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14
The crowd and the colorful strips hanging from bamboo everywhere provided good cover. It was the perfect opportunity to slip away.
Dazai didn’t plan on being gone forever, or even that long. He knew his limits when it came to his foster father, Mori. His family had been important and they’d trusted him to Mori in the event of their death, which was apparently more likely than they’d thought, because they did die and Dazai did end up with Mori. Mori was a successful doctor who wanted Dazai to be just as successful and often implied that he would be worthless otherwise, and that he certainly would be worthless without Mori as a guardian.
Dazai knew that Mori was using him to look good to other people. To seem like a trustworthy man so that he could get friendly with them and then undercut their businesses or clients or whatever he did.
Mori’s punishments were words that hurt, or subtle threats to take away anything that brought Dazai joy. That didn’t stop Dazai from misbehaving, though. It was impossible not to want to make things harder for someone like Mori, and if Mori wanted his intelligence, Dazai was going to use it in ways Mori didn’t want it to be used.
Right now, he figured half an hour was a fair amount of time. It would cause a lot of unease without turning into full-blown anger. It would be an annoyance and an inconvenience, but not something that would ruin the night. Part of keeping up appearances was going to this festival, which meant that Mori couldn’t spend too much time looking for him anyway. Letting people know that he lost his foster kid wouldn’t be good for his image.
The festival itself was one that Dazai didn’t understand and didn’t really care to. He made his way to the edges of the park, away from the glow of the lights and the crowds of people that he sometimes found overwhelming. He had no idea what he planned to do other than disappear for a while.
Then something caught his interest. A small boy leaning against a tree not too far away, watching the festival. As Dazai got closer he noticed how the light from the festival cast a soft glow on his face and reflected in his eyes, and illuminated the look of longing that went with it.
Dazai crept closer. He considered himself good at being silent, because being silent gained him a lot of information. He could sneak around and overhear all sorts of conversations, or only be found when he wanted to be. He skirted around the tree and started coming at the boy from behind, but the boy turned around before Dazai could take more than two steps.
“What do you want?”
Dazai stopped. “Can’t I just take a nice walk?”
“You’re watching me,” the boy said. “You were looking at me and then you tried to sneak up behind me.”
Dazai noticed that the boy’s manner of speaking and tone were very impolite but decided not to comment on it. “It seems pretty stupid to just be standing here looking at the festival when you can just go in. It’s not like you have to pay or anything.”
“Festival?” The boy asked, like that was a foreign word.
“Yeah,” Dazai said. “You didn’t know this was happening today? The Tanabata festival?”
“What’s that?”
It occurred to Dazai that the boy hadn’t been going into the festival because he had no idea what it was, so he’d just been watching from the outside, trying to get a picture of what was happening.
“You see those colorful things hanging from the bamboo?” Dazai asked, pointing at the closest one. The boy nodded. “On this day, people write their wishes on strips of paper and tie them up there.”
The boy nodded. “Do the wishes come true?”
“I don’t know. This is my first year doing it,” Dazai said. “But I don’t think so. There’s no reason why it would come true. I don’t really believe in that sort of thing.”
“In what sort of thing?”
Dazai turned to look at the boy. “What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
Dazai wondered why he was so defensive and why he was alone. They seemed to be the same age, and most people their age would have parents around. “Dazai,” he said. “Now you have to answer.”
“Chuuya.”
“Well, Chuuya, are you gonna come or not?” Dazai grabbed his wrist before he could respond and started dragging him towards the festival. He didn’t miss the way that Chuuya tensed and started to pull back, but ultimately let himself be dragged along.
Dazai brought him to the edge of the festival lights where the crowds were thinner and most of the noise farther away. When they stopped, he turned to look at Chuuya, who was wide-eyed.
It was then that Dazai really saw Chuuya for the first time and saw how unusual he looked. He had red hair and blue eyes and was wearing horribly mis-matched clothes. His pants and jacket were both too big and his shirt seemed to be the only thing that fit properly.
He looked so out of place, not just for here but for anywhere. His appearance raised a lot of questions for Dazai and he was about to ask them when he heard a familiar voice say, “Dazai-kun, there you are.”
Dazai internally groaned as Chuuya took off and turned to face Mori, whose smile concealed annoyance.
“Come now, we wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun,” Mori said.
“No we wouldn’t,” Dazai muttered. He knew that if he looked back he wouldn’t see anyone. Chuuya would be long gone.
He wished he could be long gone, too.
15
At fifteen years old Dazai found a new way to annoy Mori: bandages.
It started when he was a bit reckless in the kitchen and burned himself on the arm. Mori had wrapped the wound in bandages and Dazai kept his sleeves rolled up because the bandages caught the fabric of his shirt in a way that made it slightly uncomfortable. It clearly bothered Mori, who told him multiple times to roll his sleeves back down and Dazai realized why.
It was very, very bad to have a kid who constantly appeared injured.
After the burn healed Dazai continued to find ways to need bandages, going so far as to get them himself and dress his own wounds. He began being more careless, which gave him something to do other than thinking about how lonely he was because he didn’t have friends and how worthless he’d be if he didn’t use his intelligence for something worthwhile, as Mori often told him. He wanted friends, but Mori said he would lose them because once they knew more about him, they would think him a bad enough person to not want to associate with him again, and the only way people would like him would be if he could be useful to them.
Mori went so far as to tell him that his parents had been planning to send him away even if they hadn’t died, because they didn’t want a seemingly useless child, and Dazai had been unruly enough that they believed he wouldn’t amount to anything. Dazai didn’t know if that was true, but he would never be able to ask his parents himself and so Mori’s words stuck with him.
Dazai already felt separate from his peers because he was generally more observant and smarter than them, and less willing to trust based on what Mori said. So he believed Mori because nothing had proved otherwise, and the only time people seemed happy with him was when he showed how smart he was.
So, without friends and resenting Mori for all of this even if part of him believed it, he began finding new ways to get injured. He didn’t like the pain, but he knew what to do with it. A cut or burn could be bandaged — sharp words or being left behind, not so much. Dazai would take the physical pain and use it to his advantage and there wasn’t much Mori could do about it.
Soon he began to turn to pain to let out his frustrations at himself, at others, or to fuel his fascination at how delicate his body could be. He didn’t have much control over his situation, but he did have control over this, and it occurred to him that the more injured he was, the more relieved he felt in some ways. Eventually he realized it was because it meant there was a way out of this existence.
If he wanted to, he could end his life.
He had not ended his life by the time the Tanabata festival came around that year. The festival seemed to be a place where he could forget himself for a bit. He hadn’t started hurting himself in earnest yet, so for the festival his bandages were mostly hidden, and he didn’t really mind that he would look healthy for any of Mori’s friends who saw them. He wanted to keep the festival as a time of relaxation and hope.
As with the year before, he snuck off after some time. He gravitated towards the edge of the festival grounds, to where he’d seen Chuuya last year. He hadn’t thought much about Chuuya in the year since, but he came to mind now. The strange kid with the strange clothes and strange hair, who didn’t even know about this tradition, was someone Dazai wanted to see again. Chuuya wouldn’t know about all of his issues, so maybe Chuuya would like him, and they would be separated again before he found out much more.
It was a long shot, but Dazai headed to that area with two slips of colorful paper in his hand. He’d gotten a red one for Chuuya, like his hair, and a blue one for himself because that was his favorite color.
Part of him was expecting disappointment and part of him was daring to hope. He looked at the tree where he’d found Chuuya the year before and saw nothing. With a sigh, he turned to see if he could find him in this area of the festival grounds at all and bumped into someone.
“Ouch,” he said even though it didn’t hurt.
The other person took a step back. “Oh, it’s you.”
Dazai realized he was looking at Chuuya, who hadn’t changed much. He still didn’t have traditional clothing and he still looked very out of place. The only difference was that his voice was deeper, like Dazai’s own.
“Chuuya,” Dazai said with a grin. “It was so rude of you to run off like that last year.”
“Like you would’ve stuck around,” Chuuya said. “What’s that?” His eyes were drawn to the papers in Dazai’s hand.
“This? It’s the whole point of the festival. Remember what I said last year?” Dazai asked. “Have you made your wish yet?”
“No,” Chuuya said. “I was just checking it out.”
“It’s lucky you have me here,” Dazai said, holding out the red strip and a pen. “You’ll owe me when your wish comes true, you know. I’m here to improve your life.”
Chuuya scoffed and looked at the paper. “You really expect me to believe this’ll work?”
“Everyone believes it’ll work tonight,” Dazai said. “I’m gonna write one too.” He held up his own strip.
Chuuya sighed. “Fine, I’ll play along.” He thought for a moment and then began writing in what, from the little Dazai could see, was the worst handwriting ever. It was barely legible.
Once he was done he handed the pen back to Dazai, who wrote his own wish in much more beautiful lettering. He made sure that Chuuya couldn’t see it.
“This way,” he said, grabbing Chuuya by the wrist, ignoring the way Chuuya resisted and dragging him to the nearest bamboo. There were already a lot of papers there, so Dazai struggled to find a spot to hang his. “Give me yours.”
“I’ll hang it myself,” Chuuya said, and he did, taking his time so that it wouldn’t fall off.
They both stepped back to admire their handiwork. Their wishes were hard to see mixed in with the other ones.
“What did you wish for?” Chuuya asked.
“I don’t wish and tell,” Dazai said with a laugh.
Chuuya sighed. “I don’t get you.” Something made a buzzing noise and he pulled a small flip-phone out of his pocket, frowning at whatever message he’d received. “Look, I gotta go, but...I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Dazai was disappointed that Chuuya had to leave and he wondered what kind of place Chuuya had to go to. Were Chuuya’s parents the ones who’d sent that message?
“I know you won’t be able to resist my presence,” Dazai said with a smile.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and turned, disappearing through the crowd.
The next day Dazai wondered if he was some kind of dream.
16
In January, Dazai tried to kill himself.
He’d never felt more relieved than he did when he took the knife to his wrists, and had never felt more disappointed when he woke up having to conform to Mori’s expectations and to deal with his own lonely existence. He was told in the hospital that he likely suffered from depression, but Mori didn’t want him to sign up for therapy. It wasn’t necessary, he’d said. It was something Dazai would have to deal with himself and if he couldn’t, well, that would be a disappointment.
Dazai wasn’t sure he wanted a therapist anyway. He didn’t know who he could trust with his feelings. He couldn’t trust Mori, of course, but the other kids at school thought he was weird and wanted nothing to do with him. A therapist might have told him the same things Mori did. He didn’t really want to give himself hope only to have it torn down.
The attempts continued and the self harm increased, and the bandages became less to annoy Mori and more of a necessity. Dazai still wore them very visibly, though, because ultimately they were a sort of protection. They kept people at arm’s length, and anyone who still decided to get close was possibly the sort of person Dazai might be able to be friends with.
No one decided to get close.
Dazai forgot about the Tanabata festival until the day beforehand. It was two weeks after his last suicide attempt. He’d tried to hang himself, and now he wrapped bandages around his throat to hide the severe bruising. Mori never let him stay hospitalized for long even when he should have been, so he dragged himself through life and was dragged to the festival.
He managed to slip away from Mori again, wondering if he could find a way to get hit by a car or something, when someone called out, “Oi, Dazai!”
A familiar voice. Dazai turned around to see Chuuya staring at him, still not in traditional clothing and maybe only an inch or two taller.
“We never saw each other,” Dazai said. His mind was buzzing, the fog he’d been living through starting to part with Chuuya’s appearance. He felt something like hope, and it felt overwhelming to feel it.
“Yokohama’s a big city,” Chuuya said. “I don’t think you live in my neighborhood.”
“That’s what phones are for, Chuuya,” Dazai said. “And you have one — I saw it last year and you still didn’t give me your number. How terrible of you!”
Chuuya blinked. “I didn’t think you’d want my number.”
“Well maybe I do.”
Chuuya’s lips twitched into an almost-smile, which faded slightly as he took in Dazai’s appearance. “You look like shit.” He sounded concerned.
Dazai stared at him. No one said that to him, as much as they must have thought it. He barely ate, had trouble sleeping, was always exhausted and all of this was in addition to his injuries and attempts. People gave him side-long looks and whispered behind his back, Mori expressed his disappointment all the time, but no one was honest with him and no one was concerned.
It was probably insensitive of Chuuya, but it made Dazai laugh. At least someone wasn’t shying away from it.
“What’s funny?” Chuuya asked.
Dazai realized he’d been laughing so hard he was almost crying. “N-nothing! I — you’re so rude, Chuuya!”
“Rude? But it’s true!”
That made Dazai laugh harder. If it had been Mori with him, Mori would’ve been upset that he was making a scene. But Chuuya just watched him.
“You done?” he asked when Dazai calmed down.
“I tried to kill myself,” Dazai blurted out.
Chuuya’s eyes widened.
“Multiple times,” Dazai continued, the words just pouring out, because he never said them out loud. “That’s why all the bandages. I don’t want to live. I feel relieved when I feel myself dying and disappointed when I wake up and I’m probably going to do it again soon.” He was sure now he’d done the thing to drive Chuuya away from him. Even if they only saw each other for one night, he would still be way too much to deal with.
Chuuya stared at him for a moment, then sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him. “Come on.”
Dazai, confused, let himself be pulled, stumbling a bit. Chuuya’s hand felt very warm over his scarred wrist.
Finally, Chuuya let go. He’d brought them to the same bamboo tree that they’d tied their wishes to last year.
Dazai watched as he took something out of his pocket — two colored strips of paper. He handed one to Dazai. It was blue.
“You remembered my favorite color,” Dazai said, oddly touched.
“Don’t make a thing out of it,” Chuuya muttered.
“Chuuya!” Dazai cried loudly, happy to tease him rather than focus on his own feelings. “You’re so soft!”
“Shut it!” Chuuya shoved a pen into Dazai’s hands and unfolded his own paper.
Dazai realized as soon as he had the pen that he didn’t know what to wish for. “Nothing I write is going to come true,” he said.
Chuuya looked at him and then held out his hand for the pen. Dazai handed it over wordlessly and watched Chuuya scribble on to his paper with the same horrible handwriting as before.
“Your wish definitely won’t come true,” Dazai said, “since no one’ll be able to read it.”
“Like your handwriting is much better!”
“It is! Just watch.” He took the pen back and paused.
“Uh huh,” Chuuya said. “Good handwriting means nothing if you still don’t have a wish.”
“I’m thinking! If you’re so smart about wishes what did you wish for?”
Chuuya looked up at the papers dangling from the tree. “I don’t like to wish for impossible things,” he said. “Even the possible things don’t happen the way I want them to a lot of the time. But still, a wish is meant to be a bit out of your control, right? So my wishes are things that I think are possible, that I really hope will happen even if I can’t guarantee it.”
“And your wish?”
Chuuya met Dazai’s eyes. “That I’ll see you again next year.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. Dazai felt his throat grow tight. “I can’t guarantee that.”
“A wish isn’t a guarantee,” Chuuya said. “I just hope...and I think it’s possible.”
“You can see right now how impossible it is,” Dazai said. Chuuya could see all the bandages. He could see how terrible Dazai looked.
Chuuya didn’t look away. “I think it’s possible.”
Dazai didn’t know what to say to that. It was overwhelming, for someone to want to see him in the future and for them to believe in him enough that they thought he’d be around. Maybe Chuuya didn’t understand. Once Chuuya understood he’d have less faith in Dazai and that would be the undoing of their wish before his death would be.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let Chuuya leave him behind once he realized the truth, so he shoved the paper at Chuuya and ran, ignoring Chuuya calling his name.
He didn’t make a wish that night.
17
“Odasaku, there’s this festival I want you to go to with me.”
“You just want me to go so you don’t have to go with Mori.”
“...maybe.”
“Do you actually enjoy it?”
“Yes!”
Oda wasn’t a fan of Dazai doing things he didn’t enjoy just for the sake of appearances, so he often said things like this to try and figure out what Dazai really liked. Dazai was cagey about his real feelings and likes and desires, but Oda’s bluntness and matter-of-fact attitude cut through all that pretty quickly. He tended to go with anything as long as he had an idea of the motivations behind it.
It wasn’t that Oda didn’t care, but rather that he didn’t mind.
Oda didn’t mind a lot of things as long as the other person was someone he enjoyed spending time with, and to Dazai’s shock, he was someone Oda enjoyed spending time with.
After looking at him for a few seconds, Oda nodded. “In that case, I’ll go with you.”
Dazai hoped Oda would like it. He hoped Oda liked a lot of the things they did together, because Oda was the first person he could really call a friend. Oda had saved his life in some ways after Dazai started spending time in the public library after school to avoid going home, hoping that his thoughts would give him a break if he was surrounded by people even if he wasn’t talking to them. Oda had been there a lot, always writing. He went to a university nearby and enjoyed doing his work in the library.
They talked, first small-talk and then more as Dazai’s curiosity grew and his need for normal interaction with people took over. Occasionally they were joined by another guy in Oda’s year named Ango, but Ango was often busy and although they were friendly, Dazai wasn’t as close to him.
He did invite Ango to the festival too, but Ango was studying. He was always studying.
Oda listened to Dazai. Sometimes he offered him advice or asked questions, and sometimes he simply let Dazai talk. He asked Dazai how he was and made plans with Dazai to get curry. These were all simple things, but they were things Dazai hadn’t had before he’d met Oda, and they made a difference. Dazai wasn’t completely clear of suicide attempts or harming himself, and the depressive thoughts were still there, but he was more alive and more willing to give living a try.
The night of the festival Dazai was excited. It was much more enjoyable going with a friend than with Mori, and he wondered if this year he might see Chuuya again. Now that he’d seen him last year and the year before, it felt like less of a longshot to see him again this year. Maybe he could introduce Odasaku. He hoped they liked each other, which was an odd thing to hope for since Chuuya wasn’t around at any other time.
They walked around for a bit before Dazai mentioned that he wanted to see if he could find Chuuya.
“It’s funny,” he explained, “because we’ve seen each other for the past three years so I think we’ll see each other this year too. He’s weird, though. I had to explain to him what the festival was and he never wears traditional clothes, and the way he talks is...something.” Maybe Chuuya finally would have gained some politeness this year, though.
They made their way to the edge of the festival. Chuuya always seemed to find him first, so Dazai was extra-aware of his surroundings. He wanted to find Chuuya first for once, to prove that he could take Chuuya by surprise too. He wondered if Chuuya would approach Dazai even if he did see him, because Dazai was with someone else.
Chuuya had always been alone when Dazai saw him.
They walked for a bit until Dazai saw red hair peeking out from under a hat. Was that Chuuya? He made his way closer, noticing that the person was really short. If it was Chuuya…
He tapped their shoulder and they spun around, grabbing his hand.
Dazai smirked. “Got you.”
Chuuya’s eyes widened.
“I know I’m so good looking that it renders people speechless,” Dazai said. “I’m flattered, Chuuya —”
“Why the fuck are you so tall?” Chuuya interrupted.
Dazai stared at him and then started laughing. “Tall? You’re tiny! You didn’t even grow I bet!”
“I’m still growing!” Chuuya’s cheeks turned a bit red in a way that Dazai found kind of cute. “And at least I won’t turn into some kind of noodle-person.”
“Noodle person?” Dazai scoffed. “I’ll have you know I’m a very dashing, non-noodle person.” Indeed, anyone who didn’t know Dazai personally thought he was attractive.
“Yeah right,” Chuuya said. “Maybe in your own head you are but to me you look like an overgrown mummy.”
“Says the oversized kid with a silly hat,” Dazai said.
Oda cleared his throat and Chuuya’s eyes shot over to him.
“Ah! This is my friend Odasaku,” Dazai explained. “We met at the library.”
“Oda Sakunosuke,” Oda said, holding out his hand.
Chuuya shook it. “Chuuya. How do you put up with him on a daily basis?”
Oda shrugged.
“How mean!” Dazai cried. “You’re supposed to say it’s because I’m amazing!”
“You are a delight,” Oda said drily.
Chuuya smirked. “I like him.”
“You two are horrible. And Chuuya…” Dazai looked him up and down. “What are you wearing?”
“What of it?” Chuuya tilted his head up defiantly, as if the outfit explained itself, which it didn’t. It was as if he’d set out to dress in the complete opposite way as everyone else, with an overlong red sweater underneath a leather jacket, a choker, and the hat. At least the clothes fit this time around, but still...
Only Chuuya could wear that and get away with it, Dazai thought. Chuuya himself had matured a bit from the past few years...something about his jawline, the shape of his face...Dazai’s heart did strange things looking at him.
“Perhaps,” Oda said, “we should write down our wishes and hang them up.”
“You’re right!” Dazai had brought three strips of paper. He handed a golden one to Oda and a red one to Chuuya, who looked oddly touched. He kept the blue one for himself. “Let’s do this.”
“Do you believe in this sort of thing?” Chuuya asked Oda as they walked.
“It can’t hurt,” Oda said.
“Odasaku is very practical,” Dazai said, “but he’s willing to try a lot of things.”
“I didn’t believe in these things,” Chuuya said. “I mean, Dazai told me about the festival and I figured, why not? And I guess it’s not all for nothing. My wish from last year came true.”
Dazai froze. Luckily they had reached the bamboo trees, so neither Oda nor Chuuya noticed.
Chuuya had wished to see Dazai this year, and Dazai had run away. He had wondered if Chuuya was angry at him for it, but apparently not angry enough to ignore him. Things seemed normal — in fact, Dazai was enjoying himself more this year.
He looked over at Chuuya, who was staring at his paper with a small frown. He looked tired, which Dazai hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t a “didn’t get enough sleep” sort of tired but something more bone-deep and Dazai wasn’t sure why he felt the need to ask if Chuuya was okay. Before he could put the thought to rest Chuuya raised his eyes to meet Dazai’s. “Like what you see?”
Yes Dazai’s mind said. Dazai ignored it. “You don’t know what to wish for. That’s a first.”
Chuuya shrugged. “You look better this year.”
“I’ve grown to be a very handsome young man, haven’t I?” Dazai winked, ignoring the implication that Chuuya might have made another wish about him if he hadn’t looked better.
“A pain in the ass, maybe.” Chuuya’s gaze shifted behind Dazai. “It’s not like you know what to wish for either.”
“Your not-wishing distracted me,” Dazai said. Truthfully he wasn’t sure what to wish for. Wishing to see Chuuya next year...it almost felt inevitable, like he didn’t need to wish for it.
Chuuya began writing as if to prove him wrong. “There. Your turn.”
“What did you wish for?”
“What, so you can copy my answer?”
“Why would I ever wish for anything you wish for?”
“Do you two even like each other?” Oda asked, his tone amused.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dazai said at the same time as Chuuya said, “yeah right!”
Oda looked unconvinced. “Once you two are done with that,” he said, “do you want to get food with us, Chuuya?”
Dazai realized Chuuya never seemed to do anything at the festival other than make wishes.
“Nah,” Chuuya said with a sigh. “I have to head back. But maybe next time.” Next time was a good sign.
“You better,” Dazai said.
“It was nice meeting you,” Oda added.
Chuuya tipped his hat to both of them.
“How tacky!” Dazai called out as he walked away.
“You’re the tacky one, asshole!” Chuuya shouted back. Several people looked their way but then he was gone.
“He’s interesting,” Oda said once he and Dazai started walking towards the food stalls. “You only see him here once a year?”
“Yeah,” Dazai said.
“You two seem like...people who see each other more.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Nothing,” Oda said. “Just an observation.”
The thing was, it felt natural to be with Chuuya and talk to Chuuya and tease Chuuya. It was so much more natural with him than it was with most people and Dazai wasn’t sure why. He wished he saw Chuuya more often, but maybe that would ruin it. Maybe Chuuya would get tired of him if they saw each other more.
It was unfortunate that Chuuya hadn’t been able to get food with them. Dazai could have found out more about him. He realized he had no idea what Chuuya was talking about when he said he had to head back. Back to where?
If Oda noticed how deep in thought Dazai was once Chuuya left, he didn’t comment.
Dazai realized, with a pang of disappointment, that he’d forgotten to get Chuuya’s number.
18
Dazai almost didn’t go.
The idea of going without Oda tore at his heart. The pain was constantly there, and if Oda hadn’t helped him enjoy life he might have ended it once Oda died. It felt like a disservice to his friend, though, so he tried his hardest not to fall back into old habits. Trying to live life was something he could do to honor his friend.
It was so, so difficult. The loneliness Dazai had felt before returned in full force. It was worse to be lonely having lost someone than to be lonely without having lost anyone, he thought. The pain made it hard to breathe. Even when he moved out of Mori’s house and started university, even when he was finally doing things for himself, often he felt like it was for nothing. Happiness was so fleeting. Everything was fleeting. If he truly wanted something and went for it, then it would hurt so much more once that thing was taken away.
Part of him thought it was stupid, to try to go to the festival and make a wish. What he really wanted wouldn’t come true. He couldn’t go back in time and stop the car accident, couldn’t undo the thoughts that took hold that blamed Ango because he was there, couldn’t unhear the words Mori said about how Oda’s friendship had been a waste of time anyway, distracting Dazai from what was truly important in life.
The festival didn’t seem to change, though. Every year he could go there and feel a bit separate from his life, even if only for a little while. He could see Chuuya and pretend that everything was okay. If they did the same things that they always did, he could forget what had changed, and everything would be okay.
Except the first thing out of Chuuya’s mouth had to be, “where’s your friend?”
He’d found Dazai first again. He was still wearing the stupid hat, still not in traditional clothing, still the same height. He looked exhausted and pale, holding himself in a careful way that made Dazai wonder if he was injured. He might have asked, too, if he wasn’t distracted by the other thing Chuuya was still doing this year that he’d done all the other years.
He was still poking at feelings Dazai didn’t want touched.
Dazai slapped on a smile and said, “Chuuya! Glad to see your tradition of wearing tacky outfits hasn’t changed!”
“Says the one wearing the tacky bandages!” Chuuya gave him a once-over. “I don’t know how it’s possible that you look even more annoying.”
“You mean more handsome?”
“Like hell! The last thing I’d ever call you is handsome.”
“Don’t be so rude!” Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s wrist, ignoring his hiss of pain and protest of “what the hell?” and dragged him towards the bamboo trees. “It’s time to make a wish, Chuuya! What’s it gonna be this year? Look, I got your favorite color.”
Chuuya frowned as Dazai handed him a red strip of paper. “Thanks.”
Dazai took out his blue one and a pen. “So what’ll it be then? The wish?”
“You’ll have to work harder for it,” Chuuya said, although he hadn’t written anything down. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” There was a slight teasing edge to his tone that Dazai didn’t know what to do with. Was this what it was like when someone flirted back at him and it actually worked?
“I asked first,” Dazai said, “but maybe...an exception could be made for Chuuya if he…” He trailed off.
“If he what?” Chuuya asked warily.
“If he did one thing that I asked him to. Anything,” Dazai said.
“I need to know what it is before you ask me,” Chuuya said. “What kind of person enters a deal without knowing all the conditions?”
“Stupid people? I was hoping you would,” Dazai said.
“Are you saying I’m stupid?”
“Maybe.”
“You little —” Chuuya grabbed the front of Dazai’s yukata and pulled him down so they were nose-to-nose. “Maybe my condition telling you my wish is that you have to do one thing that I want you to do.”
“Which is?”
Chuuya opened his mouth and closed it.
Dazai smirked. “Thought so.”
“You don’t know either!”
“I do.”
“Then tell me. That’s the only way you’re getting anything out of me.”
Dazai didn’t know, but looking at how close Chuuya’s face was, at the intensity of his eyes, it was hard not to say the two words that came out of his mouth: “kiss me.”
Chuuya’s mouth dropped open.
Dazai immediately pulled away before Chuuya could react any further. He hadn’t meant to do that. This was deviating from what was normal, and he needed normal. The last thing he needed was Chuuya’s rejection. “Just kidding!”
“Hang on a minute, are you se —?”
“Just kidding, Chuuya.” Dazai turned towards the food stalls. “Who needs wishes anyway? Let’s get some food.”
“The whole point of this festival is the wishes,” Chuuya said. “That’s what you told me.”
“It’s not like they come true.” Dazai started walking away but Chuuya grabbed his sleeve.
“Maybe I want to make a wish.”
Dazai turned around. “Why? Why are you so obsessed with wishes?”
“I’m not,” Chuuya said. “It’s just why we’re here.”
“You never do anything else,” Dazai continued. “You never eat. You never hang out. You don’t even dress properly for the festival. You just make a wish and leave. It’s almost as if you’re not a real person.”
“I am a real person!” Chuuya snapped.
“Then why don’t you do anything else?” Dazai asked.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“You never explain anything! You’re here and then you’re gone, every year. Do you even live in this city? I’ve never seen you. I don’t know anything about your life.”
“I don’t know anything about yours!”
“Yes you do,” Dazai said, narrowing his eyes. “You know that I tried to kill myself. You know who my best friend was. Is that it? Did you decide I’m too much trouble for you?”
“What? No! What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?”
“Me?” Dazai laughed. “I could ask the same of you. Why are you so defensive?”
“You’re fucking making me defensive.” Chuuya looked like he wanted to leave but for some reason wasn’t.
Dazai wouldn’t let him do that first. “You want to know my problem? My friend can’t be here tonight, but I wish he could. That’s my wish. I wish it was him instead of you.”
Chuuya punched Dazai.
Not a play-punch, but a real, full-force punch. Dazai’s head rang with it and he nearly fell to the ground. He expected Chuuya to follow through with a second one but he didn’t.
Chuuya’s face was pale but his anger hadn’t faded. “I hope your friend is fucking proud,” he snarled.
Dazai took a shaky breath. “Don’t say that. He’s dead.”
Something softened in Chuuya’s expression for a moment before it hardened again. “I hope,” he repeated, “your friend is fucking proud.”
Dazai’s heartbeat was too loud, pounding in his head and drowning out the other noise. The festival felt far away. “What a shitty thing to say,” he murmured.
Whatever Chuuya’s response was, Dazai didn’t hear it. He only knew it was angry from the tone of voice, but he didn’t bother to figure out the words. He turned and started walking, not completely aware of his surroundings or where he was going. Chuuya didn’t follow him and somehow he ended up in his room, sitting on his bed, his hands twitching with the urge to hurt himself like he’d hurt Chuuya or like Chuuya had hurt him.
It had been too easy to ask for Chuuya’s kiss.
It had been easier to ask for Chuuya’s kiss than to run away.
19
It was raining.
Dazai had no idea what he was doing. Not a lot of people had come out and if he was being honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya never wanted to see him again. He thought about that night last year often. What Chuuya had said hurt, but he knew what he’d said to Chuuya cut deeply, even if he didn’t understand why.
He had tried to find a trace of Chuuya somewhere, anywhere, but he didn’t even have a family name to go off. Chuuya had never given it and Dazai wondered why. Was it because he didn’t want Dazai to find him outside of the festival? Did he not like his family? Did he even live in Yokohama?
Dazai regretted not asking more. He regretted not trying to talk to Chuuya in a way that would bring them closer. He regretted not asking anything about his personal life. He regretted never getting Chuuya’s contact info. He regretted taking away the one chance he had at being something more.
Chuuya didn’t show up and Dazai wondered if they’d ever see each other again.
Alone, he hung his wish on the bamboo tree.
20
The festival felt like a good dream.
The soft glow over everything, the crowds of people enjoying themselves, the smell of street food, the way everything from life was left behind to celebrate, all of these things made it feel like a dream and leaving felt like waking up.
Dazai had come to the festival this year with a group of friends he’d made in the university’s library. They were an interesting group of people, all studying different disciplines, and they seemed to accept Dazai for who he was. Cautiously, he was letting himself be part of this group more and more. He hoped that he could feel completely at ease with them one day. Having a group of people he could trust seemed nice.
He’d lost them, though. One moment he’d been with Yosano, their group’s only med student, getting food and the next she’d disappeared. Dazai decided to go to the bamboo trees, figuring that everyone would end up there eventually.
The bamboo were already thick with paper strips. It made for an impressive sight and was one of the things about this festival that Dazai found most fascinating. All of these wishes gathered in one place, the hopes and dreams of people, including Dazai’s own, written out and made concrete.
Dazai found the tree that he and Chuuya had hung theirs from. He hadn’t realized that they’d been hanging their paper strips from the same tree until he thought back on it. The tree was the nearest to where the festival grounds ended, and fewer people were there. The tree itself had more room.
As Dazai took out his strip of paper and a pen, a voice said, “you’re so predictable, you know that?”
Dazai’s heart leapt into his throat. That voice was familiar. He looked up and saw Chuuya warily looking back at him, a small distance away. He looked almost ethereal, for once dressed in traditional clothing — a white yukata that looked soft from the glow of the festival lights. Chuuya himself, however, did not look soft at all.
“I almost didn’t say anything,” Chuuya added.
“You weren’t here last year,” Dazai said. “Is it because of what I said?”
“No,” Chuuya said, and didn’t elaborate.
“So mysterious,” Dazai said, half joking but also a bit bitter.
Chuuya sighed. “I was part of a gang,” he said after a moment. “Conflicts broke out and I had to lay low for a bit.”
Dazai wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “A gang?”
“I’m sure you’re mad because I never told you anything about myself,” Chuuya said, “and that’s why.”
“You were not in a gang when we met,” Dazai said. Chuuya gave him a look. “You were fourteen.”
“Street kid,” Chuuya said. “Never been anything else, that I can remember. But —”
“Street kid?” That...explained a surprising amount, but still.
“But that isn’t the point. The point is I’m willing to open up to you because...I’ve done some thinking.”
“And?” Dazai asked.
“And we’re both stupid as hell,” Chuuya said. “Neither of us figured out how to find each other after the festival each year. Neither of us talked about much more than wishes.” He sighed. “Neither of us admitted that we wanted something more than what we had.”
Dazai swallowed. He couldn’t say Chuuya was wrong.
“The last time we saw each other, what you said was shitty, and what I said was shitty.” Chuuya ran a hand through his hair. “But I’ll put that down to stupidity too.”
Dazai nodded, daring to feel hope.
“We could get to know each other better,” Chuuya said. “I hope I’m not stupid to trust you.”
“You’re not.” Dazai’s heart was beating too fast, but in a good way. He would make sure Chuuya wasn’t wrong to trust him. “And I hope I’m not stupid to trust you.”
Chuuya’s expression softened a bit, his lips quirking into a slight smile. “You’re not.”
Dazai smiled back.
“Come on,” Chuuya said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get some food.”
Dazai took his hand and followed Chuuya towards the food stalls, leaving the bamboo trees behind. He hadn’t written down a wish, but he didn’t need to. Writing his wish down on a piece of paper and hoping for the best was too easy.
He would work to make his wish come true.