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Summary
She almost doesn't see her at first; she hadn't wanted to, not here and not tonight, not her, but the heart is a compass pointing north and Dazai's had already given a name to the vessel of her true home. Years and years ago, back when it mattered. Back when it might've made a difference to weave her longing into words and words into sentences, even a sorry excuse would've been better, but to no avail.
Reluctant, Dazai steps into the cobblestone path that leads to a small pagoda at the very center of her make-believe garden, one of many meaningless wedding gifts, and the splotch of fiery red becomes a shape Dazai knows like the back of her hand, all the softness and all the hard edges. She used to know her, Nakahara Chuuya, the subject of dreams as turbulent as they are exquisite; a cherry liquor of memories to drown in and then some.
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Bookmark Notes:
end her husband
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Bookmark Notes:
OH MY FUCKING GOD