Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The boy remembered the very moment he was born.

If born was even the right word. Brought into existence. Created. He never learned just exactly how he came to be.

Regardless, he remembered when he was born, and he remembered where. It was in a dark, dreary place, entirely gray in atmosphere and carrying a thick, metallic scent.

He remembered complete coldness at the start, before suddenly being enveloped in warmth. Then, he was greeted with somebody’s face. That person stared at him, as if surprised, then they smiled and waved their hand above his face.

That was the moment the boy imprinted on them, and it was one of the clearest moments of his entire life. They called themselves the boy’s ‘provider’, so that was the first word that the boy ever learned to say.

Despite being surrounded by darkness and grayness, the boy was the happiest he ever could have been. He didn’t care to know what was beyond the walls he’d grown up in, nor what was outside of his provider’s arms.

He didn’t care to know, yet he was made to anyway.

One day, like any other, he was spending time with his provider. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Nothing at all. Until, out of nowhere, he heard a voice he’d never heard before sound out in the room.

He didn’t understand what he heard, but his provider seemed to—although they too looked confused. They stood up, taking the boy with them, and walked to the door that the boy had always been curious about, since he had never seen it open. The door slid aside, revealing a long and thin, seemingly never-ending room—which the boy would later learn was called a hallway—that his provider led him into.

The ground was cold beneath his feet, and the air smelled weirder than usual, if that was possible. Besides that, this place really did seem to go on forever—no matter how far the boy looked ahead, everything was still blurry.

Eventually, though, he saw… light. He tried to focus in on it because of how difficult it was to tell. He didn’t notice his provider suddenly holding him tighter. He didn’t notice how they began to walk slower, more apprehensively. After all, he was just a child. What attention could he have paid to danger?

When they reached the light, so new and unordinary, the boy reached out in wonder. It was a brighter gray than he’d ever seen in his life.

That was when they took him away from his provider.

It was only a moment, yet the boy remembered with the same clarity as the memory of his birth how he was ripped from their warm arms and thrust into the cold, uncomfortable hands of something else. He remembered his provider’s first expression, and he remembered their last: crying and begging, reaching out for the boy.

The boy could only do the same. But it was useless—unlike his provider, what was holding him now had an unrelenting and unforgiving grip. There was no hesitation as the boy was taken from the only one in his life who had cared for him at the time.

The rest was blurry, as blurry as the so-called light had been in that hallway. He could only recall bits and pieces of what happened next, and those were so inconsequential that the boy could barely call them worth remembering. What was important was that, in the end, he was no longer with his provider. Instead, what he knew next for a very long time were three white walls around him, a transparent screen in front of him, and a collar around his neck, tight and trapping. Although this place was much brighter than the room where he was raised, the boy saw his time spent here to be some of the dreariest days he had ever had.

At first, everything was nerve-wracking and uncomfortable, but eventually, the boy became used to even this. There were constants to this life, just as there were constants to his life with his provider.

For example, the transparent screen before him always had symbols on it—symbols the boy couldn’t understand at the time, couldn’t place the meaning for, but later learned that they were numbers and that they represented his price. Accompanying the numbers was a word in bright red: “DISCOUNT”.

The boy also watched other kids come in and out of the facility daily, either leaving with unfamiliar creatures (aliens—the ones who had power over him, as he had learned very quickly) or taken somewhere by some of the humanoid staff. He didn’t know what happened to them; all he knew is that no matter who passed by, be it another kid or not, he wouldn't see them again after.

Sometimes, he would make eye contact with them. Their interactions started and ended in different ways, all the time, but typically, the boy would begin it with a wave of his hand. His provider had showed him that it was for when you saw someone. They used to say hello to him and wave after waking in the mornings, and used the hello tactic to teach him how to say certain words; to say ‘hello’ to the wall, to say ‘hello’ to them, his provider.

Sometimes those kids looked at him weird. Sometimes their alien guardians looked at the boy and walked faster. Sometimes they smiled and waved back. But no matter how they reacted, the boy did it again and again. It was the least bit of human interaction that he was receiving, and he held onto it like a rope.

It also served as a good distraction from the fears he was having about what was going to happen to him. Seeing how many people went in and out on a daily basis and being unsure of where exactly they went heightened the boy’s worries about where he would end up. Even though he was certain that he’d either be taken out of there by an alien or by facility staff, there was nothing to say about what would happen after.

The boy’s daily routine went by as usual—watch people walk by, be given meals and water through a little hatch in his room, watch people walk by some more. It was then that somebody his age came near his screen, closer than most humans usually got. She was watching him with wide, boldly observant eyes, in such a way that the boy didn’t know what to do at first, before he snapped out of it and waved. The girl blinked, then waved back, and then—

A shadow cast over him. A large eye entered his vision.

The boy went still.

It wasn’t just one eye—no, there were several sprouting grotesquely from its body, which had teeth in places it shouldn’t have had and sharp ridges jutting from its thin arms. All of them were closed up until it came close enough to the boy, and at that moment, they all opened slowly at different times.

The alien stared at him for what felt like forever, and no matter how far the boy stepped back from the transparent screen, its shadow loomed fully over the room. The boy couldn’t escape.

Its voice leaving its mouth, although muffled by the screen, was clear, like it was shot straight through the boy’s mind. “...This one will not do.”

It turned away and began to leave in the opposite of a hurry. The girl looked between the boy and the alien, a knot between her brows, before trailing after it without a word or glance back.

The boy truly could not imagine the idea of enjoying what was to come after.

──────

Since that incident, the boy always stayed a little further away from the screen of his cage, especially since more and more aliens approached to observe him often. He figured it was because of the symbols having changed recently. But even though he was approached a lot more, no aliens actually took him out of this place in the end.

After another alien inspected him through the transparent screen with its large, black sclera and red-pupiled eye before walking off, the boy took notice of something more unusual—something he hadn’t seen his whole time here. Humans were coming out of somewhere new—a door that had always been locked. With them were staff members and other vaguely humanoid individuals that the boy had never seen before.

The humans were all around his age, and most of them didn’t bother looking his way. They were too busy watching the ones escorting them fearfully. What’s going on?

The last staff member exited the room, a human by its side. He walked unusually obediently with it. It surprised the boy. All of the other children were on edge, some even crying, but this kid? He walked almost casually. It caught the boy’s eye immediately. He stared at the other, even getting closer to the screen and touching it (which was against the rules, as the staff had smacked into his head countless times) to see better.

The hair atop the other’s head was brown and messy—like a hairbrush hadn’t come near it in an extremely long time—and a little overgrown, too. His clothes were just as dirty and torn, and there was a collar on his neck just like the boy’s own and all the other kids’. In fact, all of the kids looked like they were in a grim state. Were they being taken somewhere to get cleaned up, and then put in a place like him? There was no way to know.

While he was wondering, unexpectedly, the other kid turned his head and looked at him. The boy froze. It didn’t seem intentional. He was probably trying to look at their surroundings in general, but ended up seeing him.

Their eyes met. The boy noticed now that one of the other’s eyes was covered with something—was he hurt?

Neither of them blinked. Of all the people the boy had seen pass by, this one was by far the weirdest. But he didn’t see that as a reason to just ignore him. He decided to just act and pulled his hand back a bit before waving it.

The message was obvious: hello, but the other kid seemed even more lost. The boy waved harder. It took a second before the other kid simply ended up mimicking the behavior, waving his hand back in a slower, more hesitant way. The staff member by his side noticed this, and with a light whap to the head discouraged the behavior and dragged him along faster.

He was taken out of sight, along with all of the other kids. The mysterious door returned to being shut, and the boy was left with the typical sight of aliens and humans passing by. His hand came to a stop and curled back from the transparent screen.

Like with everyone else, he was sure that he wouldn’t see this boy again. That was why it was important to make a mark while it lasted.

Back to watching and waiting it was.

Although, it soon turned out that there wouldn’t be much more of this. An alien eventually ended up paying attention to the boy for longer than usual and determined him to be the right fit. Finally, those white walls and transparent screen weren’t the boy’s whole world anymore. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or not, when he first saw the vast, cold-hearted confines of outer space.

In the dark gray room he considered his cradle and the white-walled facility where he began to understand his worth, the boy had no identity beyond the numbers assigned to him. But when he was finally purchased by an alien, he was given a name of his own: Doppo Kunikida.

And, at Anakt Garden itself, he would see the roughed-up and musty boy he had waved very aggressively to before, who he would soon know to be named Osamu Dazai. Neither of them would speak much of their technical first meeting immediately; because, their interactions would become frequent enough to the point where it was buried beneath the chaos.

Chapter Text

The second time Kunikida and Dazai met, Kunikida socked Dazai straight in the face.

Kunikida wasn’t holding back, either. His fist made a harsh indent in Dazai’s cheek upon impact, and he hardly hesitated to throw another one.

Other kids took notice immediately. “S-Someone get a guardian!” a boy cried once Kunikida tackled Dazai to the ground. Dazai didn’t just take the blows, though—despite his initial shock, he was quick to fight back, and soon, the boys were mutually grappling with each other.

“Argh—!” Kunikida grunted once Dazai got the upper hand. The other boy’s fist was hovering above his face, threatening impact for sure. But first, Kunikida took notice of something else—the other boy’s… grin?

What kind of freak smiled when fighting someone? It was so distracting that Kunikida’s defense completely lowered in that moment, and seconds later Dazai landed a hit. And it hurt. Kunikida swung blindly out of anger and pain, but Dazai still had the advantage, and it would remain that way.

Had their Anakt Garden caretakers not come and break their fight up, they probably would have fought until there was a sure winner and then some. Even when they were being separated, Kunikida was still struggling, trying to get back to Dazai to rough him up some more and shouting obscenities that a human pet should not have known at his age.

What happened afterwards could be chalked up to this: Kunikida had a behavioral issues report marked up for him, and Dazai got off with a slap on the wrist. The reasoning for this was that Kunikida had attacked him first. While very true, in Kunikida’s absolutely unbiased opinion, fighting was his only right move at that time.

Although, it might be best to cover why the fight started in the first place.

──────

It all began when Kunikida first got to Anakt Garden.

He’d been dropped off in a pod by his owner with nothing but the clothes on his back that he’d had since the day of his purchase. He was only left with a message: “Behave yourself and learn.”

He’d spent hours in that pod, surrounded by darkness and nothing else. He’d never felt so alone in his life. He was getting to a point where he nearly wanted to go back to the facility he was in—at least there were other people and organisms there.

Past the point where he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he saw something in the distance. Something more than just a black, empty void.

It was hard to see at first, but with the help of squinting hard, Kunikida managed to make out its shape. It looked like… a dot. A floating dot in space. The pod he was in was heading straight towards it, so it was probably his destination.

He kept his eyes on it, waiting to get closer so that he could see it better. Because of how slowly the pod was traveling, it took a little while, fueling Kunikida’s impatience and restlessness. The seconds it took to approach the dot felt like eternities of their own. But finally, the pod got close enough for him to see a little more clearly.

The dot, of course, wasn’t just a dot—it was a giant one. A blue and brown ball, surrounded by… something. It was still fairly far away, and Kunikida’s vision didn’t work as well for far objects, so he couldn’t tell what it was exactly until they were much, much closer.

He pushed himself against the glass of the pod, squinting to see. Even with everything being less blurry, Kunikida still couldn’t understand what he was looking at. The things were all gray and floating on their own, but they were all different sizes and shapes. Were there people and aliens in there? Why were they around this ball? He didn’t have much time to think it through, because they were already descending closer to the ball. The black void around him began to fade into blue, and the brown surface—and what looked to be an unknown facility—were getting closer and closer.

Everything else, for the most part, happened quickly. The pod landed. The hatch opened. Aliens took him out of the pod, and he went through a long process that he barely understood to confirm his identity and information, which he barely knew himself.

They changed his clothes and put something tight around his neck in order to ‘suit policy’, then they took him somewhere else. Presumably, the place where he was meant to ‘behave and learn’.

Here, the walls weren’t a bright white or the dark, trapping gray that belonged to the inside of his guardian’s ship; no, they were blue. A blue much like the sky that Kunikida briefly got to see.

They led him across the land (and while he walked, he paid attention to the grass beneath his feet, a sensation he’d never felt before) to the dormitories. They told him to unpack his stuff, settle for the day, then attend the event the next morning. He’d get to meet everyone else then.

For better or for worse, he had nothing with him to unpack, so he just skipped to settling for the day, whatever that meant. He wasn’t sure if they would try to punish him if he left the room, so he simply laid down and stared at the ceiling.

It was about as dull in this room as it was in the cell he stayed in before he was bought, but at least something new was only a hallway away. A place with light and warmth and soft grass.

He thought about that warmth to soothe his exhausted mind, until everything went as dark as that silent void, and he fell asleep.

──────

The next morning, Kunikida was forced to wake up at a certain time and enter the garden to commence the welcome ceremony. He and the other pet humans gathered around an alien.

“Welcome, young humans, to Anakt Garden,” it said, its many eyes focusing on each one of them. “You have been sent here with the purpose of education and enrichment. We’ll have many fun activities and classes in store for you!

“For now, feel free to explore the garden and interact with your peers. You’ll be here and with them until graduation, after all.”

As part of the ceremony, all of them were given flower crowns before being sent off. “These are flower crowns. Gift them to each other,” the alien had said. Kunikida watched as kids instantly ran off, laughing and playing, while others lingered, holding shyly onto their crowns.

Kunikida held onto his flower crown as well, but not because of shyness. He was busy looking at the flowers, taking in the foreign sight of petals and the round, golden cores. It was something so vivid and beautiful—so unusual in his hands. He wasn’t sure who to give it to, or if he even wanted to at all.

Maybe it was best to hold onto it. For now, he wanted to explore the garden. Everything was so bright and so warm that Kunikida felt as if it was becoming a part of him. He couldn’t help but want to bask in it after his trip here.

He walked until laughter faded and only the rustle of wind remained, and eventually he found a good spot to flop down and absorb the warmth. It was coming from a place bright in the blue sky, and looking at it hurt his eyes, but he didn’t dare avert his gaze until it was burnt into his vision, and he knew that he’d remember what it looked like.

When he finally looked away, his vision was full of purple spots, his eyes hurt, and he could barely see a thing. That almost made him regret it. Groaning, Kunikida stood up and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision and get rid of the pain.

It took a while, but within time Kunikida’s ability to see returned. Relieved, he lowered his hands and opened his eyes fully—to notice somebody in his line of sight.

Sitting against a tree was a boy. It was the boy he had seen before—the weird one—from his time spent confined in a white room.

Like Kunikida, he was alone, and he had a flower crown… except he was picking it apart with his hands.

Kunikida stared. It wasn’t even gently, like petal by petal—no, the boy was ripping it between his fingers and watching them fall into the grass. Something strange rose up in Kunikida at the sight, called total confusion. That wasn’t part of the activity. What was he doing?

“What are you doing?” Kunikida asked, approaching the boy unceremoniously. At being addressed, the boy looked up.

“What does it look like?” the boy replied. His tone was flat.

“Being a weirdo,” scoffed Kunikida. “You’re supposed to give it to someone, not rip it up.”

The boy paused his shredding of the flowers, appearing to now be in thought. After a moment, he gathered the fragments of the petals into his palm and handed them, along with the damaged flower crown itself, to Kunikida.

“...” Kunikida was speechless for a good second, before his annoyance spiked and took over. “Nobody would want it like that! You were supposed to give it to someone before.”

“Yeah, but that sounded boring,” the boy said. “Also, who cares?”

“I care. You shouldn’t rip up something so pretty.” Kunikida looked at the flower in his own hand; at its thick, red petals and its golden center.

The boy shook his head, like he was judging Kunikida. The audacity… “It’s not even real.”

“...What?” Kunikida said. “What do you mean, ‘it’s not real’—” The words didn’t register, not until the boy held out the flower fragments for him to take a look. At the origin of ripping, the red petals were gray, and the punctured golden center had three mechanical orbs inside it. Kunikida took it into his palm. It was completely unlike what it had seemed on the outside; but still— “So what?” he asked. “Why does it matter?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you seen a real flower before?” the boy said. “This one’s a joke.”

This ‘fake’ flower might as well have been the real deal for Kunikida, since it was all he had ever seen. It annoyed Kunikida how the boy spoke like he knew everything. For all he knew, he was lying. “How have you seen a ‘real’ flower?”

“In books.”

“In what?”

The boy stared at Kunikida, blinking, before he began to smile—correction, smirk. There was nothing pleasant about it. “Books. Do you not know what those are?”

Kunikida bristled at the boy making fun of him. “I—stop it! Just tell me!”

“Hmmm…” The boy tapped his chin and looked upwards. “They’re things that fly in space and tell you stuff. I saw one on the way here and it told me everything about the universe—and flowers, too, obviously.”

Kunikida… hadn’t expected him to actually tell him this quickly. He figured that the boy would have continued messing with him, given his annoying personality. “Is that really true?"

“Yep. They have wings and stuff,” the boy added.

Kunikida hated how much he didn’t know. “What are wings?”

“You know, those things on the sides of ships. Or birds.”

This time, Kunikida didn’t bother questioning what a ship or bird was. “I better meet one of those books sometime, or else I’ll make you pay.”

“Wow, scary,” the boy said, his tone having gone completely flat again. He returned to the treasonous task of shredding flowers with his bare hands.

Kunikida frowned and looked down at his own flower crown. Unlike the other boy’s, it was still intact and as vividly beautiful as ever—yet, Kunikida couldn’t help focusing less on the delicate petals and golden core and more on the grayness it hid; the orbs inside it, watching him. Once more, a ‘warmth’ had been stripped away, in place of a cold, metallic truth.

Driven by a sudden, furious impulse, he threw the flower crown with the strength of his whole arm. It might not have been much, but it was enough for the crown to land into the nearby lake in the garden with a splash.

Ripples spread in the water from its impact. Kunikida turned away from it and wrapped his arms around his knees.

It was completely silent for a good few moments. Kunikida wanted it to stay that way, but unfortunately, the boy next to him opened his mouth.

“Do you want mine now?”

“No.”

Silence resumed. Good. It didn’t last for long, though: “What are you mad about?” asked the boy.

“I’m not,” Kunikida muttered. “Leave me alone.”

“You are. I can see it on your face.” Kunikida promptly hid his face. “Is it because they’re fake?”

"No. Leave me alone,” he repeated. A few beats passed in silence, with Kunikida hoping it’d last, but of course it didn’t. He heard the boy’s voice cut through it.

“Real flowers are more than one color.”

Kunikida’s awareness rose, but he still didn’t look at the boy. That didn’t stop the boy from continuing to talk, though—and bother him.

“Hey, look at me.” A nudge at his shoulder. “You should care.”

Ugh, I don’t want to… Kunikida thought. He didn’t want to let this kid ‘win’. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” he muttered, but looked at the boy anyway.

“They can be blue, like that water you just threw your flowers into,” the boy said, pointing at the pond, “and yellow, like that star over there.” Kunikida’s eyes followed the boy’s finger as it trailed from the water to the bright light in the sky—to the star.

Kunikida squinted at it. “That’s yellow? It looks white.”

“No, it’s yellow. Books told me that too.”

“Why didn’t I see any books when I was coming here…” Kunikida muttered, barely loud enough for the boy to hear.

“They like me better, I guess.” Kunikida was yet again met with the boy’s insufferable smile and the unexplainable urge to smack it off. He barely managed to resist it.

“But anyways,” the boy went on, “flowers are a bunch of different colors, more than just red. And none of them are grey on the inside. They’re the color they are on the outside, through and through. They don’t hide anything.”

They sat in silence, this new truth settling in. “...You’re lucky,” Kunikida said after a while, “that you know that.”

“Now you do, too,” replied the boy, unfazed.

“But I haven't seen any like you.”

“You probably will.” How was this boy talking like he knew the future? Something about it irked yet intrigued Kunikida.

“In a book?” Kunikida asked. “It’ll fly by?”

“Oh, books can’t fly. I was messing with you.”

The seconds passing by seemed to freeze. “What?”

“I was messing with you,” the boy repeated, seemingly oblivious to the sudden threat. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“...Why?”

“Because it’s fun.” The boy finally noticed Kunikida’s gaze. He blinked once. “Oh, you look—”

The boy didn’t get to finish his sentence because Kunikida gave him a face full of fist. Kunikida might not have known what books and ships and stars and wings were and whatever, but he did know how to fight, if only by instinct.

That said, the fight wasn’t the least bit satisfying, because not only did the boy get the advantage at one point and start enjoying himself, but Kunikida got into the most trouble at the end of it all.

Kunikida only got one thing out of that fight: the boy’s name, which was said as they were both getting scolded. And what use was that?

And so that was how Kunikida and Dazai ended up fighting. It would be far, far from the last time.