Archive of Our Own

The first petal landed in Dazai Osamu's notebook during third period. He stared at it. It was small. White. Delicate enough that it looked almost ridiculous against the black ink covering the page. Dazai slowly lifted his eyes from it toward the professor standing at the front of the lecture hall.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed. Good.

He nudged the petal beneath the edge of his notebook with one finger. Then he coughed. Once. Twice. He covered his mouth with his sleeve, waiting for the irritation in his throat to disappear. It didn't.

Dazai swallowed. Something soft brushed against the back of his tongue. His expression flattened. "...Seriously?"

He quietly excused himself from the lecture. The bathroom was empty. Dazai locked himself into the nearest stall, leaned against the wall, and coughed again. Three petals fell into his palm. He stared at them. For several seconds, he didn't move. Then he laughed. It was quiet at first. "How troublesome."

Hanahaki. He knew the symptoms. Everyone did. It was one of those conditions people learned about almost as soon as they were old enough to understand what love was. Usually, it happened when someone loved another person who didn't return their feelings. Flowers grew inside the lungs. Petals appeared in coughs. Breathing became increasingly difficult. The condition could be treated, but only if the source of the feelings was resolved.

Dazai looked down at the flowers again. Except there was one problem. He wasn't in love with anyone. Not even remotely.

He'd never been particularly interested in romance. People, certainly. They were fascinatingly stupid. Romance? Exhausting.

He crumpled the petals in his hand. "Maybe I'm dying of boredom."

The bathroom door opened. "Dazai?" Dazai immediately recognized the voice. His shoulders slumped. Of course.

"Go away, Chuuya."

"You've been in there for ten minutes."

"And?"

"And we've got class."

"I'm deeply touched by your concern."

"I'm not concerned."

The stall door rattled. Dazai smiled despite himself. "Then why are you waiting?"

"Because if I leave you here, you'll probably skip the rest of the day."

"Correct."

"Nah. You're coming back."

There was a pause. Dazai could practically picture the irritated expression on Chuuya's face. He tucked the petals into his pocket before unlocking the stall. Chuuya Nakahara stood outside with his arms crossed. Short. Red-haired. Perpetually irritated. He looked like he'd been born already annoyed with Dazai. Dazai considered that one of the more entertaining facts about high school life.

"You look awful," Chuuya said.

"I always look wonderful."

"You look pale."

"That's my natural complexion."

"You look like you got hit by a truck."

"That's also my natural complexion."

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Just get back to class."

Dazai followed him. Neither of them mentioned the cough. And Dazai didn't mention that he could still feel something caught in his throat.

By lunch, Dazai had started making a list. It wasn't particularly difficult. He had plenty of candidates. Girls had been confessing to him since middle school. Some had written letters. Some had left gifts. One had memorized his entire class schedule. Another had once cornered him outside the library and confessed so dramatically that Dazai had genuinely wondered whether she was rehearsing for a stage play.

There had been dozens. Possibly more. Dazai tapped his pen against his notebook. He began writing names. Then stopped. He stared at the page.

"This is ridiculous."

Across the table, Chuuya looked up from his food. "What is?"

"Nothing."

"You've been staring at that notebook for ten minutes."

"I enjoy stationery."

"You've written nothing."

"I enjoy blank stationery."

"You're an idiot."

Dazai smiled. There it was. Predictable. Comfortingly predictable. He closed the notebook. "Chuuya."

"What?"

"Have you ever had someone confess to you?"

Chuuya's expression immediately soured. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly reasonable one."

"No."

"Really?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No."

Dazai leaned forward. "How tragic."

"What's tragic is having to sit across from you."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm not."

"Then you've never had anyone confess?"

"No."

Dazai studied him. Chuuya's expression hadn't changed. Interesting. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why hasn't anyone confessed to you?"

Chuuya stared. Then slowly put his fork down. "Dazai."

"Yes?"

"Eat your lunch."

"But—"

"Eat."

Dazai sighed dramatically and picked up his chopsticks. For a moment, everything was normal until he felt the familiar tickle in his throat. His smile faded. He swallowed. He reached for his drink. The irritation disappeared. Barely. Across the table, Chuuya didn't seem to notice. Dazai looked back down at his notebook. Maybe this wasn't Hanahaki. Maybe there was another explanation. Stress. Allergies. Something environmental. Anything would be preferable.

Because if this really was Hanahaki... Dazai had no idea who could possibly love him enough to cause it. And somehow, that bothered him more than the flowers did.

That evening, Dazai sat alone in his apartment. The notebook was open on his desk. The list had grown. He'd added seventeen names. He crossed out four. Added three more. Then stared at the page. It was absurd. He had no reason to believe any of these people were responsible. But the flowers hadn't stopped.

One petal. Then three. Then five.

Each cough brought another reminder. Someone loved him. Someone loved him enough that his own body was beginning to reject it. Dazai leaned back in his chair. "Who are you?"

Silence answered. He laughed softly.  Dazai closed the notebook. He didn't notice the single white petal resting beneath his chair. And he certainly didn't notice the faint red smear on the handkerchief he'd left in his pocket.

By the following morning, Dazai had decided that he was going to approach the problem scientifically. At least, that was what he told himself. The notebook had been reorganized. The original seventeen names had become twenty-three. Each had been assigned a category.

A — Very Likely

B — Possible

C — Probably Not

And, beneath them:

D — Chuuya Nakahara

Dazai stared at that final category for several seconds. Then he crossed it out. "Ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous?" Dazai nearly dropped the notebook. Chuuya stood beside his desk, looking down at him. Dazai snapped the notebook shut.

"Nothing."

"You jumped."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I was startled by your hideous face."

"You're lucky we're in public." Chuuya dropped into the seat beside him.

Dazai smiled. There was something reassuring about Chuuya's presence. He was predictable. Irritable. Loud. Infuriating. Beautiful. But predictable. Dazai opened his notebook again.

Chuuya immediately tried to look over. "What're you writing?"

"My memoir."

"You're writing a memoir at nine in the morning?"

"It's a very exciting life."

"You're not even an adult."

"Exactly. Yet I've already experienced so much."

Chuuya snorted.

Dazai glanced sideways at him. No. Definitely not. Chuuya couldn't possibly be responsible. For one thing, he didn't seem particularly interested in Dazai. If anything, he seemed to spend most of his time trying to get away from him. Which was reassuring.

Dazai didn't want Chuuya to be one of the suspects. That would make things unnecessarily complicated. His throat tickled. He swallowed. Not now. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth.

Chuuya noticed. "You sick?"

"No."

"You've been coughing since yesterday."

"Seasonal allergies."

"It's February."

"Seasonal February allergies."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

Chuuya stared at him. Dazai smiled innocently.

Eventually, Chuuya looked away. "Idiot."

Dazai's fingers tightened around his pen. For some reason, that insult felt strangely comforting.

The first suspect was easy. Her name was Sato. She had been in Dazai's class the previous year and had confessed to him twice. Once in person. Once through a letter. Dazai found her outside the library. "Sato-san."

She turned. Her face immediately brightened. "Dazai!"

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you still have feelings for me?"

She blinked. Then laughed awkwardly. "That's a strange question."

"I've been told I'm strange."

"By everyone."

"True."

She smiled. "I don't."

Dazai's smile remained. Internally, he frowned. "You don't?"

"No."

"When did they disappear?"

"Last semester, I think."

"Why?" Sato shrugged. "I realized I liked the version of you I had in my head more than the actual you."

Dazai stared at her. That was... Unexpectedly honest. "How unfortunate."

She laughed. "You'll survive."

"Perhaps."

She walked away. Dazai stood there for another moment. Then he pulled out his notebook. Sato — eliminated. He stared at the words. One down. Twenty-two remaining. His throat tickled again. He coughed into his sleeve. A single white petal fell into his palm. Dazai stared at it. His smile disappeared.

The second suspect was considerably more difficult. Her name was Moriya. She was in the tennis club. She had apparently been interested in Dazai for nearly two years. Dazai approached her after practice. She was carrying several tennis balls when he stopped her.

"Dazai?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"If you're asking me to go out with you, yes."

"No." Her face fell.

Dazai continued. "Do you still like me?"

There was a pause. Then she laughed. "You're seriously asking?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Curiosity."

"You're weird."

"So I've heard."

She looked away. "I do."

Dazai's expression sharpened. "You do?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"How much?"

"Enough to make you sick?"

The smile vanished from her face. "Dazai..." He immediately realized he'd said too much. She frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly."

"You look awful."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

She lowered the tennis balls. "Why are you asking me this?"

Dazai hesitated. Then smiled. "No reason." He left before she could ask anything else.

By the end of the week, Dazai had narrowed his list down to six. Six women. Six possibilities. And absolutely no answers. The worst part was that his symptoms were getting worse. The petals weren't just appearing after coughing anymore. They appeared randomly. On his pillow. Inside his textbooks. Between the pages of his notebook.

Once, Dazai found three petals sitting neatly inside his coat pocket despite being certain he'd emptied it that morning.

He began keeping them in an envelope. Not because he was sentimental. Because he wanted evidence. That was all. At least, that was what he told himself.

Friday afternoon, Chuuya found him sitting alone behind the school building. "You skipping class?"

Dazai looked up. "Maybe."

"Again?"

"Perhaps."

Chuuya sighed and sat beside him. "You've been weird all week."

"I'm always weird according to you."

"Different weird."

Dazai glanced at him. "That's rather insulting."

"You know what I mean."

Dazai looked away. The wind moved through the trees. For once, Chuuya wasn't yelling. Dazai found himself strangely unwilling to break the silence.

Then— "You're sick."

Dazai's eyes flicked toward him. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I'm not."

"You've been coughing."

"Allergies."

"Still?"

"Persistent allergies."

"You're a terrible liar."

Dazai smiled. "Thank you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. Dazai could tell he wasn't convinced.

But eventually, Chuuya stood. "Whatever you're hiding, deal with it before it becomes my problem."

Dazai watched him walk away. Then he coughed. Hard. He covered his mouth. When he pulled his hand away, there were several petals in his palm. White. Soft. Perfect. Dazai stared at them. His chest felt strangely tight. Not because of the flowers. Because of the thought that had suddenly occurred to him. What if the person causing this wasn't someone who had confessed? What if they had never confessed at all? Dazai slowly closed his hand around the petals. His eyes followed the direction Chuuya had disappeared.

Then he shook his head. "No." That was impossible.

Chuuya didn't like him. The slug barely tolerated him. Besides... If Chuuya had feelings for him, surely Dazai would have noticed and rejoiced. Wouldn't he? Dazai opened his notebook. He flipped past the list of names. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. If he truly was meant to die, he would've hoped for a more merciful death.

By Monday morning, Dazai had developed a theory. It was not a particularly good theory. In fact, Chuuya would probably call it stupid. But Dazai had spent the entire weekend thinking about it, which meant he had become increasingly convinced that it was correct. The reverse Hanahaki wasn't necessarily connected to a confession. Someone could love him silently. Someone could have loved him for months. Years, perhaps.

And if that was the case, then Dazai's list was almost completely useless. He sat at the back of the lecture hall, chin resting against his palm, staring at the twenty-three names he'd written. Then he crossed out another. She still liked him. She'd admitted it. But when Dazai had asked whether she had experienced any strange symptoms herself, she'd looked at him like he was insane.

No flowers. No coughing. Nothing. She couldn't be the one. Dazai tapped his pen against the desk. "Who are you?" He didn't know why he was asking it aloud. Perhaps because the mystery had begun to bother him.

At first, he'd thought the flowers were merely an inconvenience. Now they were becoming an obsession. Every petal meant there was someone somewhere who had feelings for him. Someone who knew him. Someone who watched him. Someone who thought about him when he wasn't around. Dazai found the idea strangely fascinating. He wanted to know. Who was she? What did she like about him? How long had she felt this way? Why hadn't she said anything? And, most importantly— Why him?

Dazai had never considered himself particularly difficult to understand. He knew he was attractive. He knew he was charming when he wanted to be. He knew people found his intelligence appealing. But love? That was different.

Love required knowing someone. Really knowing them. The thought made him frown. Someone had apparently looked at all of Dazai Osamu—the annoying parts, the selfish parts, the manipulative parts, the ridiculous parts— and decided he was worth loving anyway. He wanted to meet her. He wanted to understand her. He wanted to know what she'd seen.

A cough interrupted his thoughts.

Dazai covered his mouth. A small white petal landed in his palm. His expression darkened. "You're becoming rather persistent." He slipped it into his notebook. Then he heard a familiar voice behind him. Dazai looked over his shoulder, instinctively.

"Talking to yourself again?" Chuuya stood in the aisle. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a painting and then gotten personally offended by the experience. His ginger hair was slightly messy from the wind outside, curling around his forehead and ears. It was an unusual color—too bright to be called brown, too warm to be ordinary orange. Under the fluorescent lights, individual strands caught the light whenever he moved. His eyes were blue. Not the dull blue of the sky on a cloudy day. A clear, vivid blue that seemed almost unfairly striking against his pale complexion. His eyebrows were drawn together in their usual irritation.

Dazai had often wondered whether Chuuya was physically capable of looking relaxed. Apparently not.

He was dressed neatly despite his usual complaints about university dress codes, his dark coat hanging open over a fitted sweater. His clothes always looked expensive without appearing like he was trying particularly hard to show it. That was another annoying thing about Chuuya. He was beautiful.

Dazai had known that for years. He'd simply never bothered to think about it for longer than a few seconds.

Chuuya had the kind of face people noticed. Sharp features softened by the roundness of his eyes, a small nose, expressive brows, and lips that seemed permanently prepared to form an insult. Everything about him was expressive. Especially when he was angry. Which was often.

"Are you staring at me?" Chuuya asked.

Dazai blinked. "No."

"You were."

"I was contemplating your general unpleasantness."

"Sure."

Chuuya dropped into the seat beside him.

Dazai looked back at his notebook. For some reason, he found himself thinking about the reverse Hanahaki again. Someone loved him. Someone who had never confessed. Could it possibly be— No. He glanced at Chuuya. Absolutely not. Chuuya was simply Chuuya. There was nothing mysterious about him. And Dazai was never good at holding onto things he didn't want to lose.

By lunch, Dazai had developed a new strategy. He was going to investigate people who had never confessed. Unfortunately, there were hundreds. Fortunately, Dazai was very good at getting people to talk. He started with casual questions. Did they have a crush? Were they interested in anyone? Had they ever liked Dazai?

The answers were surprisingly varied.

Some laughed. Some denied it. Some admitted they had once been interested but had moved on.

One girl outright told him: "You know, you're incredibly self-absorbed."

Dazai thanked her.

Another told him: "I don't like you romantically, but I understand why people do."

Dazai wrote that down.

Then Chuuya stole his pen. "Hey." Dazai looked up.

Chuuya twirled the pen between his fingers. "You've been interrogating people all day."

"I have not."

"You asked three girls if they were in love with you."

"Four."

"That's worse." Dazai reached for the pen but Chuuya pulled it away. "What are you actually doing?"

"Research."

"On what?"

"Love."

Chuuya stared at him. Then burst out laughing.

Dazai frowned. "What?"

"You?"

"Yes."

"Researching love?"

"Precisely."

"You couldn't recognize love if it punched you in the face."

Dazai's expression became thoughtful. "Perhaps it has."

Chuuya snorted. "You're impossible."

Dazai reached again. Chuuya lifted the pen higher. "Give it back."

"Ask nicely."

"Give it back."

"No."

"Chuuya."

"Dazai."

"Please."

Chuuya froze.

Dazai smiled sweetly. "There. Was that sufficient?"

"...You're creepy." He tossed the pen back.

Dazai caught it. Their fingers brushed for barely a second. Neither commented on it. Dazai looked down at his notebook. For some reason, he couldn't concentrate.

After classes, Dazai went to the library. He had narrowed his investigation down to twelve people. Twelve women who had never confessed. Twelve potential sources. He wrote each name down carefully. Then began gathering information. Favorite books. Clubs. Classes. Friends. Previous relationships. Whether they'd ever mentioned him.

The more he investigated, the more fascinating the mystery became.

He wasn't merely trying to cure himself anymore. He wanted to know. He wanted to see the person behind the feelings. He wanted to understand what she thought when she looked at him. Did she think he was funny? Intelligent? Handsome? Did she like his voice? His eyes? His smile? Or had she somehow seen through all of that? The thought made him pause. Someone might actually know him better than he knew himself.

That was... Interesting.

Dazai smiled faintly. "I'll find you." He meant it.

He found Chuuya outside the library that evening. The redhead was leaning against the brick wall, reading something on his phone. Dazai watched him for a moment. Chuuya didn't notice. The setting sun caught the edges of his hair, turning the ginger strands almost copper. He looked peaceful. Dazai wasn't used to seeing that. Chuuya usually looked ready to start an argument. But now his shoulders were relaxed, his expression softened, and his eyes were focused on whatever he'd been reading.

Dazai wondered, briefly, what Chuuya looked like when nobody was watching.

Then Chuuya glanced up. Their eyes met. "What?"

Dazai smiled. "Nothing."

"You were staring."

"Was I?"

"Yes."

Dazai walked over. "You know, Chuuya..."

"What?"

"You've never confessed to anyone, have you?"

Chuuya's expression changed. Only slightly. "No."

Dazai studied him.

"Not even once?"

"No."

"Never had a crush?" Chuuya's jaw tightened. "What's with all these questions?"

"Curiosity."

"You're obsessed."

Dazai smiled. "Perhaps."

Chuuya pushed away from the wall. "Well, get over it." He started walking.

Dazai followed. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why wouldn't you confess if you liked someone?"

Chuuya stopped. For a moment, he didn't look at Dazai. Then he shrugged. "Maybe they wouldn't want to hear it."

Dazai's smile faded. That answer was unexpectedly serious. "How would you know?"

"You don't." Chuuya started walking again.

Dazai remained still for a moment. Then followed. His mind returned to the petals. Someone who hadn't confessed. Someone who was afraid. Someone who loved him enough to become sick but hadn't said a word. Dazai's chest tightened. He wanted to find her. More than anything. He wanted to give her an answer. Even if that answer wasn't the one she wanted.

Dazai looked at Chuuya walking several steps ahead of him. For the briefest moment, a ridiculous thought crossed his mind. What if it were Chuuya? He almost laughed.

This was the third time he'd considered it. He might be losing his mind. Chuuya didn't look at him like someone who loved him. Chuuya looked at him like someone who wanted to throw him into traffic.

Besides, Dazai had a dozen perfectly reasonable suspects. Chuuya wasn't even on the list anymore. He had crossed him out. Completely.

Dazai smiled to himself. He would find the girl. He would find her before the flowers became something worse. And once he did, he'd finally understand. And why, for some reason, the thought of someone else knowing Dazai better than he did made his chest ache.

Behind him, Chuuya glanced back. Dazai didn't notice. Chuuya's expression softened for only a moment. "Come on, idiot."

Dazai looked up. "I'm coming." And he followed.

Dazai's investigation had become a problem. Not because he was getting nowhere. Because he was getting somewhere. Too much somewhere. He was also exhausted. The flowers had become more frequent. At first, it had been one or two petals a day. Now he sometimes woke with them scattered across his pillow. He'd started keeping a handkerchief in every coat pocket. He carried water everywhere. He'd even begun memorizing which bathrooms were usually empty between classes.

None of that bothered him as much as the uncertainty.

He needed to know. And today, he was convinced he'd finally found a lead. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the women on his list. It had everything to do with Chuuya Nakahara.

"You're late."

Dazai looked up from his desk. Chuuya stood in the doorway.

Dazai smiled. "How sweet. You noticed."

"I noticed because the professor asked where you were."

"I was conducting important research."

"You were asleep."

"That was part of the research."

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

He dropped his bag onto the chair beside Dazai. He watched Chuuya settle in.

Chuuya looked tired. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, and he kept rubbing the heel of one hand against his chest as though something there was bothering him.

Dazai noticed. He always noticed things about Chuuya. The way his eyebrows pulled together whenever he was thinking. The way he tapped his fingers against a desk when impatient. The slight tilt of his head whenever he didn't understand something. The way his expression softened when he thought nobody was looking. Dazai had spent years collecting those details without realizing he'd been doing it.

He stared for a moment too long.

Chuuya noticed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me."

Dazai smiled. "I'm investigating you."

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"Secret criminal activities."

"You're an idiot."

"Probably."

The professor entered before Chuuya could respond. The lecture began. For almost forty minutes, everything was normal. Then Dazai's throat tightened. He turned his head. Coughed into his sleeve. One petal. He caught it. Another. He closed his fist. Chuuya glanced over.

Dazai smiled. Chuuya frowned. He didn't say anything.

The trouble came after class. Dazai had been planning to leave when the professor called his name. "Nakahara. Dazai."

Both men stopped. The professor sighed. "I received a complaint from the library."

Dazai immediately looked innocent. Chuuya immediately looked annoyed.

"What did he do?" Chuuya asked.

"Why assume it was me?"

"Because it always is."

"Anyway," the professor continued, "the two of you will be staying after classes to help reorganize the archive room."

Chuuya stared. "You've got to be kidding."

"Three hours."

"Three—"

"Unless you'd prefer a formal disciplinary report."

Chuuya closed his mouth.

Dazai smiled. "How romantic."

"Don't."

The archive room was small, dusty, and filled with shelves that seemed to stretch forever. Boxes were stacked along the walls. Old textbooks filled cabinets. A single window sat high above them, letting in a thin strip of afternoon sunlight.

Chuuya carried a box across the room. "Where does this go?"

"Second shelf."

"Which second shelf?"

"The second one."

"There are six!"

Dazai looked over. "Ah."

"You're useless."

"I prefer supervising."

"You're moving these books."

"I'm morally opposed to manual labor."

"Move."

Dazai sighed. He picked up a box. They worked in silence for several minutes. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

Then Dazai heard Chuuya cough. He looked over. Chuuya had his back turned.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

Dazai narrowed his eyes. "That sounded suspiciously like me."

"Shut up." Chuuya picked up another box.

Dazai watched him. Something was wrong. He'd noticed it for days. The tiredness. The strange coughing. The way Chuuya occasionally pressed his hand against his chest. Dazai had assumed it was nothing.

Now he wasn't so sure. "Chuuya."

"What?"

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"You've been saying that a lot."

"Because it's true."

"You're a terrible liar."

Chuuya turned around. "I told you the same. You're an annoying bastard."

"There you are." Dazai smiled.

Chuuya threw a book at him.

An hour later, Dazai found another clue. Chuuya suddenly stopped moving. His hand tightened around the edge of the shelf. Dazai looked over. "Chuuya?"

No answer. "Chuuya."

"I'm fine." His voice was strained.

Dazai put down the box. "You're really not."

"Just—" Chuuya stopped. His expression changed. Dazai watched as the color drained from his face. "Chuuya?"

The redhead turned sharply and hurried toward the door. Dazai followed. "Hey!"

"Don't!!" Chuuya pushed through the doorway.

Dazai caught up just as Chuuya disappeared into the empty hallway. He heard the bathroom door shut. Dazai stopped. He stared at it. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He waited. Five seconds. Ten. Then he heard it. A harsh cough. Dazai's expression changed. He opened the door. "Chuuya?"

"Get out!"

"I'm not leaving."

"Go away, Dazai!!"

Dazai stepped inside. Chuuya was standing over the sink. One hand gripped the edge. His head was bowed. His breathing was uneven. Dazai froze.

There were petals in the sink. Not one. Not two. Several. Bright red petals. Dazai stared. His mind went completely blank. Chuuya slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met through the mirror. Dazai's gaze dropped back to the sink. Flowers.

Hanahaki. Chuuya had Hanahaki.

The realization struck with enough force that Dazai almost forgot his own condition. "How long?"

Chuuya's expression hardened. "None of your business."

"How long?"

"Dazai."

"How long have you been sick?"

Chuuya turned away. "Go back to the archive."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you're sick."

"And?"

"And you should have told someone."

Chuuya laughed bitterly. "You?" Dazai went quiet. Chuuya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the sink. "Nobody needs to know."

"Someone should."

"No."

"Chuuya—"

"I said no!"

Dazai stared at him. For once, he couldn't find a clever response. The flowers in the sink were impossible to ignore. Red. Delicate. Beautiful. Just like him. But completely wrong against the white porcelain.

Dazai's thoughts began racing. Who did Chuuya love? How long had he been hiding it? Why hadn't he told them? Did they know? Were they one of the people on Dazai's list? No. That was impossible. Chuuya had always been private. But suddenly, the mystery seemed far more interesting.

Dazai stepped closer. "Who is it?"

Chuuya's head snapped up. "What?"

"Who do you love?"

"None of your business."

"So there is someone." Chuuya went silent. Dazai smiled faintly. "I knew it."

"Don't."

"Who is she?"

Chuuya looked away. Dazai's curiosity sharpened. "Does she know?"

"No."

"Have you told her?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"That's a terrible strategy."

"Nobody asked you."

Dazai leaned against the counter.

"You could confess."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"It is to me."

Dazai studied him. Chuuya looked exhausted. But underneath the exhaustion was something else. Fear. Dazai had never seen that expression on him before. It made his curiosity turn serious. "You're going to get worse."

"I know."

"And you're just going to let it happen?"

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it."

"I don't have to explain anything to you."

Dazai stared at him. For the first time since the flowers had appeared in his own lungs, the mystery of his illness felt secondary. Someone was hurting Chuuya. Someone he loved. Someone Chuuya apparently believed he could never have. And Dazai suddenly wanted to know everything. Why didn't Chuuya tell her? Why was he willing to suffer silently? And why did the thought of Chuuya getting worse make Dazai's chest hurt?

Dazai pushed away from the counter. "Fine." Chuuya looked surprised. Dazai smiled. "I won't tell anyone."

"You're serious?"

"Of course."

"That's... new."

"However..."

Chuuya groaned. "Here we go."

"You have to tell me who she is eventually."

"No."

"I'll figure it out."

"You won't."

Dazai's smile widened. "Then we have a game."

"This isn't a game."

"It is now." Chuuya glared at him. Dazai held up his hands. "Relax. I won't tell anyone."

Chuuya looked away. "...Idiot."

Dazai smiled. There it was again. That familiar insult. But this time, it felt different. Because now Dazai knew something he hadn't known yesterday.

Chuuya Nakahara was in love.

And Dazai was going to find out who had stolen his heart from him. He had no idea yet that the answer was much closer than he'd ever imagined.

Dazai discovered that knowing Chuuya was sick was significantly worse than not knowing. Before, he had only suspected something was wrong. There was a name for the flowers. There was a reason for the coughing. There was someone Chuuya loved. And Dazai couldn't stop thinking about it. He thought about it during lectures. He thought about it while eating. He thought about it while trying to sleep.

Most irritatingly, he thought about it whenever Chuuya wasn't around. Who was she? What did she look like? How long had Chuuya loved her? Had she noticed? Did she know how sick he was?

Dazai had questions. Hundreds of them.

Chuuya answered none. Which, naturally, only made Dazai more determined.

"You've been staring at me for ten minutes." Chuuya was sitting across from him in the cafeteria, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Dazai blinked "I have not."

"You have."

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"You." Chuuya nearly dropped his fork. Dazai smiled. "Your condition."

"Oh." The disappointment in Chuuya's voice was so subtle that Dazai almost missed it.

"Don't misunderstand."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

"I wasn't."

"You're a terrible liar."

"So are you."

Chuuya looked down at his food. Dazai watched him. He looked tired again. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than yesterday. His complexion was slightly too pale. There was something strained about the way he held himself, as though he was carefully controlling every movement. Dazai frowned.

"When did you last see a doctor?"

Chuuya groaned. "Here we go."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"When?"

"I don't need one."

"You have Hanahaki."

"I know."

"That's generally considered something worth seeing a doctor about."

"I said I'm fine."

Dazai leaned forward. "You aren't."

Chuuya stared at him. Neither spoke. Then Chuuya sighed. "You really won't drop this, will you?"

"No."

"Why?"

Dazai opened his mouth. The answer should have been easy. Because Chuuya was his friend. Because watching someone he knew suffer was unpleasant. Because Hanahaki could become dangerous. Because he wanted to solve the mystery.

Any of those explanations would have worked. Instead, he said: "Because I don't want you to die."

Chuuya went completely still. Dazai did too. For once, there was no joke waiting behind his words. He hadn't even meant to say it so bluntly.

Chuuya looked away first. "...Idiot."

Dazai frowned. "That's not an answer."

"Eat your lunch."

"Chuuya."

"Eat."

Dazai obeyed. But he kept watching him.

After lunch, Dazai began noticing everything. Chuuya skipped coffee. He usually had two cups before noon. He didn't complain when someone bumped into him in the hallway. He normally would have started an argument. He walked slower than usual. He stopped twice to catch his breath. Dazai noticed every single thing. By the afternoon, he was following Chuuya so closely that one of their classmates finally looked between them.

"Are you two dating?"

Chuuya nearly choked.

Dazai blinked. "No."

"Absolutely not," Chuuya said at the same time.

The classmate laughed. "Sure."

Dazai didn't think much of the comment. Chuuya did. He spent the next five minutes complaining about it. Dazai listened. He didn't understand why Chuuya seemed so bothered. He was more concerned about the fact that Chuuya had coughed twice during the conversation.

It happened after classes.

Chuuya was walking down the stairs when he suddenly stopped.

Dazai was one step behind him. "Chuuya?"

The redhead gripped the railing. His shoulders tightened.

Dazai's expression changed immediately. "Chuuya!"

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"I'm—" He coughed. Once. Hard. Then again. Chuuya turned away.

Dazai stepped closer. "Look at me."

"Go away."

"No."

"Dazai!!"

"Chuuya." The boy covered his mouth. When he lowered his hand, a red petal rested against his palm. Dazai stared. The sight made something cold settle in his stomach. "How often?"

Chuuya didn't answer.

"How often is this happening?"

"More lately."

Dazai's jaw tightened. "How much more?"

"Enough."

"That's not a measurement."

"I don't care."

"I do."

Chuuya looked at him. Dazai realized his voice had become sharper. Angrier. Not at Chuuya. At the situation. At the person who had somehow become important enough to Chuuya that he would rather suffer than tell them. Dazai reached out and took Chuuya's wrist. Chuuya stiffened.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Doctor."

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't have insurance."

"So?"

"Dazai—"

"I'm not asking."

Chuuya stared at him. Dazai stared back. Neither moved. Then Chuuya sighed. "You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

The clinic was closing soon. Dazai managed to convince the receptionist to let them wait. Chuuya sat beside him in the waiting room, arms crossed.

"You know," Chuuya muttered, "you've become incredibly annoying lately."

"Only lately?"

"More than usual."

Dazai smiled. "That's reassuring."

Chuuya looked at him. "Why are you doing this?"

Dazai tilted his head. "Doing what?"

"All of this."

"Because you're sick."

"You don't do this for everyone."

Dazai paused. That was true. He didn't. He wasn't sure why. He looked at Chuuya. Really looked at him. The faint flush across his cheeks. The tired blue eyes. The messy ginger hair. The stubborn set of his mouth. The hand still pressed subtly against his chest. Dazai felt something unfamiliar twist inside him. He wanted Chuuya to be okay. Not eventually. Not someday. Now.

He wanted the flowers gone. He wanted Chuuya to stop pretending he was fine. He wanted him to sleep properly. Eat properly. See a doctor. He wanted—

Dazai stopped himself. That was enough. "You matter to me."

Chuuya stared.

Dazai smiled as though he'd said nothing unusual. "That's all."

Chuuya looked away. His ears were red. Dazai noticed. He wondered why.

The doctor eventually called Chuuya's name.

Dazai stood. Chuuya looked at him. "You're not coming in."

"Why?"

"Because this is my appointment."

"But I'm pay—"

"Dazai."

"Fine."

Chuuya disappeared behind the door.

Dazai sat back down. He waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. His leg began bouncing. He checked the clock. Then checked it again. He pulled out his notebook. The page containing Chuuya's name stared back at him. Dazai had written almost nothing. Dazai stared at the words. Then slowly crossed out the last line. Instead of Find her. was written Make sure Chuuya gets better.

He looked at it. Something about those words felt more important.

The clinic door finally opened. Chuuya stepped out.

Dazai immediately stood. "Well?"

"I'm alive."

"That's not what I asked."

"They said I need to rest."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"I'll make you."

Chuuya snorted. "Try it."

Dazai smiled. That was better. Chuuya was still arguing. Still irritated. Still himself. Dazai walked beside him as they left the clinic. Neither noticed the nurse watching them through the window.

She smiled knowingly. "Those two," she murmured. "They really have no idea, do they?"

Outside, Dazai shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He could feel the familiar petals there. His own illness hadn't disappeared. If anything, it was getting worse. But he barely cared. Not anymore. He had someone else to worry about. Chuuya. And Dazai had absolutely no idea that the way he watched him, worried about him, remembered every tiny change in his behavior, and refused to leave him alone had already become painfully obvious to everyone around them.

Everyone except Dazai himself.

Dazai had developed a habit. Every morning, before doing anything else, he looked for Chuuya. It wasn't intentional. At least, that was what he told himself. He simply liked knowing where Chuuya was.

It was practical. If Chuuya was in class, Dazai could find him. If Chuuya wasn't in class, Dazai needed to know why. If Chuuya looked tired, Dazai needed to know whether he'd slept. If Chuuya coughed, Dazai counted how many times. It was surveillance. That was all.

Completely reasonable surveillance.

"Dazai." Dazai looked up. A classmate stood beside his desk. "You've been staring at the door for five minutes."

"I'm waiting."

"For Chuuya?"

"No."

The classmate raised an eyebrow.

Dazai smiled. "...Perhaps."

"You're aware he's just across the hall, right?"

"Yes."

"So why are you waiting here?"

Dazai considered the question. He didn't have an answer. Fortunately, the professor walked in before he needed one.

Chuuya arrived seven minutes late. Dazai noticed immediately.

He looked worse. His hair was damp from the rain, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He dropped into his chair without saying anything.

Dazai stared. Chuuya eventually turned. "What?"

"Did you sleep?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Enough."

"That's suspiciously vague."

"Mind your business."

Dazai leaned closer. "You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Chuuya sighed. "I'm fine."

Dazai didn't believe him. He hadn't believed him for days. Still, he said nothing.

By lunchtime, Chuuya had barely touched his food. Dazai noticed. Of course he did. "You aren't eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat."

"I know."

"Then eat."

Chuuya glared. "Are you my brother?"

"No."

"Then stop."

Dazai pushed his own plate toward him. "Take mine."

Chuuya stared at him. "What?"

"You can have it."

"Why?"

"Because you're not eating yours."

"And you are?"

"No."

Chuuya looked at him suspiciously. "You're giving me your food because I haven't eaten?"

"Yes."

"That's weird."

"You're weird."

"You've been acting weird."

Dazai smiled. "Maybe I'm concerned."

The words came out easily. Too easily. Chuuya went quiet. Dazai looked away. He didn't understand why Chuuya reacted so strangely whenever Dazai showed concern. It wasn't as though he was doing anything unusual.

That afternoon, they were assigned a group project.

Unfortunately, they were assigned together. Fortunately, Dazai didn't mind. Chuuya did. "Why do I always get stuck with you?"

"Because fate wants us together."

"Fate hates me."

"Same thing."

They settled into one of the empty study rooms. For nearly an hour, they worked. Dazai finished his portion quickly. Chuuya was still writing. Dazai watched him intently. His concentration was impressive. His brow furrowed slightly as he read. One hand rested against his cheek. The other moved steadily across the page. Dazai found himself staring again.

Chuuya looked up. "You doing it again?"

"Doing what?"

"Staring."

"I like looking at you." Dazai blinked. Chuuya blinked. Dazai immediately added "Because you're distracting."

Chuuya's face went red. "You're an idiot."

Dazai smiled. But something in his chest felt strange. He looked back down at the project. His heartbeat seemed louder than it should have been. They eventually finished late. By the time they left the school, it was dark. The streets were wet from the rain. Chuuya pulled his coat tighter. Dazai walked beside him. For several minutes, neither spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm asking."

"I know you."

"Fair." They continued walking. Dazai glanced at him. "Who is she?"

Chuuya stopped.

Dazai stopped too. "The person you love."

Chuuya's expression hardened. "I told you. None of your business."

"I've been thinking about it."

"That's your problem."

"You're getting worse."

Chuuya looked away. "I know."

"And you're refusing to tell her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Chuuya didn't answer. Dazai waited.

Finally, Chuuya sighed. "Because it wouldn't change anything."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know."

"You don't."

"I do."

Dazai frowned. "Then tell me."

Chuuya looked at him. There was something tired in his expression. Something almost sad. "You really don't understand, do you?"

"No."

Chuuya laughed quietly. "Of course you don't."

Dazai didn't like the way he said it. "What am I missing?"

Chuuya looked toward the street. Then back at him. "Suppose you love someone."

Dazai nodded. "Okay."

"And you know they don't feel the same way."

Dazai's expression softened. "Then you confess."

Chuuya stared. "Why?"

"Because otherwise you'll always wonder."

"Maybe I don't want to know."

"That's stupid."

"Maybe."

Dazai stepped closer. "Chuuya."

"What?"

"Wouldn't you rather know?"

"No."

"Why?"

Chuuya looked away. His voice was quieter when he answered. "Because if I tell them, I might lose them." Dazai went still. Chuuya continued. "If they don't know, nothing has to change."

Dazai understood the logic. He hated it. "You'd rather keep suffering?"

"If it means I can stay."

Dazai's chest tightened. "But that's cruel."

"To who?"

"To yourself."

Chuuya shrugged. "Maybe."

Dazai stared at him. He couldn't understand it. How could someone care so much about another person that they were willing to disappear inside their own feelings? Why would Chuuya choose that? And why did the thought make Dazai so angry?

"You should tell them."

Chuuya gave a humorless smile. "You really think so?"

"Yes."

"And if they reject me?"

"Then at least you'll know."

"And if they don't?"

Dazai paused. "Then..." He didn't finish. Chuuya watched him.

For a moment, something passed between them. Dazai couldn't name it. He looked away first.

"Just tell them."

Chuuya smiled faintly. "You'd do that?"

"Obviously."

"You've never been in love."

Dazai froze. "I don't need to be when I've got you."

Chuuya laughed. "That's exactly what someone who's never been in love would say."

Dazai smiled. Maybe. But as they continued walking, he found himself thinking about the question. He'd never had to consider it. Not seriously. Yet suddenly, the idea seemed frightening. He could imagine Chuuya standing in front of someone, confessing everything, only to be rejected.

Dazai didn't like the thought. Not even a little.

He glanced at Chuuya. The redhead was looking ahead, hands buried in his coat pockets. Dazai wondered who had managed to become so important to him. And, for the first time, he felt something dangerously close to jealousy. He immediately dismissed it.

That was ridiculous. He wasn't jealous. He was simply curious. Protective. Interested in solving the mystery. That was all.

Behind them, two classmates who had witnessed the conversation exchanged a look. One whispered "He's so obvious."

The other nodded. "Painfully."

Dazai didn't hear them. He was too busy watching Chuuya. And wondering why the idea of anyone else receiving the love Chuuya had hidden for so long bothered him so much.

Chuuya started avoiding Dazai on Tuesday. Dazai noticed at 8:14 in the morning. Usually, Dazai would find him sitting in their usual row, coat hanging over the back of his chair, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup.

Today, the seat was empty. Dazai stared at it. He checked his phone. No messages. He checked the hallway.

Nothing.

He sat down. Eight twenty. Still nothing. Eight twenty-seven. The professor entered. Chuuya didn't. Dazai's fingers tightened around his pen. He told himself it wasn't important. People missed class. People had lives. Chuuya could be sick. The thought made his stomach twist. Dazai immediately sent a message. No response. Another message. Nothing. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Dazai stared at the screen.  He put his phone away. For the next hour, he absorbed absolutely nothing from the lecture.

Chuuya came to school after lunch. Dropped by Verlaine who smiled too brightly and wished him a better day.  Dazai saw him from across the courtyard. His first reaction was relief. His second was anger. His third was something he couldn't identify.

Chuuya looked exhausted. His movements were slower. He kept one hand in his pocket. And when he spotted Dazai, he immediately turned around.

Dazai's eyes narrowed. "Chuuya!" Chuuya kept walking. Dazai followed. "Hey!"

"Go away."

"No."

"I've got somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"Class."

"Our class is in the opposite direction." Chuuya stopped. Dazai stopped behind him. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not."

"You've ignored me all morning."

"I was busy."

"You didn't answer my messages."

"I answered one."

"That's not the same thing."

Chuuya sighed. "Dazai, just leave it."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you're acting strange."

"I'm always strange."

"Not like this!!" Chuuya looked at him. There was something guarded in his eyes.

Dazai hated it. He wanted the old Chuuya back. The one who rolled his eyes. The one who insulted him. The one who argued with him over absolutely nothing. This version was quieter. Careful. Distant.

Dazai didn't like it. "Did the doctor tell you something?"

"No."

"Are you getting worse?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Chuuya."

"Drop it."

Dazai stepped closer. "I won't."

Chuuya looked away. "Why do you care?"

Dazai opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Because the honest answer was too complicated. He'd spent the entire morning thinking about Chuuya. He had checked his phone more times than he wanted to admit. Every empty minute made him wonder whether Chuuya was somewhere alone, coughing flowers into his hands. He couldn't stand the idea of something happening to him. Because— "I just do."

Chuuya stared at him.

Dazai smiled. "You're my favorite nuisance."

Chuuya's expression softened. Only for a second. Then he looked away. "You're an idiot."

"There you are."

Chuuya shook his head. But he didn't walk away.

That afternoon, Dazai noticed something else.

Chuuya wasn't just avoiding him. He was avoiding everyone. He skipped lunch. He left class early. He refused to join their classmates after school.

When Dazai finally caught him outside the train station, Chuuya looked irritated. "What?"

"You're coming with me."

"Where?"

"Home."

"I can get home myself."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm coming with you."

"Why?"

Dazai frowned. "I don't know."

Chuuya stared. He couldn't explain his behavior anymore. At first, he'd been curious about Chuuya's illness. Now Dazai simply wanted to be near him. It was becoming ridiculous. He wanted to know where Chuuya was. Who he was with. Whether he'd eaten. Whether he'd slept. Whether he'd coughed. Whether the flowers had gotten worse. He wanted Chuuya to argue with him. He wanted him to insult him.

He wanted to hear him laugh. He wanted— Dazai stopped himself. They reached Chuuya's apartment.

Chuuya unlocked the door. "You don't have to come inside."

Dazai stepped inside anyway. "I know."

Chuuya sighed. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess."

Dazai did. He sat on the couch. Chuuya disappeared into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Dazai heard a cough. Then another. Then silence. Dazai stood immediately. "Chuuya?"

"I'm fine."

Dazai walked into the kitchen. Chuuya was gripping the counter. His breathing was uneven.

Dazai's expression hardened. "You're not."

"Go sit down."

"No."

"Dazai!"

"No."

"You're making this harder." He whispered.

Dazai's expression softened. "How?"

"Because you keep making me want to stay."

Dazai froze.

Chuuya seemed to realize what he'd said. His eyes widened. He turned away. "I meant—"

Dazai stepped closer. "What did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Chuuya."

"Forget it!"

Dazai stared at the back of his head. Something inside him had shifted. He didn't know what. But he knew he didn't want Chuuya to leave. He simply stood beside him. "I'll stay."

Chuuya's shoulders relaxed. "...Idiot."

Dazai smiled. "You're welcome."

That evening, Dazai stayed until Chuuya fell asleep on the couch. He told himself he stayed because Chuuya was sick. Because someone needed to keep an eye on him. That explanation made sense. At least, it did to Dazai. Everyone else would have known better. Because Dazai spent the entire night sitting beside Chuuya, watching him sleep, and wondering how he'd ever managed to convince himself that this was merely concern since Verlaine had to go on a business trip.

Dazai woke up with a crick in his neck and Chuuya's blanket draped over his shoulders. He stared at it. Then at Chuuya. Then back at the blanket. Chuuya was still asleep on the couch, curled slightly toward the back cushions. His ginger hair was a mess, his face softer without the usual scowl, and his breathing was thankfully even.

Dazai smiled. He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered telling himself he'd leave once Chuuya was asleep. Apparently, he'd failed. Again. He carefully stood.

The floor creaked. Chuuya stirred.

Dazai froze. "Don't wake up," he whispered.

Chuuya's eyes opened anyway. "...Dazai?"

"Good morning."

"What are you doing here?"

"You invited me."

"I did not."

"Then your hospitality has deteriorated."

Chuuya groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. Dazai laughed. There. That was better. They returned to campus together. It wasn't planned. At least, Dazai hadn't planned it. Chuuya had simply walked beside him. Neither seemed interested in acknowledging it.

Halfway through the courtyard, one of their classmates spotted them. She stopped. Looked at their matching exhausted expressions. Then smiled. "Oh."

Dazai blinked. "What?"

"Nothing." She walked away.

Chuuya frowned. "What was that?"

"No idea." Dazai watched her go. Then shrugged. "People are strange."

Chuuya stared at him. "You're people."

"Unfortunately."

Dazai spent the entire day distracted. He kept thinking about Chuuya. About the way he'd said You're making this harder. The words wouldn't leave Dazai's mind. He replayed them over and over. Dazai needed to know. But something prevented him from asking. For the first time, he was afraid that the answer might be one he didn't want. That was ridiculous. Dazai wanted to know who Chuuya loved. He'd wanted to know since the day he'd discovered the flowers.

So why did the thought of hearing the answer now make his stomach twist?

He had always liked Chuuya's company. They'd known each other for years. They fought. They argued. They insulted each other. That was normal. But this wasn't. Dazai opened his eyes. He thought about the first time he'd seen Chuuya. The first argument. The first time Chuuya had punched him. The first time they'd laughed together. The first time Chuuya had trusted him.

All those memories were suddenly brighter.

More important.

Dazai's gaze dropped to his hands. He'd been looking at Chuuya without realizing it. Listening for him. Watching him. Remembering things about him that he didn't remember about anyone else. He knew Chuuya's coffee order. His favorite seat. The days he stayed late. How he took his tea. Which songs he hated. What expression he made when embarrassed. What he looked like when he was exhausted. How his voice changed when he was genuinely upset. Dazai knew all of it. He knew Chuuya. And suddenly, another thought appeared. Maybe he didn't need to find the person Chuuya loved. Maybe he already knew. Dazai's heart stopped.

"No." He laughed. A nervous, disbelieving sound. "No."

The idea was absurd. Impossible. But once it appeared, it wouldn't disappear. Dazai started going through every interaction. Chuuya never spoke about the person. Never gave a name. Never mentioned a woman. Never described anyone. Whenever Dazai asked, Chuuya changed the subject.

And the only person Chuuya seemed especially emotional around was— Dazai stopped. His fingers tightened around the pen.

"...Me?" The word barely left his mouth. He stared into nothing. Could it really be? Chuuya loved him? The thought should have made Dazai laugh. Instead, his chest tightened. Not painfully. Warmly. His face felt hot. Dazai covered it with both hands. "Oh."

He sat there for several minutes. Then he laughed quietly. "That's ridiculous." But he was smiling.

That evening, Dazai found Chuuya outside. He walked toward him slowly.

Chuuya looked up. "What?"

Dazai stopped. He could say it. He could ask. Is it me? But he didn't. Not yet. Instead, he sat beside him.

Chuuya glanced over. "You're quiet."

"I'm thinking."

"That's dangerous."

Dazai smiled."Chuuya."

"What?"

"If someone loved you..." Chuuya's expression changed. Dazai continued. "...and you knew they didn't love you back, would you still want to stay close to them?"

Chuuya looked away. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't know how to leave."

Dazai's chest tightened. He looked at Chuuya. The wind moved through his ginger hair. His blue eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance. He looked sad. Beautiful. Familiar.

Dazai swallowed. He finally understood. Not everything. The person he'd been searching for wasn't some mysterious girl. It wasn't one of the names in his notebook. It wasn't someone he'd never met. It was someone he'd been sitting beside for years. Someone who irritated him. Someone who challenged him. Someone who knew him better than almost anyone. Someone whose absence had begun to feel unbearable. Chuuya.

Dazai's heart pounded. He looked down at his hands. He still couldn't say it. He couldn't admit it. Because if Chuuya really did love him... Then Dazai had to confront something much more frightening. The possibility that he might love Chuuya too. And that thought— more than the flowers, more than the illness, more than the mystery— terrified him.

So Dazai did what he always did when something became too real. He smiled. "You're such an idiot."

Chuuya looked at him. "...What?"

"Nothing."

Chuuya frowned. "You're acting weird."

Dazai laughed. "I'm always weird." He discovered that realizing something did not necessarily mean accepting it.

By Wednesday morning, he'd reached the same conclusion approximately thirty-seven times. Chuuya might love me. Every time, his brain immediately supplied another explanation. No. Chuuya might simply be attached. Chuuya might be afraid of losing a friend. Chuuya might—

"Dazai." Dazai blinked. The professor was standing directly in front of his desk. "Would you care to explain the answer?"

Dazai looked at the board. Then at the professor. Then at Chuuya. Chuuya was covering his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Dazai sighed. "The answer is forty-two."

The professor stared. "This is economics."

"Then forty-two is definitely the answer."

The class laughed.

The professor rubbed his forehead. "Nakahara."

Chuuya immediately straightened. "Yes?"

"Since Dazai appears to be incapable of participating today, perhaps you could explain it."

Chuuya glanced at Dazai. A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "Gladly."

He stood and walked toward the board.

Dazai watched him. Again. The way Chuuya walked. The way he held the chalk. The slight furrow between his eyebrows while he worked through the equation. Dazai knew he was staring. He couldn't stop. Chuuya finished explaining and returned to his seat.

As soon as he sat down, he whispered a "Stop looking at me."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I'm paying attention."

"To me."

Dazai smiled. "You're very distracting."

Chuuya's ears turned slightly red. "Idiot."

Dazai's chest tightened. There it was again. That ridiculous warmth. He looked away. Their next class was literature. Dazai loved literature. Normally. Today, he spent most of the lecture watching Chuuya take notes. Chuuya's handwriting was surprisingly neat. Dazai had never noticed that before.

He leaned over. "What are you writing?"

"Notes."

"About?"

"The lecture."

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you'll copy them."

"I'd never."

"You absolutely would."

Dazai reached for the notebook. Chuuya moved it away.

Dazai reached again. Chuuya moved it farther.

"Give it."

"No."

"Chuuyaaaa."

"No."

They stared at each other. The professor stopped speaking. "Would the two of you like to share with the rest of the class?"

Both turned forward. "No."

The professor sighed. "Then please stop."

Chuuya hid his smile behind his hand. For the first time in days, things felt normal. And Dazai realized how much he'd missed this. The simple comfort of knowing exactly how Chuuya would respond. He wondered how he'd survived all those years without recognizing how important it was.

At lunch, Chuuya actually ate. Dazai noticed immediately. "You finished your food."

Chuuya looked up. "Yes."

"I'm proud of you."

"Don't."

"You've been neglecting yourself."

"Don't start."

"I'm merely observing."

"You've been observing me constantly."

Dazai paused. "...Have I?"

"Yes." Chuuya's expression became suspicious. "Why?"

Dazai didn't answer immediately. Because I can't stop looking at you. Instead, he stole one of Chuuya's fries.

Chuuya slapped his hand. "Get your own."

"I wanted yours."

"Of course you did." Dazai smiled. Chuuya pushed the plate farther away. "You're impossible."

"You still sit with me."

"Because you're annoying when I'm not here."

Dazai laughed. "That's almost sweet."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"I'll pretend it was."

Chuuya rolled his eyes. Then he coughed. Once. Twice. Dazai's smile disappeared. Chuuya immediately reached for his drink.

"Don't."

"I'm fine."

"You said that yesterday."

"Because I am."

Dazai watched him carefully. The cough had been small. But there had been something different about it. A little more strain. He wanted to ask. He wanted to drag Chuuya back to the doctor. But he stopped himself. Instead, he pushed his water toward him. "Drink."

"...Thanks."

Dazai smiled. That tiny word stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Their final class was laboratory work. The professor paired them together. Neither complained. Dazai was surprised by that. A month ago, Chuuya would have argued. Today, he simply pulled on his gloves and started organizing their equipment.

Dazai stood beside him. "You've gotten quiet."

"I'm concentrating."

"On the experiment?"

"Yes."

"Not on me?"

Chuuya looked at him. "What?"

Dazai smiled. "Nothing."

They worked. For once, Dazai followed the instructions. Mostly. Chuuya had to correct him twice. "Dazai."

"Yes?"

"That's the wrong container."

"I knew that."

"You were about to pour it into the wrong one."

"I was testing you."

"You almost ruined the experiment."

"But you caught me."

Chuuya sighed. "You are impossible."

Every little thing Chuuya did seemed important now. A smile. A laugh. A glance. A word. Dazai had spent his entire life fascinated by people. But he'd never been fascinated like this. He didn't simply want to understand Chuuya. He wanted to know him. Every part. Every thought. Every fear. Every secret. And suddenly, the question he'd been avoiding became impossible to ignore. What if I really do love him? Dazai nearly dropped the equipment in his hand.

Chuuya looked over. "You okay?"

Dazai smiled. "Perfectly."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have."

"You're weird."

"So you've said." Dazai turned back to the experiment. But his mind wasn't there anymore. It was somewhere between Chuuya's smile and the flowers hidden inside his lungs.

The next morning, Dazai knew something was wrong before Chuuya said a word. It was the way he walked into class. Too slowly. The way he lowered himself into his chair instead of dropping into it. The way his fingers lingered against the edge of the desk, as though he needed it for balance.

Dazai watched him carefully. "Morning."

Chuuya glanced over. "Morning." His voice was quieter than usual.

Dazai frowned. "Did you sleep?"

"A little."

"How little?"

"Enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Dazai wanted to argue. Instead, he looked at Chuuya's face. Pale. Tired. His eyes had lost some of their usual sharpness. His stomach twisted. "Chuuya..."

"What?"

"Are you feeling worse?"

"No." The answer came too quickly.

Dazai didn't believe him. Before he could ask again, the professor entered. Class began. For twenty minutes, Chuuya managed to take notes. Then his pen stopped moving.

Dazai glanced over. Chuuya was staring at the page.

"Chuuya?"

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that."

"Because you keep asking."

Dazai leaned closer. "Your hands are shaking."

Chuuya immediately tucked them beneath the desk. "I'm cold."

"You're lying."

"You're annoying."

"That's unrelated."

Chuuya almost smiled. Almost. Then he looked away.

Dazai didn't.

The lecture ended. Students began gathering their things.

Chuuya remained seated.

Dazai waited.

Eventually, Chuuya stood. He swayed.

Dazai caught his arm. "Whoa."

"I'm fine."

"Stop saying that."

Chuuya pulled his arm away. "I just stood up too fast."

Dazai stared at him. "You're going to the nurse."

"No."

"Doctor."

"No."

"Hospital."

"Absolutely not."

Dazai's patience snapped. "Then where?"

Chuuya's expression softened. "'Zai..."

"What?"

"I just need a minute."

Dazai hesitated. Then nodded. "Fine." He stayed beside him. Of course he did.

They made it to the hallway. Chuuya took three steps. Stopped. His hand flew to his mouth.

Dazai's expression changed. "Chuuya?"

Chuuya turned away. A cough tore through him. Then another.

Dazai immediately moved closer. "Hey."

Chuuya tried to wave him away. "Don't."

Dazai ignored him. Chuuya's breathing became unsteady.  Dazai caught sight of the red staining his handkerchief. His heart dropped. "Chuuya."

"I'm okay."

"No."

"I'm—" His knees buckled.

Dazai caught him before he hit the floor. "Chuuya!" Several students turned. Someone called for help. Dazai lowered Chuuya carefully, supporting his head. "Hey. Look at me."

Chuuya's eyes fluttered. He looked confused. "Told you..."

"What?"

"Just needed a minute."

Then his eyes closed. Dazai's hands began shaking. "No." He looked around. "Someone call an ambulance."

A student was already doing it.

Dazai stayed beside Chuuya. He didn't care who was watching. He didn't care about class. He didn't care about the petals. He didn't care about his own illness. He only cared about the person lying unconscious in front of him. "Come on, Chuuya." His voice broke. "Don't do this."

The hospital was too bright. Too quiet. Dazai hated it.

He sat in the waiting room with his elbows against his knees since Verlaine was unreachable. His hands were clasped together so tightly they hurt. A doctor had taken Chuuya away almost immediately.

Dazai had tried to follow. They wouldn't let him since he wasn't family.

So he'd waited. And waited. And waited. A white petal landed on his knee. He stared at it.

For weeks, those flowers had been a mystery. An annoyance. Something he needed to solve. Now he barely noticed it. He crumpled the petal. Someone sat beside him.

It was one of their classmates. "You should go home." Dazai didn't answer them. "You've been here for hours."

"I know."

"You need rest."

"Not really."

The classmate looked at him. "You really love him, don't you?"

Dazai froze. The question was so simple. There was nowhere to hide from it. He looked down at his hands. Then toward the doors behind which Chuuya had disappeared. "I..." The word caught in his throat.

He'd spent so long refusing to understand. Every sign. Every feeling. Every moment of jealousy. Every time Chuuya disappeared and Dazai couldn't breathe easily until he returned. Every time Chuuya smiled and Dazai felt inexplicably warm. Every time Chuuya was hurt and Dazai became furious. Every time he wanted to be the person Chuuya trusted. Every time he wanted Chuuya beside him.

It wasn't curiosity. It wasn't friendship. It wasn't some strange obsession with solving a medical mystery. It was love.

Dazai finally understood. He loved Chuuya Nakahara.

His eyes burned. He laughed once, quietly. "What a disaster."

His classmate smiled sadly. "Yeah."

Dazai leaned back. And suddenly, the answer seemed obvious. If Chuuya really loved him... Then Dazai couldn't keep pretending he hadn't noticed. But there was something else. Something harder.

Chuuya had been hiding his feelings because he was afraid of losing Dazai. Dazai understood that now. And he'd been selfish. He'd wanted answers. He'd wanted Chuuya to confess. He'd wanted to know. He'd wanted the truth because he was curious. But what would that confession cost Chuuya? What if Dazai demanded an answer simply because he wanted reassurance? What if he made Chuuya choose between confessing and losing the friendship he'd been protecting?

Dazai closed his eyes. "No." He shook his head. "I won't do that."

He couldn't be selfish anymore. If Chuuya couldn't confess, Dazai wouldn't force it out of him. He wasn't going to become another reason for Chuuya to suffer.

The hospital doors finally opened. Dazai immediately stood.

The doctor approached. "Are you family?"

"No."

The doctor hesitated. "Then..."

"I'm his friend." Dazai swallowed. "I'm staying."

The doctor studied him for a moment before nodding. "He's awake."

Dazai exhaled. His shoulders finally relaxed. "Can I see him?"

"Briefly." Dazai nodded. He walked toward the room. His hand paused on the door. For weeks, he'd been searching for someone who loved him. Now he knew. And somehow, knowing didn't make him want to run. It made him want to stay.

Dazai opened the door.

Chuuya was awake. Tired. Pale. But awake. His blue eyes immediately found Dazai. "...You stayed?"

Dazai smiled softly. "Of course."

Chuuya looked away. "You didn't have to."

"I know."

Dazai pulled the chair beside the bed closer. "But I wanted to."

Chuuya was silent. Dazai sat down. He was discharged two days later. Dazai was waiting outside the hospital before he'd even finished checking out.

Chuuya stepped through the doors wearing his usual clothes, though they hung slightly differently on him now. He looked tired, but considerably better than he'd looked in the university hallway.

Dazai smiled. "You're alive."

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately for you."

"There he is."

"Don't sound so happy about it."

"I am."

Chuuya stopped. Dazai didn't. He walked beside him toward the train station.

Eventually, Chuuya glanced over. "You've been weird."

"I'm always weird."

"Different weird."

Dazai smiled faintly. "I've been thinking."

"That's usually dangerous."

"About you." Chuuya's expression immediately changed. Dazai noticed. Of course he did. "Don't look so frightened."

"I'm not frightened."

"You're terrible at lying."

"And you're terrible at being normal."

"Fair."

They reached the station. Dazai stopped. "Chuuya."

"What?"

"Can we talk?"

Chuuya looked suspicious.

"About what?"

"Us." That made Chuuya go completely still. Dazai gestured toward a bench. "Please."

Chuuya hesitated. Then sat. Dazai sat beside him. For several seconds, neither said anything. Dazai looked down at his hands. He had rehearsed this conversation approximately a hundred times. Every version had sounded clever. Now that Chuuya was actually sitting beside him, none of those words seemed appropriate.

So Dazai decided to be honest. "I know."

Chuuya's shoulders stiffened. "Know what?"

"Who you love." Chuuya stared straight ahead. Dazai continued quietly. "It's me, isn't it?"

Chuuya didn't answer. He didn't have to. Dazai already knew.

Chuuya's hands curled into fists. "You shouldn't have figured it out."

"I know."

"I didn't want you to."

"I know."

"I didn't want this."

Dazai looked at him. "I know."

Chuuya finally turned. His eyes were bright with frustration. "Then why are you doing this!?"

Dazai swallowed. "Because I can't be selfish anymore."

Chuuya frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I spent weeks trying to figure out who loved me." Dazai laughed softly. "I thought I needed to know. I thought I deserved an answer. I thought if I found the person responsible for my Hanahaki, everything would become simple." He looked down. "But then I found out about you."

Chuuya looked away.

"And suddenly my own problem didn't matter." Dazai's voice became quieter. "You collapsed in front of me."

Chuuya flinched.

"I thought..." Dazai stopped. He didn't want to describe the fear. "I thought I might lose you, and that's when I realized something." He turned toward him. "I love you."

Chuuya's eyes widened. Dazai didn't look away. "I love you, Chuuya."

The words were frightening. "I don't expect you to fix me." Chuuya blinked.

"I don't expect you to suddenly know what to do." Dazai smiled faintly. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing either."

That made Chuuya laugh. A little shaky but it made Dazai smile. "We've never dated anyone."

"No."

"We've never done this before."

"No."

"I don't know how to be someone's boyfriend."

Chuuya looked down. "Neither do I."

"Good."

Chuuya glanced at him. "Good?"

"Then we can be terrible at it together."

Chuuya laughed again. "You really are an idiot."

"I've been told."

For a moment, the tension disappeared. Then Chuuya became serious again. "What if we mess it up?"

"We probably will."

"That's not reassuring."

"I don't think relationships are supposed to be perfect." Dazai looked at him. "We can learn."

Chuuya was silent. "What if you change your mind?"

Dazai's expression softened. "Then I'll tell you."

"And if I do?"

"Then you tell me."

Chuuya looked down at his hands. "I don't know how to do this."

"Neither do I."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"What if I lose you?"

Dazai shook his head. "You don't have to lose me."

Chuuya's eyes lifted. Dazai smiled.

"I'm not asking you to promise forever." He held out his hand. "I'm asking you to try tomorrow."

Chuuya stared at his hand. Then slowly took it. His fingers were warm. Dazai's heart jumped. Neither of them said anything. They simply sat there. Hand in hand. Chuuya squeezed his hand. "So..."

"Yes?"

"What does dating actually involve?"

Dazai considered this seriously. "Probably annoying each other."

"We already do that."

"Then we're experts."

Chuuya smiled. "Idiot."

Dazai smiled back. "Your idiot?"

Chuuya's face immediately turned red. "Don't push it."

Dazai laughed. For the first time since the flowers had appeared, the tightness in his chest felt different. And somewhere beneath his ribs, the flowers finally began to loosen their grip.

Their first date the next weekend was a disaster. Dazai knew this approximately twelve minutes after it began.

"This is your idea of a date?" Chuuya stared at the restaurant.

"It's nice."

"It's a family restaurant."

"You said you wanted somewhere casual."

"I said I wanted somewhere memorable."

"Then stop complaining."

Dazai sighed dramatically. "I wanted romance."

"We're not dying."

Dazai looked at him. Neither said anything.

Chuuya's expression immediately softened. "Sorry."

Dazai smiled. "It's okay."

They went inside. The restaurant was busy, warm, and noisy. Nothing about it resembled the elaborate date Dazai had imagined. And somehow, that made it better. They ordered food. They argued over what to share.

Chuuya stole food from Dazai's plate. Dazai complained. Chuuya stole more.

Eventually, Dazai stopped pretending to be annoyed. "You know," he said, "you're surprisingly comfortable for someone on his first date."

"I'm not."

"You look comfortable."

"I'm hiding it."

Dazai laughed. Chuuya smiled. For a while, they simply talked. Things neither of them had ever thought to discuss because they'd always assumed there would be another day. Now every conversation felt slightly different. Like they were discovering each other again.

After dinner, they walked through the city. It was cold. Chuuya shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

Dazai noticed. "Cold?"

"No."

"You're shivering."

"I'm fine."

Dazai laughed. "You really need a new answer."

"Shut up." Dazai removed his scarf. Chuuya immediately frowned. "No."

"Take it."

"You'll get cold."

"I'm already cold."

"Then why are you giving it to me?"

"Because you're worse at admitting it."

Chuuya stared at him. Then reluctantly took the scarf. "...Thanks."

Dazai smiled. They kept walking. Eventually, they reached a quiet park. The lights along the path reflected against the damp pavement.

Chuuya stopped. "This is nice."

Dazai looked around. "It is." He looked at Chuuya.

"Better than the restaurant?"

"Definitely."

Dazai smiled. They sat on a bench. The silence returned. Chuuya looked down at the scarf around his neck. "You really meant it?"

Dazai frowned. "Meant what?"

"When you said you loved me."

Dazai's expression softened. "Yes."

Chuuya nodded. "I believe you."

Dazai smiled. "Good. You should. You stopped throwing up flowers."

Then Chuuya looked at him. "So..."

"So?"

"We're dating."

"Apparently."

"You're my boyfriend."

Dazai's face warmed. "And you're mine."

Chuuya laughed quietly. "This is weird."

"Very."

"Good weird."

Dazai smiled. "Very good weird." They looked at each other. Dazai's usual smile disappeared, replaced by something quieter. "Chuuya?"

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Chuuya's face immediately turned red. He looked away. "...Yeah."

Dazai leaned closer. The kiss was brief and hesitant, more awkward than either had imagined. When they pulled apart, both stared at each other. Chuuya's cheeks were bright red. Dazai looked equally stunned.

"Well," Dazai said.

Chuuya covered his face. "Don't."

"I was going to say it was nice."

"Oh." A pause. "...It was."

Dazai smiled.

Chuuya lowered his hands. "You're smiling."

"So are you."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"Shut up."

Dazai laughed. Chuuya nudged his shoulder. Dazai nudged him back. And just like that, they were themselves again. Just two idiots sitting together on a park bench after their first date, trying to figure out what came next.

Dazai looked at Chuuya. For once, he wasn't searching for answers. He didn't need to. He had Chuuya. Right where he wanted him.