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⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Atsushi wakes slowly at first. He stretches and rolls over, the soft fluffy ears atop his head twitching slightly as he lets out a sleepy little mrrp sound. He’s about to let the gentle swaying of his flower in the breeze lull him back to sleep, when -
THUD.
Atsushi squeaks in surprise as something collided with his flower, or rather - as his flower collided with something else. The swaying was not caused by the wind, and he was not in his field. He scrabbled for purchase, holding onto one of the buds amongst the cluster of blooms lined up in rows against the stem. “Sorry,” he whispers to the flower, apologizing for the harsh treatment from both himself and the environment. He could tell that it was in pain, and not just from the impact; no, it was weeping. Atsushi could feel his bloom’s pain, and he realized that something was severely wrong.
A voice comes from above, irritated, and loud to Atsushi’s sensitive ears.
“Tch,” the voice says, footsteps retreating, then a creaking sound. “He should know better by now. And seriously, white hydrangeas?” An exaggerated gagging noise.
Another voice, this one older and more exasperated, came from the other direction. “You can at least appreciate the decoration, Dazai-kun,” it said. Footsteps approached this time, and Atsushi had to hang on again as his flower, along with several others, was lifted. “Do you have a vase, by any chance?”
Oh.
A sigh. “There’s a glass of water on the desk, just use that if you must.”
His flower had been harvested.
Some movement, and Atsushi felt his flower sigh at the newfound hydration. He pet the stem gently, smiling. Atsushi could keep his flower alive, as long as he himself kept his strength up. One upside to being unable to fly was that he had more energy to expend on other things, such as his flowers. Atsushi’s patch of the field was always vibrant, especially breathtaking at sunset and at night. The colors of the sky reflected off of the healthy white petals at sunset, painting them in beautiful shades of purple and yellow that matched his eyes and his wings, and the blooms glowed ethereally during the full moon, almost blue under the moonlight.
He could only hope that one of his few friends would take care of his patch in his absence.
Using his tail to assist with his balance, Atsushi clambered up the stalk to perch on the top, and he nearly fell all the way back down with the shock of seeing his new surroundings.
Now, Atsushi had to admit, he had been inside houses before, had stolen crumbs from windowsills and eavesdropped on conversations, enough to know what things were called and how humans liked to live. The others in his field didn’t like this fraternization and ostracized him for it; but it wasn’t Atsushi’s fault that he couldn’t play in the fields like they could! He had been born frail, spindly-limbed and pale, on a stormy night. The rough winds had knocked him from his cocoon before his wings could properly dry, and they had been torn irreparably. Atsushi coped with this disability by teaching himself to be resourceful, learning how to climb, even getting tips from the sprites who lived deeper in the woods that bordered the field.
Atsushi was a moth-type; a tiger moth, to be specific. The other fairies in his field were all gossamer-winged and fair, tanned and capable, flitting around in the daylight and playing in the fields. Atsushi, however, was pale, and had bulky, fuzzy wings, preferring the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night. This further contributed to his isolation, as most all of the others were quite lethargic during the times Atsushi liked to be active. There were two others, though, that Atsushi was quite close with. Kyouka, a mourning cloak, was a quiet girl that Atsushi thought of as his sister. She liked to keep him company as the sun went down, plaiting small braids into the longer sections of his hair, weaving it with blades of grass or threads she had found snagged on bushes deeper in the woods. Kenji, a yellow pansy, was a lively boy who brought Atsushi fruits and other treats, often visiting during the day instead of playing with the others. Kenji preferred the solitude; he had come to their field from somewhere else, though he never spoke of it directly.
Atsushi had pieced it together from small, scattered comments - Kenji’s field hadn’t been calm or orderly like theirs, but wild in a way that felt almost alive, with flowers that refused to stay rooted, vines twisting into shifting tunnels, and fairies who chased the wind without ever slowing down. It wasn’t uncared for, just… restless. Strength and speed mattered there, and Kenji had never struggled to keep up, but he hadn’t liked it either. “They were always moving,” he had admitted once, staring up at the sky as if he could still see that endless motion, “and no one ever stopped.” No one stayed. One day he had wandered too far, past the tangled edges and into the woods, and instead of turning back, he kept going until he found Atsushi’s field by chance, drawn to its quiet softness. He stayed for that quiet, for Kyouka’s gentle company, and because Atsushi - grounded and patient - never rushed ahead or left him behind. Kenji never framed it as leaving something worse, and Atsushi understood that he hadn’t; it just hadn’t been a place meant for him.
But enough about his family. He could only hope they would take care of his flowers while he was away.
Atsushi found himself on a small table beside a chair closest to a huge floor-to ceiling window that stretched across the entire wall, so that the tall pane of glass loomed to his left, spilling deep amber light across the room. From where he sat, the brightness was almost blinding compared to the rest of the space, throwing the entrance area into a warm glow while leaving the back of the room swallowed in shadow. Below him, a polished black-and-cream checkered floor stretched inward toward a large patterned rug that defined the center of the room. Two ornate red armchairs sat apart on that rug, angled as though they had been left in the middle of an unfinished conversation. Farther back, tall bookshelves lined the wall, packed with indistinct volumes and objects that dissolved into darkness. Even from the table, the room felt quiet and controlled, but not comforting, like a place where every decision mattered and nothing was ever casual.
“Tch,” Dazai’s voice cut through the quiet again, light but sharp with annoyance. “You really do keep the strangest decorations, Hirotsu-san. Flowers in a glass of water on a table? How sentimental.”
They are not decorations,” Hirotsu replied evenly. “They are alive. There is a difference.”
The older man moved closer to the small table Atsushi was set on. He instinctively steadied himself against the stem of his flower, sensing the vibration from the footsteps travel through it like a pulse.
Dazai gave a soft hum, as if considering the statement purely for entertainment value. “Alive, yes. But still sitting in an office while you work with people who bleed rather than bloom. I wonder which is more fragile.”
Hirotsu did not answer immediately. When he did, his tone was calm, almost measured in its patience. “Fragility is not a reason for neglect.”
Something in the room hardened, and Dazai spoke again. “You are dismissed, Hirotsu-san.”
The older man bowed and left without another word.
Atsushi watched as he exited, then turned his head toward the other, younger man. Brown, shaggy hair hung in tangled strands over his eyes, one covered in bandages and the other shining through a deep burgundy. His face seemed twisted in something between perpetual boredom and a scowl.
“Stupid Mori,” he muttered to himself. “Can’t the old man take a hint?”
Old man? But the other’s name was Hirotsu. Was there more than just the two men living here? Atsushi wondered.
The man – Dazai-kun? – flopped down in his chair again, having stood up when he ordered the other to leave. He stared at Atsushi, and the fairy shrunk down amongst the petals of his flower before remembering that he couldn’t be seen. Another upside to being a tiger moth was that Atsushi’s glamour was very strong. He couldn’t be seen unless he wanted to be seen, or the observer believed wholeheartedly that there was a fairy in their midst.
Dazai sighed.
⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The rest of the day passed uneventfully for Atsushi. Dazai had a few visitors, sometimes he left the room only to come back looking either angry, exhausted, or both; and Atsushi observed quietly. He tended to his flower when he was sure no-one would see the movement caused by his rustling, petting the stalk and kissing the petals to ensure they felt safe and rejuvenated. He clambered carefully down a stem to sip and wash his wings and face in the water, then carefully fluttered back up to the top to continue his observations.
A week passed this way. It was very monotonous, and Atsushi found himself getting bored often, but he kept tending to his flowers and watching and waiting.
Eventually Atsushi decided that he needed to find out what was outside of this large room, so he carefully, oh so carefully fluttered onto Dazai’s shoulder as he walked past the table to leave the room. He was extra careful not to brush against the man’s ear and cause an itch to be scratched, otherwise Atsushi might get squished.
Dazai’s day, Atsushi quickly learned, was strange.
Not busy in the way Atsushi expected humans to be busy - there was no frantic rushing, no constant noise or movement - but heavy, like the entire building bent itself around him. People lowered their voices when he walked by. Some stiffened outright. Others smiled too quickly, nervously, as though trying to appease a predator pretending not to bite.
From atop Dazai’s shoulder, Atsushi saw everything.
The halls outside the office were enormous compared to him, dimly lit and lined with dark wood and polished floors that reflected the warm glow of hanging lamps. Men in black suits moved through the corridors carrying papers, weapons, or both. Atsushi had never seen so many humans gathered in one place before. The air smelled faintly of smoke, ink, rainwater, and blood.
Dazai drifted through it all lazily, hands tucked into his coat pockets, humming under his breath as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
But Atsushi noticed things.
Like how conversations stopped when Dazai entered a room.
How one man nearly dropped an entire stack of papers when Dazai greeted him cheerfully.
How another laughed at a joke that hadn’t sounded funny at all.
Dazai seemed amused by all of it.
At one point, he wandered into a meeting room crowded with intimidating humans, all sharp eyes and sharper clothes. Atsushi flattened himself against Dazai’s shoulder immediately, curling his tail tightly around a fold of bandages beneath the man’s coat collar.
“…the shipment was intercepted.”
“How unfortunate,” Dazai replied lightly.
“There were casualties.”
“Oh? Ours or theirs?”
A pause.
“Theirs.”
Dazai smiled.
Atsushi couldn’t see it fully from where he hid, but he felt the room tense around it like prey animals reacting to bared teeth.
“Then it sounds like the problem solved itself.”
Atsushi shivered.
Not because Dazai had raised his voice. He hadn’t.
That was the frightening part.
Still, Dazai was… odd.
He complained constantly, draping himself over furniture dramatically whenever he returned to his office. He stole sweets from other people’s desks. He kicked his feet against railings while staring out windows several stories above the ground. Another time, Atsushi watched in horror as Dazai leaned dangerously far backward in his chair, balancing on two legs while discussing something called “interrogation reports” in the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather.
“You’re going to fall,” Atsushi whispered instinctively.
Dazai froze.
Atsushi froze harder.
Slowly, very slowly, Dazai turned his head.
Atsushi immediately buried himself in the fluffy mess of dark hair near the nape of Dazai’s neck, wings trembling violently. His glamour held. It held. It held -
“Hm,” Dazai murmured after a moment.
Then he tipped the chair back even farther.
Atsushi nearly died on the spot.
The rest of the afternoon only got worse. Dazai seemed completely incapable of sitting normally, walking normally, or behaving normally in general. He complained about paperwork for nearly an hour before doing all of it in less than ten minutes. He declared dramatically that he was “withering away” from starvation, only to ignore the expensive meal someone brought him in favor of stealing candy from a bowl near a secretary’s desk.
Which, Atsushi noted with some offense, was exactly what he himself had been planning to steal.
By evening, Atsushi was exhausted.
Humans were terrifying.
Dazai specifically was terrifying in an entirely unique way.
And yet…
As the sky darkened outside the towering windows and the office emptied into silence, Atsushi found himself perched carefully atop Dazai’s head while the man stared out at the city below.
The lights outside glittered against the night like fallen stars.
Dazai looked lonely.
Not alone. Lonely.
There was a difference.
Atsushi understood that difference very well.
⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Another week passed before Dazai finally noticed.
Atsushi had settled into a routine by then. He rode unnoticed on Dazai’s shoulders and head during the day, explored the office while it sat empty in the evenings, and spent his nights tending carefully to the bouquet that had become both his home and responsibility. The hydrangeas remained lush and vibrant despite the passing days, their white petals still soft and full, untouched by the browning edges or drooping stems that should have claimed them long ago.
Atsushi hadn’t thought much of it.
To him, caring for flowers was as natural as breathing.
To Dazai, apparently, it was suspicious.
“Hm.”
Atsushi froze mid-step atop a leaf.
Dazai stood beside the desk, staring at the bouquet with narrowed eyes. Sunlight from the window cast amber across his face, leaving one eye shadowed beneath messy brown bangs.
“These should’ve died by now,” he murmured.
Atsushi slowly crouched lower behind a cluster of petals.
Dazai leaned closer.
Very slowly, very carefully, Atsushi held perfectly still.
The human hummed.
Then, to Atsushi’s horror, he plucked one of the flowers from the arrangement.
Atsushi squeaked.
Silence.
Dazai stared at the flower.
The flower stared back, trembling in Atsushi’s panicked grip where he clung desperately beneath the bloom.
Another silence.
Then Dazai spoke very calmly.
“There’s something alive in my hydrangeas.”
Atsushi slapped both hands over his mouth.
Dazai’s visible eye sharpened instantly.
“Aha.”
The flower was lowered slowly back toward the desk. Atsushi scrambled backward along the stem, wings puffed up instinctively in alarm, fluffy ears pinned flat against his head. Maybe if he hid again -
“I know you’re there now,” Dazai said lightly.
Atsushi stopped.
“…You won’t squish me?” he whispered before he could stop himself.
The room went quiet.
Dazai blinked once.
Then twice.
And suddenly the terrifying Port Mafia executive burst into delighted laughter.
Atsushi recoiled, horrified.
“There really is one,” Dazai wheezed, leaning against the desk for support. “I thought maybe I was finally hallucinating from boredom.”
“That’s rude,” Atsushi mumbled under his breath.
Dazai immediately went still.
Slowly, carefully, he crouched beside the bouquet until he was level with the flowers. His expression had changed completely now - not frightening exactly, but sharp with intense curiosity.
“Well,” he said softly, “there you are.”
Atsushi hesitated before peeking out from between the hydrangeas.
Dazai stared.
Atsushi stared back.
From this close, Dazai looked even stranger. Bandages wrapped around his neck and arms disappeared beneath dark clothes, one eye hidden while the visible one gleamed deep reddish-brown in the fading light. Atsushi could see faint shadows beneath his eyes now, the kind born from exhaustion rather than poor sleep.
Meanwhile, Dazai was very obviously trying to process the fact that there was a tiny fluffy person sitting inside his flowers.
Atsushi puffed up nervously under the scrutiny. His fuzzy tiger ears flattened again, striped tail curling tightly around himself while his wings twitched behind him in agitation.
“…You’re tiny,” Dazai said at last.
Atsushi frowned. “You’re enormous.”
For one long moment, Dazai simply stared.
Then he laughed again, quieter this time, something genuinely amused slipping through the sound.
Atsushi decided, reluctantly, that maybe being discovered would not immediately end in death after all.
"I'm Dazai," the man says, extending a finger to point at the fairy on his table. Useless information, Atsushi thought; he already knew his name from lurking around on his shoulder. "What's yours, little fairy?"
Atsushi huffs. "Don't you know you should never give your name to a fae?"
The man smiled. "Well, yes, but you're no fae, are you? You're just a fairy."
Curse this man.
Atsushi’s ears flattened immediately. “That’s still dangerous,” he argued, clutching the hydrangea stem tighter. “Names have power.”
“Do they?” Dazai asked, sounding entirely too entertained.
“Yes!”
“Hm.” Dazai rested his chin in his hand, studying him lazily. “Then I suppose I should be careful. You might curse me.”
Atsushi puffed up indignantly. “I could.”
“You absolutely could not.”
“I could too!”
Dazai’s smile widened, infuriatingly smug. “And yet you’ve spent two weeks riding around on my shoulder stealing my snacks instead.”
Atsushi gasped. “You knew?!”
“Oh, no, that part was obvious.” Dazai waved a hand dismissively. “Tiny bite marks. Missing candy. The occasional sensation of something fluffy climbing onto my head. Really, you weren’t subtle.”
Atsushi stared at him in horror.
“You let me keep doing it?!”
“I wanted to see how long it would take before you realized I noticed.” Dazai tilted his head slightly. “Apparently the answer was ‘never.’”
Curse this man.
Atsushi crossed his arms and looked away sharply, tail lashing once behind him. “You’re awful.”
“And yet,” Dazai said lightly, “you still haven’t left.”
Atsushi opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Because… well.
That was true.
Dazai watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. “So? Do I get a name?”
Atsushi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You already gave me yours.”
“Yes, but I’m clearly very reckless.”
“That’s not something to be proud of.”
“I think it’s charming, actually.”
“You would.”
Dazai laughed again, low and warm, and Atsushi hated the way the sound made the room feel less cold.
“…Atsushi,” he muttered at last.
Dazai blinked. “Hm?”
“My name,” Atsushi grumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s Atsushi.”
For once, Dazai didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he repeated it softly, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth.
“Atsushi.”
Something warm fluttered unpleasantly in Atsushi’s chest.
He decided immediately that he did not like this human at all.
⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Another week passed, then another, and somehow Atsushi simply… became part of the office.
Not officially, of course. Dazai still acted deeply inconvenienced every time he caught Atsushi curled up asleep in the hydrangeas or stealing sugar cubes from his tea tray. But he also started leaving windows cracked open at night because Atsushi liked the breeze, and stopped absentmindedly swatting at the tiny weight that landed in his hair whenever he walked through headquarters.
Atsushi, meanwhile, had explained things.
Not all at once, and not easily, but in scattered conversations during quiet evenings when the city lights glittered outside the massive windows and Dazai lounged bonelessly across the armchair listening with half-lidded eyes.
He explained how fairies bonded to flowers. How their magic flowed through roots and petals alike. How keeping a bloom healthy kept the fairy healthy in return.
He explained glamour.
“How does that work?” Dazai had asked, watching Atsushi hover carefully above the desk lamp.
Atsushi shrugged midair. “People only see fairies if they believe they can.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake!”
“It sounds fake.”
Atsushi had landed directly on Dazai’s forehead after that.
More quietly, he explained the field.
The moonlit hydrangeas. The woods bordering the meadow. Kyouka braiding his hair while Kenji talked endlessly beside them both. The way the flowers glowed under full moons like fallen stars scattered across the earth.
And eventually, reluctantly, Atsushi explained why he could not simply fly home.
“My wings don’t work for long distances,” he admitted softly one night, sitting beside Dazai’s abandoned teacup. “I can glide a little, but not enough. I don’t even know where your building is compared to my field.”
Dazai had gone still at that.
Not visibly. Barely even noticeably. But Atsushi had learned him enough by then to recognize when something shifted beneath the lazy facade.
“You miss it,” Dazai said eventually.
Atsushi looked down at his hands. “Yes.”
The answer sat heavily in the quiet office.
Because Dazai understood now.
Understood why Atsushi spent so much time tending the hydrangeas. Why he stared so long out the windows at sunset. Why he asked endless questions about the weather outside or whether Dazai had seen nearby woods during missions.
Atsushi was stranded.
And despite everything, despite how strange and amusing and unexpectedly warm his presence had become, Dazai knew the fairy deserved to go home.
⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Dazai left three days later without much explanation.
“I’ll be gone for a bit,” he said casually while shrugging on his coat, like he was mentioning the weather instead of abandoning Atsushi to an empty office. “Try not to commit any crimes while I’m away.”
Atsushi crossed his arms from atop the hydrangeas. “You’re one to talk.”
Dazai grinned faintly at that, but something about it looked distracted, thinner than usual. “There’s water for the flowers already set aside. Don’t forget to sleep occasionally.”
Then he was gone.
At first, Atsushi didn’t think much of it. Dazai disappeared often, sometimes for hours, sometimes entire days. Usually he returned exhausted, smelling like rainwater, smoke, or blood, collapsing dramatically across the couch before complaining until Atsushi climbed into his hair to scold him properly.
But this time, the office stayed empty.
One day passed.
Then another.
By the third day, the silence had begun to press heavily against the walls.
Atsushi wandered restlessly through the room, tending the hydrangeas more out of habit than necessity. He perched on the windowsill watching the city below, but without Dazai’s constant movement the headquarters felt cold and strangely lifeless. Even the people entering the office did so quietly now, dropping off paperwork or retrieving documents before leaving again with barely a glance toward the flowers.
Atsushi hated how much he noticed the absence.
No sarcastic comments drifting through the room. No dramatic sighing over paperwork. No dark head to perch atop while exploring the building. No warmth curled lazily beside the bouquet late into the night.
It was lonely.
The realization unsettled him.
On the fifth night, Atsushi found himself sitting in the center of Dazai’s desk beside an untouched teacup, staring toward the door with his chin resting atop his knees.
The office was dark except for the city lights beyond the windows.
“You should go home,” Atsushi muttered bitterly to himself. “That’s the whole point.”
But even as he said it, his chest hurt strangely around the thought.
Near midnight, the door finally creaked open.
Atsushi shot upright so quickly he nearly fell off the desk.
Dazai stumbled inside looking exhausted.
His coat hung loosely off one shoulder, hair damp from rain, bandages peeking messily from beneath his sleeves. There was dirt smeared along the hem of his trousers and a fresh cut near his jaw.
“You’re late,” Atsushi blurted immediately.
Dazai paused mid-step.
Then, slowly, he looked toward the desk.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
And then Dazai smiled - small and tired and real in a way Atsushi didn’t see often.
“There you are,” he murmured.
Atsushi’s irritation faltered instantly.
“You were gone forever,” he mumbled instead, much quieter now.
“Hm.” Dazai crossed the room and dropped heavily into his chair. “It only felt like forever because you missed me terribly.”
“I did not!”
“You waited up for me.”
“I was worried the flowers would die!”
Dazai glanced pointedly toward the perfectly healthy hydrangeas.
Atsushi flushed.
“…Shut up.”
Soft laughter escaped Dazai as he leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. He looked genuinely exhausted now that he was sitting still, shadows dark beneath his visible eye.
Atsushi hovered uncertainly closer.
“…Where did you go?”
Dazai cracked one eye open to look at him.
Then, after a pause, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something free.
Atsushi gasped.
Tiny white petals glimmered in Dazai’s palm.
Hydrangeas.
“They matched your description,” Dazai said quietly. “Moonlight flowers near the edge of the woods. White hydrangeas that glow blue at night.”
Atsushi stared at him.
“You found it?” he whispered.
Dazai watched him carefully for a moment before nodding once.
“I think,” he admitted. “There’s a meadow several hours outside the city. Hidden enough most people wouldn’t notice it.” His mouth curved faintly upward. “Though I did get attacked by something very small and extremely aggressive carrying a sewing needle.”
“Kyouka,” Atsushi breathed.
“And a blond child attempted to bite me.”
“Kenji?!”
“He’s surprisingly fast.”
Atsushi’s eyes burned suddenly.
Dazai noticed immediately, expression softening into something quieter. “You can go home now,” he said gently. “I know where it is.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖𝜗ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖
They left the following evening.
Atsushi rode tucked carefully inside Dazai’s coat pocket for most of the journey, curled among the folds of dark fabric while the city slowly gave way to quieter roads and dense woods. He could feel the change long before he saw it. The air grew cleaner, richer with damp earth and growing things, and somewhere deep in his chest the faint thread connecting him to his field pulled tighter and tighter until it practically hummed.
“You’re fidgeting,” Dazai noted dryly from above.
“I am not.”
“You’ve adjusted position seventeen times in the last five minutes.”
“I’m excited!”
Dazai huffed a quiet laugh at that, and Atsushi felt the vibration of it through the fabric.
The woods thickened as dusk settled around them. Moonlight filtered silver through the branches overhead, and Atsushi finally climbed carefully from Dazai’s pocket to perch on his shoulder instead, tiny hands gripping the collar of his coat.
“We’re close,” he whispered.
The moment they stepped beyond the treeline, the field opened before them like a dream.
White hydrangeas stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight, glowing soft blue beneath the night sky. The breeze rolled gently through the blooms in shimmering waves, carrying the scent of flowers and cool grass and home.
Atsushi felt his breath catch painfully in his throat.
“Oh,” Dazai said quietly.
He sounded genuinely surprised for once.
Atsushi understood why.
The field was beautiful at night.
Tiny lights drifted lazily above the flowers like fallen stars, and deeper within the meadow, faint silhouettes darted through the glowing blooms. Atsushi barely had time to launch himself from Dazai’s shoulder before something collided with him midair.
“Atsushi!”
Kenji nearly knocked him flat into the flowers, laughing loudly while Atsushi sputtered in shock. Moments later Kyouka appeared more quietly beside them, though the force of her hug when Atsushi landed in her arms made up for her silence entirely.
“You disappeared,” she said softly, voice tight in a way that made Atsushi’s chest ache.
“I know,” Atsushi whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Around them, the field slowly stirred with curious movement as more fairies peeked cautiously from flowers and vines. Atsushi shrank instinctively at first, old habits curling tight around his ribs - but no one looked disgusted now.
Mostly they looked relieved.
Kenji was already talking rapidly, words tumbling over themselves about how worried they’d been and how Kyouka nearly stabbed a crow she thought had kidnapped him and how they’d kept his flowers alive exactly like he asked -
“You found him,” Kyouka said suddenly.
Atsushi blinked.
She was looking at Dazai.
The human stood at the edge of the field beneath the trees, dark coat stark against the glowing flowers. He looked deeply out of place there, like a shadow lingering at the edge of a dream.
And yet he had come anyway.
Dazai lifted one hand lazily. “Unfortunately.”
Kenji gasped dramatically. “He talks weird.”
“He does,” Atsushi agreed immediately.
Dazai looked offended.
Kyouka, meanwhile, studied him carefully before giving a small bow. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
Something unreadable crossed Dazai’s face for just a second before his usual expression slipped back into place. “It was troublesome having him haunt my office.”
“That’s not true,” Atsushi blurted.
Dazai glanced toward him.
Atsushi faltered slightly beneath the look, ears twitching nervously before he straightened stubbornly. “You would’ve been lonely without me.”
“…What confidence.”
“You left the windows open for me!”
“You complained when I didn’t.”
“Because it was stuffy!”
Dazai laughed softly under his breath.
The sound settled warmly across the field.
Atsushi suddenly realized, with a strange ache in his chest, that this was goodbye.
Dazai seemed to realize it too. He pushed himself away from the tree trunk he’d been leaning against and adjusted his coat. “Well,” he said lightly, “now that you’re safely returned to your magical flower kingdom - ”
“You should come back.”
The words left Atsushi’s mouth before he could second-guess them.
Dazai paused.
Atsushi swallowed hard but continued anyway, tail twisting anxiously behind him. “To visit,” he said quickly. “If you want. Sometimes.”
The field had gone suspiciously quiet around them.
Kenji was staring openly now. Kyouka looked calmer, but only because she was better at hiding things.
Dazai looked at Atsushi for a long moment.
Then, slowly, something soft and almost startled appeared beneath his usual teasing smile.
“You want me to visit?”
Atsushi flushed. “Well… you already know where it is now.”
“A dangerous security flaw.”
“And the hydrangeas like you.”
“That seems biologically unlikely.”
“They do too!”
Dazai laughed again, quieter this time.
Then he stepped closer to the edge of the flowers and very carefully held out one hand.
After only a second of hesitation, Atsushi climbed into his palm.
The warmth of it curled safely around him.
“I’ll visit,” Dazai promised softly.
Atsushi smiled so brightly his wings fluttered involuntarily behind him.
And beneath the moonlight, surrounded by glowing hydrangeas and fallen stars, Dazai found himself thinking that perhaps returning Atsushi home had been a far more selfish decision than he originally intended.