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“Deep into that darkness peering long, stood there wondering fearing doubting.”
– Edgar Allan Poe
It had been two months, eighteen days since he had been picked up by Fukuzawa Yukichi, Edogawa Ranpo, and Yosano Akiko.
Dazai still had no idea what to think of them. A swordsman who looked like he had a bloody past. A girl with an interesting ability—from the way Yosano behaved, it was obvious she was traumatised. Probably from the Great War. The researchers at the lab had spoken about an Immortal Army. Hmm.
Finally, there was Edogawa himself. His deductive skills and observation abilities were amazing, his keen intellect challenging. It was always a joy to have the other boy as his opponent in video games. Dazai had to admit, Edogawa was the only thing keeping him here.
Escaping from the laboratory had been laughingly easy. It had only taken a single hairpin he had asked from a male scientist claiming that his fringe was getting too long and it was getting in the way of his reading. Idiots.
“Fukuzawa-saaaan, there’s a boy here!”
A poke at his cheek.
“He’s fainted!”
Edogawa was smart. Possibly the smartest person Dazai had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Probably more so than Dazai himself.
“Ah! You’re awake!” He turned to look at the boy seated beside the bed. He was older than Shuuji, and wore a white short-sleeved shirt with khaki pants.
“Where am I?” Shuuji rasped.
“Our flat.” The boy replied, a stick of something—was that pocky?—hanging out of his mouth. He then proceeded to inhale the pocky at record speed. Shuuji had never seen anyone eat this quickly before. Swallowing the biscuit, the boy turned to face the door before Shuuji could react.
“FUKUZAWA-SAN! AKIKO! THE BOY’S AWAKE!” He winced at the other’s shout. It wasn’t even that the boy—he had to ask for the other’s name soon, it was getting tiring calling him “the boy”—was loud. Everything was so loud, unlike the silence he had become accustomed to in the laboratory. The light wasn’t so bad—the curtains had been drawn, and the lights were always white and horrendously bright in the laboratory anyway that this amount was nothing—so it didn’t hurt his eyes. Though, the new sounds would take some getting used to.
The soft click of a door, and a girl who looked a little younger than the unknown boy but older than Shuuji himself—Akiko, probably—walked in, eyes dark and slightly haunted despite the small but determined gleam in her eyes. Her bob swayed gently with each step, fluttering like a breeze blowing across the butterfly pin on her hair. Following close behind was a man in a yukata and a haori, who walked with a sure certainty in his gait. A swordsman. He had seen a few of those back in Tsugaru. They had been stationed there in defence against possible attacks by the Russians.
The girl marched up to him, magenta eyes scanning him up and down, before reaching down to slowly grasp his wrist. Her eyes never left his, asking for the silent permission that he gave freely. There was a cautious note that he instinctively knew wasn’t directed at him. She was afraid of something, but it definitely wasn’t him. Hmm.
The moment her fingers touched his skin, a familiar—accursed—ripple ran through his veins. Shuuji managed to school his expression, but the boy had narrowed his eyes.
Her touch was featherlight, yet accurate. She had located his pulse point with ease. Clearly, someone had had medical training at this age, and was an ability user to boot.
Interesting.
“His pulse is steady,” she finally spoke, addressing both the older man and the teenager. “He just needs more rest. Everything else looked good when I checked on him earlier.” She squinted at his forehead, fingers curling and uncurling in uncertainty, but refrained from reaching for his forehead, a gesture he appreciated. “Doesn’t seem like he has a fever either.”
“Nice, thank you Akiko~” the teenager sang, reaching up to cup his hands behind his head, kicking his legs out. The older man nodded from where he stood beside the teenager seated on the chair. Yosano smiled at them, before moving to stand on the other side of the only adult in the room. He looked fierce, but Shuuji knew that under that sharp metallic exterior rested a kind and old soul.
“Now.” The teenager unhooked his hands and leaned forward with a sunny grin. “I’m Edogawa Ranpo! This is Fukuzawa-san, and that’s Yosano Akiko. Nice to meet you!”
“...Nice to meet you.” He didn’t know what else to say. The other boy was just so chipper and pure, even the glow in his eyes that betrayed his cleverness. Shuuji wanted to turn away badly. He couldn’t stand staring at it, feeling like every inch of his repulsive nature would be exposed under the light.
“What’s your name?”
He looked down at the blanket covering his leg, fingers twiddling with the edge of the brown fabric. His name? Tsushima Shuuji had died back in the mansion, and the person—or had he been a thing? That felt more fitting—who had been brought to the laboratory had not been Tsushima Shuuji. He had barely been human.
Who was he now? There had been a book Shuuji had really liked, the author successfully summarising and putting down his loneliness and despair into words…
“Dazai Osamu,” he replied, watching the other boy tilt his head curiously, before shrugging. He had been seen through, but to his surprise, the teenager merely continued on as if nothing had happened.
“Great! Now, Dazai, your job is to…”
Edogawa might be smart, but that didn’t mean he was as good as Dazai was at hiding.
Today was June nineteenth. Dazai pursed his lips. The day he was born.
Disgusting.
Both him and the world.
The world was naught but a temporary play, and he was the person who saw through the futility and temporariness of life. For every treasure he gained, he would lose one. Eventually, they would all be lost, to death, to time, to the natural progression and separation of life.
Hence, there was no point in celebrating life when it was simply going to slip away like sand through cracks. They were all impermanent anyway. The true tragedy of his life was the fact that no matter how hard he struggled, he simply couldn’t die.
He sighed. Unfortunately, Edogawa’s keen intellect meant that the older boy had seen through all of Dazai’s suicide intentions and plans. Which meant that Ranpo had taken all possible precautions to prevent Dazai from doing so. What a waste of time and deductive talent.
Ranpo had ambushed Dazai last night—right before the brunet had been about to sneak off—and made an entirely honest promise that he would track Dazai down if the brunet tried to run away or attempted suicide in order to escape facing his own thoughts and emotions on his birthday. He had asked Dazai to remain in his own room in exchange for not doing it. Small mercies at best.
Knowing that Ranpo was serious, and only wanted the best for him, Dazai had agreed with a racing heart and thoughts the whole night. He had barely gotten any sleep until sunrise, but nothing had stopped him from sleeping in.
Which led him to stand in the kitchen, staring at Ranpo’s handwritten note. Out for a bit. Don’t run away!
Dazai sighed, putting the note back down carefully onto the table top. How could he when Ranpo-san had only his best intentions in mind?
It wasn’t that Dazai didn’t appreciate their efforts. He really did. It just seemed a huge waste to be spending all that time and trouble on him. The fact that they had kindly taken him in in the first place after Ranpo had managed to weasel the truth of what happened out from Dazai’s mouth had been unbelievable.
People didn’t do that. They never did that. Not for Dazai.
Everyone had wanted something from him. Whether it was his intellect or his ability. He had yet to figure out what his rescuers wanted. Fukuzawa always kept a respectful distance, Yosano was reserved, the demons of her past feeling so similar yet different from Dazai’s own, and Ranpo… Ranpo was pure. He was the shade of white Dazai had never seen before.
If Dazai were a normal human being, he would be jealous. There was no point in doing that, however, because there was no reason to care. The world would continue to spin regardless of any single one of their fates, uncaring of the life it nurtured.
They were all powerless against the powers of nature.
A click, and Dazai perked up from his blank staring at the floor. Eyes fixed on the bronze door knob, he stood up, taking three steps forward.
It turned, and Dazai watched cautiously as Ranpo walked in with the biggest grin he had ever seen.
“Happy birthday!” There was a clear quality to Ranpo’s voice, signalling to Dazai that he truly meant what he said. Dazai froze. Ranpo reached forward to tap his forehead with a finger. Dazai continued to stare in shock. He vaguely registered the fact that his mouth was hanging open, there was pressure between his brows, and his eyes were wide.
Yosano half-coughed to muffle her laughter from where she stood behind Ranpo, graceful hands still holding onto the cake steadily.
Fukuzawa nodded beside her.
“I—“ He had known this was coming. Ranpo was usually childish so it was as easy as breathing to read him, but that didn’t stop the warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body, most of it shooting onto his face. All of a sudden, speaking suddenly became the toughest task on earth, he felt like he was going to explode, and the irrational urge to run, even when the presence of the others grounded him. “I—“
“Aaah! There’s only one thing to say at a time like this!” Ranpo stood up right, puffing his chest out. Dazai gasped, scrambling his brain and searching desperately for what Ranpo might mean—he thought back to when he was still living at the Tsushima estate—oh.
“…I…thank you,” he tried after a long pause, voice soft and unsure. The servants in the estate usually ignored him. His father had been too busy to care, and his siblings equally so. After he was captured following the massacre, the researchers never bothered with him outside of their job scope requirements. That had been fine. He hated them anyway.
No one had ever tried to celebrate his birthday with him before.
He didn’t know what to do with this warmth, it was only increasing with each passing second, and his face felt like coal slowly being set on fire.
“Silly Dazai,” Ranpo looked at him with shining green eyes. He was fond, Dazai realised distantly, unsure of what to do with the new knowledge. “You’re welcome.”
“Dazai-kun, we made you a cake! Well, I made you a cake because neither Ranpo-san or Fukuzawa-san can cook,” Yosano beamed, leaning forward. “It’s a peach shortcake! I noticed how much you liked peaches. They are just starting to come in, but I made sure to use the best ones I could find.”
“It was tough to watch Akiko make it without eating it~” Ranpo spoke, voice holding a hint of droll, grinning at him. “I did sneak a bit of the extra whipped cream.”
Dazai looked down at his feet, unsure of what to say. Everything was suddenly way too dazzling, was this truly the place he should be? Ranpo-san, Yosano-san, and Fukuzawa-san were all nice people. They were people who belonged in the light, people who could live their lives to their utmost best for the sake of good.
He didn’t know what to do with people like that, but yet, they had shown him nothing but care and love the moment they had picked him up.
A hand rested on his head, steady and gentle. The floor was getting blurry. His heart clenched and fluttered all at once. This was weird.
“Happy birthday, Dazai,” Fukuzawa-san’s firm but kind voice reached his ears. Dazai’s heart shook at the steady voice, and he suddenly couldn’t see the floor or his shoes anymore, his vision blending together into messy, orange paint patches.
“Dazai…” He heard Yosano’s voice.
Suddenly, lanky arms embraced him from the side in a strong hug. It was Ranpo.
He couldn’t remember when was the last time he was held like that. Was it by his mother, who had left this world too early? It definitely hadn’t been any of the people in the Tsushima estate. Ranpo exuded nothing but comfort, lulling him into a calm and tranquil place. A hint of sweetness wafted into Dazai’s nose, the whipped cream and peaches Ranpo had snuck earlier.
“You’re okay. This is your home now, Dazai,” Ranpo whispered, running his fingers through Dazai’s hair. “Ne, Fukuzawa-san, Akiko?”
Struggling to breathe through his tears, Dazai looked up at Ranpo, who looked right back at him, green eyes clear and radiant. All of a sudden, the sensation of being suffocated was gone, replaced with a certain momentary ease to his existence. He was like water that flowed naturally in rivers, a feeling of weightlessness that he had never felt before settled in his very essence—this was probably what people referred to as a soul. His soul.
Slowly, he nodded, sniffing and tearing his eyes away from Ranpo to look at Yosano and Fukuzawa. They were both smiling at him.
Dazai still didn’t know what he was doing here.
Perhaps, at that moment, it didn’t matter.
He belonged here, and that was all that mattered.
“In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary.”
– Aaron Rose