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Atsushi was running. The echo of his heavy footsteps resounded dully between the concrete walls, but he couldn’t hear it through a throbbing headache that threatened to split his head in two.
Where was he? Where was he going? Even though unshed tears blurred his vision, Atsushi didn’t stop. Adrenaline and fear pumped through his veins, so he kept running forward, hoping that each step would take him further away from his captor.
He didn’t know how he had managed to free himself. Everything was a blur. He only remembered floating in a vast empty space with nothing to anchor him to the ground, like a balloon without a string. The feeling of weightlessness should scare him, but he felt strangely at peace, for once free from any troubles or worries. That was until he heard a voice.
Who was it? Atsushi was absolutely sure he knew them, even if the fog in his mind prevented him from putting a face to the voice. Every time the voice called out, he felt a pull somewhere deep in his soul, and the need to follow it was far stronger than anything the nothingness could offer. He trusted that voice with his life, with his everything. The words sounded muffled in his ears, but he could feel the urgency in them, and it was enough to put him into action.
A phantom touch on his forehead was the last push he needed.
He woke up.
As soon as his eyes opened, he realized that he was tied to a bed, unable to move an inch. Memories he had been fighting hard to bury six feet under in his mind now flashed before his eyes. Hunger, cold, searing pain—they all came back to him at once and a scream pushed against his throat and against the gag that covered his mouth. Panic overwhelmed his senses and the next thing he knew, he was already running, leaving a shocked Teruko behind.
Turn left, turn right. A hand against the rough concrete wall.
The scars on his stomach burned.
He couldn’t call on the tiger. Why couldn’t he call on the tiger when he needed it the most?
Run. Don’t look back.
There were no signs of Teruko following him, but he couldn’t feel safe yet. Without a plan or any idea where he was going, he kept pushing forward. Away from Teruko, away from his painful memories.
He didn’t see the puddle on the floor until he slipped on it.
Miraculously, he kept his balance. But to do that, he had to brace his weight on a hand against the wall and the rough surface scratched his skin painfully, tearing a surprised shout out of his throat.
When will this finally be over? When will he be free?
Squeezing his eyes, Atsushi wished for it all to pass already. He felt the familiar need to hide in a corner and pull up his knees to his chin.
“You know how to beat her.”
Atsushi gasped.
It was that voice again, this time loud and clear in his ears. That dear voice that always guided him and pushed him forward. How could he not recognize it before?
Please be there. Please be there.
Atsushi turned around.
Dazai looked exactly the way he always did—his signature pale coat loose on his shoulders, hands hidden in its pockets, an easy smile on his face. This image of him was burned into Atsushi’s mind and imprinted onto his soul.
It didn’t make sense for Dazai to be there. The logical part of Atsushi’s brain knew that Dazai was in a prison somewhere at the end of the world, keeping an eye on Dostoyevski.
The other part, the one guided by heart, wanted nothing but to reach out and feel that Dazai was really there.
Solid. Warm. Alive.
Close.
With a shaky hand, Atsushi reached forward, stopping mere millimeters from Dazai’s face.
Dazai smiled gently, the way he always smiled at Atsushi in those rare moments when the world disappeared and it felt as if they were the only two people left, together with only the sunset between them.
Atsushi took a breath to gather his courage and pushed further. Just as his fingers should connect with Dazai’s face, the man disappeared as if he was never there, leaving nothing but Atsushi’s hand hanging in the air.
Atsushi released a shaky breath.
Not yet.
His hand turned into a fist.
This could be something to bring him down, but it only steeled his resolve.
If he gave up now, nothing would ever be the same. The Agency wouldn’t exist anymore. He wouldn’t be able to go back to his room at the dorms, the only place of his own he had ever had.
He would never see Dazai again.
Atsushi turned around and ran back to where he came from. An idea cleared in his mind with every step he took, because as long as Dazai’s voice still rang clear in Atsushi’s ears, there was always a way out, even if it seemed like all hope was lost.
Just a little more.
They will see each other soon enough.