realized how little he enjoyed acting as the happy idiot with way too much free time to annoy others, how bad he felt when he tried to be someone he would never be. With Chuuya, the scar didn’t itch anymore, he didn’t think about Oda anymore, he didn’t worry about how others saw him anymore. He could go back to argue about something stupid, to joke around genuinely, to realize how much he really enjoyed poetry, especially those that would later become songs. 

Chuuya… He wanted to see Chuuya, but, once again, he let himself be dragged by the stream of everything bad he had on himself and kept his phone off. Would he be mad? Would he answer if he called him? Would he look at him with the same disappointment and fatigue that Oda once showed? He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Chuuya to look at him like that.

He had to avoid that expression in him at all costs, and the first step to doing that was getting Tomie out of his bed. 

“Hey,” he called, moving the woman with his hand resting on Tomie’s bare shoulder. He shook her once, twice, trice, repeating her name until he heard a groan and saw dark eyes opening and looking at him with annoyance. “It’s time for you to go.” 

“Mh, how late is it?” she asked, Dazai shrugged. Letting out an exhausted sigh, she searched for her phone among the scattered clothes on the bed. Finding the device and checking the time, she let out another groan and lay back down, converting the top of her face with her forearm. “It’s not even noon, let me sleep some more…” 

“No, you have to go.” Fully clothed and with bandages covered by the long sleeves of the hoodie he chose to wear, Dazai took her by her forearms and forced her to sit up, disregarding all her complaints. “Go, I have things to do.” 

Tomie forced herself to stay awake and began to dress herself slowly, glancing from time to time at Dazai, who was picking up the clothes he’d taken off the prior night and throwing them into the basket in the corner of the room. He seemed to be drowning in the anxiety caused by his thoughts. Still, he didn’t look like he regretted what they did, just angry at himself for going back to her when he desperately wanted to put a stop to his thoughts. 

She genuinely didn't think Dazai would invite her to his place when she offered him a free ride, nor did it ever cross her mind that they would end up tangled in the sheets. She knew what the brunette and the rest of the world thought about her, but she could behave like a decent human being sometimes and help an old friend, even if she knew the friendship was never reciprocated. 

She didn’t know what Dazai was thinking, but if the brunette thought she wanted to drag him down to what he was before, he was deadly wrong. True, she sometimes missed her perfect partner in debauchery. It was always fun to play around with him because he could keep up with her, but she knew that lifestyle was not destined for him.

Deep inside, when Dazai stopped doing all that two years ago, she was happy for him, and she also envied him. She couldn’t find a mighty enough reason to stop, not even if she was kicked out and left there to bleed would she consider truly leaving that place.

Maybe she still envied him for remaining steady for so long without relapsing, and that’s the reason she didn’t hesitate to go into his apartment and get into his bed the previous night. If there was a chance, she wasn’t one to let it go to waste. She wanted to know how much Dazai could endure and face reality without succumbing to the pressure around him. 

“So, when are we repeating this?” she questioned. 

“Never.” 

Tomie laughed. 

“You used to say that and yet you always came back to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens again, and you know I’d welcome you with open arms.” 

Almost fully dressed, she got up from the bed. She buttoned her blouse and tucked the remaining fabric into the dark, snug skirt. After finishing adjusting her clothes, she found Dazai’s cold gaze fixed on her. She simply smiled and approached him, with confidence and without feeling intimidated by him. She caressed his cheek and relished in the absolute rejection that filled his reddish-brown eyes at the possibility of something between them repeating itself.

“Playing with you is always fun, Dazai, if you need someone to distract yourself or don’t think for a moment, call me,” she offered, and with her usual smug grin, she walked away. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and left the room, looking for her shoes in the entryway. “At least make me some coffee while I wait for the taxi, would you? It’s probably cold outside.” 

From the living room, she heard Dazai sigh, but seconds later the brunette had exited his room and was walking straight towards the kitchen, approaching the coffee pot. Meanwhile, Tomie got comfortable on the couch, her phone was in her hands, asking for a taxi to come get her.

Almost five minutes later after she requested a vehicle and the water for the coffee had finished heating, there was a knock on the door. They looked at each other, one was hasty, the other was confused. 

“Your taxi’s here, go,” Dazai said, but Tomie shook her head. 

“I doubt it, this says it's going to arrive in ten minutes.” 

Since the brunette refused to come out of the kitchen and someone was knocking on the door with quite the amount of force, Tomie got up and decided to open the door to whoever was outside. Who knows, maybe it was Dazai’s roommate who’d forgotten their keys or they had a hunch she was there and hoped to see them in presentable condition when they ultimately attended the door. Anyway, she never really thought she would meet those amethyst eyes she hadn’t seen in a while, nor a blue gaze she could recognize. 

She never thought she would see so much anger in their eyes, one that disappeared and turned into surprise when she was the one to open the door. 

“Oh, Yosano, it’s been a while!” she greeted, as if the other woman was her bestest of friends. And would you look at that, upon noticing her presence, Yosano’s anger deepened and her brows furrowed. Such emotion wasn’t directed at her though, but instead, it was at the other person in the apartment. 

When he heard the name of his friend being voice, Dazai immediately stepped out of the kitchen, confused, not knowing why, out of all the people, Yosano was outside his door at that moment. But before he could ask anything, he noticed the ginger standing next to his friend. 

The sky was blue and clear, just like he imagined. The sun was shining with so much force despite being winter and, for a second, he couldn’t see Chuuya’s silhouette properly, nor could he observe his expression. But when his eyes got used to the lighting, he finally saw his face; shocked, bewildered, slowly understanding what had happened. 

He glanced at Tomie from head to toe. Her wrinkled clothing, her disheveled hair, the marks on her skin that the brunette had left the prior night, and then noticed Dazai behind her.

He hated seeing that expression on him. He hated seeing a spark of betrayal in his eyes, how the disappointment was beginning to cover each inch of his face. He wanted to raise his hand and erase that feeling from the ginger’s mind, to say something, anything, but like water between his fingers, it slipped away from him. 

“Chuuya,” he called out, the name acting as a wake-up call for the ginger, pulling him out of his thoughts, and making him turn around and start to walk away, step by step, without uttering a single word but gaining speed with each move. “Chuuya…!”

He didn’t even hesitate to follow him. He pushed Tomie aside to put on his shoes and rushed out, chasing after the ginger, calling out to him, ignoring Yosano, who was demanding he turn around and return.

“Dazai!” she shouted, and when she tried to follow the other two, Tomie stopped her by holding her tight by her wrist. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go!” 

“Give them a five or ten minute lead, then you follow them,” she suggested with that same disgusting smile that Yosano always hated. “Let them fight for a while, then they’ll be fine. By the way, who was that guy?” 

“Nobody you’d be interested in,” she hissed. Yeah, she imagined that was the kind of answer she would get.

And Yosano was right, she wasn’t interested in that ginger, Chuuya, but she couldn’t say the same about Dazai’s reaction when he left. Who else made him act like that? Oh, right, that man, Oda. It’s been a while since she saw someone who could evoke that desperation out of Dazai.

“Mh, I think I saw him at uni,” she murmured. At that moment, her phone rang. Her taxi had arrived and, looking back at Yosano with that grin she knew she hated, she told her so. “Anyway, I have to go. If you want, you can wait for Dazai inside, I’m pretty sure he left without his keys.”

Yosano stayed. She looked more mad than when she opened the door, but that wasn’t her problem. Calmly, she descended on the elevator to the first floor and noticed a taxi waiting by the entrance. A little bit further away, in the parking lot outside the building, she noticed Dazai and that other guy. 

Shrugging, as if she wasn’t curious to know what would happen from that moment onwards, she got in the car and left, never looking through the window of the vehicle. 

═════════════

Chuuya moved so fast, so much so that he almost didn’t see him leave through the exit that led to the parking lot outside, but he reacted in time and caught him. He stopped him.

And now that he had him in front of him, he realized that maybe it would’ve been best to let him go. To let the anger subside by itself with enough time and then he would find him sitting on that bench outside the main Humanities building each afternoon, like always. 

But the way Chuuya was looking at him, his silence, everything his eyes were saying, it all foretold that those evenings would happen again. 

He looked at him with fatigue, with disappointment. The same way Oda looked at him before everything went downhill. He didn’t want to see that glance on Chuuya, he didn’t want all that directed at him. He had to do something, say something, anything…

“Chuuya,” he called, trying to control the nervousness, not knowing what to say to erase that expression. “I can explain…” 

“What would you even explain?” he inquired in a low, rough voice, a dangerous tone you do not want to hear. “It’s pretty clear to me.”  

Why did he think they could have something better? Why did he think that was ever even an option?

He wasn’t even an option for Dazai, just a recourse, a way to pass the time. That hadn’t changed. 

Ah, dammit, why did it take him so long to realize that, even when they were kids, he was never that important to Dazai, was he? And when they dated, was he something more than just another toy to him? Something new to try? He was his first relationship with another boy, maybe it lasted so long because that’s what Dazai wanted, just to keep pissing off his parents, not because he truly ever loved him… could he even love someone? 

Maybe, maybe… that person just wasn’t Chuuya. It hurt to finally realize it, that teenager inside of him who was still crying and screaming was aching now too, and he as the adult, as the person who refused to crumble down despite everything, wanted to punch Dazai and remove that fake expression of anxiety and worry out of his face. 

He didn’t want to see that expression on him. It wasn’t genuine, it was never genuine…

“Stop looking at me like that…” Chuuya demanded, almost trembling with frustration, “as if you care about what I think.” 

He tried to get Dazai to let go of his wrist, but the more he wanted to pull away, the more the other insisted on keeping him there, close, looking at him and listening to each lie that came out of his mouth.

He never cared about all the lies, he even learned how to endure them, but that was no more.

“Because I do,” Dazai confessed, reflecting a light desperation in his voice that he was trying to keep at bay, but everything was espacing his hold, and he could notice that hte ginger didn’t believe him. “Chuuya, she’s not… We only–”

“She? You think I care if you slept with her?” he lied, hiding the pain and disappointment behind the anger and a forced, yet sarcastic chuckle. “I don’t give a shit if you fucked her, Dazai, I really don’t give a damn. But I’m tired of this, of you not answering my calls, of you blocking my number or turning off your phone without telling me what the hell’s going on with you. I should also have a say in all of this, no? We’re supposed to be trying to be friends, we’re supposed to…” 

That sentence was never finished. The anger disappeared. And so did the tension in his shoulders. All his body seemed to calm down, but it wasn’t quite tranquility, Dazai noticed, it was resignation. A deep resignation, rooted by the death of a small ray of hope that had been born out of nowhere and was now extinguished. He didn’t like that lack of conviction on Chuuya, it didn’t fit him well, and he had no idea what to do to recover some of the spark in his eyes.

And there was nothing he could do, really, because he didn't deserve Chuuya, and Chuuya was better away from him.

“No, there’s no ‘we’,” the ginger uttered, tired, resigned, sad, “only I was trying to make this work, whatever this is supposed to be.” 

“Chuuya–”

“You wanted me away, right? Well, congrats, you win.” 

With a soft movement, he managed to rip away the hold Dazai had on him. It appeared that the brunette had no longer any force to stop him again, because his words, somehow, seemed to have affected him in some way, but was it real? Did those words truly had any effect on Dazai?

No, probably not. That desperation on him wasn’t real, it was only him being annoyed, right? Dazai hated not being in control of a situation.

“Chuuya, I don’t– It’s not easy to explain,” he murmured, not trying to stop the ginger, just hoping he would stay regardless. “You wouldn’t understand anyway…” 

“I would understand if you wanted to explain it, but I don’t want to hear you anymore.”

Why was Chuuya smiling the same way Oda did? With so much resignation, with so much pain. There was nothing he could do to delete that bitter smile, nothing he could do to stop him from talking.

He didn’t want to listen, he wanted nothing of that, and yet, he could only do just that: listen, remain motionless, notice how the gigner looked at him with disappointment and weariness. 

“You’re right, Dazai,” he mumbled, taking a step back, putting more distance between them. “We’re better far away from each other. After all, what am I to you? Just an idiot from the past.” 

No, he wasn’t only that. He wasn’t merely someone from the past like he thought for so long, he was something more, he needed him. He needed Chuuya, but he didn’t know in what way yet. So he should stay by his side until he can figure it out and understand what the other meant t him, but he guessed he deserved all that. 

Once again, he was wrong. Once again, he didn’t know what to say to make Chuuya believe in him. He only needed to observe his tired and disappointed eyes to know there was nothing he could say to stop him, to keep that expression away, in some other place where it would never find his face again. 

And Chuuya was waiting for something, any word, still clinging to the scattered trust he still had in him, but Dazai didn’t say anything. And the ginger left, looking back, but at no point did Dazai meet his eyes.

Yeah, he was never important to Dazai. And Dazai didn’t deserve Chuuya, they thought. One of them leaving, the other staying behind, not looking behind one more time. 

Apparently, the sky was now covered by clouds once again, and the party was over. The little good and sweet memories melted under the pouring rain and were locked up inside a coffin of snow. 

Chapter Text

The last time she saw Dazai wearing that expression was on that day with Oda. After that, even if she knew he was lying more often than not and his eyes reflected pure emptiness, how deep that emotion ran could never be compared to how it looked at that moment. Yosano thought that desolation reflected on the reddish-brown color would be a one time thing, however, she was far from being right.

There it was, again. Stuck in the same man he knew since four years ago, who was entering the apartment with his eyes completely downcast. The silence around him made her shiver, and so did his eyes when they eventually landed on her form.

The room felt way too small, lacking an exit, absent of any ray of sunshine and warmth. All her thoughts plead her to go and leave Dazai alone, because he wouldn’t care about anything she could dare to say, nor would it affect him. It almost seemed as if someone had pulled his heart out of his body, taking with them what little empathy or sympathy he could muster.

“Are you still here?” Dazai inquired. Yosano noticed he left the door slightly opened. “Leave, I didn’t invite you.” 

Even if the coldness and stoicism gave her goosebumps, those words served as a wake up call, making her clench her hands into fists. And without being able to stop it, she replied in the exact same way. Distant, with venom, with the intention to make him look, at the very least, guilty or ashamed. 

“You didn’t invite me, yet you did invite Tomie,” she pointed out, crossing her arms and blocking Dazai’s path when he tried to go to his room. “I didn’t think you would fall so low again. Did you enjoy fucking her?” 

“More than you think,” he confessed. And just like Yosano expected, Dazai leaned down towards her, arranging her hair behind her ear with the same smile Tomie gave her before she left. “Don’t be jealous, it’s not my fault you can’t touch another woman.” 

The hand tangled in the short, black haired was slapped away forcefully, punching it as hard as she could, leaving a sharp pain on his wrist. Dazai couldn’t react on time, not even to complain or get lost in the sound that echoed. Before he realized, Yosano’s hands were clutching the neckline of his sweatshirt, and her face was mere centimeters away from his, forcing him to look down. The amethyst eyes were shining with a mix of pure anger and warning, the same emotions he saw one too many times on blue tinted eyes. 

“Don’t fuck with me like that, Dazai, you know that won’t end good,” Yosano grunted.

Her voice talked by itself in a low and dangerous tone, her gaze motionless, set straight on him. That would’ve been enough to intimidate any other man or woman, and yet, Dazai stayed still, his expression showing nothingness, never backing down or looking elsewhere.

He didn’t like his own image fogged by a purple hue, he preferred it when it was blue, but he knew he wouldn’t see himself reflected on that color again, and that saddened him so much that he couldn’t, nor did he want, to pick a fight with Yosano.

“What do you want?” he questioned, his voice plain and lacking his characteristic charm. 

With the same aggressivity as the start, Yosano let him go. Dazai pulled back a couple of steps, fixing his clothes and smoothing down the creases she left. Then, his bored gaze landed once again on the dark-haired girl, his whole body and gestures expressing how little he cared about any complaints she had.

“You knew who Kouyou was from the beginning,” she spouted, almost pointing at him as if she was judging him for every small mistake he ever made in his life. “And you never said anything.” 

“Kouyou? Oh, right, this is about her,” Dazai commented as if it was nothing and he moved his head in what barely resembled a nod. “Yeah, I always knew who she was, so? What’s the problem?” 

Her hands closed into fists again, but Yosano stopped herself from approaching Dazai even if she really wanted to. She couldn’t believe him, who does Dazai think he was to talk to her like that? As if he had no idea what he’d done and the way it affected her? Always acting like a damn idiot, Yosano thought. Laughing behind her back, all while he saw her daydream about a woman who didn’t deserve shit from her. 

Did he not think about her and how she would feel when she realized he hid that detail from her? Their friendship meant nothing to him? She was by his side two years ago after his suicide attempt and after Oda left. She didn’t leave him alone. She cleaned his wounds, she changed his bandages when he needed it, always treating him with delicacy and attention. She and Ranpo took care of him all this time; they made sure he ate, slept, and tried to make him think of other things that weren’t the love that was never returned.

And what did she get as a reward? Nothing but betrayal and disloyalty, for him to hide something so important to her. Now she saw it, now she understood it. Her trust and friendship meant nothing to Dazai.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything…?” she inquired, shaking from head to toe, her jaw tense with a  prevalent desperation present. “You’re supposed to be my friend… At least you could’ve given me some advice if you’ve known her for years!” 

“Would something have changed if I did?” Dazai asked in return. Upon his coldness and simplicity, Yosano was rendered speechless. She perfectly knew what the answer was. “Yeah, figures. You would’ve still crawled after her even if I warned you or told you whatever, so why bother.” 

Dazai walked away. He moved towards the kitchen and began to prepare himself a cup of coffee, serving himself directly from the coffee pot despite the liquid in it being already way past cold. He ignored Yosano and her presence on the other side of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. The entrance door was still slightly opened, the implicit invitation to leave the place he couldn’t even call home laying there. 

Midway through his third sip of his flavorless coffee, Yosano’s voice echoed once more, reminding Dazai that she was still there.

“Was it funny?” she asked. The fury in her voice had decreased, it was still there, but the sadness caused by the betrayal overshadowed the fire she felt, and it cooled down until so little remained. “Was it fun to see me suffer because of her yesterday?” 

“Yes.” 

She expected anything from Dazai. A chuckle, a joke, silence, anything, really, it’s just that that cold and direct answer that left little to interpretation was not in the realm of things she expected. The brunette didn’t even look at her when he said it. His disinterest was so huge he gave her his back at all times and continued drinking his cold coffee. 

And Yosano… Yosano had no words or complaints left. She got the response she demanded, not the way she expected it but she got it… nonetheless. With energy for nothing more, absent of anger or sadness, just disappointment, she left; looking back, one last time, at the man lost and lonely in the middle of the kitchen in front of an empty coffee pot.

“You’re such a piece of shit,” she mused, closing the door after her with such delicacy that prevented any sound from breaking the silence in which the room was deeply submerged.

Putting the empty cup in the dishwasher, looking at the porcelain and the almost unnoticeable stain the coffee left in the white material, Dazai muttered to himself:

“Tell me something I didn’t know.”

And then he walked to his room; leaving an empty cup behind, the curtains of the living room still closed, preventing the sunlight from brightening and warming the place. And when he closed his bedroom door despite him being the only one at the apartment and no one would even think about entering, he observed the pile of books on his desk and on his shelf. Novels, so many novels, and a poem book, a single one, one that housed the last poem that was created for him. He observed the mess of his bed, the several creases on the sheets. A dark and long hair on the pillow, Tomie’s scent lingering on his blankets. Everything, everything felt utterly wrong, and the memories of last night alongside Chuuya’s words ran through his mind. His face was clear in his mind, so clear that it almost felt as if he was reliving that moment again and he had the ginger right in front of him. 

His blue eyes lacking his characteristic shine, the bags dark under his eyelids. His tired, forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His disheveled and dull hair, broken like the illusions that arrived and died. The sky was too clear on his back, mocking them, lighting their silhouettes, but that glow wasn’t enough to give him some sort of vitality to his skin, clear and almost bordering on gray; pretty much dead, tired, disappointed, resigned…

“You’re right, Dazai. We’re better far away from each other…”

Why was he an idiot? Why was he still doing everything wrong? Why couldn’t he change? It didn’t matter what he did, how much he changed, how much he pretended, he always circled back to the worst decisions, walking away from everything he wanted but didn’t deserve. And now he regretted it, he pondered about the thousands of roads he could’ve taken and would’ve guided him to a present where he didn’t feel like everything was lost. 

If only he hadn’t taken Tomie to his place last night, he thought. If only he hadn’t wished to see Chuuya. If only he hadn’t answered Oda’s call. If only, if only, if only…

The sheets were torn off the bed. The pillows were thrown to the ground, as far as they could reach, clashing against the desk, the closet, the door, the windows. The desk was violently pushed. The pencil case fell, it shattered. Pencils flew, one of them rolled towards Dazai and succumbed under his weight. The notebooks fell, the pages got folded, they were torn off, destroyed, crumbled, thrown against the wall. Then the shelf, then the books. One by one. Two by two. Everything, each one, without an exception. They all touched the ground, some closed, some opened, some with pages to show, some only the cover. All of them fell till not one remained standing on the shelf, and when the chaos and destruction surrounded him, Dazai stopped.

It was difficult to breathe, the cold air burnt his lungs. His hands were trembling. His fingers closing and stretching constantly, almost not recognising what they’ve done. Slowly, Dazai began to realize what was lying around him. Tomie’s scent had gone away from his sheets, Oda’s favorite book was upside down, Chuuya’s poem opened and staring straight at him. 

Thinking of nothing but the soft comfort of words that once showed him love, he picked up the poem. He sat on the edge of what was left of his bed and reread it once again. Each word sketched by Chuuya’s hands with his perfect calligraphy; always readable, fancy and beautiful. 

How could a calligraphy so delightful portray the distress of seeing him again? How could something written months ago express the same thing Dazai was feeling at that exact moment? His resentment for something that didn’t had the finale he desired, the fear and desolation he felt when he heard Oda’s voice, that voice he oftentimes remembered in the loneliest of nights and the one he desperately yearn for. Months back, Chuuya wrote that confusion and longing he felt at that instant.

But it didn’t tell the whole story, there were missing pieces, things only he felt and he didn’t share with the ginger before, and definitely not now. And he needed to express it somehow, he needed to calm down his convoluted emotions, to quiet them down or suppress them in some way, it didn’t matter how — and for a second, he considered calling Tomie. 

When he pulled out his phone and saw his last two calls — Oda and Chuuya —, he forgot about Tomie and clicked on the number pertaining to the person he truly needed. Wishing and wanting to hear his voice, searching for comfort, looking for forgiveness like he used to do when he was a teenager, but this time genuinely looking for redemption. 

And he waited for the call to be answered, he waited with his heart on his sleeve to listen to the voice on the other end, but Chuuya didn’t reply, his number was blocked, and his calls were sent to the void. 

Ah, now he knew how it felt to be rejected and ignored by the person you need, he thought, calling himself pathetic and laughing at how poetically cruel and ironic all of this was. He looked down, he glanced at the screen, he read the contact name, and he bit his bottom lip.

He really hated those missed calls, he almost wanted to cry. But still, no tears would fall, even if he tried to force them.

He looked at the scattered books all around his room. He pondered on picking them up, but he didn’t want to. It was a complete chaos, nothing was right, and he could almost picture his own internal turmoil and how much it compared with the one he created, but there were still some things in their place, things he could cling to somehow, things that could give him momentarily comfort. Looking once again at his surroundings, he noticed the only thing remaining on a stable place: a blank page and a lonely pen over the desk. And without thinking about anything else, with no other option left, Dazai stood up.

He cautiously left Chuuya’s poem on one side of the table, next to his phone with the screen looking up and waiting for a message that would never arrive. He moved the chair and he sat down in front of the table. He took the pen with a shaky hand, he brought the page nearer with the other hand, and he began to write.  

═════════════

She forced herself to keep her mind blank for the whole trip. She was still pissed off and hurt for many reasons she had no idea how to organize or explain, but Yosano knew that, if she acted carelessly, everything could end up even worse.

Ah, she wished she could cause some chaos and roll around on it, even if she had no idea how to get out of there afterward, even under the possibility that she ended up affecting more people than she wanted. But she decided not to do that. When presented with different options, she chose to try and calm down, save up all that anger for later, like for her boxing class or any other moment in which she really needed to punch an idiot. Dazai deserved it though, but she was already far from his apartment and she still had quite a while to arrive to her own place. 

Letting out a mildly exhausted sigh and cursing at the bright sun over her head, she continued her walk, slowing down each step as much as she could. She didn’t want to arrive at her place yet, Ranpo would be there and she would be reminded that even her best friend kept that important detail from her. And she knew what he would tell her, that he chose not to say anything because it wasn’t his problem, and Yosano would get even more mad at him, then she would end up all resigned, she would forgive him, and she would talk to him as usual. 

If she took a while to return, that would at least keep Ranpo all anxious and worried for some seconds more, and that would be enough vengeance for her. And deciding that maybe she wouldn’t talk to him in what was left of the day, she crossed by the central plaza that she knew so well and was full of people. 

She strolled among the crowd without looking at anyone, without pondering much on anything, or trying to do so at least. Something caught her attention, however. A head of red hair stood out amidst the sea of muted tones around her. For a moment, she thought it was Kouyou, but quickly noticed the difference in the reddish hue. It was leaning more into orange, the hair slightly wavy, the posture less poised and elegant, more relaxed and unassuming. Without hesitation, Yosano walked towards the man seated on the bench under a skeletal and temporarily dead tree.

“How bad was the talk between you and Dazai?” she inquired, coming slowly to a halt in front of Chuuya. The words escaped her lips knowing what they were doing, looking for a sort of comradery and an answer that wouldn’t be given if the blue eyes that paid little attention to her were anything to go by. “Both of you look so…”

Hurt, she completed to herself. Lost, gaunt, as if the unknown hopes had collapsed, they were so feeble and premature to begin with that they had no place to grasp at. She almost felt bad for them. Almost. 

“None of your business,” Chuuya responded, and although his tone was as pissed as it was defiant, Yosano was too tired to pick a fight with someone as stubborn as Dazai. 

She sat next to him, in complete silence and observing the people who passed by through the plaza. Somewhere around there, where most of the passersby were gathered, someone was playing the guitar, but neither she nor the ginger were particularly interested in the musician. They stayed away from everyone, deep in thought or in other ways of distraction. 

When she glanced at Chuuya, Yosano noticed he had his phone in his hands, his fingers remained still, not daring to click over the calling button, only glaring at the contact name — ‘Arthur’, she realized — and then, an incoming call announced its arrival. The screen was filled with the name ‘Osamu’, the phone rang. Quiet and insistent, almost bordering on desperate, but as soon as Chuuya declined the call, he blocked the number without batting an eye.

Perhaps his face displayed nothing, but Yosano knew that every decision he was making hurt him and felt uncertain. She only needed to observe the lack of vitality in his eyes to notice the internal struggle he was undergoing. But, as the battle continued, resignation gained ground, burying whatever remnants of hope were still left. 

“You and Kouyou are very different,” she muttered, more to herself, but the man next to her heard it anyway. “Really, you two don’t look alike…” 

Turning off his phone, opting to call later and distract himself with something, Chuuya focused on Yosano. 

“Kouyou is a carbon copy of our father, I look more like our mother,” he commented. “If it wasn’t for the hair, there wouldn’t be many similarities between us… I look more like my brother.” 

“So you have an brother, huh…” The same resigned smile that Chuuya gave to Dazai appeared on Yosano's lips this time. “She never told me.” 

To stand enveloped by a silk of ignorance and thousands of omitted details was something Chuuya could relate to. And it was funny, bordering on poetic cruelty, that both he and Yosano were left in that void of unanswered questions by the same two people. One before the other, but the order mattered so little when it was always those two.

“How much do you know about Kouyou?” 

“Nothing, apparently,” Yosano replied. “It would’ve been nice to know more before all of this happened, but Dazai didn't want to warn me so…”

Her arms — hugging her own body — tightened some more. She buried her nails in her own sweater, recalling all the facts she knew and learned in only one or two hours. She was still upset, she could still feel the resentment lingering on her skin.

“That asshole, I doubt I can forgive him for not telling me he already knew Kouyou,“ she hissed, and the upsetness she had accumulated plunked down immediately when Chuuya spoke. 

“To say he knows her is exaggerating,” Chuuya explained. “Actually, last night was the first time he saw her in person.”

Yosano’s confused expression landed on him, bewildered at his tranquility and his words. Chuuya didn’t look mad. Hurt? Sure, a lot. He was still looking at the phone, almost as if wishing for the number he blocked to call again, all while he tried to control his hands and their desire to remove the contact from the blocked list.

Sighing, Chuuya removed his attention from his phone. His fingers seemed to be shaking, wanting to act for themselves and, before he could do something he’d regret in a couple of hours, he returned the device to his pocket and gave a response to the questions plastered on the woman’s face.

“The only things Dazai knows about Kouyou are what I told him when we were teens, and believe me, he knows the bare minimum,” he recounted, centering his eyes in the amethysts ones next to him, trying to stay there and ignore the device in his clothes. “When I met Dazai, Kouyou didn't live with me and our parents anymore. Did she ever tell you about them? Did she tell you why she left?”

Yosano shook her head. Chuuya noticed the self-deprecating feelings in the way she bit her bottom lip and the tension in her fists. She was probably calling herself an idiot for not knowing details so simple and basic about someone she talked to for a while, trusting blindly with so much ease.

He did the same. Blindly trusting Kouyou and Dazai. Both he and Yosano were just a pair of idiots.

“I didn't know why she left either, just found out a year or so ago,” he added. “I know you're mad at Dazai for not telling you anything about Kouyou, but really, the only thing he could've told you was that she left me alone with our parents and I missed her every damn day, but that's all. He doesn't know anything else.”

A weird gentleness colored Chuuya’s voice, mixed with weariness and resignation, combined with a spark of fondness no one deserved, not Dazai nor Kouyou. Yosano observed her own reflection in the blue hue; the emotions seemed to be stabilizing, her image clashing against a deep lagoon illuminated by the esparse rays of sunlight. There was a sense of understanding in them, empathy for what she felt, but there also stood a big wall that he couldn't destroy — not that he wanted to.

“I get that you're mad at Kouyou for not telling you a lot of things, and I get that she hurt you, but still, I can't say the feeling is mutual and walk away again.” A twitch in his lips, a small smile forming, a sign that usually comes with an apology, setting things straight and telling her that he couldn't help her with what she felt. “I imagine the same goes for you. You know I'm pissed at Dazai even if you don't know why, and now that you know he couldn't even say much about Kouyou, you don’t have an excuse to be mad and push him away.”

Chuuya should be cursing the hell out of Dazai, Yosano thought. He should be as mad as her — perhaps even more —, throwing his anger and harsh words at the brunette, but he didn't do it.

Sure, his words basically radiated sadness, but the anger was put beneath a silk of something soft she didn't know how to describe. Was he worried? Was it fondness? Understanding mixed with resignation? She wasn't sure. She couldn't name all the emotions Chuuya put out for the world to see, especially when they were, to a certain degree, contradictory. 

On one side, he refused to answer the brunette’s calls and blocked his number, on the other, he was giving her all that talk, excusing Dazai for his actions.

“I know he’s a piece of shit who probably told you a lot of bullshit after I left, but you should already know that he's an idiot and that's his way of protecting himself,” Chuuya commented, almost smiling to himself when he recalled the man he felt so angry at, and yet could still worry about. “You're his friend, right? Then stay by his side.”

Contradictory feelings that, somehow, managed to balance themself while also supporting Chuuya and everything he felt and thought about Dazai.

That guy was so strange, Yosano thought, more than anyone she'd known that was somehow linked directly to Dazai. She didn't know what to expect of the ginger, but she was naive to believe that someone who Dazai was interested in, who managed to make him look so bleak and lost just like Oda once did, would be easy to understand.

She could only find one explanation for his behavior, words and emotions. And when she thought about it, Yosano chuckled.

“You really care about Dazai, don't you?” she asked, but Chuuya didn't reply.

“Did Kouyou at least tell you about me?” he questioned, abruptly changing the topic.

Yosano nodded, looking forward towards the naked trees and the people who walked by. The music on the other side of the plaza was lower, more quiet. There were some couples and friends sitting in the edge of the fountain, enjoying the soft sun of winter, that which seemed like a solace and a sign that, no matter how much cold decided to invade the place, they could always take a moment to slow down, stand under the light, and take a deep breathe.

“I knew she had a younger brother. She talked non stop about your first performance and how much she wanted to hear you sing,” Yosano narrated after a long silence. “Did she tell you she has a video of that? It was recorded by yours truly.” 

“So you were there with Dazai…”

“And Atsushi,” she added, laughing to herself. “He was only focused on Akutagawa though.” 

Chuuya laughed when he remembered his guitarist and the albino. Deep down, he wished for neither of them to be dragged into so many problems, lies and omissions like he and Yosano were. Even though it was inevitable and only a matter of time. Atsushi was already suffering, right? It hurt to see the person you like with someone else and realize you don't even have a chance. It’d be easy for him to forget about Akutagawa, but it didn't seem like the boy wanted to do so or listen to any of his advice.

At least Ryuu wasn't damaging him consciously like Dazai and Kouyou did with them, Chuuya thought. But his behavior, his focus, the subtle excitement he felt about having another friend which he didn't really notice, the song he asked him to record for only Atsushi to hear, he was filling the albino’s chest with hopes that weren’t so easy to dissuade.

Damn. Maybe he should talk to Ryuu and make him notice what he was causing, but that would probably make him drift away from Atsushi and hurt him all the same. But a small and momentarily ache couldn't compare to what the albino would feel if all of those small actions continued and escalated.

═════════════

His phone rang in the interior of his jacket and his gloved hands didn't hesitate to take it out. After that sunny day, snow fell on the city and covered it all with a white blanket. By that moment — January 1 —, the cold had already made each corner of the area its new home, and it followed them everywhere, even to that old and crowded shrine to which Kouyou dragged him to at six in the morning.

Letting out a puff of air and seeing how the cold made his action visible, he read the message Yosano sent him. After their talk, they exchanged numbers and chatted frequently during those days. That morning, the black-haired woman asked him if he was awake and visiting the shrine alongside Kouyou. She mentioned to him that she wanted to go too, and she would probably force Ranpo and another friend to accompany her to the shrine to pray and make some wishes for the new year, but she didn't want to come across Kouyou.

Chuuya told her to wait an hour or two before going to the place because, at the moment, he had his sister and his niece in front of him in the line. And, based on what little clues he had, Yosano didn't seem to know Kyoka existed.

Why didn't Kouyou tell her about her daughter? Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't found out only a year ago, but still… It was something strange for his sister to do. He knew she didn't upload any pictures of her on social media, but each time she met someone knew, she always told them about her being a mother. So then, why did she tell Yosano absolutely nothing? He wondered, looking at the girl with black hair, clinging to her mother’s hand as if it was her lifeline and saying something about wanting to have a rabbit or a cat as a pet. Then he glanced at his sister, the smile on her face as she replied to her daughter, mumbling that she would think about it.

Kouyou looked the same as always. Composed, calm, without a single inch of guilt or worry. But, if he looked closely, if he scrutinized her, if he focused just a bit more, he could see a subtle sadness reflected in her gaze. He felt the same, and maybe it was only because he could relate that he could also notice it. 

His phone had been in silence for around a week out of his own volition and to say it was hard to maintain it like that would be an understatement. He really wanted to unblock his number and await one of his calls. He wanted Dazai to call him again and show him that he thought and cared about him — even if it was so little. But let's be honest here, those were nothing but mere illusions. Dazai would never call, he would never do it even if he unblocked him and texted him, acting as if he sent a message to the wrong person.

He wasn't important to Dazai. He never was. The brunette would never be the first to dial his number or search for him in the university. Why would he? He’d finally gotten rid of him as he so much wanted since the beginning. Now he was better, right? He could go back to his life and focus on his beloved Oda.

A bitter flavor landed on his palate, it was so profound it made him want to scowl and throw up, maybe cry too, and hit something, it didn't matter what.

It was whatever, Chuuya concluded. It didn't matter if he felt bad, if he was as angry as he was sad, if resignation kept punching his heart non stop, shouting and repeating that that little illusion of him was nothing but idiot’s thoughts. He should’ve figured Dazai would make him feel desolated again, or so his disappointment told him as it crashed against his stomach till it made it twist.

At the finish line, you would always find him hurt and looking like a complete and utter fool, or so his insecurities liked to yell. It didn't matter if it was Dazai or anyone else, it was always the same. He’d promised himself to not go through that pain again. He’d promised himself to be as far away as possible from any resemblance of a deep bond, from a relationship or compromise in which he could be left behind. He’d promised himself to not let anyone make him feel like he mattered so little again. He told himself one-night stands were far better than a stable relationship, but there he was again, wanting that with Dazai. Caring for Dazai.

Idiot. Dazai never cared for you, not then and definitely not now. You were just convenient for him, a momentary entertainment. He always saw you as someone who he could spend the night away with, someone who he could kill time with, someone who was there as a placeholder until he finally found someone he loved. Do you think if you unblock him he would call? He probably called the wrong number on that day. Yeah, that's probably it. He probably wanted to call that other guy, Oda, the person who replaced him… Or are you the replacement? Are we the replacement? Ha, I'm the replacement, of course, what else could I be? Everyone always wants something out of me, but they never want me…

“Chuuya, your phone.” Kouyou’s voice broke through his thoughts, invading his head. And when the ginger focused his lost gaze on her face, he noticed how worried she looked.

Was it real? Did she really care for him? No, he doubted it. 

Noticing the number on his screen, he didn't hesitate to answer and take his phone to his ear with near anxiety. He smiled to himself when he heard the voice on the other end of the call, greeting him in a relaxing and perfect French. He could almost picture the serene expression Arthur was wearing.

“ Bonjour, mon agneau ,” he greeted, quickly switching to a Japanese that was still being practiced. “Were you still sleeping?”

“Arthur,” he murmured, with a certain fondness in his voice that was impossible to hide. When she heard who the caller was, Kouyou turned around and continued talking with her daughter, ignoring the sweet tone and ongoing conversation behind her. “How long will you keep calling me ‘sheep’?”

“Always. I won't forget when you got here and ran after one.”  

Of course he would never forget that embarrassing moment, Chuuya thought. He didn't know what he was thinking when he got to Arthur’s house in Charleville-Mézières with Paul and, instead of saying hi to the brother-in-law he didn't know he had, he got out of the car running after a small sheep that belonged to one of the neighbor’s flock.

Honestly, he wasn't thinking much of anything during that day, or that year in its entirety. His heart still ached for the absence of Kouyou and Dazai. His parents didn't even mind that he left with his new-found brother. They didn't call or try to stop him. He was eighteen, right? Almost an adult in the eyes of everyone. He could choose if he wanted to stay at his house and continue being treated as if he was just something bothersome, or go with some stranger who claimed to share half his blood, the part his mother gave him.

And he chose to go with the stranger. He didn't regret doing so, although he did regret running after that small sheep. Neither Paul nor Arthur would let him live that down. And even though their jokes always embarrassed him, he could never escape that warm and cozy family he quickly formed with them — not that he would ever want to.

“Shut up, I never saw one from up close and I was obsessed with them when I was five.”

“And when you were eighteen, right?” Arthur teased him, and though he was deeply embarrassed, Chuuya couldn’t get mad at him. “But that's beside the point, are you at home?”  

“I wish, but Kouyou woke me up at five and dragged me to a shrine for the New Year. And you? Where’s Paul?”

“Mh, we’re celebrating the New Year right now. Your brother went to look for some grapes.”

“Tell him to not choke when he eats them this time, I'm not there to make fun of him.” 

Arthur chuckled and muttered that he would relay his message to his brother. Chuuya heard a huff somewhere in the background, followed by words he couldn't quite make out, and Rimbaud’s silence on the other end told him that he was listening to the person he was with.

“Anyway, Chuuya, are you okay? You haven’t called a lot lately,” he said, returning his attention to the call. “Paul is worried, and he would’ve sent you a lot of texts if he had time. We wanted to do the accounting of the fiscal year in advance so he was busy.”

“Yeah, he likes to act as if he's my dad. But I'm fine, tell him to stop worrying so much because if he has a stroke or dies of cardiac arrest, I'll marry you.”

He heard an annoyed yell in the background and Arthur began to laugh. Between his cackles and whatever Paul bemoaned about from where he was, Chuuya couldn't understand what he was saying, but he caught his fake offended tone.

“I'm on speaker?” he asked. Arthur hummed. “Got it, let Paul hear this… Hope you choke on a grape tonight so I can go back to France and marry Arthur!” 

He knew he was attracting the attention of everyone around him. Kyoka glanced at him with curiosity when she heard him laugh, and she asked her mother who he was talking to. Kouyou muttered a bitter response that Chuuya ignored when the voice on the other end found some sense of calm and formulated words that could be understood.

“Are you planning to return to France?” Arthur questioned, excited and with the laugh still not leaving his voice fully. “You know you're always welcomed here, and guess who I contacted recently! Someone I sent to London two years ago, but I'm thinking of transferring him to a new branch, we're in need of a translator.”

A translator…? He only knew of someone who filled that role for Arthur back when he lived with him and Paul. It was the same person who taught him French in his first year there until he could speak and understand the language.

“Adam…?” He tentatively offered.

“Yes! You got along with him, right?”  

Chuuya shrugged, keeping his small smile when he remembered the man they were talking about, walking behind Kouyou as the line got closer to the entrance of the shrine. It’d been a while since he thought about Adam, or any other people he met in France.

“I mean, aside from you dragging him into babysitting duties when I first went to Charleville…”

“Oh come on, you two did get along very nicely, I still remember when you–” Before an ashamed Chuuya could force him to shut up, Arthur got interrupted by a coughing fit.

The sound caught him off guard, yet it was not an unknown event. Worry posed on his form when the coughing continued with no apparent end, making him come to a halt, bothering everyone behind him. He heard the phone falling, followed by quick steps approaching and walking over the device. He heard his older brother’s voice muttering sweet nothings in French, all words directed to the other man who was slowly trying to regain his breath.

After five minutes of a heavy silence filled only by hurried murmurs, the phone was picked up, but the voice had changed. Kouyou glanced sideways at him. Kyoka asked who Chuuya was talking to once again. And the other man, with whom he hadn’t talked to in a while, greeted him.

“Hey.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll be. You know how much winter affects him,” Paul replied, sighing with exasperation. “It's good that you answered, that is sure to put him in a good mood.” 

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling a bit ashamed. “I've been busy, I…”

“Haven't been feeling well?” Chuuya didn't reply, but his silence was enough for Paul. “Yeah, I thought so. Both you and Kouyou sound depressed lately. I don't know what happened but if either of you need something just call me and I'll send you a ticket straight to Charleville.”

“You want us there that badly?”

“Hey, I still haven't met my niece and I’d like to talk more to Kouyou,” he admitted. “But since neither of you want to come, I guess that means we have to go visit Japan, at least when Arthur’s feeling better.”

“I think you’d like Kyoto,” he commented, and when he noticed it was almost their turn to enter the shrine, he added: “I gotta go, I’ll pray for Arthur.”

“Only Arthur? You're a mean little brother,” he complained, but Chuuya could picture the smile on his lips. “Later, Chuuya. If something comes up, call me.”

He hung up and joined Kouyou and Kyoka inside the shrine. He deliberately chose to ignore his sister’s bitter and curious gaze, opting instead to answer the girl’s questions and explain who he was talking to. At least, Kyoka looked excited to have more uncles and meet them someday.

After praying and saying his wishes for that new year, Kouyou suggested eating breakfast somewhere nearby. She offered to pay, so Chuuya really couldn't decline, especially when Kyoka mentioned she’d like to sit by his side during the meal. After all, that would be the last time they’d be together in Kyoto until further notice.

Kouyou had said she would return to Tokyo on January 2. She had a lot of things to work on, and both Chuuya and Kyoka’s classes were about to begin. The woman suggested meeting up again during summer break, but the ginger didn't confirm nor declined the offer.

Maybe he would look for a job in the summer, maybe Ryuu would like to rehearse more during the extended break, maybe he would find someone to go out with, who would treat him like he deserved… Well, that last part was next to impossible, he pondered, drowning a tired sigh by swallowing a piece of the cake Kyoka forced him to buy. It was too sweet.

His phone on the table lit up with the arrival of a new notification. He quickly took the device and read it, avoiding Kouyou's curious eyes. It was Yosano, asking if they had already left the shrine. He answered with a quick and brief message, adding info about the restaurant they were eating so she could avoid that street. Then, he left the phone as if nothing happened, putting it to rest with its screen facing the table.

“Who was it?” Kouyou inquired, drinking from her cup of tea with delicate movements that masked her curiosity. “Paul again?” 

“A friend.” 

“A boy?”

“A girl.”

“Really?” She innocently asked, sending him a smile. “If I didn't know about your… ‘type’, I’d be asking more about your friend there.”

“I won't introduce her to you, if that's what you wanted to ask.” Because there's really no need to do so, he completed to himself, hiding the message behind a chuckle that Kouyou soon copied.

“I'm not interested in dating right now anyway.” 

“You aren’t?” he inquired, faking innocence, choosing the simplest words while stepping on dangerous territory. “You haven't met anyone you like or something…?”

“I don't have time for a relationship, Chuuya,” Kouyou replied, and her eyes settled on the girl sitting next to the ginger. Her expression softened when she looked at her, so did the resignation and sadness she hid. “You know Kyoka is what's more important to me, and not everyone is up to being in a relationship with someone who already has a daughter.”

“They're missing out,” Kyoka muttered in between pieces she stole from Chuuya's cake.

Both adults looked bewildered at the girl’s interruption, rendered speechless by her words, a silence that was broken by their laughter once the message was processed. Kouyou's gaze got softer the more she looked at her daughter, and Chuuya patted her head, sliding towards her the piece of cake he wouldn’t finish.

“Yes, they're missing out,” Kouyou parroted, and lifted her eyes towards her brother. “Why so curious about my love life, Chuuya?” 

For a moment, he pondered whether he should ask about Yosano and tell her all that he knew, but that idea was quickly scratched out. He didn't know the version of either of them, they could branch out at any turn, and he knew Kouyou was more than capable to twist the story at her convenience. First, he would talk with Yosano when they're back at the university, then he would listen to his sister’s tale.

So, at the end he settled for a simple: “I just want you to be happy.”

“I can be happy on my own.”

True, everyone knew sometimes it’s easier to remain alone and far from all problems, but no one wanted that. Even if they suffered, they wanted someone by their side just like in those imaginary tales they grew up with. They loathed loneliness, they were never taught how to enjoy it, how to thrive from it, and so, they couldn't accept it. And if the rest of the world didn't endorse it, no one would.

The rest of the day went by in a flash. He strolled through Kyoto with his sister and niece until the sun began to hide behind the mountains and a freezing atmosphere settled on the streets. He bought a plushie for Kyoka, a bouquet of roses for Kouyou, and he accompanied them till they reached the entrance of the hotel they were staying at.

The next day, he walked with them towards the train station that directed them straight to Tokyo, and although he bid them goodbye with a smile on his face, he couldn't help but wish they stayed with him just a bit more. It was cold, the sadness and disappointment still lingered on his skin despite the fond smile he sent to Kyoka.

His phone hadn't ring yet, that number still laid in his block list. He knew he shouldn't ponder much on Dazai, but he missed him. He missed him and hated him at the same time, or maybe he just hated himself.

What kind of idiot would still have affection left for their ex? What kind of idiot would go and think of stupid illusion about him? Chuuya wholeheartedly wished to not be the only person going through that, but at that moment, he felt completely alone. 

═════════════

Monday was at it again, and so was university. On days like that, after New Year’s Day and when winter was at its peak, he truly wished to just graduate and get done with this, so he wouldn't have to return to those old and dusty classrooms. Also, if he’d graduated already, he wouldn't be living in that place and having to suffer through the ordeal of seeing Fyodor’s hideous face everyday, Dazai thought when he exited his room that morning.

He had no idea when his roommate had returned to their place. He’d probably done so at around ten p.m. on the prior night, when Dazai was already shut off inside his room, waiting to see who would win: the tiredness or the insomnia; while not so excitedly waiting to live through the results of that competition, he was listening music and writing on that new notebook he’d bought on one of his few outings during those days. 

And he had no idea how to feel when he saw Fyodor in the kitchen that morning, turning on the coffee pot and preparing just enough for only one cup. How considerate of him, he really hated him and wished he wouldn't have returned, but at the same time, he was glad — to some extent — to not be alone anymore, even if his new company was the devil himself.

He didn't feel good, he'd barely slept, and it’d been days since he talked with anyone. His last conversation was with the cashier at the stationery store in which he bought that small notebook he now used to write, but besides that, he had no social interactions since Christmas.

Ranpo tried to call him and talk, but Dazai declined all those attempts. Kunikida went to his place, but he acted as if he wasn't home until the blonde got tired of knocking and left. Atsushi had been texting him all day, asking if he was okay, but he wasn't, so he had no energy to reply. Yosano was still mad, he guessed, though she still tried to call him once, and Chuuya… Chuuya hated him.

During those days, he thought too much about just calling Oda and searching for fake comfort from the same man who, though unconsciously, pushed him towards that present. But, each time he tried to do it, his finger clicked on the call button under Chuuya’s name. And every morning and before going to sleep, he tried to contact him, but his calls were avoided, still blocked.

Chuuya was still mad, he hated him, and he had no idea what to do with all that.

Fuck, why did the notion of Chuuya despising him and being away from him hurt so much? He didn't care when he left the ginger four years ago. He didn't care when they argued about something stupid and when he pushed him to the brink of tears when they were teenagers. He didn't care about all the harsh and bitter words that left his mouth, words that Chuuya reciprocated while it was still pretty noticeable it had hurt to some extent. He didn't care, he never did, but now…

“I cared about you, Dazai, I loved you.”

Why did he always go back to that phrase? A quote in past tense, words Chuuya uttered on that first evening at the cafe, when everything felt… good. Now, all it did was chase him like a nightmare. Reminding him of what he once had and was so cruelly discarded as garbage next to an unread poem.

And he didn't get it. No matter how many times he thought about it, how many twists and turns he did, how many points he looked at it from, he didn't get how Chuuya could've loved him at some point. Why? He didn't deserve it. He was a disaster, especially when he was sixteen. Always doing everything wrong, always pushing himself towards the chaos, either knowing where he would end up or not. Waiting for someone to give him the barest of attention. Drawing all his frustration in everyone when he didn't get what he wanted. Searching anxiously Chuuya’s solace because, until that moment, he'd been the only person to look at him twice and recognize him as something more than a mere mistake. And what did he do? Drag him into problems with everyone, steal his first kiss and his first time, tattoo himself in his life in ways that could never be erased, and make the time spent with his family worse and more violent to him with only his presence.

And still, with all that, Chuuya loved him. Despite who he was, despite what he did, he loved him. And Dazai did too.

He never knew how to express his feelings, no one taught him how to do it beyond pranks, sarcastic words or contempt, but he knew that in the past, he genuinely fell in love with Chuuya. He wasn't only something new, someone to watch the hours go by and who could keep up with him. He wasn't only a way to pissed his parents off with his sexuality, he truly loved him…

But he never voiced all that. He replaced ‘I love you’ with ‘I hate you’, three words he knew damn well hurt Chuuya more than anything else, and now he regretted it. He couldn't go back in time, even if he desperately wished to do so. He couldn't rewind time and tell Chuuya he loved him on that last Friday of his teenage years, before his eighteenth birthday and the end of his relationship. He couldn't return and chose to stay in Yokohama, even if he hated his parents and would miss Odasaku. He couldn't regain that chance to stay with Chuuya and, perhaps, run away together like they wished about doing countless times.

It was too late for many things he himself prevented from happening. And he missed Chuuya, he wanted to see him, but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed. There was nothing he could cling to anymore, not even that small and fragile friendship they tried to build. The afternoons after class wouldn't happen again.

“You look like shit,” Fyodor said as a greeting when he saw him entering the kitchen.

He tried to ignore him and focus his attention on filling the coffee maker. However, he spent so many days alone and without talking that letters were merged and combined by themselves, searching for a spark of social interaction even if it was with the roommate he hated.

“Thanks, you're as charming as always,” he expressed with sarcasm, thankful that his voice remained stable and he could continue throwing those scathing words that hid what he was really feeling.

But he knew he wasn't fooling Fyodor. He knew he looked bad, more tired than before, with eyebags more black and prevalent, not because of his lack of sleep, but because of his inability to stop writing in that small and crimson notebook. And no matter how much he wanted to masquerade the state he was in, it was already too late. The other had already noticed it, and he'd already seen how his guilt stained every piece of invisible shattered crystal that covered everything from the entrance to his bedroom. 

“What did you do now?” he inquired, slowly sipping on the coffee between his hands.

Glancing at him sideways and with a single brow up, Dazai asked in return:

“What makes you think I did something?”

Fyodor shrugged.

“Because that's the kind of person you are, Dazai, you always go around causing problems.”

The smell of the recently brewed coffee danced around the kitchen, filling the air with its particles instead of the sound that was now missing. Dazai turned his back to him again, filling the cup with the bitter and addictive liquid. 

Fyodor wasn't so interested in his state anymore, nor did he try to find out what he was feeling, he couldn't care less. He passed next to him, walking straight towards the dishwasher, and while he cleaned the brown stains in the porcelain, he heard Dazai's voice rising carefully, hesitant, almost dreading to know the answer to one of the questions that kept him up at night.

And the answer would do nothing but increase his insomnia.

“So, you think I'm a bad person?”

Fyodor laughed, letting out his usual chuckle that reflected his egocentrism. Dazai hid how disappointed and uncomfortable he felt with himself when he heard the response.

“It's you, Dazai, are you even capable of being good?” he replied, exiting the kitchen without looking at his roommate one last time. “I genuinely doubt it, you weren't made for that ‘peacefulness’, but you shouldn't worry about that. People like you can't change.”

People like him can't change, he repeated on his head, the empty cup under the head of the coffee maker. He couldn't change, he would always do everything bad, he would always destroy everything around him like the mistake his parents brought to the world. He wasn't made for good things, he couldn't have them nor create them, he couldn't change.

Maybe that's why Odasaku left him, because he knew he couldn't change. Maybe that's why Chuuya got tired of him, because he couldn't bear with him. Maybe he should stop trying to change, it wasn't giving him any results and he was tired, he concluded, and he moved away from the coffee maker, leaving behind an empty cup.

He took everything he'd need for the day, alongside the keys to the apartament. He didn't want to go back to university, he didn't want to be confined to those walls that reminded him that he took the place and the old wishes both Oda and Chuuya once had.

He tried to call again before crossing the door, but the person on the other end had decided he no longer needed him in his life, and Dazai couldn't blame him for making the right decision.

═════════════

If you squinted, everything looked the same, Atsushi thought. The university, the classes, his classmates, the same classrooms, books and teachers. Even his roommate looked the same as always, narating with a calm excitement how his Christmas break went. Nothing in him changed in that small frame of time, the same life and same thoughts, but Atsushi couldn't say the same.

He didn't feel the same. He didn't feel like the boy who momentarily left Kyoto as a way to push the constant and cruel remindment of something he couldn't have, but that followed him through small messages and details that did nothing but increase his greed. And almost two weeks after being away, he’d had enough. He wouldn't run away anymore. The pain was replaced with the need to take that place no matter what.

But he had no idea how to do it. He needed a guide, and the only person who could give him some advice had been radio silent for too many days.

On his first day back in Kyodai, he found out something had happened between Dazai and the rest of his friends. During the lunch that Yosano organized for them, the brunette was absent, and when he asked about him, neither her, nor Ranpo or Kunikida could give him an answer.

Both Ranpo and Kunikida commented that they tried to contact him those last days, but the fifth member of their group simply disappeared, and although they knew where he was, they couldn't even catch him in those places. Yosano muttered that she wasn't really trying to catch him, she didn't want to do it and she knew that if Dazai wanted to be away and hidden from them, they would hardly ever find him. The best they could do was leave him in peace and let him choose if he wanted to come back or not, give him some space to think or suffer in silence. Then he would return by himself, looking for comfort or acting as if nothing happened.

Yeah, that sounded like something Dazai would do, but Atsushi didn't agree with such an answer. He cared about the brunette, he appreciated him. He considered saving his questions for later and giving some more space than what he needed, but he couldn't wait. For once in his life, he would let himself be greedy, he thought, and after lunch he decided to seek him out no matter what the others saud. Even if Dazai escaped, he would chase after him, but it wasn't necessary to do all that.

“It's funny, the other three know I’d be here, and yet they're waiting for me to approach them first,” Dazai commented without looking at the person who interrupted his brief moment of peace and reading. Closing the book, and letting his lips form a forced smile, he looked up. “Why do you think that's the case, Atsushi?” 

“Because they already tried to approach you, but you didn't let them,” he calmly replied. “So now they won't give you the pleasure of giving the first step and they're waiting for you to do it.”

“Sounds like a punishment,” he bemoaned, removing his bag from the seat next to him so the albino could sit down. “Do you think that's what it is?” 

“I don't know what happened, so I don't know what to think.”

“Yeah, guess you don't.” The book between his hands was opened again, continuing with his reading, his attention divided in two, acting as if he was only focusing on one thing and was ignoring the boy who sat down in the empty seat on that lonely table in a corner of the library of humanities. “Do you need something? Want some help with an essay? Fukuzawa-sensei loves to make us work from day one.”

“I know, I already have an essay to do,” he sighed, “but I’m not here for that… I know I can ask anyone else, but your opinion is the one I always take more into account.”

He thought the compliment would cheer him up and catch the attention needed, but Dazai only looked at him sideways for a second before returning to the book that wasn't really being read. He could perfectly notice the doubt Atsushi was battling against. Searching for a way to express your thoughts was never easy, much less to people like him, used to literature and its metaphors, using the resources it had at its disposal and that, sometimes, made the expression a harder task than what it originally was.

But Atsushi had an advantage over him and pretty much everyone, and that was that somehow, the boy would always manage to order his thoughts and express them using the right words, so simple and to the point.

“Do you think I should…?” he babbled, interrupting himself, organizing his head and all words one last time before voicing something he knew he couldn't take back. “Do you think I could try to ‘steal’ Akutagawa?”

“You want to destroy his relationship?” Dazai asked, concealing his astonishment. Atsushi nodded, disregarding the worried gaze that was directed at him. “I didn't think you were that kind of person.”

“Me neither, but I've been thinking about it a lot and I…”

He recalled every conversation, the inconclusive melodies, the discussions regarding those, the finished songs, and the performances he observed. The unexpected closeness at which he was still amazed yet thankful for, even if it was half a curse. The simple text on Christmas, the audio message and the video, what he saw on that night and the first night he met him without knowing who he was or how he was called. The pixelated image, the person who greeted him on that morning when he saw him walking through the hallways of the faculty, not knowing Atsushi was debating whether to hide from the world or confront him. But when he saw him walking towards him, with a relaxed attitude, almost happy at seeing him again, he knew he couldn't do this anymore.

Not anymore. He didn't want to keep observing from afar. He didn't want to just listen to love songs, he wanted to feel them, and if they finished with an untuned note or they turned into desolated tunes, he would bear it.

“I want Akutagawa,” he replied, closing his eyes for a moment, thinking about who he wanted, opening them again with more resolution than what first motivated him to do this. “I want him to be mine, but I don't know how to do it and I thought you could help me with that…”

“Why me?” Dazai inquired with more harshness than expected. “Why ask me? Do I look like such a bad person?” 

Atsushi would be lying if he said the question didn't take him by surprise. Another unexpected turn was when the brunette's expression turned bitter, disappointed with himself, with a touch of resignation and desperation that originated from somewhere he couldn't quite name.

“No…! It's not that…I don't think that, but you…”

Atsushi went silent, not knowing what to say, feeling himself trapped against the wall and the sword, wanting to know why Dazai looked so affected, but clinging to his own selfishness, focusing only on obtaining the advice he wanted.

Seconds passed between them, and the more time it went, the more Atsushi felt tense and nervous under Dazai's gaze. The reddish-brown eyes eventually abandoned the small shine of expressiveness, refusing to let the fragility beneath them show, opting to turn cold and empty. And, with the same lack of emotions, he spoke.

“Befriend his girlfriend,” he said, slowly putting aside the book in his hands. “I don't remember her name, but that doesn't matter. Listen carefully, I'll only say it once. Befriend her, win her trust at the same time as you get closer to Akutagawa. At some point, if they run into any problems, they'll tell you about it, and that's going to be your chance.”

Atsushi felt goosebumps running from his head to toe, but he kept listening to each poignant word. Carefully taking note in his mind, saving them and picturing himself doing every action.

“You’ll give them some friendly ‘advice’ every time they fight. You’ll tell them they deserve someone better, that it isn’t worth it to go through all that pain in their relationship, and slowly but surely, they’ll start believing that. She’ll start looking around, she'll find someone better and, who knows, maybe she’ll do it once or twice with someone else.” The smile Dazai gave him made him shiver, but he continued listening and focusing on his own greed. “Take advantage of that mistake, get mad at her for ‘betraying’ her boyfriend and when that happens, walk away saying that ‘you can't be friends with someone so hypocrite’. Then, Akutagawa is going to be on his own, and if you follow my words perfectly, then you'll be his best option.” 

Atsushi nodded, ignoring that thorn in his throat pleading to retract himself, to follow no advice and just forget about it and look for some other love. But he could picture himself next to Akutagawa, without Higuchi between them, him occupying her place. He could almost feel himself taking his hand and smiling at him with fondness, kissing him, receiving more messages and songs.

Ah, he wanted that. He desired it. All of that, each gesture, each moment, no matter the cost.

“Continue doing what you’re already doing. Be interested in what he creates, go to his rehearsals and shows, get to know him better like you’ve been doing,” Dazai advised. “I know you didn't have any ulterior motive to do it, but now you do. You’ll have to be quiet, because once you manage to break their relationship and have Akutagawa at your side, you'll have to act as if what happened was only the natural way of things, and that you didn't cause it. Everyone will doubt you, maybe even that girl will notice what you did, but for Akutagawa, you need to look as if you weren't the main cause of their breakup.”

And it no longer mattered. What was the moral thing to do or the right way to approach this mattered so little. Who even decided what was right or wrong? Who could judge him for using all his cards to obtain what he wanted? No one. Everyone would do the same if they were in his place, and those who said the contrary were lacking the courage to achieve what they desired.

And for so long he was one of those lacking courage, shielding himself beneath what was right or wrong, but that would no longer be the case. It didn't matter anymore.

“Are you sure you can lie to both of them and hurt more than one person in the process, Atsushi?”

The knot in the middle of his throat was still there, so was the apprehension, yelling at him to retract himself, to turn around and continue dreaming about the impossible. But he pushed away that feeling, he locked it down and buried it in the deepest parts of his mind, and he nodded with certainty.

“I want Akutagawa,” Atsushi repeated. His fists clenched, his eyes turned harsh, fearful and anxious, but not wanting to look back. “I'm tired of seeing him from afar, and if I have to go over Higuchi, then I'll do it.”

Dazai smiled at him, muttering that he was sure Atsushi could do it if he followed his advice to a tee, and he wished him luck, though he truly didn't need it. He knew it all would end just like he told the albino, he just needed to use his words as a map, carve the path he described, and forget about the pain the rest of the world could feel. None of that mattered anymore, he thought, only his own greed and wishes. Everything else was merely an obstacle that needed to be skipped.

Atsushi still didn't look so sure about wanting to hurt the others, but it was an unskippable step, Dazai mentioned. And when he finished giving the albino every advice and word he wanted to hear, the smile and relaxed attitude fell as soon as the boy left.

He was a horrible influence for Atsushi, Dazai thought, looking at him go, and he put inside his back the book he wouldn't be able to continue.

He had no energy to continue reading, even if the plot and writing style were good, his head kept telling him like a mantra how awful he was, especially now after his conversation with his underclassman. But, wasn't that inevitable? Fyodor told him so, his night with Tomie, the lies he told Oda and Chuuya’s unanswered calls, it all told him that he really wasn't made to change. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't.

He no longer wanted to, he was no longer worried about that, he was tired, he just wanted everything to come to a halt, because if time wouldn't rewind itself so he could go back and mend all this chaos, then it was better if it stayed stagnant.

So then, since he couldn't do anything for his calls to be answered, and since he didn't know how to escape that stormy sea that was his existence, he took out that small crimson notebook he brought, and wrote some more once again.

Chapter Text

For a moment, he wanted to turn back and ask Dazai what was going on. He noticed something different about him, as if something was missing where he stood, and though that worried him, his own selfish wishes were stronger than anything else. For the first time in his life, Atsushi didn't feel guilty for being greedy, especially when he bumped into Akutagawa just as he was exiting the library of the Faculty of Humanities.

While it was true he'd seen the black-haired boy in the morning through the hallways of the faculty, that didn’t halt his heart from fluttering once again when he had him in front of him. He felt nervousness run through his veins when the grayish eyes of the guitarist landed on him. Atsushi felt exposed under Akutagawa’s watchful gaze, though the other was expressing nothing at all as he walked towards him.

He recalled the advice Dazai had just given him and felt an excessive amount of heat on his hands. What should he do? What should he say? How should he act? Was he really going to…?

Yes, there was no going back. He was tired of being an expectator watching from afar and daydreaming all the time. He wanted to be with Akutagawa and he didn't care how or what he had to do to get there, even if said things were the kind of actions he always despised and never thought of one day using. Guilt and disgust at himself were feelings that mattered naught as long as it was he who stood next to Akutagawa at the end of the day.

He shoved the nervousness and guilt toward the deepest parts of his mind, a place where he would only have to revisit them once the sun was long gone and the moon was at its peak. However, some of the first emotion leaked through under the door, and Atsushi settled for playing with the longest lock of his irregular hair, tucking it behind his ear, not knowing what to do or where to place his hands. When Akutagawa stopped in front of him, the albino couldn't help but smile shyly at him, and the guitarist just scrutinized him from head to toe.

“What are you doing there standing like an idiot?” he inquired. “Move.”

The nervousness and shyness disappeared immediately. Atsushi sighed. Frustrated, he messed with his own hair till the longest strand, the one he tinted with a black and thin line while he was in Yokohama, covered his face again.

“I swear I'm trying to be nice to you, but I can't–”

“Then don't and move over, you're at the entrance.”

“I just got here too,” he lied, ignoring the heat on his face due to this whole situation, which only increased when Akutagawa laughed at him.

“You just left the library. I saw you.”

“R-right! Sure, yeah, but I remembered I need another book for the essay I have to write so…”

Babbling to himself, he turned around and returned to the building, ignoring the ‘what an idiot’ Akutagawa let out and the almost imperceptible smile with which the guitarist looked at him as he followed him inside the library.

The black-haired boy went straight to the reception and asked the librarian for the book he needed. As the worker left to search for it, Akutagawa questioned Atsushi about what volume he was looking for. Nervous, the albino replied the first name that came to mind, mentally congratulating himself when he mentioned the title he was working on, the only con now being that he would have to walk around with the possibly old and used edition the library would give him. He would have to hide the newest volume he bought online, which he could no longer cancel, so there goes his money.

“I did an essay on that literary current last year,” Akutagawa commented. “I can give it to you so you know how to actually write a good essay.”

Atsushi sighed.

“Yeah, I already know you're the best at writing essays and songs, you don't have to keep saying it.”

Akutagawa was about to give a sarcastic response when they saw Dazai walking by behind them in the direction of the exit, he side-eyed them, but never stopped marching at any moment. Atsushi didn't overlook the heavy silence and anger that filled the guitarist’s face; he didn't stop watching the brunette till he left the library, and the more Dazai seemed to ignore them, the more Akutagawa seemed to get upset.

“What happened while I was in Yokohama…?” Atsushi asked.

“I don't know,” he admitted, going silent when the librarian returned and gave him the book. He remained hushed until the albino made his request and the worker disappeared between the shelfs again. “But since Christmas, when Chuuya called me to find out where Dazai lives, they’ve both been… weird.” 

“Weird in the good or bad way? I mean, they're already weird by default so…”

“They are, but it's not their usual strangeness,” Akutagawa sighed. He looked pretty stressed out. “And Chuuya hasn’t told me anything.”

They both went quiet. Atsushi glanced at him with worry, noticing the concern he was trying to conceal, but the thousands of theories he’d come up with as to what could've happened between Dazai and Chuuya were already affecting him.

He knew the black-haired boy worried too much about the singer, more than he would ever admit, and he resembled a younger and possessive brother trying to take care of the idiot who was his older brother. He’d probably already experienced the aftermath of a negative encounter between Dazai and the ginger. And now, knowing that something had happened and analyzing the expression on the brunette's face when he spoke to him moments ago, he couldn't help but worry about them as well.

Forgetting, at least for a moment, his own desires and the cards he had to achieve them, he placed his hand over the guitarist's biceps and stroked it gently, not dwelling on the reasons or motives behind his gesture; simply seeking to offer silent comfort. Akutagawa tensed under his touch, especially when he leaned his head and observed the bicolor eyes that mirrored nothing but himself.

“They’ll be fine,” Atsushi said, the shy smile he wore at the entrance returning, this time with more confidence and more purity. “Whatever happened, they'll solve it. They don't seem like the kind who can stop talking even after a bad argument.” 

Noticing the place his hand caressed and Akutagawa's strange expression, Atsushi gave a small step back and apologized, his eyes drifting when the silence of the other boy extended for a few long yet hasty seconds. His intentions were obvious, right? Did Akutagawa feel uncomfortable next to him? He wondered, and he couldn't help but scold himself for acting without thinking. He had to be careful and go forward slowly. Sure, the guitarist sent him an audio message and a video on Christmas, but that didn't mean he had a chance. At least not yet.

Ah, he felt like he took a wrong step and it didn't help that he could still feel Akutagawa's gaze scrutinizing him, it made him feel even more nervous and panicked. He had a brief moment of peace when the librarian returned with a copy of the book he already had in his room, but even at that point, he still felt the black-haired boy’s attention on him.

What was happening? Was he silently repudiating his gesture? Probably so, he thought with disappointment, but he didn't dare to look beside him, nor did he appreciate how Akutagawa touched, for a brief moment, the place he'd posed his hand on.

═════════════

He’d been using the north exit of Kyodai during the last few days. 

Each day, he crossed almost all the campus just to take that path and, while it was far away from the train station, it adjoined the main streets that connected almost all the city.

Throughout those never-ending weeks after the start of the new semester, he'd been gaslighting himself into believing that the only reason he took that exit was because he enjoyed wandering like a vagabond around the streets after the boring classes, but in reality, he went through all the trouble because that was the closest exit to the Faculty of Economics, and who was there? Who could he see from afar every afternoon? Chuuya.

Chuuya was there. Those tall and barren buildings formed the place in which he spent most of his time, surrounded by gray hues that did little to overshadow his bright tones. He thought about approaching him many times, coming up with various excuses so the ginger would talk to him, or maybe just tell him the truth and say that he missed him. But he didn't do it.

He continued dialing his number and looking from the distance, waiting for Chuuya to pick up his phone, reply, and find him again amidst the crowd like he always did, with that ease to notice him even if he was but a shadow in the public, excited because someone managed to recognize him. It never happened. His phone remained silent, the calls blocked, and blue eyes focused on any other person he had next to him at the moment.

He deserved it. He knew he did. But that didn't make the silence and distance hurt less. The only solace was that he was already used to those types of emotions.

“You're wearing that miserable face again,” Tomie said, hugging him from behind when she found him walking towards the exit, resting her hands on his chest, moving them up and down as much as was socially acceptable while being surrounded by people. “I have the perfect way to make you forget whatever is troubling you.”

The bad thing about going for the north exit of Kyodai and walking away from his faculty was that Tomie also took that route.

He knew the girl studied in the same faculty as Chuuya — not the same major though —, and he always knew seeing her was a possibility. He took the risk as long as he could catch a glimpse of the ginger and, after many days of loneliness and being away from those he called friends, having her with him almost felt like a solace. Almost. He almost thought the woman had changed, just like he tried to do, but both of them continued to be the same as they were two years ago.

Dazai sighed. He masqueraded each annoyed and exhausted emotion with a smile on his face and put the woman's hands away from his body. Keeping the practiced grin, he turned around and with an excessive amount of friendliness and sweetness that both knew was fake, he replied.

“I told you I wouldn't sleep with you again.”

“I'm not telling you to do it with me, Dazai.” Tomie returned the grin, and before the brunette could leave, she took him out of the path, pushing him towards one side, forcing him to sit down in the concrete surrounding what was supposed to be a collection of plants, but was instead a few and lonely flowers that would bloom once spring arrived.

“Then, what do you want? I have things to do.”

And it looked like Chuuya had already left, he thought to himself. He tried to stand up, but Tomie pushed him down again and proceeded to sit by his side. She hugged his arm, attaching herself to his body, leaning her head against his shoulder, caressing her cheek there as if she was a cat looking at him with big innocent eyes before scratching him.

“I got an offer you may like,” she commented with an innocent voice that would fool anyone. “You see, there's this girl in first year that has been seeing you with me these last weeks and she likes you a lot. Why don't you go make her happy and sleep with her? She's so naive, all desperate to throw away her v card, as if that could ever make a difference.” 

“Don’t you like seeing that desperation?”

“Humans are so stupid,” she mumbled, and after a long time, Dazai finally observed what could be called a vulnerable expression on her, without any meaning to hold on to, or emotions that constantly overflowed. Solely a blank space, with some black touches instead of the white people usually picture. And as if she was in the middle of that existential desert to which she had long since resigned, Tomie continued her soliloquy. “They truly believe sex and alcohol will make them more mature than others…”

Tomie stopped talking, Dazai continued observing her in silence, understanding more than what he wanted to.

Merely a couple of words, only the barest of attention, and he managed to observe more of her than he ever did two years ago. It was as clear as water after an unbeatable storm. You could distinctly hear the scream of resignation, that noise he refused to acknowledge since the first day he met her. A pity he couldn't help her even if he wanted to. They couldn't do anything but scrutinize at the other’s suffering, maybe laugh at it, but wholeheartedly wishing for someone, for any other person, to get them out of there.

Dazai was still waiting for that person to arrive, Tomie had long since stopped waiting and resigned to the idea that they would never come.

“Anyway, what do you say?” the woman asked, covering her emotions as if they never even existed. “If you agree, I'll give her your number, or we can go search for her right now.”

“I already told you, I'm not interested,” he repeated. “If she wants to stop being a virgin, I'm sure you can do her the favor.”

“You say it as if I didn't offer, but she's so boring and you know how they are, she wants to take the ‘traditional’ route and sleep with a man.”

Tomie’s hold on his arm loosened up till he was completely free. Dazai considered standing up and leaving, but ultimately chose against it.

“Then she can look at someone else, or you can find someone and stop offering me as a volunteer,” he replied.

“Oh right, because you like that ginger you’ve been stalking.”

Whatever camaraderie and understanding had developed between them shattered much more quickly than the time it took to build it. Tomie wore that sickening sweet grin, a hoax, all fake, with little effort to hide how artificial it was and whatnot. After all, nothing would come out of trying to act in front of Dazai. She was enjoying a little too much the fleeting vexed expression that his face housed when she mentioned the ginger. It was a pity that, like her, the brunette was an expert at concealing emotions behind a mask though, and yet, she could see that his threatening eyes were far more sincere than his smile.

She wanted to see how much further she could push before he broke.

“You think I didn't notice? I'm good at remembering faces and details, Dazai. I remember that guy, Chuuya, right? Ah, he looked so sad when he found us at your apartment.” She stopped for a moment and acted as if she was pondering on something, then she began to talk with a fake tone of regret and disappointment. “Were you dating him? Did you sleep with me while dating him? You're the worst, Dazai! To cheat on such a cute boy…”

“We weren't dating,” he quickly replied.

“Then were you trying to play with him, but he saw you with me, hm?” Tomie approached him again with that cruel smile, innocently leaning towards him, holding his chin to force Dazai to look up, even though the empty and threatening reddish-brown eyes never left her form. “What happened when you ran after him? Did he slap you? Did he realize what kind of person you are? Poor little Dazai, always ruining the good things in your life.”

Any other person would've crumbled down, throwing excuses, looking for words that could justify their actions, exploding with anger, or full-on sobbing. Feeling trapped and, when that happened, it was always such a joy to see them break and try to excuse themselves, desperately seeking to maintain that idyllic picture that showed the goodness they liked to believe they had. Dazai, however… Dazai solely hid the pain that memories caused him and the ambiguous hate he had for her.

Her gaze looked as shadowed as before, but the smile on her lips, one worse than his, made him want to laugh with frustration. 

“Why are you so eager to know, dear?” Dazai questioned. The sweet tone in his voice reflected Tomie’s, pitchy, luscious, fake, and filled with venom. “Are you jealous I ran after him? That's probably it since no one has done that for you. Poor little Tomie, always yearning for that kind of love, yet you'll never get it no matter how much you try.”

She should be mad, she should feel hurt to the core and explode in tears, but throwing curses and yelling did absolutely nothing to someone like her or Dazai. That kind of response only evoked a laugh at the pain of others. And knowing the brunette could easily laugh at her face, she smiled.

Ah, how she loved that side of Dazai. She admired his sweet yet poisonous tongue, which could reduce just about anyone to nothing with only one word or two, uncaring about what type of pain he could elicit. But that man was nothing but a memory, she thought, and her smile slowly disappeared as she observed the brunette.

The Dazai that stood in front of him seemed disappointed. As if he was truly disgusted at himself after uttering that, though it wasn't even the worst thing to come out of his mouth. She heard more scathing words from him two years ago. So then, why did he seem to regret hurting her? Why did he care if his words caused the void in her heart to grow some more? That attitude was convenient to her, because each time the brunette acted like that and spilled those poisonous words, it meant he went back to accepting anything from her; debauchery, lack of control, having him in the palm of her hand and him playing the part where he acted as if he didn't know he was being manipulated.

But not this time, and she knew who had caused that.

What kind of effect did the ginger have on him? She wondered, maintaining the serene expression of that person she used to know, but clenching her fists till her long nails buried in her skin. Why did that guy make Dazai stop and think for the first time? It wasn't like that with Oda.

Oda’s rejection pushed Dazai towards Tomie’s arm. Chuuya’s was making him reflect. And she didn't like that.

She knew Dazai wanted something from the ginger, though she couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Attention? Love? Sex? She didn't know, but maybe, the best was to take aim at all the existent possibilities and shoot, ruining any chance of improvement.

She was willing to do it as long as she could recover the old Dazai of two years ago. She just had to wait for the right moment. And as if the universe was smiling at her, it seemed that that moment was there, waiting for her.

The copper hair was unmistakable, and so were the blue eyes that hadn't landed on them. And although he wasn't alone, that mattered naught.

“Where are you going?” She heard Dazai ask from behind her, still not noticing the ginger in the crowd of students. “Hey, Tomie…!”

She ignored him. She left before the brunette could notice the man he was constantly searching for during those last weeks. It wouldn't take him long to realize the ginger was there and figure out what she was planning, she had to be fast.

The loud noise of her heels hitting the concrete was enough to catch Chuuya's attention, alongside his companion; interrupting the tranquil conversation that was being carried on. Blue eyes set on her immediately, shining and profound, finding her deep hues amidst the crowd of people as gloomy as her. The attention she got made her tremble from head to toe, as if, for the first time in her whole life she was being observed as a human being and not some monster. But that unaware and thoughtless attention was filled with anger and pain as soon as he recognized her.

Tomie smiled, not understanding why it was so difficult for her to keep her confident expression intact. Unable to hold the attention, she averted her gaze from the ginger and put it over the amethyst eyes that accompanied him, who was observing her with anger and repulsion.

“Akiko! Are you going out with him? I thought you were into girls!” She teased her, greeting the woman with small hair before looking at Chuuya from head to toe, pretending to observe every detail but his blueish eyes. “What’s up with the people here? It seems like everyone is obsessed with me.”

“What the hell do you want?” Yosano inquired. “We don't have time to deal with the likes of you.”

“You're so mean to me, Akiko, but I still like you. Anyways, make some space, would you?” She pushed the woman to the side without caring for the looming gaze or the hand that landed on her shoulder. With a simple movement, she removed Yosano's hand and focused her total attention on the confused ginger in front of her. “Hey, Chuuya, what did you do to Dazai?” 

One sole and copper brow arched. Chuuya crossed his arms, taking a step forward. For a second, Tomie considered taking a step back.

“What makes you think I did something to that asshole?” he grunted.

That had never happened to her, Tomie thought. The rest of the people always took a step back when dealing with her, always so trusting yet suspicious of her deceiving grin, but he was… different. It almost seemed as if he could see beneath the countless masks she wore, and that made her reconsider her intentions.

But she couldn't go back, just held all of her masks more tightly and chased after what she wanted.

“Don't you know? He's so depressed,” she mentioned with feigned sadness and composure she was thankful for getting back. “He does nothing but come here every day to stare at you from afar, ain’t that romantic?” 

“I don't give a shit about what Dazai does or stops doing.”

“Ouch, that's cruel! Don't you care even a little about his feelings?”

“What feelings? Dazai doesn't–”

Before he could finish his scathing response, a hand wrapped around Tomie's wrist and forcefully pulled her away from the ginger, not caring if the movement surprised the woman, almost making her fall. 

“The hell are you doing?!” Dazai questioned with a hasty voice through gritted teeth, looking at her with both anger and panic. She'd never seen him so mad, the woman thought, but even the hate he directed at her weakened when he focused on the ginger, and like a lost puppy, he murmured his name. “Chuuya…”

The blue gaze shimmered with indescribable feelings, wandering through the repertory of emotions and settling for the emptiness of resignation. He tilted his head, avoiding finding Dazai's reddish-brown eyes that observed him with a plea he was unable to hide, but accepting the rejection he knew he deserved, he took a step back, taking Tomie with him. However, the girl didn't waste that moment of mutual weakness they both had, and she approached Chuuya once again; dragging the brunette with her.

“Dazai, don't you have something to say to Chuuya?” she inquired, looking at the tall man with a smile.

Dazai fell silent, he seemed to be lost in thought. Chuuya, who despite not looking at them directly, was paying attention. Curious for the answer, even if he didn't to hear it. Yearning for words, though he would never get them. Craving a change, but it wasn't so easy. And he knew he shouldn't harbor illusions when it came to Dazai, because he would never dare admit what he truly thought or felt, and he would always look for a way to keep himself safe in that tempestuous sea. And no matter how much Chuuya’s heart broke from the anxiety, Dazai would never extend a helping hand to pull him from the turbulent waters. 

“No,” the dry answer arrived, and just like the ginger, he averted his eyes and tried to turn around and return to the barren path from which he arrived, attempting to ignore the new thorn that had fallen upon Chuuya. “Let’s go already.”

“Eh? Why? I'm trying to help!”

“Tomie–”

“See, Chuuya, Dazai has no idea what to do with his feelings for you!” Both Dazai and Chuuya visibly tensed at the declaration. Feeling like she recovered control of the situation, Tomie smiled with the kind of sweetness and kindness that was so blatantly false. “Why don't you give him a reconciliation kiss? You can even leave it for later, but… Hey! What are you doing? I'm trying to help you!”

Disregarding the attention they were getting, Dazai dragged her away from Chuuya and Yosano. He ignored her comments, her excuses about wanting to ‘help’, and refused to turn around when Tomie tried to force him to. However, when he listened to Chuuya's voice again, when he felt his eyes burning holes in his back, he couldn't help but come to a halt.

He didn't turn around, he didn't want to watch him. Tomie did, however, and she saw the apparent sorrow in the ginger’s gaze, that which he could neither conceal nor hide; so evident, so sincere, all things she and Dazai lacked.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” Chuuya inquired, looking straight at Tomie without giving her a chance to glance elsewhere. “The only person Dazai has ‘feelings’ for is Oda.”

The hand around her wrist tightened, yet Tomie didn't dare to switch her focus from the other's face and observe, almost fascinated, by how the fire of the anger covered the pain he so much tried to keep at bay.

“Why don't you go help him with him and stop bothering me?” Chuuya suggested, adding with a sarcastic voice: “Or better yet, you can keep him. You were made for each other apparently. Both some self-centered and manipulative pieces of shit.”

Holding Yosano by her wrist, he walked towards the north exit of Kyodai. Never offering even the smallest of glances, he passed next to Dazai, brushing his arm against the brunette’s with the only intent of making him feel, for a last time, the anger that didn’t seem to extinguish this time around. 

He walked without looking back, resisting the urge to do so like that Christmas day, ignoring the brownish eyes that followed each one of his steps, but that didn’t dare to go after him. 

Staring wasn’t enough to soothe what he felt. He didn’t want just a mere glance. The least he wanted was for Dazai to follow him and actually put on an effort for the first time in his life, but he knew he was only getting his hopes up. Even if the brunette apologized, he knew it wouldn’t be something sincere. Everything that happened, all the pain caused, were things that Dazai didn’t lament. 

Besides, he didn't even need him by his side, Chuuya thought, he had that woman, right? And they seemed similar… Yeah, they understood each other as the equals they were, he concluded, ignoring the tall man who tried to follow him with hesitant steps, but with half the crowd separating them, he stopped and contemplated him, once again, only from afar.

═════════════

“Are you okay?” Yosano questioned as she walked next to Chuuya, strolling through the surrounding streets to Kyodai, passing in front of commercial establishments.

“Do I look okay?” 

“Just wanted to be sure,” she responded, turning her amethyst gaze forward. “Did you know he was watching you from afar?”

Chuuya snorted. He would've laughed at how obvious it was, but he was still rather upset and hurt by the earlier interaction.

“Since the first day,” he admitted. “Dazai likes to think he goes through life unnoticed, but that's far from true.”

Yosano glanced at him sideways, her lips pressed in a line. She avoided commenting that, when Dazai didn't want to stand out in the crowd, he could do it, and not her, nor Ranpo or Kunikida could find him as easily as Chuuya proclaimed. 

Chuuya always found him in the crowd, even if he pretended not to know the brunette was there, under the same sky, standing on the same terrain. When Dazai averted his eyes, thinking about whether to approach him and choosing against it at the last second, Chuuya noticed him, but he wasn't sure what he wanted from him. Did he want him to continue being the one to give the first step? He wouldn't give him the pleasure. He'd already put his pride aside, he accepted some half-cooked apologies that were barely sincere, and he wouldn't repeat that mistake.

Besides, why did he need him? He already had that girl… She was so like him, he thought. Not physically, but her actions, her behavior, it all reminded him of Dazai when he was sixteen. Less gloomy, just as troublemaker, so similar to someone he used to know.

Chuuya sighed. He won absolutely nothing by thinking about Dazai, it was better to focus on the woman walking next to him.

“You said you wanted to talk about Kouyou, right?” he questioned, and when he saw the tensed nod Yosano offered, he couldn’t help but recall everything she’d confessed to him: how she met his sister, where and for how long they talked. 

He couldn’t help but feel angry at Kouyou when he learned everything. But, just like he told the medical student a while back, even if he understood her anger and pain, he couldn’t be away from his sister again. The only thing he could do was give her some advice, listen, and try to pry information out of Kouyou on the sly.

But it was next to impossible for Kouyou to blurt out something on accident. 

“I thought you didn’t talk to her anymore,” he commented. 

“I don’t,” she promptly replied, biting her bottom lip, “but it’s hard not to do it and I need your opinion… She sent me a message, and it’s not easy to ignore her, you know?” 

He knew. His own hands took his phone every five minutes, shaking and wishing to unblock that number and wait for what he never obtained. But, the more time passed, the easier it got not to glance at the screen, to believe that every incoming call was from him, or to ignore that, after classes, he always found Dazai in a crowd of students from a Faculty he didn’t belong to. 

The first days he wondered what the hell he was doing there, but as time went by, he simply accepted that he had long since lost the ability to know what the other was thinking. His first thought was that he wanted to see him, but he quickly crossed that one out. It wasn’t possible. By that point, Dazai was just someone he used to know, and that teen he met would never miss him, much less apologize for everything he made him go through. 

Perhaps he should fulfill his brother and brother-in-law’s wish, and go back to France. 

“At any rate, what do you want me to tell you?” Chuuya asked, briefly stepping aside when someone walked between them. “If she explained everything and you’re fine with what she told you, then keep talking to her or do whatever you want, it’s not my damn problem.” 

“She hasn’t told me anything,” she confessed, feeling scolded by the ginger. 

“Then don’t be an idiot,” he sighed, and disregarding the glare Yosano sent him, he added: “Really, Yosano, don’t do what I did. You have no idea how many times I let Dazai get away with something without him at least regretting it.” 

Yosano seemed insulted by the comparison. Chuuya would’ve laughed at her, but he knew the kind of people both his sister and his ex-boyfriend could be. 

“Kouyou isn’t like Dazai.” 

“I know she’s not like Dazai,” he clarified, “but she’s my sister and I know that if she wants to avoid the topic and forget it, she’ll do it.” 

Even if she tried to conceal it, Chuuya noticed how her expression filled up with both pain and doubt. Yosano went silent, pondering on his words and putting that to debate against what she wanted to do. He knew it wasn’t easy to follow either path, but at least, the ginger could continue calm now that he’d told her what he thought. 

Maybe Yosano wouldn’t listen to him and would do what she wanted, but at least she heard the advice he lacked when he was a teenager and forgave and accepted Dazai constantly in his life. Further than warning her about what her sister may want or not, there was nothing else he could do. 

At any rate, the woman seemed to accept she was too stressed to decide at that moment. Despite the fact she’d already gotten the advice she wanted, she offered to go to the place where Atsushi worked and buy him a cup of coffee. And since he had nothing to do for the rest of the evening, the ginger agreed.

They resumed the conversation without caring if the topic made sense, forgetting, momentarily, both Kouyou and Dazai. However, that moment of distraction didn’t last long. 

Two blocks before arriving at the establishment, they heard a scream originating from one of the nearby alleyways, accompanied by struggling noises. Before Chuuya could react, Yosano ran after the sound of a woman. 

Letting out a curse, he followed the woman with black hair and, when he turned on the alleyway, all he could see was Yosano punching a man on the stomach while trying to kick the other, who was trying to steal the guitar from one of the two girls he knew perfectly well.

“Gin?! Higuchi?!” he exclaimed, moving fast to try and help them. But when the thieves realized they couldn’t fight against Yosano and him, they chose to flee. 

The one Yosano had punched moved first, pushing and forcing the other to run, but when he did, they clashed against Gin and opted to push her to escape from the other side of the alleyway. Gin stumbled and fell over the blonde who was behind her, making them both lose their balance and fall to the ground despite Higuchi’s efforts to keep her boyfriend’s little sister standing. 

When they fell, Higuchi screamed in pain, a sound that almost eclipsed in its entirety the noise of the guitar clashing against the ground. The sound of something breaking was overlooked by the anxiety that the situation carried, and the two oldest approached the girls immediately, both worried and concerned. 

“Are you alright?” Yosano asked, leaning down in front of the blonde while Chuuya checked his band leader’s younger sister. 

“We’re fine, we…” Higuchi’s face morphed into a grimace when she tried to get up by putting all her weight over her hands. 

Yosano held her between her arms when the girl curved over herself in pain, holding one of her wrists that, carefully, Yosano took and observed. 

“Your wrist looks bad, as if it sprained, but it may be something worse,” Yosano said, helping her to stand up. “We need to take her to the hospital, but I need an ice bag.” 

“We can ask Atsushi for one,” Chuuya suggested, helping Gin to get up and picking up the guitar from the floor. Something didn’t sound right inside the case, but both he and the youngest girl next to him decided to ignore it. “At least until you get her to the hospital.” 

Yosano took charge of driving and soothing Higuchi as they quickly approached the cafe. Gin hadn't strayed far from Chuuya, remaining silent and still frightened. She also felt a bit disappointed in herself for not being able to defend both herself and her brother's girlfriend. Chuuya tried to console her, muttering that the two attackers were bigger and stronger, and she did her best to protect them until he and Yosano heard their distress.

As they entered the café, Atsushi was about to welcome them with a warm smile. However, as soon as he noticed Higuchi's pained expression and Yosano's concerned look, he immediately stepped out from behind the counter and approached them. He greeted Chuuya and Gin, tightly pressing his lips together to refrain from asking more than necessary. He then followed the other two women to a table, where the medical student instructed the blonde to sit down and rest.

“What happened?” Atsushi questioned, looking at Yosano, then at Chuuya, turning to Gin, glancing at the guitar next to her, and finally, at Higuchi. He noticed her injured wrist, and he couldn't help but worry. “Are you alright?”

“She'll be,” Yosano replied, her phone in hand, asking for a taxi for them before focusing on the younger boy. “Atsushi, could you bring me some ice?” 

The albino nodded, quickly disappearing behind the door reserved for workers. It took him less than a minute to return with a bag full of ice on his hands, giving it to Yosano, who pressed it gently on the injured limb. Higuchi hissed when she felt the cold touch her skin, increasing the pain she was in, pushing her to the brink of tears, but she didn't want to cry in front of them, much less in front of Atsushi and make him think she wasn't strong enough to be Akutagawa's girlfriend.

She couldn't stop thinking that there was something going on between him and her boyfriend since she found out — all by herself — that Akutagawa had sent a video and a demo of the song they performed on the 24 to the albino. She didn't want to start assuming things, but it was impossible not to imagine stuff, so she had decided to be as far as possible from the boy, observing his actions from afar, seeing his behavior around her boyfriend, and gathering every little detail she could use to expose him and force him to stop hanging out with Ryuunosuke.

However, when Atsushi directly asked her if she needed something more and he offered him a hot chocolate to comfort her as a genuine show of worry, she couldn't hold it anymore and tears began to fall.

“Why are you kind to me?” she inquired, surprising the people around her and scaring Atsushi. “I can't hate you if you're like that…!”

“Why would you hate him?” Yosano questioned, looking from the blonde to the albino, not noticing how Chuuya and Gin glanced at each other, sharing the same thought. 

“Because he…! He…!” she hiccuped, breathing deeply to calm herself down. “Yeah, I'll take the chocolate.”

From the other side of the table, Gin reached out to pat the blonde girl. Chuuya, next to her, sighed and glanced at Atsushi, telling him that he would pay for the drink. The albino nodded and walked away quickly, muttering that it wouldn't take him long to come back with the drink so Yosano could take Higuchi to the hospital where she was doing one of her internships.

When the albino returned, the bawling of the girl had stopped; her nose was red, just like her eyes and cheeks.

“Here, enjoy,” Atsushi said, softly delivering her the cup. “It's hot so be careful, and don't worry about the money, it's on me.”

“You're too kind,” Higuchi mumbled. “Now I’m ashamed for thinking the worst of you…”

Atsushi saw her with bewilderment. Bashful, he looked down and murmured that she shouldn't worry about those details.

At that moment, the taxi Yosano asked for arrived at the front of the cafe. She asked Gin if she wanted to go with them to make sure she wasn't injured; the black-haired girl murmured that she was fine, but she'd prefer to go with them. However, when she stood up, Higuchi said that it would be better if she stayed with Chuuya and called Akutagawa. Her brother would be worried as soon as he heard what happened, but she knew that, to him, Gin was a priority.

Gin agreed, albeit reluctantly. Chuuya reassured her, mentioning that Higuchi would be fine; Yosano was with her, and he reminded her of the powerful blow she had delivered to one of the attackers even before he could react. It was only through the ginger's words that the girl calmed down, but as she glanced at the guitar case nearby, she couldn't help but feel distressed once again.

Noticing her expression, Atsushi muttered that he would call Akutagawa. Higuchi murmured again about how embarrassed she felt for having misjudged him and sent him a smile that made the albino lower his head once more. As she left with Yosano, the blonde expressed her gratitude for the ice pack and the cup of hot chocolate, thinking that the boy's embarrassment was humility.

However, Atsushi hid his face as he recalled the advice he sought from Dazai days ago and everything he was willing to do to keep Higuchi away from Akutagawa.

He'd done it, right? Not on purpose, but he did it nonetheless. So naive, so innocent. The girl no longer saw him as a threat, he was simply someone kind, someone she could call a ‘friend’, and Atsushi was repulsed at himself.

Why did he feel so bad? He thought as he pretended to be okay in front of Chuuya and Gin, walking away to call Akutagawa. Why did he feel so guilty? He'd taken the first step. Just a bit more, just some more kindness and he would have Higuchi in the palm of his hand: trusting him, telling him everything she did with Akutagawa, the arguments he would take advantage of, pushing her farther and farther away from him…

He wanted to throw up.

He called Akutagawa and tried to summarize all that happened, but he didn't know much to begin with — which made the other mad at him through the phone —, but he told him that Chuuya was there taking care of Gin and he could explain everything with more details. As the guitarist muttered that he’d be there soon, he observed how the other two opened the guitar case and shared a worried look.

After hanging up and in less than ten minutes, Akutagawa was entering the cafe, looking around and walking straight to Gin when he spotted her.

Gin stood up when she saw her brother and threw herself at his arms, surprising him when she held tight to his dark clothes, hiding her face in his chest. It’d been years since she clung to him in such a way, yet he didn't reject the act.

“I'm sorry,” he heard her whisper between tears. “The guitar is completely broken…”

Stopping the small pats of comfort that caressed her back, he glanced at the guitar lying on one side of the table. He shared a look with Chuuya, one that promised to explain all that happened later, and he let out a resigned sigh.

“You're alright, that's enough.”

Gin didn't seem pleased with that answer, but she didn't say anything and slowly broke away from her brother. The tension and anxiety were palpable in her body. She kept glancing at the guitar and biting her lower lip in an attempt to keep her face and emotions at bay. 

With slow movements, Atsushi approached her, and in between whispers, he asked her if she also wanted a cup of hot chocolate to help her calm down. Gin accepted, feeling like she was a little kid once again, but the albino only smiled at her before returning to his area, promising to bring back her drink soon and trying to ignore Akutagawa's eyes that were focused on each of his movements.

“Do you think it can be fixed?” Chuuya asked, making him advert his gaze from the albino working behind the counter.

Akutagawa leaned towards the guitar, observing the broken pieces and shaking his head.

“Fuck…”

“It's fine, it was old anyway,” Ryuu commented, passing some napkins to his sister when she relaxed a little. “It was bound to break eventually.” 

“But it's the first electric guitar you were able to buy…” Gin murmured.

At that moment, Atsushi returned with the chocolate and left it in front of Gin. The girl brought the cup near her without drinking it, looking depressed and feeling guilty for the broken instrument. Akutagawa sighed yet again.

“Kid, drink your chocolate and stop crying,” he ordered. “I didn't raise you to be a crybaby.” 

Gin chuckled despite each word being said with total sincerity and a stoic expression. She nodded and brought the cup to her lips with movements that reflected a bit more calmness. Atsushi, standing nearby, smiled at the interaction and muttered that he would return to his post behind the counter, allowing Chuuya to explain to their lead guitarist everything that had happened in less than an hour.

“Higuchi is in the hospital with Yosano,” he informed. “And I think we'll be missing a guitarist and a drummer for a while, her wrist looked awful.”

Akutagawa remained impassive, though he didn't seem pleased at the news, he couldn't do anything to remedy the situation.

“Doesn’t matter, we can stop rehearsals for a while.”

“Really?” The ginger questioned.

Akutagawa didn't reply. He stood up and took the guitar case, carrying it on his shoulder and looking at his sister and singer.

“I'll go to the hospital to see Ichiyo,” he said, glancing at his younger sister. “Are you coming with me? Or Chuuya could take you home if you want to.”

Gin shook her head and stood up, taking the now half-empty cup in her hands.

“I'll go with you.”

The dark-haired boy nodded and directed his eyes towards his singer. The ginger sighed and stood up, muttering that he would accompany them to the hospital since he didn’t have anything to do anyway.

Behind the counter, Atsushi bid farewell to them, mentioning that they shouldn’t worry about the drink since he would pay for it. Gin and Chuuya thanked him and were the first ones to exit the establishment, glancing sideways with curiosity at Akutagawa, who asked for them to wait for him outside while he approached the albino, confused that he was still there.

“Nakajima, thank you,” he said, surprising Atsushi, who looked elsewhere and tried to find a place to hide, but there wasn’t one, and bashfully, he looked at any place except for the stoic face in front of him.

“I-I didn't do anything,” he babbled. “Chuuya and Yosano are the ones who helped them…”

“But you were genuinely concerned,” Akutagawa cut him off, giving him the smallest of smiles when he turned around, ready to leave, and adding: “That's enough for me.”

He didn't hear a reply from Atsushi, just a shy and woeful goodbye that he wasn't sure how to interpret. There was a guilty tone in his voice, carrying regret and dejection, but when Akutagawa exited the establishment and turned around, looking at the albino’s silhouette through the main entrance, he could only see his back.

He observed him a bit more, unable to look away. But when Atsushi turned around, his face more relaxed and his mind lost in his thoughts, his eyes looked up to find grayish hues on the other side of the crystal. Akutagawa averted his focus immediately and walked away, going straight to where Chuuya and Gin were waiting for him, not knowing what was happening to him and why he wanted to return to the cafe.

Perhaps, it's not the cafe he wanted to go back to, he thought as he walked with the ginger and his sister towards the hospital.

Perhaps, he just wanted to be in the same place Atsushi was. But, why…?

Chapter Text

Something broke down on the first floor. The subsequent yell didn’t wait long to proclaim its presence. 

When my oasis of silence shattered, I felt the need to wail, but as I heard my father’s shouts increasing in volume and force, as I heard Chuuya’s trembling voice futilely attempting to apologize, I was forced to depart and walk away from the few and seldom moments of peace I could let myself drown in under that roof. 

I went downstairs as fast as I could. Mom was next to the kitchen — from where all the shouting was coming from —. Her impassive gaze, rendered vacant, turning a blind eye to what was happening, acting as if she couldn’t hear the one-sided argument going on, pretending that she couldn’t see how Chuuya kept looking down with his fists tightly clenched, trying so desperately not to reply to any of the insults or cry. 

Mom glanced at me sideways and then lowered her chin, the red curls covering all her shame. She remained still, motionless, never entering the kitchen to stop all the shouts her husband was emanating. After all, she preferred that we — her children — suffered and ended up hurt instead of her and her pretty face.

The screams increased, escalating with every millisecond till they turned into punches. And she was still there, stock-still. I clenched my fists, wanting to tell her so many things, to ask her why she let this situation happen. If she knew dad was someone violent from the start, then why didn’t she take us away from this place? Away from him, from Yokohama, maybe to a place we truly belonged in, or anywhere else; a place where I could have some resemblance of silence. 

But she didn’t do it, and maybe I’ll never understand what held her back next to him for the rest of her life. Maybe she thought this was karma doing its job for leaving behind our older brother, but I would never know. That night, I could only hate her a little more and enter the kitchen, putting myself between dad and Chuuya. 

The punch that was not directed towards me didn’t hurt as much as the shouts that followed it. 

Chuuya was fourteen at that moment, I was eighteen. My graduation picture was the next day. The mark on my face was impossible to cover. When the clock ticked seven a.m., I would call my professor to tell him I was sick and couldn’t attend school; but for that night, I tried to subdue Chuuya’s guilty expression. 

“A-ane-san…” he muttered, trying to touch my face and the reddish wound that dad caused with his shaky hands. “You shouldn’t have… I could’ve…” 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” I reassured him, caressing his hair with sweetness and wrapping him with my arms, while I glanced at a corner in the kitchen. My face wasn’t showing any emotion at all, there wasn’t affection, nor pain from the wound, just resignation in its purest forms. I glanced at the broken dish on one side. I would have to clean the scene, I thought, I had to do it before Chuuya hurt himself with the shattered pieces. “Thanks for controlling yourself, I know it was hard to not shout at him. What happened?” 

“It was all for a stupid dish that slipped,” he muttered, hugging me tightly and hiding his face in my shoulder. “Only a stupid dish…” 

I sighed. So much commotion for the smallest of things, though it was always like that and I should’ve gotten used to it by that point, but instead, I grew tired with each passing day. I hugged Chuuya with a little more strength, but dad came back and when he saw me comforting him, his anger increased. 

When we were kids, even if there were some shouts or punches from time to time, dad wasn’t so violent. He never looked at us with so much contempt, or rather, he never looked at Chuuya with so much revulsion as he did since he turned thirteen. 

Chuuya never acted less manly than other boys his age. On the contrary, all of what was considered for men fitted him to a tee and he greatly enjoyed it: sports, fights, cars, the music with more screaming than rhythm, everything. He liked all of the things suited for a boy — at least according to dad’s definition —, and for a time, he managed to fool him, to fool me and himself. But after he turned thirteen, when the rest of the kids blushed upon seeing the body of a woman half-naked, Chuuya did it when the captain of the football team of his school took his shirt off after a game and hugged him when they won.

And it was so obvious to us, especially dad. And I couldn’t help but feel relieved, so cruelly alleviated that he didn’t notice I was the one who kept returning to the naked models of that top-shelf magazine he bought in an attempt to ‘fix’ Chuuya. 

But I kept hiding it, ignoring myself and what I truly wanted. No, I didn’t want anything. If you notice carefully, I was only confused. Yes, it was merely that. I was still the perfect daughter. I had to continue being the perfect daughter, one they could be proud of. 

As long as I kept winning awards, as long as my behavior was flawless, as long as I dated that guy from my class that both mom and dad adored, I could keep them distracted from Chuuya’s ‘deviation’. They just had to keep looking at me. 

I’m the perfect daughter, aren’t you happy with that? Ignore Chuuya, focus on me, let him be free, I’m alright inside of this cage. I won’t disappoint you, so look at me. I’m doing everything right, I’m standing in the middle of the living room next to a man I don’t like, receiving kisses and touches that do nothing but make me bilious, listening to your ridiculous jokes about one day walking down the aisle and having kids I don’t want. But ignore everything I think and feel, look at my smile; it’s glamorous, polite, perfected to the point where you couldn’t realize that none of that was something I liked, but I’m okay. It’s alright, I’m the perfect daughter, Chuuya is the mistake. A mistake that, I hope, could have the freedom I will never know…

So, what are you doing? Why are you saying that? Dad, stop screaming, stop saying to Chuuya that he does everything wrong. 

Mom, say something, please, just say something. Tell him that it’s fine, that Chuuya doesn’t have to be like his dear ‘Ane-san’. 

Chuuya, don’t listen to them, it’s not true, nothing of what they’re saying is true. Why don’t you listen to me? Why can’t you only listen to me..?!

Stop. I’m tired. Stop repeating the same things all the time, stop looking at me, stop comparing us. Stop screaming, I don’t want to hear you all say ‘Look at Kouyou, she’s smart and polite, unlike you.’ 

Look at Kouyou, she’s the best of her class. 

Look at Kouyou, she always receives all the shouts and punches for you; she, a weak woman, defends a fucking disgrace like you. 

Look at Kouyou, she’s normal, she graduated high school with honors, she’ll go to university, she’ll marry a good man and she’ll leave behind all her dreams so she can be the perfect housewife, the perfect mother, someone who, when her husband beats her children, would look elsewhere and pretend not to hear their sobs. Just like her mother, repeating the cycle, worrying just about her momentarily youth. 

Look at Kouyou. Be like Kouyou. Chuuya, why aren’t you like Kouyou? Why? Why? Why am I a total lie? I’m not someone you should admire, I’m nothing, none of the things I do work, I can’t take Chuuya out of here, I can’t get out, I can’t get out, I can’t get out, I can't–

“Ane-san?” I turned around and glanced at the second floor with a smile, hiding in the darkness the bag full of clothes I carried with my other hand. “It’s three in the morning, where are you going?”  

I remember it all too well, it was a Saturday. I had already finished high school, I was about to enroll in university. Chuuya would soon start high school, and just three months after I left, he would turn fifteen. 

But for that last night, I smiled at him as if it was any other day, promising without words that I’d be there to see him grow.

Sadly, promises were created more to be broken rather than to be kept. 

“I need some fresh air, go back to sleep,” I ordered him, turning my words into a soft plead. 

“Is it because of what happened at dinner…?” he questioned, ignoring my smile and everything that hid behind it. “Sorry, I got you in trouble again…” 

Yes, you always did, I thought, but I preferred to see the wounds on me than on you, even if it was just a matter of time before the punches reached you, a time that arrived a little too early after that night. I’m sorry, Chuuya, I can’t keep getting all the punches and shouts for you, I can just hope you try to avoid them as much as possible, and to dodge them, you’ll have to hide for a while. 

But at least with me, for the remainder of that last night and unlike everything I was, Chuuya could be sincere. 

“Did you kiss that boy?” I asked, my voice lacking emotion, hoping for the darkness to engulf my fatigue in all its glory. “Dad said he saw you doing it…”

“I didn’t do it…!” he exclaimed, prey to the panic, and when he realized how high his volume got, he fell momentarily silent. I could hear the nervousness lingering in his voice, I could hear that which he desperately tried to hide and show at the same time. “I didn’t do it, I’m not… What dad says I am, he’s wrong, I don’t…” 

“It’s alright if you are,” I said, not processing the words till it was already too late. Even within the darkness, I could appreciate a spark in Chuuya’s eyes, anticipating acceptance. I couldn’t break his illusion, even if it would later be the cause of his misery. “It’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with you. But you know how dad is, so you should try to keep it a secret…” 

“You’re not disgusted by it?” 

I laughed. I almost felt bad for leaving him in that house with all the naivety he still had on him. 

“I’m only disgusted by you leaving your sports clothes lying around everywhere.” 

“I won’t do it anymore,” he promised, but it was something he wouldn’t fulfill, just like everything I once said. Then, when we forgot the superficial promises, his voice got filled with shyness again; portraying a request that, be it any other moment, I would’ve accepted. “Can I go with you?” 

That night, I saw Chuuya amidst the darkness for the last time. I could feel the weight of my baggage and of each desperate and childish decision I was taking in the hand that was hidden. For a moment, I wondered what would happen if I said yes and we ran away together from that house. However, I quickly pushed that notion away. I couldn’t guarantee a safe place to live or a lifestyle that, although dysfunctional, we were used to having. My little brother would have to wait for me a bit more, I thought. Just some more. Maybe a year, when the life I was trying to find had finally settled and stabilized, and when I eventually had that, I would take him with me.  

Yes, that’s what I would do. Just a year, I thought. Chuuya just needed to wait 12 months and I would come back for him. So for that night, he had to stay there.

“It’s late, go back to sleep, I’ll only step out for some fresh air,” I lied. “I need it, the entrance exam is stressing me out.” 

Chuuya nodded. He seemed disappointed, but he didn’t argue. And as if deep inside he somehow knew what was going to happen, he let out a phrase that I would never hear again. 

“I love you, Ane-san,” he murmured. 

I could feel how the decisions I just took quivered, way too close to crumbling down. But I held them firm, and I picked those that managed to fall up and piled them over the others. 

“Aren’t you too old to keep saying ‘I love you’ to your sister?” I questioned, hiding the brief weakness behind an innocent joke. Chuuya shrugged, returning my smile with his own.

“I can’t say it just because I’m almost fifteen? That’s stupid.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is…” I murmured. I wanted to climb the stairs that divided us and hug him one last time, but I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to head back down. From the distance, disregarding his vexed reaction at my words, I requested him this: “Don’t change, alright? I know dad is… hard to please, and that mom doesn’t help with anything, but still, don’t change. And don’t get into any trouble, or with the wrong person, alright?” 

I couldn’t see Chuuya as clearly as I wished because of the lack of lights, but I did hear the soft and light chuckle that escaped him. 

“Why are you saying all that? It sounds like a goodbye.” 

“It isn’t,” I lied again, “but you’ll soon start high school and it’s full of problematic guys. Don’t pay them any attention, okay? Make Ane-san proud and continue writing me poems.” 

That was the only hobby and obsession that went out of dad’s parameters as to what was reserved for men only; that which Chuuya wouldn’t let go for anything, it didn’t matter how much they prohibited it. 

Silently, I prayed that no one would ever make him abandon poetry. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my muse,” he promised, and although I knew he couldn’t see my bittersweet smile, it was directed at him. “Don’t go to sleep so late, night.” 

“Night, Chuuya, I love you too.” 

I left the house before Chuuya turned around to return to his room. When I walked away, I didn’t look back. Spring was about to start, and despite the gloom, some of the few cherry blossom trees let me glance at the flowers that were about to bloom. Upon seeing them under the brightness of the tall streetlights, I thought that maybe everything would be fine. Maybe the path I was taking, that which was about to begin, wouldn’t turn out awful.

Just a year, I reminded myself that night. Just a year and I would go back for Chuuya, I would take him far away from that house and we would finally be in peace: without punches or shouts. 

But the promised year arrived and it passed by faster than I thought it would. During the first months, my phone chimed without seeming to end every day. I knew it was Chuuya, but I couldn’t reply, not yet, or I would risk mom and dad finding me. They never called though, and I quickly forgot about them. And when time passed, when I could finally be myself and have the peacefulness that I never imagined I would ever possess, I also forgot about the brother I once had. 

The amount of calls lessened little by little. Once a week, once a month; every two months, three or maybe six. Then they stopped altogether. For almost three years, the phone stopped ringing. I forgot about it completely, and the last time I heard that ringtone was on the evening of June 19. I knew it was Chuuya, and I thought about him. By that point, he should’ve been eighteen. Almost the same age I had when I left home.

I thought with conviction that that was the ideal moment to return to that old house where my childhood was abandoned and go for Chuuya. Perhaps I wouldn’t be forgiven or understood right away, but it would occur eventually, and my little brother would give me a million poems before accepting to move to Tokyo with me. 

But my return to Yokohama and to that house would happen when Chuuya was no longer there, because since June 20 and for a long time, my world would narrow down to Ozaki Suzu and Kyoka, her four-year-old daughter. 

═════════════

Tomie had been sending him messages all week long, but after what happened with Chuuya that afternoon, Dazai opted to ignore her. Though his silence certainly hadn’t discouraged the woman, obviously, and it didn’t prevent him from bumping into her somewhere around the university either, and as long as the contact he had with her was minimal, it was good for him. 

His relationship with Tomie was always a twisted ‘friendship’ accompanied by hate — it was usually more hate than anything else, really —, and although he begrudgingly accepted that her company was good for him some days ago, when he almost felt like dying of desperation at the fact he pushed Chuuya away a second time and seeing his calls being avoided, her presence wasn’t that necessary now. 

No, he wasn’t fine. Yes, he still missed Chuuya, but loneliness and absence were emotions to which one becomes accustomed to as quickly as one becomes disaccustomed to them. 

He didn’t want Tomie around him at that moment. He didn’t want to keep seeing the chaos she offered him and that didn’t look as enticing as it did two years ago. The notebook between his hands, the new collection of poems, and the rhyming dictionary he’d bought recently provided enough entertainment and were a good of a distraction as any. 

However, he couldn’t hope to remain calm and secluded in his own world forever. For the record, he was never hiding from the rest, he just stayed away. A big difference lay between those two concepts, although the lines kind of get blurry sometimes and could look so similar that it created confusion and annoyed those he called friends for two years without stopping.

And thus, with offended and disinterested expressions, Kunikida and Ranpo stopped next to the table at the library he’d branded as his. 

“It’s funny, you always knew where to find me but it took you almost a month to come,” Dazai commented, wearing that smile one of them knew to be false, while the other received it with a genuine bother. 

His greeting pissed Kunikida. While the blonde marched towards him with his arms crossed, Ranpo only observed from afar, sighing at the exchange between the other two. 

“I didn’t think you’d be childish enough to run away and throw a tantrum until we approached you, Dazai.” 

“I’m not being childish nor is it a tantrum,” he replied, leaning on the chair with that nonchalance he knew annoyed the blonde more than anything else. “I wanted to be alone, is that so bad?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, unless you didn’t tell us you needed some ‘space’ for whatever stupid reason you have now.” 

“If it’s stupid, then why do you care? If you didn’t want to know what happened, you wouldn’t be here.” 

“I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“So you do care about the ‘stupid reason’ because it’s the cause of whatever it’s ‘happening’ to me.” 

“Shut up you two, you’re giving me a headache,” Ranpo interrupted them before Kunikida could add anything else. 

Feeling scolded, the blonde gave a step back, and the oldest gave one forward. Dazai followed each of their actions with an impassive gaze, but he ended up averting his attention and focusing on the notebook over the table with a shrug that disregarded both the worry of the other two men and his own decay.

“What happened that night when Oda called you and you ran to Chuuya?” Ranpo asked, noticing the brief moment in which his words destabilized Dazai. He knew him well enough that the false security and disinterest that followed didn’t surprise him, nor was it weird. What was odd was the slight jaded tone that scaped him. 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing happened with either of them so you can stop prying so much.”

“We’re worried about you,” Kunikida impatiently said, but Dazai continued acting as if that didn’t matter. 

“Your worry is useless, Kunikida, I’m fine,” he commented, changing the page of the book next to him without even so much as looking at him, merely glancing sideways and showing that his presence was not welcomed. “I want to be alone, that’s all.”  

Once again, Kunikida didn’t seem pleased with his response. He looked hurt and, for a moment, Dazai regretted his words. However, as his actions and the whole world had told him countless times, he was unable to change and become a better person. He continued acting in that disinterested way and ignored Kunikida’s attempts to complain and pry at his reasoning, but Ranpo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder acting as a call for his attention. 

They exchanged a silent conversation that Dazai observed from the sideline, almost feeling frustrated of immediately realizing where this was headed. Perhaps he wouldn’t get a small spark of peace even between the dusty and old shelves and books. 

When the telepathic conversation between Ranpo and Kunikida ended, the latter murmured that he would leave and go to the main cafeteria of Kyodai, adding that he would look for a table for them, explicitly implying his wish for Dazai to join them. Although he had good intentions and it made him feel appreciated, he wasn’t hungry. He didn’t want to eat, he didn’t want to talk to them and pretend to be a clown once again. He was tired, he only wanted Chuuya or some quiet, and since he wouldn’t obtain the first one, he would just have to settle with the second. 

He was grateful for their worry, though he wasn’t sure how sincere it was. Genuine or not, not even knowing if he deserved something like that, all he could give them at that moment and two years ago was an implicit thanks. It didn’t seem like that bothered them, Dazai noticed, nor did it cause them to leave him. Even if his words contradicted what he truly felt, even if that hurt them, they were still happy to see him alive, from afar, but breathing. 

That’s all that mattered to Ranpo, Kunikida, and even Yosano, he thought, almost as though it was the first sweet revelation in that self-imposed time of quiet and loneliness. They only wanted to know that he was still alive, not pushing him to approach them and tell them all the things that happened to him, all his thoughts, or all his feelings. Just knowing he wasn’t doing something stupid like two years ago was enough, and they waited, patiently, for him to be ready to go back to them.

If he looked at it from that perspective, he was lucky he found them and that they considered him a ‘friend’. They didn’t even force him to put down his clown mask, although they knew he wore it all the time. They let him cover himself with it until he was ready to be as vulnerable as he was two years ago. And maybe he wasn’t ready yet to let it fall, but when Ranpo took the chair in front of him and made himself comfortable there, it reassured him that they weren’t mad and thinking the worst of him for his silence and the distance.

“How long will you stay here secluded?” the oldest asked, Dazai continued changing the pages of the book he’d barely read. 

“As long as it's necessary. I can’t think with too much noise.” 

“Well, I’m proud you’re doing that at least,” he declared, making Dazai look up with surprise, an expression bordering on not believing what was uttered, but finally paying attention to him. “Even though you’re ignoring us rather deliberately, I'm proud that you’re choosing reflection over self-destruction this time around.” 

Hiding the relief those words made him feel, the unexpected joy of achieving something, Dazai joked: 

“I don’t have the age to be doing that anymore, Ranpo. I’m sure my waist would break if I tried what I did two years ago!” 

Even if it was a stupid and nonsensical joke, Ranpo only returned the smile. However, he knew that calm was momentarily and, even if Dazai wanted to cling to it, he couldn’t. Not yet, at least. First, whether he wanted to or not, there were still some turbulent waters he had to dive into.

“Yosano told me about what happened with Tomie and Chuuya–”

“Of course she did.” 

“– And she told me about what Tomie said,” he added without losing track of the words nor the seriousness in them, “about your ‘feelings’ for Chuuya.” 

“Tomie just wanted to piss him off,” he excused himself, looking elsewhere. 

With a brow up and without believing any reason Dazai could provide, Ranpo inquired: 

“Really? Was it just to piss off Chuuya or to expose you?” 

Dazai didn’t reply. Of course he wouldn’t, Ranpo thought. 

Certainly, he had yet to realize what he felt, or if he knew, he was assimilating it to his past relationship with the ginger. Classifying every emotion he could feel as something evoked out of nostalgia and not like something new that, although had its roots in the past, wasn’t the same.

Besides, he wouldn’t notice that which was new if he continued drowning in what he once felt for someone else. By that point, those feelings Dazai had for Oda were more of a habit and something safe than genuine, Ranpo thought. Loving Oda was easier. With his personality, being fond of him and trusting him was easy, safe, and simple. He was calm and patient, an almost endless source of compassion and acceptance to which people like Dazai were naturally attracted to. As for Chuuya… it was a greater risk. 

It’s not like he seemed unsteady or less loyal. Chuuya was more the type to express everything he felt with a bluntness not anyone was ready to accept, and in return, he expected the same. He understood the whys, but he didn’t forget the wounds, unlike Oda who preferred to leave it all behind. He was more explicit with what he said, and he wanted the same amount of affection he was willing to give, and someone like Dazai liked and rejected that behavior simultaneously.

But that’s what he wanted at that moment, even if he didn’t realize it or insisted it was only caused by nostalgia. And he wouldn’t get anything if he didn’t conclude the chapter he refused to finish reading first… No, whether he obtained something out of it or not, he needed to finish that novel and close it once and for all. 

“You should speak with Oda,” he suggested, and he got ready to discourage any kind of attempt at escaping that Dazai could create. 

“Talking to him won’t make him return,” he replied just like Ranpo imagined he would. However, what he added did catch him by surprise, “nor Chuuya would.”  

Good, maybe he was more conscious about what he felt, and he wanted more than what Ranpo had imagined in the beginning. That was good, he thought, but not enough. 

“No, of course not. Oda won’t return if you talk to him, and if you think that with a talk you’re ‘leaving him behind’ and recovering Chuuya, you’re dead wrong,” he clarified, absently glancing at that opened notebook in front of Dazai. “It’s not about leaving one of them to recover the other, it’s about you talking to both of them so you can recover yourself.” 

Dazai huffed mockingly. 

“‘Recovering myself…’ What does that even mean?” 

“I won’t tell you,” Ranpo got up, pushing the chair with a noise too loud for the place they were in. However, he couldn’t care less about the sound or the angry expressions he attracted. What truly mattered was the tacit advice he was uttering and that Dazai seemed to consider. “Don’t you think I’ve helped you enough? Solve your problems on your own, you’re not five anymore.” 

“Could’ve fooled myself.” 

Ranpo didn’t react to his joke, not bothering to answer but not ignoring it either. Now standing, he had a better vision of the notebook in front of Dazai, that which was lying between an opened book of a certain literary genre and a dictionary that looked fairly new. The notebook also seemed to have been bought not too long ago, but writing had already filled a considerable amount of the pages and he couldn’t help but get distracted by some sentences. 

“What are you writing?” he asked.

As if he had just caught him doing something illicit, Dazai closed the notebook and covered it with the novel on his right side. 

“Nothing.” 

“Well, that ‘nothing’ looked interesting,” Ranpo commented. He shrugged and circled the table, walking away with relaxed and rhythmic steps, handing out a white flag that was always present. “There’s a seat for you if you want to accompany us.” 

It’d been a while since they ate together. He wished to cling to that small possibility of success, but he couldn’t tell whether Dazai would join them at lunch or not. Both his presence and absence had the same amount of probability to happen, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the scales tipped more towards his absence. 

However, when he joined Kunikida and saw Yosano arriving, followed by Atsushi and, finally, Dazai, he couldn’t help but smile. 

═════════════

The last months of the semester were always the worst, the only thing that could barely cheer him up about all this was that February was just around the corner, even if that was the month where he had all his final exams stacked together in the same chaotic week. The stress didn’t matter though, because February meant that Gin’s birthday was near, and since he was twelve there was never a year in which he didn’t have something for her. 

This time, they would’ve to settle with just a small cake. But he didn’t want to give his sister just a cake, even if he knew Gin would be fine with only that. No, it wasn’t enough. There was more to celebrate than only her eighteenth birthday and the arrival of her acceptance letter to Kyodai. They had to celebrate for the band, for being away from Yokohama, for showing their family, especially their father, that they were more than capable of living away from them. Showing all the people they left before moving to Kyoto that they were nothing special in their lives. Quite the contrary, they were merely a hindrance, and it was enough to think of themselves as the only two Akutagawas that existed. 

But he could only give her a damn cake this year, and no matter how many times he checked his bank account, how much he burnt his brain thinking about where to obtain the money needed for what he wanted to gift his sister, he couldn’t find an option that won’t put him in a lot of debt for a long while. 

He didn’t want to give Gin just a cake, he wanted to give her the damn guitar she always dreamt about, but the possibility of doing that, the lack of rehearsals, and the stress that came with final exams did nothing but increase his bad mood. 

When a hand covered his eyes, he couldn’t force himself to give a positive reaction. Yes, he may have controlled the bother that caused, and he gently removed the fingers he was used to holding, but the blonde girl only needed to get one look at his face to realize her greeting wasn’t well received. 

“You don’t seem happy to see me…” Higuchi mumbled. Akutagawa merely sighed. 

They were halfway through the recess dedicated to eating lunch. Higuchi asked him whether he would eat with her, but honestly, he had no appetite for anything that wasn’t finishing the essay he had to submit that night and thinking about how to obtain more money for the guitar he wanted to gift Gin. After he expressed that to the blonde, he didn’t get a reply from her, so he assumed she would eat with her classmates or who knows where, he didn’t control her life or her social circle beyond the band. 

However, his girlfriend had been rather clingy since Christmas. Even though he didn’t enjoy having next to no time alone, when he asked Gin and Chuuya, both advised him to let Higuchi hover around him for as much as she wanted, at least for a while. So now he had her here: with that face that resembled a puppy that was just scolded, sitting across him on that old table in the outside area between the main building and the library on the Faculty of Humanities. 

He knew she was jealous, though he had yet to figure out of who or what. A possessive behavior was the most natural reaction, even if she always hid it behind a ‘we should spend more time together like all couples do, Ryuunosuke, I just want us to be like the couples in those movies you don’t like!’, or she’d said something like that. He couldn’t remember; when his girlfriend started with that tirade, he usually distracted himself with any thought to not get angrier and start an argument that would end with only Higuchi crying. 

At any rate, everything around him became so stressful that he couldn’t think of anything more than the situation with the band, what Chuuya still refused to tell him, the final exams, the gift he didn’t have for Gin, the essay he had yet to finish, or the fact he hadn’t even seen Atsushi around the campus since that incident…

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, averting his eyes from the two tabs opened on his laptop screen; one with the essay he hadn’t finished yet, the other with a picture of his bank account. “Your wrist hasn’t healed yet, you shouldn’t be crossing half the campus.” 

“It’s not too bad,” she replied, trying to hide under the table her bandaged hand, the one she wasn’t supposed to move with much suddenness. Once again, with that face of a scolded puppy, her head hanging low and looking from below, she hesitantly repeated the question: “Are you really not happy to see me?” 

The wish, and the fatigue of having the same argument almost every day screamed at him to answer ‘yes, I’m not happy to see you,’ but he opted to suppress that thought and just observe her with a blank face. 

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. 

“But it seems that way,” she insisted. 

Akutagawa tried to focus once again on the essay he had to write, but he couldn’t manage to write a single line without erasing it before reaching a comma or a period. 

“I told you already. I’m busy.” 

“I wanted to eat with you…” 

“I told you I wasn’t hungry, besides, I don’t have time to eat right now.” 

“Is that what’s going on or do you just not want to see me?” 

Fuck, he wasn’t in the mood for that argument. Actually, he was never in the mood for that kind of nonsense and insecurities that he had no idea where they came from. 

“Are you listening to me?” he inquired, not bothering to hide the anger. “Or at least listening to yourself? Because it seems like you hear anything but what I’m telling you.” 

“I’m listening!” she retorted. The people at the nearby tables pretended not to hear the argument that was slowly escalating. “And I know you’re busy, but I thought you’d give me at least five minutes!” 

Five minutes, five minutes… He gave her more than that. 

He gave her almost all his day, he even replied to her texts during class to avoid that kind of complaints. When was the last time he truly had time for himself? Not even sleeping or working could he achieve just a moment of silence because either Higuchi insisted on spending the night at his apartment or he had to continue her chain of messages while he was busy.

He had her with him almost all day, whether it be physically or through a screen. He couldn’t ever go out alone with Gin to buy something at the mall, he couldn’t even ask Chuuya to practice alone without her accompanying them. Higuchi was always there with him, interrupting his work, trying to chit chat when the only thing he wanted was some quiet, and he didn’t even have time to truly relax; he couldn’t even pick up his guitar in that last week, compose a melody and discuss that with Atsushi. He hadn’t even seen the albino on those days; apparently, his shift at the cafeteria changed…

Why was he thinking about Atsushi…? It didn’t make sense. There was no relation between this argument and the absence of the other boy. 

Ah, he really was tired. He still had no idea what to do with Gin’s birthday, Chuuya still hadn’t told him what happened after their last show, he had a melody half-finished that he hadn’t shown Atsushi, and he could see how the shine in Higuchi’s eyes increased and, if he ever worried about his girlfriend crying in public because of an argument, he didn’t care anymore. 

Were those genuine tears or were they meant to make him feel like the worst man in the world? He didn’t even think they were real anymore. 

“Ichiyo, I can’t give you my attention all the time,” he clarified, shutting the laptop off and putting it inside his bag. “I didn’t do it before, I won’t do it now.” 

“Ryuunosuke…” 

“I won’t argue with you.” 

He tried to leave as fast as he could, but even with his hurry, the recurring quote and the one he had no energy to even process was said between them, and it made him question himself once more. 

“You don’t love me anymore, right?” Higuchi asked, her voice pitiful and caught in a repressed sob, almost desperate for a confirmation or denial. 

But she wouldn’t obtain either. 

“Don’t call me, I’m busy, I won’t reply until tomorrow.”

At least Higuchi knew when she was trudging on the edge of his patience and when it was no longer ideal to follow him if she didn’t want to be truly injured with words. She let him go without asking more questions or throwing accusations. However, that didn’t mean those weren’t marching behind Akutagawa as he turned towards the exit of the campus. 

Did he love her? No, he didn’t. When he met her, he didn’t even like her. She was solely another girl, another person in the crowd of people who knew how to play the drums and that was what he needed at that moment. What he cared about was the band, the music, having Gin with him as his second guitarist, and continuing that which he paused for a whole year after moving from Yokohama to Kyoto. 

‘Like’ or ‘love’, that relationship he didn’t plan to have was something built as they shared their fondness for music. That was everything that connected them, and he thought it’d be enough. Months later, after almost a year of dating, he knew that between him and Higuchi there was nothing in common beyond the band and some songs. 

They didn’t like the same things, nor the same dishes, animals, movies, series or books. They had completely different views of the world and social relationships: she knew how to unwind and talk with whoever, to enjoy everything around her; he preferred serenity, to speak only with the people that truly interested him, and keep himself inside his own space. But that wasn’t a problem, he thought they could complement each other, couldn’t they? It wasn’t… 

Honestly, it wasn’t the first time he thought that they didn’t work as a couple. It’s not that he wants Higuchi to be like him and share all his hobbies and thoughts — Gin had been very clear when she told him that if he dated someone with the same character as his, not even a shared interest would save him from disaster —, but he couldn’t even find some liking to their differences. 

And the more time passed, the more Higuchi insisted on clinging to him and not letting him breathe; and the more he rejected or ignored her necessity for attention or affection, the more he could feel a fissure grow between them, and he had no idea how to fix it. 

At that moment, now away from the university and after deciding that, even if he wouldn’t buy anything, he would go to his favorite music store and listen to new releases, he thought about how to fix that rift between them. He didn’t know what to do, and the solutions that his mind could make up weren’t things he was willing to do. 

Distracted by how own thoughts, he entered the store and walked straight towards the CD area, not stopping to appreciate the background music or the greetings of the workers he was well acquaintanced with. 

That music store was one of the biggest in Kyoto; they possessed and sold a wide variety of music genres. Furthermore, they also had a large collection of vinyl, and in the background, were the cash register and the door through which only employees could enter was, you could see repair parts for all types of instruments.

He always bought spare parts for his guitar in that store, alongside the stickers he’d gifted Gin to decorate that old guitar that was now in the garbage. Every time he remembered that, his stress and fatigue deepened just a tad bit more. The hopes of getting a new instrument for his little sister were lower each time, so he thought that, at least, he could get her a cake and gift her a CD or vinyl of one of her favorite bands. 

The CD and vinyl sections were right next to each other, divided by a floor-to-celling shelf that usually housed the most recent merchandise, put right in front of everyone’s eyes for easy access. However, Akutagawa never focused on the new stuff, he always strolled to the lower section, towards the music and bands he already knew and what never quite sold, searching for a lost treasure that no one but him could ever want. 

And apparently, he wasn’t the only one who began their search from the oldest to the newest, because on the other side, inspecting the vinyl, the openings left by the objects on the shelf let him observe white hair and eyes looking down, focused and calm. 

“Nakajima,” he called out, the surname was blurted naturally before he realized what he was doing. 

The sound of fingers caressing the vinyl stopped. The gaze of gold and amethyst hues looked up, both surprised and bewildered at seeing the exact same gray eyes he’d been avoiding those last few days on the other side. 

Akutagawa noticed that the boy on the other side pondered whether to ignore his call and leave, but without giving him the possibility to think it twice, he circled the shelf and approached the vinyl area, observing and almost cornering the albino who was still looking for an exit.

What was going on with him…? It’d been days since they bumped into each other — either by pure destiny or on purpose —, so there was no reason for Atsushi to shun him, or was there? 

“Hey,” Atsushi greeted, hesitant, trying to glance anywhere but the guy in front of him. “I didn’t know you were here…” 

“I didn’t know you knew this store.” 

“I found it not too long ago,” he admitted, still not making eye contact and distracting himself with the vinyl in his hands, “but I haven’t had the time to come here until today...” 

His incomprehensible attitude was easily eating up the last remains of what little patience he had, but he was being honest when he told Higuchi that he didn’t want to argue that day, not with her, not with Atsushi, nor with anyone. 

“I haven’t seen you at the cafe,” he commented in lieu of getting mad. 

For a moment, Atsushi stared at him with sparks in his eyes, confusion mixed with hope, as if he couldn’t believe he’d hope to see him at his job, while simultaneously being happy about anything that visit could mean between them. 

But as fast as those emotions arrived, they disappeared and a lonely guilt attacked him; not providing an answer as to what its origins were, hiding beneath simple and normal words. 

“Oh, yeah, I… I changed my shift, now I work in the mornings,” he explained. “Most of my classes are between noon and the evening, so it didn’t make sense to work afterwards and return even more tired to my dorm…” 

That was the truth, the guitarist noticed, but it wasn’t the whole reason behind his sudden distance or the silence to which texts and calls had been rendered to. Concluding that prying some more would be too much for the type of ‘friendship’ they shared, he focused his attention on something else. 

“Which vinyl are you holding?” Akutagawa asked. 

Atsushi looked at the object in his hands and then he turned it around; raising it to an appropriate height for the gray irises to see the cover, the title, and the performer. 

“Anna Tsuchiya,” Akutagawa read out loud.” Are you going to buy it? If not, give it to me. Gin likes that singer and it’d do for a good birthday gift.” 

“Oh, it’s her birthday?” 

Akutagawa nodded. 

“In a few days, on February fourth.” 

That reasoning seemed as good as any to give him the vinyl. At any rate, Atsushi thought, he wasn’t going to buy it, it was only the last thing his fingers touched before he came face to face with Akutagawa. However, upon thinking a little more and processing the new information he’d received, he ultimately chose not to. 

“I’ll buy it to her as a gift,” he commented, and before the guitarist could retort, he added: “Think of it as the first gift from a fan to one of the band members.” 

He cloaked the surprise and the small flutter on his chest provided by that declaration behind an inquisitive look, ignoring the brief stir and flurry he felt, the emotion at hearing something he didn’t know would affect him so much.

He wasn’t even the first person to tell him they were a fan of his band or him, but when Atsushi said it it felt…

“You’re a ‘fan’?” he inquired, pushing away his thoughts and not believing his words entirely. 

“Of course!” Atsushi rectified, almost offended, and turned around in the direction of the cashier with the black-haired boy following his steps. “I told you, I like the songs you write, and Gin is really talented with the guitar.” 

She is, Akutagawa thought. Everyone said he was the best guitarist in the band, but Gin learned and improved at an incredible pace, much faster than he ever did. It wouldn’t take her long to surpass him and for the crowd to recognize her abilities, but she couldn’t do it if she didn’t have her own guitar; not one she inherited from him, not one that wore the marks of his guitar pick and whose strings were tattooed by his fingers. She needed one that had never been played before, and that would be used for the first and last time by her. 

And being aware of the talent his little sister had gave him a bigger reason to want to gift her a guitar over anything else. Damn, he would give her the world if Gin asked for it because she deserved that and much more, but he knew she would be happy with only a hug and that dumb birthday song he created for her when he was twelve. 

Reluctantly, he agreed to let Atsushi buy the vinyl. After paying for it and asking the employee to wrap it in a simple gift paper, they exited the store. He searched through his bag fervently till he found some post-its, writing a brief message on it before sticking it on the paper and giving it to Akutagawa; still not making eye contact, but smiling to himself. 

“Here, fan gifts are always anonymous so it’s fine if you keep it and give it to Gin.” 

“If you were going to give it to me so I keep it anyway, it would’ve been better if I bought it in the first place,” he retorted. Yet he still took it and put it in his bag while Atsushi let out a nervous and distant chuckle. 

“But now you can buy her something else she wants,” he commented, stepping back and pointing towards the path he should take. “I have class in twenty minutes anyway, so I have to go back…” 

“Why are you avoiding me?” he inquired, interrupting and blocking any word or stuttered excuse Atsushi could muster. “You’re not even looking at me.” 

At last, the bicolor gaze posed on his face; filled with panic, tension, and that persistent guilt with no seeming origin. Atsushi mumbled to himself, searching for words, moving his hands without knowing what to do with them or where to put them; not staying quiescent or reaching for the body that took a step towards him. Akutagawa thought about holding them and stopping them, his patience couldn’t handle the excessive movement, but Atsushi stopped out of his own accord and closed them in a tensed fist when the other stepped forward. 

When he saw him approach him, his features filled with a light pink tone, that if it wasn’t for how pale his skin was, it would’ve been less notorious. The prevailing need to step away was there, but upon taking notice of the seriousness in the other’s form, he couldn’t do anything but return said expression. 

“Nakajima.” 

“Akutagawa…” 

It seemed like it was difficult for him to look straight at him, his irises trembled and they didn’t stop, not knowing where to land.

From one moment to another, it appeared like Atsushi had calmed down his anxiety and his face lost what little color it had. Lacking any counterproductive emotion for the situation, he took a step back and returned to that cordial act he knew Akutagawa disliked, but, for once, he couldn’t find the energy to argue with that strained gentleness.

“I’ve been busy,” Atsushi replied. His eyes weren’t fixed on the gray irises, but he seemed to be looking at his lips. Unable to do anything against it, Akutagawa glanced at his lips too. “I don’t—” 

A phone rang. The sigh of relief coming from Atsushi pissed him off, but the albino didn’t even take his time to notice the anger, too focused on the satisfaction of being interrupted. Akutagawa took his phone and read the contact name, waiting for it to be Gin notifying him that Chuuya had already taken her home after the business she had to attend to that day. However, it was the same person he told he wouldn’t reply till tomorrow. 

He knew he was being unjust, cruel even, and a horrible boyfriend, but he was tired and Higuchi really couldn’t give him even an hour of complete silence without trying to contact him and continue the half-finished argument. 

“Is it your girlfriend?” Atsushi questioned, managing to read the contact’s name from his spot with ease. His voice and form filled with a resignation he tried to control, and so he took another step back. “You should answer…” 

Akutagawa didn’t hesitate to hang up and silence the phone in front of the confused and worried gaze of Atsushi. For his bitter enjoyment, the bicolor gaze didn’t abandon his face not even for a second after that action; his expression filled up with millions of questions he didn’t dare voice, next to a fear and guilt he failed to hide.

“I told her I wouldn’t reply,” he explained, not giving more details and pocketing the device. “And I’m waiting for you to do so. Why are you avoiding me?” 

“I’m not,” Atsushi insisted, and he gave him a kind smile he knew was forced. It made him angry. “Really, I’ve been busy, but it’s not… something you should worry about. You should worry about Higuchi though! I’ve never been in a relationship, but maybe you should talk with her, fix what happened, and–” 

“Nakajima,” he interrupted one more time, with a low tone in his voice. “It’s not about her, but fine, do whatever you want.” 

He couldn’t continue seeing his averted gazes and that light hue of guilt he failed to hide. Fine, Atsushi could go to hell, he thought. If he didn’t want to talk or be sincere, he wouldn’t force him. He wasn’t in the mood to start a fight anyway, and based on the weariness in the other’s face, he could conclude he wasn’t in the mood to argue either. 

Ignoring the unexpected frustration the lack of an answer gave him, he didn't direct one last look towards Atsushi before he began his way back to Kyodai. He heard a sigh behind him, an unintelligible murmur, and steps following his. He didn’t stop, not even when the other’s voice asked him to. Did he want him to stop? It was best if he discarded that idea. If the albino didn’t tell him what was wrong and why he avoided him, then he would continue walking without a care in the world.

But, when he called out one more time, just like Orpheus making sure Eurydice was following him to the underground, he looked back. 

“Akutagawa, wait.” 

“What?” he angrily inquired, stopping and turning around. “Don’t you have a class to get to?” 

“Yes, I…” Atsushi interrupted himself. He bit his bottom lip, it almost looked as if he had no idea what he was doing or why he insisted on following Akutagawa despite what he’d decided days ago. Letting out a resigned sigh at his own foolishness, he promptly explained. “I’m not sure if this info is of any worth to you, but there’s going to be a contest of covers in about three weeks, and since the prize is cash, I thought you…” 

“What?” he interrupted. “What nonsense did you think of?” 

Atsushi gave him an annoyed look that felt much more real than any of his forced smiles or cordial actions. He liked that expression more than any of the others.

“I thought that if you win, you could buy Gin a new guitar,” he replied without knowing what he evoked in the other. 

Even if the intention wasn’t the same, even if Atsushi had no idea he’d already thought about buying Gin a new guitar, the same notion crossed his mind. 

Not even Higuchi thought about that. Moreover, she didn’t even care about what happened with the band, whether they continued creating songs or not, whether it was a mere hobby or a deep desire. Atsushi, on the other hand… 

“You don’t even need all the members,” he continued explaining, ignoring the expression filled with multiple unnamed and unknown emotions that Akutagawa sent him. “If Higuchi takes care of her wrist she could go back to playing the drums in no time, even though it’d be kinda complicated…” 

Atsushi cared. 

“I can find another drummer,” Akutagawa commented, knowing that, whether she recovered or not, Higuchi didn’t enjoy music as much as the rest of the band did. “I hate covers, but Gin’s absence wouldn’t be felt so much…” 

He cared. He was nothing but a listener, a spectator, and yet he cared and during all that time, in one way or another, he supported him and he wanted nothing but to continue seeing them play from the first row or the stands. 

He just wanted to listen to them, it didn’t matter whether he was near or far from the stage, but Akutagawa wanted him close. More, more close. So, before he could escape from his hands once more, he trapped his wrist and dragged him with him. 

“Akutagawa?! Where are we going?!” 

“To class, idiot,” he huffed, feeling himself in a good mood for the first time in the day, he leaned his head to one side, looking at the bewildered face on the owner of the wrist he refused to let go. “And on the way there, you’ll give me more details and help me think on which band to pay tribute to.” 

Atsushi looked hesitant, debating with himself, but the desire to see him again and listen to him playing the guitar was more intense than any feelings of guilt or the distance he tried to put between them. 

He could try to forget his feelings for Akutagawa, but there was no way he could leave behind his music.

“Actually, I think I know a band that fits your style…” 

═════════════

That was a weird day, Dazai thought. 

Although there were still two months left till the end of winter, the sun came out that day. The temperature was good, the classes were pleasant despite the stressful and impending end of the semester. After a long time, he had lunch with his friends. He didn’t participate or engage in the conversation like he once did, but it seemed like neither of them was bothered by his silence; he didn’t have to put on an effort to act like an idiot, pretend happiness, or be a funny person to keep them by his side. And even though Yosano still seemed kind of pissed at him, when the lunch finished and they walked together towards the main cafeteria, the woman mentioned that she knew Dazai had the bad habit of not being sincere with his responses and that, on that day when she saw Tomie at his place, each of his words held no genuine malice. 

When Dazai questioned her on how she was so sure that he wasn’t being sincere with every poisonous response he gave to her questions, Yosano laughed at his face and mumbled that someone taught her how to decipher when he was lying to protect himself. She didn’t even have to name the person, Dazai perfectly knew who she was talking about.

“Now I’m jealous,” Dazai told Yosano that afternoon before they each parted ways to walk toward their respective faculties. “You got close to him quickly.”

“You’d be by his side if you stopped acting like an idiot,” she scolded him, but she said everything with a friendly smile. “I’m sure if you’re sincere, Chuuya is going to listen.” 

He was afraid that wouldn’t be the case, but he’d avoided a lot of things in his life because of fear that he was now too tired of always running. 

“How are things going with Kouyou?” 

Yosano sighed and shrugged. 

“She texted me some days ago, she wants to talk in person,” she explained, “but that won’t happen for another month.” 

“A month is enough, right? At least to mentally prepare yourself.” 

Yosano nodded. They parted ways with a brief farewell, planning on going out to drink at some point after finals were done. That would be good, Dazai thought, to enjoy those small things, delight in those brief moments of company that made him happy. 

And musing at those far-in-between moments when he was happy, when he didn’t care whether he was a good person or not, he couldn’t help but circle back at Yosano’s words. If he was genuine, would Chuuya be willing to listen to a long story? Maybe yes, perhaps he would still be mad, but even if it hurt, Dazai knew Chuuya preferred to know the details than stay in the dark forever. 

Waiting a bit more, maybe three weeks or a month would be enough to prepare himself and organize his ideas. By that point, the semester would’ve already finished and he could do the long trip he’d been postponing for a long time. But, before walking towards that path, he needed a companion, and before getting himself that companion, a call was due. 

“Dazai?”  

“Odasaku,” he greeted the man on the other end of the call. With a light voice, melancholy lingering in there, yet airy. “Got some time to talk?”

Chapter Text

Much like four years ago, almost five in a few months, he stopped seeing Dazai in the crowd every evening after school. 

It was almost as if the brunette had been nothing but a mirage created by nostalgia and unanswered questions, although Chuuya knew the other was solely a few steps away. He knew where to find him, in what place, what building, and which classroom. And in case he wasn’t in any of those places, he knew the people who could give him a clue of his whereabouts. 

But that way was better, he thought. After that last encounter, he didn’t know nor understand what Dazai wanted from him, and he was tired of chasing him, even if it was he who proposed to restore a friendship motivated and fueled by the strange familiarity of a shared adolescence. 

Besides, he recalled with anger, the words and motivations of that girl who always hung out with Dazai felt like a punch to the stomach; painful, making him stumble, creating confusion mixed with the weakest and lightest of hopes, followed by the impending disappointment. 

“See, Chuuya, Dazai has no idea what to do with his feelings for you!”

What feelings? He wasn’t even sure if Dazai could feel something beyond self-hatred and narcissism. Moreover, feelings for him? That day he wanted to laugh in that girl’s face, yet he only clenched his fists in resignation. 

If Dazai harbored such an ambiguous and gray sentiment as love, if he cared for anyone, it was undoubtedly Oda.

He didn’t know the other man further than his name and a few stories Yosano had told him at some point, narrating what she knew, but not the side of the story of a certain brunette that he really longed to hear. However, this time around, what she said was enough. 

The woman told him about his kind character, a tender and deep voice that played just like a lullaby; his patience and readiness to help the rest ever so present, and so was his love for literature, especially the old classics. An exemplary man through and through, the ideal friend. Someone easy to love, Yosano told him, and she showed him a picture of him; old, dated from three years back. 

Dark, red hair, like the ripe autumn leaves that, when stepped on, created this relaxing noise; a bubbly sensation, the happiness and carefree from a childhood long gone. Blue eyes, like his own, but much more serene; kind, with the perfect amount of seriousness that evoked a sense of security to whoever was in front of him. 

Yes, he could see why Dazai fell so easily for him. Furthermore, the brunette was in that same picture. Attached to Oda, smiling, not at the camera or the people around him, but at Oda. Only Oda. His eyes trained on him, illusion dancing in them, coziness and peace, a deep affection that he never saw directed at himself. 

And it hurt. It hurt to know that, although they dated for three years, he could never get Dazai to look at him that way. Why? What had he done wrong? Many things, probably, but it was already too late to continue pondering on what he could’ve done and what he didn’t. It was already too late for him to be observed that way by someone who merely saw him as a distraction.

“Earth to Chuuya, what are you thinking about?” Albatross asked, snapping his fingers in front of the ginger till the other, annoyed, hit his hand away. However, the blonde wasn’t offended by his reaction and, with a mocking smile, added: “You look constipated, have you gone to the bathroom these days?” 

In unison, the other three occupants of that table in the middle of the main cafeteria of Kyodai wrinkled their faces in disgust. Pianoman put down the fork in his hand and left it next to his half-finished lunch, his appetite now gone. Chuuya considered spilling his drink over the blonde with sunglasses by his side, but ultimately chose against it, settling with pushing him and hoping he fell from the chair. He didn’t, he only laughed at his failed attempt and blatantly ignored the disgusted expression Lippman sent him. 

“You just had to ask that, didn’t you?” the blonde with a mole inquired, sounding disappointed yet not surprised. 

“What? It’s totally valid! Especially with all the stress now that the semester is almost done, can’t blame someone for having some trouble down there.” 

“Could you not? We’re eating right now,” Pianoman pointed out. 

“I’ve said worst things in worst moments, you should be used to it by now,” he retorted, crossing his arms like a spoiled child. “Besides, I don’t see you eating, you’re just complaining for nothing.” 

“Would you shut up already?” Chuuya demanded, eyeing sideways at the fork that the oldest of the four had put aside and thinking about using it as a weapon. “The more you talk, the more brain cells I lose.” 

“You didn’t have many to begin with!” Albatross laughed. 

Before Chuuya could hit him or take the abandoned fork, Albatross distracted him by pointing towards something, or rather someone, behind him. The ginger didn’t know why his head, for a fleeting moment, made him think the person approaching them was Dazai. But at least, the disappointment was right and it always predicted what would happen. He reminded himself that the other would never look for him, and he wasn’t wrong, even if he secretly hoped his intuition and what he thought he knew about the brunette would fail.

Who walked towards him, with steady steps and passed through the tables and students who strolled from one side to the other with their trays, was dressed fully in black and accompanied by an albino boy who stood out in the crowd. 

“Oh! Emo-boy!” Albatross greeted. He disregarded the annoyed look Akutagawa sent him; focusing his attention on the albino who walked behind him. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?”

At the implication, Chuuya noticed that Atsushi blushed ever so softly and tried to spit out a response. However, Akutagawa hushed him, and he didn’t contradict or confirm what his roommate asked. 

Interesting, the ginger thought, watching the other two. Interesting… and worrisome.  

“Chuuya,” he greeted him and the two oldest at the table, blatantly ignoring Albatross. “I need your opinion.” 

“You do? You usually only want his opinion,” he remarked, pointing at Atsushi with a tilt of his head. 

The albino almost seemed to want to hide behind Akutagawa’s back, but instead of doing so, he took a small step away from him, confusing Chuuya in the process. Okay, what was going on between those two? He knew he wasn’t paying much attention to Ryuu those last weeks and what was going on in his life because… well, did he even have to say it? Whatever the case, he was curious to know what was happening between them and why it seemed like his guitarist, despite knowing Atsushi was putting some distance between them, chose to ignore that detail. 

He looked at both of them, seeking an answer. He considered directly asking Ryuu later, but, remembering the fact he hadn’t been open with him either, nor had he told him what happened between him and Dazai despite being the only one who didn’t pressure him to talk, he felt bad forcing him to. 

That silence between them caused him a small pang, and he didn’t know when they would have the chance to talk.  

“What’s up?” Chuuya asked, pushing to the deepest parts of his mind the worry for the distance he saw between him and Ryuu. “Did you do something stupid?” 

Akutagawa huffed. 

“You say that as if you’re not the first to do something stupid.”

Although he should probably feel offended right about now, Chuuya couldn’t do but send him a sarcastic smile. 

“I’m the older one here, I can do as many stupid things as I want,” he replied. “So? What happened?” 

With a single glance from Akutagawa, Atsushi approached them and began to explain. Extending his phone to the ginger, he showed him the advertising poster for the competition that his guitarist was interested in. It was impossible to overlook the prize that, although noteworthy for a simple contest, didn’t quite catch his attention as much as the word ‘cover’ did, which occupied a large amount of the ad — almost as much as the main prize did. He was familiar with those; Ryuu had made him practice with an entire playlist that included both songs he knew and those he didn’t. 

When he asked them about that particular and significant detail of the competition, Atsushi voiced the idea they’d discussed on the way there and the band they were considering. Chuuya avoided his curiosity about how long those two had been together and focused on the albino's explanation. A well-known band yet not one with recent songs — looking to evoke nostalgia and cater to the fandom. So Atsushi and Akutagawa decided that singing one or two songs from that band would be ideal. When Chuuya pointed out that the songs were more fitted to be sung by a woman, Ryuu gave him a merciless look and challenged him to reach the same notes. 

Was he about to back out? Hell no. However, even if the band and songs were already decided, there was still an issue to address.

“Does Gin know?” he asked, and then with a cautious tone, he added: “Do you really wanna play without her?” 

Akutagawa pressed his lips till they formed a thin line. His crossed arms tightened some more, giving the impression of inner conflict, even though the decision had already been made. He shook his head, resigning himself to altering the band’s plans. 

“No, I don’t want to… but I do want to buy her a guitar,” he admitted, ignoring the way Chuuya’s eyes softened, almost moved by a bond he seldom got from those with whom he shared blood. “At any rate, I called her and she said the band should participate and that she would be fine being in the public for once.” 

“Well, if Gin is fine with it and it’s to buy her a new guitar, then count me in,” he responded, but before Ryuu could smile, he added: “What about Higuchi though? She’s still injured, and maybe she could get better before the contest, but I don’t think she’ll agree…” 

The black-haired boy’s expression turned bitter, and without hesitation, he said: 

“She won’t, and she won’t want to participate either. Lately, it’s like the band gives her more stress than anything else.” 

No, it wasn’t merely stress or pressure for her, Chuuya thought, it was absolute indifference towards it. The band was an insurmountable chore for her; it was clear on the rehearsals, on the effort each one put into each song. There was no problem with Akutagawa, Gin, or Tachihara; the three of them loved their respective instrument and they improved constantly. And sure, he may have initially only agreed to sing because he didn’t want anyone else singing his damn poem, but he grew to enjoy it and he was also trying to surpass himself with each practice. Within those four, there were almost no mistakes, but when it came to Higuchi…  Higuchi was the only one who remained stagnant. Every time an instrument committed an error, it was the drums, and it wasn’t the usual mistake that could happen to anyone, instead, those mistakes were not significant enough for the perpetrator to correct them. 

Higuchi wasn’t interested in improving or in the band. Chuuya noticed so since the first time he laid eyes on her, since the first song and rehearsal. If she was in the band at that point it was only because she wanted to spend as much time close to Akutagawa as possible, and what better way to do it than joining what occupied most of his time and attention? At that point, he wouldn't be surprised to learn that the blonde girl became Black Ocean's drummer solely because she liked Ryuu, rather than a genuine love for music. 

Ryuu seemed to finally realize that, and although he looked frustrated, he wasn’t surprised. One could even say he looked calm. Chuuya wondered if the calmness and control were influenced by the albino who continued to observe him from behind the guitarist 

“So then, we’re missing a drummer,” Chuuya said, running his hand through his hair, without seeing an easy way out of their problem. “The competition is in three weeks, where are you going to find someone who meets your expectations?” 

“We’ll do an audition,” he replied with conviction. The redhead gave him a weary look.

“You think someone is going to show up knowing we need them for a contest in three weeks?” 

“Why don’t you ask one of your old drummers if they want to participate?” Atsushi suggested. “At least you’d knew how playing with them is…” 

Akutagawa's dissatisfaction was sufficient to dismiss the idea. Both Chuuya and Atsushi sighed in resignation simultaneously, contemplating how the guitarist was further complicating matters.

“If you want a drummer, I know someone from the Faculty of Science who can play,” Albatross commented with total tranquility, disregarding everyone’s gazes of ‘why didn’t you say so before?’. “We did a project together and then we went to an arcade. The bastard won against me at Warriors of Rocks and Just Dance! He won! Can you believe that?!”

“You always know the weirdest guys,” Chuuya said, pushing the blonde next to him by mere instinct and asking, “why don’t you do it yourself? The last time you were drunk at noon you said you knew how to play the drums and then you demonstrated it by using some pots, which was shit, by the way, but I could tell you had experience.” 

“I don’t like being onstage, it’s better to be in the public. You know, an easier way to live than being the center of attention.” 

“If you lie at least try making it convincing,” the ginger retorted, knocking him again like a little kid annoying his seatmate, and said seatmate letting him without complaining. “‘You’ and ‘I don’t like being the center of attention’ don’t fit in the same damn sentence!” 

“Surprisingly, he’s not lying. He likes attention, just not that kind,” Lippman commented with a malicious grin that disregarded the panicked expression on the blonde in front of him. “Even if he doesn’t seem like it, he has scenic panic.”

A loud ‘Traitor! You said you wouldn’t snitch!’ The outburst caught the attention of nearby tables, but after a momentary glance, they quickly returned to their own conversations. 

Without missing a beat, Chuuya pushed Albatross again and laughed at him until the blonde pushed him back, now looking bashful and embarrassed.

“Go to hell Chuuya!” he insulted and turned to Akutagawa with a childish pout on his face. “Do you want me to ask the guy if he’d like to play in your band or not?” 

“I’ll make him audition,” Akutagawa responded promptly. 

“You can do whatever you want with him, I’m but a mere messenger,” he said, standing up with his pout still on full display and bumping into the ginger in the process. “Fine, let’s go see him, and then we can go annoy the Faculty of Music and tell the music students to let us borrow one of their drums for a while, you coming?” 

Atsushi and Chuuya looked at each other, weighing their options, but, upon glancing at Akutagawa, they noticed his firm expression and, with the same seriousness, he followed the blonde. 

Alright, his leader had already chosen, now he only had to trust and follow him.

═════════════

An odd lightness was present during the last few days after the call. And while it was true he felt more relaxed, there were still lingering traces of uncertainty about the future that he couldn't quite shake off, so simply let them accompany him and distracted himself with other things. But he was fine.  He’d endured such feelings for a long time, so continuing to experience them for a bit longer didn't cause as much anxiety and decline as before, it was simply a reminder of what he had yet to do. 

The last weeks of the semester were the worst, Dazai thought, but he was so used to rarely sleeping that he didn’t feel the fatigue as much as the rest of the students at Kyodai. Besides, since he’d spent too much time in his self-imposed isolation with nothing to do but read books and write papers, he was productive. He managed to finish most of his essays, research, and critiques that were due. Watching Fukuzawa-sensei’s confused expression when he submitted his work on time was a delight, and he let himself enjoy and snicker at the bewilderment of both his professor and his friends. 

He was depressed, alright? And when he’s depressed, he’s either the most productive person you’ll come to meet, or he was a bigger mess of procrastination than usual. That’s what he told Kunikida one afternoon after class when the blonde refused to believe he submitted everything on time. 

As they exited the campus, he questioned him, “Why were you depressed? I mean, I know you were, but the reason…” 

“Do I need a reason?” he asked in return. Kunikida didn’t know what to answer, but Dazai didn’t need to hear anything on his part so he just shrugged and threw a spiel that, secretly, the other had missed. “Ah, don’t worry! I do feel flattered though, that just goes to show how much you care for me! I probably have a genetic predisposition for depression or my brain doesn’t generate enough serotonin. I have this theory that I got it from my mother, and that would confirm how horrible of a pair she does with my father, even on pure genetics. But who am I to judge people who can’t keep it in their pants and bring me to this world against my will? Though if you really want to make me feel better you can always give me a hug!” 

Kunikida dodged him and pushed him before he could envelop him with his arms. He began to scold him without caring about the attention they were receiving, feeling embarrassed and increasingly angry as Dazai continued to laugh at him.

Ah, he’d missed that. 

He missed messing with Kunikida’s patience, he missed the philosophical ramblings with Ranpo, he missed planning outings with Yosano once the semester ended and they could get lost in some bar the whole night. He missed helping Atsushi with his essays and teasing him for his crush on Akutagawa. The talk about ruining the black-haired boy’s relationship wasn’t mentioned again in any of their conversations. Dazai didn’t ask, and Atsushi seemed to have forgotten that idea; he continued with his life as usual, content with just being a friend to the guitarist. 

Being content… why was it so hard to be content with what he already had? During lunch, when Yosano, Kunikida, and Atsushi left so he and Ranpo could continue with their philosophical ramblings, he asked that to the other. The graduate student in psychiatry shrugged and simply mentioned that, even if they have enough, they as humans strive to want more in hopes of filling a greedy emptiness that could never be filled. 

But Dazai thought he could. After many years of feeling like nothing he did was enough to be observed, mimicking the crowd and not being able to be the kind of person his parents or Oda wanted, he thought that perhaps it was fine not being enough, and that he didn’t need to do or be more for that existential hollowness to be filled. 

Just a couple of books were enough; a notebook, that group of friends, and a voice he hadn’t heard singing in a while. 

“Are you and Yosano going on vacation like every summer?” he asked at the beginning of the last week of the semester as they stepped out of the cafe in front of the west entrance of the campus. 

It wasn’t the best coffee, Dazai thought as he slurped the drink, but alas, it was essential for his survival. During the last week — finals week and the time for submitting their final projects — they were sleeping only three or four hours daily, if at all for those unlucky ones, and that drink was the only thing keeping them afloat. At least, since the brunette had submitted everything already and was a genius like the man who accompanied him, the few hours of sleep were due to chronic insomnia more than the stress of the end of his third year at Kyodai. 

“We both have our separate plans,” Ranpo replied, drinking from the cup and his face grimacing at the bitter taste and the lack of sugar. “Akiko is going to Tokyo for two weeks. She asked me if I wanted to go with her, but I didn’t come to Kyoto just to return to the big city.” 

If Yosano was going to Tokyo, then it was better for her to go alone, Dazai thought. There was someone and a conversation waiting for her there, having Ranpo with her might make the answers she wanted not come so easily to her hands. Anyway, even though the best friends were parting ways for a bit, the older one by his side didn’t seem worried or hurt by it. 

“Kyoto also counts as a big city,” Dazai commented, thoughtfully. “Won’t you be traveling?” 

“I’ll go back to Nabari and show my parents someone’s willing to put up with me,” Ranpo joked, without giving more details than the brunette needed. Before Dazai could say anything else, Ranpo asked: “And you? Did you talk to Oda?” 

Dazai sighed.

“Straight to the point, as always,” he bemoaned and nodded with a quirk on his lips. “I talked with Oda, or well, I guess 'been talking with him' fits more.”

“Like old times.” 

“Kind of,” he admitted. “Anyways, we’re good, I think. I’m waiting for the semester to end so I can go with him.” 

Ranpo observed him in silence for a moment, assessing his words and calm expression on his face, the light brightness that wouldn’t be so easy to notice if he wasn’t so close to him and so used to his expressions. Nodding, he threw away the rest of the coffee in the first garbage can he found, and then continued interrogating him. 

“And Chuuya?” Dazai didn’t reply. 

“I already decided what to do,” he said, overlooking the figure that crossed his mind upon hearing that name. “I’m making selfish decisions, but what’s new? Besides, didn’t you say that I should do what was best for me?” 

“As long as being selfish doesn’t mean you’re being stupid.” 

“I’m not!” he laughed, looking ahead with a recovered mood he hadn’t felt in a long time. “I just need an answer and then… I guess I’ll be fine.” 

Ranpo nodded again, refraining from further questions. They continued their way in silence and calm, stepping into the campus with other students who carried their own cups of coffee, notebooks in hand, or headphones over their ears, the anxiety for the exams of the day palpable. Amidst the crowd, they noticed white hair that not only had they didn’t see much during those days, but also, didn’t tend to arrive at that hour. Upon glaring more, they saw that the boy was carrying a box. 

They walked a bit faster to catch up to him, noticing the earphones constantly playing various songs to which the boy moved his head in synch. When they caught up to Atsushi, Dazai touched him on the shoulder while Ranpo took off his headphones. Though it startled him, he didn't drop what he was carrying.

“Atsushi, good morning!” Daza igretted. “Isn’t it too early for kids to be out of bed? I’m pretty sure your first class is at noon.” 

“And we know you took the week off for the exams,” Ranpo added. “What are you doing here and what’s in the box?” 

The boy seemed to be in an incredibly amazing mood despite the stressful week that loomed over him. He smiled at them, mumbling a ‘good morning’ that reflected all the excitement he felt and didn’t hesitate to save for himself the reasoning behind it. 

“This? Just a couple of things for Akutagawa,” he replied, looking at the other two with eyes so alive and bright, as if he had truly slept his full eight hours without interruptions and not merely four. “They don’t have much time because of the exams so the band is rehearsing in the classrooms at the Faculty of Music, and I offered to help a bit.” 

“There’s another concert?” Dazai asked, his mind inevitably going to a certain ginger he hadn't seen around in Kyodai for a while.

Atsushi nodded. There was no reason to ask for a recount of the events since the albino unpromptedly explained the event for which the band was getting ready, leaving aside the most important details like the participation of a replacement drummer, the songs they would play, or why Akutagawa accepted to participate when he harbored a deep hatred for covers.

“It’ll be this weekend,” Atsushi informed before continuing with his path. “At Murayama Park, it's supposed to start at around six p.m.”

“What about the entrance?!” Dazai asked, increasing his volume when the boy began to walk away without halting.

“It's free!” 

Good, at least Atsushi was in a good mood despite everything, they thought, as they watched him disappear among the students heading towards the different faculties.

Next to him, Dazai heard Ranpo saying he couldn't stand crowds, besides, he'd planned on leaving that Friday as soon as the classes and semester were over. When the dark-haired man asked the brunette what he was planning to do about Atsushi’s invitation, Dazai shrugged and bade him goodbye, not having come to a clear decision and taking his own path towards the Faculty of Humanities, and towards the main Literature building.

He didn't have any plans until the following week, and neither could he do all that before first jumping over the trench filled with broken roses that lay before him. And even if he hated crowds as much as his friend, he needed to listen to him again.

He had no idea when it had happened, nor from where that desire and fascination he never thought he'd feel came from. Perhaps it all started with that first night in which the melody and a forgotten poem filled the void of that dark and packed room. Perhaps it was at that moment, or maybe later, but it didn't matter if he was unable to pinpoint the exact origin because Dazai was sure of one thing: he didn't want to miss even one of his performances.

If Chuuya was going to sing, then he'd be there in the crowd to listen.

═════════════

Even though the uncertainty of how his grades would turn out for his first year at Kyodai was still there, the anxiety over the result couldn’t dim the excitement he had for the upcoming weekend. He couldn’t help it — he really wasn’t lying when he told Akutagawa he was a fan. 

While it was true that initially he only admired him, over time, and after attending numerous exclusive rehearsals, he'd come to admire each of the members and the way the band’s elements harmonized when put together. He was awestruck by their original songs, and though he didn't possess any in as an MP3 — apparently, Akutagawa had no interest in recording them in a professional studio, opting solely for live performances —, during moments when he had time for himself, he would don his headphones and replay the performances he had attended to.

His favorite was still the one where he saw Akutagawa playing live for the first time. Despite the mistakes from that night’s performance due to the singer’s and the other members’  inexperience, he looked back at the video day after day, hoping they would play the same melody again so he could observe how much the band had progressed.

The music continued playing through the headphones around his neck as he'd walked away from Dazai and Ranpo minutes earlier. While not all the students wandering around had classes at that moment, it didn't strike as odd for them to arrive early on campus and head to the library or other places in hopes of cramming as much information as humanly possible. He would be doing the same, actually, but he had some matters of more importance at the moment.

He'd received the box the prior evening after two weeks trying to get it. It was heavy, but he finally had it between his hands and he was excited to show the band what it contained. He assured them he would get the materials on time and there he was. He couldn't help feeling a little proud of himself.

What would Akutagawa say? He wondered, turning right and taking the shortest path towards the rehearsal rooms of Kyodai. Honestly, he didn't expect a ‘thank you’ from him. That’s not the reason he did all that, neither was it for the guitarist and the band to feel indebted to him. He did it because he could, and wanted to do it. He just hoped that, between the stoicism Akutagawa always carried, his eyes sparkled with a little happiness or satisfaction when he saw him arrive with what he thought was impossible to get.

He'd been so lost in thought that he didn't hear a voice repeating his name or steps approaching him from behind. When he felt a hand landing on his shoulder, he got scared, and two instincts kicked in: the first one almost made him drop the box, the second one made him cling to it for dear life. Luckily, his muscles reacted to the latter.

“Sorry! Did I scare you?” Higuchi asked, giving him an apologetic smile. “I did say your name a couple of times…”

He didn't expect to see the blonde girl so early in the morning, even though the last few days he always saw her next to Gin observing the band rehearsing. They did exchange some words, though more out of courtesy than anything else, but they never saw each other alone till that moment.

And Atsushi couldn't help but be nervous. What should he say? How should he say it? He knew weeks ago he had considered following Dazai's advice and becoming Higuchi's friend just to come between her and Akutagawa, but he discarded the idea so fast that, at that point, he could only be embarrassed and ashamed.

He settled for keeping his distance, but neither Akutagawa nor Higuchi were helping. And he had no idea why — maybe she was too quick to trust? —,  but she'd been friendly with him since what happened at the cafe. He wasn’t glad for being worthy of her trust, just worried when he recalled what he was willing to do at one point.

“No, it's fine, you just… took me by surprise. I was distracted,” he replied after a long silence.

When Higuchi smiled at him, Atsushi returned the gesture with great effort. She began to walk by his side with a relaxed face, as if she was next to someone trustworthy. Her wrist was still bandaged, Atsushi noticed, but she didn't need to keep it still anymore. For a minute, he wondered if Higuchi would demand her rightful place as the true drummer of Black Ocean, but the girl hadn't expressed any desires regarding it in the preceding days; it didn't make sense with only three days left until the event.

“Is that what I think it is?” the blonde asked, pointing at the box in Atsushi's hands.“Is it too heavy? I can help you if…”

When he noticed her hands wanted to touch the box, Atsushi held it a bit closer to his chest and moved away. Higuchi’s confusion made him realize his reaction and how it could be interpreted, so, he made sure to give her that fake tranquility he'd learned from Dazai.

“Your wrist isn’t fully healed yet, right? And the box isn't heavy, I can carry it, don't worry.”

Higuchi accepted and didn't insist further. They fell into a tense and embarrassed silence. They continued walking side by side, looking straight ahead and avoiding conversation. The music still poured out from the device around his neck. It was quite loud, Atsushi realized, not having noticed the increased volume earlier. Alright, at least that filled the silence. In any case, his hands were occupied, and he couldn't stop the player.

The song ended as they entered the music building. Most of the main rooms were occupied, with some students taking their final exams or doing last-minute reviews. The rehearsal rooms were at the end of that long hallway, far from the rooms where theory classes were held.

When they were in front of the rehearsal room, about to knock on the door and enter, the inside of the room and his device coordinated to start playing the same song. Atsushi blatantly ignored the melody coming from his headphones and zeroed in on the one that phased the door. Slowly, he let go of the handle. His hand didn't fall, however; it landed on the wood, feeling the soundwaves clashing and making the surface under his fingertips vibrate. It tickled, it was addictive, the same and yet different from the first time he heard him. 

Akutagawa's guitar was the first to announce its presence, setting the tempo and grasping each note with its strings. Since the very first moment, the albino could feel the passion and dedication expressed through merely a couple of chords. Even if he hated doing covers, Atsushi could perceive the tacit compromise between music and Akutagawa; the promise not to let down the art he'd chosen and faithfully followed for so long. He poured his whole being with each chord and then some; and all of that, even if it made him feel guilty, it also made him like him even more.

Promptly, the rest of the instruments and Chuuya's voice joined in, harmonizing every element and maintaining an alluring and nostalgic rhythm. The feelings of the song were easily expressed by the singer, and Atsushi could do nothing but feel deeply excited and proud.

Yeah, choosing that song was the right choice, he knew his interpretation would be perfect. 

“This is nostalgic,” Higuchi mumbled.

He'd almost forgotten she was next to him, as entranced by the music as he was. Even though he didn't want to stop listening, the comment caught his attention, and before he could stop himself, Atsushi asked

“‘Nostalgic’…?”

Atsushi glanced at her. She, without returning the gaze, nodded, and a sweet smile, reminiscent of someone revisiting a cherished memory, posed on her lips.

“This is how I fell in love with Ryuunosuke,” she replied, ignoring the heart next to hers that stopped for a brief second. “I heard him playing the guitar one day, and I asked myself: ‘how can someone express so much with only an instrument?’. It should be impossible, but he…”

Interrupting herself, she let out an embarrassed chuckle and scratched her cheek. With the same expression, giving out an unearned trust, she glanced at the boy and overlooked the bicolor eyes that shined with unnamed commotion.

“Sorry! It’s nonsense…”

But it made sense. It was the same for me. In the same way, for the same reasons, with the same melody. I only had to listen to him once. Just once was enough and I, like you, he, I…

Atsushi didn't reply. His jaw tensed and he continued looking at the girl next to him. Clenching his fists, he was hit with the realization that the special thing he noticed wasn't something hidden in everyone else’s eyes. He wasn't the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last; he was just one more, and knowing that was so bitter.

For the first time, he didn't notice when the song reached its conclusion. It wasn't until Akutagawa opened the door and peeked out that he realized the voice and the melody had ended.

“Why are you standing outside like idiots?” the black-haired boy inquired, leaving some space for the other two to enter.

“We didn't want to interrupt!” Higuchi replied, almost jumping in his direction and giving him a one-sided kiss.

Atsushi immediately headed towards the interior of the room without looking at the couple, wearing a blank face that hid the quiet ache in his heart that he was already well used to. His lips merged into a smile with forced kindness when Chuuya, Tachihara, and Gin greeted him, and he continued moving forward, ignoring what was happening behind him.

He didn't notice the kiss that went unreciprocated, nor did he notice the way his gray eyes followed his movements, wondering what was wrong.

“Is the rehearsal going well?” Atsushi asked Gin.

The girl, now with no homework and fully enjoying her break before starting her first year of university at the beginning of April, was busying herself with overseeing the rehearsals and correcting them if necessary. It was noticeable she missed playing with them, but she had bravely accepted to being an observer till they could get another guitar.

At Atsushi's question, she nodded and explained that they'd been practicing for around half an hour already. Akutagawa had most of his classes in the afternoon. Tachihara, Higuchi, and Kajii, the drummer Albatross had introduced them to and who waved at him from behind his instrument, had to go at around ten, so they still had an hour and a half to rehearse. As for Chuuya, he was currently skipping class, but he said they were seeing nothing but an unnecessary review of the contents he already knew, so it didn’t matter if he didn’t attend. 

“Isn't assistance a requirement?” Atsushi questioned, keeping a light talk as he put the box in a corner.

“It is, but I'm using the three days of absence I didn't use the whole year,” the ginger replied, shrugging and after giving a large sip to the bottle of water in his hands, his attention fell on the box the albino carried with him. “Is that what I think it is?”

Suddenly feeling excited again, Atsushi nodded and opened the box. The instruments and the light conversation in the air were dropped immediately. They approached the albino, observing the interior of the package, and most of them, didn't suppress the awe when the boy took out the first clothing.

Their outfits. Each part of them, from the shoes, the clothes, and the accessories, was a mix between actual trends and the punk style of the 70’s. There were chains, rings, necklaces, hats, harnesses, leather jackets adorned with pointed metal studs, and trousers torn in just the right places. 

“How did you get all this in a couple of days?” Gin inquired, leaning to his side and observing the contents. “Did you spend all the budget we gave you?” 

Atsushi didn't reply. Refraining from mentioning he'd used part of his own money to cover the whole cost.

“It's secondhand, and I know the seller, it wasn't expensive,” he explained, taking out each fit and giving them to the respective person. “It's the final piece you guys were missing. It'll be amazing and you can reuse this as many times as you want, I think it goes well with many of your songs.”

The members of the band agreed and talked among themselves, admiring in awe every detail in the clothes and accessories, wondering how the albino managed to find the perfect clothing for each of them knowing only their size. And it wasn't just for those participating in the event that weekend; it was also for the members on hiatus. Gin was delighted with her costume, her fingers caressed the fabric as she occasionally turned towards her brother, discussing the clothing with a smile that Akutagawa wouldn't miss for the world.

And, just as he paid attention to the excitement and happiness in his younger sister, he too noticed the calm and satisfied expression on Atsushi, who glanced at them in silence, wearing a small smile that evoked warm feelings in him, feelings he couldn't quite classify.

“Nakajima should be Black Ocean’s manager!” Higuchi proposed, attracting the attention of the rest and observing the clothes her boyfriend would wear that weekend. “It'd be pretty convenient for the band, wouldn't it? If he can get this in a couple of days, imagine what else he can do.”

The members of the band glanced at each other, then at the albino, and disregarded how he shook his head side to side. For them, it sounded like a good idea, even Akutagawa considered it and thought, briefly and letting the idea come and go, that it would make Atsushi being closer a frequent occurrence. However, the boy fervently declined.

“I don't think I’d be good at that!” he stuttered, taking out a final object from the box and standing up. “Even if it's nice that you think I'd be a good representative, I… I'm fine watching from the public, alright? Just as a fan.”

“But all these…” Higuchi insisted, but the albino interrupted her.

“Consider it a gift from a fan,” Atsushi repeated, giving a smile to each one, stopping for more than a second on Akutagawa.

The guitarist met his eyes, not agreeing with his response, but neither he nor the rest retorded. The band silently accepted his decision, and were grateful for his help.

Atsushi let out a sigh as they moved on from the topic and refocused on the clothes. Gin approached Tachihara and Kajii, saying something about every piece. Through his periphery, the albino noticed that Higuchi was doing the same, showing each piece of clothing he obtained for her to her boyfriend, who observed her attentively. A resigned smile appeared on his face, but he quickly forced it to disappear, opting for approaching the ginger who’d put the clothes aside and positioned himself in front of the microphone.

When he gave him the accessory in his hands, Chuuya sent him a confused gaze.

“A lock and a chain? What the hell Atsushi, do I look like a dog to you?” 

“It's a classic, Chuuya,” Atsushi explained in between chuckles. “It's Sid Vicious’ necklace, from Sex Pistols. It’ll be a good reference for the public this weekend.”

“I feel like there's an insult somewhere in there.” Begrudgingly, he accepted the necklace and observed it again. It had an ‘R’ ingrained. “You better give me free coffee for a month if the chain gives me an allergy.” 

“I also got you a choker though,” he quickly added, and the ginger's face brightened when he saw the accessory more of his style. “You can use either of, but I think that…”

“Oh, the lock!” Tachihara exclaimed, approaching them and stealing the accessory from the singer’s hands despite the furrowed brows and the annoyed scoff he let out. “Why are you giving it to Chuuya? He doesn't even know Sex Pistols and the bassist was the one who wore it!” 

“Then you can have it and stop shouting in my ear,” the ginger grunted. The other declined.

“You don't get it, it's a symbol of destructive and obsessive love, Akutagawa should be the one wearing it! He's the only one with a girlfriend!” 

“Are you calling me obsessive?!” Higuchi inquired, feeling more offended when Tachihara continued teasing her.

“Are you saying you aren’t?” 

Before they started arguing, Chuuya made them shut up. He took the lock from Tachihara’s hands and returned it with the rest of his clothes, scolding both of them and assuring Atsushi that maybe he would use the lock that Saturday. It didn't fully convince him, the ginger said, and he greatly preferred the chocker, but maybe he'll wear it. 

“By the way, Chuuya,” Atsushi called out. The ginger arranging the microphone and pedestal let out a hum to indicate he was listening. “You… have you talked to Dazai?” 

His movements stopped. The blueish gaze remained still in an invisible spot, returning to reality when Akutagawa gave the order to rehearse once again before half the band had to go to their classes.

“Why the question?” he inquired, recovering his voice.

Hesitantly and stammering, Atsushi explained. “It's nothing, just… I may have told him about the event this weekend. I hope you don't mind if he shows up…”

“I don't mind,” he replied, averting his eyes. “I don't care whether he goes to the event or not.”

Atsushi observed him for a couple of seconds, wondering if the ginger really didn't care about Dazai's absence. Unable to find an answer, with the possibility of resolving it only this weekend, he got comfortable on one side of the rehearsal room, between Higuchi and Gin, and he focused on the music.

The guitar was the first to sound. Promptly, the rest of the instruments followed, and when the voice appeared, Atsushi thought he heard a spark of pain.

═════════════

He could count on one hand the number of times he felt nervous. He didn't even know why he felt that way. It wasn't the first time he would hear Chuuya sing, and he sure hoped it wouldn't be the last.

Perhaps that moment made him kind of nostalgic, Dazai mused. The distance between them and the silence during those weeks was easily compared with those four years in which they thought the other was nothing but a faraway memory. And now look, how the tables have turned. Now it was he who insisted with the calls and wrote paragraph after paragraph about someone who wasn't interested in reading it. Now it was Chuuya who decided to walk away without looking back, setting him aside on his life like a broken rose with no petals, so it was worth absolutely nothing anymore.

And he came back to the same place as months before, amidst a crowd that separated him from the stage under a reddish dawn sky. The place was full due to it being in an open area, and finding a spot from which the stage was perfectly visible turned out to be a near impossible task, especially because Yosano refused to arrive at the time Atsushi suggested if they wanted to get a good spot, and to top it all, when they finally arrived at Murayama Park, the woman got distracted with the food stands, fixating on those that offered drinks.

Wasn't it too early to drink alcohol? When answering that, take into account that they were in a public area if you will. But honestly, who was he to judge? Dazai thought, and when Yosano offered him a plastic cup filled to the brim with beer, he didn't refuse. He didn't like that beverage, but he forced himself to drink it even if his face contorted into a bitter grimace and Yosano called him weak.

“Excited to stop being an idiot?” Yosano asked him when they mixed with the crowd and the dawn was disappearing under a blue hue.

The bands started to play at six like Atsushi had told them. And speaking of the boy, they barely saw him at the start of the event before he disappeared somewhere backstage where all the bands participating were. They wanted to follow him but, unlike the albino, they didn't have the card needed to pass. From where did he get one? No idea, but they understood the close friendship he had with the band.

Like old times, he and Yosano had to figure it out themselves and mix with the people. That also felt kind of nostalgic. After everything that had happened, he thought that Yosano wouldn't approach him anymore and that they wouldn't talk as freely. He’d called it a lost cause, thinking he lost her completely, and although he hated being wrong, he was rather grateful that all the preconceived ideas he'd come up with didn't flourish, and that he could still share those moments with the woman: going out some Saturdays to a place where there was music and alcohol. 

It was something simple that other people also did; it lacked intellectual effort and anything of the sort, but at that moment, when he was able to focus solely on the now and not think of anything other than what he had in front of him, it felt… Good. To hang out with Yosano again, talk to her, and annoy each other with bitter words, felt good.

“You still crawling for Kouyou?” he joked with some malice in there when he saw her with her phone in hand, quickly replying to messages.

Without feeling offended and laughing, the woman replied in a similar manner.

“You still crawling for Chuuya?” 

“For the record, I've never crawled for Chuuya,” he clarified, and then, as if he felt proud of himself, he added: “This is my first time.” 

Yosano snorted, and without the smile disappearing from her face, she continued the talk while she diverted half of her attention back to the phone, answering the person on the other side.

“What does it feel like to crawl?” she asked.

“I always knew I had it in me, y’know, crawling like a snake. And I thought I’d be the biggest snake there is, but I share the title with Fyodor and that's annoying,” he admitted, Yosano laughed.

“I hope you do things right this time around.”

“I always do things right.”

“And you're an arrogant brat, as always,” she commented, and although her voice contained some bitterness in there, it also had affection. “You're lucky Chuuya cares.”

If she'd known her words would give her the chance to visualize so much commotion on Dazai's face, Yosano would've blurted out that quote earlier. But even if it took her two years to see the brunette so affected by the mere confirmation of affection, she made sure to commit that image to memory.

“Chuuya cares…?” he asked, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Yosano didn't reply. Smiling to herself, she turned towards the stage. Dazai observed her for a couple of seconds, awaiting the response he wanted, but soon he also averted his attention to the place from which the music originated. He didn't know if he could trust her words, or how truthful they were. And he would never know, unless the ginger told him himself.

Even if that wasn't the case, even if that ‘care’ Yosano mentioned wasn't the same as what it once existed or what he felt, and began to comprehend, at that moment, he thought it was fine. He didn't like that it wasn't the same, he was greedy and he wanted much more than what he could obtain, but if he'd learned something from all his time with Odasaku was that he hated love for obligation rather than crumbs of genuine care.

But with Chuuya there were no crumbs, he recalled. He either cared or he didn't. There was no in between for the ginger and knowing that did gave him a little bit of tranquility.

When the deep navy sky extended over their heads, allowing some stars to appear, although they were fastly overshined by the lights of the stage, Dazai was sent back to the night he heard Chuuya singing for the first time. He still wondered whether that poem-turned-into-song spelled the words exactly as the original verses did, or if resentment and pain had changed many of the naive feelings he didn't know how to appreciate in his youth.

He wondered if, someday, he'd have the chance to read the poem he didn't accept in the past, but he couldn't continue pondering on that. The lights on the stage were turned off, and when Dazai noticed that, he realized the band that was once up there had come downstage a long time ago to give way to the next one.

He was so entranced with watching the shadows that moved on the stage that he didn't notice when Yosano started recording, or when Atsushi, alongside a girl with long dark hair that he quickly recognized as Akutagawa's sister, found them in the crowd and joined them. They were both shaking from head to toe out of excitement, with a smile that never left their faces as they talked and murmured something about songs and expectations.

No, he didn't notice it. His attention was wholly fixated on the sound of the guitar and the lights that slowly but surely began to turn on, brightening the stage when the bass and drums joined. The crowd cheered, immediately recognizing the song and the band that was playing the cover. The white lights left him blind for a couple of seconds, but when he got used to the new brightness in front of him, his eyes focused on Chuuya's form and his ears were delighted when the song started.

Ah, he'd missed his voice…

When I was darkness at that time

with trembling lips

I cried in the corner of my room

The more I struggled, the more these wounds pierced into me

Our broken promises hurt me

The gloved hands slowly caressed the microphone stand, wrapping around it a defiant and seductive grace. The crowd went wild with those small gestures, but Dazai knew that if he had less self-control, he'd be reacting the same way.

Even from a distance, everything about Chuuya was captivating. His movements, gestures, that punk attire that perfectly blended the classic style of the ‘70s with modern trends; red checkered pants, one leg split from the rest of the fabric halfway down the thigh, held together only by thin silver rings. Black boots reaching halfway up his calves with metallic details at the ankle. His arms covered by a classic leather jacket. The torso hidden beneath a sleeveless dark shirt, revealing his collarbone with a lock resting in the midst of those bones, held by a thin silver chain. A choker adorning his neck, a baker cap atop his red hair, looking far better on him than the hat he’d seen him wear before. And on his face, a touch of makeup; simple, in dark tones, but his lips… Fuck, his lips…

Was he wearing red lipstick?

Nobody can save me

God, I have one request

Stop tearing apart my love

His voice. God, his voice. It almost made him feel like he was on a rollercoaster, the cart going up slowly, producing anxiety, longing, the desire to descend from that high and hear more. Why did he feel that way? How did he express the feelings of the song so clearly? What made him feel so obsessed only with his voice?

He wanted to listen some more. More of the song; almost reaching the chorus, almost feeling the explosion of emotions and feelings imprinted in each word. The sound of the instruments grew louder, as did the cheers around him. Dazai remained silent, as he always did at his concerts. He just wanted to listen to him, to see him on stage; more of that part of Chuuya that he didn't know when he began obsessing over. More of him, more of his voice, more, more, more…

I need your love

I'm a broken rose

Your song is fluttering sadness

I have nowhere to go, my life

I need your love

I’m a broken rose

Oh baby help me from frozen pain

With your smile, your eyes, and sing me, just for me

Despite the lights coming and going, sometimes weakly illuminating over the band, sometimes shining too brightly that it managed to make their silhouettes disappear, it was impossible to look away from any of them. Dazai, of course, kept his focus on the vocalist.

He couldn't help it. He liked Chuuya, especially when he was onstage; so confident, as if he had the world in the palm of his hand with only the glee of his voice.

And he needed it. He needed more of his voice, more of his presence, more of Chuuya.

I wanna need your love

I'm a broken rose

I wanna need your love

If Black Ocean didn't win the damn contest, he would light the stage on fire, Dazai promised himself as the people around him cheered when the song ended.

Next to him, Atsushi and the girl who accompanied him clapped with emotion, commenting between themselves with hurried words how amazing the performance was. Yosano stopped recording and sent the video to a redheaded woman who was related to the singer onstage. The lights had stopped their play and he could observe Chuuya perfectly; his satisfied smile, confident after a flawless show. But when his gaze wandered through the public, the blue eyes managed to find a pair of reddish-brown ones that never stopped watching him.

Ah, it seemed that once again, he found him in the crowd. He shouldn't feel so happy with that simple encounter.

When Chuuya averted his eyes with an expression of contempt, Dazai couldn't help but smile to himself. At any rate, it's not like he expected an affectionate look, nor did he deserve one. However, he trusted the information that escaped Yosano, and his own knowledge of how the ginger acted when he was being controlled by the anger and resentment; hiding all weakness and care behind a burning fire that was easily extinguished with the right words.

“Atsushi,” he called out to the boy next to him, who responded to him with excitement and full of energy that lingered after the performance. But when he heard his petition, both his face and the girl's were filled with surprise and confusion. “Do you think you could get me a date with the singer that just went downstage?” 

“Eh? You mean Chuuya… right?”

Dazai only smiled in response.

═════════════

Higuchi approached them as soon as she saw them go downstage. She gave a towel and a bottle of water to each member. Then, she clung to Akutagawa's side, and when she noticed that her boyfriend was looking for someone everywhere, she told him that Gin and Atsushi wanted to observe their participation from the public and they scurried away before she could stop them. Upon hearing that, the guitarist visibly relaxed and nodded. He had nothing to worry about, his instincts told him he could trust Atsushi to take care of his younger sister when he wasn't looking.

“That was better than I expected,” Akutagawa commented after taking a long sip from the bottle in his hands.

“Better than you expected? The crowd went batshit!” Tachihara confuted.

“We appealed to nostalgia, of course they would go crazy.” 

“I still think the song was too corny,” Kaiji commented. Despite the short time he spent rehearsing and getting to know the band, he'd won their trust pretty fast. “If you wanted to send them on a trip down memory lane, a song from The GazettE, L’Arc en Ciel, Dir En Grey, or Gackt would've been better. Actually, I love Gackt, why couldn't you think of him?!”

“The plan was to cater to the fandom,” Chuuya explained, looking at him sideways. “Besides, Atsushi said it was better to go for nostalgia and pain. He said nothing hit him harder in life than Nana and their songs.”

“Sure, he’s got a point, but still. If you wanted the public to suffer, the best option was Reila. Everyone I know has cried with that song,” he argued and then shrugged, disinterestedly playing with the borrowed drumsticks in his hands. “Whatever, I have nothing to complain about. It was good, and I know our dear leader didn't want to change the song his dear friend suggested.”

Chuuya and Tachihara didn't notice the hidden intention behind Kajii’s last remark. Higuchi did, however, and she noticed too the way Akutagawa tensed next to her.

“You can't complain and then say you have nothing to complain about!” the bassist retorded, hitting Kaiji on his shoulder, and doing it again when he did nothing but laugh.

While the other two argued and fought like children Chuuya sent them a despective look before disappearing, not saying where he was going. Akutagawa didn't ask, he let him go and watched his bassist and drummer in complete silence, almost tired of listening too much nonsense, but he did nothing to stop them. They could kill each other if they wanted, he thought, and moved towards a corner of that reduced space designated for the bands; hidden from the crowd’s scrutiny. Higuchi followed him, pondering on the words of the drummer and wanting to ask him about them.

She knew her boyfriend held Atsushi in high regard even if he never said so. It was only a matter of seeing his behavior when the albino was around; the way he looked at him, the fact he listened, the notion that he took into account what he said, and how entertained he seemed every time he tangled himself in a discussion about literature or music with the other boy.

She didn't want to be jealous, but it was impossible. She couldn't control that emotion, not when she felt she was getting farther away from Ryuunosuke. She inevitably blamed Atsushi for that situation, but was it his fault? She didn't know, she wasn't sure.

The boy was nothing but kind to them, that's what she told herself when the doubts surfaced. He always helped them with the band without expecting something in return, calling himself a fan who only wanted to see them advance. Even if she wasn't as interested in music as her boyfriend or the rest of the members, that didn't mean she wanted Black Ocean to fail. She knew they couldn't lose someone so important and useful as Atsushi. She was also aware that, inevitably, he'd be close to Ryuunosuke since they were majoring in the same thing and shared study sessions since the first semester. She couldn't think of separating them or taking a good friend away from his boyfriend.

She didn't want to be jealous and feel insecure like when Chuuya joined the band, but there was a difference. Akutagawa didn't look at Chuuya with the same excitement as when Atsushi arrived. Like at that moment, when the albino moved between the other bands and the staff, approaching them with Gin at his side and smiling when he found them. Or, to be more precise, smiling when he found Ryuunosuke.

And Ryuunosuke didn't avert his gaze from him. He walked away from the place he was leaning on and approached Atsushi without hesitation, leaving her behind.

“That was amazing!” Atsushi congratulated them as soon as the black-haired boy stopped in front of him. By his side, Gin nodded enthusiastically. 

“Were you satisfied?” he asked, to which both the albino and his sister laughed. 

“You’re not?” Atsushi inquired, and Gin replied instead of her brother.

“He's never satisfied, you should know that already.”

Atsushi sighed, though he did agree with the Gin’s comment. Quickly, the three of them engaged in conversation. They talked about what they saw from their spot among the audience; complaining about the lights that sometimes shined too intensely on their bodies. Akutagawa replied that it was rather uncomfortable, because when the lights pointed directly at them, they saw nothing but the whitish glow of the spotlights. Luckily, his fingers were used to his guitar, and he knew where to place them, and then he commented that he was sure that if Gin had been on stage with him, she would’ve played without any problems either. Atsushi agreed, praising her skill with the instrument, and the girl blushed at the compliments and attention.

From the distance, Higuchi observed them. They looked good, she thought with sadness. Atsushi got along with Gin, the way he treated her was natural, kind yet confident, as if she was also her younger sister. And she knew Ryuunosuke liked that. She knew the only requirement he had for a partner was that they got along with Gin and treated her with kindness. She also got along with the other girl, but it was more thanks to the calm demeanor of Gin than out of her own doing.

And… why was she thinking this again? Not because Atsushi got along with Gin meant that Ryuunosuke saw him that way, right? Chuuya and Tachihara also get along with her, even Kajii and they barely know him, and they were only friends. Well, both Akutagawa saw the ginger as an older brother, but that was the end of that.

Close friends, with a shared enjoyment for music and literature. There was nothing else. She was still Ryuunosuke's girlfriend, she was still who stood by his side even if, at that moment, when a guitar in the distance started to play another song, who was standing next to Ryuunosuke was Atsushi.

The twinkling of the stars calls to the wind

Your smile erases the noise

The angel in your eyes is whispering

That everything is starting now

Both Atsushi and Gin visibly tensed when they heard the song. They looked at each other, with surprise and panic, unable to believe it. Akutagawa sent them a questioning look to both, but neither replied. 

“This has to be a joke,” the albino murmured, glancing at the girl next to him. “Gin, tell me I’m hearing wrong…” 

Gin shook her head slowly, biting her bottom lip. 

“What happened?” Akutagawa asked. He recognized the song, but wasn’t sure from where or when he’d heard it. 

“We weren’t the only ones with the same idea,” the girl muttered, sharing another concerned look with Atsushi. The eyes of her older brother widened when he finally recognized the song. “We weren’t the only ones who thought doing a cover of Nana would be a good idea… At least it’s not another Black Stone song, but really? Trapnest?” 

“At least it’s Wish and not A little pain,” Atsushi added, letting out a sigh. “If it was A little pain might as well consider this a loss.” 

Can you feel it now

Can you feel it now

Like being swallowed up by a wave

It sounded good. The chords were all correct, the voice reached all the notes. The rhythm was smooth, very similar to the original song, with small arrangements that made it unique and gave the song a personal touch from the band playing it. 

While he was panicking because his ‘original’ idea wasn’t so original after all, he couldn’t brush off his curiosity. He needed to know who was interpreting the song with mastery. The voice was good, and so was the bass and the drums. And the guitar… It was almost perfect, Atsushi thought. The guitarist was almost at the same level as Akutagawa. Almost. 

“I’ll go see,” he commented in a sprout, starting to move before receiving an answer. 

“Nakajima,” Akutagawa called out, thinking of accompanying him. 

“Sorry! I want to see the band that had the same idea. We’ll talk later!” 

The voice continued singing; sweet, so alike to the original voice. The rhythm was kept; pulling, making the public shout with more intensity than the prior bands. And as the lyrics settled in her chest, Higuchi noticed how, for a moment, it seemed like Ryuunosuke wanted to stop Atsushi, or maybe follow him. But ultimately, the fingers that were about to wrap around a pale hand, and the feet that considered moving, withdrew. However, the gesture was there. Out for the whole world to see. 

Did he ever do that for her? Did he follow her? Did he want to reach her with much yearning? She couldn’t remember…

Pulling on my heart

Pulling on my heart

I hold my breath and reach out your hand

Traveling between the people wasn’t easy, but he managed to return to the same place from which he listened to Black Ocean. Yosano was still there, observing the band as she talked through the phone. However, Dazai had disappeared. 

“Where’s Dazai?” he asked the woman. Yosano ended the call and shrugged. 

“Who knows, he left before they started playing.” 

Atsushi nodded and his eyes landed on the stage. The lights moving around were still as horrible as always, too bright and pointing at the band from time to time, but, just like Black Ocean, they kept the professionalism till the end. 

Two women and two men, Atsushi noticed. They appeared to be foreigners; maybe exchange students since they seemed young enough to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty. The vocalist was a girl with reddish hair, akin to wine; her voice was stable, harmonized, and attractive, sweet enough but not to the point of being mawkish. The other girl in the group was the bassist; she appeared shy, yet played with confidence, which, to Atsushi, seemed enough. The drummer was a blonde boy; he seemed to play with a measured calmness, as if each strike on the drums or cymbals required little effort. And the guitarist, sporting dark orange hair, grinned continuously throughout the song, conveying his enjoyment in the way he played the instrument.

Baby, this world is different from yesterday

I can’t see anyone but you

Baby, my wish on a wing

Tears through the sky in one overwhelming word

The voice was stable, and so were the instruments. There were no errors in the execution, each of them focused and enjoying the music. A true delight to the ear. So much so that, when the song ended, Atsushi clapped with excitement alongside the crowd. 

“Did they say the band’s name?” he asked Yosano once the song ended. 

“Something like Tengaku, I think, I wasn’t paying attention,” she admitted, and saying she’d already seen enough, she planned on leaving. “I’ll go search for Dazai, wherever he is. You coming?”

Atsushi hesitated. From sideways, he noticed that the band was walking down the stage and retreating to the area where the rest of the participants resided. He really wanted to talk to them, although he was an introverted person and he wasn’t the best at socializing, at least he wanted to congratulate them and find out who had the same idea for the event. 

“I… have something to do.” 

═════════════

The song was still playing when he found him. He was away from the stage, sitting on the edge of the high pillar where the clock of the Maruyama Park was resting; in total calm, looking at the distance, at the naked cherry blossoms that would flourish in a couple of months. He looked peaceful, Chuuya thought, so different from their last encounters. 

Walking towards Dazai, he wondered if something in him changed while his phone remained silent after the arrival of that first call he didn’t answer. Did Dazai continue calling? Did he try to? He couldn’t be sure of the answer, everything was ambiguous to him. He didn’t even know if those afternoons when he found Dazai on the outskirts of his faculty meant something, because as quickly as those visits started, they ended, and he stopped looking for him. 

Or he was supposed to stop doing it. But there he was again, bumping into Dazai, except it wasn’t on purpose. He just wanted a bit of silence, though the music could still be heard, still shrill like the cheers of the public, but at least he was hoping to spend a moment alone. 

However, he’d forgotten that, as long as he was in the same place as Dazai, under the same sky and stepping on the same land, they would find each other even if that was the last thing they wanted.

Whether he liked it or not, they were drawn to each other like two extremely opposite magnets.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprising the brunette who didn’t think he would see him there. 

It seemed like he was hearing and seeing an illusion, one he’d yearned for so long. After the initial commotion and after his eyes wandered through his silhouette from head to toe, Dazai sent him a smile Chuuya wasn’t sure how to interpret. 

“Hiding from the crowd,” he replied. “What are you doing here, Chuuya? Did Atsushi give you my message?” 

“Message?” 

Dazai hummed. “Since my number is still blocked, I had to tell him to get me a date with a certain singer,” he explained, and he got up from the place he was sitting in. Not feeling intimidated by the threatening blue gaze, he approached him. With no fear of being bitten, he brushed his thumb against the pale red painted lips, caressing it gently, removing the color. “So it is lipstick…”

With a single jab, he pushed away the hand that held his chin and the thumb on his lips. Dazai didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by his action, and Chuuya couldn’t afford to feel nervous either, not when he perfectly understood the brunette's intention. He always did the same. Each time he wanted to get away with something he did, he always achieved it by shameless flirting. 

It wasn’t special, it wasn’t meaningful. Not because he made those flirtatious gestures with him meant Dazai saw him in that way. And knowing all of that made him even more furious. 

“You’re the worst,” he hissed, taking a step back. “Really, Dazai, what the hell are you doing in this event? I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you around again.” 

If those words managed to hurt the brunette or not, Chuuya couldn’t tell. He thought he saw a bit of pain fleetingly reflected in his face, but it was ephemeral, so sudden that he couldn’t be sure he caught a glimpse of a passing ache. At any rate, if it hurt or not, Dazai didn’t show it. He quickly recovered and forsook that flirtatious attitude that would take him nowhere, he expressed his reasons with a calmness and sincerity that managed to unsettle Chuuya.

“I wanted to hear you sing,” he confessed, using a light tone that was almost lost within the whispers of the song so distant to them. “And I already did, so I don’t care about the other bands.” 

He looked genuine, but he couldn’t trust him. He was still mad, he was afraid of tripping and falling with the same rock as before. The first time hurt way too much, the second wasn’t as painful, he’d already gotten used to the scratched knees and the stinging of opened wounds that had yet to heal. He didn’t want to end up injured a third time.  

There were no words that could describe the apprehension and necessity he had for trusting. He had no idea how to express it besides hiding it beneath harsh and biting words, a constant shield of distrust that Dazai knew all too well. 

“You? Wanted to hear me sing?” he scoffed. “And you think I’ll believe that.” 

“Chuuya, your voice is amazing,” he quickly said, not giving him time to argue. “I just never said that because it didn’t fit with my… ‘role’.” 

Chuuya wanted to laugh sarcastically, and yet only a confused and furious huff was all that escaped him.

“Your role? This is not the fucking theater, Dazai. You don’t have a role to play and neither do I, you’re just being an asshole as always.” 

Dazai shook his head. For a brief second, he appeared vulnerable, and he tried to explain himself and his reasons. He was tempted to take a step back and shield himself with that behavior and those lies he had clung to for so long, desperately hoping for understanding, yet knowing it wouldn’t come.

And his hasty answer, motivated by the lack of savvy and the habit, destroyed the ginger's composure.

“You wouldn’t understand, everything I’ve done these last two years, I… Chuuya, you wouldn’t get it.” 

“I would if you explained it!” he retorted, unable to keep the indignation nor his voice low. “I would, but you…!” 

Chuuya sighed. Why did everything feel like a loop? How many times did he ask for an explanation? How many times did he assure him that he would get it? He’d lost count, he was tired. Dazai was still an idiot, and he… he was a masochist for staying and talking to him. 

Why couldn’t he turn around and leave? Why was he still there, awaiting a part of him that he wouldn’t obtain? 

“I know you well, but I’m not inside your damn mind since four years ago,” Chuuya muttered. The anger seemed to have escaped like water between his fingers, light and dripping, leaving behind a trace of it, and giving way to the emotional fatigue. “I don’t always get what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. You said you wanted me away but you chased me. I tried to be your friend but you pushed me away. I stopped trying and you were finally the first to call…” 

Hanging up that first call was way too hard. It was what he wanted for a long time: an answer, an interest to approach him, but it arrived at the worst time possible. Was Dazai still calling? Despite having his contact blocked, did Dazai still call, awaiting the day Chuuya would answer? 

He didn't want to get his hopes up, didn't want to know, didn’t want to... But he was so angry, still unsure of everything he wanted, and unable to understand Dazai. Why was it so difficult? So ambiguous, so unstable, constantly changing.

He hated those changes. He hated not being able to pinpoint when it happened. But both changed constantly, always away from the other, but influenced by their ghosts. 

“And now you look calm… as if all this was erased overnight, and I don’t get it!” he reproached, unable to stop his diatribe and pointing at him with his index finger, so close to striking him in the chest. “Now you like how I sing? Now you want to be friends? For fucks sake, Dazai! I don’t want to be part of your game that I don’t even understand with a ‘role’ I don't want!” 

He almost felt on the brink of hyperventilating. He breathed heavily, as if he had just stepped off the stage after singing. His chest rose and fell, fists clenched, his gaze reflecting the anguish that slipped through his fingers for a moment. And Dazai was still calm. Serene, observing him silently, letting him say whatever he wanted without interrupting. What the hell was up with him? Why was he acting that way? He was making him lose his patience and increasing his nervousness at the same time. His hands tightened with more force, so did his jaw, and bit by bit, he closed off his heart again. 

Then, with a voice that feigned tranquility to hide its own doubts and desperation, his own anguish that held firm the last remains of his being, Dazai maintained his chest open and asked:

“Hey, Chuuya… do you think I’m a bad person?” 

Chuuya looked at him with oddity, not understanding the reasoning behind that question. He attentively observed Dazai; his eyes shadowed by the lack of light around them, but that still reflected his silhouette as if they were the clearest and purest mirrors. His brown hair, disheveled by the gentle breezes that occasionally enveloped them; it looked soft, he almost wanted to tidy it. His lips sealed, his brows still, not blinking, motionless, absolutely motionless, yet anxious at the same time. Anxious to hear what he needed, anxious to know he wouldn’t obtain it. 

Observing him harshly, with that anger that perhaps he would never control in his presence, he replied without delay. 

“You are,” he spat out, once again seeing that small expression of pain and disappointment that quickly transformed into surprise when the ginger added: “but don’t feel special, you’re not the only asshole who has a reserved seat in hell. I just hope it’s not next to mine.” 

“Chuuya is not a bad person,” he rebutted stubbornly, almost like a little child. 

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand his attitude and his questions. He was wasting his time and yet, Chuuya stayed, arguing and refuting his words without hesitation. 

“What the hell are you saying? Of course I am,” he emphasized, crossing his arms again and looking, contemptuously, at the brunette in front of him. “There’s no one in this fucked up world who’s good, and I’m only someone half decent who doesn’t want to go to jail because if killing was legal, you’d be six feet under years ago.” 

He’d said it with so much confidence and conviction, with so much suppressed anger, and everything he got was a surprised face and silence. The look Dazai was giving him was indescribable, filled with unnamed emotions, going all the way from confusion to understanding. Chuuya shuddered from head to toe when it appeared to him that Dazai could no longer look at anyone or anything other than himself, his eyes only reflecting him, his expression softened for him, and laughter filled the air.

A light laugh, melodious, sincere, and soft that he hadn’t heard in so long. One that, in the past, he was obsessed with and was the reason he fell in love with the boy that the man in front of him once was. 

He didn’t think he’d hear it again, nor did he think it would still have the same effect on him. But, hiding the nervousness, he let himself be carried by those feelings behind which he always shielded. 

“What’s so funny?!” 

“Nothing, nada!” Dazai excused himself, taking a step back as the embarrassed ginger tried to approach him in an attempt to stop his laughter. "You have no idea how much I wanted to hear something like that."

“What? That I would kill you if it was legal?” Chuuya asked with sarcasm, crossing his arms and acting like he didn’t feel his face heating. 

Dazai shook his head. The laughs stopped, but that relieved smile remained in him. His eyes on Chuuya, his focus on Chuuya, the smile for Chuuya. Dazai never gave him that expression in the past, so soft, so vulnerable and sincere. It was disturbing, it made him feel afraid to give himself ideas and get his hopes up, but he didn’t opt to leave either. He wouldn’t run away. It didn’t matter what happened, he never ran away, that was the brunette’s role. But apparently, he was willing to give up that role and stay there, without stepping back, and facing the ginger in front of him. 

In the distance, a song ended and the silence reigned once again. Even the public had stopped cheering and clapping; they talked in rushed whispers, waiting for the result of the contest. 

In the distance, many things happened, many situations that affected the people around them. Some won while others lost, some met new people or understood feelings that were ignored till that moment, but at that point, away from the crowd and under that clock, the world around them couldn’t matter any less. Not even that which awaited him in another place. Just that singer, just Chuuya, mattered. 

“Hey, Chuuya, I’m…” he hesitated, and with a low voice that the ginger copied, he continued. “I’m thinking of going to Osaka next week.” 

“So? Go and get a hundred miles away from me,” he replied, his voice devoid of anger, without disappointment. Only the trace of embarrassment lingered, along with the memory of that laughter and the image of the serene smile still before him.

“I don’t think I can do that… I’m certain I would die if I’m away from this singer I’m telling you about!” he dramatized with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a while, but that was filled with simple happiness and small jokes; of anxiety and a light hope. “So, why don’t you come with me? It’ll be for a weekend and I have something to give you.” 

Once again, Chuuya adopted a defensive stance. He crossed his arms once more, though it seemed more like he was hugging himself. Protecting himself from the cold. Protecting weak feelings from harm. 

“You don’t have anything I want, Dazai… You won’t buy me so easily.” 

“Not even if I tell you a story…?” he insisted, catching the interest and attention of the ginger. “And not only a story, but an explanation too. That’s what you’ve been wanting for a while, isn’t it?” 

Chuuya didn’t reply. The silence extended between them. In the distance, the results of the event were given. Part of the public cheered, the other complained. The winning band hugged each other and received the award, the losing teams consoled each other, and the second and third place tasted the bitter reality of being good, just not enough. However, what happened further that there didn’t matter to him, because under that clock in the park and between the trees with closed cocoons, the only thing Chuuya wanted to obtain was being handed to him directly by Dazai. 

Did he still want to hear that story? Did he still want to know what happened? To know when everything changed between them four years ago, when they were still young. And what happened afterward, two years before seeing each other again, those moments no one wanted to mention and that left scars on Dazai… 

With the moon up in the sky, some stars accompanying it, and thick clouds gathering up, Chuuya gave him his answer. 

Chapter Text

You know, I was never graced with such a kind gaze as the one he gave me that night. Genuine, worried, tenderhearted, and addictive. For an unwanted child — all unloved and uncared for —, experiencing that kind of attention was like a drug, especially when it came from an adult. 

I remember that night a little too well. Perhaps it’s one of the few I will never forget. After what my father had forced the maid to do when he learned I had a boyfriend, the only thing I could do was get away. I didn't even wash my body; though I was utterly disgusted and wanted to peel off my own skin, all I could think of was to escape.

I hated that house. I hated my parents and the maid who agreed to touch me even though she'd known me since I was five. I hated that a ‘mistake’ on my part was all it took for all my efforts to be worth naught.

So what if I stopped causing them problems? So what if I stayed away as much as I could so they would forget I existed? So what if my grades were the best in my school, better than the other kids, better than my cousins who did deserve the Tsushima name? So what if I was the smartest and the most cunning grandson in the family, the one who deserved that last name my father held in such high regard the most? I was still a Dazai because, legally, I could not exist without a last name. And as long as I was that, as long as I shared the same face and blood as my mother, my worth was nonexistent to them. 

A second of their time couldn’t be spared even if my behavior was excellent, the definition of perfect. Silly me for believing that a deplorable attitude would cause a different reaction. None of that was enough for them to observe me and acknowledge my existence as something more than a mistake they once committed.

The only one who did it, the only one who cared for me, but from whom I never wanted any attention, was the maid. And after that night, I couldn't look at her or my parents without feeling the need to throw up.

All because of a mistake. All because of that professor's fault.

We were good at hiding it. Even if Mrs. Nakahara was perfectly aware of what we did, we knew she wouldn't say a thing, and for two years — almost three —, that was the case. 

We had freedom, the security to know we could keep our relationship a secret till we finished high school and then we would get away from Yokohama. We had no plans of going to university, though I suspected Chuuya did want to study literature, write poetry, and live out of that. On the other hand, I… I didn't have any plans. I would happily become the perfect housewife if it meant I would be calm, tranquil, away from that godforsaken city, and next to Chuuya. I knew I would always have to share him with words, and I was willing to do so.

But I let my guard down. I forgot that even though our classmates wouldn't say anything about our shared kisses between classes — unless they had a death wish —, the teachers were a whole different matter.

When I arrived at that house in the afternoon, I was welcomed with a slap right to my face.

“It better be a lie”, my father told me when I entered the building. “It better be a fucking lie, Osamu!” 

My father was shaking out of anger and repulse. His hand was up in the air, heavy, wearing the engagement ring he loathed, but that he was entitled to use only to keep up appearances. I’d never seen him so furious. I was frightened like the first time he hit me when I was five.

Behind him stood my mother. My face a mirror of hers; I wondered if I had that same expression when I was disappointed, but I couldn't ponder much on that. I tried to search for an answer in her, tried to find some aid, but her eyes narrowed, refusing to help the kid she was forced to have.

“I… I don't know what you're talking about,” I whispered, taking one of my hands to the injured cheek. It hurt. The ring managed to slash my skin.

“Now you don't know?” my father sardonically asked. It almost seemed as if he wanted to spit on my face. “Now you don't know what you did?! We acted as if we didn't notice the idiocies you did your entire life, we acted as if we weren't mad because of all the trouble you get yourself into, as if we’re not furious with the complaints we get from your professors because of your grades, but this… Really? Was your existence not enough shame to your family?”

That insult was directed at me countless times throughout my life that it shouldn't have hurt, and yet it did. I still yearned to be loved, acknowledged, and observed as something more than a mistake to them and the Tsushima family.

I clenched my fists, but I kept my face serene. Not showing the fear I felt. A perfect blank face, stoic and unchangeable; the perfect picture of the calm, emotionless, almost invisible boy they always wanted.

But not even that attitude was enough for them to be satisfied with me.

“I don't know”, I repeated with a low voice, stable in all the places that mattered, solemn as they wanted, and distant as I wanted to be. “Father… I don't know what you're talking about…”

Both my parents laughed at my lack of knowledge. They looked at me with aversion, and I slowly understood what was happening. I was sure that, at that moment, the few colors my skin possessed were lost, and a cold breeze traveled through my body. They cherished seeing me lose my composure, they enjoyed taking away the few things I appreciated and destroying them right in front of my eyes.

Two years, almost three, hiding my small oasis of blue water and reddish sand, and it now lay in the palm of their hands.

“I…”

“What will the family say?” my mother asked. Behind the furious and silent man who scrutinized me from above, she observed me with pain, motherly disappointment, and fake tears. “You were doing good, Osamu, you were on a good path… We were proud of you, you'd finally calmed down after two terrible years.”

I knew she was lying, I knew it was all fake because I used the same words and gestures when I wanted to manipulate someone but, even if I knew it was nothing but a play with an already established script she was carefully following, to hear those words, the words I always craved and lost without even knowing, pushed me towards panic.

I felt myself trembling from head to toe, almost wanting to beg them to forget everything. I wanted to kneel down and swear I would be a good son, that I would do whatever was needed to make them feel proud, even if that meant abandoning that which gave me a bit of happiness.

“We were so happy,” she sobbed with that sweet and poisonous voice. Her tears were fake, unlike the ones my eyes were about to shed. “Your father was thinking about finally calling you Tsushima and formally introducing you to your grandfather, but now… how do you expect us to do that? What will the family think when they learn about your… preferences?” 

A professor had seen us kissing during recess. He didn't hesitate to call my parents, I had no idea how Chuuya was dealing with all this, but I couldn't focus on something that wasn't the increasing panic in my chest.

My mother seemed to treasure the anxiety that was painted all over my face, satisfied with the punishment I was about to receive as vengeance for having to give birth to me, for being obliged to give me a last name, and for ruining each stupid dream she ever had. It wasn’t my fault —, not like that mattered to them. 

They were solely concerned with themselves, with their appearances, with what the ‘family’ might say about their whole fiasco of a marriage and the horrid, unwanted child. 

I was hit again. I was rendered stunned. Might have lost my balance if it wasn’t for the hand that caught me. Minutes later though, I wished she had simply let me fall and kicked me to death.

Father dragged me towards a bedroom, forcing me to walk even though my head stung and my eyes were seeing double. He threw me into the room, onto the guest bed that was never used. I lay motionlessly, confused, frightened, and unknowing whether I was supposed to remain quiet or mumble an apology. 

I didn’t have time to decide either way. 

He called the maid, the same he used to fuck every time he had the chance. He locked the door, he told something to the woman, I heard something about ‘fixing that disaster and turning me into a man’, and after that, I don’t remember much. 

I remember the panic preventing me from breathing properly. I remember the terror I felt towards my father. His empty gaze promised something worse than hell, it kept me still and motionless, not understanding what was happening as I began to feel cold. The maid turned to me with guilt and regret — not like that stopped her. She followed every order my father gave, and as for him, he just… observed. He only observed, with his arms crossed and his expression blank, feeling repulsed. Not at what was happening or his ‘punishment’ though, no, he would never be disgusted for something like that, instead, his disdain was directed at me. Always at me. 

When I tried to close my eyes and act as if nothing was happening, he held my chin with force, ordering me to pay attention to the way the woman on top of me went up and down. She let out silent moans and threw her head back, her irises lost in a mist and a blush on her cheeks that contrasted so much with how pale my skin was. She lost all feelings of guilt and regret. I wanted to throw up. 

I wanted to cry, but instead of doing that, instead of screaming and kicking, I resigned myself to the predicament. I was seventeen, however, I was never strong enough to defend myself, so I just waited for the minutes to tick by, so painfully slow, till it all ended. I maintained my face static, my eyes opened yet lost, not seeing anything, just wandering in a pitch-black void. 

When it all ended, father pushed the maid away from me and forced her to get out half-naked. The woman picked up her things and left, looking at me one last time before closing the door and leaving me alone with him. 

Father approached me, not caring about the state I was in or if my conscience still wandered elsewhere. 

“I hope this doesn’t happen again,” he whispered, holding my chin and forcing me to look straight at him. “You were lucky this time, the family still knows nothing, but if you embarrass me like this again, I won’t be so kind to you, Osamu.”

Much for his disdain and disappointment, the only thing I desperately wanted at that moment was to see Chuuya. 

I’m unsure of how much time passed with me lying on that bed looking directly at the ceiling before I, slowly, moved to dress myself and look out through the window. The guest room was placed on the first floor, so after making sure I had my phone with me, I escaped. 

It was eight at night, November was about to end, and winter was just around the corner. Darkness covered everything. With each movement, each time my clothes came in contact with my skin, I felt the need to throw up. My skin was sticky and gross. I didn’t clean myself before getting out, but all I could think about was to get as far away as possible. So, swallowing back the vomit that threatened to spill out and desisting the idea of scratching my skin till it bled, I ran. 

I ran with a single destination in mind. Solely yearning for one person. I took out my phone and tried to call his number, but my hands were shaking and I couldn’t click on the call button. I was desperate, the nausea increased and my lungs were beginning to hurt with overexertion. 

I wanted Chuuya. I needed him like I never did before. I wanted to see his red hair, his blue eyes, the way he noticed me amidst the crowd with practiced ease, the comfort I felt by his side. But as my anxiety was at its zenith, when the need increased without apparent end and I wanted a hand to hold me, someone arrived. 

It wasn’t the same red, but it sure was the same blue. More gentle, more warm, kind, and worried. Genuinely worried after clashing with me and pushing me to the floor around scattered books made of hundreds of pages and half-written papers.

“I’m sorry!” a man exclaimed, and before I had the chance to say anything, a concerned face and kind blue eyes filled my vision. “I’m truly sorry, I didn’t see you, are you okay? Let me help you…” 

Carefully, he lifted me up, wrapping his hand around the same spot on my arm from which my father dragged me to the guest room. Upon recalling it again, the need to throw up returned, and my body doubled over with the retching, but I managed to stay on my feet, perhaps out of sheer will or because of the warm hands that never stopped holding me.

I ended up throwing up on one side of the ditch. There was nothing on my stomach, but the feelings of repulsion were enough and I had to get rid of them somehow. The stranger stayed by my side all the time, holding me and patting my back, asking me if I needed to go to the hospital, and for I second, I considered saying yes, but then they would question me. Everyone would know what happened and that would be even more embarrassing for my parents. 

Once I emptied the non-existent content of my stomach, I straightened out slowly. I tilted my head to one side and, without much interest, glanced at the man next to me. Red, blue, like Chuuya. He was clearly older, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. His books and papers were still scattered on the floor, a student at the University of Yokohama, and I slowly stepped away from him. But, the more distance I traveled, the better I could observe his face, and when I focused on his eyes, I froze. 

Why did some stranger show more worry for me than my own parents? Why was there so much kindness in his eyes?

Stop, don’t be so kind.

Stop, I don’t want your worry.

Don’t look at me.

For once, I don’t want to be observed. 

“Are you okay? Your cheek seems hurt,” he said, his voice full of a tranquility I’d never heard before. 

For a moment, I was bewildered, but I quickly regained my composure, that cold mask I showed to strangers and I took a step back, nodding. 

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, covering the injury I’d forgotten was there. “Sorry for that, I gotta go.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he stopped me, not needing to touch me to do so, using only gentle words of genuine worry. “You look like you’re in high school, shouldn’t you be at home by now? I can call your parents if you need them to come get you, you don’t look okay…” 

“Why do you care?” I interrupted him, almost hissing like a snake. The sole mention of my parents gave me nausea and the need to escape became even more enticing. “It’s none of your business.” 

“Right, sorry, I’m pushing too far.” He leaned down and picked up the books and papers dispersed on the ground as he talked. Fleetingly, I peeked at one of the titles: ‘Kokoro’, by Natsume Soseki. “But I can’t ignore the fact you just threw up and you may be suffering from food poisoning.” 

I wish that was it, I thought. I wish it was only some stomachache and not the absolute disgust of living inside my own body. 

“Just look away if it’s that gross,” I spat out, and I felt goosebumps when I noticed that the genuine and sincere worry was still there.

He put his hands up in surrender, presenting himself as docile and with slow and remarked movements. He scrambled through his bag until he found a band-aid, giving it to me with those eyes full of warmth and worry, not looking for a thanks. 

I trembled from head to toe when I saw him, and before I could think anything else, I pushed his hand away, making the band-aid that was destined to patch up all my injuries, fall to the ground.

“Who do you think you are?” I inquired, with more anger than I ever showed. “Some kind of hero? Go to hell and leave me alone.” 

Despite the insult, he never got angry. He stayed calm, serene, and with a kindness that seemed never-ending, he leaned down and picked up the band-aid. He threw it somewhere, but he quickly searched for another one and took my hand. Once again, I trembled when I felt the comfortable warmth hitting my skin. I’d never felt as safe as when that new band-aid was left in the palm of my hand and he closed my fingers with so much care, a sense of security I hadn’t known enveloping me whole.

“Don’t let it fall this time,” he requested, and slowly, he let go of me. I could never explain the cold I felt when he let go. “Go home or wherever you’re supposed to be. It’s getting late.” 

When he left, he seemed like he wanted to say something, but ultimately decided against it and he just bid goodbye with a gentle movement of his hand before turning around and leaving in a calm stroll; carrying his books, his novels, his papers, and a box of band-aids for any reckless injured fool he may cross paths with. 

And I stayed there, observing him without truly grasping what had happened. The nausea had disappeared, and the warmth of his hand lingered on me, so different from the coldness of my father or the maid’s body on top of mine. 

Bewildered, with my mind blank and a band-aid on my cheek, I continued my path. I didn’t run, I walked slowly till I reached a certain house and, when I came to a halt next to an almost naked tree, I finally dialed a number I had committed to memory.

“Osamu?” Chuuya replied, his tone confused. “What's up, I thought you’d be studying for tomorrow’s test.”

“Chuuya,” I murmured, savoring his name, although I was still distracted and didn’t enjoy it like on prior occasions. “I’m under your window so let down your long hair.”

“What long hair, jackass?” he laughed, but he quickly poked his head through the window, still talking to me through the phone. “And what the hell are you doing out there? It's fucking freezing, just get up here already.” 

I climbed up without thinking anything, mounting that tree next to his window that I knew all too well, so much so that I didn’t need to focus on my movements. Chuuya held me tight when I put one of my hands on the ledge of the window, his touch was natural and comfortable — the irony of it all? It somehow lacked comfort. 

It was too small, too broken and desperate for an exit like me. We couldn’t get each other out of that place, I thought as my feet hit the ground of his room softly and Chuuya didn’t let go of my hand, clinging to me, or maybe I was the one clinging to him, even when we knew that no matter how much we wanted to save each other, we were too young and we yearned for someone to ease up the world for us. 

“What happened?” he asked when he saw the band-aid on my cheek and the dirt on my clothes. Little by little, the anger took hold of his body, but I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t want any more instability, only peace, only a moment of silence. “Is it your damn father again…?”

“Let’s not talk about that,” I interrupted him, and looked at the closed door of that room, then to the bed that I’d come to know fairly well, and finally, at the ginger that never stopped holding my hand. “Can I sleep here? I don't want to go back right now.”

Chuuya seemed worried at the lack of an answer. The fire in his eyes was still there, barely lit, but lit nonetheless. Ignited yet controlled because he knew that, despite whatever we wished for, there was nothing he could do to help me nor could he save me. He didn’t insist, though for once, I wished he did. He let go of me and went straight to lock the door, trying to prevent his parents from finding out. 

Good, at least for Chuuya, our secret was still a whisper only we knew. Or maybe that damn teacher called when only Mrs. Nakahara was present and she didn’t say a thing; always opting to act as if her son wasn’t gay nor had a boyfriend. 

“You look awful,” an unsaid ‘I am’ lingered in my mouth but I refused to open it, preferring to keep it close and maintain my expression stoic as Chuuya looked at my body, caressing with his slender fingers the dirty stains on my school uniform. “Especially your clothes. What the hell happened? Did you run all the way here and fall?”

I didn’t reply, but Chuuya easily figured out half the truth, that which I was willing to share.

“You're a careless idiot,” he gently scolded, like a forlorn child scolding another. “Fine, let's wait for my parents to go to sleep and then we can get in the shower.”

“I rather do it alone,” I hastily replied. 

Once again, Chuuya observed me with a confused face, but he didn’t push to know anything more. He never did, he never asked. He just assumed he knew me well, and I almost wished he did. Maybe that way he could understand me, maybe that way I could find a solace, but he only accepted my vague responses because even if he knew the whole story, there was nothing he could do. We were merely two kids without a place to go but a broken and foolish dreams of one day escaping and running away from that city. But, just like it did with the grown-ups, that city would eventually devour us both. 

After a brief silence in which he tried to get answers from my lack of expressions, he let out a sigh and nodded. He sat on the edge of the mattress, taking my hand once again, but I didn’t want to sit. Chuuya didn’t insist. I could still find some comfort and security in his touch… yet it wasn’t enough.

“Fine, you can shower by yourself, but what do we do with your uniform?” he asked. “I can lend you a shirt, you know I bought a size bigger than mine, but what about the pants? You're too damn tall for them.”

“You're just too tiny,” I replied without thinking, noticing his annoyed expression, one that I didn’t want to witness for once. I’d had enough of suppressed anger directed at me for that day. “It's fine, I can survive with dirty pants. I'll take your shirt and I'll steal one of your boxers, though it probably won't fit me because your ass is way too big.”

Chuuya hit me softly on one of my thighs, mumbling for me to stop making that kind of comments, not noticing the way my body flinched when I recalled the weight I had over my legs two hours ago. Pretending nothing was going on, acting as if I was fine, I nodded and threw myself into the bed, ignoring the blue eyes filled with questions and remembering the ones I met that afternoon. 

No matter the place I was, I always had to be on guard. I hated that feeling. I hated having to tip-toe towards the bathroom at my boyfriend’s house, always afraid of his father waking up and seeing me there. I hated having to share that small bed, though I never had any problems sleeping next to Chuuya, but on that night and many others to come, I didn’t want to touch him in any way. I lay there, my back facing him, looking at the empty wall, my eyes barely closed. I guessed it was around that time that the insomnia started. 

I hated waking up before everyone else, getting dressed, and sneaking out of Chuuya’s house before his father woke up and hit the door, demanding to know why was the door locked and what the hell he was doing. I hated having to sneak into my own house as if I was a fucking thief; scared shitless of someone finding me, especially my father. But, unlucky for me, somehow I always bumped into the maid at the top of the stairs. She looked at me with pity, ashamed, but curious too, as if she wanted to repeat it. I had to suppress the nausea at seeing her. I hated having to quickly climb up the stairs to my room, hastily taking all my textbooks, some coins, and other stuff, and then going to school in search of a solace that could erase all the memories of what happened the prior night. 

Days morphed into an agonizing torture of a routine. Going to school, staying wherever while the sun hid and the moon arrived, sleeping at Chuuya’s, looking for comfort with him, waking up before Mr. Nakahara did, going to the house where my parents lived, and going back to school. Chuuya never seemed annoyed at having me over every night, but he sent me worried gazes and tried to inquire, repeating to me that he was there if I needed help. But we both knew he couldn’t help me. What could he do? Would he knowing everything change the outcome? We couldn’t protect each other, we couldn’t go and fight against the world, even if we always thought we could. 

We were only two children, daydreaming for way too long and deeply hurt, searching for solace within each other, looking for company, for peace, and although sometimes we found it, it wasn’t enough. Chuuya could only observe me, and it wasn’t enough. He knew something was up, but he couldn’t quite guess what, and I desperately wished for not having to explain with words. 

Days passed by in a similar manner. Chuuya’s worry was still there; unsteady by my lack of sleep, by the lack of contact between us, and by the silence. I began to kiss him as a way to distract him, and I insisted he should write more poems, even if I hated he put literature over me.

The house I grew up at no longer felt like home. Was it ever one? No, I guess it wasn’t. Just a momentarily place that, after what happened, began to feel more like a torture chamber. Every day, when I had to return there during the morning to take a shower and change my clothes, I bumped into the maid.

He never told my father about my brief visits to the place, though I was sure he knew I was there, but he didn't care as long as I said absolutely nothing about what they did. The worker simply left my clean uniform on the edge of my bed, before smiling simpatheticly at me. However, I knew she only did it to get a thank you from me or repeat that day. I went from wanting to throw up to only hate her and being disgusted by her sight. Sometime later, she started to see me with fear. I guess that, although my face was the carbon copy of my mother’s, I always wore that intimidating and empty gaze of my father. At that point, I was grateful for having one of their worst characteristics imprinted on me.

At school, Chuuya was always on my side, though he couldn’t be there all the time. We had different activities after class. He never missed one of those, and I always did. I stopped going to my club and I started spending long amounts of time alone and far away from the world.

Recalling the novel that stranger carried on that horrible night, I used to go to the library of Yokohama and read that story while Chuuya was busy. One chapter per day, never taking the book to my house, because I knew I would have to give my address and phone number, and I didn't want anyone to know I was there.

I returned day after day till I finished the book, pondering on what I would do now that there was nothing more to read. What was I going to do? Where was I going to refugee and look for a fake sense of security? With what will I distract myself from every thought that refused to leave my head?

As I tried to find the spot from which I originally took the book on all of those shelves in the library, I felt my anxiety increase with the many questions that wandered my mind. Absently, I caressed the stacked volumes and pushed them apart, creating some space for me to carefully leave that novel. Once I did, however, a hand took it and the books around it fell.

“It's an incredible book, isn’t it?” 

The same man from that night. Next to me, without looking at me, with the novel I just left on the shelf now opened between his hands. He was much taller than me. He carried his bag with only one shoulder; it looked heavy, how many books did he carry? I wondered, observing the colors that he mainly wore under the light touch of sunlight that phased the windows of the building.

Red, blue, the same colors as Chuuya, but different at the same time.

“Your parents never taught you not to talk to strangers?” I inquired with contempt, nervous and defensive, but I only received a shrug and a rather pacific response.

“They did, but I always liked to talk with strangers: like the elderly that sat next to me in the park, with the women in the line for the supermarket, with the vagabonds outside of my favorite bar,” he explained. “But you don't look like one.”

“Then what do I look like?” 

“I guess you're probably in your second year of high school, so a high school boy,” he replied, and finally, he looked at me, choosing me over the book in his hands. “Do you still need this book? If not, I'll take it.”

“I thought you already had a copy of it,” I commented before I could process the words. With no option left, I had to finish the thought. “I saw it when I bumped into you.”

“You're observant,” he commented, in a way akin to a congratulation, and with that same calmness — or maybe disinterest — that never seemed to leave him, he walked towards one of the tables. I followed him on instinct, feeling safe under the shadow that his silhouette created. “And yes, you're right, I do have it, but it's not the same. This is one of the first editions published by Natsume-sensei, it has a different prologue than the one I have at home.”

I sat down across from him, seeing how he unfolded a notebook and some other books over the table. He didn’t talk again, he just worked in silence, never getting distracted by me or the world around us. I looked through the window; it was still early, I had plenty of time to kill before having to return with Chuuya to his house. I knew he wouldn’t call me, since he thought I was doing my club activities and those always lasted longer than his. 

Absently, I mused about what story to tell him that night. He would ask without being prompted about what activities I did at the club while he finished writing some last verses before going to sleep. He would once again look at me with those worried and powerless eyes of his that knew there was nothing he could do for me to spill out the details or help me with the insomnia. Alright, when I was finally by his side, I would think of something to tell him. For that moment though, I worried about what I would eat for dinner that night; I still had the money I got from my father’s wallet that morning, although I wasn’t hungry throughout the day, and that had yet to change. 

“Don't you have to go home?” he asked with worry, pulling me out of my deep stun. “It's almost… seven p.m.”

It was early, I thought. I could stay wandering through the city all night, but I was tired and I had an exam the next day.

“Don't you have to go home too?” I questioned in return.

“Yes, but I need to finish this first, see?”

I glanced at the papers in front of him, thousands of notes, quotes, pages, authors, and more. University sure looks stressful, I thought, and my wish to never put a foot in there increased.

“You're studying literature at Yokokoku?”

“I'm majoring in education” he corrected, “with a minor in literature.” 

“So, a teacher,” I mumbled listlessly, throwing myself onto the table and pushing part of his work away. He didn't react, just rearranged what I moved and replied with that never-ending tranquility.

“Long story short, yes, I'm studying to become a teacher.”

“Why?” I asked out of genuine curiosity. “Kids are annoying, a disaster, and they never pay attention.”

‘Like you?’ was the response I was waiting for, but instead of reminding me how young I was, instead of looking at me as if my existence mattered nothing, he shrugged and continued writing while he answered with a patient and gentle voice; savoring each word, like a melody that reached the heart of every living being with great happiness.

“I like literature,” he promptly replied, “and maybe it's not for everyone, but sometimes, when a kid feels lost, a good book can give them the answer they need and save them…”

He looked straight at me without saying anything more. I met his eyes, confused and without much thought, not understanding what he wanted to tell me on that day. We observed each other in complete silence for some seconds, committing the factions of each other to memory. Red, blue, like Chuuya, but not quite like him. More soft, more calm, carrying more wisdom, with kindness I’ve never experienced before…

“Did you like the book?” he asked, turning his eyes towards the book in his hands. “Natsume-sensei’s writing style is flawless.” 

“Yep, it is.” 

Without realizing it, I asked questions and the hours went by without the agonizing wait I’d become so used to. I asked about the novel I finished reading that day and was now lying in his hands. I asked for others, recalling those I’d read in middle school and during those two years of high school. I asked about authors, I once again questioned his career decision. And for each question I made, he had an answer he delivered with complete serenity. He never got annoyed, he never looked at me as if I was a bother, a hindrance, an unwanted child that had no worth. Quite the opposite, actually. With each word, with each gaze, he made me feel as if I genuinely mattered. 

You can’t miss something you never had. You can wish for it, however, but you know you’ll never obtain it. When it happens though, when you have it in your hands, when you barely grasped it for just a second, it’s more than enough to make you yearn for it for your whole life. 

Before we realized it, the clock ticked nine. Just at that moment, we noticed that we’d been talking non-stop for the past two hours about books without even knowing each other’s names. 

‘Oda Sakunosuke,’ he introduced himself while extending his hand. I took it and as I felt his warmth and that sense of security I was not accustomed to, I told him that his name was way too long, obnoxiously so, and hoping he would get upset or mad, I told him I would call him ‘Odasaku’ instead. He only chuckled and agreed. It was a nice nickname, he said, and I couldn’t help but feel rapt at that small validation I got from him. 

It all started one night, and the bridge between us was built thanks to novels. 

I continued not returning to my house, avoiding my parents, picking up the clean clothes the maid left at the edge of the bed. I continued sleeping at Chuuya’s, spending time with him at school, during recess, at class, stealing him kisses when he tried to ask about what happened that night, ignoring the worry he showed with harsh and poisonous words — so similar to my mother’s. Chuuya argued with me, we fought and we insulted each other, but he would always, always ask if everything was fine. 

No, nothing was fine. I was severely sleep deprived. I had finally accepted that I would never be good or bad enough for my parents. Glimpses of that night still came back as nightmares in my mind. The wish to peel my skin off each time an older woman touched me, be it accidental or not, still lingered. But on the afternoons, when he had his club activities, I would go to the library and bump into Odasaku. And then everything was fine. 

I had that place that truly gave me a sense of comfort and security like I never felt. I had books, a hella ton of books, and the soft voice of Oda narrating each work, telling me about the story, the background, and the author. When I listened to him, it really felt like I could just fall asleep with his calm voice as a lullaby. How could a voice sound so right? So warm, so like the home I’ve always needed? 

Odasaku didn’t see me like a kid. He didn’t treat me like one, even though we were both aware of the age difference between us, he treated me like someone equal. But, for me, we were far from it. He quickly became my refugee, the only adult who was willing to observe me and give me the solace and empathy that I needed. And he knew I needed him, so he stayed by my side, he let me join his world and gave me a home there where I felt safe and where I was more than merely an error.

At some point, the talks at the library were no longer enough. Even if I had his number and he’d assured me that I could call him anytime if I ever needed help, it wasn’t enough for either of us, — or so I thought as the young boy I was. 

“Shouldn’t you go home, Dazai?” he asked me during one of our reunions at the library. “It’s almost dinner time, when did you last eat?” 

Setting ‘Madame Bovary’ on the table, I grinned at him. 

“Odasaku, if you’re going to take care of me, you should at least do it right!” 

“I should, right?” he smiled at me and put all the scattered books inside his bag, taking the novel I was reading to check it out for me at the library. “Come on, I know a nice place to eat some curry. It’s on me, and then you’ll go home.”   

“Curry?” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“Nah, curry’s fine.” 

Anything tasted great if I was by his side. Hours went by fast and I could forget that which tormented me. At some point, I concluded that that was just bad luck entering my life and a mark that I could never remove, so I should just try to forget it, right? I tried. I tried to forget it, to the point of believing that ‘it wasn’t that bad, my body reacted to it so that must mean I enjoyed it,’ but I still wanted to throw up when I looked at my father, I still hated my mother for doing nothing, and I deeply despised the maid that looked down every time she saw me sneaking into the house.

But I didn’t need them, not anymore. I didn’t need their attention, their affection, their acknowledgment of my existence. I had Oda. He gave me that which I always craved and more. Understanding, safety, and the peace I desired. And at some point, I thought I was willing to do everything for him, anything as long as he continued observing me and giving me the affection that I, like the naive boy I still was despite everything, confused with love. 

“It’s pretty late, do you want me to take you home?” he asked halfway through our dinner.

I still didn’t like curry; it was too spicy, but, if Odasaku liked it, then so did I.  

“Aww, Odasaku is such a gentleman,” I teased him, feeling the spice burning my tongue that I fervently trying to ignore. “Yokohama is not that dangerous, you know? Chuuya and I walk around at night sometimes.” 

Childishly, awaiting some kind of reaction, maybe a rejection or jealousy, I told him about my relationship. I awaited insults or even possessive words, but all I got was a nod and a ‘that’s great’ before he returned to the novel he was reading. 

That reaction, or lack thereof, disappointed me. I ended up telling him much about Chuuya; how I met him, what he liked, our nocturnal walks, and countless tales to which he kindly paid attention, giving some advice or scolding me when he thought what we did was too dangerous, but always repeating how much of a ‘good couple’ we were. 

Chuuya and I? A good couple? No, we were only two teenagers who had no one, so we clung to each other like a lifeline. Odasaku would make for a better partner, I thought that day, and from then on, that notion only bloomed and grew as time passed. 

“Why don’t you walk with him anymore?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “Not that I agree with doing that, of course. Even if the area you two live in is not dangerous, some are. By the way, does Chuuya know you are here with me?” 

“Of course,” I lied, hiding the fact that although Odasaku knew about Chuuya, Chuuya had no idea where I was or with whom. For him, I was at my house. “He knows I’m with my best friend.” 

“I’m your best friend? Aren’t I too old to be that?” 

“Then, what are you?” 

Odasaku shrugged. 

“A stranger that talks with other strangers and invites them to eat curry which, obviously, they don’t like.” 

“I never said I don’t like it,” I replied, and just to prove my point, I swallowed another spoonful of curry. The taste was horrible, too spicy, so much so that I had to put on some real effort to not gulp down the whole glass of water with desperation. However, Odasaku noticed when I faked something, and upon seeing my act, he only laughed and gave me his glass of water. 

I made sure to drink from the exact same spot he did. 

As he offered to get me something different for dinner, more customers arrived at that small establishment. I normally wouldn’t waste my time on them, but when a woman of Odasaku’s age approached our table with a smile and too much energy, much like someone drunk, I felt myself tense at the sight. 

“Oda!” she greeted. Behind her, other university students entered the place and positioned themselves around our table, exchanging words with Odasaku and ignoring my existence. I hated that feeling, and I hated even more that Oda lost time with them, answering their questions, when he had me in front of him. “Who’s this boy? Your little brother?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Really? You two don’t look anything alike! But he’s cute, his hair looks fluffy…” 

I moved away when the woman tried to touch me. Since she was half drunk, she didn’t notice my action and insisted. I hit her hand, and then she seemed to get mad, and her desire to touch my head increased to the point of scolding me for my reaction and babbling that she only wanted to know how soft my hair was. Odasaku, upon noticing how uncomfortable I was, took her wrist and pushed her away. 

“Sorry, he doesn’t like people touching him,” he promptly informed them. 

Apparently, my opinion mattered nothing to them, because it was only until Odasaku said that that the woman stepped back immediately. 

“Oh, I see, I’m sorry! I’m being too rash, I just drank some sake… And speaking of drinking, when will you go to the bar? It’s been a while since you’ve hung out with us.” 

That piece of information caught my attention and, for a moment, I forgot the prior incident. Odasaku preferred to spend time with me than with those people? When the realization hit me, I couldn’t help but feel… happy. 

Odasaku muttered that he would visit that place one of those days. I took that vague response as a possibility that he would never do it, because he preferred to spend time with me. Both the woman and the other guys complained a bit and insisted, but Oda remained unphased and bid them goodbye, wishing them a good night. 

With despondent expressions and without even glancing at me, they left, leaving us alone once again. 

“I can go with you to the bar if you like,” I tentatively offered, willing to please him in any way he wanted. “I like drinking.” 

Odasaku sighed and declined. 

“I won’t take you to any bar, you’re underage.” 

“My age didn’t stop you from being my friend.” 

“True, but I’m not offering you any alcohol, drugs, or anything illegal,” he recited and, with a smile that I couldn’t stop staring at, he added: “On the contrary, I’m technically giving you free literature classes and I know that’s helping you improve your grades.” 

I huffed, offended by the rejection and by being compared to one of Oda’s future students. Unable to stop it, hiding the ulterior motive that each word carried, I replied nonchalantly. 

“It’s not as if I hadn’t drunk before, do you think Chuuya and I haven’t done it?” 

“I’m sure you’ve done plenty of things that don’t go according to your age,” he replied, and his face darkened, his voice lowered, cautious and worried. “And you’ve also lived through things you should’ve never experienced… are you okay?” 

I gave him a confused gaze, nodding slowly. 

“Why the sudden question…?” 

“Dazai, I’m preparing myself to become a teacher,” he said with seriousness, leaning towards my side of the table; his blue eyes shined, I felt safe when I saw my reflection in them. “And one of the things I need to learn is to be able to recognize abuse.” 

He knew it. Without the need to say anything, he easily figured it out. Since when? I wondered. Since the start? After our talks started? When? Did the ‘when’ even mattered? No, it didn’t matter at all, because I was relieved I didn’t have to say anything for Odasaku to notice. 

However, that small spark of shame still lingered on me. My skin itched and I felt the need to open a wound. That idea stayed in my head after that night and, without a doubt, it would’ve imprinted itself into my wrist if I hadn’t seen Odasaku again. 

Whatever the case, it would bleed at some point, because not even Oda would be able to stop me from doing it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied with disinterest. 

My face deleted any emotion, a perfect mirror of the mask that was my father's expression all day long. Oda observed me, with limitless patience and awaiting a reply that never arrived. He let out a sigh, nodded and extended his hand, circling the table and putting his hand on my shoulder. 

“It’s fine, I won’t force you to say anything,” he reassured me. “But… if you ever need something, whatever it is, you can count on me, alright?” 

I knew it. I knew I could trust him.

He never mentioned that topic again, and neither did I, but still, something changed between us after that night. We became closer. The trust grew, and my feelings began to bloom. 

I still didn’t go to my house, just sneaked into the place to change clothes and take the money my parents began to leave on the table; a bribe so my mouth would stay shut and the Tsushima family wouldn’t find out. I accepted it and continued spending the day with Chuuya at school, during recess and classes, stealing some kisses when he got curious about what I was doing in the afternoon and asked if everything between us was fine. I told him that yes, that my feelings for him hadn’t changed, and that one day we would move away from Yokohama, we would get married, I would be the ‘housewife’ and we would live out of the money he earned by writing poems. 

That answer always seemed to calm him down — the illusions were sweeter than the truth. To give him more assurance, I admitted I quit the club, but said I spent the afternoons in the library reading and I began to go to school carrying the books Odasaku lent me. He didn’t know about Oda, but half the truth was enough. 

However, we both knew our relationship changed too. I wouldn’t admit it, and Chuuya, afraid of losing me if he asked more, kept quiet and didn’t mention it either.

Eventually, after dozens of dinners spent in that curry restaurant, I stopped sleeping at Chuuya’s house, lying to him by telling him that the situation with my parents had finally calmed down. He said he would miss having me over each night and sleeping next to me, and a part of me would also miss that, but the other part, a bigger one, just wanted to sleep next to someone else. 

Odasaku agreed to take me to that small dorm in which he lived. It was cozy, it smelled like safety and, when I put a foot in, I knew I would never want to leave. I began to sleep at his place after explaining a bit about the situation with my parents, and he didn’t hesitate to offer me the extra futon he had, muttering that, if I needed a place to live until I could fix my situation, I could stay there with him. Little by little, his home became mine; my refugee, and the place in which I found peace. 

I slept every night there, his futon next to mine, in the same room. My textbooks, uniform, and other stuff began to occupy space in his furniture. He didn’t seem mad about it, because he knew how hard it was to have a horrible family situation. While his parents were never like mine, he left his home as soon as he graduated from high school. He understood what it felt like to be so young and have nowhere to go and no one to trust; and he would’ve liked to have a friend that could help him in that situation like he now helped me. 

He was too kind, and that was so bad for my heart. 

And then, one morning when we saw the sunrise together after spending the whole night talking about novels, I understood it. I didn’t want Oda solely as a friend. I liked him, I loved him and everything he gave me; his kindness, his understanding, and safety, those were things I was addicted to and I couldn’t stop craving them. However, I was selfish and greedy, so, as time passed and I fell in love with Odasaku even more, I didn’t have the guts to break up with Chuuya. I didn’t want to lose him, neither of them, and I thought I could maintain that situation for a long time, spending the days with Chuuya, and the nights in the apartment with Odasaku.

But my scale was uneven, and it tilted more to someone than the other. 

The year continued, it ended and a new one arrived. Me and Chuuya’s nocturnal strolls stopped. My time with Odasaku increased, rejoicing in the compliments he gave me for getting the highest grades for the second year in a row. 

I started my third year of high school with insomnia, but forgetting what happened some time ago. I seldom saw my parents, and that made them happy. They continued leaving me money so I would keep my mouth shut — I accepted it and moved on with my life. That year, and for the first time, me and Chuuya weren’t in the same class, so my time with him decreased. However, I still hated that he loved poetry too much, so each time I had a chance, I reminded him of my existence and the relationship we had by pushing him towards the bathroom and making out till we lost our breaths. 

Just kisses and small touches, only that. I still felt nauseous when I thought about increasing the level of intimacy. My body tensed by only thinking about it, even if it wouldn’t be my first time with him, I preferred to avoid that kind of contact, and lucky for me, Chuuya didn’t seem to mind. 

By the end of April, he turned eighteen. In a couple of months, I would do too. 

Odasaku continued studying at the University of Yokohama. He was still preparing himself to become a teacher, drowned in literature and giving me all the attention I always yearned for. But there were things he didn’t tell me, movements he kept quiet about because he didn’t consider them important enough to share them. 

Then, a letter from the University of Kyoto arrived: they accepted Odasaku’s request for a transfer and, since they were only halfway through the first semester of the year, they were ready to welcome him. 

When he told me he would leave Yokohama in a month — in the month I was born — that he already had a place to move to, I only smiled at him, I told him that those were some amazing news and I left his apartment. I told him that I’d talked with my parents that afternoon and everything was good now, that I would return to my house. He knew nothing was alright, that I was lying, and that the smile on my face was everything but real. He tried to stop me, worried, always worried that something bad could happen to me, but I ran away before he could catch me. 

If he was going to leave me, it didn’t make sense to stay by his side. 

For the first time in a long while — against all my wishes and feeling utterly lost —, I returned to my house. I saw my parents directly, I saw the maid, and I sat down at the table with them to eat dinner as if the months of my absence didn’t exist. 

“So you’re finally done with your tantrum,” my father commented with a cold tone while glancing at me eating slowly. “It lasted a while, Osamu, but we chose not to say anything since your behavior at school has been rather good. They told us your grades went up and we told the family you’re the best of your school.” 

“That’s good,” I automatically responded. “I hope the family is satisfied.” 

“More than satisfied, actually! Your grandfather wants to see you at the New Year’s Eve party!” my mother informed me. She stood up from her seat and approached me. Her arms embraced me and she hugged me (When was the last time she hugged me?), and she kissed me on the forehead; it was cold, a failed attempt at a gesture from a loving mother. “We’re so proud of you, dear. You’re such a good son!” 

For how long did I wish to hear those words? How much did I yearn for it? How many things did I do to receive them or at least get some acknowledgment from them? Those words no longer held any value. I no longer needed them. Their attention, their affection, their pride — those were all things I no longer wanted. It wasn’t genuine, it would never be. The only care, the only love that I truly needed, was Oda’s. 

But he was going to leave me. I just had him by my side and I was already losing him. What would I do? I couldn’t picture myself without him, afar, talking to him only through calls and without ever meeting his eyes, but I was trapped in that place; in that house, in that city, with those parents to which I would never be good enough. 

After several months, I sat down in my own bed. The room felt too big, empty, and with shadows that roamed in every corner. I was never scared of the shadows, but by that point, I hated them. I wanted Oda, I wanted to be in his apartment with him, listening to him talking about novels and authors, staring at his blue shiny eyes and surrounded by the warmth he always carried. Even at night, his home never felt as dark as the room that belonged to me since the day I was born. 

I hated it, I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t do it. I glanced at nothing in particular, my eyes lost and the hours ticked by and I went to school. Oda called me, he texted me and asked me if everything was alright. Lying, I said yes, and that I couldn’t go see him at the library that night because I had an exam the following day. He believed me and commented that he hoped to see me at some point. He said he would count the hours left for our library talks, meanwhile, I would count the hours he had left in Yokohama.

Three weeks. Just three weeks and he would leave the city. I wouldn’t see him again, I would lose him forever… 

“I’m doing something for your birthday,” Chuuya told me on that day at school, during the first recess, forcing me to eat the dorayaki he’d bought as breakfast. “I know it’s still three weeks away and that you hate them, but hear me out–” 

“Are you writing me a poem?” I asked without much interest. 

I wanted to shoot down his idea and call it stupid, to remind him that I didn’t like poetry and that I wouldn’t read whatever he wrote, but when I saw how excited he was, that genuine desire to portray something about me or for me through poetry, I couldn’t let myself be cruel like that even if I was suffering. 

“Chuuya–” 

“I know, I know! You hate them, but I, we…” he didn’t finish that sentence. He averted his eyes, hesitant, he bit his bottom lip, that which I hadn’t kissed on that day, and then he sighed, resigned that he would have to be direct and sincere with me. “Osamu, I need to be constantly reminding you that you’re important to me, even if I don’t know why because you’re an obnoxious idiot who doesn’t eat breakfast and only gives me headaches.” 

“Chuuya worries too much.” 

“What did I just say?” 

“That I’m an obnoxious idiot?” 

“Before that,” he corrected me. He took my free hand, interlocked our fingers, and observed the union. It wasn’t the union I wanted, but I didn’t reject it either. “You’re important to me, I want to write you a poem.” 

After a long, sleepless night, I smiled. I genuinely smiled. He cared about me, he thought about me, he was next to me at that moment, he always was, even if I didn’t trust him and hid a lot of things. I didn’t deserve him. I also made him suffer. His restless gaze, the way he bit his lips, the anxiety he tried to keep at bay. He knew something had changed inside me, he knew I didn’t cherish our relationship like before and that I wasn’t telling him a lot of things, but he waited. Patiently, he waited for me to tell him everything.

A pity I wouldn’t share this whole story till much later, when none of that relationship was left. 

However, we were together at that moment. I thought that, even though I was going to lose Odasaku, even though I knew I wanted him more than I loved my boyfriend, I would always have Chuuya by my side, and perhaps that was enough. 

Yeah, it was enough… but the idea of losing Oda evoked some bleakness and a bitter taste in my tongue. I tried to alleviate that sensation with the sweetness I always found in Chuuya’s mouth, and during those three weeks, I pretended everything was fine and I even forgot about it. 

Once again, it was only Chuuya and I. Despite the fact we were in different classes, you could find us attached to each other during recess. Chuuya quit his clubs that semester, opting to focus on his studies and the incoming entrance exam for university. I would also take the exam, more for obligation than anything, really; I insisted on my idea of living with my boyfriend, away from Yokohama, and being only a housewife. Chuuya seemed pleased with that plan, and our relationship briefly returned to what it once was.

However, I still wanted Oda, and I thought about him every day. We didn’t see each other during those three weeks: he was busy with all the arrangements for his move, and I was trying to forget him and focus solely on Chuuya; being happy like before everything came crumbling down on me. But, despite de distance, we still talked. 

The messages never stopped, nor did the calls where we talked about novels and authors. Oda asked about my day, about my family situation, about my relationship with Chuuya. Hoping to hear something, any resemblance of possessiveness, any sign that he wanted me by his side more than anything, I told him my relationship with Chuuya was going good, amazing even, better than never, that we were so stupidly in love as only teens could be. But instead of jealousy, Oda replied with a ‘that’s great!’ and his voice reflected the relief he felt because I wouldn’t be left alone in the world once he left. 

But that’s how I felt it. Even if I had Chuuya by my side, I felt lonely. It wasn’t the affection I needed, I didn’t feel the same protection and safety next to him, nor did I feel the same acknowledgment even if he was the first one who saw me amidst the crowd. We were both two kids, we couldn’t save each other, we could only cling and hope for time to pass and give us the tools to go against the world. But I didn’t want to wait, I didn’t want to stay in that place, and with no other option left, little by little, I resigned myself to that. 

A week. Oda would leave Yokohama in a week. I felt devastated, but I tried to conceal it. Chuuya knew something was going on, and he tried to find out what or cheer me up in any way he knew. Nothing worked. I told him it was just a bad week, that my parents were more insufferable than other days, but that someday it would stop hurting. Just like their punches, their lack of attention, the naught fondness, the abuse, Oda’s absence… One day it would no longer hurt, but I wasn’t sure when that day would arrive. Maybe not in the following four years, but perhaps afterward.

Chuuya invited me to his house that last Friday; he wanted to hang out, play video games, or do just about anything else. Maybe listen to some music, maybe just stay in silence; a nighttime stroll, some time spent together with each other. 

Oda also wanted to see me that afternoon, his trip would be the next day and he wanted to visit that curry shop one last time with me. However, I knew that if I saw him, I wouldn’t be able to let go. I would cling to him and I would stay awake all night drowning in desolation. I preferred to say goodbye on the train, thinking that, maybe that way, our parting wouldn’t hurt as much. 

I told him that I was busy on Friday, that I had a date with Chuuya, but that I wanted to bid him goodbye on the train the next day. He agreed, he wished me a good evening, and we didn’t talk again until the following morning. 

For one night, I forgot about Oda and all the things I was losing. I focused on Chuuya, only on Chuuya. I knew his bedroom so well that it was a familiar place to me. During my stay, I reread some collections of poems he had hidden around there, teasing him and comparing the books of his favorite poets with porn magazines. We had a small argument because of that, hitting each other with the pillows lying on his bed and laughing in between whispers; like kids that were undoubtedly doing something stupid and were trying to hide it when Mrs. Nakahara knocked on the door and asked if everything was fine. 

Trying to stifle our laughs, Chuuya gave an affirmative response, but I didn’t let him finish the sentence. I kissed him and I pushed him towards the bed. He let out a whine that his mother clearly heard, but the door was locked and she couldn’t enter. She left with a weak plead for us to be quiet. That was the last thing I wanted, but I accepted the condition. I knew she wouldn’t say anything, and we had plenty of time before his father returned home. 

It’d been so long since we last touched each other in such a way that it felt like the first time all over again. While I pressed Chuuya more and more against the mattress, touching his skin, kissing him, and hugging the body that gladly accepted me, I didn’t think it would also be the last time I’d be by his side. 

I didn’t think that I would never receive that last kiss I told him to leave for later either, nor that I wouldn’t see what was written in that poem till it had been turned into a song. 

When I returned to my house that Friday night, I sent one last text to Chuuya and slept just fine for the first time in months. 

The train from Yokohama to Kyoto left at half past ten. I woke up at eight. I moved automatically throughout those two hours, trying not to think, recalling the night I had with Chuuya, yearning for that kiss and the poem I would get just after the sun had risen on that next Monday. I thought I’d be fine, I thought that three weeks of not seeing Odasaku were enough to get used to his absence, to forget his warmth and how shielded I felt by his side. 

Boy, I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

His smile, his voice, the hug he gave me, it all crumbled down each one of the ideas and plans I had on my mind. I clung to him, I didn’t want to let him go, I didn’t want to lose that sense of safety, of fondness, of attention, the gentle compliments that had become everything to me. What would I do without him? How would I survive without him by my side? 

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered in my ear that morning. “Hey, Dazai, you’ll be fine, I promise. Soon you’ll finish high school and you’ll be able to go wherever you want. And I’ll always welcome you in Kyoto if you ever want to visit me.”

“Really…?” I asked, my voice a shell filled with uncertainty, my face against his shoulder, and my hands hanging on for dear life at his back. 

“Of course, you’re important to me.” 

And that exactly, that right there, was everything I ever wanted. 

To be important to Oda, make him feel proud, happy, loved, and be always by his side. I would die if I didn’t have him by my side, if I stayed in that city with my parents inside that house and the constant reminder of how little I was worth. I didn’t want to lose our talks about novels, the silent afternoons spent at the library, with the sunlight shining through the windows of the building while we binged book after book. The dinners with curry, the relaxed music in the background, our futons lying next to each other every night. 

No, I couldn’t let him go. I needed him, I wanted him. Only him, nothing else mattered. 

“If you ever visit Kyoto and need a place to stay, don’t hesitate to come.” 

He pulled away and gave me a piece of paper: an address, his new home, that which would also become mine. 

When we said goodbye, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to tell him I loved him and beg for him not to go, but I just nodded. I hugged him tightly, with as much force as I could muster at the moment, and I let him go, feeling how a part of my soul detached itself and followed him inside the train. 

Observing him enter the vehicle, looking at the machine starting to move and disappear on the horizon, taking with it the only home I knew of, I knew I couldn’t stay there. I had to follow him to Kyoto, or I would never be able to get out of Yokohama. 

No one would miss me. No one needed me in that godforsaken city. My parents didn’t love me, the maid still worked for them, school was a waste and Chuuya deserved something better than a boyfriend who despised the poetry he so much loved and that changed to another heart without telling him anything. 

That Saturday, when I returned to my house, I began to pack my things. Throughout the weekend, I collected everything I would need and bought a train ticket to Kyoto for June 19 at noon. When night arrived on that last Sunday, I was ready and had decided all that I would do from that point onwards. 

Once the clock ticked twelve, both Odasaku and Chuuya wished me a happy birthday. I thanked them both, but I knew which of the two congratulations I appreciated the most. When I hung the call, I recalled that I would see my boyfriend one last time the next day and that none of the promises we made as teenagers would ever become true. I knew he would give me a poem, and although a part of me wanted to accept that paper and take it with me to Kyoto as a reminder of the only person who gave me brief moments of happiness despite the fact he couldn’t calm down the desolation I felt, I knew I had to leave it behind. 

It would be better if he hated me after that day. Maybe that way my absence wouldn’t hurt him as much, and what better way of winning his hate than rejecting the poems he so much loved? That’s what I thought, and I wasn’t wrong per se. However, I had no idea what my desertion would cause. 

I’m sorry, Chuuya, I hurt you, I hid a lot of things from you, but I was a kid and at that moment, I needed Oda more than I needed you. 

═════════════

“Dazai, we’re almost there.” 

The reddish-brown eyes slowly opened, taking in the landscape and the world unfolding before him. Dazed, he surveyed his surroundings. With sleepy movements, he turned away from the window and glanced at the passenger seated beside the aisle. Chuuya didn’t meet his eyes, knowing that his nudge was enough to wake him up, and he continued typing on his phone; conversing with whomever was on the other end of the chat. He had some candidates on his list, but Dazai didn’t have time to pry.

The train came to a halt at Shin-Osaka station. They grabbed the simple bags they’d packed for that weekend and joined the flow of other passengers, pausing in front of the map to ensure they were headed in the right direction towards Taisho-ku. They both sighed in unison when they realized they had to catch another train, adding another 45 minutes to their journey. Fine, at least it was still early, they both thought as they made their way to the platform, blending in with the passengers of that weekend. 

It was half past eleven; they would arrive at their destination shortly after noon. 

“Who are you talking with?” Dazai asked, looking at the other’s phone for over the ginger’s shoulder as they waited for a new train to arrive. “Akutagawa is still mad for getting second place?” 

Chuuya grunted annoyedly and blocked his phone screen, turning it away from Dazai and sending him a tired look.

“Don’t remind me. Ryuu is pissed, especially because he saw Atsushi talking with the band who won.” 

Yosano had mentioned some details about that encounter, though he didn't have the whole story. All his friend told him was that Atsushi decided to go speak with the winning band instead of joining her in the search for him that afternoon. Either way, it would have been a waste of time for the albino. Yosano didn't manage to locate Dazai until an hour later, and when she did, she found him beneath the same clock in Murayama Park, alone and in the darkness, yet in high spirits, staring at his phone like an idiot and texting the number that, reluctantly, had been unblocked.

One thing for another, he mused that evening. Chuuya unblocks his number, he tells him everything he ever wanted to know. And even if it was a story the ginger had wished for, it was a small price Dazai was paying. He would make sure to compensate the singer, both for agreeing to listen and for accompanying him on the trip. But back to the topic at hand, he had no idea what happened between his two juniors. Not like he cared. If he was asking about it, it was merely to pass the time and not go right back to the real topic that Chuuya was interested in.

“Why is he mad with Atsushi anyway?” he asked when the train arrived at the station. “Doesn’t sound strange for him to go and congratulate them, it sounds exactly like something he would do.” 

“I know! That's what I told Ryuu and that he was angry for nothing, but he said that ‘I wouldn’t understand’,” he sighed and looked with false contempt at the brunette beside him. “He reminded me of the idiot I’m stuck accompanying on his field trip right now. But anyway, he doesn't want to tell me anything, which is fair, since I didn't tell him I came to Osaka with you, and he'll probably find out later thanks to Albatross.”

“I told you to bribe Albatross but you never listen.” 

“I won’t give him my baker hat! It’s not my fault it looks good on me and not on him!” 

“How vain,” Dazai teased him, saving the ‘but that's how I like you’ to himself. “I guess it looks good on you, not like that other hat though.” 

Chuuya punched him in the shoulder, and Dazai simply laughed. They lapsed back into silence as the train came to a stop before them. They waited for the rest of the passengers to board before taking their seats, settling into the empty seats of the carriage, those farthest from the others, where they could find a semblance of privacy.

They looked through the parallel window, watching as the image of the train station swiftly gave way to the city they were setting foot in for the first time. The sounds of the train in motion were all that filled the air for several moments: the metal slicing through the wind with great speed, the sunlight streaming through the glass, casting a stark divide between the brightness of the day and the shadows that followed.

Dazai glanced at his own shadow, then at Chuuya's. Just as dark, devoid of any flicker of light except for the halo surrounding them, yet they couldn't grasp it and claim it as their own. However, when he looked to his side, he noticed how the light and shadows found a balance in Chuuya.

It looked beautiful, so familiar and yet new. He could see the teenager he fell in love with years ago, but he could also see the adult he became. Both the Chuuya he’d met at fifteen and the one beside him now were akin to poetry and music. One followed the other, sharing similarities but never identical. Yet, whether in verses or chorus, the feeling of peace he felt when he looked at him was welcomed by a mix of nostalgia and freshness.

And so, those blueish eyes, so similar to Oda's yet distinctly different and more fiery, locked on him. He knew that hue, but bathed in the surrounding light, it felt as if he was observing it for the first time.

“Why did you never tell me what happened to you…?” Chuuya whispered, all hesitant and anxious, dreading the answer. 

Dazai took a while to reply. For a moment, it was as if he hadn’t heard him. He blinked a few times, relishing the sensation in his chest as he recalled that incident: anger, repulsion, few emotions he would never shake off, but thorns he’d learned to live with.

“What would you have done?” he asked, doubt in his voice and pushing the memories to the back of his mind. “Would you have called the police? You know that would’ve only meant more trouble. They would’ve seen my case and labeled it as child abuse and they would’ve taken me to a protection center; I would’ve been there only for a year and then what? Where would I go? I don’t have more family — at least not one that would help me.” 

“We could’ve thought of something.” 

“We were on our own, Chuuya. Sure, we had each other, but there was nothing we could do to get ourselves out of there.” 

“But Oda did,” he interjected, with his hands tightly clenched; red and shaking. “He helped you. You trusted him and he helped you.” 

“I never told him directly, he just shot and guessed right,” Dazai muttered, slowly averting his eyes from the man next to him, from the blue that always reflected his half-dead face, and went back to observe the shadows on the floor of the wagon; surrounded by light, but unable to touch it and held it inside. “And not having to tell him or explain anything felt good. It's what I wanted — that someone understood without the need of telling them anything.”

Chuuya wanted to retort, to tell him that he would've understood without the need of words, but he himself had told him the day of the concert that he didn't always know what was going on in his head. But he thought that his younger self, that which couldn't exist without the brunette, could've noticed. He always knew something was wrong, and knowing he was right but never connected the dots hurt.

What did he do wrong? Not noticing. What did Dazai do wrong? Not trusting him. What did both of them do wrong? Nothing, maybe being born, perhaps not thinking of alternatives, not leaving their houses when they had the chance. He supposed that, even when it was all a hell, they awaited some sort of comfort, of acknowledgment and acceptance of those who should’ve loved them more than anything. 

But a parent was not obliged to love their child, nor is the child obliged to love them. But they, as friends, as boyfriends, promised to support each other, to help each other, and to love each other…

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” Dazai asked, genuinely surprised and concerned when he noticed the guilt-ridden expression on the other's face. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him — perhaps by caressing his back or running his fingers through his hair. Instead, he tentatively placed his fingers on the sturdy shoulder illuminated by the light. “Hey, Chuuya… what could you have done? We were both kids and now I know I shouldn’t expect you to know something without telling you.” 

“But–” 

“There’s nothing you can do now,” he interrupted, sliding his fingers slowly down his bicep before returning them to rest on his own knees. “But if it helps, to agree to talk and accompany me to Osaka makes up for it.”

And it did, even if there was nothing to pay for. On the contrary, who was really in debt with the other was him. He owed too much to Chuuya, and instead of repaying the emotional debts that lay between them, he continued asking and asking, and the ginger continued giving without questioning. He hoped that story, that trip and that sincerity could make up for some of that debt.

Sideways, he saw Chuuya clenching his fists and visibly tensed. He stopped breathing for a second, his gaze was lost in the window parallel to them, in the world outside he wasn't paying attention to. Then, slowly but surely, he relaxed, he resigned himself. He breathed again, his fists relaxed and his eyes centered on the lights and shadows around them.

“What happened afterwards?” Chuuya asked, keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper that could be lost in the silence. “When you got to Kyoto… was it better? Did you feel better?” 

“For a while,” he replied, pondering and lost in the emotions he'd already forgotten. “Until it wasn’t, but I was the one who made it all go downhill…”  

═════════════

Now I know Odasaku wasn’t thrilled to see me there, standing in front of his door in Kyoto. I arrived unannounced, ready to crash there while wearing my uniform and my bag slung over my shoulder. He looked me up and down, unsure of what to say, not fully comprehending what I was doing there. However, when I spilled out a few lies and told him about what was going on with my parents — the only truth I shared with him that day — he took pity on me. Always so kind, so good-hearted, always eager to help. The hero I always dreamt of, one who didn’t refuse to open the doors of his home to me, even if he was hesitant and my stay wasn’t as welcomed as I’d hoped. 

However, he never told me I wasn’t welcome, nor did he show how upset he felt when he saw me there. He accepted me like he always did, and that first year and a half was… nothing short of incredible. The peace I felt — which I thought would last forever —, seized my thoughts for so long, unaware of the storm that would befall on me. 

During the first week, my phone rang nonstop, and every time I saw the caller's name, a pang of guilt hit me and I could feel the regret pilling up in my throat, forcing me to recall that I was unworthy of that worry. 

Hey, Chuuya… You looked for me despite the fact I broke your poem alongside your heart, you were the only person in Yokohama who was thinking about me, but I didn’t even deserve your thoughts. I gave you a bunch of lies and I hid too many things, my eyes stopped looking at you even though they promised never to lose sight of you. I changed poetry for a narrative, backstabbing verses so I could run after paragraphs, which oftentimes lacked emotions, and yet you still called, wanting to hear my voice and knowing why I declined the call each time. 

Now you know why. Even if I was aloof on that last day, even if I didn’t hesitate to leave you behind, I can’t say I didn’t think about you. Especially when the time had passed, when I no longer had something, I thought about you and I regret each and all decisions I took. But at that moment, in that first year and a half, I declined all calls, I threw that phone somewhere in a drawer till you stopped calling and I became a different person for a short time. 

Due to my moving, or I guess it could better be called an escape, I didn’t go to school and I didn’t finish high school at the same time as everyone my age. Yet, during those months, I was happy. Oda quickly got used to my presence and I promised I wouldn’t be a nuisance to him; I knew how busy he was with the transfer from Yokokoku to Kyodai, so I became the housewife I once hoped to be. I worked at that coffee shop right in front of the exit of the Faculty of Education. I took on long shifts since I didn’t have much to do at home without Oda there anyway. Keeping myself busy was a good way to avoid missing him. 

At any rate, I always saw him outside of the apartment. Oda visited the cafeteria to say hi and stayed for a while to talk. He usually visited me alone, giving me all his attention, but little by little he began to appear with friends he met at Kyodai. And thanks to him — since they were his friends before being mine —, I met Ranpo and Yosano. 

“That’s the kid you stole?” That was the first thing Ranpo said when he saw me. He glanced at me from head to toe and then returned his attention to Oda. “He looks like a potential sociopath, return him.” 

My first impression of Ranpo was that he was the most self-centered asshole in the world, but I know he thought the same about me. 

I didn't bother to conceal my displeasure when I saw him and Yosano for the first time; Ranpo remained unfazed by my expression, merely offering a smug grin; in contrast, Yosano observed me with amusement, whispering to Ranpo without lowering her voice that I seemed ‘interesting’. Next to them, Ango was also present and flinched at my vacant expression. It wasn't our first encounter, as he was Odasaku's childhood friend and the one who convinced him to transfer to Kyodai. I met him during my second week in Kyoto, and he looked at me as if I was a hindrance to Oda.

I didn’t like him. I didn’t like him, nor Ranpo, and definitely not Yosano. 

“Who are they?” I questioned, looking solely at Odasaku, but before he could reply, Ranpo took a step forward and spoke. 

“Hey, more respect for your elders.” 

“You look like you’re fifteen.” 

“I’m twenty-two, mind you. You wish you’d look like me when you’re my age,” he retorted with that smug grin I would eventually copy. With a movement of his hand, he signaled me away. “Go do your job and bring me a drink.” 

“Ranpo…” Odasaku warned, no anger in his voice. He sighed and looked at me. I immediately forgot how annoyed I was. “Sorry, Dazai, he’s like that with everyone. It’s not personal, okay? Bring us something, I’ll pay.” 

The smile returned to my lips and I ignored the people around us. I nodded and replied that, when it was him, everything was free. I would give him whatever he wanted. And I’m sure Ranpo, Yosano, and Ango noticed since that first encounter that I was too in love with Odasaku, but he… He didn’t notice. 

I could offer him everything, the rarest artifact, the hardest to find mineral, my own heart in a silver platter, and Oda wouldn’t notice. However, that never discouraged me. I thought I just had to be patient, to wait a little bit more and continue being the person he liked: interested in literature, calm, kind, ‘good’. 

I would be the perfect person for him. So much so that he would never be able to stop looking at me or stop loving me. I just needed to wait, just a little bit more. Some more effort and he would notice that, just like I was in love with him, he was in love with me too.

The day I met those people was the first time I used a smile splattered with fake kindness as I prepared and delivered their drinks. I knew neither Ranpo nor Yosano were fooled, but Oda was. He smiled, happy that I got along with his friends, and he waited at the cafe till my shift ended. When we returned home that night, I was practically attached to him and I clung to his arm, babbling that it was cold and I was tired. Odasaku didn’t push me away like on former occasions. He kept his gaze forward and continued walking, talking about novels and authors, ignoring my shiny eyes that never left his silhouette. I overlooked that lack of reaction. Instead, I was excited, almost yearning, for the fact he let me be that close. 

“Thank you for not starting a fight, I know Ranpo is… hard to deal with,” Odasaku thanked me after dinner. 

‘He’s an absolute idiot,’ I thought, ‘he and his friend are unbearable, and your childhood friend? A fool who thinks he can hide what he feels for you,’ but just like that afternoon, I smiled. 

“He’s somewhat interesting,” I lied and pushed aside the topic quickly. With pleading eyes, I looked at Odasaku, who stood up from the table without looking at me one last time before turning around and doing the dishes. “I was thinking, tomorrow’s my day off and you don’t have class till the evening, do you want to do something?” 

“I don’t know Dazai, I’m a little tired…” 

“It won’t be anything tiring!” I interrupted. “I just thought it’s been a while since I went out on a walk and I don’t know how Kyoto looks at night, a small walk won’t hurt anyone…” 

My words died when Odasaku sighed. It was… weary, as if he didn’t want to deal with me at that moment or I had turned into something stress-inducing overnight. As if I was a kid he was forced to take care of, and when I thought about that, I felt panic quickly rising in my body. 

No. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want Odasaku to see me that way; like a problem, like a mistake, like an obstacle in his life. 

“Forget it.” 

“Sorry, Dazai, I…” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” I stood up from my seat, my eyes looking straight at the table, my hands resting over it, acting as if I didn’t feel the rejection or Odasaku’s guilty look. “Honestly, I’m way too tired! Ah, it was a long day today, wasn’t it? It’s good I can wake up late tomorrow.” 

Though I wouldn’t do it. The insomnia never stopped, and neither did the intrusive thoughts, but I didn’t want to worry him, so I didn’t say anything. From that day on, I started to act a bit more. Oda didn’t want to see me bad, so I would never be bad. I would stop being who I was, I would stop looking at people with coldness and repulsion, I would stop being a problem to him. I could do that, I could act as if everything was fine as long as he stayed on my side. 

But that night I really wanted some air and and a stroll… I really missed walking through the city and simply forgetting everything; who I was, the ache, wishes, and worries. I just wanted to walk with someone next to me, someone I cared about. But that night was spent enclosed by four walls, with a book in my hands, glancing sideways at Odasaku sitting next to me on the sofa with his phone in his hands, texting and smiling at whoever was on the other side of the screen. For the first time, I felt lonely, and I thought about Chuuya. 

What if I called him? What if I told Chuuya where I was? Would he come for me? Would he walk through Kyoto with me till dawn, till we could no longer feel our legs and we rested on one side of the street while he hummed random melodies? But I didn’t call him, I didn’t reply either, and I forgot about him again. 

The remaining six months of the year went by in a flash. The calls stopped coming after the first three months. The novels increased. Oda had to buy a new bookshelf to organize them. Ranpo still seemed like an idiot. I kept my distance with Yosano, like I did with all women. Ango didn’t trust me, and I didn’t trust him either. I continued showing only my good side, smiling and telling jokes, acting as if I slept like a baby at night and I didn’t drown in the pain of bygone times during the afternoon. 

We spent Christmas and New Year's Day together; I saw the sunrise, and I asked for wishes for the upcoming year for the first time. I asked to become, truly, the person I started to masquerade as. Someone Odasaku would love. I asked for him to love me and don’t force me to be someone I would never be. And because both wishes were so contradictory to each other, neither became true. 

The year I turned nineteen was when I finally finished high school. I was set back for a year, I enrolled by myself. No one questioned it, no one wanted to know the reason why someone of my age was alone in Kyoto. Of course, because I was a year older and I was the new kid, everyone thought I was stupid and avoided me. They created rumors about me and why I lived ‘alone’. They said many things, and some of their theories were interesting, actually, but I didn’t waste my time with them. Without putting on effort, I landed in the first place academically of that school. The teachers were amazed at me, and Odasaku was proud of me. That was everything I needed, I thought, and I quickly forgot he began to spend less time at home with me. 

I continued working at the cafe. Odasaku visited me from time to time; sometimes on his own, sometimes with Ango, sometimes with Yosano and Ranpo. I was quick to notice that those two were always together, and soon Kunikida joined them, who at the moment was a first year in law school. Upon seeing me, Kunikida thought I was the most egocentric imbecile in the world, I didn’t waste time thinking about him. And although I didn’t like them, I got used to their presence.

They were Oda’s friends, and I wanted to make him happy. I had to accept them and treat them ‘right’, smile and joke around with them. I slowly got to know them more, and their presence at my workplace was constant, more than Odasaku’s visits were. 

And one day, Odasaku didn’t visit me anymore. He wasn’t home in the mornings when I woke up, he didn’t visit me at the cafe nor did we return together to the apartment. I saw him during the night, but our talks decreased and he began to spend more time in other places. I didn’t want to ask what was going on, where he was going, or where he slept. I knew Oda was busy. He would graduate that year and he didn’t have much time to do something other than study. We spent little time together, but I appreciated every second we got to talk about literature. Sometimes I helped him with his essays and homework, giving my opinion when it was requested or helping him with some mistakes that he overlooked. 

And I was happy with those brief moments. I was really, truly happy. It didn’t matter if his absence increased, if we barely talked, if he didn’t notice my feelings or didn’t ponder on the meaning behind everything I did to make him look at me and understand I was crazy for him. 

Then, when the time to think what I would do to make Odasaku notice me again arrived, I went for the thing I knew he loved more than anything. 

I didn’t want to go to university, I didn’t care about it, but when I got my results of the entrance exam and my acceptance letter to Kyodai, I could only think about how much I missed the evenings spent in the library when we were still in Yokohama. When everything seemed so much simpler and dark, when I still idealized Odasaku and the attention I desperately wanted to feel again. 

“Oda told me you’re going for literature.” That was the first thing Ranpo told me when he entered the cafe on the last day I would be there. He didn’t even say hi, he never did, he went straight to the counter to annoy me. “Are you sure you want to study that?” 

My frown deepened at his straight-to-the-point question. Hesitant, holding the decisions I was making with shaky hands, I answered without giving a yes or no, glancing sideways at the store bag he was carrying.

“What’s to you if I’m sure or not?” I asked. 

Ranpo sighed, it was one of those sighs that express how tired he was of the people’s stupidity. Sometime later, when I spent more time with him, I would too copy that expression. 

“Because you’re smart, Dazai, more than other people I’ve met, though not as much as me,” he clarified, and I didn’t expect anything more than his smug smile; it was almost comforting to see. “You could go with any other major and you’ll do good, so why literature? Only for Oda?” 

“Who says I’m doing it for him?” I said, trying to hide what he already knew. 

He always knew, since the first moment and without having to see much. Ranpo knew what I felt for Odasaku, I was sure Yosano knew too, but they never forced me to confirm it, so I didn’t and I let them think what they wanted. And that day, when Ranpo stated I was choosing literature only for Oda, he wasn’t wrong. 

Odasaku loved literature, and I loved him, so the logical way to have him close was to study literature. 

“Maybe I am doing it for him,” I said, and my sincerity on that day sealed the friendship that would flourish afterwards. “Believe me, studying literature for Odasaku is the best option I ever had. If I was still in Yokohama, my parents would force me to study something boring like law or business. Anyways, are you going to order or did you come only to see my stunning face?” 

Ranpo smiled at my stupid joke, but unlike every time before, he didn’t reply. Instead, he took the bag he was carrying and put it over the counter, sliding it over towards me. With a tilt of his head, he told me to take it and open it. Weirded out, I did as he told and looked inside: it was a long trench coat like the ones I liked, and I remembered babbling various times in front of him and Yosano that I wanted to buy one just like the one inside the bag.

“Congrats on getting into Kyodai,” he said. Surprised, not expecting that gesture from him, I lifted my head and looked at him; he was smiling at me with pride, as if he was truly happy with that insignificant achievement of mine. “Yosano couldn’t come, but this is from the both of us. Oh, and Kunikida said he hopes getting into Kyodai makes you less stupid, but that he’s happy for you.”

I didn’t know how to reply, but Ranpo didn’t force me to do it. Before I could say anything, he changed the topic; he chattered about his classes and he ordered a drink. He stayed at the establishment for almost an hour. Then, Yosano arrived dragging Kunikida behind her. The three of them kept me company till the end of my shift. They asked if I wanted to go eat dinner with them or do something else because we had to ‘celebrate’ that I was accepted into Kyodai. Maybe I should’ve accepted that invitation. Maybe I should’ve accepted that day that Odasaku would never look at me the way I wanted, and I should’ve settled with that friendship I forced him to create with me. 

But I didn’t. I didn’t accept it. 

After finishing my shift and bidding them goodbye, I wrapped myself in the trench coat they gifted me. I still have it with me, it’s one of the few things I kept from two years ago. At any rate, that day I returned home alone, sending messages to Odasaku that went unanswered. In a moment of naivety, I thought that maybe Oda was waiting for me with a surprise in the apartment. I didn’t need gifts or words from him just because I was accepted into a university, but I wanted to see him. I craved that explicit display of affection, whether through objects, words, or only a look and a smile brimming with pride. Yeah. That would’ve been enough. 

But when I opened the door, I stepped into an empty apartment. Odasaku didn’t return until the following day, and when he did, we didn’t talk about my acceptance letter to Kyodai, nor about his absence. We simply carried on as usual, chatting about novels or about what happened throughout the day, aware that something had changed and nothing would ever be quite like it once was. 

Odasaku graduated with spring around the corner. I moved into a university dorm and began attending Kyodai. I thought I’d be alone, but Kunikida was only in his second year, Yosano went for a master's degree and so did Ranpo; though he was almost done with it, and he was thinking of doing a second one that would keep him in university for some more time. I had them around me since the first day, and since they knew the campus better than I did, they took it upon themselves to give a tour of every faculty, pointing out the buildings and classrooms where I could find them most days.

I never needed to search for them though, because they came looking for me on their own. And that feeling was nice. When I was thinking about Oda, about the few and scattered talks or the silence that had taken shape between us after his graduation and my moving, they found me. They distracted me, and I could forget about him for a moment.

But I still wanted to see him. I wanted him by my side like before. I yearned for his affection and attention. And although distance existed between us, although thousands of people surrounded me, I only wanted him. Like a naive child, I wanted his love more than anything and I still held the illusion that one day it would happen. 

I would do anything for him. I would be the kind of person he could love, even if I stopped being myself. Did he want me to get along with his friends? I did, I became one in the friend group. Did he want me to think about my future? I did, I enrolled in Kyodai and I acquired a liking for the literature he loved. Did he want me to act like everything was fine, that the distance didn’t hurt me and that I didn’t suffer from insomnia? I did, I feigned to be okay, and I smiled at him each time we bumped into each other.

But, just as I was lying and hiding things, he was doing the same. 

I clearly remember the day everything began going downhill. It was at the end of the week, I was still in my first semester at Kyodai and, despite everything, I got used to it fairly well. The classes weren’t hard for me, nor were the countless essays and reviews I had to write. The insomnia helped me finish all the novels I had to read on time, and although I still hated poetry, I found a bit of solace in it. Reading it made me feel nostalgic, made me think about a certain boy I left behind some time ago. 

I wondered if he was still in Yokohama, if he still lived with his parents, or if he’d found some other place. I wondered if he was studying literature in Yokokoku or in any other university, maybe Todai. 

Did he still write poetry? Would I ever read something written by him again? Would I see him again? That red and blue, like Oda, but so different to Oda. More shiny, more wild, more relentless, truly comfortable…

“Oda hasn’t told Dazai?” I overheard Yosano asking. 

Like everything bad in my life, hearing that brief talk was simply an accident. I arrived earlier than expected at the place where we always ate lunch. It was only them, sitting next to the other like always, their backs turned to the entrance of the establishment, not hearing my steps approaching them. 

“He’s waiting for the ‘right moment’ to tell him,” Ranpo replied, sounding mad like never before. “He’s an idiot.” 

“He’s not an idiot, and what hasn’t he told me?” I inquired, approaching them with a calm mask over my face, as if I wasn't feeling the panic trapped in my throat. “Something happened to him?”

The surprise in their faces was not an expression I was used to. They didn't expect me so early, nor did they think I would hear them talk. I knew they used to talk between them with no one else involved, that due to living together and being friends since their first year at Kyodai they talked about other people as anyone else would, but they never thought they'd be discovered.

And perhaps the normal reaction would've been to be mad that they were talking about us, but I could only taste panic and the realization that there was much I didn't know. Of that which I preferred to ignore.

“What hasn't he told me…?” I repeated, and I wasn't sure whether my voice carried anger or desperation. “What?”

I remember Ranpo and Yosano looked at each other, debating whether they should tell me or not. They didn't do it, they didn't have the chance, and even if they did, perhaps I wouldn't have believed anything they said. The only word I cared about was Odasaku's. The only one I believed even all the lies and omissions, was him. That's why, when they didn't tell me anything and he called, for the first time in so long, I ran straight to the apartment I left months ago.

I knew things between us had changed faster than I ever wanted. I knew that, although he helped me back in Yokohama, it wasn't the same in Kyoto. I knew he didn't want me there with him, that he would never look at me the way I wanted, that my desires were unrequited and that I was exchangeable. It didn't matter what I did, how much I changed or lied. He would never look at me.

It was a rollercoaster. I went up slowly, gaslighting myself into believing I would never reach its zenith and, as long as I never got there, I wouldn’t fall. But I continued going up since that night at Yokohama, and I never stopped even if I thought I did. So then, that day, Odasaku called. He asked to see me, to talk. I didn't question him, I didn't dive into what he wanted to say. I simply ran, keeping the naive hope of feelings I would never receive forward, and pushing back that which everyone but me knew.

That day, I finally fell. I met two people, important to different degrees, but that put a before and an after between me and Odasaku.

One of them was Tomie, and the other…

═════════════

“Dazai, are you sure this is the place?” Chuuya asked, holding his phone with the map app open.

A faint dot on the screen indicated their current location. Next to him, Dazai nodded as he checked the house number, but despite being the same one he'd memorized, Chuuya remained skeptical.

“Yep, why are you doubting me?” 

“Because you've never been here before, asshole,” he retorted, his frown disappearing when he noticed the brunette's distant gaze fixed on the house before them.

It was a modest two-story house, old but with a typical structure, surrounded by a wall with plants peeking out from behind. An exterior plaque engraved with the owner's surname was mounted under the doorbell. From inside, he could catch the faint sounds of voices, laughter, and constant chatter. They sounded lively, Chuuya thought, and as he glanced at the man beside him, he noticed the uncertainty in his eyes and the urge to look away and retreat.

At some point, Oda moved from Kyoto to Osaka. Dazai told him that he did it because of work, but he knew there was another reason. Something that he either didn't want to talk about because of privacy or hadn't come to terms with yet.

But that's why they were there, he thought. He agreed to accompany the brunette to that place not only to uncover the missing piece of his puzzle, but also for Dazai to confront that part of his past — his own actions and those of others — and finally close that book.

“Are you going to knock or not?” he inquired, approaching Dazai until their shoulders brushed and, gently, he nudged him. The brunette didn't budge. Chuuya sighed and stepped back. “Ah, I always have to do everything myself.” 

“Chuuya, wait–”

“I've waited four years, Dazai,” he replied, heading for the door without looking back. “I want to meet your ‘dear’ Odasaku and tell him there was no return ticket when he decided to steal my pet and then leave it all alone to fend for itself.”

The door swung open before he had the chance to knock. The words died on the ginger’s lips as he saw the person on the other side, who wasn't who he was expecting. It wasn't the tall man with reddish hair and blue eyes like his own, who he saw only through pictures and knew only by stories told by others. Instead, who opened the door was a woman.

And then, when she noticed Dazai a few steps behind the ginger, her smile widened. And when Chuuya looked at the motionless brunette behind him, he observed his shocked expression and the melancholic gleam that clouded his eyes. He understood that Dazai wanted to run, but he forced himself to remain steady and return the bittersweet smile; filled with the half-the-story the ginger was missing.

Dazai had told him that on that last day, before everything went to hell, Oda talked to him and he met two new people. One of them was Tomie, who had a direct influence on his downfall; and the one who played an indirect role, the secret they hid from him, was the woman who opened the door and smiled at them with hospitality.

Chapter Text

Keeping a wide and kind smile on her face, the woman turned around and called someone who was inside the home; her voice rising over the calm music and light chatter in the room.

“Sakunosuke! Dazai is here!” she informed, her face housed so much happiness that Chuuya felt himself being temporarily blinded when the woman fixed her eyes on the newcomers again.

Slowly, he trailed back from the door and retraced his steps until he felt his shoulder brush against Dazai's arm. He cast a quick glance at the brunette from the corner of his eye, noticing his now bittersweet expression beneath a mask of fake stability and happiness. His smile didn't reach his eyes, didn't form any wrinkles, there wasn’t a single genuine emotion. The tension in his body, the stillness in his silhouette, and the breaths that were trying to make themselves small, almost non-existent.

Chuuya wanted to take his hand and hold it, bring him back and hold him at the same time. But before his fingers could touch the other's, the man he only met through stories appeared. The blueish gaze landed on the brunette without hesitation, and his breaths finally stabilized. For a moment, they looked at each other in silence, sharing a smile; one genuine and transparent, while the other was bittersweet and sustained merely through willpower. 

“Dazai,” Oda greeted, taking a step away from the woman and the door, stopping, surprised, when he met blue eyes that reflected his. So similar, yet so different; calm against a storm, tranquil waters of a steady river against the waves clashing with rocks in the seashore with no mercy. “Ah, you're…”

“Chuuya,” he replied, taking a step forward, almost wanting to shield the brunette with his own body, though he knew it to be a futile attempt. “I'm Chuuya. Daz– Osamu didn't tell you about me?” 

“He did, he talked plenty about you in the past, but he didn't tell me you were back or that you two saw each other again.”

“He… didn't tell you I was back?” he asked slowly.

Oda nodded, looking between the two, missing the quiet nervousness in one of them and the deep confusion in the other. He talked, returning his attention to the ginger, with the same calm and serene attitude that Chuuya had only heard of in tales. Alright, at least that part was true, but he had a hunch there were some lies somewhere in there.

“When he moved to Kyoto, he told me one of the reasons he left Yokohama was that he was alone, that you broke up with him and left the city,” Oda explained.

When Chuuya glanced at Dazai, the brunette immediately leaned his head slightly to the side and focused his attention on the plants next to the entrance, the nature suddenly becoming oh so interesting. He acted calmly, nonchalant even, and congratulated them for the nice flowers that decorated the house entrance, blatantly ignoring the blue eyes that filled with anger at being, once again, trapped between lies he never agreed to participate in.

“Right…” Chuuya hissed, his attention slowly returning to the other redhead. “Yeah, I had to break up with him because I left the country.”

“Really? Dazai only told me you moved to another city.”

“To Sendai,” was the answer he settled for, moving a tad bit closer to Dazai. “I moved to Sendai. Then I went to France and I returned to Japan last year.”

“Did you stay in contact all this time?” the woman questioned, and she hugged Oda’s arm. “That's amazing! Sakunosuke told me you and Dazai dated some years ago, did you get back together?”

Dazai wanted to reply, but Chuuya let out a loud and fake laugh that took them by surprise.

“It's like you know more about my life than I do!” he joked under his breath, repeatedly hitting the arm of the brunette beside him with each of his laughs until they stopped. However, the smile remained on his face, trembling and threatening, and the hand on the back of Dazai’s bicep pinched his skin. “What else do they know that I don't, Osamu ?”

“Only good things,” he replied, keeping his smile high despite the pain and the silent promise of a slow death. “Anyway, enough about Chuuya! He's shy, he doesn't like attention, and now that I remember, I didn't tell you I was bringing someone else, you don't mind, right? Chuuya is tiny so he doesn't take up too much space!” 

The pain increased, and he had to clench his jaw tightly to stop a wince. Next to him, Chuuya maintained his usual expression of cordiality, but you could notice the slight crease beneath his eyes that promised nothing but suffering for him when they were alone.

“Sorry about that, I thought Osamu told you I would come too, but apparently he's making all the decisions on his own.”

Oda shook his head, smiling at both as if he was seeing a pair of children talking between them in a code no one else understood.

“Don't worry, the more the merrier.”

“Though it would've been better to know Dazai was bringing someone,” the woman commented with worry, looking at the man at his side and then at the other two. “You don't mind sharing a bed?”

“It wouldn't be the first time–”

“He can sleep on the floor,” Chuuya quickly added. He maintained a smile as he returned his attention back to Dazai, the same predatory gaze, his fingers pinching the skin tighter with each passing moment until the brunette had to bite his tongue to not let out a wince. “Right, Osamu ?”

Slowly, the brunette nodded. Surreptitiously, Chuuya let go of him, but he stayed by his side. They looked at each other and shared a tended smile that, for the rest of the world, was nothing more than friendly and some may even say cheesy, but deep down, both were promising vengeance to varying degrees and in different senses.

Oda seemed to notice the real conversation going on and felt the need to intervene, but the woman by his side laughed and invited them to enter the home without seeing the increasing tension.

“You are funny together, I can see why Sakunosuke said you made a good couple.”

“Oh yeah, you have no idea,” Chuuya hissed, and when it was time to enter the house, he made sure to step on Dazai's foot. He smiled when he heard a wince of drowned pain.

The interior of the house was simple yet elegant. The decorations tried to be as traditional as possible, but the electronic devices and the huge library that took up half the wall gave it a more modern look. There were a couple of people reunited in the living room from which the vinyl was playing light blues. Oda, who walked in front of them, informed everyone that Dazai had arrived and introduced them to Chuuya. The ginger gave a short salute, while the brunette kept his smile high and his mouth shut.

It was better if he remained silent, Chuuya thought. Those people didn't seem fond of Dazai's presence, except for a guy with glasses who looked at them with bewilderment. And he knew the brunette was stopping himself from talking with that smug tone and venomous words that would make him cry in ten seconds. He was proud of that self-control, but everything seemed so boring that Chuuya would've preferred to see how Dazai made everyone uncomfortable.

At any rate, before the woman told them which bedroom they'd be using for the weekend — because Dazai promised Oda he would stay for more than one day to catch up with him — the bespectacled man on the couch approached them. Ango, Chuuya guessed. The man wasn’t expecting to see Dazai, let alone him bringing someone with him. However, his greeting was more cordial and less tense than the rest of the people present, although he seemed like a complete idiot to the ginger as he stared at him for a moment, then looked at Oda, and finally walked away with a sigh.

“The festivities are going to start in two hours,” the woman informed them when she took them to a guest bedroom on the second floor, “though our friends from work always get here early, they like to gossip about those that arrive later.”

“You work with Oda…?”

“Kazue,” he replied, looking at Chuuya with a smile. “Oda Kazue. And yes, I'm also a teacher like Sakunosuke.”

Chuuya nodded. Kazue babbled something more about the event that day, though it was supposed to be a ‘surprise’. Out of courtesy, the ginger kept the conversation going, nodding along or adding a word or two. Dazai remained silent until the woman left them in the guest room and them to rest; she would inform them when to come down if they didn’t want to mingle with the rest of the guests. 

“So, I ‘broke your heart and left the city’?” Chuuya said as soon as the door closed, leaning on it with his arms crossed, wearing an incredulous expression. “Really, Dazai? I'm the villain of your story?” 

“I thought no one was entirely good or bad, Chuuya,” he refuted, copying the ginger's stance. “Besides, it was kinda true. You left Yokohama.”

“At the end of the year, not on your damn birthday!” he sighed, feeling tired even if the afternoon had just started. “At least now I have something more to mock you with.”

“Hm?”

“You have a type, Dazai,” he pointed at him with one hand and himself with the other. “ Red hair and blue eyes? Woah, I'll have to be on the lookout when I see someone with my same fucking characteristics in the street.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out if the ginger left his skin bruised after so much pinching, Dazai licked his lips and they curved into a gentle smile. He looked the other man up and down before asking:

“You jealous I liked another redhead with blue eyes, Chuuya?” 

“How highly do you think of yourself?” he inquired, raising a hand in a signal to stop when he saw the brunette was about to answer. “Don't answer that, and no. Someone has to warn them about you.”

“Cruel.”

“With you, to the rest, I'm a damn benevolent god.”

Dazai muttered an ‘idiot’ and continued looking at his damaged skin. The ginger walked away from the door, took the bag they'd packed for that weekend, and left them next to a dresser; he wasn't sure whether to organize his clothes inside the drawers or simply take out what he needed. It would only be two days, he thought, at max three and they would return to Kyoto.

Laughs and soft music could be heard coming from the first floor, reaching them and filling the comfortable silence between them. The room was small, but its size reminded them a bit of Chuuya's old bedroom in Yokohama, so they settled into the space and each other's presence faster than they would’ve liked.

The brunette groaned when he saw the purple marks that Chuuya’s fingers left on his skin, the ginger responded that he deserved it; he couldn’t believe that, in his version of the story, he was the villain when it was Dazai who left him that day. While the brunette kept complaining and checking his skin, Chuuya approached the window, immersed in memories of the room he owned in his adolescence, perhaps seeking a bit of it in the landscape beyond those four walls. But as he looked through the glass, the world that stretched out there was different from what he remembered, and thinking about the missing pieces he still had of the story, he turned his attention back to the man on the bed. 

“So then, Kazue is…?”

“Odasaku’s wife, obviously,” Dazai replied, more calmly than the ginger thought he would. “She's the other person I met that day, though she was his girlfriend at that point.”

Chuuya nodded, not caring if the other had his back turned toward him. Slowly, he moved away from the window and approached the bed. He sat on the edge parallel to the brunette; back to back, each looking in a different direction; Chuuya towards the light coming in from the window, Dazai towards the shadows it created. 

“Oda never told you he was dating someone till that day, right?” Chuuya guessed.

Dazai nodded. He threw himself back over the bed; it was small and his head ended up at the level of the other's thighs, but at that moment, with those memories, he didn't want to look at the red and blue that obsessed him so much. He covered his face with both hands, laughing breathlessly at himself.

“And there I was, thinking I had a chance.” 

“What an idiot,” the ginger muttered, and he leaned his head back, keeping his eyes open and focused on the ceiling. “What happened when you met her?”

“What do you think? I put on my best idiotic smile, I told them how happy I was for both of them, and ran away.”

“Yeah, sure, of course. I want the truth, Dazai.”

“It's the truth,” he emphasized over the noise coming from the first floor or Chuuya's deep breaths. “He looked happy that night, so I… came up with many things. I thought about telling him how I felt right there, I even came up with this whole plan to keep Kazue away from him in five seconds, but Odasaku looked happy and I couldn't hurt him.”

‘So I ended up hurting myself,’ he completed in silence, though he knew Chuuya had reached that same conclusion. The explicit answer that he needed was there, hidden beneath bandages that were hard to ignore.

In the silence of the man seated beside him and the noise of laughter coming from the first floor, he continued. Slowly, he removed his hands from his face and observed the smooth white ceiling, ignoring the reddish hair that seemed so close to his reach and the blue eyes that slowly descended to settle on him.

“I told them I had a date and ran away,” he explained. “I thought about calling Ranpo, even Kunikida, but Yosano called before I could. Odasaku told her what happened as soon as I left his apartment. She told him she would take care of me, that she would lift my mood and she offered me a drink. I didn’t even hesitate.”

He sighed. He closed his eyes once more before the colors beside him diverted his attention and made him forget everything again.

“Though I probably should've, because I met Tomie in the place she took me to.” 

═════════════

That was the first time Odasaku noticed I was acting but even though he knew, he didn't do anything about it — not like I asked him to do something. I smiled at both of them, looking at them sitting next to each other, their hands interlocked as I took a step back and uttered a lie.

I had nowhere to go and no one who awaited my arrival, but I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to continue seeing their fingers connected, their gazes full of adoration reserved solely for each other, or the marks of kisses shared before I arrived. It was enough with the clues before me. It all made sense after seeing them; the absence, the lack of conversations, his phone always laying at an arms reach, the nights he didn't return home, that which he didn't want to tell me before. Was I the last to figure it out? Why? Wasn’t I his closest friend? Did he at least see me as a friend who deserved to know about his relationship before anyone else?

When I descended the last set of staircases of the building and I found myself on the streets again, I allowed myself to breathe. The phone in my pocket trembled as it rang, my hands copied the movement. I took out the device and glanced at it, wishing for a fleeting second for it to be the boy who stopped calling a long time ago. Instead, it was Oda.

When I looked up I saw him peeking out through the window while sending me a worried look. He pointed towards the phone in his ear and I answered, keeping a mask over my face and hiding the need of kneeling down in front of him and begging for it all to be a bad joke.

“I'm happy for you,” I said before he could speak; I controlled my trembling voice and I forced myself to smile at that window on the third floor; narrowing my eyes as if I was looking straight at the sun that melted all my illusions. “Really happy, actually, and I wish I could stay but I'm running late for my date.” 

I hung up before he could say anything, I sent him a smile through the distance, a light goodbye and I hastily ran, as if I was truly late to arrive at a place where nothing good awaited me. And as I ran, I thought that I always did the same. I always ran away, both from the bitter things, the sweet stuff, and the bittersweet instances. I ran away from my house that night, I ran away from Odasaku that evening, and I ran away from the only person who was ever willing to spend an eternity with me.

That was karma doing its thing, wasn't it? It was punishing me for hiding too many things from too many people, for staying quiet and faking everything.

But I tried. I tried to change and become a ‘good’ person who was friendly with everyone, who was always fine, and didn't hate living. I tried. For him. Everything for him, solely for him and for the crumbs of affection I thought I needed more than what others could give me.

I thought I was doing good. I thought I was doing what was right. I thought he liked me, that he could begin to love me, that he only saw me in between the crowd, amidst the thousands and thousands of people… But I was merely a hindrance. A problem, someone who entered his life by force and was allowed to stay out of pity.

Of course he didn't want to tell me anything, I wasn't as important to know he and Kazue had been dating for little over six months.

And it hurt, but I supposed that, like any other pain I experienced before, — my father’s punches, my mother's coldness, the maid’s abuse, Oda’s silence —, I deserved it. I couldn't change, I couldn't be good for them, so I deserve it. Those injuries, the insomnia, my broken heart, the loneliness, everything. I deserved it all.

The evening looked so beautiful. Its reddish and orange hues, with a bit of pink on the edges of the sky, gave the end of the day a sweetness I couldn't bear. I almost wished it would rain, at least that way I could conceal my sadness easily. My phone rang a second time, I once again thought about the ginger I left behind, and I was ready to decline the call if it was Oda, but it wasn't him. It was Yosano.

My relationship with women was yet to be the best at that time, so I considered letting it go unanswered. I would've preferred to talk to Ranpo or Kunikida, and I thought about calling them, but when I saw my phone and recalled the private talk that day, I decided to reply.

“Ranpo and I wanted to tell you,” Yosano said as soon as I replied. “Really, we wanted to, but we–”

“Didn't have the responsibility of telling me, I'm not your friend,” I completed, and without hiding the cold from my voice, I added: “but Odasaku is. It makes sense you would keep his secret.” 

“Hey now, that's not true, you're our friend and I know you're upset–”

“I'm not upset,” I clarified, not knowing if I was lying or being sincere for the first time. And unable to control it, a cheerful tone, bordering on maniac, took hold of my voice. “I'm not, why would I be? He only has a girlfriend! So what? Sure, he didn't tell me when he met her, or where, or that he liked her, or that he asked her out six months ago, so what? It's not like I'm something else than the annoying kid he decided to help months ago! It's not like I mean something to him, or to you, or to anyone, really…”

I failed to notice I was hyperventilating until that moment. My fingers clenched tight around the phone, almost to the point of breaking it. I was shaking from head to toe, luckily, I had stopped walking. I breathed forcefully, unable to fill my lungs and it was pitiful. I had failed, once again. I lost control of the calmness I had forced myself to have, fleetingly revealing my true and weak self, and Yosano heard it all; each piece of control slipping through my fingers until it left me trapped in a loop of anger and ache.

The call was still on course, but neither of us talked. I heard her breathing on the other end, searching for words that couldn't offer me solace. I began to walk without a path, and I decided I'd had enough. I just wanted to return to my dorm and act like everything was nothing but a bad dream, that I would wake up and Odasaku would be there as always; willing to spend time with me, telling me about novels and hiding the important details of his life. And I, like an idiot, would accept it. I would accept the ignorance, because it was much sweeter than what I now knew. 

So I walked, wishing it was night and everything was a dream. Wishing to be sixteen once again, to be in Yokohama with a boy who wrote me poems, with the illusion of spending my whole life with him before everything went to hell. And I was going to hang up so I could act as if I was somewhere else, but before I could do it, Yosano spoke again.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Near Sanjo Keihan station.”

“Wait for me, I'll go look for you.”

“No. I'm going home, Yosano.”

“You stay right there!” she ordered, not giving me a chance to retort. I heard her movements through the phone; she was running towards me. “I'll be there in ten, Dazai, wait for me there! If you go, I swear I'll go search for you in your dorm and you do not want that!” 

Although months later the attention she and Ranpo gave me would increase exponentially, and Yosano would be the one cleaning my wounds, we weren't close yet at that point. I always escaped and preferred to talk with anyone before her, so I'm not sure why I stayed there.

I don't regret becoming closer to Yosano, quite the contrary, actually. But perhaps, if I’d known what I know now, I wouldn't have waited for her at the station.

Ten minutes later, Yosano arrived. I was still thinking I should've left, and I still don't know why agreed to wait for her on one side of the station with my phone in hand, receiving calls I declined if they came from Oda. Maybe I only wanted someone to listen to me, no matter who it was. However, when we moved to a calm place — to a small bar with slow music and a relaxed atmosphere —, I couldn't say a thing. 

My mouth shut itself, letting me feel the uncomfortableness in my skin without a coping mechanism to liberate the feeling other than the constant sips I gave to the drink Yosano bought for me. Despite my cold and distant behavior, she was patient. She filled the void with a rant about her day, keeping me away from the ghost of what no one told me for six months.

I should've been mad at her and Ranpo. I should've used that opportunity to lash out and complain that, although they called me a ‘friend’, that wasn't reason enough to tell me anything, and to throw venomous words until it caused visible damage. But I couldn't. The control that slipped through my hands over the call returned, and an emptiness took hold of my emotions. I wasn't mad, nor was I sad, I just… felt the injury, but I didn't care. I let it bleed in silence and continued with my gaze set on the drink, hearing the imaginary drop of blood falling from the hole in my chest.

The calm music around me, the talks going on at other tables, the smell of alcohol, the dim lights, the drunk colors of the establishment, Yosano's worried gaze, her hand on my shoulder, the contact I avoided, her attempt to make me talk, nothing, nothing matter or could close the wound. I wanted to be alone but wanted company at the same time. I wanted to talk, but not with Yosano. I wanted some relief, but not through talk and the kind company that was being offered to me. 

The liquor was soft, the ambiance relaxing, Yosano's sympathy felt as genuine as it felt forced. It stressed me out. I didn't want a hug, I didn't want to stop the bleeding, I wanted the liquid to continue falling.

And then I met her.

I have no idea what was Tomie doing at that place. It wasn't the kind of place she liked, but I think she was on a date with someone and left them to approach me. At that moment, I remember Yosano had left momentarily to go to the bathroom, and when she disappeared, Tomie sat down in the now empty seat; giving me an innocent smile that fooled anyone but me.

The first thing I thought when I saw her was that she looked too much like my mother. Not in appearance, since I was a carbon copy of her, but in behavior instead. Soft and elegant movements, a cordial and sickening sweet smile; fake, practiced, akin to a porcelain doll that both attracted and sent everyone away.

“That seat is taken,” I told her without looking at her twice. My distant attitude didn't deter her. 

“It was, not anymore,” leaning her elbows on the table, her hands intertwined with her chin resting on them. She tilted her head, and her obsidian hair slid over one of her shoulders. I thought it was too dark; I preferred red. “Your date didn’t seem to be going well.”

I looked up once again, but I didn't stop over her form. Instead, I searched for the table from which she came; there was a lonely man who glared at me from the distance, pissed and possibly thinking about starting a fight, but I think that when he saw the emptiness in my eyes he let go of the idea and did nothing but remain silent, frustrated at not being able to fuck the girl in front of me that night. 

“How nice, you weren't stood up,” I commented without energy. “I don't think that guy‘s going to call you again.”

The words that were meant to offend her and drive her away were received with putrid humor. I guess that was the first sign that I should keep away from her, but instead of noticing the signs of danger, I only saw myself in her dark eyes, so similar to my empty ones.

“That guy is so boring, I thought it’d be funnier with all the stuff he told me online, but look at him, he's so pissed he's trembling and yet, he doesn't dare to do shit.” With no mercy, Tomie waved at him from the distance before returning her attention to me; her eyes shined like those of a little girl receiving a new toy she would soon destroy. “But I think I found something more interesting.”

“‘Something,’ huh… We're just on our first date and you're already objectifying me.” 

“Well, you don't look so ‘alive’ right now, why give humanity to a doll created just to be a doll?” she argued, and with those delicate movements so akin to a snake, she offered me her hand. “Yamazaki Tomie.”

Thinking once again about how much she reminded me of my mother, I shook her hand.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“So then, Dazai, you look like someone broke your heart,” she pitied, and I almost fell for her empathic act. “I get it, it hurts, doesn’t it? And now you look for some relief, but you won’t find it here.” 

I didn’t question how she’d noticed my broken heart or my pain. I didn’t ponder on how easy it was for her to read me, I was merely amazed at the fact. Who didn’t want to be understood without the need to talk? Everyone wanted that, and that was the reason I approached Odasaku in the first place, and because of that easiness of Tomie to know how I felt was the reason I followed her game.

“What other ways are there to mend a heart, then?” 

“Oh, y’know, some music, a couple of drinks, strangers to take home…” she replied, before glancing with contempt and annoyance at everything around us. “A bland place like this does nothing but let you think, and that’s not what you want right now, is it?” 

“Sounds like you know the perfect place.” 

“Oh, of course I do,” she said, leaning towards me. “And I know it’s going to help you forget. Aren’t I nice?” 

I didn’t reply, I only gave her a hypocritical smile she mirrored. 

I left that place before Yosano returned to the table. My phone continued ringing as I followed Tomie amidst the darkness of the night. Oda, Ranpo, and Yosano’s name appeared multiple times on the screen, illuminating the path I was walking on without a care in the world. I turned off the device for the rest of the night, and I let Tomie hold me by the arm as we went down a set of staircases towards a hidden local filled with loud music. 

The neon lights, the bustle around me, the bohemia that enveloped the establishment didn’t affect me or make me care; it didn’t fill the void, nor provide relief from the discomfort. But I could stop pondering on the broken heart with all the noise wrapping me, and I could focus instead on the headache the brightness of the place and the loudspeakers caused. 

Tomie remained next to me at all times, holding my arm or my hand as if we’d known each other all our lives. We walked around the place a couple of times; she smiled and waved at all types of people, attaching herself to me, letting know all predatory eyes who gawked at me from head to toe that, for that night, I was hers and she wouldn’t share. That possessiveness didn’t worry me, I focused on the annoying neon lights and how my head hurt. 

When she noticed my discomfort and silence, Tomie just gave me drink after drink of whatever it was that place offered. I drank what she gave me, never questioning it and replying only with monosyllables to the one-sided conversation we were having. 

A few minutes was all it took for me to notice how similar we were; we used the same masks in front of people, acting as if everything was fine, but our acts had different purposes, and that’s what differences us the most. I built a lie to win over the affection and attention of certain people, she did it to attract them to her game of self-destruction. 

Since the minute I met her, I realized she wanted to pull me into that chaos and see how much I could endure. But that night, as I accepted the alcohol or pills, I made sure she knew I was aware of what she was doing and I simply accepted because she was right. It was the lowest kind of distraction, but it worked. At least, for a moment, between the alcohol and the ecstasy Tomie gave me with her mouth over mine, I stopped thinking about Oda. 

I genuinely don’t know how much I drank that night or the kind of drugs I accepted. I didn’t want to think; so I didn’t. I remember that, at some point throughout the early morning, Tomie offered me to go to her apartment and I thought about refusing. For a brief moment, I thought about calling Odasaku and asking him to come pick me up, that I needed him, that I wanted him to look after me again and love me, even if it was a lie. I thought about calling him and promising him that I would do anything to not disappoint him. 

But I’d already disappointed him, I thought in between the brief lucid moments. I was already in that place, surrounded by people Oda would never approve, and so I thought: ‘If I’m going to ruin everything, might as well take it to the end. At any rate, no matter what I did, I was nothing but a nuisance for him and his life, I didn’t matter.’ So I left the establishment alongside Tomie that night. 

My consciousness came and went constantly. Never fully lucid. Only a few fragments were committed to memory. One second, we were walking towards her apartment, in the middle of the night and laughing at things I would never remember. The next, I was in her bed, she was taking off my clothes and leaving kisses all over my neck and chest. 

“This is the best way to relieve pain,” she whispered at some point I can’t quite pinpoint. “Don’t you think so?” 

No, I didn’t, but I didn’t say anything. I let her do whatever she wanted, even giving me another capsule of ecstasy in my mouth. As she went up and down over my lap, worried solely by her own pleasure, I let my mind drift and looked at the bedroom. On a table away from the bed laid my turned-off phone. I wondered if Odasaku was worried, if he was calling me constantly, and with that thought, my conscience vanished.

I hated the lack of memories the following morning, but I accepted it. I woke up first, dizzy and with malaise. At least my head hurt more than my chest did, and silently, I got out of bed, picking up my clothes and willing to leave as soon as possible. I had no idea in what sector of Kyoto I was, but it didn’t matter. Maybe walking would do me some good, and before I could sneak out of that place, Tomie woke up, yet she didn’t stop me. 

“I turned on your phone after you fell asleep and wrote my number in there,” she said. I glanced at her sideways, the sheets had fallen from her chest, but she didn’t bother to cover herself and I didn’t look away. Seeing her naked caused me absolutely nothing. “And don’t worry, I won’t call you like those guys who were trying to contact you nonstop yesterday. I’ll wait for you to come.” 

“I won’t.” 

Tomie only smiled at me, she laid back again and covered herself with the sheets, curling in her own body like a snake. 

“You will, Dazai. I’m sure you will.” 

And she was right. 

That morning, when I got to my dorm, Yosano and Ranpo were outside the door. Both looked as worried as they were furious, though I didn’t get why. Yosano didn’t hesitate to call Ranpo as soon as I left her alone the prior night, and both went looking for me at my college dorm. When they arrived and my roommate told them he hadn’t seen me all day, they called Oda, and he tried to call me. But his attempt lasted only a call, and then he figured I may want time alone and he didn’t insist. Hearing that hurt, the lack of concern and interest for my safety on his part disappointed me, but the nausea and headache were much stronger than my wounded heart.

Unlike Odasaku, Yosano and Ranpo threw an all-nighter, calling me and dialing my turned-off phone. They asked my roommate to tell them if I returned to my dorm at some point, but when the clock ticked nine a.m. and they had yet to receive a call, they went back to the dorms, and just five minutes later, I arrived. 

“Where the hell were you?!” Yosano inquired as soon as she saw me. If it wasn’t for Ranpo, she would’ve shaken me in an attempt to get a response. “We called you the whole night!” 

Ah, so loud. 

“My battery died,” I lied, too tired to tell them the truth — that was sure to cause only more problems. “Now you know I’m alive, let me get into my room.” 

“Still, you could’ve told me something!” 

“Yosano, what part of ‘my battery died’ you don’t get?” 

“Sure, if that’s it then let me see your phone,” Ranpo demanded and he reached out his hand. When he noticed I remained still, he insisted. I’d never seen him angry before, and his authoritative voice filled the hallway. “Let me see your phone, Dazai!” 

“Who are you? My dad?” I mocked. “I have no reason to show you anything. I’m not five.” 

“Are you sure? Because you seem like it. You look like a kid doing something stupid for attention.” 

Ranpo always knew what to say and where to aim to elicit the reaction he wanted, and that morning, he wanted to make me angry. He wanted to know everything I did and why I did it, trusting that by expressing myself through any feeling, I would feel a little better. But maybe if he had tried the same thing yesterday, before meeting Tomie, right after leaving Odasaku's apartment, he would have achieved something. That morning, desolation left no room for anger.

“You talk too much and I don’t even know why you’re here,” I responded, and I passed by them towards my dorm door. “What’s to you what I did last night?” 

“We’re your friends,” Yosano insisted. 

I laughed. A humorless chuckle. 

“You knew what I felt for Odasaku and you chose not to tell me anything,” I muttered, my hand motionless around the knob. “It would’ve been a nice warning, but I don’t even deserve that, do I?” 

Neither of them replied. I entered my dorm without looking behind, and I slammed the door in their faces. 

I didn't see Yosano or Ranpo again for a long time after that. Consequently, I didn't talk to Kunikida either, although we lived in the same building and his dorm room was a floor above mine. We bumped into each other from time to time, and at first, he tried to say hi, but I avoided him and he eventually resigned himself.

But although I stopped seeing them, I could not do the same with Odasaku. Even if he only called once that night, I called him and acted as if everything was fine. He didn't want to know more, and I didn't reveal anything of what happened that night, and everything was fine. Soon enough, Kazue was mentioned in one of our talks. He met her in the school he was working at — she was an English teacher. Oda always said how much he loved everything about her and could spend an entire afternoon listing each aspect; putting aside all novels, ignoring the pain I kept hidden under a fragile mask of an ambiguous smile and words of ‘I’m happy for you’.

I learned many things about her without having to see her, and apparently, she too learned things about me. And I thought it was fine like that. As long as I didn't see her next to Oda, as long as I didn't have to see them share kisses, their hands tangled, or how it seemed like no one else existed in his world but Kazue, then I thought I'd be fine.

Then, he wanted me to meet her more, and I couldn't refuse. And I hated her. I hated her because she was perfect: happy, kind, and sweet — the type of person Oda would fall in love with immediately. And he did. It was only a matter of seeing him for a moment to understand that the love I yearned for from him would be something I would never obtain, and if I ever did, it would never hold a candle to the strong feelings he had for her.

That's why, the afternoon I met Kazue a second time, I couldn't bear to have what I would never obtain in front of me, so I excused myself and I called Tomie.

“I knew you would call,” she said as soon as she picked up. Even if I only saw her one night, I could perfectly picture her smug smile. “Are you seeking relief, Dazai?” 

“Why else would I call you?” I coldly replied. I moved the phone away when she laughed and muttered that she loved my honesty.

At least she liked me for who I really was, and that notion pushed me to seek her out more, even if I knew she only wanted to see how much I could endure.

But despite the mistakes I made, I tried to be kind to those around me. I warded off from Ranpo and Yosano so I wouldn't give them problems. I stopped glancing at Kunikida each time with bumped into each other in the building so as to not make him uncomfortable. I stopped faking not to be empty and I acted as if my heart didn't hurt each time I agreed to see Oda and Kazue.

I forced myself to accept her place next to the person I loved and feel happy for them. I forced myself to meet her and get along with her; making sure she never noticed how my mood fell and the coldness I directed at her. I forced myself to be ‘good’, to not be a nuisance in Odasaku’s life nor a disappointment. I settled for only one of his glances, solely a smile, or a simple shake of hands. And I thought I could live like that, ignoring the pain and the skin that itched when I was uncomfortable, and the need for relief that I couldn't explain.

But each time I realized Kazue was the person I would never be — perfect for Odasaku —, I called Tomie and I searched for the relief she easily gave me. I didn't care where or how much it cost. I only wanted relief, because the only person I thought I needed more than anyone didn't need me nor loved me, and that silent rejection hurt more than the disappointment and the deject from my parents.

No one taught me how to lose. Perhaps I never had what I wanted when I was a child, but not having it meant I couldn't lose it. But I had that attention, those kind blue eyes looking at me, his tender voice and an affection that seemed unshakeable, I didn't want to lose it. And now that I lost it, that I realized I never really had it in the first place and it was only compassion, I didn't know what to do. So I called Tomie and let her envelop me in all the chaos she called ‘relief’. 

Little by little, I stopped accepting Oda's calls and his invitations. The more I got closer to Tomie and all the people who had no purpose in life, the more I stopped seeing him. I thought that was for the best. I was merely a disappointment and the physical representation of everything Oda despised. The farther I was, the better it would be for him.

Besides, he already had Kazue and she made him truly happy. That was all he needed. Not him, nor Ranpo, Yosano, or Kunikida needed me. I wasn't good for any of them, not even to that boy who wrote me many poems, what else could I give them besides the chance of being free from me?

So I distanced myself, waiting for them to forget about me. I continued going out with Tomie, passing from one illegal bar to another. Meeting the deplorable people she knew, tasting the illicit drinks she drank, and being part of a decadent game where she was always the winner.

Sometimes I got drowned in nostalgia, and when we strolled at night towards her apartment or any other place, I recalled the walks I used to do with Chuuya. But I never felt as empty the following morning when I was with Chuuya. Next to him, I never felt as lost as when I was with Tomie, and then I realized there was no comparison between her and my ex-boyfriend, so I stopped thinking about him once again, hoping not to contaminate the good memories I had with the bad decisions I was taking.

The closeness between Tomie and I grew thanks to the similarities we shared. Our way of seeing the world, the way we got along with others, our beliefs, age, and so many other details made us close. When I learned both of us went to Kyodai, the codependency between us was reinforced, and I heard many students assume we were a couple. She, the most desired girl in her faculty; everyone knew her, loved her, and was desired by many; and I, the mysterious guy who talked with almost no one, but that everyone observed from the distance because I looked handsome and unobtainable.

We were never something, but my relationship with Tomie was the closest I had to romance at the time. To almost all the world, we were the perfect couple; taken straight out of the most cheesy novel made in history. Visibly hot for many, smart, intelligent, of kind voice with poisonous words. Eyes that appeared kind, but that, in my case, expressed nothing, and in Tomie's case, only wanted to play with the world around her. But no one noticed my emptiness, nor the chaos she meant, so we were perfect together. Even Odasaku said that when they told him about my ‘relationship’. And they couldn't have been more wrong.

Tomie didn't love me, nor did I love her, but we were together for convenience because we were the same, and no one but each other could understand the decadence we carried on our chests. The more chaos enveloped us, the less time we had to ponder on what hurt us.

‘The more noise there was, the less I thought about Odasaku,’ I concluded one of those nights spent in some establishment I can't recall, dancing between the people I would never cared enough to learn their names, with Tomie attached to my body, kissing me and pushing a pill into my mouth. What was it this time? I didn't care, although for a moment I thought that maybe I shouldn't have mixed it with alcohol, but it was already halfway through my throat and I stopped worrying. The following morning, I was in a bed that wasn't mine, naked next to someone who wasn't Tomie.

Nights like that happened too many times that I can't remember them. Sometimes I woke up next to Tomie, sometimes next to someone I didn't even know by name. I always left before the other person realized it, no matter the hour; if it was morning, if it was still dark outside, or if the effects of whatever I drank at some point still lingered in my body. Then, I returned to my dorm, wearing an energetic and kind smile if my roommate was awake, coming up with an innocent story of where I was and what I did. 

My lies always fooled everyone, but sometimes, be it on purpose or not, as I built a story worth being in a sweet and romantic novel, I bumped into Ranpo, Kunikida, or Yosano, and they knew I was lying. They knew the type of person Tomie was and the kind of situations she exposed me to. But it wasn't something they should be worried about. My life was none of their business, and I wasn't their friend. It didn't matter if they tried to approach me, we were nothing, and the only person who once united us was Oda, but he was no longer around us.

And Oda… Odasaku believed my stories. The rare times I replied, he believed the idyllic lie of my ‘relationship’ with Tomie, and though he never sounded a hundred percent sure about what I was telling him, he believed me. I didn't want him to, I wanted him to realize, to ask me if I was genuinely fine. But he didn't do it and I didn't say anything. I maintained my cheery voice, the broken smile he couldn't see through the phone, and I asked him how Kazue was doing.

The night everything broke, he told me he was thinking about asking Kazue to marry him.

I told him it was an amazing idea, and I joked about wanting to be the wingman. Then, when he hung up, I called Tomie. She answered, she didn't sound good. The venom in her voice was missing, and she talked like I did around her; devoid of emotions, empty and lost. To my surprise, she said she wasn't in the mood to drink or do something else, but that if I wanted to see her, I could go to her apartment.

That was the only time I saw her for what she truly was. I saw a vulnerable woman, so sad and broken like me. But even though I could see myself in her as she did in me, neither of us felt pity for the other.

When I got to her apartment and she opened the door, I thought I saw someone else. She was dressed in her pajamas, as if she hadn't left her bed the whole day. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked more paled without the makeup I was used to. There were no smug smiles, no venomous words or treacherous looks. Only emptiness. Only the demonstration of a suffering I could understand, but that I didn't know how, nor wanted, to alleviate.

“You look pathetic,” I said when I saw her. “Wasn't aware you could cry.”

“I'm human, Dazai,” she replied. If my words hurt her or not, she never showed it. She tried to give me that venomous smile of always, but all she could form was a miserable attempt at one. “So? What do you want from me? I'm not in the mood to go anywhere, but you already know all those places. You can go on your own.”

“It’s not funny if you're not there. The rest get drunk too fast.”

I managed to get a smile out of her and she let me enter. Usually, her place was tidy and perfect — that was not the case that day. The place was a mess, the dirty dishes and glasses formed a pile in the kitchen, the pillows laid on the floor, the magazines and books scattered over the coffee table felt more natural than the perfection and order I found every morning I woke up there. It felt more like… the real person Tomie was.

She always tried to be what was expected of a woman; tidy, with a sweet smile and gentle voice, delicate and friendly. Long hair, painted nails, make-up, dresses, high heels, everything, everything that showcased ‘feminity’ was something she wore. But she hated it. She hated all that and the uncomfortableness that oftentimes came with wearing all those customs, but she thought that, if she didn't dress up and acted like a doll, then no one would love her. Just like me, she forced herself since her childhood to change and adapt to look like the description of the woman society expected out of her just to be loved.

I wanted to be ‘good’, she wanted to be ‘perfect’, and both of us wanted to be loved. And although she came out a winner where I failed, although she managed to play the part expected out of her, it did nothing but increase the hatred she felt at herself, and the way she expressed her self-loathe was playing with every person that fell for the perfect image of a woman and pulling them towards the chaos where, whether she liked it or not, she always came out the winner.

Everyone broke, but not her. And not being able to break frustrated her. Not managing a complete self-destruction annoyed her and made her have days like the one she had when I visited her; not wanting to get up or act like the perfect woman who hid how empty and mad she was at the world.

“So? What do you want from me?” she asked me that afternoon after letting me in and sitting on the couch, picking up a pillow from the floor. “Something happened with Oda? You always call when something’s up with your ‘dear Odasaku’.”

We’d spent so much time together that she knew almost everything about me, especially everything I felt for Oda. Nodding to her question, I let myself fall next to her like a lifeless doll.

“They're getting married.”

“Really? Send my congratulations and I hope to be your date for the wedding.” 

I declined, feeling mad at the lack of sarcasm and lies in Tomie's voice. I rathered her jokes, rathered the venom in her voice than her real disinterest.

“Don't you get it? He wants to get married. He decided Kazue is the only person worth loving,” I muttered. “And I never got to tell him how I felt…”

“If you want my opinion, I bet Oda knows how you feel about him,” Tomie said, with the same lack of emotion that clashed against my feelings of surprise and incredulity, “but he chose to ignore you.”

“No, no, Odasaku wouldn't do that, he's not–”

“He would,” she reaffirmed. “He would and I quote ‘he’s good, kind, the best man that exists, and he would hurt nothing and no one’, and since he's too compassionate, he'd choose to ignore you instead of outright rejecting you.”

I wanted to retort. I wanted to defend Odasaku and make it clear that he wasn't like that, that he would never do something so… so cruel.

No, no, no. He wouldn't dare do something like that. If he'd noticed it, he would've rejected me so as to not hurt me. Yep, he would've done that. Why would he hide with compassion an act that cruel? Why would he ignore my feelings for almost three years? No, that couldn't be it. I'm the one who’s too good at acting, I never gave him any clear signals of what I wanted, did I? Because if I had done that, if he’d noticed it, he would've told me something, he would've rejected me so he wouldn't hurt me.

He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't have ignored my feelings. He wouldn't be quiet nor hide what he knew. He wouldn't have hide anything… but he did. So what if he did? It was just once. Yep, only once. He only didn't tell me he was going out with Kazue, but at least he now told me he wanted to get married, didn't he? He no longer had to hide anything to not hurt me, because he thought I was doing fine, that I was dating Tomie, and he didn't know about my feelings, no, no…

“No, Odasaku doesn't know what I feel. You're saying nonsense, Tomie. If he’d known, he would've said something,” I insisted, and before she could answer, I added almost with desperation: “But let's not talk about me! Do you feel bad? Do you want some relief? Ah, yep, some distraction wouldn't be so bad, would it?” 

I got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. Tomie looked at me with coldness from the distance, momentarily confused by my attitude, but she understood what I was trying to do as soon as I returned, carrying two bottles of sake she had in the kitchen.

“I told you I'm not in the mood for anything.” She tried to stand up and leave, but I took her by her wrist and forced her to sit down again. “What are you doing? I don't wanna drink.”

“Come on, let me cheer you up.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her close to my body. I brought my lips to her ear, brushing against her skin and whispering in the same enchanting manner she did with those she wanted to attract. “You're feeling bad, right? It hurts, I get it, but you don't have to be perfect with me, Tomie, let's just do what we always do…”

We were both weak. Oh so weak and anxious for a bit of distraction from the pain we didn't know how to manage.

Convincing Tomie didn't take me long. I knew where she stored almost everything, so the bottles of sake and other liquids we shouldn't mix did nothing but increase the mess on the table. At some point, I took her phone and connected it to the speakers in front of us, not particularly caring for the music that began playing; I just wanted some background sound. Anything would do, anything that could overshadow what I was feeling.

We didn't talk, we didn't look at each other, but we stayed together. Sitting on the couch, leaning against the other, trying to alleviate the pain through the effects alcohol and drugs had on our bodies.

However, that mix didn’t always relax us or distract us, sometimes it did the opposite; it increased what we felt, drowning us in anxiety, panic, and pain.

At some point, Tomie began to cry. Why was she crying? I never asked her, and perhaps, if I’d done that, she wouldn't have answered either. I simply let her cry against my shoulder, but when she realized she would not get any comfort on my part, she moved away, taking her knees towards her chest and hiding her face.

“I hate this,” she wailed. “I hate everything.” 

I could only nod, not trusting my voice or my relaxed body, lost in the cold temperature I felt coming from inside me. I thought I could fall asleep, and that would help me forget the pain I felt. I’d lost it, I never had it in the first place, and I lost it before I could realize what happened.

He would get married, he would be farther away from me, and I didn't have the chance to tell him, I didn't even have the chance to try to make him see me in the way I yearned…

“Hey, Dazai, have you ever thought about suicide?” 

That question took me by surprise, but I was dizzy and lost in my own world, so I could only give her an answer with no deepness or emotions.

“Have you?”

Tomie let out a chuckle that could easily be mistaken for a sob. She lifted the left sleeve of her sweatshirt, and I saw again that tattoo to which I never paid attention. It was simple; a vertical branch of a cherry blossom tree. The trunk, as expected, was painted a deep brown and its petals a soft pink. And now that I looked at it up close, without neon lights around us, I noticed that the branch covered a long scar.

I didn't say anything, I just glanced straight at her crying face and broken smile.

“Hey, Dazai, I didn't succeed on my own, but I was thinking that if we did it together, maybe it would finally work.”

The tattoo was still exposed, the scar visible now that I knew it was there. Tomie put down her arm and approached me. I stepped back.

“Isn't it a good idea?” she muttered, almost with desperation. “You and I, together, leaving this damn world that gave us nothing good… I'm sure we could do it…”

“I think I should go,” I replied, and though I felt dizzy, I stood up.

“Dazai–”

“I'll call you,” I interrupted her, and before I could consider her words, I ran away. “I… I’ll see you later.”

Tomie called me again, halfway between a sob, but I ignored her. I exited her apartment without looking back, wondering if I should stay, but I knew I would be of naught help to her pain. She couldn't save me, and neither could I save her. Together, we were a ticking bomb, and if it was like she said, then she wouldn't be able to destroy herself if she was alone. She wouldn't open her skin again, and if she did, she would solely obtain another tattoo.

Despite everything, I think I never seriously considered suicide until that moment. Sure, I felt pain and I wanted to get rid of it, I thought about dying when I was a teen, but only to get the attention of my parents. I learned to bear the suffering or drown in it and live day after day with nothing but a hollow void impossible to fill. That night was the first time I truly considered it, and recalling Tomie’s proposal, I thought I would rather die alone.

I was always alone, so it felt natural to leave this world the same way.

As I returned to the dorm building in the university, stumbling with each substance inside my body, I tried not to think of anything, but suicide quickly transformed into a more entrailing option. Why would someone do it? Why was it so enticing? My head hurt, but my chest hurt more. Suddenly, the conversation I had with Oda repeated countless times in my head.

He was getting married. He was going to build a life in which I was not included, because I wasn't good, I couldn't be, I could never be like Kazue, and he would never look at me like he saw her. I was only a nuisance, a kid he was forced to help in Yokohama and then endure when I followed him to Kyoto because he was too kind, too compassionate and comprehensive that he couldn't help but adopt the stray dogs he found halfway through the night.

But he did it more out of a moral obligation than pure desire. He felt forced to keep me in his contact list, to call me, to ask how I felt; if I was alright, if I was settled, happy. He felt forced to tell me about novels, to share a bit of his life with me, and to accept me calling him a ‘friend’ and secretly wishing him to be something more.

I was an obligation to him. A hindrance, someone incapable of changing, of making him feel proud, or making his eyes shine like Kazue did. He wouldn't miss me. If I left, he wouldn't think about me. Not him, not my parents, no one. And if someone did, if someone remembered me, surely they would do like one of the worst people they’d encountered in their lives.

Yep, I could take that role, it was more natural for me than any other mask of calmness and kindness that I ever tried to use. Yeah, I think I could die finally accepting that, in the end, I was nothing but a mistake. A mistake my parents made and that never should've been born.

When I arrived at my dorm, my roommate wasn't there. I left the lights off as I entered, took off the coat Yosano and Ranpo gifted me when I got accepted to Kyodai, left it on my bed, and locked myself inside the bathroom. I turned on the tap, the bathtub was filling slowly, it gave me enough time to search for the thin blades from the razor that the guy I shared the room with kept in his drawer.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub. The water was still running. First, I rolled up the sleeves of the shirt I wore to my elbows, I took the blade and I started with my left arm. The cut was vertical, the pain didn't cause me anything. I thought that maybe the alcohol and drugs in my blood had sedated me to the point I felt numb, but maybe I never felt something in the first place. So I opened the skin with no hesitation and then I went for the right wrist.

The red color painted over my skin and clothes, but it didn't reach the bathroom floor. Before I could cause a disaster, I got inside the bathtub. The water was cold, way too cold, but I didn't leave. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander one last time. I thought about Yokohama. I thought about the beaches I never visited despite living so many years in the port city with many roads that led you to the sea.

As my blood mixed with the water, I regretted never convincing Chuuya to take a walk through the beach. I could easily picture the moment that never happened: Chuuya looking at me from the seashore; the wind messing with his red hair that I still remembered how it felt between my fingers, a smile on his face, his eyes shining as they reflected the sea, patiently waiting for me to stop playing or leave the ocean. But I wouldn't leave, because I felt calm both inside that illusion and the reality.

Inside that imaginary sea, being observed by the ghost of the only person I never had to leave behind, I felt relaxed and my consciousness vanished, satisfied with that being my last thought. My chest had stopped hurting, and I thought I was fine. That was enough, I didn't have to wake up.

But I did. And when I noticed the white room, the sound of the machines registering my heartbeat, the light that burnt my eyes, and the person sitting next to my bed, holding my hand with so much desperation and fear, I felt myself cry.

My roommate found me unconscious in the bathtub. I let the water running and it spilled until it escaped the bathroom. When he saw me inside the tub and with my wrist flourishing with crimson petals, he looked for Kunikida. Luckily for him, he was in his dorm that day. Kunikida called an ambulance, then Ranpo and Yosano, and they called Oda.

When I woke up and cried, Oda was by my side. He heard me and clenched my hand, he stood from the seat next to my bed and kissed my forehead, resisting the urge to hug me. He was shaking, he held me with force, as if he was scared that if he let go or took his eyes off of me, I would escape and no one would find me this time around.

I never saw him so scared. I never saw him at the brink of tears, so desperate to keep me by his side, so guilty of everything that happened. What made him guilty? It wasn't his fault, it would never be, it was just me, I got myself in so many troubles, I decided to take my life that day, only me, only…

“I can’t keep seeing you like this, I don’t want to see you like this,” he said, I didn't know what he was talking about. I still don't know. “So, at least do it for me. Get better for me. You’ll always have me by your side, and I’ll always be there for you. I promise, but please, just stop with all of this.”

I observed him without understanding, bewildered and confused, feeling the pain in my body, in my wrists; I didn't see the bandages around my arms that day, I could only see Oda’s crying expression and feel how my heart broke.

I caused that. I caused that pitiable expression in him, in who was meant to only carry patience and tranquility, who was only meant to smile gently and not wear that anxious attempt of a smile on his lips.

The guilt extended through my body, it filled my awoke mind and I wanted to push him away, to tell him it was better if he stayed away from me. I was broken and I had no fix, I was only a problem for him and I would never be the type of person he could love.

Then, he made a promise he could never keep, and when I heard it, I cried just a bit more.

“I'll love you,” he muttered, kissing my forehead again, and then the hand he refused to let go of. “I promised I'll love you, so please, don't try anything like this again, please, please…”

I never hated so much a kiss I always yearned for. I never hated myself as much as that day and the weeks that followed. 

Odasaku visited me every day I was internalized in the hospital and kept under medical and psychological vigilance. He began to behave like the man I met years ago in Yokohama; the one I saw every day, who was always around me, worrying about my well-being with patience and calmness that seemed endless. But, although he talked to me with that tone of voice, with those kind eyes, and he gave me a nostalgic sensation of safeness, I could notice the guilt he was drenching in on each of his actions.

None of that was his fault, only mine. I pushed myself towards that place, I was who felt so relaxed as I lost consciousness and I cherished the idea that I wouldn't wake up. I caused the anguish on him and everyone else. But no matter how much I tried to explain to him that I was the only one at fault and I carried the whole responsibility, Oda didn't want to hear me and soon, I got tired of trying to convince him.

I genuinely wished he returned to his life and forgotten everything about me. He would be better away from the disaster I never stopped being.

Since the nurses in there were ten or more years older than me, I was uncomfortable around them and I didn't let them change my bandages or clean my wounds. However, Yosano, who managed to get an internship in that hospital, began to take care of that duty.

She came every morning to clean up my injuries and kept me company, though I insisted she was only keeping me vigilated. She during the mornings, Kunikida at noon, Ranpo during half de afternoon, and the rest of the time, Oda. I never exchanged more than two words with any of them, I only wanted to be alone and push them away before I pulled them towards the same hole I was trapped in.

“They're thinking about releasing you,” Yosano told me one morning, “but they don't want to let you go unless there's someone to look after you and accompany you to psychotherapy.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can't,” she scolded me, and I hissed with pain when she covered the bandages on my forearm with force. I wanted to move my arm and ask her to leave, but when I saw her sad expression and the trembling hands that continued covering my wound, I was rendered speechless. “Is it really so hard for you to trust us and let us take care of you?”

I didn't say anything and she didn't force me to respond. Both in silence, Yosano continued cleaning my injuries and changing the bandages. The scar that would linger would be deep and visible, impossible to hide or forget.

The hospital agreed to let me go once Odasaku agreed to take care of me. I felt like a son of a marriage going through a divorce when both Yosano and Ranpo also offered to look after me until I felt better. However, they agreed to let Oda take care of me and, although I didn't want him or anyone else to do it, when I learned that Odasaku had canceled his plans of asking Kazue to marry him, I felt obliged to accept his good intentions and I had to move with him again.

I didn't want to return to that apartment. The happy moments I spent there with Odasaku got drenched with blood coming from my veins, and I tried not to be a burden to him throughout my house arrest.

I tried not to occupy space, to keep my things saved in the bag I was forced to pack. I tried not to interrupt Oda when he worked, remaining silent and at a considerable distance when we had to be in the same room. He tried to talk to me about novels or anything else, but I barely responded. I felt uncomfortable around him; the feelings of guilt didn't leave me alone in the day or at night. I was still thinking that everything would be better if I disappeared, but I didn't try to take my life again. Each time I considered it, I recalled Oda’s crying face and the words he uttered that day at the hospital.

Silently, I promised Oda not to try to commit suicide again, no matter if my skin still itched or if I drowned in the memory of the calmness I felt as I fell into the water. As long as I didn't cause that kind of concern to him, I would never open my skin again. But I couldn't fake being well or that I wanted to be there with him. I still thought that the farther he stayed from me, the better it would be for him, and I hoped that, with my genuine attitude and coldness, he would realize that on his own. I did nothing but achieve the opposite.

Weeks passed in which we were forced to share the same space again. Oda continued trying to get more than three words out of me with each conversation. I knew he got sad when he saw I only engaged in small talk with Yosano when she came to the apartment to clean my wounds, and he blamed himself for the lack of comfort between us. However, he continued taking care of me, trying to fix the relationship that I wasn't sure when it got broken, or building a new one in place of the one that may have never existed. He smiled at me like I remembered, he treated me with care and he was by my side all the time. Each time a doctor or the therapist said I seemed to be getting better, he congratulated me and hugged me; he held me by the hand and we returned to the apartment as he told me about novels and I walked in silence. He was trying to fulfill the promise he made that day. He was trying to love me.

But he was forcing himself to accept me in his heart. He was forcing himself to love me, and I never wanted that. I didn't want the feelings to be obliged — that wasn't the way I wanted to be loved by him.

And I could notice he feigned to be happy and settled with the situation. Happy to have me by his side, with a responsibility that did nothing but be a bother in the life he had to pause. He acted as if he didn’t miss Kazue. And though she was trying to understand I’d become Odasaku's ‘priority’, neither of them could hide how much they missed each other. A ditch began to appear between them, it grew bigger as the seconds passed, and it was my fault.

I couldn't live with the idea that I was the cause of the unhappiness in their lives, nor with the notion that I was the main cause of that tired and sad gaze he tried to hide from me day after day. I couldn't bear Odasaku becoming someone like me; used to feigning goodness instead of feeling it, so I had to make a decision.

“It's been a while since you talked about Kazue,” I commented on one of those days when he spent more time looking at his phone than usual, as we were sitting on the same couch, not doing or saying anything. “Did something happen between you two?” 

“Nothing has happened,” he replied, and I could notice he wanted to lead the conversation elsewhere. “It's just that we’ve both been busy.”

Busy… Yep, that’s what I was, something to be ‘busy’ with, a nuisance, an obligation.

“You should call her, take her out to dinner, or go somewhere,” I suggested. “I can go with Ranpo or Yosano if you're worried about leaving me alone, or maybe–” 

“That won't be necessary,” he interrupted me. He silenced the phone as he put it down on the table and he left. “We… we decided to take some time.”

And that was hurting him. I destroyed the life he'd built for himself, the happiness and tranquility that suited him too well.

I tried to convince him to call Kazue, that I was better, that I could return to my dorm at the university and look after myself. But he didn't believe me — and if we're being honest, then it's not like I was giving him reasons to believe or trust in me. He still thought I was going to try to commit suicide again, and although the pain in my wrist was a reminder of what I had done, his crying face as I woke up in the hospital kept me away from the blades. 

I loved him. I still did, and though I had finally obtained what I always wanted — his attention, his care, even that attempt at love — it wasn't how I pictured it. And that hurt much more than his ignorance or rejection. I didn't want to be the cause of his unhappiness, I didn't want him to feel forced to love me. If I was destined to never obtain what I wanted, then so be it. I was willing to remain in constant misery if that would mean he was happy again.

Odasaku kept refusing to let me go or accept I could take care of myself. With no other option left, I called the only person I could trust. I told him what was happening. I told him how guilty I was for causing all that disaster, that I accepted I would never get the love I yearned for, and that, maybe, I would never be fine, but I would try. I would genuinely try as long as I had his help and I could make Oda stop acting and be happy again.

I packed my things the day after I made the call and I waited for Ranpo to come and get me. Odasaku insisted he could take care of me, that I was getting better by his side, but how much was I getting better worth if that meant he was getting worse? I was never going to be a hundred percent good, I would never stop feeling lonely or empty on occasions, and that was something I accepted during those weeks. But he… he could get the happiness back I forced him to abandon, why did he not want to get that back now? Why did he not want to return with Kazue?

When it seemed like Oda wouldn't move from the door, Ranpo gave me a signal only I noticed and I left. I said I was going to the bathroom but I stayed in the hallway with a bag next to me, the wound itching beneath the bandages, and listening to Odasaku's desperate voice trying to give any reason to keep me by his side despite knowing neither he nor I were fine.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll look after him personally,” Ranpo promised.

“You don't understand, that won't be enough,” I heard Oda say; his voice was filled with concern and it lacked tranquility. I was surprised to hear that tone from him, but I promptly concluded that, in reality, I never got to know him completely. “This was my fault, I need to take care of him. I can take care of him.”

Why was he still blaming himself? I caused all of this, it was my responsibility, but he always saw himself as guilty, as if he had chosen, fully aware, to do something that pushed me towards this.

Momentarily, I recalled what Tomie told me that delirious day, but I didn't continue that train of thought as I heard Ranpo’s voice, both angry and exasperated.

“He's not a child! He’s not one of your students, he's not even the teen who followed you here. He asked me this and I think this is the best thing we could do.”

“Ranpo…”

“Why don’t you want to let him go?” I heard him inquire. “Tell me, what happened? Do you feel that guilty for not telling him? You know it's not your fault, right?” 

“Yes…! Yes, it is, it's my fault,” he spat out. I hated the desperation I heard in his voice, I could clearly picture the anguish painted on his face. “Don't you see? If I hadn't ignored that, if I… If I had said something from the beginning, he wouldn't have tried that…”

“He would've,” Ranpo retorted, and I agreed with him. “Maybe he wouldn't have gone to the extreme, but he would've tried it eventually.”

“I should've been able to avoid it…”

“You wouldn't have been able to avoid it.”

No, he wouldn't have been able to. It didn't matter if the attention he gave at that moment had been a constant since the start. I was always a ticking bomb, sure, more contained than Tomie, but a ticking bomb nonetheless. Odasaku's distance and his rejection were not the cause of my downfall, I had insomnia before meeting him and I tried to delete memories and injuries that would never disappear. It wasn't his fault, he wouldn't have been able to stop it, it was just the smallest of drops that finally tipped the water, but I was the one who pushed and mixed the recipient.

“Ranpo, let's go,” I said before Odasaku could argue more.

He looked at me as if he felt betrayed by me leaving him, but it was the best for him. I didn't know at that moment what was best for me, but I thought I could discover it as soon as I cleaned that mess and he was happy again.

“I'll take care of him,” Ranpo promised again. “I’ll look after him and I’ll tell you if he does something stupid, trust me.”

Odasaku knew he could trust him, and yet he still looked opposed to letting me go. I didn't have the energy to smile or act, but I attempted to do it and tried to calm him. Slowly, I moved him away from the door. Ranpo took the chance to open it and exit. He gave us a moment to say goodbye, and I never thought that day would arrive.

“I won't try it again. I’ll be fine, I’ll get better and I’ll heal,” I promised, controlling the tremble in my voice and maintaining a calm smile on my face that managed to fool him one more time, “and if you don't believe I'm doing it for me, the trust that I'm doing it for you.”

Maybe I'll never get better, maybe I'll always feel empty and I would never be the kind of person he loved, but he wanted me alive. And if keeping myself alive was everything I could give him, then I would. And if staying away and with other people was the only way for him to be happy, then I would go.

“Dazai…”

“Call Kazue,” I requested as I moved away, crossing the threshold of the door, leaving him behind. “The next time we talk, it better be to invite me to the wedding.”

Odasaku didn't say anything. He didn't follow me nor insisted, but I didn't expect him to. I left alongside Ranpo and I never returned to that apartment. A few weeks later, I found out Odasaku moved away and all that remained from that place were merely good and bad memories. 

With Ranpo’s help, I talked with Yosano and Kunikida, and I apologized for all the problems I caused. For the first time, I was honest with them and explained everything. I asked them for help to ‘get better’ so Oda doesn’t worry again. They accepted.

I moved in with Yosano and Ranpo for some time. They didn't want me to return to my dorm and for that place to replay all the memories of what I did and I felt tempted to repeat it. They forced me to live with them until I was fine and then I got the apartment I currently share with the asshole of Fyodor. 

Anyway, it was a slow process, but I got better. Each morning, Yosano cleaned up my injuries and changed the bandages. I told her what happened that day I met Oda and the aversion I had for women older than me; she was comprehensive and with her help, at least I stopped feeling much rejection. Ranpo liked having me around because I could keep up with the most complex and philosophical talks you could think of, unlike Yosano who quickly got bored.

Each day, we left and returned from the campus at the same time. Since that year our schedules were similar, Kunikida was the one who looked after me during recess and I think it was during that time that he got the patience he now has me.

I didn't talk to Tomie again during that time. Despite sometimes bumping into each other around Kyodai, I was always accompanied by someone who, especially Ranpo, made sure to keep her away from me. I didn't have to tell her what happened, she figured it out immediately, and when she saw the bandages covering my forearm, she sent me that sly grin that hid her fragility and distanced herself without putting resistance.

It took time, but upon seeing I had more people taking care of me and that I was fulfilling my promise, Odasaku continued with his life. He focused on his job and on recovering his relationship. We didn't see each other anymore, but we sometimes talked over the phone and I felt relieved when in our talks he mentioned again how in love he was with Kazue. Slowly, without him realizing it, I distanced myself to give him space and time to rebuild his life, and all news I got from him onwards were delivered through Ango.

The last time I saw him in person was at his wedding.

I remember watching everything from the distance next to Ranpo, Yosano, and Kunikida. They got married outside during spring's zenith. Everything was drenched in the petals that fell and united with those the guests were throwing around them, but even with that, I managed to glimpse at his happy smile, his too-in-love gaze, and the hand that held one that would never be mine.

My lips quirked up, and when I felt someone patting my shoulder, Ranpo pointed towards my bittersweet smile. 

“You did the right thing,” he muttered. “It’ll stop hurting one day.” 

“I hope it does,” I replied and returned my eyes forward; towards Oda walking away with Kazue one more time. “And if it doesn’t… at least the pain means I’m alive.”  

The wound left a deep scar as I expected, but at least the injury was closed. At the very least, he was happy. 

═════════════

As soon as the news broke, the guests began to applaud. They approached to express their happiness for the couple, hugging them, shaking hands, or patting them on the shoulder. Both Oda and Kazue looked radiant and thanked everyone for their wishes. Chuuya wondered how long they were trying to adopt and how many obstacles they came across, because the level of happiness painting their faces was that of someone who finally reached their goal after a very long race.

As soon as Kazue called them informing that the celebrations would begin, they placed themselves away from the group and only talked between themselves. Chuuya could notice the way everyone there looked at Dazai, and he concluded they already knew the story the brunette had recounted to him that afternoon. He supposed they held a bit of resentment towards Dazai for being the reason behind the brief separation between Oda and Kazue, but the couple wasn’t angry with the brunette, so he thought it was stupid that their ‘friends’ were. 

At any rate, neither of them had much interest in talking with the rest of the guests. The only one who approached them was Ango, but they only exchanged a couple of words before he went back with everyone else. And at that moment, the man who’d known Oda since childhood was next to him, explaining to the rest how he helped the couple with the adoption process.

“They didn’t want to have kids of their own?” Chuuya asked. 

“Kazue is infertile,” Dazai replied, not taking his eyes off the couple. “They moved to Osaka because there’s a good fertility clinic here and they thought it would help them, but it’s impossible for them to have kids.” 

“I guess that was a difficult moment.” 

From the distance, they saw how Kazue showed everyone a picture of the girl they were about to bring home. 

“Ango told me they almost signed the divorce papers because of that. Kazue really wanted to give him a kid,” he narrated, “but they reconciled when Odasaku told her it didn't matter if it wasn't their own, as long as they raised them together.”

“At least if Oda ends up pregnant, Kazue knows it isn't hers.”

Dazai laughed and averted his eyes from the couple. His attention was fixed on the ginger next to him, which was quickly returned.

“That's what I told them.” 

Chuuya muttered an ‘Of course you did’, and they moved from the corner they were at when the group in front of them began to disperse. The couple was still busy with some of their friends, so they waited for them to finish congratulating them before approaching. In the meantime, they moved towards the snack table, and though he wasn't hungry, Dazai forced himself to eat everything Chuuya was giving him. It looked more like a punishment than a good intention, he thought. The ginger was still angry about some things, and now instead of torturing him by pinching him, he wanted to give him a stomach ache.

“Anyway, how did you not get someone pregnant with all the bullshit you did?” he asked.

“Chuuya, how irresponsable do you think I am?”

The ginger didn't answer, instead, he looked at him with a brow up and a tacit message of ‘do you really want me to answer that?’ painted all over his face. Daza sighed, and when Chuuya gave him another pastry, he forced himself to swallow it.

“I'm irresponsible, but not with that.” The other didn't seem convinced, Dazai didn't wait to explain, almost offended by his lack of trust. “For the record, I always use protection and I didn't do anything after I was twenty.”

“So what?”

“When I turned twenty, I got a vasectomy. I wasn't about to let the genes of my parents perdure.”

“That wouldn't even be a problem if you weren't bi.”

He was right, but he didn't want to admit it. Chuuya continued judging all his life decisions and saying that ‘none of that would've happened if he wasn't bi’. For the guests, it seemed like they were arguing and soon either of them would be offended and everything would be ruined, however, that fight was nothing but a game between them.

When Dazai was insisting on knowing what he did during those four years when he was in France so he could judge him too, Oda and Kazue approached them. They observed the exact moment they went from annoying each other with words, to pushing each other as if it was truly a declaration of war. However, the couple realized there was no anger or resentment in their actions, and they only looked at them with endless patience.

“You really get along,” Kazue commented. “I never saw Dazai being so…”

“Childish?” Chuuya completed, and pushed Dazai once again. “Because he is. A fucking childish idiot.”

“Really, Chuuya? You pushed me first but I'm the childish one?” he complained, pushing the ginger as revenge.

Oda sighed, it was almost as if he was seeing two of his students bickering in front of him. His wife next to him laughed again.

“I was going to say happy, but I think being childish with someone is good,” she corrected and glanced at her husband. “Don't you think so?”

Oda nodded, and returned his gaze forward. Seeing Dazai being himself put him more at ease. It was calming. It gave him a tranquility he hadn't felt since the day Ranpo forced him to let him go and he took him away from his old apartment. He thought that, at that moment, the brunette needed him more than anyone else, but that was not the case in the present he was seeing.

And that was fine. Dazai looked better. More genuine, more real.

“By the way, I'm glad you could finally adopt,” Dazai congratulated them, giving them a genuine smile without the characteristic bittersweet tone of years ago. “I have no idea what it feels like, but I'm sure it's nice to be a wanted child!” 

Chuuya didn't care if everyone could see them, he elbowed him in the stomach as soon as he finished the sentence.

“Do you have to say that aloud?!” he scolded him, and he restringed himself from hitting him in the head. Instead, he forced him to lean down as an apology to the couple. “Sorry. I'm sure you already knew he was an idiot.” 

‘At least you were making Kazue laugh,’ Oda thought, looking at the two arguing if it was right or not to vent aloud all their family traumas.

Once the ginger finished scolding Dazai, he also congratulated them and offered to help Kazue replace some of the pastries, candies, and drinks missing from the table next to where they were standing. The woman tried to decline, but he insisted until she let him help. Oda didn't miss the gaze Chuuya and Dazai exchanged before the former left behind his wife; starting a mundane chat about work or school, and maintaining the distance of his relationship with the brunette or the long journey they made from Kyoto.

When they were left alone, Oda and Dazai remained silent. It wasn't awkward, so to say, but the older one noticed the other was trying not to look at him directly in the eye. He went back to taste the remaining candies on the table, although Oda could notice it was more of an automatic movement, not that he wanted to eat them.

“He's an interesting guy,” Oda said, catching Dazai’s attention. When he noticed the other didn't understand his words, he pointed towards the direction his wife and the ginger left. “I meant Chuuya. He looks like he has a strong character, but you two… It seems like you get along even now.”

“Dunno,” the brunette replied with a distant voice. “Maybe it's more habit than anything else… We've argued a couple of times since we saw each other again.”

“Everyone argues, Dazai. Sometimes, not arguing means the other person simply isn't important to you.”

“Did we ever argue?”

Oda didn't reply. He tried to recall an instance, but nothing came to mind. And when he wanted to correct what he said, Dazai only sighed and looked back toward the snack table. Unable to stop it, Oda asked the same question he always did when he talked with Dazai.

“Are you okay?”

With a gentle tone and a bittersweet smile he didn't like to see, Dazai replied.

“No,” he confessed. “I’m not, and I'd like to talk about that. Do you have time?”

Oda nodded. He sent a message to Ango with his eyes, pointing towards the room he used as an office, silently asking that, if Kazue or Chuuya asked for them, to tell them they were talking.

Without further ado, he told Dazai to follow him, and they entered the room.

Chapter Text

After Oda closed the door, the soul blues melodies from the exterior became nothing more than a gentle whisper; background noise that filled the silence where the awkwardness between them couldn't.

There was much to say, but neither of them dared to break the flimsy calm that enveloped them and shatter the glass floor that supported their weight over the void of remoteness and omitted words.

Dazai approached the tall shelves that covered almost the entire room, ignoring the other man who only stared at his back and waited with uneasy patience for the reasons behind the answer the brunette gave him in the living room. However, the younger one let the wait drag on a little longer. He smiled as he read the titles he knew so well and remembered from the long conversations he once had with Oda. Reminiscing about those moments no longer filled him with the same feelings as years before. Where once there was melancholy and sadness, a longing for something he could never have, now laid a quiet acceptance; the understanding of what he once felt and the anxiety to close that book in which he was trapped for too long of a time.

“Have you read all these books?” Dazai asked, his eyes not leaving the volumes, neatly organized for genre and alphabetical order.

Oda was surprised that Dazai was the first to speak. For him, it was common for Dazai to refuse to say anything until the other person did, and for him to make the first move and offer the opening sentence was something he didn’t think would ever happen. He thought he should stop assuming he knew Dazai well, since he could notice that the teenager who followed him to Kyoto all those years ago was no longer the same man who currently was running his fingers along the spine of the books. 

“I haven't had the time to read many of them,” Oda replied and approached him.

Shoulder to shoulder, they looked at the books. Oda didn't miss the fact their heights were similar, distanced merely by three or four centimeters, an imperceptible aspect unless you looked for it. Ever since he’d met him, he’d known Dazai would be as tall as he was, however, that was the first time he’d truly acknowledge that detail.

What else had changed without him realizing it? How much more did he ignore? Dazai always seemed small next to him — not because he was, but because in the past, the brunette slouched. He purposely made himself smaller next to him to feel a bit of protection from him, but not anymore. Now, he kept his back straight, his chin up and his gaze didn’t linger on him like before. The books were more interesting, the songs, the people who were waiting for him back in Kyoto, and the one who accompanied him on the trip.

“I keep buying more books, even though Kazue tells me to stop doing it,” he commented, warding off other thoughts and worries. “I hope I can read them soon and write some reviews.”

Next to him, the brunette hummed to confirm he was listening.

“Do you have time to write reviews with the classes you have to prepare?”

“Right now the children are on vacation, and although I have to start organizing everything for the next semester, I think I'll find the time between that and taking care of Sakura.”

“Sakura?”

Oda nodded. He reached for his phone in the back pocket of his pants and showed him a picture of a baby of almost one year. Dazai studied her face carefully; she looked happy, sweet, and calm, and he could picture the happiness that would fill that home once she was in the arms of her father and mother.

“Sakura, huh…” he mumbled, and with a mocking smile, he glanced at the man next to him. “I'm not even surprised you chose that name.”

Oda laughed. He pocketed his phone, feeling like some of the tension and awkwardness between them had dissipated.

“It fits. I married Kazue in spring between the sakura blossom trees, it was natural for our first daughter to be named like that.”

“Yeah, I remember that day, it was very… novel.”

“We wanted it to look magical,” he explained, “like a new beginning. That's what spring means, isn't it? Rebirth.”

“I guess, never been a fan of warm seasons.”

“I know, you always preferred autumn or winter.”

“I have good memories of those seasons. When I met Chuuya, we used to play in the piles of leaves that fell in autumn after school, or we played in the snow during the winter.” Dazai laughed, lost in the memories he hadn't visited in a while, jealously saved in a photo album. “I never had the chance to have fun like that when I was a child, you know? My parents preferred to keep me inside the house, and when I could spend time with my cousins or other kids, no one talked to me because I was ‘weird’, but Chuuya… Chuuya didn't care.”

His lips quirked up with each memory. Oda did nothing but observe the expression he never saw on him. Distant yet calm eyes. Nostalgia in his voice, but no aching or melancholy; only good memories, all warm and appreciated. 

However, regret and guilt colored his smile with a soft sorrow.

“He never cared if I was broken or if I was weird,” he muttered, lowering his eyes and taking out of the shelf a poetry collection hidden between novels and paragraphs. “Even now I'm still no ‘good’, but he's fine with that.”

The chuckle that escaped Dazai surprised Oda. He was about to ask what was so funny, but he soon realized that reaction came from both his past errors and his current mistakes.

“Chuuya only asks me to stop being an idiot, and I'm trying,” he confessed and sighed, “but it's hard.”

It's hard to be honest all the time. It's tiring, and he's not used to it. It's easier to act and silence any pain, any bother, not risking being the kind of person who could disappoint others. But Chuuya was fine with who he really was. So was Ranpo, Yosano, Kunikida, and Atsushi. He didn't give a shit about what Fyodor thought, though it was funny to see his surprise when he told him to shut the fuck up instead of replying with the same sarcasm as always, but even that, though liberating, was hard. He was trying, regardless.

He wasn't doing it because he was hoping for his parents to finally acknowledge him. He wasn't doing it for the family he tried to fit in either. Nor was he doing it for Oda to stay next to him and love him despite his flaws. Or because he wanted to deserve anyone’s affection, not even Chuuya’s, but for his own tranquility. He was trying for himself.

“I guess I still have a lot to learn,” he sighed, opening the poem collection. “I'll have to continue listening to Chuuya calling me ‘idiot’, though I think that one will stick.”

“You care a lot about what Chuuya says,” Oda commented without adverting his eyes from the man reading by his side, opting for poems over the dozens of novels around him. “He must be important.” 

With his eyes reading ‘Dévotion’, Dazai solely nodded. Briefly, Oda remembered the brunette once told him that was Chuuya's favorite poem.

“He is,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I don't think the feeling’s mutual, not quite.”

“But he accompanied you all the way here, didn't he? Not anyone would do that, that must mean he at least cares.” 

“As a friend, or an enemy would be more accurate,” he corrected. Oda listened in surprise to the happiness in his tone, and as he finished reading the poem, Dazai watched him with eyes that no longer expressed a longing and need of days past. “Honestly, Chuuya only came because he wanted to know things I never explained to him. He may not look like it, but he’s too nosy. It's fine though, I owed him an explanation.”

“Really?” Oda asked. Dazai didn’t overlook the unsure and worried tone his voice took, as if he feared to know more reasons to be disappointed in him. “I thought you stayed in contact all these years… what did you hide from him?”

“Many things,” he replied. His eyes distanced themselves again. He closed the book, put it in its original place and the air between them tensed once more. “I didn't talk with him for four years after I left Yokohama. I didn't even leave because he broke up with me. I dumped him and left to follow you to Kyoto.”

The disappointment he tried to keep at bay flashed across Oda's face without him being able, or wanting, to avoid it. The discomfort and need to do anything to make it go away was still there, but he pushed it deep into his chest, refusing to keep trying to be what everyone else wanted him to be. Dazai didn't think the day would come when seeing that expression on Oda would hurt him so little, or he simply wouldn't care.

“Dazai…”

“Yes, I know, it's a bad lie,” he interrupted, almost with antipathy, “but I’m not the only one who lies or ignores details, Odasaku. Why do you judge when you also do it?” 

The confusion now stood before the disappointment, and soon followed the feeling of being trapped. Now that Dazai fixed his gaze over him again, without the emotions of years passed, but with that desperation he came to meet fairly well, he solely cocked his head and searched for an exit. 

Silence was easier to withstand than words. Ignorance is sweeter than knowledge; less painful and aching, and so, much more mortal once it breaks. 

“You knew I was in love with you,” he pointed out with an unstable voice, almost tremulous, that was trying to remain afloat and not fall into a rain puddle, or an ocean of lava would perhaps be more accurate. “You knew it, and you never said anything… Was it fun, at least? Was it fun to see how much I wanted you to look at me, having me kissing the floor you step on, and acting as if you knew nothing?” 

Oda kept his mouth shut and his eyes distant. Be it another time, that attitude would’ve made him panic and act as if everything was okay; he would’ve put a smile on his lips that wouldn’t quite reach his eyes and let the other man decide whether silence reigned or not — but he couldn’t force himself to accept that anymore. 

Feeling his body tensed, not knowing what else to do, he clenched his fists with force and tried to keep his face neutral. However, the delusion he felt quickly escaped, brushing lightly against the painful disappointment he never thought he would ever feel towards the actions of the man in front of him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Kazue since the start?” he asked, almost a demand, almost a plead, both feelings blending into a chimera that gnawed his chest. “Why did you let me crash at your place when I got to Kyoto? Why did you help me that night and let me enter your life?” 

The desperation shifted, and Oda finally turned his gaze to Dazai and responded.

“You needed it. You needed someone to help you. You needed someone you could trust and who would support you, I never thought you would ever see me that way when I tried to help you that night, I never thought you would…” 

“Fall in love with you?” he completed. Oda nodded slowly, trying not to notice the disappointment he felt coming from Dazai. “So you did know, you always did.” 

“I thought…” he hesitated. He swallowed back and tried to organize his words. “I thought it was better if I didn’t say anything.” 

“And keep me waiting for something that would never happen? Was it easier to give me an illusion rather than the truth?” 

“I didn’t want to reject you and hurt you more…” 

“Nothing was going to hurt me more than illusions,” he rectified, not giving any time for the other to say something else or insist on his reasoning. “Rejection is not unknown to me, I can deal with it, but with the illusion that you would one day love me? With the hope that I just had to keep putting in the effort to be ‘good’ so you would look at me? I can’t with that, I can’t with the idea everything was in vain and everything could’ve been avoided if you only said ‘no’...” 

Yes, he always knew it was easier to reject him and continue with the friendship they’d built, but he didn’t want to face Dazai’s feelings. He knew they were there, but if he didn’t talk about them, if he didn’t point them out, then they wouldn’t be real and he would save himself from the awkwardness of that conversation. He thought that, with time, Dazai would forget what he felt for him, but he was wrong, and now he wanted so much for the youngest to rub his bad decisions in his face, but he didn't. He didn’t even raise his voice as they talked. 

No matter how angry or hurt he was, Dazai never yelled. Oda wished he had. He wished he spat out his words at him, with the same coldness and contempt he saw directed at others. He wished he screamed at him and expressed all the anger he felt at him. But he didn’t. 

He didn’t yell, he didn’t voice harsh or venomous words toward him. He just watched him, in silence and with disappointment. And the calm and tranquility Oda always loved was hated for the first time when it turned cold and came from Dazai. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I was doing what was best for you…” 

“Not even I know what’s best for me, how did you expect to know?” he asked, almost with humor, almost wanting to ease the tension and the growing rift, however, it was much stronger than either of them. “I don’t deserve your apology, it’s pointless anyway. I just wanted… to get this off my chest, even if I’m no longer sure that was love.” 

Not the romantic one, Dazai mused, not like the one he felt for Chuuya. With Oda, his feelings were always fogged by the need that emerged from the worst moment of his life; by the desperation and obsession for that warmth and safety he never felt from his parents or any other adult. He was too young, a child, and he should’ve been protected and looked after, but that was never the case. And then Odasaku appeared. He reached out his hand despite not knowing him, despite whatever Dazai was going through being none of his business. He gave him that band-aid, he talked to him at the library, he gifted him books and a space where he could feel calm, safe, and loved. 

Odasaku wasn’t older than 22 when they met, the same age Dazai now had; though the brunette didn’t feel like an adult, and probably, Oda didn’t feel like one either on the night they met. However, when he was 17, the other was the closest thing to the care and supporting figure he always wanted and desired. How was he not supposed to cling to him? How was his heart not going to end up confused? At that moment, he had only experienced one kind of love: the one Chuuya gave him, and he thought it was the only one that existed and that he could feel. 

“I don’t think that was love,” Oda said, bringing him to the present. His face turned bitter, he refused to look at him in the eyes, but his body didn’t step back, didn’t move away from his side nor did it prevent his words. “You loved how safe you felt next to me, the attention and the time I gave you, but not me…” 

“Don’t speak for me,” he uttered, and Oda awaited a scolding, yelling, recrimination, but Dazai remained calm; offended and disappointed, but always with his voice stable and distant. “You’re not in my head, you don’t know how I feel, you don’t know how I felt that moment… I loved you, I really did, I still do, but I…” 

He didn’t love him that way. It wasn’t that kind of love. It never was, however, the feeling exhibited in many colors and shapes was still with him, and he refused to let Oda think he didn’t love him. 

Ah, everything would’ve been easier, though perhaps not different, if someone had realized his confusion from the start. If someone had told him he was confusing the love he felt for Oda with the one he felt for Chuuya, when in reality it was similar to what he felt for Ranpo or Yosano. 

But no one told him, and he couldn’t blame them either. If he managed to fool even himself, then he wasn’t surprised the rest fell for that same charade. 

“I don’t think I can stay the rest of the weekend here,” he murmured, moving away from the shelves and their owner. “I… I’ve already said what I needed to tell you, and I think I need to be away for some time again.” 

This time, Oda let him go without opposing, without trying to stop him. Dazai forced himself to think that lack of reaction didn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t expecting any other reaction either. 

“Whenever you’re ready to talk… call me,” he requested. “I’d love it if you came to meet Sakura one day.” 

“I’ll come,” he promised, and though it hurt, he gave him one last smile. “You don’t have siblings and she’ll need a fun uncle who, obviously, won’t be Ango.”

Oda let himself laugh even if the rift between them was growing. 

“We hope you’ll visit us. Bring Chuuya next time too.” 

He hoped that once the rift stopped growing, a small bridge would be left, letting them cross to the other side.

Dazai nodded at his request. He didn’t know if Chuuya would agree to accompany him to Osaka again sometime in the future, so he could only promise that, at the very least, he would try to ask the ginger what else he wanted to see at that moment. 

When he stepped out of the room and closed the door, the last image his eyes captured of Oda was his silhouette next to the tall shelves filled with novels, short stories, and a couple of poems. He observed his face, more sincere and transparent than the one he’d seen years back. He seemed to feel guilty about keeping quiet and letting Dazai ignorant of what he knew, however, he would sleep peacefully that night next to his wife, with no insomnia nor thoughts haunting him till dawn. And so would he, Dazai thought. Perhaps, he would sleep in peace that night for the first time in a long while, because Oda was happy. 

He became the teacher he always dreamt of being. He gave his love without obligations and to those who truly deserved it. He had dozens of novels stacked in every corner of his home, and he knew that, when he had his daughter by his side, he would spend entire afternoons telling her about authors and stories from all eras. And as he imagined all those future moments he wouldn’t be a part of, he couldn’t help but think back to the words Ranpo told him that evening at Oda’s wedding. 

“You did the right thing. It’ll stop hurting one day.” 

It still hurt. Less than two, four, or six months ago. Almost nothing when you compared it to one or two years back. But that no longer mattered. Oda was happy, and maybe he would never achieve that same level of happiness everyone yearned for, but he could try to. And the first step towards that was to read the last paragraph, close the book, put it on the shelf of stories with an open ending, and leave. 

“Why the hell are you calling me?” Chuuya replied when, from the room assigned to them, Dazai called him. “We’re in the same damn house, unless you left without me after talking with Oda. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you did.”  

He wouldn’t leave without him, not again. But before revealing that, Dazai let out a chuckle, almost a whisper, or perhaps a sob.

“Hey, Chuuya… I don’t feel good, do you wanna spend the night in a hotel? Or somewhere else, just not here.” 

On the other side, Chuuya didn’t say anything. He could easily picture his confused expression, angry about the sudden change of plans, trying to come up with all the scenarios that could’ve caused that decision, and when he arrived at a conclusion that could be wrong or not, his voice enveloped the silence Dazai didn’t want to endure. 

“I’ll go get our things, wait for me at the entrance or somewhere. Ah, I always have to do everything.” The sigh he let out easily went from one end of the line to the other. “Fine, fuck it. I’ll come up with something to tell Kazue and then–” 

“Tell her the truth,” he requested. “Tell her I don’t want to stay here, that my talk with Odasaku was… difficult. She can ask him if she’s curious, I just want to return to Kyoto.” 

Chuuya sighed again. He cursed at him under his breath, his lips almost stuck to the phone’s speakers. Dazai let himself laugh at every insult, and he heard him moving from one side to the other, searching for Kazue, repeating the same words the brunette said merely ten seconds ago, and he heard the disappointed tone in the woman at letting them go without much explanation but, like her husband, she didn’t stop them either. 

He knew she hoped the friendship between him and Oda would go back to being what it was when she met them, but she never understood that that relationship was complex and rather confusing, and it strayed from the simple friendship she thought she saw. 

Perhaps it could’ve been, Dazai bitterly pondered. Perhaps it could’ve been a friendship if Oda had told him he knew about his ambiguous feelings and had rejected him. But there was nothing he could do to change the past, just try not to think till he was away from that place. 

“Do you think we can return to Kyoto tonight?” he asked over the phone, looking for a comfort that arrived in the form of an annoyed huff. 

“I doubt there are any trains to Kyoto at this hour, especially on the weekend,” the ginger retorted. Through the phone, Dazai heard him moving through the rooms, and before hanging up, he opened the door and allowed for the light in the hallway to land on the person sitting on the edge of the bed. “But whatever, let’s go.” 

Chuuya held out his hand, Dazai didn’t hesitate to take it. 

In the living room, the festivities continued, taking a more adult atmosphere as time passed and the amount of empty bottles of sake pilled up on the tables. Oda was still locked up in his office, perhaps reading or reflecting. Kazue bid them goodbye at the entrance door, promising Dazai that whatever her husband did, she would scold him, so she hoped he forgave him and would return to visit them in the future. Dazai didn’t reply, just nodded, giving her a tired smile, and took the first step towards the exterior. 

The sky in Osaka was no different to the one at Kyoto, nor to the one over Yokohama, but when he exited the house and looked up, Dazai thought it didn’t look quite the same. Even if the moon and the stars were the same as the ones painting the sky on the day he met Oda, at that moment, he felt like they were different. And though he accepted they were new and he would never recover the old ones, that didn’t stop the pain from existing even a bit. And if Chuuya noticed or not how the emotions fell again towards that cold puddle reflecting the silver light of the night, he didn’t mention it. 

They sat on the bus station benches after ten minutes of walking in silence. Dazai continued looking at the firmament, trying to arrange one by one the emotions that hadn’t left him since his talk with Oda, trying to name them and give them a purpose, but in the end, it was futile work. He couldn’t always give them a logical reason to exist, just feel them, and let them flow. 

“There’s a hostel about fifteen minutes away walking from here,” Chuuya said. Dazai lowered his gaze and fixed it on the ginger. Since when did he have his phone in his hands, looking for a solution while he merely drowned? He couldn’t help but envy and admire the ability Chuuya had to remain stable even in the worst moments. “They should have at least one room available, it’s not peak season and we only need it for one night.” 

“We can sleep here,” Dazai suggested, “or on the sidewalk like vagabonds. It’s not cold.” 

“We’re not fifteen to be doing that, Dazai,” he reminded him, and before the brunette could retort, he picked up both bags and began to walk. “Come on, you’re paying the hostel.” 

No longer interested in the sky above him, Dazai followed him through the not-so-crowded streets and the establishments from which nonsensical chit-chat and relaxing music could be heard. Soon enough, they arrived at the hostel Chuuya found online and, as he predicted, they had available rooms for that night. The ginger was about to ask for two neighboring rooms, but upon seeing the silent brunette by his side, who seemed to want to talk but didn’t know where to start, he opted for only one room. 

At any rate, it wouldn’t be the first time he slept in the same bed as Dazai, and he ignored the confused look the other wore as he followed him towards the room. 

The light from the street entered through the window, and it was enough to see the insides of the place. They weren’t interested in exploring the room or seeing what it had, after all, they would only use it for that night and would leave first thing in the morning, so they kept the lights off. 

They left their bags next to the door. The bed was big enough for two people to sleep comfortably. Dazai knew Chuuya preferred the side facing the window so, without saying anything, he took over the opposite side. He settled on his side, turning his back to the ginger who sat on the other end, phone in hand and checking the trains that would leave for Kyoto in the morning.

“Tomie was right,” Dazai said in a low voice. “Odasaku knew what I felt, but he chose to ignore it.” 

A bitter chuckle filled the dark silence in the room. Chuuya glanced at the lying body next to him, but Dazai continued with his back turned, hunched in on himself a little bit more with each passing second, seeking to make himself small, almost invisible. 

“It’s annoying she was right and I was wrong,” he muttered. 

“Are you mad because she was right or because Oda didn’t tell you anything?” Chuuya asked. 

“Dunno. Mine has been a life of much shame, so there’s too many things I could be angry about.” 

“Shame? Your parents are the only shameful thing in your life,” he replied, and the brunette couldn’t agree more. 

If he thought about it more calmly, if he stopped to fleetingly ponder the situation, it wasn’t hard to conclude that he could’ve avoided many things if only his parents were different people, or if they simply weren’t in his life. Even if it all started with a single call from that professor when he was seventeen, who truly ended up pushing him off a cliff were his parents; his mother with her lack of love and compassion, his father with violence and all the inflictions. 

But if he complained all his life about those who gave birth to him, he would lose sight of what he now had. There was nothing he could do. Physically, it was impossible to go back to the past, and now he could only wait for the wounds to finally close and watch the scars left. 

And he wasn’t the only one injured. He merely had to turn his head to see the person who, despite being the only one who never hurt him, he did hurt. 

“Hey, Chuuya,” he called him, hearing a soft hum in response. “I think I never apologized–” 

“I don’t want your apology,” Chuuya interrupted him, and the anger in his voice made Dazai keep his mouth shut. “I don’t want a ‘Sorry for being an idiot and not telling you why I ran away’. An apology isn’t going to change the fact you’re still an idiot, but I have the story I wanted and that’s good enough for me.” 

“Isn’t that too low of a price?” 

“Only someone stupid would think that,” he spat, tired of hearing so much lamentation and, as he saw it, idiocies. “Knowing the reason was what I wanted and I got it. Why should I still feel hurt by something I can no longer fix? I told you already, Dazai, I’m not fifteen anymore, I’m not the same kid you left behind. I had enough time to think and get better, and though I’m still mad about some things and there’s stuff I’m still working on, I don’t want an apology. An apology is for your own good, not mine.” 

And he understood why he clung to Oda. Arthur was the closest thing he had to what Oda was for Dazai. If he’d gone through the same things, if that day his father had been at home when the professor called to inform them that he’d seen them kissing, the punishment he would’ve received would’ve pushed him to do the same: run away and look for comfort in Dazai. And if, casually, he had bumped into Arthur that night, he would’ve clung to him as much as Dazai clung to Oda. However, it was still different, and he would’ve never felt the kind of ‘love’ he thought Dazai felt for Oda. 

In his case — and how it ended up happening —, Arthur would’ve occupied the empty space Kouyou left with her absence in some way or another. And he couldn’t even dare to think about him in a romantic way despite how much he joked with the possibility. Paul would’ve killed him and besides, he knew those two were made for each other. He was fine with watching them being happy and having the chance to be a part of a family he would’ve liked to have sooner. 

However, Dazai didn’t have any siblings. At that moment, he wasn’t aware other types of love besides romantic existed, and he only knew the one Chuuya gave him. It didn’t strike him as odd that he thought that was the only kind of bond he could build with Oda. 

“Do you still love Oda?” he asked tentatively, not knowing why he felt like an answer was needed, but Dazai didn’t give a yes or a no anyway. 

And although he wanted to know, Chuuya accepted the silence and thought that the lack of response was a reply in and of itself. He sighed and returned his attention to the phone. He checked once more the schedules for the trains the next day and listened to Dazai’s slow breathing. He thought that the brunette had fallen asleep, but his voice filled the void once again with a confession and a request. 

“I’m tired,” he mumbled, the weariness easily recognizable in his voice. “Hey, Chuuya, would you sing for me?” 

Chuuya didn’t know what to reply. He’d heard all kinds of things from Dazai, all kinds of favors he wanted from him, but he never imagined he would request a song. If it had been a poem, he would’ve given it to him, but singing to him? He didn’t even consider it once. 

Music, his own voice, had become an object that, despite letting a crowd hear it, he protected jealously. He could sing in front of the mass, but not for one person. Only for himself, only to soothe his own pain…

“It’s fine,” he heard Dazai mutter; resigned, but not mad nor disappointed. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’ll wait for the next show.” 

Chuuya remained silent. The screen of his phone had turned off, and the artificial light forsook the room. The brunette thought he should get comfortable under the sheets and try to sleep, but he was too tired he didn’t want to move. He hunched more into himself, in a fetal position that should give him a little tranquility, but he knew the insomnia would keep him away from sleep, alongside the thought of that day invading his head. He could deal with that, he thought, only one more night, only one…

If you dance I'll dance 

And if you don't I'll dance anyway 

Give peace a chance 

Let the fear you have fall away

The sweet voice occupied a small space in the room, but it was enough for only Dazai to hear. He considered turning around and watching the man that, absently and looking at the window, sang next to him. However, he was afraid that if he turned around and faced him, the song would end. 

Listening to him was enough. Listening to his voice and what it expressed. Feeling that there was someone by his side. 

I've got my eye on you 

I've got my eye on you 

Say yes to heaven 

Say yes to me 

Say yes to heaven 

Say yes to me 

If Chuuya heard Dazai crying until he fell asleep, he didn’t mention it the following morning. 

═════════════

His body felt heavy, not the kind of heavy after a long night filled with insomnia, but the one he hadn’t felt in a long while and thought long forgotten. For how long did he sleep? Dazai wondered as he opened his eyes the next morning. He was still wearing the same clothes as the prior day, lying over the sheets, and although he technically should’ve slept uncomfortably, he only recalled silence accompanying him all night. 

With no nightmares to wake him up halfway through the night. With no memories in the form of dreams that would haunt him and keep him awake for hours. Just a pitch-black and deep void that left his body heavy, yet calm. 

What time it is? He wondered, looking at the white ceiling of that room in the hostel. He heard tranquil breathing by his side, soft movements, was that the point of a pen scratching the paper? Was Chuuya awake? What was he doing? 

If it wasn’t for the body next to him, already awake and sitting with his back leaning against the headboard, the sunlight entering from the window would’ve hit him directly in the face. Despite the dichotomy of the lights and shadows, he took a moment to observe the man next to him. 

He had his hair disheveled and his blue eyes shined with as much laziness as consciousness; it seemed like he hadn’t been awake for so long. The sheets on his side were a mess, telling him that at least the ginger made sure to sleep covered by the blankets. Chuuya looked so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even notice Dazai was awake and staring at him. Too focused on what was between his hands; drawing with red ink small and big phrases, filling the pages of his notebook…

“What are you doing with that?!” he exclaimed, sitting up immediately. 

“The hell, Dazai?!” he yelled startled, but he didn’t let go of the notebook or the pen in his hands. “What?! I needed to write something and this is the only thing I found!” 

“You opened my bag!” he accused. 

“I’ve opened more things than only your bag! Why does it bother you now?!” 

The exchange of complaints was interrupted by the sound of punching against the wall and the demand to shut their mouth because they were trying to sleep. Chuuya replied in a similar manner, yelling at the man on the other side of the wall to go fuck himself, because it was almost ten in the morning and he would do as much noise as he wanted past 9:30. As the ginger kept himself occupied arguing with the person in the neighboring room, Dazai tried to recover his notebook, but each time his fingertips brushed the corner of the pages, Chuuya moved and looked half-ready to go to the other room and continue the discussion. 

“Would you stop fighting with the guy?!” he demanded, managing to stop the ginger before he left the bed. “What the hell are you doing with my notebook?!” 

“I already told you! I needed a place to write! I have a song in mind that’s going to stop Ryuu from killing me, Albatross already told him where I’m at!” 

The guy in the other room screamed that he hoped whoever this ‘Ryuu’ was would actually commit to it. Chuuya was now more than ready to continue arguing with the stranger, but Dazai reacted faster and yelled at the other guy to go to hell and mind his own business. That seemed to calm the guy in the other room, but knowing he could easily hear them, he opted to lower his volume. 

“Did you read it…?” 

“How nosy do you think I am?” he inquired, offended by the accusation. Chuuya finished writing, tearing off the couple of pages he used, and returning the notebook to Dazai. “Of course I read it.” 

“Chuuya!” 

“What?! It was interesting! I didn’t take you for someone who liked writing stories.” 

So what if he liked it? He wondered, and why was he embarrassed by Chuuya finding out?! 

“Fine! Laugh about it!” he said rather petulantly, holding his notebook as if it was his lifeline. “I don’t care!” 

“Why are you throwing a tantrum?” he inquired before standing up, without any intention of continuing to argue with Dazai or the guy in the other room. “Get up, there’s a train to Kyoto that leaves in about an hour.” 

Begrudgingly and avoiding the ginger’s eyes, he got ready. Chuuya commented that the station wasn’t far from the hostel, just a fifteen-minute walk, so they had enough time. Soon enough, they were in the inn returning the room key. The receptionist looked at them with curiosity, as if waiting to see signs that something happened between them during the night. Dazai wanted to tell her to lose all hope, because all he did was pity his own existence and fall asleep. At least he slept without interruptions for the first time in a long while, he thought, and glanced at the ginger next to him who appeared to be in a silent discussion against a guy who was also returning his key. 

They bought some snacks on their way to the station. They walked mostly in silence, silently complaining about the rising temperature. Spring was almost there, arriving alongside a new semester of university. Dazai couldn’t help but think that that year Ranpo and Yosano would be graduating at last. He wondered if Chuuya’s roommates would do so too, because he knew the age of his friends wasn’t so different from the age of the ginger’s friends. When he wanted to ask about that, finally daring to talk, he noticed him taking pictures of the same papers he’d torn from his notebook. He couldn’t see what he had written, but he knew it was a song he had in mind and that the person he was texting was Akutagawa. 

Poetry and music weren’t far away from each other. He knew Chuuya no longer wrote poems but, deep inside, he was glad to know he now could write songs. Still, he wondered why he stopped writing poetry. Months had passed, and the ginger had yet to give him an answer. 

“Aren’t you mad I’m studying literature and you’re not?” Dazai asked when they arrived at the train station. He went straight toward the seats against the wall, however, the ginger remained standing. “It was your dream, wasn’t it? To pursue literature and become a poet.” 

Chuuya, halfway through devouring his dorayaki, sent him a look both relaxed as it was harsh, taking his time to eat, in no rush to answer. 

“Dreams change, Dazai,” he said. “I was angry you were studying literature, not because I envied you, but because I could never make you like poetry while Oda made you like novels.”

“I still don’t like poetry,” he confessed. “It’s too nuanced and I don’t get it, I don’t feel whatever the author wanted me to feel in the first read and that’s annoying.” 

“Isn’t that the whole point of literature? Taking a language and making it more complex so that you have to reread everything a second or even a third time to grasp everything and find the real meaning.” Finishing the snack between his hands, they saw the train arriving at the station from the distance. “It doesn’t have to be what the author intended, and honestly, it’s more fun to be the one writing than the one reading.” 

They were alone at the end of the platform. When the bullet train passed in front of them, slashing through the wind and causing a breeze, Dazai looked at Chuuya. So calm, not worried about the dust rising around him or how his hair was now a mess thanks to the wind. He was next to him, two or three steps away, but the brunette felt like the distance was so much bigger, that the voice who expressed its thoughts was far away and he had to run after it to hear it. 

“I only understood half of what I read in your notebook,” he commented. The train stopped, they took their bags and entered it. Chuuya’s voice was still distant, but each time it felt more and more closer. “You put many things in that story, but you hid it because you don’t want anyone to understand easily. I did the same with poetry.” 

He could never say directly that he missed Kouyou, not in front of his parents, let alone how much he hated them and that house. All he could do was write poetry, use metaphor after metaphor, waiting for someone to understand, while simultaneously desiring not to be discovered so easily. That morning, he noticed that Dazai did the same. Hiding what he thought, changing one meaning for another, leaving small hints that only when you read it a second time would guide you to the correct answer. If he hadn’t known the whole story before reading those notes, he probably would’ve reached another conclusion, but he knew where everything came from, and that made the reading a whole lot easier. 

He thought about asking Dazai to lend him the notebook so he could reread what it was written, but he knew first-hand the feeling of possessiveness over the words you used to express and hide your vulnerability. Perhaps they could do an exchange in the future, he thought, as he walked onto the train with the brunette by his side, going for the window seat before the other had the chance to take it. 

Few people traveled from Osaka to Kyoto at that hour, especially on Sunday. The platform had been virtually empty, and though a couple of people entered their wagon, they were far enough away to continue talking quietly and watching the scenery change from unfamiliar to familiar.

“Why did you stop writing?” Dazai asked. 

Chuuya pondered on his response, but it wasn’t so easy to explain. He shrugged, continuing to glance through the window. 

“There’s many reasons, but I guess the main one is that I didn’t need it anymore,” he confessed. “I always liked poetry and I used it like an outlet. I wrote about Kouyou when she was there, and then about how much I missed her. I wrote when I was angry or sad, or when I fell in love, and I tried to write after I was left alone, but I was empty and there was nothing to express.” 

It wasn’t worth it to write, he mused, and recalled those times. Kouyou and Dazai were his main readers and muses when he was a teenager, but without them, he stopped forcing himself to try and hide what he felt underneath verses and, simply, ignored the pain and the loneliness. He accepted it and moved forward, waiting for time to give him back a bit of happiness and the inspiration to write. But when he arrived at a joyful place, he no longer needed to express himself through written words. 

“I tried writing again after Paul kidnapped me and took me with him. Arthur also likes poetry, and when he read what I wrote, he encouraged me to continue, but I couldn’t.” He recalled Arthur’s dismay when he couldn’t write a single verse, and that memory made him smile while also reminding him he had to call him. “Writing was a way to express myself when I couldn’t say I was happy or angry, but with them… I didn’t have to hide anything. I could tell them I love them or to go to hell when they made me angry, I could tell them anything. I didn’t have to hide behind metaphors what I was feeling with them so I didn’t feel the need to write.” 

As he turned his face away from the landscape and glanced to his side, he thought he would be met with the eyes that always preferred another set of blue irises, but there they were, just for him. Observing his image instead of the shapes that run to their sides at great velocity, focused on each word and making a silent and fragile promise that they wouldn’t lose sight of him again.  

Chuuya wanted to believe him, and perhaps he would regret trusting him, but he could also lament not doing it. They were on top of a broken glass they were beginning to rearrange and organize until a walkable path could be seen, but it wasn’t him who was gluing it piece by piece; he’d already done his part and was over stable ground that didn’t hurt him as he walked. Now, he was standing still and waiting, and it was Dazai who was walking towards him. 

And that notion gave him a tranquility he didn’t know he needed. 

“Now I’m not with them and I found solace in music,” he commented, not moving his gave from the brunette next to him. “I don’t need to hide shit when I sing. I can tell them to go fuck themselves and they cheer at me.” 

Dazai laughed. It was the first genuine and relaxed laugh he heard from him since the prior day. 

“Yeah, I think I remember a song about that.” 

“I was angry and a good song came out of that,” he said with pride, crossing his arms with haughtiness and diverting his gaze. A smile remained on his lips. “So, no. I ain’t judging you for liking to write, though I didn’t expect you to do that. Whatever the case, what I read was interesting, and I know the Faculty of Humanities has a magazine where they usually publish what the students write, don’t they? You should try to make that teacher of yours read something and do his magic.” 

“And give half the campus depression?” 

“Oh please, they’re university students, the stress is more than enough for them to feel depressed,” the ginger joked. Dazai agreed with that. 

They continued talking about other things that went away from the music, poetry, or prose. Dazai tried to convince the ginger to let him read the song he’d written that morning, but Chuuya said it was confidential material he may hear in the future if he survived and managed to please Ryuu with the fact he now had new material for the band. And despite what his face may reflect, he was sure he would do it, so the brunette had to wait for him to sing it at some show. Dazai thought that, as long as he could listen to him sing again someday, it was enough. And perhaps he could try showing Fukuzawa-sensei the stories he wrote, but he wasn’t sure. At any rate, Chuuya didn’t repeat that idea and returned his attention to the landscape that was quickly changing from one city to another. 

When they got to Kyoto at around noon, they thought everything would be peachy. However, as they would soon find out, some things had turned upside down during their short absence.

Chapter Text

If he'd known what would happen that evening, perhaps he would've thought twice before approaching the winning band to congratulate them. But alas, that's exactly what he did. He said goodbye to Yosano, promising he would look for her and Dazai after he finished talking to the band that just went downstage.

He had no idea what he was thinking. Maybe he was merely amazed by their cover and by hearing songs he hadn't played on repeat since years ago. Maybe he wanted to know who had the same idea; who else shared that taste for the same music and stories.

Before he fully processed it, Atsushi mingled back into the audience and passed through them until he arrived backstage. The card hanging from his neck — that was nothing special, really, just some laminated piece of paper —, allowed him to enter without having to explain himself or what his relationship with the bands was. As he looked around, searching for people he’d only known from the distance, he noticed a distinct lack of Black Ocean. He’d seen Chuuya leaving almost immediately after getting off the stage, but the rest were still backstage when he parted ways with them. He guessed they decided to move towards the front row of the audience, towards the area reserved for the participants to wait for the winners to be announced. 

Many people were moving from one side to the other in that prohibited-to-the-public place, carrying wires and instruments, preparing the stage to announce the winners and let them play again the song they participated with. In a corner, separated by a black folding screen, Atsushi noticed the three judges reunited and discussing as if it was a secret chamber and no one could hear them. 

“Do they really think a screen gives them privacy?” a girl next to him commented. Turning towards the voice, Atsushi saw a redheaded girl — the singer of the band he was looking for, who so wonderfully sang Wish. The girl didn’t even pay attention to him despite being only a step away, instead, she was staring at the judges and the thin folding screen separating them. “I could walk over there and know if my band won or not.” 

“I was thinking that too,” Atsushi added, his voice hesitant, but feeling as if he should say something. “I can hear almost everything from here.” 

“You can?” the girl asked with interest. The emotion in her voice caught the albino’s attention and he found himself pinned with green eyes he hadn’t noticed from the distance; fixed on him, as incredulous as they were curious. “How good is your hearing? It’s so noisy in here, I can’t hear what they’re talking about.” 

“They’re discussing the clothes. They haven’t started on the music yet.” 

His response impressed and bewildered the person next to him. She seemed conflicted with herself, not knowing whether to believe him or not, but she knew that even the smallest of details in a presentation, such as the clothing, were important; and she didn’t know whether to trust the albino or not. 

“What the hell, are they really saying that?” she asked once more, but Atsushi gave her an apologetic smile and shook his head. 

“I don’t know. I’m not half animal to have good hearing.” 

His small joke, albeit seemingly annoying her, was taken lightly, but still, the girl feigned annoyance; she crossed her arms and averted her gaze, listening to the other apologize once more, a regretful chuckle escaping him. However, she promptly returned her attention to him, and when she scrutinized his face, she recognized him.

“Oh, you’re the guy who was with the band that sang Rose,” she pointed out, and with an untrustful expression, took a step back. “And here I was talking to you as if you weren’t an enemy.” 

“I’m not an ‘enemy’,” he clarified. “I’m not even part of the band.” 

“But you’re something to them!” she insisted. The girl observed him from head to toe once more, and after recalling a couple of things she saw while the albino was not around, she snapped her fingers and pointed once again. “You’re the guitarist’s boyfriend, right? Sorry to break it to you, but I saw him making out with a blonde girl.” 

Atsushi wasn't sure what hurt more: being mistaken for something he would never be despite how much he wanted it, or the constant reminder of who did have that place. With gentle movements, he shook his head. His silhouette turned dark and he was crestfallen, his gaze fixed on his shoes; anywhere that could protect him from the truth he uttered.

“That’s his girlfriend. I’m just…” his voice drifted off, not knowing what to say. 

What was he to them? To the band, to Akutagawa… What was he? Even if he thought about it time and time again, he couldn't reach an answer, and that deepened the void in his chest that he himself caused with all his illusions and the improbable occurings.

The girl seemed to notice the doubt and grief on his face. Even if it was the first time they talked, telling what the boy thought and felt was painfully easy, easier than with anyone else, and she wanted to apologize for her words and try to lighten the heartbreak the other was feeling, but she didn't have the chance to do so.

“Hey, Lucy, we need to go to the front row,” a third voice said.

As he looked up, Atsushi noticed the other three members of the band approaching them. The blond drummer was at the front, and it was him who spoke. Behind him walked the bassist and the guitarist; both distracted and talking among them, but when they noticed who was accompanying their singer, they put the conversation aside and glanced at him. Atsushi felt scrutinized and wanted to hide, especially because of the way the guitarist was watching him.

The plan was easy, go talk to them and congratulate them for the show they put on. He was someone shy and introverted, but he was putting up the effort to be more sociable, and the first step was to say hi and tell them how much he liked their performance. But he didn't even have time to open his mouth. The brownish-red-haired guitarist stepped forward, approached him, and took his hands, surprising Atsushi and his bandmates.

“Hey,” he greeted him, with eyes and a smile that were definitely flirtatious. “Are you a friend of Lucy? How have I not seen you before.”

“Mark!” the other three exclaimed horrified, but the guitarist didn't cease, getting a tad bit closer to the albino.

Atsushi averted his eyes and tried to put some distance between them, not used to that kind of attention, and not wanting it, but he couldn't stop the warmth from moving up to his cheeks.

“Uhm, I… I really just met her…”

“Oh, are you a fan? I’ll gladly give you an–” he halted, letting out a whimper when someone pulled him back from the collar of his shirt.

“Why do you always do that?!” the drummer scolded him, sending an apologetic smile to Atsushi. “Sorry about him! Please don't think bad about the band because of this idiot.”

Atsushi didn't hesitate to accept the apology, quickly forgetting the odd moment he’d just experienced, taking the chance to talk with the new band that amazed him.

“I couldn't think bad of you! I saw you performing Wish and I really liked it,” he exclaimed before directing his eyes to the singer. Feeling as if he could trust her, he smiled at her. “Especially your voice.”

The girl, Lucy, looked surprised by the compliment, and though she acted as if he hadn't just made her whole day, week, and month while he was at it, she returned the smile.

“What are you saying? My voice isn't that good, but if you think that, okay,” she babbled, a little embarrassed and ignoring the gazes of her bandmates. “Anyway, is it fine for you to be saying that? Don't you want the band who sang Rose to win?”

“I do want that,” he admitted, “but not because I want Black Ocean to win means that I can't appreciate the show you guys made.”

The band seemed deeply affected and joyous at his comment. They glanced at each other, with the excited smiles of someone who had just received their first cheers and compliments.

“What are you, an angel?” that guy, Mark, asked.

A collective sigh was heard and, although he was once again embarrassed, Atsushi kept his smile high, trying not to let the awkwardness be so visible.

“Could you stop flirting for once?” Lucy requested, not knowing whether to smack her own head or punch her bandmate. “You don't even know his name and you're already stalking the poor guy.” 

“I'm not! Besides, he's totally my type!” he defended himself before approaching Atsushi once again. “The name’s Mark Twain. The silent girl with the bass is Louisa, the drummer is John and you already met Lucy. Now, to the important part, are your hair and your eyes real? What's your name?” 

“Eh? Ah… I'm Nakajima Atsushi.” Mark’s face lighted up when he heard his name, and it did more so when Atsushi explained his hair was naturally white and his eyes bicolor.

“Are you biologically Japanese?”

“I think so?” Looking for help, he moved his gaze to Lucy. “Why is he asking a lot of questions?” 

As if having mercy, the drummer, John, dragged Mark away from the albino, ignoring his complaints about ‘dragging him away from the love of his life’. Atsushi acted as if he didn't hear that and wasn't disappointed those words came from a stranger and not from whom he really wanted to hear them.

“It's better to ignore him,” Lucy advised when she noticed his hurt expression and, dismissively, added: “He's just an otaku.”

“Sadly,” John added.

“Hey! It's not my fault he can pass off as an anime protagonist,” the guitarist retorded. Atsushi wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.

“As Lucy said, just ignore him,” the drummer said, keeping his calm smile. “As Tengaku’s leader, thanks for your words. To be honest, this is our first show and we were nervous about how the public would react.” 

“Especially after they played Rose,” Lucy added, “but they did a good job, it’ll be a fair win if they’re the winners.” 

And he hoped they were, Atsushi thought. Both Tengaku and Black Ocean did a flawless performance, but the albino knew he wished Black Ocean won just to see Akutagawa happy. That’s the only thing he wanted. See one of those rare smiles of his. And even if he felt guilty, thinking about him made his heart flutter and he smiled to himself. 

“Whatever happens, just know the show was amazing,” Atsushi commented, making the other band gleeful once again. 

“Thanks, we want to win, but we’re satisfied with that,” John said, and looking at the members of his band, he pointed towards the exit hidden backstage. “And I think we should go to the front row, they’ll soon announce the winners.” 

Shyly, the bassist, Louisa, asked Atsushi if he wanted to walk with them to the exit. Feeling comfortable with the band, the albino accepted. He walked between her and Lucy, chatting with both of them, and listening to the interventions John and Mark made. The latter continued with his eyes fixated on him, starstruck at his natural characteristics, but he tried to ignore him and pay attention to what the redhead said. 

Based on what Lucy explained to him, despite every one of them having foreign names, she and John lived in Japan since childhood. As for Louisa, she’d been in the country since high school, and Mark had arrived three years ago. Three of them attended Kyodai. The redhead was in her sophomore year studying Administration, the drummer was a junior studying Agricultural Science, and the bassist would start studying Literature that year. 

Upon hearing that detail, Atsushi told her that he was also studying literature and that he was about to start his second year. He told her that if she needed help with anything, she could approach him without hesitation. Louisa thanked him and, shyly, murmured that she would be in his care. The albino laughed, and feeling in good spirits, asked the guitarist if he also assisted Kyodai. Excited by the attention he was receiving from him, Mark moved a little closer to him, taking the place to his left that he exchanged with his bassist, and replied to Atsushi that, unfortunately, since he was an exchange student, he did not attend the same university, but had been attending Kyoto Institute of Technology for the past three years.

“The place we live in holds these festivals for the foreigners in town,” Mark commented. “That’s how we met.” 

“And the band? How did it start?” Atsushi asked with genuine curiosity. 

“Well, turns out I like to watch series and Mark is an otaku,” Lucy explained, ignoring the annoyed huff from the aforementioned at her despective tone. “We had a sleepover and we binged Nana and Given. For some reason, John and Mark said they could play the drums and the guitar respectively, and they’d heard me singing before on accident, so it was only a ‘Wouldn’t it be cool to have a band?’, and we included Louisa. She learned how to play the bass and that’s all. We signed up for the event and now here we are.” 

They are doing very well for such a short time, Atsushi mused, and he began to feel nervous about the outcome of that night. He knew that most of the members of Black Ocean, except for Chuuya, had been practicing with their instruments for years. And despite that, the levels between the two bands were very similar.

He thought it would be an easy win for his favorite band, and to now see the unlikelihood of their victory, his anxiety increased. 

Mark asked him if he wanted to accompany them to wait for the results, but Atsushi declined. When the guitarist tried to put his arm over his shoulders, the albino separated from him with a smile and mumbled that he would wait next to the audience, but once he said goodbye to the band and lost sight of them, he advanced through the crowd until he arrived next to Black Ocean. Both groups were fairly apart from each other, however, when he stopped next to Gin, Akutagawa was watching him out of the corner of his eye with a frown.

“Where were you?” Gin asked him. 

“With Yosano,” Atsushi replied, unsure whether to tell them he’d talked with their biggest adversary or not. “We were looking for Dazai… and Chuuya? Where is he?” 

The girl shrugged and turned her head forward. Atsushi did the same, but even if he maintained his attention on the stage and the host, he could feel a pair of gray eyes fixed on him. And he wanted to meet them. He wanted to know if he was imagining things or if Akutagawa was truly watching him, but if he turned around, he would see his hands interlocked with Higuchi’s, and her silhouette practically attached to the one he wanted. 

He wouldn’t put himself through that. Not that night. 

The stage lights dimmed as the host announced that the judges would take the stage to hand out the envelope with the name of the winning band. The audience was in an uproar, shouting and whistling different names. Atsushi wanted to join the group chanting ‘Black Ocean’ repeatedly, but ultimately resisted the impulse and glanced at Gin, who was standing next to him, excited to know the result. Looking at her, he wondered if Akutagawa had the same expression at that moment, or if he was a little more stoic and less impatient.

When the jury came on stage with an envelope in their hands, the screams increased. He felt Gin cling to his arm, trying to control her own anxiety. Atsushi guessed that the girl stood by his side, rather than next to her brother, because he had his hands full with his own girlfriend, who seemed to be praying that they would be the winners. Either way, he said nothing to the younger girl and turned his attention back to the stage. 

Soon, the name of the third place was announced. Some of the shouts turned into whistles of complaint, but the selected band took the stage with a smile on their faces and seemed satisfied to have won that place. After they received their award and were photographed, they moved to a corner of the stage. 

As if to increase the excitement, the jury mentioned that they didn't want to play on the audience's nerves anymore, so they commented that the second and first place was between Tengaku and Black Ocean. The audience shouted once again, and Atsushi was sure he could hear one half crying out one name, and the other half the other. He knew which one he was joining, but he didn't have time to shout. The judges took the microphone again, announcing the bitter defeat and the joyous victory. 

Upon hearing the results, Atsushi carried his gaze towards Akutagawa, but he simply turned around and left. 

“The second place goes to… Black Ocean! Which means Tengaku’s the winner! Come up here for your rewards!” 

Half of the cheers turned into complaints, but the winning band had already been selected and there was nothing to be done to change the outcome. They didn’t need to stay. As bitter as the defeat was, there was nothing they could do now. When the guitarist walked away, needing a moment to himself, Atsushi didn’t stop him. He understood, but his girlfriend and the rest of the band did not. 

“Ryuunosuke, what happened?” Higuchi inquired, and she tried to follow him, but the black-haired boy was fast and soon disappeared into the crowd. “Where are you going? Ryuunosuke!” 

“Akutagawa!” Tachihara called. “Hey, Akutagawa!” 

“Go to the stage,” Atsushi said, looking at the bassist, then to Higuchi and Gin. “I’ll go after him, you go get the prize. Gin, Higuchi, stay here in case he returns. And call me if he does.” 

The girls nodded. Tachihara didn't seem sure, but when they repeated the name of the band and invited them on stage once more, he nodded, and together with Kajii, they went up. They didn't need all the members anyway. Atsushi parted from them promising to call if he found Akutagawa. Gin told him to take all the time he needed since she knew her older brother needed it. Losing wasn’t something he handled well, a second place was not good enough for him. 

The crowd was in an uproar. It was hard to get through so many people. He couldn't see Akutagawa anywhere, but he tried to think like the guitarist would and come up with the loneliest places in Murayama Park — somewhere the other could hide.

Emerging from the sea of people, he made his way to those corners where a person like Akutagawa would like to hide. He passed in front of the clock in the park, and although he wasn’t noticed, he did catch a glimpse of Chuuya and Dazai talking. Both with phones in their hands, typing and talking, as if they were planning something. Good, at least they had solved part of their problems, Atsushi thought, and continued on, looking for the person he was really interested in. 

From a distance, Wish sounded again, and Lucy's voice filled most of the place. It was sweet and melodious, perfect, but the albino didn’t let himself be distracted by that.

He bumped into Yosano again. The woman seemed to be in a heated discussion with someone on the phone, and he guessed she must’ve been talking to Ranpo, perhaps, but as he walked past her, he heard a female voice coming from the other end of the call. He didn't want to interrupt her, so he opted to point to the place where he saw Dazai. She seemed to understand the gesture, and so, they parted ways again.

The farther away from the stage, the darker the road became. It was still winter, the trees were bare, but before long, leaves would be sprouting once more. Atsushi was thankful that the road was so clear, for even though his silhouette was almost lost in the profound lack of light, he managed to find Akutagawa. 

“Akutagawa!” he called out, running after the black-haired boy who didn't halt. “Akutagawa! Wait a damn moment!”

He didn't think his words would work, but they did. The guitarist stopped and glanced at him from over his shoulder, angry and annoyed with his presence, but Atsushi ignored his threatening eyes and approached him until their shoulders touched.

“It's dark,” the albino commented. “Let's walk together.”

Akutagawa huffed, listlessly and lacking patience, but he said nothing. He turned forward and continued his stroll; not rejecting Atsushi, but giving him none of his attention either. Despite that, the albino took that silence as a small victory. 

With each step they took, they got farther away from the stage. Along the edge of the road, tall streetlights stood, but their light was weak and that lack of brightness made Atsushi think they were walking in a place taken straight out of a fairytale. But even in fairytales, the night was a feared hour, for it was when mistakes happened, and the kids who disobeyed and took that who they shouldn’t want paid. However, Atsushi forgot every story had a warning, and he moved closer to the other boy. 

For a moment, he could act as if both of them were the only people in the world.

For a moment, he could imagine himself being bold enough to hold his hand and interlock their fingers. 

As if they were a couple.

As if the place next to the guitarist belonged to him and not a woman. 

But reality was scrutinizing him from the corner, and when they reached the edge of the park and noticed the lights coming from the establishments on the other side of the road, they could do nothing but sigh and return to that place where he couldn’t dream, just watch and yearn. 

They turned around and went back the same way. They were so far from the stage that they could hear nothing; neither the music nor the shouts of the audience. Surely, the event was already over, Atsushi thought, and people were slowly returning to their homes and realities. They had to do so too, and hoping that the silent walk had calmed a little the discomfort of the person next to him, he decided to speak. 

“Akutagawa,” he called softly, looking at him despite the other still looking forward. “A second place isn't so bad…”

“It's not what I wanted,” he grunted.

Atsushi sighed. He approached him a bit more, pressing his arm against the other's in silent support.

“I know it's not what you wanted. I didn't want that either…”

“Really?” he uttered, slashing the albino’s words through the half without letting him continue. 

His voice was like a whip. The whip forced the albino to stop, startled by the impact and the deep anger, hurt, and a bitter yet unnamed feeling that fogged the gray irises. Without mercy, Akutagawa uttered once again with that hoarse and venomous tone, almost wishing each word had turned into a thorn that would nail into both him and Atsushi. 

“You wanted Black Ocean to win?” he snorted, confusing Atsushi and then freezing his skin. “Don’t fuck with me, Nakajima, you were too comfortable with that other band.” 

The moonlight had turned colder than ever, or was it just his body? Atsushi wasn’t sure, he only knew he wanted to put that scrutinizing expression away from himself.

“What? I don’t know–” 

“I went looking for you,” he revealed. “I looked for you before they announced the winners and I saw you talking to them.” 

“I was only congratulating them,” Atsushi replied, not moving from his place when Akutagawa took a step forward. “Like it or not, they did put on a good show.” 

“They did,” he admitted bitterly, but it was as if that feeling wasn’t coming from the loser admitting whoever won deserved it, but from someone else, “but it would’ve been better if you told us you were dating one of them and that you were on their side instead of acting as if you were helping us.” 

For a moment, he thought he heard wrong. He must have. It was almost like a bad joke, but Akutagawa wasn’t laughing. His face remained serious, angry. His eyes reflected bitterness, as if someone had taken away something he was beginning to cherish, and Atsushi could do nothing but deny his accusations with incredulity. 

“What? What are you talking about, Akutagawa? I just met them!” 

The black-haired boy took another step, perhaps wanting to make him take one back, but Atsushi remained steady in his spot, meeting the eyes filled with anger. 

“You just met them? Yes, of course,” he mocked. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Nakajima. If that’s so, why was that guitarist so close to you?” 

“How should I know!” Atsushi practically yelled, raising one hand, closing it into a fist, and placing it hard on the other's chest, halting his advance. “And why do you care? Sure, maybe that guy was flirting with me, but how does that affect you? It’s none of your business…!” 

A hand clutched at his bicep. The calloused fingers from plucking the strings of an old guitar every day dug into his flesh hard — they were almost trembling —. It hurt a little, but Atsushi didn't even have time to complain or think about the enraged gaze that was only watching him. When he was able to react, he realized that Akutagawa had pulled him closer to his body, and only when their gazes met, did they realize how little distance there was between them.

Amidst the darkness painted solely by the weak light of the dimmed streetlights and the cold moonlight that would soon hide behind whitish clouds, the angry gaze calmed down bit by bit. His gray irises cleared up, as if he was slowly comprehending many thoughts and feelings solely by having Atsushi so close to him; feeling his warmth, capturing his confused expression and the constant movement his chest made with each breath, as if gaining air just to whisper: 

“Akutagawa…” 

“Shut up,” he grunted, staring at every detail in the albino’s face, watching the dimmed colors the streetlights were providing them and how it framed each of his features, making him look almost ethereal. “Just… shut up.” 

It was as if he had much to say, much to yell, but both of their words disappeared alongside the argument before it even began. They could only observe each other, under the light and unexpected darkness, but it felt good. The hand around his arm stopped clenching so hard. His fist over the other’s chest did the same, unwrapping his hand; the open palm feeling the beats of a heart finally comprehending. 

Upon feeling the hand in his arm moving up towards his shoulder, Atsushi shivered, but the visible goosebumps didn’t stop Akutagawa. He kept going up. Brushing with his fingers the half-covered collarbones. Going up his neck; the fingers tickling him as if they were feathers that never halt. He touched his jaw. Then his cheeks. Then his lips, and the fingers finally rested. The thumb in the corner of his lips, the rest laying over half his face, and the one in front took one step more. 

“You're annoying,” Akutagawa muttered.

“If I'm so annoying, don't get closer…” he whispered, almost challenging, almost yielding.

“You don't tell me what to do.”

And he kissed him. Before he could say anything else or try to pull away, Akutagawa kissed him. And Atsushi was so weak. Too utterly weak, that he couldn't resist.

He closed his eyes, he leaned more into the other, and he let himself forget everything that was wrong with that kiss. The hand on his face moved until he felt the fingers brushing against his nape, the other hand fell on his waist, almost as if Akutagawa refused to let him go. He was fine with that. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want the other to let him go, so he wouldn't either.

He posed both his hands over the guitarist’s chest, slowly going up until he reached his shoulders, trailing the same path that the fingers wandering over his body traveled; touching his collarbones, his neck, his jaw, the edges of his face. Leaning his head sideways, deepening the kiss, enveloping his shoulder with his own hands; trapping him in between them, forgetting he wasn't his, yet feeling him as if he was. Pulling apart, looking at each other once more, recognizing each other, breathing, kissing each other again. Once, twice, thrice, and one too many times.

How many times had they kissed? He didn't care. 

How long would it last? As long as possible. 

How much did he want? Much, much more. 

Everything he could get. Everything he would let him take. 

Even if it was a fairytale with a tragic ending, he wanted more.

And it could've been more, Atsushi would’ve wanted it to be more. But when they pulled away to breathe, and they opened their eyes and watched each other again, Akutagawa's eyes solely reflected him. Only him. And seeing himself there, in that place he never thought he would be, made him think he could even cry.

Instead of crying, however, instead of asking what those kisses meant, they searched for each other's lips again. 

But a wail stopped them. And when Atsushi returned to reality, he felt cold. All he saw was Higuchi walking away from them, and Akutagawa running behind her.

═════════════

“I disappear for a day, a single day! And everything goes to hell!” Chuuya complained, letting out a strong sigh with the need to let his head drop against the table of that establishment. “What the fuck was your brother thinking?!” 

The girl in front of him shrugged and looked at the two men in front of her who had just arrived from Osaka that noon. She had no idea why the brunette was part of their conversation, but she didn't care and continued talking. 

“Don't ask me, I'm just doing my part telling you.” 

Chuuya sighed. Those days he had tried to talk to Ryuu, but the boy merely read his messages and sent no response. He assumed he was mad, both for losing the contest and because Chuuya didn't tell him he would be spending the weekend in Osaka with Dazai. He didn't worry about being ignored, he knew his guitarist and knew he only had to give him some space. He thought that when he showed him the song he wrote, it would put him in a good mood and all wrongings would be forgiven, but instead of getting a response from him, Gin contacted him.

It was that morning that the girl realized her brother hadn't been answering anyone’s messages; not Chuuya's, nor Tachihara's, or anyone else's. He'd locked himself in his room after returning that night from the Murayama Park and she didn't want to disturb him, but she didn't think he was ignoring everyone and that his silence would last a couple of days.

That night, Gin hadn't known what happened between her brother, Higuchi, and Atsushi.

Tachihara and Kajii went onstage to receive the prize, a sum of money lower than the first place and a simple trophy. She and Higuchi stayed in the public, waiting for Atsushi to return with Ryuu or to call them telling them he’d found him. However, Higuchi got impatient and decided to go look for them. Gin tried to stop her, but if she left too and her brother returned, he would go crazy if he didn’t see her there. She sighed, making the blonde promise her to call her if she found them, and she let her go, staying behind in the company of Tachihara and Kajii until the other three returned. But when they eventually did, it was only two instead of three. 

Her brother was in front, looking in conflict with himself, but refusing to let anyone notice something was going on. Behind him, Higuchi was crying, holding his hand and almost begging him to please not take that decision. She was babbling that she was willing to forgive him and forget what she saw. Ryuu sent her an expression filled with disappointment and feelings of regret, telling her not to do that to herself, pushing her away in the process. He asked Tachihara to take Higuchi home, took hold of Gin’s wrist, and they left. Atsushi was nowhere to be seen, but she assumed he’d returned home with his friends. 

Dazai confirmed to her that it was so, that the albino had returned home with him and Yosano that night, and that he did notice the albino was acting strange, but the boy didn't answer anything when he questioned him and, as he was busy preparing his trip to Osaka, he didn't have time to talk to him. Chuuya supported the brunet's comment, mentioning that his case was the same, and that's why he wasn't worried about Ryuu's lack of response to his messages.

“I know how he gets when he’s mad, figured it wouldn’t be wise to bother him,” Chuuya said. “Besides, I knew he would be angry when he learned I went to Osaka with Dazai.” 

“Anyway, what does Atsushi have to do with any of this?” Dazai asked. “Chuuya told me Akutagawa was moping because Atsushi was talking with the band that won, but I doubt that’s enough of a reason.” 

“Right, Ryuu’s not as petty to be doing that,” the ginger added, glancing at the brunette next to him, and then towards the girl across him. “Did something else happen?” 

The girl sighed, and with a concerned voice, she explained. 

Throughout the week, everything was radio-silent; no one was calling anyone, the messages were scarce, and Gin assumed they had a really bad argument because Higuchi hadn’t contacted her brother for days. As for Ryuu, he was still mad about many things, but the girl assumed it was about losing the contest and because of the argument he had with his girlfriend, so she didn’t want to bother him, and since everyone was busy, she didn’t think anything was wrong. 

Both woke up early each morning and left for their respective jobs. They returned home a little bit after seven, they ate dinner together, and Ryuu locked himself inside his room to play guitar. His phone remained steadily silent. 

In the afternoon of the Saturday Chuuya and Dazai left for Osaka, Higuchi appeared at her front door. She thought she was there to talk things out with her brother, but Ryuu refused to see her or even exit his room, and Gin had to hear what happened from the blonde’s sobbing lips. 

That night, when she went after Ryuunosuke and Atsushi, she found them kissing. Higuchi cried again while describing the moment, her words slurred and she struggled to keep her voice steady between sobs, but she ended up hunching over and letting the tears flow in front of the younger girl, and Gin didn't know what to do or how to feel about it. She’d almost felt the sudden need to tell her that it was impossible, that surely, she’d seen wrong. It just wasn’t possible. Her brother didn’t even like people, it was almost a miracle he liked Higuchi. So why would he do something like that? It didn’t make sense to her, it wasn’t the kind of thing her brother would do…

But she forgot that, when it came to feelings, her brother’s were particularly silent and were built slowly, almost without him even noticing. With the right person, they grew faster, and when he acknowledged them, they would only explode and there was no going back from that. Gin supposed something like that happened that night and yet, even if her brother developed a crush on someone else, she couldn’t stop feeling disappointed for how everything went down with Higuchi. 

He could’ve told her he didn’t want to be with her anymore. Their relationship hadn’t been all pink for a long time, it wouldn’t last much, but neither wanted to distance themselves and, at that point, Gin knew her brother didn’t want to end everything more because he needed a drummer than because he wanted her as his girlfriend. 

She was really disappointed in her brother. And not only him, Atsushi too. She’d gotten to know him and she trusted him. She knew about Atsushi’s feelings for her brother, but she didn’t think something would happen between them. Her brother never realized the yearning behind which he was observed, and the albino seemed fine with being only his friend, and if the plan was to fool everyone with that, then he did it fairly well because even she fell for it. 

Now she couldn’t quite trust him again, and she was sorry for not telling Higuchi she was right when she thought Atsushi was a danger to her relationship.

“I don’t know what they argued about that night,” Gin muttered, wrapping her hands around the hot chocolate that Chuuya had bought for her, “but I know Ryuu broke up with her. And though I’m disappointed in him, I’m glad he didn’t change his decition when Higuchi asked him to get back together…” 

Chuuya let out a sigh. He wasn’t even surprised the blonde was willing to overlook everything she saw as long as Ryuu stayed with her. And he wasn’t sure what was more frustrating, her stupidity or Ryuu’s. 

“It's better that way, Higuchi is too… permissive with Ryuu. At least he knows what he did wrong.”

“And what about Atsushi?” Dazai inquired, drawing the attention of the other two. Chuuya did not hide his tired and annoyed expression, but he knew the brunette was not affected by it. “He was alone when he came to meet us that night.”

“How's that related to anything, Dazai?”

“It's related because, if Akutagawa kissed him, then he left him behind when his now ex-girlfriend found him making out with someone else. Technically that has a rejection implied everywhere, my poor kid probably felt used!”

“Your ‘poor kid’ is also at fault here,” the ginger accused. “Even if Ryuu kissed him first, Atsushi didn't resist. The only victim here is Higuchi.”

“Chuuya, any of us would let it happen if the person we like kisses us.”

“Really? Are you talking from experience?” he inquired, with a sarcastic tone Dazai copied. 

“No, Odasaku never kissed me, so I’m not saying it from experience,” he stressed, and without looking away from the angry ginger at his side, he pointed out: "But if he had, the me of two years ago wouldn't have resisted.”

Chuuya wanted to argue with him, but he knew Dazai was right. Perhaps some could resist such an opportunity, but the majority can’t, and acting like a saint would be the biggest act of hypocrisy he could do. 

Sighing again, he unwound his anger to focus on what was at hand. Gin told him that Higuchi ended up leaving the band when Ryuu refused to get back with her and let her ignore what he’d done to her. The guitarist, while silent, spent all his free time locked in his room with his guitar as if he was a damn teenager, though he knew Ryuu never had the chance to isolate himself from the world until now. As for Atsushi... he had no idea. He did get along with him, and he was mad at him too, but he didn't know his side of the story other than what Dazai commented on.

Ah, it was frustrating that as soon as he solved one problem another one appeared, a much more complex one at that, because this affected the whole band. Gin still didn’t have a new guitar, they were now drummerless, their leader decided to lock himself away from the world, and everything happened at the same time he had the best fucking idea for a new song. 

And as he drowned in his thoughts, trying to look for possible solutions, he overlooked the brownish gaze fixated on him. It wasn’t at all uncommon to see Chuuya with a frown on his face, Dazai was sure it was much stranger to see him without one, and yet he wanted to reach out his hand and perhaps, with his thumb, undo that wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. He ended up just running his fingers through the longest part of his hair, managing to get the ginger's attention, but before giving him a chance to ask any questions, Dazai stood up. 

“I’ll go see Atsushi,” Dazai said, taking the bag he still had with him. “You go with Akutagawa. I’ll call you when I get his part of the story.” 

“How nosy do you think I am?” 

“Enough to check my bag while I sleep,” he reminded him, and Chuuya had the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Throwing a tantrum for a notebook,” he said under his breath, and with a hand movement, bid him goodbye. “Go already, Dazai, don’t forget to call me.” 

Dazai sent him a smile before leaving the establishment. 

“I won’t,” he promised, and before Chuuya could get more distracted with his smile, he left. 

As soon as the brunette disappeared from her field of vision, Chuuya turned his gaze back to the simple table between them and sighed. Gin watched him in absolute silence, saving her own questions for a less stressful time. He let the ginger calm himself and sort out his own thoughts. When he was ready, he rested his gaze on the girl in front of him and nodded. They got up at the same time, Chuuya picked up the bag that had been nothing more than a nuisance over the weekend, and thought he might as well make use of it and hit Ryuu with it as they left the premises. 

Ryuu was supposed to be the one asking him not to do stupid things, not the one committing them, but he wasn't going to judge him for it either. He was allowed to fuck up occasionally, and at least the boy accepted what he did wrong. Or so he wanted to believe.

On the way, Gin asked him if he would rather go to his apartment first to drop off his things. Chuuya declined. It wasn't heavy, and he was still considering using it as a weapon against Ryuu if necessary. At least the girl laughed at his joke and seemed a little calmer about the whole situation.

When they arrived at the apartment, the curtains in the living room were still closed, not letting in any sunlight. Gin headed straight to them to open them. The entire apartment was in order, without dust or a cushion out of place. There were no dirty dishes inside the sink, nor was there anything clean in the steel drainer rack off to the side. The ginger guessed that the other inhabitant of the place hadn’t even deigned to eat breakfast, much less lunch, even though it was almost two o'clock.

Thinking he should scold him, Chuuya set the bag down on the side of the couch. From one of the rooms came the steady melody of a guitar. How many hours had it been playing? He asked Gin, who worriedly replied that maybe four or five. Since it was Sunday, neither of them had anything to do. She woke up around nine in the morning; the guitar began to play a while later. When she wanted to call her brother for breakfast, he only replied that he wasn't hungry and continued playing the guitar. Then, when Gin noticed that Ryuu's phone was in the living room and was constantly ringing as Chuuya bombarded him with messages, she tried to give it to him, but the door was still closed and not knowing what to do, she decided to contact the ginger. 

“Alright, I'll go talk to him, stay here,” said Chuuya, “I'll call you if something happens.”

The girl nodded and settled on the couch, obedient, but also anxious. Chuuya patted her gently on the head before following the sound of the guitar coming from the room he knew belonged to Ryuu. The door was still closed, but it wasn’t locked, it never really was because Gin might need him, and he knew the girl was aware of that fact as well, but she wouldn't force her brother out of his room if he didn't want to. And both of them, being so quiet and introverted, would not talk about what happened, they would only comment on it when everything was settled, so, yes, Chuuya meddling here was necessary. 

Without hesitation, Chuuya entered the room. Ryuu was on the bed, with his legs crossed and the guitar on them. It played nonstop, producing a soft, steady melody, unperturbed by the ginger's presence in his room. Chuuya closed the door carefully and leaned against it, almost as if he wanted to make sure Ryuu wouldn't run away, even if he knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't do it because if he didn't want to talk, then nothing and no one would get a word out of his mouth. 

“So, what happened?” he asked, giving the black-haired boy a chance to explain himself, but Chuuya knew he was asking for too much. Ryuu’s first response would always be antipathy, and that occasion was no different. 

“I’m sure Gin already told you everything,” he replied, not looking at the ginger even once, and not stopping from playing his guitar either. “I thought your romantic getaway with Dazai would last longer.”  

The boy did right to keep his attention entirely on the instrument, otherwise he would’ve been dead with the daggers the ginger’s gaze was throwing at him. 

“I’ll ignore that last part for your own good,” Chuuya grunted, and Ryuu said naught. 

The melody continued. Chuuya watched him closely. He looked tired, in conflict with himself, but he was trying to keep those emotions beneath his skin. His bedroom was organized, so if it wasn’t for the automatic movements of his fingers playing the guitar, no one would’ve noticed something was happening inside the room, but Chuuya had learned to identify all those small details both of the siblings shared.

“Why did you break up with Higuchi?” 

“I had to,” he simply replied, still not looking at him or putting down his guitar. “She would never do it.” 

Chuuya nodded. Higuchi would’ve forgiven anything, but Ryuu didn’t want so much negligence from her. He took the best decision in that case. 

The ginger moved away from the door, leaving it unlocked. He walked to the bed and sat on the edge, turning his back to the window and its curtains that blocked the daylight, but staring at the boy who continued to not look at him; interested in his guitar, producing melodies without thinking about them and without a seeming end.

“And what’s up with Atsushi?” he inquired, finally getting a reaction in response. 

Ryuunosuke stopped playing. His fingers halted for a moment, brushing the strings, but not enough for them to cause any sound. He contemplated the question, that glimpse of conflict returned to his gaze, only to continue the song without reaching a conclusion. 

“Ryuu, why did you kiss him?” 

The black-haired boy closed his eyes for a moment, but the music never stopped. As he opened them, he murmured an unclear reply. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“You’re not sure or you don’t want to admit it?” 

“I’m not sure,” he repeated. “I’m still thinking about it.” 

He wasn't getting anywhere with those answers, Chuuya thought. He looked at the boy in front of him again, and realized that he had answered those kinds of questions before. Surely, Higuchi questioned him that night and the following ones. Perhaps, when the blonde decided to leave the band, Tachihara also interrogated him, and there was a possibility that Atsushi did too. The only person who gave him space was Gin, and Chuuya regretted having to join the list of people who were making him uncomfortable by wanting to pry into his business, but a week of silence was enough. 

“What do you want?” he asked, keeping a calm voice, with the responses still not to be satisfactory. 

“For you to let me play the guitar.” 

“I’m being serious Ryuu, what do you want?” 

“I just told you.” 

“Is it Higuchi? Or Atsushi?”

The music halted with a painful chord.

“Let me play the guitar…” he requested. His fingernails tore at the strings, Chuuya noticed how his hands trembled, and before he could brace himself, the black-haired boy blurted out: “I want nothing. Nothing . Why don’t you just let me play?”  

“Ryuu–”

“I’m aware of what I did, alright? I know why I kissed him,” he replied, hugging the guitar against his body, as if it was a shield or a lifeguard that would protect him from his thoughts or his wants. “I don’t want Ichiyo! I don’t…!”

He halted. The strings spoke again as the hands pressed tightly on them rose. It sounded as if the guitar sighed when in reality it came from the musician playing and what he was being forced to admit. 

It’s not as if Chuuya didn’t already know what he was hearing, but saying it out loud was more needed for the black-haired boy than for anyone else. 

 “You don’t want her, that much is clear. We all knew you stopped wanting her long ago,” Chuuya said. “So, what’s up between you and Atsushi?” 

“Nakajima is… So damn annoying,” he complained, and although it seemed like every word was being uttered with inhuman overstrain, he continued. “And at first I couldn’t stand him, I still don’t sometimes, but… I like having him around me. He’s the only one who understands me when I talk about music, and sometimes I don’t even need to say what I think, he just knows.” 

Fuck, yes, Chuuya understood that feeling. Ryuu was distracted in his own diatribe, so he didn’t notice how the ginger looked down and bit his bottom lip, lost in his own experience. 

“I know I should’ve broken up with Ichiyo first,” he admitted, attracting the other’s attention once more, “but that night I was…” 

Jealous. He was jealous of seeing the albino so close to others — to another guitarist. That guy had approached him with so much confidence, talking to him as if he knew him all his damn life, and Atsushi let it happen without saying anything. How much time did it take them before they stopped arguing each time he had to help him with his essays? How much time did it take them to get to know each other and find a shared liking for music? He was upset, and then, when the albino followed him and accompanied him after losing, when he walked by his side without demanding anything; in silence and giving him a bit of tranquility, when they argued and he didn’t back out, when he saw him so close… He could only think about kissing him. 

He didn’t know he wanted to do it, he didn’t imagine it feeling so good, but it did. Kissing him felt right, like when he found the perfect melody, when his fingers didn’t make a mistake on any chord and the guitar didn’t go out of tune.

And he didn’t regret it.  

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I want or not from Nakajima,” he commented, returning to his guitar and the security it made him feel playing each of those six strings. “It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t even like me.”

Chuuya let out an almost offended groan because how dense could he be? 

“What the hell are you saying?” It was practically a scold, he was seriously considering going for his bag to beat him up. “It’s obvious he likes you, do you think he would’ve put up with your shitty ass temper for so long if he didn’t like you?” 

“I didn’t notice it,” he excused himself, feeling attacked by the confirmation of what he didn’t know, seeking refuge in the nervous melody produced by the guitar, “and you’re not better than me in that regard.” 

“What? Who are you talking about? If you mean Tachihara then I did notice, mind you.” 

Ryuu had to resist the impulse to remind him about the trip he’d just made with precisely the person who, although sending mixed signals, was pretty obvious about what he felt for him. He decided he wasn't going to stress himself out anymore. He would let the ginger figure it out for himself sooner or later. 

“Whatever, I know I screwed up with both Ichiyo and Nakajima, and I already told you what you wanted, yet still won't let me play the guitar.”

Fucking liar, he was all that time with the guitar in his hands and playing different melodies, and Chuuya was tempted to take the instrument away from him, but he had had enough with Dazai bitching that morning when he saw him with his notebook.

“I want you to clean your mess and then I’ll let you play.” 

“And you think I didn’t do that already? Who do you think I am?” he huffed. “I already made it clear to Ichiyo that we won’t get back together no matter how much she insists. I don’t care if she’s willing to ‘forget and forgive’ what she saw, I don’t want her forgiveness, I know what I did wrong and now I can’t or want to be with her. And if what you’re worried about is the band, then after you leave me alone to play my damn guitar, I’ll talk with Kajii to see if he wants to be the new drummer.” 

Look at that, at least he was quicker to decide and solve his problems than other people the ginger knew. He didn’t push away the feeling of pride that filled him. 

“And Atsushi?” he insisted. “Did you talk with him?” 

“I tried,” he admitted, looking discouraged for a very short moment. “I tried calling him, and I texted him telling him to talk things out somewhere, but he’s ignoring me and I won’t insist.” 

Ah, hearing that felt like déjà vu.

“You’ll have to find another way then.” 

“I’ll do it after I play my guitar.” 

Fuck this kid, Chuuya thought. Fine, he can do whatever he wants, at least he was aware there was still part of the mess to solve. Without saying anything, he decided he’d already heard enough, and put in front of the guitarist the pages he tore off that morning from a notebook he didn’t own. 

“While you think about that, compose a melody for this.” 

“What is this?”

“What could it be?” he said with a mocking tone. “Didn’t you want to play the guitar so much? Then get to work and write a melody for this song!” 

Begrudgingly, the black-haired boy took the papers, and his expression filled with emotion when he read what Chuuya had written. He wanted to ask how he came up with it, but the other's phone started ringing at that moment and the ginger excused himself to answer. 

He walked out into the living room, leaving the door open, and as soon as Gin saw him, she got up from the couch with an anxious and worried look on her face. Chuuya did nothing but give her a smile and point to the room from which he exited. He knew that no matter how much disappointment the girl felt because of what her brother did, she couldn't stay away, and since he’d managed to get Ryuu to talk and calm down, he would be ready to tell his sister everything that night during dinner. 

For now, he had to take the call, and as he pointed towards Ryuunosuke's room, Gin nodded and left for her brother's room, giving him the space to talk privately.

“I got the story you wanted,” Dazai said from the other end as soon as he answered the call. 

“You’re branding me as nosy for life, aren’t you?” The brunette on the other side just laughed. Chuuya decided to overlook that implied answer. “Anyway, guess whose feelings are reciprocated.” 

“Not mine,” Dazai commented, making fun of himself and planting doubt on the ginger. “But that’s good, and bad too. Atsushi won’t act on it, even if it’s mutual now.”  

“Fucking hell, I hate this,” he sighed, almost wanting to pull his hair off. “What the hell happened now?” 

“It’s an interesting story! You see…” 

═════════════

He was tired because of everything that happened in just one weekend, he wanted to go to his apartment and sleep for a year minimum, but he’d promised to obtain the other side of the story for Chuuya and, despite the fact he wouldn’t usually mend into the problems or worries of his friends, this time he wanted to know how Atsushi was feeling. 

Akutagawa leaving him behind that night could mean a plethora of things. The first option was a rejection, but without direct words, there was always a chance. The ambiguous situation could start creating thoughts and hopes, and he wanted to make sure Atsushi wasn’t trapped in the same lake of uncertainty he was in for two years, waiting for Oda to say anything, drowning when he only received silence. 

He didn't want to ponder about his own experience anymore, he had enough, he wanted to forget again for a moment and let the pain stop by itself. It was already beginning to settle, but he knew it was just the start. At least, he had Chuuya by his side again, and he was doing that both for the ginger and his underclassman.

As he stood in front of the door on the fifth floor of that dorm building, he tried not to look so tired when the albino's roommate greeted him. He smiled at him, but from his expression, he knew that it wasn't being a good weekend for anyone. The boy, Tanizaki, was surprised to see him there, but quickly guessing that he was coming for Atsushi, he let him pass. He said that the boy was in the bathroom and that he was on his way out, so he could sit on his bed or wherever he wanted, and Dazai did so. 

He made himself comfortable sitting on the albino’s bed, taking that white tiger plushie next to the pillow. How bad was he feeling to seek comfort in that dump toy? He asked himself, but he didn’t have to think much about it, because when the boy left the bathroom, dressed as if he was about to leave, he immediately noticed his downcast expression. 

“You look horrible, Atsushi,” he commented instead of going for a normal greeting. “Where are you going dressed like that?” 

“Are you judging my clothes?” he asked, clearly offended. 

“Not your clothes, your face.” 

“Thanks, that’s the more direct way someone has called me ugly…” 

“I didn’t say that, you’re cute, like the little brother I wish I had, but I don’t recommend being raised by my parents.” He patted the spot beside him, calling out to the younger one as if there really was an age difference between them bigger than four years. ”Come on, where are you going?” 

Atsushi didn’t move from his place. He looked at the other with distrust, not sure what he wanted from him after a week without exchanging any messages. However, Dazai was already there, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop him from asking question after question. 

“I was going to hang out with a friend… Why did you bring that bag?” 

“I went to Osaka with Chuuya,” he answered honestly, ignoring the surprise and confusion on the albino. “We were supposed to return on Monday, but something happened and now we’re back.” 

“What were you doing with Chuuya…?” he inquired, and he regretted each of his life choices when he saw a smirk forming on Dazai’s face. 

“Sadly, not the nasty things you’re imagining.” 

Atsushi's mortified and embarrassed expression was worth the fatigue.

“I’m not imagining anything!” 

“Good, it would be like if you imagine your mothers doing that .” 

“ Dazai! ” 

His laughter echoed throughout the room, as did Atsushi's demands for him to stop teasing him and insisting that he hadn't imagined anything. With a fully flustered face, the albino took the tiger from him, hugging it to his chest; seeking comfort in it, and then laid it in its original place next to the pillow. Ignoring the other's teasing, he unplugged his phone, mumbling that he should leave now because he didn’t want to keep his friend waiting. 

“No, wait! Where are you meeting them?” 

“At the shopping district, why?” 

“Oh! I’ll go with you, it’s on the way to my apartment,” Dazai replied, getting up from the bed and taking the bag he’d left on the floor. He headed for the exit without waiting for the albino, but as he passed him, he rested his right hand on the other’s shoulder and, as if it was the most trivial topic, added: “It’s better to walk while we talk about what happened at the contest.” 

He felt Atsushi tense. Too obvious, Dazai thought, but he had to give him credit for trying to keep a poker face and act ignorant. Atsushi removed the brunette's hand from over his shoulder, turning his back to him, and leaving the room first, waiting for the other by the door to close it, and walking away pretending nothing was happening.

“And what supposedly happened…?” 

“I don’t know, Atsushi, what happened?” he asked in response, letting the albino act as if he wasn’t privy to the happenings for a moment, but he was slowly cornering him. “I was talking with Chuuya when they announced the results of the competitions. Chuuya told me the band lost, right?” 

Atsushi nodded absently. Dazai knew he already had him trapped. 

“Yeah, they lost. And I know you were talking with Chuuya, I saw you with him.” 

“Hm? Really? Where?” he cocked his head with fake surprise. 

“Ah, under the clock at the Maruyama Park…” 

“Oh right, yeah we were there,” he confirmed as they reached the first floor of the building, guiding the way to the main exit, “but what were you doing there? The clock was far from the stage.” 

“Ah, I was looking for…” 

He fell silent. He stopped on the last step in front of the entrance to the dorms, while Dazai continued walking until he felt the incriminating gaze on his back. As he turned and faced the albino, he couldn't describe the kind of expression on Atsushi's face. He looked a little disappointed in himself for falling for such petty questions, also betrayed because Dazai asked them. But more than anything else, there was guilt and regret in him.

“You already know…” he exposed, but Dazai kept the same smile of ignorance he’d been wearing all throughout their conversation. 

“I know what?”

Atsushi no longer trusted his act of innocence, and Dazai was proud he figured it out fast. 

“You said you went to Osaka with Chuuya,” he said as his face was painted with guilt again, “and at this point, it’s impossible Higuchi hasn’t told the whole world…” 

“That you kissed Akutagawa?” The albino shivered, but kept his mouth shut and averted his eyes away from the serious and tranquil gaze that observed him. “And I didn’t hear it from her, but I was told. So? What’s the problem?” 

He retraced his steps and stopped in front of the albino. Atsushi still hadn't come down the last step, but the height that difference in levels produced between them was nothing to worry about, not when the boy kept his eyes down and on anything other than the man in front of him.

“Hey, why the long face?” Dazai inquired, searching the bicolor eyes of the other. “We talked about this, didn’t you want to separate them? You did, not how I told you to do it, but you still did it.” 

“I didn’t…” 

“You didn’t what?” he interrupted him. He watched the albino’s face with attention once more and reached his own — and correct — conclusions. “Ah, Higuchi’s talking. Is she saying things about you? Atsushi, I told you this could happen! I told you to be careful, but you were too frantic about wanting Akutagawa that you didn’t do it in the way I told you.” 

“Dazai…” 

“Who cares if she’s talking? She already lost anyway. And apparently, Akutagawa broke up with her! Good job, now you have no competition! That’s what you wanted, right? For him to be yours–” 

“Not anymore!”

Dazai retreated, not a bit surprised by the albino's hasty reaction; it was what he was looking for. He gave him enough space to breathe and consider his next words, not rushing him to find them this time. He already knew what the younger one was going to say, but he wanted to hear it from his own lips. 

Atsushi continued without raising his head, but he had decided to take the last remaining step down, and the words fell into place.

“I know I considered doing it, but I didn’t want to anymore, not that way at least…” he murmured with hesitation, afraid Dazai wouldn’t believe him, but if the brunette believed him or not should be the least of his worries. “I thought that if it was me, if I was in Higuchi’s place, I wouldn’t want someone to do that to me, so I decided to…” 

“Ditch the plan,” Dazai completed. Atsushi nodded and tried not to drown in the memories of that night, though he was already fully drenched. 

“I have no idea why Akutagawa kissed me, I really don’t know…” 

“And if he did it because he likes you?” 

It was hard seeing how his expression went from hopeful to resigned in only a blink; not even feeling worthy that what he wanted was possible. Dazai wondered if, when Yosano told him some time ago that there was a possibility that Chuuya cared about him again, his face created that same picture.

Perhaps he cared, he thought, but not in the same way as when they were teens, nor in the same way Dazai saw him now, but he was fine with that, even if it wasn’t the same kind of ‘love’. He supposed Atsushi had reached a similar conclusion: he would never obtain the kind of ‘love’ he wanted from Akutagawa, and neither did he want to obtain it in the vile way Dazai proposed, so he was fine with being only his friend or someone he knew. 

But there was something more, Dazai noticed. He understood where the guilt Atsushi felt was coming from — from the ability to sympathize with what Higuchi was going through —, but that wasn’t all. 

“Even if he likes me, I can’t do anything about it…” the albino muttered. 

“Are you angry? I heard Akutagawa left you behind.” 

Atsushi shook his head, astounding Dazai that he accepted the tacit rejection with far more ease and without thinking much about it. 

“What else was he supposed to do? Higuchi was his girlfriend, not me.” 

“You at least deserved an explanation,” he commented, thinking about his own experience and what he would’ve liked to do instead of all the mistakes he’d already committed. “I doubt Akutagawa kissed you just because. I don’t know him much, but we all know he doesn’t even like people, and I’m sure he at least likes you a bit.” 

“So what? Even if that’s the case, I can’t… It would be worse for him.” 

Because Higuchi was talking about what happened. She was talking and narrating how her boyfriend cheated on her and the scrutinizing gazes were right over the band, especially the guitarist. 

Thanks to Atsushi, he knew a bit of how it all worked. He knew that between the rising bands, Akutagawa was somewhat popular, and you could almost say he had a well-established reputation around there. When he started dating Higuchi, everyone found out. It wasn’t every day that someone managed to get close to the apathetic and lonely Hellhound, whose expectations were never reached by any band, and it was almost considered an enviable achievement to snatch him into a relationship. And when Black Ocean announced itself with Chuuya as the vocalist, the popularity of the band increased. More people began to assist their shows, more videos were recorded of them, and with their participation in the contest, many more people joined in the hype. 

But more public also meant more criticism. 

“Despite getting second place, Lucy, my friend, told me Black Ocean caught more attention than any other band that day,” Atsushi mumbled, tempted to hug himself. “Even if Akutagawa feels something for me, or even if he didn’t… If I get close to him, Higuchi will continue talking and it could jeopardize them, and things aren’t going well with the band already, that would just make it worse…” 

“So she threatened you,” Dazai guessed. “She told you that, if you got closer to Akutagawa, she would make sure his reputation and the band’s would go to the drain?” 

Atsushi didn’t reply. Why would he, when Dazai had already guessed everything right? Yes, Higuchi did that. He had no idea how she figured out his dorm number — maybe one of her friends lived in the dorms and knew which room the albino lived in — but three days after that night, the girl appeared at his door. 

The words and accusations began as soon as he opened the door. The blonde blamed him for her break up, for acting ‘good’ just to get closer to her boyfriend, and that all his kindness was nothing more than a hoax to obtain something. 

She yelled at him that, one way or another, Akutagawa would get back with her, and that she hoped he distanced himself. But the black-haired boy refused to get back with her, she quit the band, and she warned Atsushi that, if he approached her ex-boyfriend it would only jeopardize them. People didn’t take it well when someone cheated, or so said the blonde, and they were all more interested and got more offended at the drama in other’s lives than their own; they cherished gossiping and judging them. If they saw Atsushi close to Akutagawa mere days after the end of his prior relationship, they would start to criticize the guitarist and the band would lose popularity, and she would do nothing to clean the image of her ex-boyfriend or her ex-band. 

“It’s fine if she threatens me…” 

“Atsushi–” 

“She can do it, I don’t mind,” he insisted, overlooking the brunette’s concern, “but the band… I won’t put them in that situation. I know I was stupid that night and I didn’t resist when Akutagawa kissed me, but I don’t regret it either.” 

“You don’t mind them talking about you…?” 

For the first time during their whole conversation, Atsushi met his eye just to give the other a broken smile. 

“Dazai, look at me, look at how I look.” He pointed at his own hair, his eyes, and his entire body. “Besides, I was adopted by two women, everyone has talked behind my back all my life. It’s not something I’m not used to.” 

He truly hated those self-sacrificing actions, but he couldn't criticize Atsushi for making that choice either.

He thought about drawing the albino into a hug, but that would make the boy cry more than he had probably already cried, so he reached out and ruffled his white hair, gently patting him on the head.

He couldn’t picture someone hating him or insulting him just because of his physical appearance, but he recalled people are always stupid, and that the same happened to Chuuya in high school. They always made fun of his red hair, envious of his blue eyes, and that he managed to catch the attention of Dazai, but unlike the ginger, who always punched whoever dared to say all that, Atsushi was calm and shy; he rathered bare what everyone said about him and his family, and try to forget it. 

He sighed, feeling more tired than ever from both his own emotional burden and that of others. He decided he had heard enough and, draping his arm over the albino's shoulders, guided him along the path they should take. The boy remained silent and Dazai didn't start a conversation; he didn't have the energy to talk anymore either. He dropped him off at the entrance to Kyoto's shopping district and asked him to at least answer a couple of his messages when he was in the mood and report back to him when he got home. He told him to have fun with that friend he’d never heard of before, and they parted ways. 

When he lost sight of Atsushi, he dialed Chuuya’s number as he walked in the direction of his apartment. 

“I can’t believe you gave him that advice,” Chuuya criticized from the other end of the line. 

“I was in my villain arc, don’t blame me,” he excused himself. “I knew he wouldn’t do it anyway. He’s too nice for that, but all his credibility is gone now.”

“I don’t think he minds. Isn’t that what he said? It doesn’t affect him if they talk behind his back.”  

“Even if he doesn’t mind, it’s still not the best outcome,” he replied, slowly going upstairs towards his apartment so the call would last longer. “At least he knows it’s best if he keeps his distance.”

“He might as well tell Ryuu what Higuchi is saying about him…”

“He won't, and neither will you, Chuuya. Let things calm down on their own. If you say anything, it will only make it worse for everyone.” 

He heard Chuuya huffing, as annoyed as having fun. 

“Since when do you care about the band?”  

“Since you stole my notebook to write a song,” he reminded him, and he ignored the complaints that came from the other end. “I want to hear it.” 

“With how things are going, you’ll have to wait a year.” 

“Then I’ll wait, I’m learning to be patient.” 

Chuuya snorted at his statement, but didn’t say more. As he reached his floor, Dazai had to hang up. He promised Chuuya he would continue bothering him with calls or messages later, but for now — despite having slept well over eight hours —, he would take his well-deserved nap. The ginger muttered that he would do the same when he returned to his apartment, saying goodbye by demanding him that, if he was going to annoy him, he better do it before 10 p.m. because he was planning on sleeping early that day. Dazai replied that he couldn’t promise not to text him at midnight. 

He hung up the call before entering the apartment. He could hear the sound of a movie coming from inside, and he assumed his roommate had company because if that wasn’t the case, he wouldn’t even be interested in the TV. Fine, he didn’t care, he just wanted to stop carrying his bag everywhere and lock himself in his room for a couple of hours.