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The snow falls, and he is barely able to process it.
Of course, he had seen it coming, so it doesn't come as a surprise.
However, that doesn't mean it is something he is willing to go through.
"Thank you..."
He turns around and sees her, seating ever so oblivious on her favorite loveseat.
"But, who are you?"
She stands up after having fiddled with her thumbs for a while now.
"Excuse me, where's the bathroom?"
He idly moves his left arm so that his index finger is slightly pointing at the direction.
She barely moves her head, as if to bow, but not really.
"Thank you very much, Dazai."
The brown haired man sharpens his, almost, glare at the woman.
"Osamu."
She looks at him confused, "O-Osamu, then."
"Thank you."
The female scurries to the restroom, trying to not make any noise, although he could already hear the flower vase stumbling and almost falling, having not fallen since her hands holds it in place.
He has his doubts about her memory loss, or at least that she doesn't remember.
But he doesn't mention it.
He just leaves things here and there.
He knows she notices them.
But he doesn't mention it.
His feet lead him to the wooden table that innocently held a photo album.
A cruel idea runs through his mind; he knows it will have a reaction.
He opens it and his eyes run through the pages, trying to find the one.
So, he does.
Once the deed is done, he goes back to his place and brown irises follow the white flakes that gently fall.
"I'm back."
He hums in response, turning around to face her, leaning his back to the window's frame.
As expected, the picture catches her attention, and there is something, something about her expression that makes him know she lies.
Maybe how her eyes glisten, or maybe the small frown, maybe the purse of her lips or how her gaze falls to the floor.
But he doesn't mention it.