Work Text:
They came into the world as Kyusaku, the name a gentle tie between them and the world around them, whispered in their ears by their mother, voice soft and careful as she hummed songs to them, their name hanging soft and silent in the air. Kyusaku. They barely knew the name, barely knew what it meant to have it bound to them, but they knew that it’s distinctly, definitively theirs, that they are Kyusaku and Kyusaku is them and that’s all there is to it.
Kyusaku. Something created a long time ago. Perhaps an odd name for a child, but nonetheless theirs, a name and meaning as much a part of them as anything else. It was a name that whispered of a past they didn’t have, a history they would be deprived of, and a legacy they would never know.
They were Yumeno Kyusaku, always the aimless dreamer, through and through. They don’t quite understand the name yet. Perhaps they would never completely realize just how brutally, painfully, ironically true it was. Perhaps, had their mother known who and what they would become, she would have chosen something else, a name that wouldn’t burn vibrantly with the promise of more only to be met with the bitter sting of their life.
-------
Elise is the first to call Kyusaku Kyu, to cut their name short at the seams, to abbreviate them. It’s a name to be shouted in play, a single syllable interjected among laughter, bright and shining and happy. Kyu is not the name of the lost child who Kyusaku will be but is not yet. For now, they are Kyu, young and free and welcomed. Elise says their name like it’s a color, vibrant and rich as she chases them through the halls of the Mafia, tripping over her skirts and leaving shreds of purple and red cloth all over the ground.
Kyu is a brighter name than the one they were given. It’s both full of affection, and convenient, given by a friend in the moment that clung to them. It’s a name meant not to be written or even said, only laughed and shouted in the spur of the moment. It’s a happy, carefree name, and for a moment, so are they. For an instant, Kyu is the child they were meant to become.
-------
Dazai says the letter Q likes it’s a name, like it’s supposed to mean something. Like it’s supposed to mean them. He greets Kyu as Q, he curses them as Q, he hurts them as Q, and he leaves them as Q. Q is not the name of a child or even a person, but the name of an object, a thing to be controlled, a tool to be used, a toy to be played with. And for Dazai, that’s what he does. He paints over their humanity in the broad, sweeping strokes of that letter, leaving nothing but their blood to remind them that they are still human. But Q is not a human, Q is a weapon, not worthy of the title that is called humanity. Q is a strange, dangerous name, barely even recognizable as one. Q is the thing in the dark, the fragile sobs of something unidentifiable. They barely know who they are beyond that they are Q. They are nothing, and they are nameless.
-------
The man with the black coat whispers an apology to someone named Kyusaku in their ear as the vines weave through their body, curling and coiling into their skin. They recognize the name in the way one would recognize the name of the protagonist in a long-forgotten children’s book, but it is not the name of anyone they know. It is not the name of anyone they are, nor the name of anyone they remember being. It is a mistake, an unfortunate misnomer in reference to someone who no longer exists, a past they no longer have. It is at once familiar and forgotten, them and not, another person’s recollection of someone else’s life. But it is whispered nonetheless, a frail attempt at comfort, even if it was built on a misunderstanding. It is almost a shame that it means nothing to them.
-------
A man in a brown suit stands above them, clipboard clutched tightly in his fist as he looks them up and down. Gifted D1367, he calls them. Somehow even less than a name than Q, they are a number. Not even an object, but a data point, a series of letters and numbers on a form. D1367 is subhuman, non-existent, a concept buried somewhere in the back of a government cabinet’s file. They are no more real than a flimsy sheet of paper that could disappear or be altered at any time. They could disappear or be altered at any time. They are intangible, erasable, metaphorical.
-------
The silver-haired man asks them what their name is, and they do not know what to say. They are Gifted D1367, they are Q, they are Kyu, they are Kyusaku. They are all of them, and none of them. They are empty, named again and again yet fundamentally nameless, faceless, identityless. They don’t know how to tell him who they are, because they don’t know who they are. They barely know if they are. The man is trying to find what is inside, but there is only emptiness all the way down. They have been hollowed out and left to die, cold and alone.
-------
The first time Kyouka calls them Yumeno, they don’t understand. Yumeno is so far removed from who and what they are that they might as well have never existed. But somewhere in the depths of their memory, something clicks. They are Yumeno -- or at least they were. But if they were, maybe they could be. Yumeno is strange and alien for now, but it’s a name, an actual name, the name of a person. They could be a person again. It’s a chance, and they decide they’re going to try to take it.
They are not D1367, they are not Q, they are not Kyu, they are not Kyusaku. Once upon a time, maybe, but not anymore. They are Yumeno, and that’s enough.