Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cherry blossoms were said to be signs of rebirth. They were also said to bring about insanity.
Ango wondered exactly just how long had he been there? Under the tree, looking at those cursed, pink petals as a lady appeared behind him time and time again and lured him around in a circle, before returning here and disappearing. Then reappearing again, restarting this strange chase.
How long has it been? He had vague memories from afar, that didn't fit in here. They didn't match the city he saw with the lady, nor did it fit the name he introduced himself with. Nothing made sense.
Had he been dreaming?
That would make the most sense, yes. The man with the red hair, the letters he sent, the grave he never saw, the drinks he laughed over, the people he underestimated...it all must be a dream.
After all, it had been largely painful, as he ended up alone.
With the woman by his side, he shall not fear such a thing. He just has to keep bringing her toys, gifts, things to entertain her; that smile truly is worth it all.
"You make me so happy, yes?"
He had heard it time and time again beneath the flowery tree and each time he'd fall. He'd fall, because there wasn't anything else he could do.

His first memory of the forest was waking up below the sakura tree. The sun was shining, clearly through the petals, painting them with a faint hue of white and golden. 
Instead of awe, he felt terror; he knew then, that these things were dangerous; he could not tell exactly why so. They simply were.
So he got up and ran. He ran, settled down in an abandoned house, gathered food and water and declared the forest as his. He lived in such ways, thieving off the land and passing men alike, until he met someone. A woman unbelivably pretty; her beauty unnaturally captivating.
He would spare her life and take her by his side. Being used to the city however, the lady could not appreciate the freedom the forest had to offer. By spring, she had convinced Ango to go with her, back to the city.
The place had been loud, bustling and unusual; Ango ran back, discomfort taking over him.
Instead of arriving to the hut he used to occupy, he found himself between the trees once again, path leading to the frightening sakura again.
The wind seemed to pick up as the man stopped in front of the tree, eyes slightly wide, katana lost, clothes far too silky to what he was used to.
And the petals scattering, falling around him seemed to grow ever the more menacing.
Why had he ran again?
That's right...he didn't want to recall. He didn't want to recall at all. He saw too much red, all from the steel that used to fit his hand confidently once, now discarded- and he could not tell why,
Something changed. A piece was missing. The petals swirled faster and faster around him as he shut his eyes.
Heads. So many heads. The woman started requesting he cut off heads and bring them to her. He didn't understand why, but he also did kill before, so why did this feel so different?
Was it because it turned excessive? Was it because the bodies never got buried? Was it because of some weird, newfound conscience? That wasn't like him.
So many questions, yet only the petals remained as he opened his eyes. When did the petals turn red? Did higanbana always grow around these parts? 
Wait, no; these weren't petals, but leaves. Red leaves, like fire. When did summer  turn to autumn? 
"Then, next year, perhaps we could talk on my birthday, like we agreed to?"
A sentence on a paper, the rest of the text blurry. A letter. For whom?
He doesn't remember being in such a place, was this another dream? What was his reality?
Loneliness. Loneliness was his reality, both in this world, and in the dreams he refused to realise as his actual memories from a past life.

After three consecutive moments of waking up and meeting the lady again then running, Ango came to accept that he was stuck in some kind of abhorrent time-loop, each one getting worse, his own name being more and more foreign. He was starting to forget, yet before he could truly forget anything, his memories bubbled up like water bursting from heat in a boiling pot of despair.
The fourth loop was exhausting, so much so, that Ango decided to accept his fate.
Unfortunately, people were about to rain on his monochrome paradise.
Enter, Dazai Osamu.

The red-cloaked man wielding a scythe entered the world Ango was trapped in, intent on balancing the world that was tearing itself apart each time, due to a 'taint' being in a book.
You see, this 'world' was in fact the world of a book, which trapped it's original author, Ango, in the place as time looped and a taint attempted to destroy everything time and time again.
He could not fight the taint and win, until he faced his mind, which he evidently refused like a stubborn mule.
Things change, people come and go, time is ever-present and Ango was pissed when he first met Dazai after decades of not seeing the man.
He didn't recognise him at first, nor did he respond to the other's call to him ('Ango! It's you-')
He simply knew he was angry, upset for some reason and charged at him, blade in hand, moonlight glinting on the scythe it clashed with.
Initially, Ango chalked up his irritation to his mission being interrupted. His lady wasn't a patient one; she wanted the heads he took delivered fast. Dazai was but a mere obstacle here.
He was so close to finishing the job, when another man intervened.
Ango decided to retreat. 
That night, he felt even more alone, despite the woman being right next to him, talking endlessly.
That night, he dreamed of the things that made him fall into this flowery hell in the first place; a last straw.
A night in a bar. Two nights in a bar, multiple words, drinks, authors who would understand each other.
Then they'd leave and never so much as follow up.
"Hey, Ango, your birthday's coming up, right?"
"Er...yes. Why?" He pushed his glasses up as he took a sip from his drink.
"How shall we celebrate it?"
He didn't want to celebrate at all. He found it pointless; people never follow through with showing up. Or if they do, it's just a reminder of those who failed to come.
He humored the question anyway.
"Just some talking would be enough."
Dazai blinked and Oda laughed.
"You can be so simple sometimes..."
"What, would you rather I ask for a tank?"
"A tank? Ufufu, that's even more absurd!"
Months passed and Ango didn't as much as get a letter. He sent one anyway.
"Next year-"
There was no next time.
"-let's come together and talk like we agreed to!"
What a bunch of liars. All of them, decandent authors who couldn't be on the 'proper' side of society.
Ango didn't like October. Things withered and he was left waiting for words that never came from the people who promised them.
He awoke with a strange kind of bitterness mingling with his stoicism and exhaustion.
He didn't know why, but he ran again.
This time, the lady followed. They stood below the sakura trees. He felt something was off.
He raised his head and saw a demon.
The lady was the taint this whole time-
And a scythe came to cut it down, but failed time and time again.
Ango could only watch, torn between things he couldn't yet name.
Why? Why was he to be alone again? He knew others didn't owe him anything-
"Ango! You'll have to be the one to defeat her!"
"Defeat....? No. No, I can't- I won't be alone again!"
Yet, with all his loyalty, the taint stabbed him.
"Ango!"
His resolve shattered. Then and there. it didn't matter-
Yet something deeper in his soul bought forth the realities of his past.
Time cultivated into gears, blades summoned from literary tools, to preserve a book-
Escape was the best option and this was the only way.

The fight was tiring, but ended in the authors' favour.
Ango ended up in a warm bed, recovering from all the injuries he sustained.
The physical stinging of the scars and bandages, the bitterness in the back of his throat and the dull ache of his head was nothing compared to the confusion he felt each time Oda or Dazai came by.
He hasn't been too attached to his grudge of course; but he didn't want to trust them too fast either.
A spontaneous moment of help can quickly turn into a feeding machine to the monster that is loneliness.
Then, betrayal is inevitable.
For now, all he can do is rest and see his next options.

Chapter Text

Turns out, Ango's next options included having to deal with the fact that he went to sleep and woke up as a mango with limbs the next day.
Twigs for limbs to be exact. He had no idea how he was seeing or why he was even a mango- he just woke up, looked in the mirror opposite the bed and thought "Ah, I must have overdone the substances..."
Except the only thing he was on was saline, for medical use.
Dazai was the first one to enter the room and he- insted of helping- treated this as a normal occurance and grabbed him by the hair (leaf on a twig) and bought him over to the kitchen.
"Odasakuuu! I found our little friend!"
"Why is he a mango?"
"Chuuya cursed him."
"What?"
"Apparently, he found out Ango called him short, like, 141 centimetres, in one of his writings and felt insulted. So he cursed him!"
The aforementioned man looked up from his cup of saké with an irritated face.
"I didn't think it would actually work!"
"Well, here we are."
Ango couldn't talk. So he opted to roll over to Chuuya, knock over his saké and poke him hard in the arm.
At least, tried to.
He ended up rolling off the counter and probably would have become a mash of mango if not for Oda catching him.
The next few days were equally as bizarre, until he finally woke up as human again.
A few months later he was gifted a basket of mangoes for his birthday. He was not amused. Everyone else was.
Then, sometimes, to resolve things, you just need to piss people off enough to turn you into a mango! There's no moral to the story! Just suffering! Yay!

The end.