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Dazai drove. Gogol looked out the window watching the buildings and lampposts zip from one side of the car window to the other. Any small, colorful thing out of the ordinary would capture his attention just long enough to offer it a glance before it vanished out of view. A soft, quiet music played in the— No, sorry. A very not soft, not quiet music vibrated both in and outside the car. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have to replace the speakers… again. Of course, it would have to be turned down whenever either of them—Gogol mostly—ended up randomly spouting some nonsense on their day; that cloud was shaped like an anteater fighting with a pilot whale, the graffiti on that rundown building had a typo. Their voices colored the car with whatever small thing gnawed at their attention.
They stopped at a red light, in a rather busy part of the city. People were bulldozing through each crosswalk at—
“What about that one?” Gogol’s finger, along with his entire arm, extended past Dazai towards one of the people hurrying from one side of the street to the other. That finger would’ve smacked Dazai’s face if Gogol wasn’t careful—not that Gogol was ever careful to begin with.
“Hmm…” Dazai turned his head to look at the same hurried person out of his car window. “Late for a work meeting, surely. No, hang on… He’s wanting to interview for a higher position for a job he’s not really qualified for.”
They’d created a little game. Well, it was more accurate to say Gogol had spawned a game on Dazai one day out of curiosity. He liked games and, frankly, he liked Dazai.
“Oo~oo! What’s his favorite color?” Gogol's bewilderment could not be overstated.
Dazai turned back for a moment and chuckled a little. Then he returned his focus to the hurried man, sporting a nonchalant expression. “He’s probably boring, and doesn’t have one. I think if someone were to ask, his answer would alternate between blue and red, depending on whichever his mind pops up for him that time.”
“Oo~h!” Gogol would’ve had the same awestruck look if all the answers to the universe were being unveiled before him. His eyes thereafter squinted, still staring at the random man on the side of the street. This was the second part of their little game. Gogol asked, “Is it the suit?”
“What about the suit?” Dazai always liked seeing the little glints in Gogol’s eyes evolve with every revelation.
“Hmmmmm, that it’s fancy?” Gogol smiled, putting up a finger to satisfy his own declaration.
“That it’s new .” Dazai, too, put up a finger to mirror Gogol’s.
Gogol blurted, “Of course! How could I have not noticed those folds before? They only fold it like that at the store!” He waited a few seconds. “…Why does it matter if it’s new?”
“It doesn’t, not by itself…” Dazai taunted.
Gogol turned up his chin and leaned further in towards Dazai’s driver-seat window for closer inspection. If it were anyone other than Dazai, Gogol would have surely been invading their personal space by now.
Just as this happened, the hurried man finished walking down one crosswalk, and onto another. In doing so, Gogol was able to see the front of his outfit.
Gogol whipped his head to face Dazai and practically shouted, “Oho! Is it his tie?”
By this time, their faces were within mere inches from one another. Gogol didn’t seem to take notice; he was too absorbed in their little game. Dazai opened his mouth to say something, but nothing, not even air, came out.
A honk came from some car behind them. As Gogol retreated his head a few inches to look, Dazai noticed the light had already turned green. “Oh– I can’t see when your face is in my way, Gogol,” Dazai teased, lightly shoving Gogol back to his side of the car.
Gogol laughed as Dazai’s foot let off the brake pedal.
“Why’d you guess it was the tie, though?” Dazai asked.
“I don’t know, it just looked a little weird on him.” Gogol’s expression beamed. “Why? Was I right?!”
Dazai tried his best to hide his ever-growing smile. “…Maybe.”
“I knew it! So, with the suit…” Gogol sank back into his car seat. “I don’t get it.”
There was something faint, Gogol couldn’t help but notice, about Dazai’s eyes. Those eyes didn’t look like ones fit to compliment a smile. It was oddly foreign, Gogol thought. It wasn’t as simple as sadness, but it wasn’t as simple as a smile, either.
“Are you admitting defeat?”
“No!” Gogol immediately replied. A few seconds later, his voice now in a whisper, he said, “…Yes.”
“Based on the way he tied it, if it was thinner, it would’ve fit perfectly. So, he’s probably used to wearing thinner ties, but for some reason decided to switch it up. After a moment’s research, he’d have figured out that thicker ties usually relate to higher status; but, that same research won’t tell you that the fashionable thickness of ties fluctuates with time. Right now, I believe medium-thick ties are in fashion.”
Gogol stared at the other side of the car in silence, watching Dazai with a mix of confusion and awe. If it were anyone other than Dazai, he would’ve found this talk of ties and societal expectations dreadfully boring.
Frankly, it didn’t matter much what Dazai talked about. Gogol would listen to it all if he could.
“Why do you even know all this stuff?”
“I’d wear ties sometimes in the mafia. Though, I don’t think I cared much for what was considered ‘fashionable’ anyways.”
Gogol nodded. “I think you had the right idea, there.”
“Well, of course you’d say so, Gogol.”
“Eh~h?” Gogol flabbergasted. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh? My fashion sense is very typical!”
Dazai glanced in his direction before returning his eyes to the road. “But of course! To suggest anything to the contrary would be preposterous!”
The two of them laughed.
But there it was again. That look in Dazai’s eyes Gogol couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the first time, either. He saw that look every time they’d play their little game. He wondered if…
“Dazai?”
Dazai sighed, “Oh no, are you insecure again?”
“No, no…” Gogol looked over to the side. “Well, maybe…”
“Just spit it out already,” Dazai teased.
Gogol aimlessly played with his hands. “I only mean to say… we don’t have to play this game if you don’t want to… if it’s not fun for you.”
Dazai answered simply. “Why wouldn’t it be fun for me?”
It looked as if Gogol was about to answer something else, but when he finally opened his mouth, he let out, “…Do I even need to answer that?” He wasn’t annoyed or upset, nor was there a hint of negativity in his voice. It was as if he’d asked him his favorite color.
They hit another red light, and Dazai turned to him. This time, that look was no longer hidden behind his eyes—it was at the forefront. That look had bled out from his eyes to coat the rest of his face; his lips were slightly parted, every muscle in his cheeks seemed fully relaxed. Not sadness, not happiness, not anything in between.
To anyone other than Gogol, there wouldn’t have been anything odd about Dazai’s face at all.
Then the light turned green, and Dazai looked away. His eyes fluttered from place to place without forethought as to where they’d fly next. If Gogol wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that Dazai was genuinely confused. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure Dazai was even capable of being confused, not about something so simple as Gogol himself. He wasn’t sure if he should say something, or if—
“You’re a baffling person, Gogol.” Dazai cut off his thoughts. “Do you not want me to ask anyways?”
“I simply don’t see the point in asking something if you already know the answer.”
Dazai wavered for a moment, an act in seemingly genuine contemplation. “Wouldn’t you hate it? If you didn’t get to express a thought because I’d already known? Wouldn’t you feel used?”
“Oh, please.” Gogol squinted his eyes and smirked. “You pretend as if I have no prior experience in the field.”
For just a breath, only the turned down music filled the car with noise.
With entire galaxies tucked within his eyes, Gogol continued, “Dazai, your intellect is the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I merely wish you did not feel the need to hide it from me.”
He sounded so… sincere. Like a child looking brightly up at the stars.
Dazai sighed. “I was afraid you would say something like that.”
“Afraid?” Gogol asked him. “What is there to be afraid of?”
Dazai opened his mouth as if to speak, but caught his eye on something he deemed more important. “That was quick; we’re here,” he said, looking at something specific from beyond their car.
“Great! Can I finally know where we’re going now?”
“No!” beamed Dazai with great enthusiasm, pulling the car over to the side. He only scraped against the curb twice this time.
Gogol made an angry face.
Dazai opened his door and said, “Wait here a sec,” before making his way to the trunk of their car.
Gogol’s eyes followed him there in tense suspicion, followed by his head and eventually torso after his eyes alone didn’t suffice. After having seen the trunk open and close, his eyes had traced around the whole car. Dazai patted his pockets to make sure everything important was still in its place. Everything had to go according to plan. He opened Gogol’s car door and threw a plastic bag at his face.
“Ah!—” Gogol recoiled before looking down at what had been thrown at him. “Bread? What do we need a loaf of bread for?” His eyes scanned Dazai to find a closed basket in one of his hands.
A sly grin appeared across Dazai’s lips. “You’ll see.”
Gogol let his head fall back as he groaned in deep despair, as if his muscles could no longer support its weight under their own strength.
“Don’t be like that, come on now. I promise you’ll like it,” Dazai beckoned. His hand eventually ushered Gogol out of the car.
†††
So they walked. And walked. And—
“Ug~h, are we almost there?” asked Gogol, who’s face looked similar to one forced to watch paint dry for hours on end.
Dazai held onto him by the hand, dragging him along what seemed to be a never-ending path down a stranded dirt road hidden behind a stretch of buildings. “It’s been five minutes.”
“Liar! It’s been eight minutes.” Gogol was reaching his breaking point. He wasn’t sure how long he’d manage to hold out.
“Stop being dramatic.”
The painfully bored expression on Gogol’s face morphed into a slight smile. “Don’t jest, you love it.”
Dazai sighed, looking off to the side. “We’re almost there, yes.”
Gogol’s smile grew.
A minute or so later, they “finally” arrived at a fork in the road. Marking the divide was a small iron archway stretched along it with vines. Small pink and yellow flowers grew throughout both the archway and the ground.
“Wo~ooah,” Gogol’s eyes ignited like miniature explosions. “Why is something so beautiful hidden on such a boring… dirt path of… boring nothingness…?”
Dazai chuckled. “Probably so no one would ever think to look.”
This time, Gogol was dragging Dazai along as they followed an even narrower path of dirt. This time, at least there were flowers to accompany them. Gogol nearly doubled their traveling time simply by looking at them.
After three or four more minutes of hurried walking, the pair found themselves in front of a small opening at the end of their dirt path. The ground shifted from the dry brown dirt to a dark green grass, wildly splayed out to span a whole field in isolation. A small island that remained unscortched by the passage of time. In addition to the pink and the yellow, the flora now displayed purple, blue, and white to mesh into a coherent portfolio.
Dazai looked over to Gogol, who hadn’t uttered a single word. “See? I told you it was worth it.”
“…Yes.” His mouth was almost to the floor.
Dazai snickered and shook his head. “Well? Come on then.” He slipped from Gogol’s grip and went ahead into the middle of the flower field. Everything was according to plan.
Gogol followed him. “How did you find this place?”
“I know even the deepest corners of this city,” jeered Dazai. “You still have that blanket on you?”
“The… oh!” Gogol’s hand reached into his overcoat and subsequently pulled out a checkered picnic blanket. “This one?”
“That’s the one.” Dazai reached his hand out, to which Gogol tossed the blanket in his direction. He kept walking towards the spot where Dazai was, not without gazing in awe at all the flowers along the way.
Dazai flung the picnic blanket open before placing it on the wild grass, all in one swift motion as if it’d been practiced. This, of course, was added to the long list of things Gogol was bewildered by at the present moment.
Dazai sat down on one side and set down his basket in front of him. After Gogol sat down on the other side, Dazai opened the basket and—
“Mini champagne bottles! They’re so cute!” Gogol’s eyes sparkled.
Dazai took them out and handed one to Gogol. “They were more expensive, but I knew you’d get all excited over them, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” After saying so, Dazai began taking out the rest of the basket’s contents. Among them were some fruits, various cheeses, and miniature cucumber sandwiches.
Gogol let out small remarks of enjoyment at every single thing. He enjoyed such decorative snacks and, frankly, he enjoyed Dazai’s company.
And Dazai enjoyed Gogol’s enjoyment. What a perfect pair the two seemed to make.
†††
Not five minutes after this had Gogol already plopped his head down onto Dazai’s lap as they enjoyed their decorative snacks and sipped on their decorative champagne.
“No, no, I’m just saying he was practically asking for it, seeing how he handled himself,” Gogol added to their ongoing conversation.
A blank expression had been plaguing Dazai’s face for the last minute or so. “They are never going to let us back into that zoo ever again.”
Gogol sported a pouting face. “ That! is on them! As far as I’m concerned, they lost two valuable customers that day.” He crossed his arms in dismay.
“Well, I can’t argue there. You probably would’ve bought so many souvenirs,” Dazai sympathized as he continued to absentmindedly run his hands through Gogol’s hair, the corresponding hair tie now on his wrist after having previously held it in a braid. “Hey…”
Gogol squinted. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Dazai began. “Earlier you had mentioned—”
“About the games?” Gogol looked innocently up from his ground.
“…Yes, about the games. Did you—”
“Oh, don’t feel the need to explain yourself. I was merely being cautious at the time.”
“Well, I should at least mention—”
“What is your favorite color?”
“…” Dazai narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher anything discernible about the other. “…What?”
“Earlier, as you were saying.” Gogol fluttered a hand around in circles around itself to the tune of his words. “I asked what his favorite color was, mostly to see that ‘what a random thing to say’ face of yours—you know, you give that mildly concerned, yet somehow admiring smile—nevertheless, it suddenly occurred to me that I’ve never once inquired about your favorite color. Obviously, this bastardized mistake must be rectified with immediate haste.”
“…”
“So, what is your favorite color, Dazai?”
“Hm…” Dazai gave some thought to the question before answering, “probably orange?”
“Ah yes, I see,” Gogol started, tapping his fingers along his lips in rhythmic beats. His eyes then sharply widened, as if coming to a realization. “…Like Chuuya?”
Dazai glared menacingly, barring any true intentions from rising to the surface. “…And I suppose your favorite color is purple then, right?”
Gogol’s head lifted from Dazai’s lap and shifted his entire body backwards away from him. Both now seated upright, the two sat in silence for a few unbroken seconds.
“…That was uncalled for,” Gogol finally verbalized.
“You started it,” Dazai snapped back almost immediately.
Gogol pointed a finger at himself in shock. “ I –”
A few additional seconds passed. Even that proved hard enough for Gogol to contain his bottled up emotions. The corners of his lips started to twitch, his eyebrows becoming strained. Then, as if by some unconscious signal…
They both simultaneously burst into laughter.
It didn’t take long for Gogol to’ve fallen backwards onto the rest of the blanket—and partially on the grass behind it. He couldn’t have cared less. Dazai, on the other hand, had buried his face in his hand which subsequently rested on his leg. His back was visibly bobbing up and down with each chuckle.
Naturally, some of their laughter spurred only because the other one was laughing. A fair amount was due to the joke itself. Mostly, however, they were just comforted by the notion that, now, there was laughter to be had in the first place.
They weren’t sure how long they’d been laughing to their heart's content, but after their emotions had somewhat plateaued, Dazai asked, “Gogol?”
Gogol spoke through the remaining broken bits of chuckle still in him. “Y– Yea– eah– h?”
This was Dazai’s chance. He’d caught Gogol perfectly off-guard. “ Thank you. ”
Gogol’s entire body shot up at once. He stared at Dazai directly in the face, his jaw limply open towards the floor, any festive expression now obliterated from sight. “How… could you…”
It looked as if Dazai was admiring some famous painting with great profoundness. “Oh, wow. You should take a look at your face right now.”
“We agreed , Dazai!” Gogol stood up as he continued, “Fair and square, I might add!”
A chuckle forced its way out of Dazai’s mouth before he covered it with his hand. He began to say something, but—
Gogol crossed his arms. “So be it, then, Osamu .”
“Eeeeeuuuuuuugggggghhhhh…” Dazai’s shoulders immediately retreated in on themselves in pure disgust at the sound of his first name. His face consequently puckered to boot. Referring to each other by their first names was yet another thing they agreed not to do.
“Aha! As it so happens, two can play at this game!” Gogol said, satisfied, putting yet another finger up in a declarative sense. “That’s what you deserve after pulling that little stunt of yours.”
Half-heartedly, Dazai chuckled. “I suppose that’s true…” He looked around at random spots of their flower field, then refocused his gaze. “Here, I know what’ll make up for it!”
Dazai stood up, wiping the stray pieces of grass off his clothes. Gogol looked up at him, vaguely confused, tilting his head to indicate as such. In time he, too, stood to meet Dazai.
Dazai held out a palm to the other and continued, “You’ll like it, I promise.”
Gogol looked down at it hesitantly, before he finally gave warmth to Dazai’s hand. “…Fine.”
Dazai smiled.
†††
Through a seemingly random thick set of trees they fled next. Hand in hand, they stepped on branches and leaves along the way, the forest echoing their hurried footsteps.
Their pacing wouldn’t last long, however, for the pair had soon come to the edge of the forest. Another clearing, this one grander than the last. This time, a small body of water lay before them. Not large enough to be a lake, yet not small enough to be a pond. The grass at some point had morphed into tall patches of weed, the flowers into small bugs and sorts.
As per usual, Gogol was taken aback. His eyes were glittering, just as the pond had been that day.
Dazai eyes were on Gogol, admiring a sort of ‘view’ in his own right. Not smiling, not sad. It was far more beautiful than the water, he thought.
“Oh!” Gogol interjected his own awestruck self. “The bread! That’s what it was for all along!” He reached into his coat and pulled out the same loaf of bread Dazai had handed him back by the carside.
Dazai shook himself back to his usual disposition, seeming as if for a moment he was caught off guard. He gave one brief glance to the bread, then smirked towards the person holding it. “So you’ve finally figured it out?”
Clutching the loaf between his elbows, Gogol produced a round of applause, as if signifying the conclusion to the first act. “Bravo! Good show indeed!” But as he held the bread in his hands again, his thumbs twiddled about themselves for a few seconds as his eyes were fixed almost solemnly on the plastic covering. “…Dazai?”
Before he could even look up from the loaf, Gogol felt some cold object whisk just past the corner of his cheek as it flew behind him. He hadn’t even had the chance to see what it was.
Dazai’s eyes switched periodically between Gogol and the flown object. “Whoops, meant for that to hit your face.”
“Aw,” Gogol responded sympathetically, “we can try again if you’d like?”
“It’s no use, the stunt’s busted now.” Dazai kicked the grass and dirt under his shoe in a pouting fit.
Gogol walked over and patted Dazai on the shoulder. “It was surely an appreciable concept.”
Sniffling and wiping his eyes purely for aesthetics, Dazai asked, “You really mean that?”
“I wouldn’t lie! I truly was worried that I’d have to explain how bread wasn’t good to feed birds and everything!”
Dazai nodded slowly, feeling a bit more assured. “…Thanks.”
“Are they already defrosted?”
“Obviously,” Dazai said, nearly offendedly.
Gogol turned and walked back to pick up the bag of frozen peas Dazai had thrown. Indeed, they were much better to feed to birds than bread.
“What shall we do with the bread?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far.”
Lies , Gogol figured. “Oh! I know!” He pulled a toaster out of his coat.
“So that’s where the toaster went! I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t leave it in the house now, could I? Not paired with any source of running water at least…”
Dazai pouted like a child. “You never let me have any fun.”
“Come now, don’t be like that. I even have an extension cord on me!” Gogol pulled out one side of a wire from his coat. He plugged it into the toaster’s cord, and put the bread in.
Dazai peered further to confirm that the toaster was indeed sporting a reddish glow to the metal inside. His eyes couldn’t help but squint as he said, “But we’re nowhere near home… I thought your coat only connected spaces as far as thirty meters away or so.”
Completely flatly, Gogol explained, “It’s a really long extension cord.”
Dazai elected not to think any further.
†††
The pair sat on the edge of where the grass met the dirt, a mere few feet from the clear blue water that reflected small glimmers in their eyes. They were still laughing from a joke one of them said a dozen seconds ago, a joke they’d most likely forgotten by now. Every several seconds, Gogol would throw a modest handful of peas into the pond and watch as the birds flocked over to them.
“Can I ask you a sort of… personal question?” Gogol asked, not used to taking his own tone so seriously.
Dazai noticed this and reconciled with a lighthearted one. “Shoot.”
“…Do you ever regret it?”
Dazai looked over, as if for some clarification. With one look, he no longer needed to wonder. He turned back and watched the glittering water.
“There are moments, I suppose. Moments I give thought to the possibility…” Dazai’s words flowed seamlessly out his mouth like the water below them. “…but no, I don’t. Honestly, I couldn’t think of another way even if I tried; and, well…” He took a breath, forcing himself to lose his train of thought. “How about you? Do you regret it?”
Gogol wasn’t apparently surprised by the question. He, too, watched the water as they spoke. “ There was a time I thought that, if it wasn’t for the right reason, it shouldn’t have happened at all. But, in retrospect, it was the right thing regardless of my intention. ” He scoffed at himself. “As of now? No.”
For a while, for a small moment of serenity, no words were cast between the two. The only sounds either of them could hear consisted of the surrounding flora and fauna, as well as the water as it bounced along the pond’s edges.
They both knew; they were thinking of the exact same thing as the other. Like the water, their minds bounced off each others’. Speaking such measly things as words hardly seemed necessary now.
Gogol eventually broke their silent serenity. “Thank You , Dazai.”
“Oh, shut up.” Dazai scoffed.
A momentary silence brought Dazai to the conclusion that this was the perfect moment. That this was it . The grand finale. “Gogol? Can I ask you a personal question?”
Finally . “By all means!” Gogol straightened his back from his otherwise relaxed posture. “Oh! Apologies, I’d forgotten, there's something I have to do first .”
Unlike Dazai's expression moments before, Gogol's was very obviously a smirk, albeit faint. He was planning something, Dazai was sure.
Gogol shot up on his feet as if from a cannon, his coat dramatically fluttering to serve as decoration. Now standing, Gogol requested, “May I?” as he held out his hand to Dazai.
Dazai took it, and up he went. Facing each other they now stood.
Gogol spared no hesitation. “Dazai…” He knelt as he unveiled a velvet, navy blue box no larger than the palm of his hand. “Would you—“
“No.”
“—do me the honor of— Whhaaaaaa? What do you mean?!”
“Are you serious?”
“I'm always serious!”
“………How did you know?" Dazai asked with a grave voice.
“ 'Know’?”—Gogol used literal air quotes—“Know what?”
Dazai pulled out a similarly small, velvet, dark red box and held it up. He glared unceasingly at Gogol, not once looking at the box in his hand.
Slowly, Gogol's mouth contorted into a twistedly dark smile. “I believe I've truly outdone myself this time!”
“But… how did you know?”
Gogol dramatically wauled, "A magician never reveals his tr—”
“Yeah yeah, fine, I get it," Dazai interrupted.
“…”
“…”
“I must say though, asking me to carry a picnic blanket in my coat was a bit on The Nose.”
“That was two weeks ago!” Dazai objected.
“For no apparent reason!” Gogol counterjected.
“Oh, come on," Dazai crossed his arms as he retorted, "I do all sorts of things for no reason."
Gogol paused, tilted his head to one side, then laughed. “Since when?!”
“ ‘Since when’ what?”
“Since when do you do things for no reason? You never do things without a reason.”
“…Huh?”
“Don’t pretend as if you went without hearing me! My voice was crystal clear, I do say.”
Dazai stared blankly at the other, not a single muscle revealing any emotion he may have been experiencing. “Then… what do you mean by it?”
“Do I even need to answer that?”
Gogol’s voice was clear, not containing even a hint of sadness.
If Gogol had needed to answer that, he probably would’ve said he knew Dazai put forethought into his every action—every phrase, every tone of voice, every slight twitch of a finger. Simply because, that was Dazai. But Gogol hadn’t needed to answer, because that, too, was Dazai.
Rarely ever did people go without knowing how intelligent and calculative Dazai was. Rarer still was it to find a person who paid any sliver of attention to that fact.
Rarest of all, however, was to find a person who felt enjoyed by it. Someone who didn't regard it as something to fear, something to use, or something to pity him by.
Dazai spoke after several moments of silence. “Why have you been—”
“For the sake of a big reveal, of course! Magicians do love to have a big reveal, you know. Of course, I only needed such a big reveal because of that annoying little brain of yours. Ah, but it appears to have been worth it.”
By now, the water had quieted like glass, as if nervous to even ripple.
Like the water, Dazai stood soundless: Not smiling, not sad.
Dazai let his body fall backwards onto the grass behind him as he let out a long sigh. “Damnit.”
Gogol tilted his head. “What’s all that for?” He then, too, laid himself on his side next to Dazai, an elbow propping his head up.
“How did I not notice? Notice that you’d not only caught onto my fake proposal plan, but invoked countermeasures with a fake proposal plan of your own?
“Wait… What do you mean ‘Fake?’ ”
They made direct eye contact for six uninterrupted seconds.
Gogol cracked open another laugh. “Ha! You look like one of those people in horror movies right before they’re to die! It’s priceless!” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I’m messing with you, of course. I would never spend that much money on a ring, let alone an entire wedding!”
“Oh… Right… Of course…”
“Dazai, darling, are you having a heart attack or something? Need I take you to the hospital?”
“Huh?” Dazai regained some of his consciousness. “No, no. Y ou just… surprised me.”
“Obviously! You say that as if it’s this huge feat.”
Dazai didn’t entertain Gogol’s little act. He just glared at him annoyingly.
“Hmm…” Gogol sat up slightly, propping his palm on the ground now. “See, your problem is that you never throw in actual randomness to your actions. Not everything you do should serve towards some greater plan; it only makes you look more suspicious. But!”—Gogol wagged a finger—“if you go out of your way to do absurd things for the sake of absurdity, no one bothers to inquire!”
“Okay…” Dazai’s face had already morphed into a pouting child’s, only more confused. If there was anything he hated more than losing, it was not knowing why he lost . “No, hold on. You must’ve known exactly what my plan was. But you're shit at that little game we play in the car—”
“ Why’s Waldo ?”
“I’m not calling it that.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Are you going to tell me how you figured out my plan or not?”
Gogol hesitated. “Will you allow me to break a promise?”
“...Which one?” Dazai squinted.
“The first one.”
“How on earth could your explanation get emotional?” Dazai scoffed. “Well, I already broke it once earlier today. I’m surprised you even asked.” He looked at the sky. “Fine. I’ll allow it. At least I have warning.”
“Huzzah!” Gogol offered a few claps to himself. “It’s simple, really. I don't know those random people we play games on. I know you .”
“Oh, do you now?”
“Haven’t I just proved as such?”
Dazai’d never thought about it before. He’d always assumed the opposite. He didn’t think he’d meet anyone who could fully comprehend his plans. As he thought, now, he supposed Gogol’s words must’ve been true. Still, it was odd. No one had ever paid that much attention; well, no one on his side at least.
“Wow, I have been waiting to see that face for eons.”
Dazai didn’t know what face he was making. Not that it mattered with Gogol.
“What face?” Dazai asked.
“Hmm…” Gogol’s eyelids narrowed. “Well, you're not making it anymore.”
“Say it.”
Gogol rolled his eyes. “It’s a… surprised… innocent?... thinking… baffled… Okay, it’s two things. One is confusion. Not that exacerbated melodramatic shock—although I do get my fair share of amusement out of that one. It’s not a normal-person confusion. That’s the second thing. You’re confused at your own confusion. You sometimes forget you can even experience it, I believe.” Gogol smiled at Dazai’s changing face. “Ah, yes, there. Good example.”
Dazai hardly went unaware of what facial expression he was making at any given moment. He took great care in manufacturing them. By his accounts, the face Gogol was detailing didn’t exist. He’d never made a face like that, had he?
“Of course, It’s hard to notice,” Gogol explained, as if he knew where Dazai’s mind was going. “Something was there , but for the longest time, I didn’t know what . But that’s the point, don’t you see? I only know that face because I know you. ” Gogol’s smile brightened, reveling in his own accomplishment. “And, thanks to my little show, you can no longer hide behind that sweet, sweet mask of denial.”
“...Why?”
“For revenge!” His mouth pushed his cheeks up.
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?”
Dazai rolled his eyes, followed by his entire body away from Gogol. His brain was exerting far more energy than it’d been used to.
Gogol chuckled. “You’re so dramatic. I only wanted to show you what you showed me.”
Dazai slowly turned his head back. His eyes simply examined Gogol’s face. They were unnervingly wide.
“You told me I could get emotional!” Gogol shot back.
“I didn’t think you’d get that emotional.”
“Come now, I was never the one to fear intimacy. I had only feared what came after.”
“ ‘Feared’? Past tense?”
“I suppose, I feel as though I no longer have anything to fear, is all.”
“No no, too much, I’m calling five.” Dazai turned back away.
Gogol laughed. “Fair enough, you’ve had more than enough for today.” He started patting Dazai’s head. “There, there.”
Gogol’s laugh faded into a calm smile. It was a job well done, everything according to plan. He felt a certain sense of accomplishment. It felt good to know someone. And, for the first time, it felt good being known.
Dazai supposed, too, there wasn’t anything for him to fear either. He wasn’t smiling, nor was he sad. Dazai had nothing left to be but himself.
“This grass is so itchy,” he said. “Let’s go home.”