Archive of Our Own

For all of his twenty-two years of living, Dazai Osamu knew three rules:

Don’t show your face to anyone.

Don’t go outside for anything other than necessities.

Always follow the words of your father.

And for those twenty-two years, he listened to everything carefully. He never took one wrong step. He never complained. He was almost like a porcelain doll, carefully nurtured and protected by a certain duke from across the sea by the name of Mori Ougai. After all, it was all for his own good, wasn’t it? So he has been told ever since he was a toddler, at least.

The days of his childhood are blurry inside his mind even now. For as long as he can remember, he’s been living here — all alone, rarely visited by his illegitimate father who, really, only checked up on him to make sure he was still alive. 

Dazai wasn’t a fool, no matter how many times Mori tried attaching countless invisible strings to his limbs in order to move him around like a soulless puppet. Was he only trying to satisfy his own twisted fantasies? Or was he trying to protect him from an outside world that offered him nothing but repulsion, perhaps? Repulsion towards his despicable figure, his shameful heritage, his very existence that could easily cut a hole in any crowd?

He doesn’t want any answers to those questions. Even if he got them, they wouldn’t make him feel anything.

Nothing in the world comes without a price. Each morning, when Dazai gets up from his bed at the top floor of his lone tower and looks out of the window, the fresh sunlight hitting the ridiculous amount of bandages on his face, he feels nothing. The clear sky makes him feel nothing. The birds singing sweet morning serenades make him feel nothing. Waking up inside the same scarred, despised body of his, makes him feel nothing. 

Life makes him feel nothing. 

He doesn’t wish to wake up again, nor does he have the strength to put an end to his agony with a rope.

There’s emptiness. Loneliness. Nothingness. It’s all he ever knew, after all.

He sometimes idly wonders if Rapunzel ever felt that way, locked up in a stone-cold tower, not being allowed to peek out for a second, unless she wished for the large world of the unknown to bite back and never set her free again. Indeed, Dazai knows that all dreams worth chasing after will evaporate from his fingertips the moment he touches them even slightly. 

The one thing that sets him apart from the fragile, but brave princess comes at the very end of her story. Her ending is one typical of a fairy tale, a cliche — her salvation lies in her ability to love and be loved back.

Love? Love is reserved for those who have the hole inside their chest occupied by a beating heart. Love is an entirely foreign concept to Dazai, and perhaps it was always supposed to be this way. 

An almost invisible smile spreads across his lips at the thought; he hates life and is equally hated by it. All mutual feelings have a certain beauty to them, no matter how morbid one might consider them.

But as much as he denies it to himself, Dazai is still a breathing, living human being. And humans are all sweet hypocrites, it’s all in their very blood. Dazai makes no exception to the rule. For all of his fantasies of going to sleep and never waking up again, there is still one thing that sparks a flicker of joy in his gloomy life. 

He slowly goes down the stairs, almost not hearing the empty echo of his own steps. The outside is totally unlike the darkness and coldness of the castle, his body suddenly being bathed in sunlight and an almost unbearable heat as he steps on the grass. He walks closer, following the path carefully defined by countless blooming flowers on each side and leading into a much more breathtaking paradise — his dear, patiently built garden. 

No matter where one’s eyes might fall in the depths of this garden, they will only see countless flowers of all sizes, shapes and colors, all planted and nurtured by Dazai himself, a genius in the arts of gardening.

And in the corner of it all stands a tall, old oak tree, one much older than Dazai himself. The guardian of the castle for decades, so to say. Right by its roots lies a small pool carved into the ground, the home to Dazai’s koi fish, his only living, unspeaking companions.

This is his home. His lifelong pride, the work of art he holds dearest. Everything he has left. The only place he’s known ever since his father sent him away, not wanting to stain his reputation and dignity with an unwanted child. After all, he is only good at proving him with enough money to survive and at constantly reminding him to cover his face in bandages, not being able to gaze upon him otherwise. 

For him, it might all be simply about being reminded of past mistakes. Dazai, on the other hand, doesn’t care for reasoning. He only knows how much he hates seeing his own reflection in the mirror, so he happily complies with covering it at all times.

Dazai doesn’t remember much about his mother, nor would Mori share details about her. All he had been told was that she used to be a gardener, a famous and incredibly talented one. But fame only goes so far in the poor, isolated village that she lived in. There’s a saying that advises people to be content with what they already have and not wish for what’s far beyond their reach — a saying that never reached his mother’s ears. One thing led to another, and after becoming acquainted with a young duke while selling flowers in town, she fell pregnant. Not many months would pass by before she would die in childbirth.

One could say that he’s left all alone in the world, without anyone to care for him, nor any purpose or aspirations. And they would be completely right, only if it wasn’t for the flowers blooming in his garden every season, each time more beautifully than before.

He wouldn’t go as far as to claim that life was worth living just for entertaining this hobby of his, but it would be a lie to deny the fact that it brings him just a little bit of happiness.

And so, his days always go by the same way. Wake up, water and care for the plants, eat, sleep, do it all over again. For years, nothing and no one ever disturbed his routine. He’s been living in his never ending, but safe and secure loneliness, for as long as he can remember. 

This is the very reason why all the fear and anger stored deep inside of him, feelings he didn’t experience in a long time, erupt and hit him in waves one summer midnight. As he looks out of his window, he sees a shadow lurking through his beloved garden. 

Dazai remains unmoved, becoming one with the darkness of his bedroom as he looks down in astonishment. He abruptly feels the muscles of his fingertips twitch, overcome by the sudden urge to twist the neck of this intruder the next second. 

Who is this person? Who would even dare to come all the way to this castle, a place everyone dreaded terribly and thoroughly avoided, knowing too well about the ugly, shameful man living inside? He has so many questions, yet by the time they all finish spinning through his head, the mysterious figure is gone.

It happens again the next day. The intruder only shows up at midnight, taking a few red roses each time, then vanishing into thin air. Each of those times, he never seems to have any ulterior motives. He simply jumps the fence, steals his flowers and runs away in a heartbeat, not giving Dazai even a slight chance to go down the stairs and catch him in the act. 

It keeps going on without any sign of retreat… Until he comes up with his first plan.

The night that follows, Dazai doesn’t wait for the stranger in his tower anymore. Instead, he finds a perfectly hidden spot inside his grandiose garden, one shielded by dense bushes. He sits down on the grass hours prior, determined to jump out at the opportune moment and give the flower stealer no chance to escape from his sight again. 

And so, he waits. He waits and waits, until the clock finally strikes midnight, but the thief won’t show up again. It’s only when one more hour passes that anger and revolt start enveloping Dazai’s body, but he isn’t ready to admit defeat yet. He keeps waiting until he loses track of time, minutes going by one by one until the warm air of the night and intoxicating scent of his flowers lull him to sleep.

When he eventually wakes up on the grass with the sun happily shining above him, he observes that a flower is missing again.

Once again, he asks himself… Just who is this person? Who could be so determined to get their hands on Dazai’s precious roses so stubbornly, playing with his patience all over again?

There must be a reason why the flower stealer is so determined to carry on with his crimes, right? 

The very next night, he tries his second plan as the summer rain decides to lend him a helping hand, pouring in the evening. By the time it stops, it’s already dark outside, but the dirt is wet and muddy, giving the thief no chance to run away without leaving footprints behind. 

Just as it was expected, the morning after, dry, but still visible steps are leaving his garden and marking the road. 

Dazai changes the bandages hiding most of his face and covers his head with an old worn hood, as he always does before stepping out in the light, thus thoroughly avoiding being recognised or pointed at. This time, he’s determined to get to the bottom of the story, which proves to be much easier than expected. 

He doesn’t have to walk much before spotting a village from afar, placed down the valley and full of unkempt houses of all sizes and shapes. If it wasn’t for the trail of merchants heading to the town, dragging livestock, wood and vegetables with them, Dazai could easily assume that the place was abandoned. 

Abruptly, he understands; he scoffs and turns behind, heading back to the tower up the hill.

His feelings towards the flower stealer change entirely in the time that follows. The emotion the young man formerly recognised as anger slowly takes the shape of curiosity, a peculiar sense of fascination, a will to find out more and understand the whereabouts and thought process of this strange person. Dazai’s attention is rarely struck by anything, much less something as dull and impossible to comprehend as human nature, but this stubborn and reckless intruder stands out with grace. 

He’s an interesting one.

And so, his strategy also changes. He doesn’t try to catch him in the act, but decides to observe him from afar. 

Each night, he quietly hides in a lower level of the tower, looking out of a small window or crack in the wall in anticipation of gazing upon him. The first time he does so and gains a closer look than usual, he realises that the man is much younger than he first expected — maybe a few years older than Dazai himself. His strikingly red hair is shining under the moonlight so beautifully, Dazai unconsciously opens his mouth in awe. He’s never seen someone as ethereal before, despite being what the average person would call a peasant.

As nights keep passing one by one, Dazai doesn’t even realise how he keeps going down the stairs to watch him from lower and lower levels each time, getting closer and closer. 

The closer he gets, the easier it is to observe more of the redhead’s features. He looks tall and well built, while his eyes are a breathtaking shade of  honey-brown, holding a hint of inner sadness and dullness to them. His stubble is rarely ever shaved; does he really like wearing it this way, Dazai wonders? If there was any sort of relationship between them, he would most likely urge him to get rid of it.

Yet, that’s exactly the issue — there is nothing between them. One man steals flowers each night, the other one simply makes a habit out of watching from afar, too afraid to step closer, too afraid to admit the interest he’s taken into the young thief. 

And so, as if to mock him, or perhaps bring him a blessing, fate decides to take things further between the two on one of the nights.

This time, Dazai isn’t even standing on the stairs of his tower anymore; he’s simply hiding behind the stone wall, quietly noting his surroundings just like the nights before. And soon enough, there he is: the young man, jumping the fence and looking sideways before advancing, pulling the hood off his head once he’s confident he isn’t being watched. As usual, he takes a moment to catch his breath before he makes more careful steps towards the garden, following the little pavement marked by white petunias and lilac bushes.

The more Dazai observes the thief from afar, the more he feels drawn towards his aura, his presence and swift moves. It’s far too dangerous to admit to himself that he does, in truth, want to talk to the man, get closer to him in a way that wouldn’t make him run away in fear without thinking twice, without ever considering offering him a chance. It’s unrealistic, of course — the last time Dazai tried approaching another human from the outside in such a way, the reaction he received was far from kind, far from pleasurable. 

It’s with these memories in mind that he ends up holding a silent conflict with his eyesight sucked into thin air, becoming a different entity, one that won’t react in real time anymore. It’s precisely why, for the first time, he slips. He forgets to take a step back when the redhead gets a bit too close.

By the time his uncovered pupil regains its focus, the two men are staring deeply into each other’s eyes, freezing the time and space around them.

It’s only for a brief moment, though. The flower stealer reacts much faster than it should be humanly possible, turning around and running to save his skin, not daring to look back.

No, no, no.

“Hey, hold it! I won’t hurt you!” Dazai shouts in desperation, stepping out of the shadow covering his body to follow the man.

Not him too.

If he won’t stop him from running away now, he might never get to see him again in his life. He will go away as fast as he came, just like everyone else did before him. The mere thought of it hurts Dazai surprisingly much — just when did he start feeling this way?

Of course, the redhead doesn’t even consider looking back upon hearing that voice, eyes firmly set on the fence in front of him. This is, likewise, his first and last mistake. The survival instinct in his hurried steps ends up making him trip and fall to the ground with a loud thud, his leg hitting a short and incredibly sharp stake buried in the ground. He winces in pain as his skin is deeply torn open and fresh blood pours, dimming his strength by the second. 

All while Dazai is still running after him.

“I-I won’t do anything to you, I promise!” He tries again in a ridiculous attempt of a stuttering, but somewhat convincing voice through heavy breaths. He makes sure to keep his distance by the time he catches up, raising his hands as if to prove his lack of ill intention. “My, you’re hurt… Stay still, I got this, alright?”

He carefully approaches as the injured man looks over his shoulder, his hazel eyes betraying a hint of hesitation and fear. Without showing even a slight flinch, he analyses all of his available options in his head. He could try to get up and run, but the deepness of his wound won’t be of much help. He could try to resist, but… resist from what, precisely? No intention of harm is being shown towards him whatsoever.

The redhead can only gulp in shock upon the realisation that the supposed man in the tower is so innocent looking.

Keeping his moves as slow as possible, Dazai kneels down to look at the open wound up close, analysing the gravity of the situation. He’s no professional doctor, but he happens to know a thing or two. His illegitimate father, Mori Ougai, is also a doctor, after all. 

“I will grab some alcohol from inside to disinfect your wound. Some bandages, too. I will be back in a bit,” he mumbles an explanation, not daring to look up and meet the redhead’s eyes. He won’t be able to run away in such conditions, anyway.

He finds him unmoved upon his return, so he quickly puts his knowledge into action, cleaning the wound and wrapping it up in bandages. The thief watches all of his moves carefully, astonishment still pooling in his gut with every passing moment at the feeling of such careful and gentle hands touching his skin. 

His hands are trembling, too, the redhead notes.

He studies his face, almost all of it covered in countless bandages, perhaps hiding something gruesome under, like a scar or a battlefield wound. Therefore, the most striking feature of his are his black eyes, eyes that seem to know everything and nothing, holding something sweetly rotten and far beyond human comprehension inside their depths. Eyes that refuse to look up and return the gaze of brown ones.

“Why are you helping me?” The redhead suddenly hears his own quiet voice filling up the silence between them.

Dazai jolts, looking up for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

What a charming voice.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He breathes out. “You’re hurt. I know how to give first aid. You’re in my garden, too.”

Seems logical, right?

“I don’t understand,” he slowly replies. “You seem to have known I was walking into your garden all these nights. You don’t wish to question me for that?”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying at this point. He’s practically inviting Dazai to get revenge on him or ask for something in return for all the thefts, a payback he probably wouldn’t be able to give to him even if he sold all of his few belongings. Knowing that well enough, Dazai tilts his head slightly, a small smile that barely contains his laughter forming on his face.

“You want me to get revenge on you? A young man trying to earn a coin by selling a few of my flowers in town, stubbornly trespassing my ground despite all the scary stories surrounding this place? If anything, I would only like to find out more about you, you know.”

Oda can’t believe his ears. How can this strange bandaged man with such an unearthly presence possibly know…?

“What?” He breathes.

“What’s your name, flower thief? Mine is Dazai. Pleased to finally meet you.” His eyes radiate a rare, genuine kindness, rivalling the safety brought by the open arms of a lifelong friend.

“Oda.” The response comes a few seconds later, his voice sounding a bit less tense than before.

“Oda? That’s all? It’s a bit too short for someone as strange as you, though…”

“Oda Sakunosuke, then?” He tries again.

The smile on Dazai’s face grows bigger, giving an unsettling sparkle to his dull eyes. “Odasaku it is.”

Oda raises his eyebrows. “Odasaku? No one has called me that before. It sounds a bit out of place.”

“That makes it even better, then!” Dazai pleasantly states as he gets up, extending a hand to Oda, who is still lying on the ground.

“What now?“

“What now?” Dazai repeats in confusion. “I will help you come inside, of course! You can’t possibly imagine walking back to your village with that leg in the middle of the night, can you?”

Giving it a little thought, the older man sighs and hesitantly takes the hand that is being extended to him. “I suppose not.”

And so, awkward hands over tense shoulders, begins the peculiar and short story of the man in the castle and the flower stealer.

The first two days are spent in silence, the two men seeing each other just so Dazai can take the bandages off the wound, disinfect it and wrap it up again. He brings his guest home-cooked meals, which don’t precisely taste like… what those dishes are supposed to, but it’s not a bad taste, either. Oda has always been open to anything new to come his way, after all. He makes sure to compliment Dazai’s cooking on every occasion.

Their short interactions end as soon as they begin, awkward silence settling between them. In other words, they both seem to hold back on something and neither of them is brave enough to take another step first.

On the third day, not long after the crack of dawn, Oda grabs his cane and steps outside, the pain in his leg significantly improving thanks to the proper treatment he received. He follows the refreshing smell of newly bloomed lilacs to the small pool in the middle of the garden, not making any effort to keep his presence hidden. Unsurprisingly, Dazai is already there.

“Hm?” He turns his head in surprise. “Odasaku! I didn’t expect to see you here so early. Is your leg doing better?”

“It is. Good morning to you, too.” He sits down on the grass, resting his back against the old tree behind. His eyesight catches the koi fish, running in circles around the lotus flowers in hopes of catching the pieces of bread Dazai is throwing in the water.

He pensively glances towards the redhead before shily extending his hand. “Want to feed them, too?”

Startled for a second, Oda nods and takes the piece of bread that is being offered to him, noting how the younger man isn’t looking back. He doesn’t look like he slept much, given the dark circles under his eyes and his ruffled hair. Even so, he has such a sage aura with a sense of safety to it, one that nobody would ever associate with the lone monster they’ve heard about in all those legends. It almost makes him think—

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His gaze must’ve been burning Dazai this whole time.

“You do?” Oda tilts his head.

“You’re wondering how could someone like me take care of you and treat you kindly.”

He’s still not returning the gaze. Oda sighs. “Yes, and no. If I ask you about it, will you answer me?”

Dazai crosses his legs. “Go on. I have no reason to lie to you, after all.”

“So be it, then.” He moves his eyes back to the koi fish as he throws a piece of bread in the water. “Those stories about you… They don’t actually hold any truth to them, do they?”

For a few seconds, silence envelops the air between them. Then, a word spoken so calmly leaves Dazai’s lips. “Somewhat.”

No matter how much Oda waits for a continuation, it never comes. “Is that your answer?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

The redhead moves his eyesight around, studying the tall stone tower, the beautiful flowers that surround them, the fish, the birds singing. The stories always start by describing a breathtaking castle surrounded by an equally ethereal garden, a beauty that hides the darkest truth to it: the ugly, despicable man living inside.

In reality, the only truth in those nighttime stories meant to scare children who misbehave is the beauty of this place — that, Oda could notice from the very first moment he stepped inside. And yet, he has to admit it all looks totally different under the light of the sun. The moonlight has a certain magic and mystery to it, but the sun is always showing things exactly how they are, be them pretty or not. Oda can’t name one single thing he might find unsettling about this place.

Dazai himself included.

“Let me phrase it differently,” he hears himself speaking up. “Why is everyone making you out to be an unpredictable beast?”

“I can turn that question around, you see,” he says as he finally turns his head to look at Oda. “Why did you come all the way here, despite knowing my reputation? Were you that desperate for money, or was it something different?”

Despite the harshness of his words, there’s a slight hint of hurt and a barely noticeable, but desperate need for an answer in his eyes, one that makes the older man frown in sympathy.

“I never believed in any of those stories,” he finally confesses. “I didn’t even believe anyone lived here until I saw for myself how well taken care of this garden was. Your flowers are nothing like what I’ve seen before.” He sighs in defeat, looking up towards the clear sky through the tree branches. “You’re nothing like what they describe, either.”

Dazai doesn’t answer right away, his heart filling up with an emotion he doesn’t really know how to name upon hearing such kind words.

“Is that so…?” And, an equally small: “Thank you.”

Oda scoffs quietly. “Don’t thank me. I should be the one to do that. You took great care of me and let me pick up all those flowers from your garden without asking for anything in return. You’re a good person.”

Not being brave enough to contradict him, Dazai simply keeps smiling stupidly while looking at his own feet. Such words of praise are totally foreign to him, too big for someone as small as he is.

But they do feel nice, too.

“I think I can leave tomorrow. Thanks to your care, my wound is doing much better. I can handle it from now on.”

And, just like that, the ice is finally broken. 

The prior euphoria dissipates in an instant, though Oda isn’t saying anything they shouldn’t both know. It’s time for them to part ways and never see each other again. There’s no use trying to go against fate; for all of his life, Dazai never tried to. It was never worth the effort, and even if he found the strength inside of himself to stand opposed before nature itself, things would never turn out well. 

Some unpleasant truths had to be learned the hard way. In his own experience, letting go is much easier than chasing a dream that is forever bound to be out of reach, forever meant to cause disappointment and hurt.

But does it really hurt that much to try just one more time?

Abruptly, as if he can’t contain himself any longer, Dazai finally opens his mouth and says the words that would, indeed, end up changing everything:

“You can keep coming here, if you wish. A few more missing flowers won’t do much damage to my garden.”

Not if they’re for someone like you.

Oda’s eyes grow wide in surprise, not quite being able to believe what he’s hearing. Even after everything, Dazai wants to see him again? A strange feeling coming close to happiness blooms inside the older man’s chest at the thought of it. 

He might need money to overcome his poverty, but that’s far from the reason why he ardently wants to come back to this place. He’s been an outcast for as long as he can remember, an orphan no one would wish to approach or lend a helping hand to. 

What he always ached for the most was company. A friend.

“If that’s fine with you…” He starts hesitantly.

“It is,” Dazai firmly states, leaving no room for additional doubts.

Slowly, but sincerely, he earns a smile in return.

And just as promised, Oda comes back the next day, and the day after that. Stopping by Dazai’s garden gradually becomes a routine, thus not a single day passes by again without a visit. Sometimes it happens in the morning, or at noon, or even at sunset. No matter the time, the younger man anticipates that moment of each day tremendously; and the feeling is reciprocated.

Summer days pass one by one and none of them seems to even count them anymore. Hours fly by with them simply laying on the grass, rambling about everything in the world without feeling the need to hold back or hide themselves in any way — not anymore. There’s no limit to the things they say, to the stories and experiences they want to share as two people growing up in two completely different worlds. An outsider could easily claim that they had nothing in common, no ability to connect. But such a statement couldn’t be further away from the truth.

In a way, it’s as if they’ve been waiting to find each other since the days they were born.

It’s on usual days that they end up getting lost in philosophical conversations, challenging each other to no end. The sun is setting, painting the sky in infinite, mesmerising colors of blood and ash. Oda is laying his head on Dazai’s hips, quietly observing the scenery above them.

“You seem rather deep in thought,” Dazai begins. “What’s on your mind?”

The older man hums pensively, his voice coming out calm and somewhat wise. “I’m only wondering about all the possible ways to describe that sky. Some might only see a chaotic combination of colors, others might see a battlefront. For others, it might be the first gateway to Heaven.”

Keeping his own eyes on the sky while listening to those words, Dazai nods. The delicate smell of angel’s trumpets embrace both of them, putting their hearts at ease. “I see. It’s none of those in my eyes, though. I think it’s simply life. Life, in its purest form.”

“Life?” Oda repeats in his contemplation, following the moving clouds with his eyesight. “I can’t argue against that. They always say that our bodies are born from earth and mud, but it’s the sky that releases our souls to the earthly realm. It’s the sky where we eventually go back to as our mortal decoys decompose. Life, in its truest form, comes from the sky.”

“The same way death does,” Dazai continues. “But it’s not what you’d think. The flames of death never get to reflect in these beautiful sunset clouds. Death doesn’t come at night, either. The only time it creeps out from the underground is in plain day and light, the moment when every human and divinity alike is the most blind. That’s when angels truly turn away and fly up in the sky, letting evil roam across the Earth freely without sparing a single glance.”

Oda moves his eyes from the clouds to regard the younger man’s grave expression. “You do seem to have a fascination with death, Dazai.”

“Do I?” He smiles mysteriously. “I suppose you’re right. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and everything I could never have.”

“Do I have any chance of changing your mind?”

Dazai scoffs in surprise rather than mockery. “I won’t stop you from trying. I can’t guarantee you anything about the outcome, though.”

“What do you wish to find after death?” Oda carefully asks.

It’s only the first question, yet the young man already feels confused; and, in a way, impressed. “I’m not sure myself. Probably nothing special, nothing in particular. Whatever it is, it can’t be duller than this life.”

“I don’t think you will find anything, Dazai.” He feels his legs shifting under his neck as soon as he says these simple words. “There’s nothing fulfilling after you die. Just a black hole that will continuously suck you down, without any light at the other end.”

Dazai lets out a tired sigh. “How do you even know?”

Oda closes his eyes. “You’re right, I don’t. But just like you said, nothing ever changes in this life. Sleep, eat, fall in love, die. It’s all a routine, but if you know where to look closely, you might still have a chance to find something beautiful. Why would it be any better up there?”

“Everything is different,” Dazai breathes out, a prolonged hurt suddenly creeping through his voice. “An irrevocable change can never lack any meaning. It can’t leave things exactly the way they were before, can it?”

“Yeah.” Somewhere in the distance, a lone bird is singing its eternal song to the sky. “But you’re searching for your meaning in the wrong place. These two realms might not be so different, but if you leave, you won’t be able to hear any of the songs from these birds anymore. You won’t be able to smell any of your flowers again, nor feed the koi fish. They will all die a slow death without your care. You will never see another snow, another rain, not even another moonlight. I will never get the chance to show everything you haven’t seen yet, either.”

“Everything I haven’t seen…?” Dazai counters slowly. “What kind of joke is that?”

“You might act like you know it all, but there’s so much in the outside world that you're still yet to see.” He pauses, measuring his words while looking into the distance. “You’re meant for something much more precious than mere emptiness.”

Dazai looks down in disbelief, not quite finding any of that reasoning appealing enough. However, his face changes upon noticing Oda’s serious figure, a bit too serious and conflicted for something Dazai always considered so trivial. Deep inside his heart, he must know something the younger man doesn’t. 

Without a warning, he bursts into quiet laughter, moving his bandaged hand and reaching out to Oda’s hair.

“Now, you really sound like a poet, Odasaku,” Dazai chants, combing his fingers through the dark red curls that rival the breathtaking shades of the very sky above them. “You talk as if I am the fool, yet you’re even more hopeless.”

“A half-assed poet who never held a pen, and a nihilist who waits for death to come to him. What an unlikely pair we are,” Oda trails off. 

Almost as if only talking to himself, almost smiling.

“I am serious, though,” Dazai continues. “You would make a wonderful writer.”

However, Oda’s expression just turns into a troubled one unexpectedly, averting his gaze. “You’re too kind to me by saying that. I’m nowhere near as good as you might think. Not right now, at least.”

“I assume you do take an interest in writing, then?” The younger man excitedly asks.

A long silence comes and many answers are weighted over and over again. “In a way. However, it’s hard to consider such a path when you have… More important things to worry about.”

Such as earning enough money to make sure you won’t starve the next day.

Finding it as easy as breathing, Dazai understands Oda’s feelings right away. And so, no more words are being spoken between them. 

The night that follows, finding himself all by his lonesome in the middle of his flowers, Dazai is still thinking about everything. A weight is being pressed against his chest as he thinks about the beauty, the preciousness of Oda’s way to view the world, an incredibly foolish, yet fascinating innocence that Dazai not only wished to preserve, but also carefully wander into.

About Oda’s gutted words when he proceeded to deny his own dream, almost as if an unbreakable stone wall shall always stand between him and it, not letting him even peek on the other side.

But anything that can’t be broken through can always be climbed over.

And so, Dazai knows precisely what to do. He won’t do it out of trivial sentiments such as sympathy or pity. He won’t do it because of being forced into it by anything or anyone, either. For the first time in way too long, he will do something out of his own free will, his own ambition and sincere wish to see his friend happy.

Because, after all, Oda is his friend. The only one he has.

For his dear friend, he will craft the most breathtaking flower to ever bloom in this world they live in, one that will surely earn Oda enough money to finally take the next step in his life and pursue his dream. A gift sculpted by Dazai’s own hands, pouring all of his adoration in the fragility of its blue petals.

A Smeraldo flower.

But despite his commitment and hard work, no amount of perfection will ever be enough to thank Oda for everything he keeps giving him in the numerous days they spend together. For every act of kindness, gentleness and sincerity. 

Some moments are never meant to be forgotten, be they engraved on hearts or on pieces of paper.

“Odasaku, what is that in your bag?” Dazai supports his body on his elbows one sunny morning, curiously looking into Oda’s lap to find a strange looking shape covered in cloth.

“Oh, this?” He counters as he holds the hidden object up, revealing it. “It’s a camera. It’s nothing much, though. I managed to dig it yesterday from a merchant. He was selling it for really cheap and I happened to have a few spare coins on me.”

Dazai tilts his head. “A camera, then… Do you have anything in mind for using it, perhaps?”

He shrugs. “Not precisely. I just remember there were certain moments I always wished I could freeze in time and keep forever, so I ended up buying it. Just in case.”

“What kind of moments might those be?” The younger man asks with a smirk, now sitting with his legs crossed.

Seemingly deep in thought for a moment while staring down at the object in his hands, a certain sparkle blossoms in Oda’s eyes, making him turn to his friend. He keeps studying every inch of his face for what feels like an eternity, almost making the younger one feel uncomfortable… before an unguarded smile forms on his lips, causing Dazai to blink in confusion.

“Dazai, stay still. Let me show it to you.” 

He puts the camera down and proceeds to look around him, searching for something Dazai can’t seem to figure out. At last, he spots it. He bends over and picks one of the wild daisies growing in the garden. 

He swirls it between his fingers, studying its petals carefully before letting out a hum of satisfaction. All this time, Dazai is following all his moves with his visible eye, yet nothing could prepare him enough for the moment Oda wordlessly extends his hand towards him. He feels the young man jolt in surprise upon the contact, a surprise that only stabs through his overwhelmed chest deeper when Oda gently tucks a strand of hair behind Dazai’s ear. 

And he’s smiling at him so achingly full of love, not breaking his startled gaze for even a second.

He’s suddenly incredibly glad to remember that a good part of his face is covered in bandages — they can hide the blush forming on his cheeks at least a little bit, but there’s nothing he can do about his ears turning a bright shade of red. Oda is so, so close to him, and before Dazai can get the chance to open his mouth and say something without becoming a stuttering mess, the redhead proves to be one more step ahead. He takes the daisy he just picked up and slowly places it behind his friend’s ear, his smile growing wider by the second at the utterly endearing sight.

This has to be just about the first time Dazai unwillingly stands one step behind someone.

Dazai tries to open his mouth again, but it’s a pathetic attempt. No sound manages to come out, but the redness of his face only grows hotter, his heart only beats faster and faster. Oda’s hand eventually falls from those brown locks, tenderly cupping the hot cheek covered in white bandages instead. 

There’s silence between them, but they wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s silence, and hidden feelings overflowing so naturally.

Oh, he could even kiss him right now. It’s nothing but a fleeting thought, and yet… If he leans up a bit more, just a little closer—

This, Dazai considers all of a sudden, is the kind of moment both of them would do anything to freeze in time.

This sentiment of his is reciprocated, though. Oda takes out his newly purchased camera and snaps a picture of Dazai faster than he can manage to react, too stunned to move from his initial position. It’s only when the camera is down again that Oda can’t contain himself any longer and a laugh erupts from his throat at the almost comical sight, a laugh that is as tender and soft as that of angels.

He’s never heard Oda laugh before.

“Odasaku…” Dazai snaps out of trance and whines, hiding his hands in his palms without a warning, not able to stand the shame anymore. 

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” the redhead says through chuckles, reaching out to lift Dazai’s chin, but being met with resistance. “I wasn’t trying to tease you. I will go in town tomorrow to develop the picture and I will show it to you, I promise.”

“That doesn’t help, you know,” he mumbles in defeat, raising his head again with a flustered and childish expression. “Why would you do that all of a sudden, though…”

“I thought you’d look pretty,” he keeps smiling. 

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Dazai sighs, then raises his hands to cup Oda’s cheeks with a teasing smile also creeping up his lips. They’re surprisingly rough to the touch. “Do I not get to do it in return too, then?”

The older man blinks, as if aback by the sudden request. “Me? You want a picture of me?” Oda points towards himself, as if he cannot believe someone would ever find him precious enough to be immortalised.

“You’re exactly right,” Dazai proudly claims as he releases him. “But you must get a flower, too. It’s only fair that way. Hmmm… How about this?”

He gets up and leans towards the water, carefully picking the most beautiful one of his lotus flowers, with a delicate shade of pink.

“Now you’re making me feel bad…” Oda tilts his head, remembering the wild daisy he picked up minutes prior.

Dazai hushes him right away, bringing his face closer to gently place it in Oda’s hair. His face is all a smile as he does so, excitedly snapping a picture of the mesmerizing figure of his companion.

Little does he know, Oda feels just the same upon looking at the man behind the camera. He might have never seen his uncovered face, but he swears before all divinity in the sky that he’s never seen someone as beautiful as him before, someone he admired and treasured as much.

“So… Do you like it?” Dazai grins.

Oda lightly touches the wet petals of the flower, without taking it out of his curls. His ears must be red by now, too. “Of course I do. It’s my favorite flower, after all.”

The younger man’s eyes suddenly widen in excitement. “Did I guess your favorite flower, then? Ah, Odasaku, you should’ve said so! Next year, I will plant many more of them for you!”

A shadow passes by Oda’s face, hiding the flicker in his eyes. “You’re really too kind…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Do you have any color preferences? How about a red one? I once read about this dark red shade of lotus in a gardening book… What do you say?”

Dazai trails off, sharing all the things he studied about and every little thing he knew. After all, Oda is the first and only one who ever listened to him, and he happily does so. Seeing the passion in Dazai’s eyes can only warm his heart.

Keeping his word, he brings Dazai the two developed pictures the next day, barely containing his amusement when the younger man’s head falls against his shoulder in embarrassment. Even so, no word of complaint comes from Oda as he nuzzles into Dazai’s hair, smelling flowers, lemons and summer rain.

Time slips by them with every passing day, a time that can never be reversed. The two lost souls can only keep gravitating towards each other closer and closer, words dancing a never ending waltz on their tongues and dreams of the future quietly creeping through their previously dried hopes.

It sometimes makes Oda wonder how Dazai was able to stand the sheer loneliness and isolation all these years.

“How do you spend your time here?” He casually asks one day. “Other than gardening, I mean.”

Dazai shrugs. “I sometimes read books. My father left many of them behind and it’s a pity to let them get all dusty when there’s so much to find inside, you know.”

“Your father?” Oda repeats.

The younger man sighs in exasperation, looking up. “Don’t worry about him. He’s never around, after all. He’s just an old man who drops by to make sure I didn’t run away or anything like that. Actually, I think he’s just disappointed to find me alive each time.”

He says it all so casually, as if going numb from the pain that knowledge used to cause him over the years.

“Have you spent all your life in this place, then?” He asks one more time.

“That’s exactly right. I don’t mind, though. I enjoy the silence and peace. You know what they say, there’s a certain comfort in the ordinary.” Even as he hears himself say these words, they feel like a pathetic lie.

“You’re right. This place is majestic.”

Why is Oda agreeing? Or, better asked, why does Dazai wish to be contradicted?

“But this isn’t all there is to the world,” the redhead continues. “I sound like a hypocrite telling you these things, considering that I only had the chance to travel when I was really young. But I’ve read so many stories. One day, in the future…”

I will get out of this village and travel to all those places.

Dazai doesn’t ask, but he knows what Oda means. He’s an orphan, after all. He must be talking about the time his parents were still alive and able to shower him with their love. All before the whole world came crashing down on him and he ended up all alone, a scared child lost in the darkness, drowning in loneliness and poverty.

“You’re humble, really,” Dazai trails off, no hint of malice in his voice, but rather a deep respect and admiration. “But also rather foolish. You believed all those stories, too?” 

“I did,” the small response comes. “If we lose hope, too, what else do we have left to hold onto?”

Something inside of Dazai twitches without notice. He looks at his friend, trying to somehow read his feelings, his experiences that he’s now exposing bare and defenseless before a man he’s known for only a few months. 

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t read anything. 

“You’re doing it again,” Dazai says, and Oda can easily hear the smile playing on his lips. 

“Doing what?”

“Saying such things. Talking in metaphors, trying to creep through my heart somehow.”

“It’s not like that…”

“Hey, I’m only teasing you,” Dazai breathes out, laying his head on Oda’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “So what is the place you want to see the most, then? Tell me about it.”

“The sea,” he replies without a moment’s delay. 

“The sea?” Dazai repeats, playfully bumping the tips of his fingers into Oda’s open palm. “I’ve never seen it, either. Though, in the pictures, you can’t even see the end of it. It's deep, dark and unknown. The sky, the sun, the clouds, they all get sucked into its depths.”

“You’re not wrong,” the redhead carefully responds. “But why are you saying it as if it’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” he agrees, his smile growing wider. “What doesn’t have any restraints and endings is equal to freedom and liberation. It might be just what I’ve been looking for.”

Oda opens his mouth to say something, but hesitation gets the best of him. “Then, how about this?” He breathes. “How about we go together?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, they both know it’s far from something usual to propose to someone. Specifically when that someone is Dazai.

But Oda isn’t trying to hide his feelings. He isn’t quite sure how to name them, but he knows there is something that has been growing inside of him each time he looked at Dazai, each time he thought about Dazai. The simple idea of walking hand in hand with the person he came to hold so dear, wandering to all the beautiful places they’ve both read and dreamed about… It brings him unbelievable happiness.

Could it be love? Oda sometimes tries to ask himself. He never experienced such a thing before, nor is he brave enough to search for an answer and face the truth behind it.

“Odasaku…”

For a moment, Dazai stops breathing. As much as he dreads ever letting his imagination spiral too far and make him get lost in an unrealistic dream with no way out… He can’t deny how much he also craves it, not anymore. He’s tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of denying himself. He craves getting out of this place, he so desires seeing the world and trying to discover if life is, in fact, worth living. 

Just like Odasaku once told him.

Just like his friend, he’s a hypocrite. After all, the very first time he stepped past his own lifelong defense and allowed himself to feel , was the very moment he asked Oda to come back to his garden for the first time. 

Yet, strangely enough, he doesn’t mind that too much. Ever since that moment, he’s been happier than in all of his twenty-two years of living. He doesn’t regret any of the things he did. 

And he’s sure he never will.

“Dazai, if I were to ask you to join me… Would you?”

Instead of letting any empty words speak for him and fail to do any justice, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around Oda’s solid waist. He’s met with no resistance, almost as if the gesture is so natural, so expected and long awaited. Oda wraps his strong arms around the much more frail body in return, carefully holding back. 

They simply stay like this. For a little while, maybe.

“Of course,” Dazai softly whispers against his shoulder. Quiet, but just enough to be heard only by his friend and the flowers surrounding them.

This is his only response.

Deep inside, he wishes to tell him much more. He feels much more, but the mere idea that his emotions might be reciprocated already sounds too deceiving to be true.

He will surely have enough time to delve into that in the future, right?

Upon being left all alone later on, he steps down into the basement, carefully uncovering his most prized creation. His Smeraldo flower seems to have grown at an alarming pace, much to the happiness of the young man. It feels as if it was only yesterday when the glowing blue flower was still a bulb, an experiment with no clear outcome. Right now, growing in a crystal globe brightened by artificial light and nurtured with so much care, it looks more mesmerising than ever. 

Almost perfect to be gifted to its rightful owner, who deserves nothing less than that.

However, the bud is still yet to bloom — give it a few more days. Dazai has waited this long. He doesn’t mind waiting just a bit more, to see his creation in full glory and beauty. In the end, the red rose owned by the Beast will pale in comparison.

On one particular evening, as Dazai is observing the petals that slowly start to unfold and take a shape, he hears a call-out of his name that can only belong to one person. He doesn’t mind taking a break; after all, the flower is almost ready for Odasaku. He anticipates giving it to him more than anything else.

The full moon is already up by the moment Dazai steps out and smells the night air, seemingly not realising the fact that he’s spent several hours in his confined basement.

“You look so beaten up,” Oda casually comments as they walk side by side to sit on the grass. “Long day gardening?”

“Ah~ No, not really,” he laughs softly. “I’ve been cleaning up the basement and I got carried away. Don’t worry about it.”

“Will I overstep if I ask what could you possibly store down there to spend hours cleaning up?” 

Dazai teasingly nods along. “You’re being rather curious today! What if I’m hiding a body, hm? What are you going to do about it?”

“Help you bury it somewhere. Who keeps a body in a basement? It will stink.”

Dazai barely restrains himself from bursting out laughing again. “You seem to be rather knowledgeable,” he snorts and sits down. “Nothing less to expect from Odasaku, of course.”

“But that was just common knowledge,” he shrugs and lights a cigarette. “There’s no special secret in the world that you will find inside of me.”

Dazai opens his mouth to contradict him, then ponders for a second before his lips curl up in a mischievous smile. “You’re right. There’s still something you don’t know. A little secret of mine that might be able to save your life.”

“Save my life?” Oda repeats in his usual deadpan voice. Dazai is always messing around, isn’t he? “How is that?”

“I can’t tell you and spoil the surprise, not yet!~” Dazai says, his eyes glowing in joy. “But just wait until tomorrow, I promise you will love it! I’ve been working on this gift for you for so long, you see!”

The redhead finally meets his insisting gaze, his eyes widening in surprise. “A… gift? You… Are you actually serious about this?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” He grins. 

Out of words, Oda sighs and shily shakes his head. “If it’s made by you, no matter what it is, it must be really beautiful. I will be looking forward to it.”

You didn’t have to, he wants to say, but his words get stuck in his throat at the simple thought of Dazai’s incredible kindness, spending time to prepare something for him, just… thinking about him. He hasn’t received a gift in… many more years than he can remember, so being showered in such affection by Dazai, of all people…

It feels beyond priceless.

Perhaps now is the only right time to voice the one concern he always kept hidden and avoided at all costs.

“But there’s one more secret I don’t know yet,” he hesitantly speaks up again.

“Is that so? Let me enlighten you, then,” Dazai says.

“Actually, I don’t think it’s much of a secret. It’s just something I didn’t have the courage to ask you about before. Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal, either.”

“Go on,” the younger one rests his cheek on his own knees, feeling curious.

Oda lets out a breath before turning his head to face Dazai again. “Why are you covering so much of your face in bandages?”

Asking that question is almost as if turning an invisible switch with no way of returning to the original state. The air between them instantly chills, making Dazai frown and avert his gaze, his mouth sealed shut. 

As expected, the older one immediately regrets asking this question. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer if you don’t want t—“

“Why do you wish to know?” Dazai interrupts him. His voice is surprisingly calm and collected, but he refuses to look back at his friend. There’s also something utterly frightening in its depths.

“It was merely a curiosity. If it bothers you, I won’t insist.”

Images long gone start playing in front of Dazai as if they’ve been tattooed onto his eyelids, even after all the years that have passed. Perhaps they will never truly go away. Perhaps it’s a curse he has to bear.

He sees Mori, disgustedly telling him to cover his face in front of him, or else he will leave him alone in this tower forever, never to come back again.

He sees the children he wished to play with in his youth, screaming, running away in fear and calling out to their parents, right before feeling Mori’s rough hand resting on his small shoulder.

He sees the villagers who kicked him and threw burning rugs after him, rejecting his harmless approach, his first and last attempt to prove to himself that humans are not, in fact, soulless and evil beings, as his father once told him. The day he wreaked havoc in his rage and torment, the day he swore to himself he would never go against Mori’s rules again.

He remembers the stories he heard while peeking from the corners, stories about a monster hiding in the seemingly abandoned castle on the hill, a terrifying man covered in bandages that will only bring misfortune to anyone who dares to approach him. And, perhaps, they weren’t completely wrong. After all, Dazai’s lone existence has been a mistake from the very beginning, to everyone he ever knew in his life.

Everyone, except for one man. The one who stands right next to him now.

This man is nothing like anything Dazai ever knew before. This man always showed him nothing but kindness and affection, treated him so gently, laughed with him and, for once, treated him like an equal. 

Like a human being.

Dazai can’t ever imagine losing him, too.

“It’s fine,” he breaks the far too loud silence at last, turning his head back. He wears an utterly unreadable expression as he does so, but there’s no drop of malice in his voice, either. “I can show you, if that’s what you desire.”

As he says so, his bandaged hand finds Oda’s, holding it and bringing it up to his own cheek, until it’s carefully resting against the bandages. A forced smile spreads across his face, not quite matching the ferocity of his heartbeats. 

“You sure?” Oda asks just one more time, receiving a small nod in response.

As gently as possible, the redhead grabs the edge of Dazai’s bandages and pulls, slowly uncovering the layers enveloping his face. As more and more bandages slip and fall down to the grass, the pieces of skin they reveal are in no way damaged, scarred or anything like a terrible burden one would wish to hide; they’re clear, smooth to the touch. 

When all the bandages finally lay in a pile, a protective shield that has been discarded after too many years to count, Oda looks up with crystal clear eyes to meet Dazai’s uncovered face, bathed in moonlight and crippling fear. 

Oh, he looks simply… flawless.

Dazai’s heart nearly sinks to his feet the moment a shadow of hesitation passes by Oda’s face. This is it, isn’t it? He is going to reject him. He is going to leave and never look back, just like everyone else always does.

As Dazai’s heart nearly threatens to break his rib cage in half and occupies all the previous silence between them… That expression fades away as if it never existed in the first place. It’s replaced by a wide, warm smile. Warmer than anything Dazai has ever seen before. Gentler than the stars watching over them, more sincere than his own yearning for death. It reaches Oda’s eyes.

Entirely unlike anything to ever be directed towards the young man.

“Why are you hiding your face all the time, I wonder?” Oda whispers, carefully moving his hand and observing the slight flinch of Dazai’s body when fingertips start caressing the skin of his exposed cheek. So gentle, so careful. And somehow, so intimate. “You’re so beautiful, Dazai.”

It’s just the two of them, alone, in the middle of a breathtaking garden. Far from eyesight, with the moon as their only witness. Even so, Oda can’t help whispering to him — after all, the intimacy of a confession can never let itself creep out of a caged soul in any other way. 

When his brain finally pieces everything together, Dazai lets out a short and far too choked laugh. He silently digs his nails into his own palm to stop the small tears of happiness that are forming on his pupils from falling, yet failing to prevent the unguarded smile that starts spreading on his face. He’s smiling so much, he can’t even help the slight flash of teeth from showing.

At last, everything becomes crystal clear to Dazai, more than ever before: he’s in love with Odasaku.  

He loves this man, and he knew it for a while. He’s only been hopelessly denying it to himself every day.

“You think?” He asks, but his voice comes out so incredibly small, almost begging for an answer in return.

The rawness and sincerity don’t go unnoticed by Oda. Nor does the light that sparkles in his eyes, one the moon lovingly reflects into. There’s life inside that light, a life he never quite got the chance to see coming from Dazai before. Not like this.

It’s almost as if his heart is trembling and pleading to be caressed by much more of this priceless affection.

He knows how he wants to answer him; there’s not a single doubt about that part inside his heart. But he also knows he has to do something else first.

Without any warning needed for such a natural gesture, he brings his face closer, close enough for warm lips to press against a cold cheek, one that has always been all covered in bandages. He isn’t met with a single drop of resistance, but with a sound somewhere between a short gasp and a barely audible cry, one that gets buried in the depths of Dazai’s throat at the contact. He leans into the touch as those lips linger, and the younger man happily lets them, almost as if he never wants to part, nor feel anything else again. 

Only this foreign tenderness and the slight scratch of an unshaved stubble against his long untouched skin, for the rest of his life. 

He must tell him. He must tell him the truth, take his hand and leave this cursed place behind forever. Just like they promised to each other.

His lips are almost trembling.

“I will come back for you tomorrow,” the redhead promises as he pulls away.

With his big smile unmoved, Dazai manages to find Oda’s lowered hands and holds onto them with his own; as if to make sure that what he’s about to say truly comes through. “You have to. I still need to show you what I prepared for you, right?”

His joy is repaid with a nod. It looks sincere, far too sincere for being directed at a man who decided to allow himself to hope again for the first time in many agonising years. Far too deceiving and cruel. Because, as all things and empty promises are bound to turn out, that ends up being a lie.

Oda never returns the next day. Or the day after that. He never steps into Dazai’s garden again.

Dazai never gets the chance gift him his carefully crafted Smeraldo flower, nor does he ever manage to confess the love he harbors.

Their promising, new beginning ends before even starting. 

They’ve always been a perfect match, after all. The both of them, drowning in weakness and cowardice until the very end.

Days pass, then weeks. Weeks Dazai keeps spending all alone in the garden, jolting at every little sound of leaves brushing against each other because of the wind or a wild animal. He ends up waiting for him under the hot sun until he feels his skin burn. Eventually, late August brings the first hints of autumn with it in the shape of cold, harsh rain; unfortunately, not even that manages to stop Dazai. He waits for him even if it means getting soaked, he waits for him until he gets sick and can’t get out of bed because of his high fever.

He never stops anticipating to see him again, no matter how much Mother Nature mocks him for being such a stupidly hopeful moron.

A change of heart only happens a month later, as September settles in and slowly dries not only the flowers in Dazai’s garden, but also the last drop of hope he still carefully nurtured inside his heart up until this point.

Why was he even questioning it? Wasn’t the answer obvious all along? Whatever existed between them… It was never meant to be from the start. 

It wasn’t Oda’s fault — oh, no, it was far from that. Oda was a good and bright human being with a promising future ahead of him upon overcoming poverty. On the opposite side of the spectrum, Dazai had nothing. He was nothing . The redhead must have finally realised that, right? This must be why he left. It makes perfect sense, Dazai believes. After all, everyone ran in fear at the sight of him, everyone despised and hurt him. Why would Oda make an exception to that rule?

With these thoughts in mind, the young man finally gives up waiting for him. He doesn’t spend his days between his flowers anymore, but with his head buried in a stained pillow. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t drink; he doesn’t even take care of his garden anymore, letting his most beloved flowers die a slow death, much like Dazai’s own heart. Likewise, the Smeraldo flower wilts in the darkness of the basement, its glow and color fading away forever.

Weeks pass like that. Not in emptiness anymore, but in grief, in suffering and curses towards his own person, mocking himself for ever believing that a human being will be capable of loving him even after seeing his hideous figure, his raw heart exposed without defense.

He doesn’t look at the picture he took of Oda. He can’t. It’s the last proof he has of what they shared, so looking at it now would finally push him over the edge to break, just like the porcelain doll he is supposed to be. Not unfeeling, not cold and unmoving like Mori always wanted him to be. Only fragile, a shattered masterpiece laying on the ground.

The only time he gets to see him again is in his dreams at night. In those dreams, Oda doesn’t shy away anymore. In those dreams, Oda is putting his lips on his, kissing him as the smell of roses invade their nose trills and Dazai tastes nicotine on his tongue; kissing him until they’re both out of air, but pull each other back in desperately, like their very existences depend on it; kissing him while holding him close, so close, it hurts. In those dreams, they touch each other in all the ways they longed to, their hands and lips caressing bare skin, tangling together so perfectly, like two missing puzzle pieces.

Each morning after, Dazai wakes up in tears.

“Odasaku… Do you think soulmates exist?” Dazai remembers asking one day in a past that feels so far away now. “Writers love romanticising the idea of finding someone who was made just for you, don’t they?”

Back then, Dazai recalls, Oda was holding a cigarette between his lips, his back pressed against the trunk of the tree. “I don’t think that’s right,” he said as he released the smoke from his mouth. “Soulmates do exist. But rather than two humans being crafted to fit each other perfectly, it's quite the opposite. It’s only their souls being made of one and the same flame.”

“That’s certainly a beautiful way to put it,” Dazai nodded along. “I think just the same. Could it be that you’ve met your soulmate already, then?”

Thinking for a bit, Oda shook his head. “I can’t be sure. The connection of two hearts is hard to reach, but when you want two souls to connect, the story is different.”

“That so?“ Dazai used his hand to support his chin, his eyes glowing in playfulness and curiosity. “Aren’t soulmates those who know they’ve been destined to be together from the moment their eyes first meet?”

“That’s love at first sight,” Oda counters. “Beauty and the Beast, was it…?”

Dazai blinked. “Now, that’s unexpected… Are you saying Belle might have been in love with the Beast upon their first meeting? You’re not messing up the fairy tales, are you?”

A hint of embarrassment covered Oda’s face upon the realization. He raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Let’s think of it the other way, then. Maybe Belle and the Beast were always meant to be, because their souls recognised each other the very first time they met. They were two different beings coming from two different worlds, but their souls couldn’t stop attracting each other like magnets.”

“Maybe it was all because they’ve never met anyone like the other before,” Dazai chimed in pensively. “They were afraid to get closer to each other because of how far away they believed they stood, but, in truth, they were more similar than they could ever think. Odasaku, you’re a genius, did you know that?”

Dazai was always too easy to convince. 

Oda sighed and brought the cigarette back to his lips. “What I meant was… Whether I’ve already met my soulmate or not, I will only know when the time is right. That’s what I believe.”

“Nothing to object!~” Dazai smiled and raised his arms to stretch. “Really, Odasaku, talking to you never gets boring!”

So here they are now.

For two hearts to connect, sometimes years and years of built trust and shared feelings are required. In other cases, that connection might never be truly reached, as the two hearts might be two separate entities who are simply meant to walk by each other in parallel lines. 

But two souls are always connected, from the very moment they come into existence. They might walk two different paths, but they’re always looking for each other, ardently waiting for each other. They’re bound to cross ways, and when they finally do, it all feels too good to be true. So good, they sometimes end up backing away in fear — just as it happens when two magnets are being turned around.

Dazai should’ve understood this long ago. At last, he does. Of course, how could he not? How has he been so blind?

Odasaku loved him. Wherever he might be now, he still does.

The young man washes his face with cold water, picking up new bandages to wrap it. He dresses out of his sleep clothes for the first time in weeks and picks up his old cloak before walking out of the door. He doesn’t spare a single glance towards his dried garden, he doesn’t dare. He doesn’t look back even once.

Everything they shared, it was all real. Odasaku never left him. Something happened, something that Dazai desperately tries not to overthink, or else he will crumble before he even gets to begin his journey. He will search the whole world if he has to. He won’t let their story end like this. 

All he hopes in the depths of his heart is that he won’t be too late.

He first begins the search right in the village down the valley. Not a promising start, though. The dirty paths are practically abandoned, no sign of life showing itself either outside or inside the yards. The few elderly people who spend time outside are far from kind to him, some running inside to hide, others urging him to be gone. It shouldn’t be surprising, though. Who wouldn’t feel terrified upon seeing the bandaged man from ghost stories walking up to them, asking strange questions and acting as if he knows too much for his own good?

Nevertheless, their sentiment is reciprocated. Anger and fear slowly start running through Dazai’s veins at the sight, almost like a volcano that won’t let any trail of smoke leak on the outside. 

However, he can’t stop now. He doesn’t even consider giving up.

He heads for the town next, the place Oda used to sell the beautiful, uniquely shaped roses grown by Dazai inside his garden. He goes from stand to stand, merchant to merchant, stranger to stranger, but he’s met with no success. In most cases, he only receives repulsive stares, words lacking any sympathy and whispers behind his back. 

But none of these disrupt him from his goal. He will endure everything over and over again, remaining unmoved — for the rest of his life, if necessary. If, in the end, he finds Odasaku and throws his arms around him once more, he will gladly walk even through the very flames of Hell.

Yet he can’t help but notice that even after all these years, little seems to have changed. Human beings have always been the same.

It’s already noon and time keeps passing as slowly as sand goes down in an hourglass, but his journey doesn’t seem to succeed. All of the hints take him nowhere. He’s the center of attention in a way he always despised, the sun is burning right above him, the crowd is being so noisy, so suffocating and overwhelming, it almost makes him want to collapse and scream—

“Good day, young man! You’re not from around here, are you?” A grandma kindly asks with a gentle smile on her face, observing the tired traveler. 

Looking back to spot the source of the voice, Dazai finds a woman that must be past her eighties, dressed in dirty clothes and using a cane to walk around. Despite her old age, she looks surprisingly strong and wise, a liveliness he can’t quite understand being spread all across her face. She’s the last person he would suspect of having an ill intent, as much as she’s the last person he would expect to be of any help.

“You’re right, grandma. I’m not.” Dazai sighs, still rooted in place. “I’m here because I’m looking for someone.”

“Looking for someone?” The woman tilts her head carefully. “Can I be of any help, perhaps?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt it.” He lets out a tired laugh, finally approaching her to sit down and rest his limbs after hours of walking the town up and down. The cold air coming from the big tree above them is just what he needs right now, breathing out in pleasure and extending a hand to grab a water bottle from his bag.

“You youngsters are so quick to judge these days.” The grandma laughs, looking up almost nostalgically. “See this tree, right here? I was just about your age when it was only a small bush. We might not speak much, but we observe everything. It doesn’t hurt to try your luck one more time, does it?”

Her voice comes out so calm and kind. She almost sounds like a sage who’s been alive to hear and see everything the world has to offer; just the kind of person Dazai would love to sit down and talk with for hours to no end, if only he wasn’t already so distressed and exhausted. 

At last, he shakes his head in defeat. One more attempt doesn’t hurt indeed.

“Does a young redhead by the name of Oda ring any bells?” He says as he brings the bottle to his lips, making the dryness in his throat just a bit more bearable. 

Heavy seconds pass by, but no answer comes in return. The only remaining sound is the crowd of merchenars and the sound of hundreds of steps on the dirt. Well, what did Dazai even expect? Without feeling a single drop of surprise, he turns his head curiously, only to find the grandma looking down at her feet. Her eyes seem lost inside some unearthly dimension, one invisible to the human eye.

“Hey, grandma, it’s alright.” Dazai assures her, hiding the slight disappointment in his voice. “I will just ask someone else. No need to worry.”

“Oda Sakunosuke… The young florist… Is it?” She speaks up all of a sudden, as if counting every single sillabe.

Not a single sound creeps past Dazai’s lips as they part in astonishment, his eyes widening. His heart starts beating wildly, he almost doesn’t feel when his hands start shaking in his lap upon hearing those words. 

She knows something. She definitely knows something. She will lead him back to Odasaku. 

He’s finally going to see the man he loves again.

“Do you know him?” Dazai almost shouts, his voice trembling much more than he expected it to. 

The woman finally turns her head towards him, her face expressing nothing but the deepest pity. A heavy breath leaves her chest, the words for what she needs to say refusing to come together. Instead, she silently observes Dazai’s pleading expression, feeling her own heart ache at the sight. She looks down again. 

In decades of being alive and walking the Earth up and down, one tends to observe a lot of different feelings and human behaviours — the young man’s heartbreak is no news to her. This is far from the first time she has to witness such raw hurt caused by the damned, young love. 

Growing increasingly impatient and terrified at the lack of response, Dazai grabs her shoulders, forcing her to look him back in the eyes. 

“Grandma, if you know anything… Anything, any little thing that might lead me to him… I’m begging you…” His voice cracks as he abruptly stops in his tracks to blink away the tears forming in his eyes. The sheer desperation in his pleading grows with every passing moment, not allowing him to breathe again. “I’m begging you to tell me.”

The grandma doesn’t make a single move to resist, furrowing her brows in apology. “You should stop looking for him, young man. The Oda Sakunosuke you speak of is dead.”

Just for a split second, everything goes quiet. The world stops moving. Everyone, everything is dead and still, rivalling the calm and unmoving water of a lake.

Then, still without letting out a single sound, the last bit of humanity left inside of Dazai is mercilessly broken to pieces as he screams in silence.