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When Dazai cracked his eyes open, he never moved a muscle. This was because Dazai knew that Mori-san appreciated absolute stillness when he administered treatments to patients. Lying absolutely still, Dazai tried not to tense up at the thought of Mori near, watching him. But he thought the sleeves of his dress shirt felt odd. They were too soft. They itched against his unwrapped arms.
Then too, the blankets were soft and fluffy, the bed very unlike the medical tables he so often woke up on.
Actually his head and limbs, sunken heavily into the fabric, no longer throbbed with pain. He was tempted to stretch out, catlike, and dig himself deeper into the softness, spreading his full body out upon the bed. It was so luxuriously beyond anything he’d ever laid on. How odd.
Curiosity winning over his desire to evade Mori’s attention, Dazai slowly and awkwardly sat up.
Wincing almost imperceptibly as his healing ribs jostled with the movement, he shoved the blankets off his torso and swiped back brown bangs. His hands came back clean, pale, and bloodless, even though there should have been blood in his scalp.
Had Mori-san cleaned him up in his sleep? But then, that still didn’t explain why he was in this strange room when he’d lost consciousness in the chilly air of Mori’s workroom. Still suppressing winces as the injuries jostled, Dazai carefully stood and looked about him. It was a pretty room, somewhat old-fashioned, with pale blue walls. Lacy blue curtains played with sunbeams in the windows,
Windows?
Dazai stood on the bed and pulled back the curtains to the high windows. He thought he might be shorter than usual. Bright sunshine assaulted his face, forcing his eyes almost closed. His long brown lashes fluttered shut before he lifted a hand to block the direct glare of the sun, and looked outside.
Outside, the leaves of a maple rippled in a light breeze. He cast open the window and poked his head out; the wind felt strange on his exposed cheeks, but they didn’t itch now that they were missing bandages.
“Dazai!” A woman’s voice called outside his door.
Dazai started. He’d been so immersed in watching the green grass and feeling the breeze on his face that he forgot to listen for threats inside. Dazai didn
't like zoning out; it happened rarely at the Mafia because it was just too dangerous in his work. But whoever was here obviously respected decorum, asking for permission despite the fact that his door was open.
He took a breath to steady himself.
“Yes?” Dazai made his voice as polite and shy as he could. In this strange house with this strange voice in his open doorway, polite and unassuming was probably the way to go.
The woman hesitated. He heard her shift outside the door. “May I come in?” she requested, politely.
Dazai wasn’t used to this, but answered “Sure,” as amicably as he could manage.
When the woman entered, Dazai saw she was young- 19 or 20 perhaps- and carried a basket of laundry. He felt very confused but simply blinked at her, sitting on the edge of his bed, as she dumped its contents on his bed then crouched down slightly to look at him.
She gazed at him, eyes traveling up and down his thin frame, which made him sit even straighter, brow pulling together as he stared back.
She lowered her gaze as his frown grew, seeming to note his discomfort.
That’s not good. I’m usually a better actor than that.
“How are you?” she asked, almost like a big sister teasing a brother.
He shrugged. “Fine, Ane-san!” he sang. When she giggled at his reply he knew he made the right choice.
“Okay good,” she looked relieved. Dazai wondered why she would be.
“Who are you? Why am I here?” Dazai asked carefully. Given the number of injuries he woke with, as well as a pounding headache, it made sense his memory might be a little foggy. Her frown caused him to tense subtly as he wondered if he was wrong.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked, and her frown was now so deep Dazai hurried to think of a good answer. But he really didn’t have one for her.
She spoke first.
“You’re at the orphanage,” she said. “After your parents died, you were taken here and have been here recovering for three days. You spoke to me the first day before passing out. You called me Ane-san then too.” She laughed. “You were funny. It must have been all the painkillers in your system.”
Dazai grimaced. He didn’t like showing weakness in front of others. He especially didn't like being incapacitated with drugs.
But even more importantly– an orphanage?? Dazai had been orphaned long before he joined Mori-san…
This is all nonsense!
Dazai felt his eyes widen despite himself. He resisted the urge to laugh. Mori wasn’t prone to elaborate pranks of this nature- they usually involved more pain- but still…
“Okay, okay.” Dropping his act, Dazai stood, clapping his hands together. “Very good prank. But please reveal yourselves now.”
“Who are you talking to?” The girl looked very confused and a little unnerved as she stared at him. She was either a very good actor or she was very dumb. Yet still… Dazai couldn’t help but think that he was missing something here- That maybe she was real.
He could read liars, and the only person that could fool him was…
“Ah.” Quickly Dazai stood and tapped the young woman on the shoulder. But she couldn’t be Elise-chan, because she didn’t disappear.
Huh.
“Why did you poke me?” The girl asked, looking curious and surprised. Dazai decided to make light of his weird actions.
“Oh just wanted to see if you’d get mad,” he said. “It would be funny.”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you boys are all the same.” She grabbed his wrist- Dazai resisted a flinch- But she only gently led him back to the bed and the pile of laundry.
She walked to the door, then turned to face him. “You should rest. But later today, you’ll have to put away laundry, okay? Bye, Dazai!”
And with another eye roll, and a poorly-suppressed smile, she waved at him and closed the door behind her, leaving the pile of laundry behind.
As he was in no hurry to do anything else when his ribs hurt this much, Dazai took her advice. He rested in the comfortable bed for a while, before he got bored and hopped out of bed again.
There was nothing to do, and deciding the laundry at least gave him a distraction from all his swirling thoughts, Dazai knelt next to the basket and began fishing clothes out of the pile.
These were children’s clothes. He could never wear any of these to the Mafia, Dazai noted with distaste.
They were loud and colorfully-striped; many of the pants were too short at the ankle, and many shirts had childish logos or cartoons on them. They all seemed to be used as well. Some of the pant knees were almost worn through.
‘Gross.’
Since Dazai realized he was wearing light pajamas (borrowed from Mori, even more gross) he dug through the pile until he found a dark blue button-up and pants- probably a child’s school uniform, and he pulled them on.
There. He still felt uncomfortable without his Port Mafia dress shirt and overlarge coat, and his sleeves were far too short to hide the scars on his wrists, which were exposed for all to see. But these were the best he had for now.
Dazai grimaced. He would need to cover his wrists as soon as possible.
Feeling lazy, Dazai put away half the clothes she’d given him and left the rest in a pile. He’d use the pile and then the clothes he’d put away. He hoped it would take a long time to get to the stripes though.
Bored again, No Longer Human buzzing in his ears as always, Dazai shrugged his sleeves over his wrists and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Surely this place had books or some form of mature entertainment for a person such as him, eh?
The orphanage had its own small library, it seemed, since some of the older kids had books stamped with its name. Dazai went to the matron and rang the bell at her desk.
“Yes?” She asked. She looked surprised to see him.
He pasted on his most innocent look. She recoiled. Dazai sighed.
“I’m looking for a library or somewhere I can get books?” Dazai said, playing dumb. She looked even more surprised. But then she shrugged. She even smile a little.
‘Most kids my age probably don’t want to read books,’ Dazai figured. ‘The matron is probably just glad I showed interest.’ (Or maybe my counterpart (?) just didn’t want to read anything actually substantial?) Sure enough, she folded her hands and then stood, smiling.
“I can show you to the library, if you’d like.”
Dazai followed her eagerly, hands in his pockets to hide the scars.
…
“Here we are,” the matron said, showing off the small room like it was the Seventh Wonder. But Dazai had to hide the disappointment at what was truly the most subpar library he’d ever visited.
Like, seriously! Not a single floor-to-ceiling bookshelf?
And the contents…
Dazai jogged from shelf to shelf, before circling back to her with an empty expression.
“These are all kids’ books,” he complained. “Don’t you have anything a little more…promising?”
By her reaction to his vocabulary, Dazai judged his current form was far younger than Dazai himself was or than he had initially thought. Maybe nine or ten?
Ooh, this could be fun.
…
A half hour later found Dazai walking down the downtown library’s shelves behind a wrinkled librarian in a kimono.
The librarian showed him to the section, and Dazai scowled.
“The kids’ section, again?” he griped. “Seriously, can’t you guys tell I’m here on business?”
The man gave him a baffled look. “What would this young man prefer?”
Dazai didn’t have much experience reading for pleasure. He shrugged.
“Um…I dunno. Something mysterious, with some screams and blood?” (Probably the only person who craved such stories was him. He’d be out of luck.)
The man looked very nervously at his company and gulped.
Much wheedling and whining later saw Dazai with an armload of Agatha Christie and Stephen King.
The librarian who was checking out books also wilted under the eyes of Dazai’s escort. She looked afraid she’d lose her job.
The matron’s assistant tried to grab the books to put them back, but Dazai held on, pouting, until she rolled her eyes and gave up.
“Fine.” And then she muttered under her breath, “You probably won’t get through chapter one, anyway.”
Dazai smiled sweetly at her. “Probably not.”
(He would get through this whole stack in a week, just to spite them. He’d just decided.)
When they got back, Dazai immediately holed up in his room and got through five chapters in the fifteen minutes before the dinner bell rang.
…
The staff was worried. He heard them talking in the halls. Dazai had been at it for a week, hardly leaving the room. He even skipped most meals.
They thought he was depressed about his parents dying. Dazai could leverage that. He skipped the orphanage’s lessons for three days in a row by pretending to have a stomach ache and crying a lot.
He didn’t see what was so worrying about his behavior.
(It wasn’t like skipping meals was unusual for Dazai, but he couldn’t tell them that.)
…
Then one day, a lady in a flowery purple dress knocked on his door.
He opened it and blinked up at her. He hadn’t realized how short his new body actually was until he compared himself to this tall young woman.
“Hello. You’re Dazai Osamu, I assume?”
“Yes..?”
And just like that, Dazai found himself seated at a piano, and completely out of his depth.
What had she just said?
Dazai stared at the black and white keys. They stared back. Black, white, interspaced into infinity in a pattern he was beginning to recognize.
“Focus,” Dazai,” his new piano teacher said gently. “Left hand in a middle C position. Come on. You just did this.” It wasn’t like Dazai to zone out like this. He shook himself out of it and placed his right in the correct place. She gave him an encouraging smile.
Dazai hated this. He’d just decided. He hated being so out of his depth. He hated feeling stupid. Dazai Osamu was not stupid. He could not afford to be.
Grinding his teeth, he moved his left hand into position.
“Very good!” She praised him as if he were just another child. Dazai’s stomach squirmed. “Now let’s try to play the song. One-handed at first. Then if you’re confident we can try with two.”
…
When Dazai played two-handed for the first time, he hated that he actually kind of liked it.
CHAPTER 2
“But I don’t want to play piano!”
“I understand that,” The matron said. “But until you get a healthier schedule and start eating more, you need a better use of your time than those books.”
So this was what having a parent felt like.
For all Dazai’s protests, the (fake) tears shed and numerous loud complaints, his lessons had not been cancelled, and no one sympathized with Dazai’s whines.
Dazai grouched away from her and went back to his room to read his books.
Great. So an eternity of punishment, huh. Dazai tried to suppress the little pang of awareness that they actually seemed to care about his well-being. Mori only did so far as the mission required.
Dazai just as violently tried to suppress the little blossom of interest in the lessons that he had developed.
In the end, when the Matron’s assistant came to pick him up, Dazai could only agree.
…
“I’m only doing this because my guardian forced me to,” Dazai said, sullenly.
“Okay,” his instructor said. But she didn’t seem to believe him. “Now, let’s move on to book two. You’ve mastered the first book.”
Dazai tried to murder the spark in his chest. He had practiced a couple times outside class. He would deny it to anyone who asked. Dazai didn’t do silly things like playing piano. He was the Demon Prodigy. Dazai didn’t enjoy piano, and he sure didn’t want to master it.
(But playing piano was so different from handling a gun or solving a puzzle. Dazai’s fingers itched to lay themselves on the cool flat keys and manipulate gentle music from them like his teacher could do…)
Clenching his jaw, Dazai laid his fingers in their new position and let them flow across the keys.
…
“I don’t waaaaant toooo…”
“You were completing lessons so quickly,” his instructor said reproachfully, two weeks later. “If you practice at least once outside each class, you could get through this book in weeks.”
(Not that Dazai wanted that. Obviously. He didn’t.)
“I’ll consider that input,” he said casually, trying to quench the conflict in his chest.
She seemed sad, but nodded approvingly.
(Dazai…may have practiced for hours that week, when no one was around to hear.)
His teacher smiled discreetly when she watched him play at their next lesson.
Dazai felt that approval without even seeing her face.
…
At the end of the next lesson Dazai overheard a conversation between his guardian and his instructor.
“He’s really an amazing student. I’ve never had such a quick learner. And that despite clearly having no musical background at all.” (Dazai blushed there.) “I mean, really. He’s a natural. Another year and I’ll have to dig out new books. Dazai devours each lesson so fast I can hardly keep up. And he plays so gracefully too!” (Dazai couldn't hear the matron’s words in reply.)
“...No, I’d like to keep teaching him, in spite of his moods. He seems to like it, though he may not even realize that himself.” Dazai practically heard her eyes sparkle, and he froze in shock because she actually figured him out!
“No, no, whatever you say of him I can’t see him as a bad person or a lazy student. He puts in too much genuine effort in class. Maybe you have simply been trying the wrong methods to motivate him? ...I think there’s just something blocking him from my lessons.” (Dazai’s chest ached.) “Did you say…What are the origins of his scars?”
Dazai froze. The world seemed to slow to a snail's pace. Outside the waiting room window, green trees blew in the wind. Blindingly green.
(Pressure built behind his eyes.)
“We don’t know,” his guardian sighed.
Dazai hugged himself.
…
Long nights reading Agatha Christie. Dazai’s face was chalk pale. He wasn’t sleeping. The books’ contents had nothing to do with it.
He almost fell asleep during breakfast.
…
At the lesson, he performed the last page of the book. An etude. His instructor smiled, and snapped her fingers; she’d told him it was a poet’s clap.
“Good job! Now,” she turned a page gently, delicately. “Let’s play that duet we’ve been working on the last two weeks.”
(She had adapted quickly to his hunger for more.)
The duo sat together on the piano and Dazai was aware of her warmth beside him. Dazai’s small hands moved in sync with her larger ones.
Their hands wavered over the last notes of the showtune. “God help the outcasts.” An American import.
“Great job!” his teacher praised. “Now, I’ve been saving this as a surprise for you: Since this is a show tune it has words to go with it. I wonder, Dazai, if you can sing?”
Dazai froze. On the keys, his hands trembled for some reason.
Mori had once asked him to sing…
“...No,” Dazai said. His throat felt tight. “I can’t.”
“...Okay.” She accepted his refusal with a small smile, and didn’t bring it up again.
Dazai still felt disappointed that he couldn’t do it.
…
“Have a good day!” his instructor called to him at the end of the lesson. Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, and she didn’t seem angry or disappointed at all. In fact, she looked proud. Dazai lowered his head, but he gave a small smile in return.
He really wished he’d sung with her.
…
At the piano that night, Dazai took a deep breath and began to sing, in a small, wavery voice.
CHAPTER 3
Dazai was fifteen. His limbs had shot up in the last few years, and he’d taken to wearing slacks and long coats. After he’d aged out of the orphanage, his piano teacher took him in.
He was watching that same piano instructor as she laid her hands on the keys. The duo were practicing another duet together. He was taller than her now, sitting or standing, which felt strange. Other things had changed too.
A week ago, Dazai had performed in a concert.
Now, his heart hammered faster as she slowly noticed him watching her. She turned to look at him, deep brown eyes scanning his face before smiling mildly at him.
She always knew how to appear calm, calming him in turn.
Dazai took a breath. He swallowed. “I told you years ago why I wear the bandages,” he said. “Now you know I was lonely most of my life.”
She looked at him, not saying anything. She nodded.
He hesitated. “So many things have changed about my life,” he said softly. His shyness rose to the surface whenever he was emotionally vulnerable. “I’m successful now, I can live my life free of my past.”
She frowned, watching his face. It took him a moment to speak.
“Why do I feel so drawn to it still?” Dazai asked. (‘My childhood sucked. Mori sucked. But still, I…’) “After all this time, why can’t I be free of it?”
She smiled slowly, a long, sad look in her eyes that Dazai recognized in his mirror.
He knew, almost, before she even spoke.
“Sometimes, the loneliness doesn’t ever go away, especially for people like us,” she said slowly. “Not completely. It gets better….Or maybe it won’t. You alone can change yourself, and loneliness is all you’ve ever known.”
Then a sparkle in her eyes kindled a warm feeling in Dazai’s long-dead heart, just beginning to wake. The butterfly in her short dark hair glistened silver.
“But it’s still worth it, isn’t it? All those days, all those long nights trying to figure yourself out and your purpose, they’ve made your world a little brighter.”
His chest ached. It did a lot, these days. He grabbed his arm, and squeezed hard where, long ago, bandages had hidden freshly-opened wounds.
“But what if…What if I want more than that? I’m still so empty. And- I don’t know why.”
She put a hand on his arm, ever gentle. He felt the warm touch shupper up his shoulder, but he also felt warmth. He leaned into her hug.
“I don’t really know,” she murmured. “I think some souls…will always have a little lonely gap that nothing can fully fill. Filling your life up can only do so much, but…
“I feel less empty when I’m with you.”
“And I feel less empty when I’m with you,” he replied.
“Maybe sometimes we can only depend on other people to fill the holes we were born with,” she said. His heart lightened.
“Maybe,” he said.
…
As he exited her house that day, a red-haired man paused on the sidewalk to look at him.
And their eyes met.