Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

four years after the incident.

Chuuya Nakahara had always loved colours.

Colours were everywhere—in the fiery hair of his mother, the purple hyacinths in their family garden, the blue expanse of the Aegean Sea, and the golden jewelry adorned with green sapphires.

Until they weren’t.

Because the colours he painted on lifeless, gray statues weren’t real. They were only an illusion, something meant to create the fleeting impression of life on the dead, marble sculpture.

Completing the last stroke with his brush, Chuuya took a deep breath, slowly raised his gaze, and stood up from his knees. The statue, staring at him with an empty gaze, was probably his most beautiful work. And probably the last one he would ever create.

Chuuya lifted a hand and placed it on the cold cheek of the statue. It felt so similar to how it once had, yet so different. Lifeless.

And the eyes. Despite doing his best to capture their seraphic whiteness, something still felt off, something was different. Perhaps that was for the better. He wasn’t sure if he could bear looking into those exact same eyes he once had, knowing they weren’t looking back at him.

“Nakahara.”

He didn’t turn around. He had no intention of doing so, though the traveler was surely prepared for that possibility. Chuuya saw no reason to prolong this moment any more than necessary.

“That’s what they call me,” he replied in a monotone voice.

He didn’t even flinch. He had been ready for this moment, he wasn’t leaving anything behind. He didn’t have anything to leave behind.

His narrow pupils found their way back to the statue standing before him—one of dozens present around, yet unique and way more special than all the others combined. Every detail, every shadow, every fold of fabric in the chiton, every strand of hair that had once flowed so beautifully in the wind—all of it had been meticulously perfected down to the smallest detail.

It was the least Chuuya could do. It was the least he deserved.

“You, who terrorized innocent people, mercilessly killing them with your deadly stare. You will now receive the punishment you deserve.” The voice behind him echoed in a sharp and confident tone.

“I deserve…” Chuuya said quietly, his voice feeling almost alien, detached.

Deserve. He had always been the one to tell Chuuya that what happened to him wasn’t his fault. That he didn’t deserve the fate the gods had planned for him.

But now, he wasn’t here to say it.

“Very well. Be the hero then.” Chuuya said, his voice empty, lacking any hint of emotion.

The next and final thing he felt was the silver blade against his neck.

one month before the incident.

“Chuuya!”

With a smile, the red-haired sixteen-year-old turned over his shoulder. The sound of small footsteps and that adorable voice were already too familiar to him.

“Yumeno,” Chuuya said gently, kneeling down to be at the same level as the child and running a hand through their dark-white hair. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to the temple? Can I come with you? Please, please!” Yumeno exclaimed, completely ignoring the question Chuuya had asked.

The child’s joyful voice brought a soft, muffled laugh from Chuuya. With the corners of his lips slightly upturned, he looked into Yumeno’s eyes. Large, dark, with golden highlights around the iris, they looked almost magical. Even the light reflecting in them seemed to form something similar to the shape of a star.

Chuuya always had the habit of rarely breaking eye contact during a conversation. He had always believed that the eyes were the only part of the human body that were able to provide a glimpse into a person’s soul—if one could look for it. Eyes, unlike words, could not lie. But, they could express just as much, or even more.

“You can,” he replied after a moment of feigned contemplation, standing up and offering Yumeno his free hand.

Yumeno smiled cheerfully and began walking alongside Chuuya in small steps. Before long, the child pointed to the basket Chuuya carried in his other hand.

“What’s in there?” Yumeno asked in a curious voice.

“Offerings for the most holy Athena,” Chuuya replied, lifting the lid of the basket slightly so Yumeno could get a better look.

Inside were fresh fruits and the widely recognized specialty of Chuuya—flowers. The Nakahara family garden was considered the most beautiful in the area, and their knowledge of various ornamental plants was beyond the average person’s imagination.

Had it not been for the great opportunity he was given and becoming a priest at Athena’s temple, Chuuya would probably have become a florist like his mother. He had been raised with that in mind; it was meant to be his only path in life. However, things turned out differently, and both he and his mother were happy—happy that he could fulfill himself in his faith, in his devotion to the most holy Athena.

That was enough for him.

Over the years, Chuuya had learned to be grateful. Grateful for every smile he was given or could share, grateful for his mother, grateful for Athena—he couldn’t name a single thing he lacked in life. The people around him gave him the strength to walk through life with his head held high and to take as much from it as he could.

“What’s in there?” Yumeno asked again, looking up at Chuuya.

“Peonies, hyacinths, delphiniums, and some gardenias,” Chuuya replied, not needing to look into the basket to list its contents effortlessly.

The walk to the temple wasn’t long but refreshing, with the light spring air serving as a pleasant companion for the journey.

As always, Chuuya was greeted by breathtaking beige marble columns supporting the entire structure. At the entrance, he bowed, gazing with respect at the beautifully carved images of the goddess standing at both sides of the main gate. Yumeno did the same beside him.

Inside, at the very center of the grand hall surrounded by more heavy columns, stood a massive statue of the goddess. Athena’s eyes, carved from the finest marble by the best sculptors, gazed forward confidently and intensely. Every fold of her garment was perfectly thought out, every piece of jewelry adorned with real gold.

Chuuya carefully laid the offerings before the statue and then knelt, Yumeno following suit. He closed his eyes and began his daily prayer. This was the time when he could fully dedicate himself to her, relax, and quiet his mind.

The rest of the day passed peacefully and in the usual routine—offerings, prayers, communal worship of the goddess alongside other priests and priestesses in the temple. By evening, Chuuya was one of the last remaining in the temple, but determined to finish polishing Athena’s statue. It wasn’t just his duty—it was his personal will. The goddess deserved no less.

On his lap lay Yumeno, already half-asleep. A few hours earlier, Chuuya had told the child he should go home, but Yumeno stubbornly insisted on staying until evening. Now, the ten-year-old was half-lying on Chuuya’s chest, their eyes long closed, their small body in a deep sleep. Chuuya didn’t have the heart to wake them.

Hearing footsteps coming from the temple’s main entrance, Chuuya looked up from his work. He smiled upon seeing Kouyou, one of the closer—if not the closest—priestesses to him.

“Still here?” she asked after bowing respectfully before the statue, her gaze shifting from Chuuya to Yumeno and back.

“As you can see,” Chuuya replied. “I didn’t see you earlier. Some special occasion?”

“Preparations for Panathenaea. There’s still a month left, but you know how it is.” Kouyou responded, sitting beside him.

“Ah,” Chuuya said, lightly biting his lip. “Right.”

“This will be your first Great Panathenaea as a priest, won’t it?” Kouyou asked, her voice suddenly softer than usual, like an older sister speaking gently to a younger sibling.

Chuuya nodded in confirmation. The Panathenaea celebration was an annual event, but the Great Panathenaea was held only once every four years, while the Lesser Panathenaea took place in the other years.

“It’s a bit… overwhelming,” he murmured, averting his gaze, focusing on the small figure still lying on him.

“Overwhelming?” Kouyou repeated, as if trying to better understand Chuuya’s perspective.

“Isn’t it?” Chuuya asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Kouyou’s melodic laughter echoed through the temple, causing Chuuya to look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes were also among his favorites—ruby red, tinged with pink, reminded Chuuya of red wine. Sparkling like diamonds, the luminous shine reflecting in her pupils seemed capable of lighting up the entire room.

“Chuuya, you’re young, of course,” Kouyou continued. “But you’re more loyal than most priests and priestesses here, more mature than your age would suggest. You deserve to be where you are.”

Chuuya smiled faintly. He would be lying if he said Kouyou’s words didn’t reassure him.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile.

“There’s no need to thank me,” she said. “Now, go home. I’ll take care of this and later escort Yumeno to their house.” She gestured toward the statue and then the child, who was still deep in slumber.

“But I can-”

“No buts,” Kouyou interrupted. “You need rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After a quick goodbye and one last bow to the statue of Athena, Chuuya left the temple. He walked down from the low hill on which the temple stood, then glanced back over his shoulder. Illuminated by the starlight, the temple looked almost abstract, magical. And at the same time...

It felt like home.

The following month passed in constant preparation for the Panathenaea.

Chuuya made every effort to fulfill his duties with utmost diligence—spending most of his days in the temple, meticulously preparing it for the upcoming celebration. He also focused on his spiritual development, trying with each prayer and offering to bring his insignificant human soul closer to the powerful, sacred soul of Athena.

I’m proud of you, his mother, repeated to him every day.

You’re in the right place , Kouyou said.

Yet, every day, intrusive thoughts and doubts crept into Chuuya’s mind. Was it truly so? Could the temple really be his home? Was he worthy enough to call it that?

He couldn’t ignore the rumors that began spreading. Being new to his position, even priestesses he hadn’t yet spoken to began speculating about him—about his origins, abilities.

Most often, however, they commented on his appearance.

Chuuya loathed every second of it. The talk of his beautiful fiery curls, his graceful figure, his stunning eyes—eyes that somehow managed to capture both the azure of a pristine ocean and the rich brown of the rarest amber.

He had never paid much attention to his looks. He was someone who valued what lay within a person’s soul, not their exterior.

His mother had always told him that behind the most beautiful face, could hide a monster, and behind a monstrous visage, a heart of gold could be found.

Chuuya wanted recognition. But he wanted his devotion, effort, and loyalty to be acknowledged. These were things he had worked on for years—things he could feel proud of. What value was there in praising something as shallow as his appearance, something over which he had no control?

“You’re awake again,” his mother’s voice echoed through the room. Chuuya cracked his eyes open slightly, but it made little difference in the dark, night-shrouded space.

“Do you blame me?” he asked with a dry chuckle. “Tomorrow is Panathenaea.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” his mother replied. In her voice, Chuuya could sense a smile, even if he couldn’t see it in the darkness. “You’ll do just fine. You’ve worked so hard for this, sweetie.”

He nodded slightly, sighing. His mother’s hand reached for his hair, gently combing through it in a soothing manner.

“Do you think…” Chuuya swallowed. “Do you think Athena will appreciate it too?”

“I’m sure of it.”

A soft melody filled the room—a tune his mother always hummed when he was stressed or struggling to sleep. It seemed to bring him comfort and calm him, at least in most cases.

“Is it still before midnight?” Chuuya asked quietly after a moment.

“It is,” his mother replied.

“I think I’ll take a walk to the temple. Is that okay? I feel… I need to be there. Tomorrow it will already be crowded—”

“I understand,” his mother interrupted. “Take care of yourself and don’t stay out too long. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

The temple at night felt like an entirely different place than during the day. It was empty, of course, and the usual whispers and murmurs of conversation were absent. The only sources of light were the eternal flame and the moonlight streaming through the columns.

He knelt in front of the already well-known statue and took a deep breath. As usual, he began mentally listing every thing in his life for which he was grateful.

His family, his mother, from whom he inherited everything he considered good and pure in himself, who had been his greatest support throughout all his sixteen years of life.

His friends from the town—Shirase, Yuan, and also Kouyou, who, since he had joined the temple of Athena as a priest, had been his mentor and someone who Chuuya could only describe as an older sister.

For the world and its beauty, for the passion it carried, the purity of nature, the enchanting views of changing weather, the warm breezes of the wind on the skin, the sound of waves crashing against rocks, the noises of the town, the laughter of people, the joyful shouts of children, the distant barking of a dog.

And of course, for Athena, whose love Chuuya felt every day—in his faith, in his loyalty, in himself, in–

“Who would dare to enter our Athena’s temple at this hour?”

Chuuya practically jumped when a loud male voice echoed behind him. He immediately turned around, his eyes meeting dark blue irises, as deep as the oceans.

They belonged to a man, but not just any man. Despite an appearance that at first glance was indistinguishable from that of an ordinary man that Chuuya could meet in the town, there was something different, unsettling about him. His presence carried an almost tangible weight, a formidable power, an eerie aura could be practically felt around him.

Chuuya’s eyes widened in disbelief. No. It couldn’t be…

"Someone observant, I see." The man laughed, a deep, cold sound, stepping closer with each word until he finally stood directly in front of Chuuya, towering over the kneeling boy.

The man's shoulder-length hair was a warm brown, the same was the beard framing his face. Up close, his piercing gaze was even more intimidating, cutting through Chuuya like a blade.

Chuuya found himself completely unable to move even a finger, let alone stand up. The very thought, the mere possibility that he might be kneeling before a god, paralyzed his body with an unimaginable fear.

"What’s your name, boy?" the man asked.

Chuuya cleared his throat nervously, struggling to find his voice beneath the heavy lump in his throat.

"Nakahara Chuuya," he finally managed to choke out.

"Chuuya," the man repeated. The name sounded completely unnatural coming from his lips.

Chuuya had heard tales of gods descending from Olympus to the mortal world, but in every story, they did so in complete disguise, passing themselves off as someone else. Yet the man standing before him seemed intent on leading Chuuya to realize the truth behind his true identity.

"I think you know who I am," the man said, "but out of courtesy, I’ll introduce myself—as an equal." He laughed mockingly, as though his own words were so absurd they were amusing. Chuuya could hardly argue—he was far from being equal to a god. "Poseidon."

Chuuya couldn’t utter a word. What was one of the most significant gods of Olympus doing here, of all places, in Athena’s temple, the domain of his eternal rival?

Before Chuuya could even begin to consider Poseidon’s next move, the god suddenly grasped his jaw in a strong grip, forcing Chuuya to look directly into his icy blue eyes.

His touch felt strange —both liquid and solid at once. As if someone had pressed a piece of ice, pulled from the deepest depths of the ocean, against Chuuya’s face and it started melting at the contact with his warm skin.

“Beautiful. One eye as clear as a mountain stream, the other brown like autumn's dead leaves,” Poseidon murmured, studying Chuuya’s face as if he were a critic examining a piece of art.

“I was… born like that,” Chuuya stammered, determined to keep his voice steady despite his whole body trembling in fear.

“And the hair,” Poseidon continued. “Burning like fire. So intense, so full of life. And your skin.”

Chuuya felt the god’s grip on his face tighten, while his other hand found Chuuya’s waist.

“It’s a shame no man or woman desired you before.”

“It was my choice,” Chuuya said, utterly frozen with fear yet desperate to defend himself from the false claim. “I chose to stay pure for Athena, for-.”

“For Athena,” Poseidon mocked. “There’s more to life than serving some useless god. There’s more, and I can show you that.”

“That’s not where my loyalty lies,” Chuuya said, striving to make his voice as steady as he could. "I don’t need more. My faith is enough for me."

"Faith? Has Athena ever revealed herself to you, as I stand here before you now?" Poseidon asked in a low voice.

"I don’t need her revelation. Faith speaks for itself," Chuuya raised his voice slightly. "It’s believing in something greater than myself, something that doesn’t require empty promises or words. That’s what I’m loyal to."

For a moment, Poseidon stared at him in silence, and then a mocking laugh escaped his lips.

"For a mortal, and such a young one at that, you have spirit," Poseidon said. "I want to see how long it will take to break it."

Chuuya felt his whole body ache as he lay curled up on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest, his entire body trembling from pain and quiet cries.

He remembered the silence. The temple had long been empty and dark, making his pitiful sobbing and cries were all the more audible.

He felt dirty. He felt humiliated. But most of all, he felt scared.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he somehow managed to force his body to roll onto his back. His half-open eyes wandered to the ceiling, the familiar white marble painted to resemble the night sky, filled with constellations created from white and pale blue paints.

When he was a child and first came to the temple, Kouyou had told him about those clusters of stars. She had pointed to each one in turn, naming them and explaining their meanings, as well as the roles they played in the real night sky. Chuuya had always thought they were beautiful.

Now, everything around him filled him only with disgust—the stars, the temple, the cold floor he lay on, the sound of his own breathing. But most of all, himself. He now had undeniable proof that he could be broken. And he was.

With a groan of pain, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, using his arms for support to keep from falling. He reached for his chiton lying beside him, wrapping it around himself as tightly as he could, covering every part of his tainted body as much as it was physically possible. At that moment, he couldn’t bear to even look at himself.

Enveloped in the soft fabric, he crawled to the statue of Athena, kneeling before it, as he had done thousands of times before in prayer. Slowly, he lifted his head, gasping for breath. The statue, as always, gazed forward with its usual, confident expression, bathed in the moonlight streaming through the columns.

He had come here for her. He needed her support, needed reassurance, needed to find comfort in his faith. Instead, he found himself abandoned by every strength that had once kept him going.

“Please,” He choked out, his voice coming out raspy, his lungs feeling like they had tightened. “Please, please, I didn’t want this to happen, forgive me, I-”

He grabbed the edge of the statue in desperation, his sobs breaking through his attempt to speak, his words turning into a fit of coughs.

“I really—”

“Don’t touch it.”

Instantly, he turned around, his hand slowly sliding off the statue as a firm, feminine voice echoed behind him.

Squeezing his eyes, he noticed a woman approaching him. She was neither his mother, Kouyou, nor any of the priestesses of the temple. And still, she felt familiar, as if he had seen her thousands of times before.

Terrified, Chuuya’s gaze darted back to the statue and then returned to the woman, a chilling realization settling over him.

The same piercing dark eyes, the same adorned robe, the same straight dark hair, the same golden diadem crowning her figure.

Was he hallucinating? Was this all just a dream? It all felt too abstract, too unreal to be anything else.

His body seemed to act on its own, without any consultation with his mind. He practically threw himself to his knees, his forehead hitting the cold marble floor with a resounding thud. Clenching his teeth, he held his breath. He couldn’t allow himself to show any more weakness. Not in front of her.

“Stand.”

He felt a hand that was both delicate and feminine yet simultaneously strong and unyielding grab his hair, forcing him into a standing position. He stumbled backward slightly but forced himself to meet her gaze.

She was beautiful. Athena was everything he had always imagined and more. It was to her that he had dedicated his life, in her beliefs he placed his faith—loyalty, justice, wisdom.

Through half-closed eyes, Chuuya could not—or perhaps did not want to—see the burning anger in the goddess’s gaze.

What he saw was a mother.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice coming out weaker than he had expected—and his expectations were already low enough.

“Forgiveness isn’t something that comes freely in this world, child,” Athena said, her melodic voice filling every inch of the temple. “Especially not for an act such as the one you’ve committed.”

“He forced me,” Chuuya said, feeling even more pathetic, almost like a child explaining themselves to their parents after getting into trouble. "I never wanted to—I’ve always been loyal only to you—"

“What a sin,” Athena sighed, twisting one of Chuuya’s fiery curls around her slim finger, tipped with a sharp, impeccably beautiful nail. “To commit it in my temple. On the eve of my festival. Are you proud of yourself, Chuuya?”

“No, of course not, I—”

He cried out in pain mid-sentence as the goddess suddenly ripped the strand of hair from his scalp, the lonely curl falling slowly to the floor.

“You were a promising follower, Chuuya. I always appreciated the flowers you brought me; the symbolism of your bouquets was always so thoughtful, even to the point of impressing me,” Athena continued, turning away and stepping back a few paces. “Such a shame you turned out this way.”

“Just tell me,” Chuuya’s breath hitched, the pain in his scalp stinging, but he was determined to keep going. “Tell me how I can atone. I’ll do anything.”

Athena turned over her shoulder, her gaze colder than the night air surrounding them.

“Atonement?” she echoed. “You think a sin like yours can be forgiven, forgotten with mere apologies? You defiled my sacred ground, Chuuya. You defiled it with sin, and you will answer for it.”

“Please,” Chuuya repeated once more. “I know I did wrong, but—”

“Enough.” Athena was suddenly before him again, almost gliding across the floor, her presence now more divine than ever. “For your transgression, you will be punished with a curse. Trust me, no man will ever lay his hands upon you again.”

Before Chuuya could respond, a searing pain pierced through his entire body. Every nerve seemed to burn, the pain in his head surpassing any migraine he had ever experienced by millions of times. The scream that escaped his lips reached his ears as if through a fog, as if it were heard from another room.

The only worse pain was in his soul. He felt as though, by involuntarily betraying the goddess, he had lost a part of himself—the part that made him who he was. Now he just felt hollow inside.

"Trust me," Athena's voice rang out through his screams. "No man will ever lay his hands upon you again."

And then the pain ceased. Silence. Only his heavy breaths and quiet sobs remained.

"Beautiful. Beauty can be defined in many ways, don’t you think, child?" Athena said mockingly, sliding her hand across Chuuya’s cheek down to his hair.

Or at least, where his hair should have been.

Maybe he was hallucinating from exhaustion, after all, there was only so much his mortal, young body could take. But he could swear, he suddenly stopped feeling the slightly longer part of his hair that usually fell on his left shoulder. And unless it was just a product of his imagination, he heard something near his ear, something which he could only compare to the hiss of a snake.

"Look," Athena commanded, directing his face toward the floor, the marble so polished that Chuuya could easily see his reflection in it.

His red hair, which he had always been proud of, a symbol of his identity, was no longer there. Instead, it had been replaced by living, moving crimson snakes, each one scarier and more foreign to him than the other. Each hiss of the creatures made Chuuya want to rip his ears off.

“What– have you–” Chuuya couldn’t even form the words, as his reflection stared back at him in terror, mirroring exactly his own.

Not only had his hair changed, but his eyes. Once a deep shade of blue and brown, they were now almost black, with red seeping into a few parts of his irises. His pupils seemed more constricted, almost like snake eyes.

"I made your appearance reflect the sin you committed," Athena explained, her voice suddenly calm, devoid of any emotion.

"I look like a monster," Chuuya said, clenching his fists, unable to look away from his reflection, and feeling the irresistible urge to smash the gleaming floor at the same time.

"You don't look like a monster," Athena replied, kneeling beside Chuuya, staring directly at the face of the devastated boy. "You are a monster, Chuuya."

Her words struck him almost as hard as the earlier wave of pain. What had he become? He couldn’t possibly show himself to his family, to his friends, not like this. To some extent, no—completely—he no longer even resembled a human. It would be stupid to live among people while being so different.

"I can't... go back home like this. How do I explain this—" he stammered, hiding his face in his hands. Even his skin suddenly seemed paler than ever, and his once-short nails had grown longer, now resembling more the claws of an animal.

"Oh, definitely not," Athena replied. "Because your external appearance is the least you should worry about, when it comes to your curse."

Chuuya shuddered, not only at the goddess's words but also at another snake-like hiss that echoed right by his ear.

"What... does this mean?"

"From now on," Athena began, "any living creature, whether animal or human, that you lock eyes with, will be turned to stone. You will never again be able to live among people. Condemnation to eternal loneliness is what awaits you as the consequence for the act you have committed."

Chuuya felt the world spinning around him. It sounded absurd. Turning people into lifeless statues? It seemed like something plucked straight out of a myth, a story he could overhear somewhere in town. This couldn't be reality.

This couldn't be his reality.

"You can't—" he began, but once again, his voice got caught up in his throat.

"Oh, but I can," Athena replied. Then she began to move away slowly, her figure seeming to glide into the temple's shadows, disappearing gradually into the darkness. "Now go, Chuuya. You are no longer welcomed here."

The sun was slowly rising over the horizon as Chuuya reached the base of the hill on which the temple stood. He squinted, staring at the town spread out before him, gradually coming to life under the warm rays of the morning sun reflecting off the rooftops. He might have heard the chirping of birds if not for the deafening, endless, and maddening hissing of snakes.

Far off in the distance, he could make out the outline of his home and the garden beside it—a place he had always loved and cherished above all else. Should he go back there? He had nowhere else to go. Maybe Athena had lied about his curse, only scared him into isolating himself from society.

And yet the thought that there might even be a sliver of truth to her words made him want to run far away, without looking back.

He wiped his eyes and face, clearing away the traces of tears still lingering there, and took a few steps forward. Each one felt like torture, torture for his mind, which didn’t know which direction to guide his body in.

Then, suddenly, he heard a scream behind him. A shrill, high-pitched, feminine voice.

Instinctively, he made a move that would later become one of his greatest regrets. The source of his nightmares, a memory that would keep him awake at night, each second of painful isolation stabbing at his chest.

He turned around.

For a split second, he saw the girl—he even recognized her as one of Athena’s temple priestesses. Though they had never spoken, he knew her by sight, and surely they had exchanged a few smiles and nods of acknowledgment.

Before he could blink, she stood before him as a stone statue.

He stumbled backward in horror, then immediately rushed toward the statue, tripping along the way and practically collapsing into the marble figure’s arms.

"No, no, no..."

Once full of life, her deep eyes now stared at him with an empty, gray gaze, an expression of terror forever etched onto her face. That single moment, captured in stone for eternity.

Chuuya bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. He wasn’t the victim here.

He got what he deserved.

After all, Athena hadn’t been bluffing. Oh, how foolish of him to think, even for a moment, that she might have been.

He ran his hand over the girl’s cold, frozen hair. In her stiff hands, she held a basket filled to the brim with various kinds of fruit and jewelry. She had probably intended to pay tribute to Athena in solitude, just before the start of the Panathenaea. Chuuya’s original plan had been similar—and for neither of them had it ended well.

He had to go. He couldn’t run into anyone more – just a mere picture in his mind of either his mother or Kouyou being turned into stone by his newfound curse made him want to throw up.

Chuuya ran until his lungs burned. The sun had risen long ago, its bright rays searing his face and scorching the patches of skin that his white chiton left uncovered.

He only stopped when the louder rush of the wind and the sound of waves crashing against rocks reached his ears. He must have found himself near the sea. The journey there usually took several hours, but it felt as if only minutes had passed. Had he really lost track of time so much?

Around him, sparse trees dotted the landscape, and the ground beneath his feet was a mixture of dirt and sand, confirming his suspicion that he was near the coast. He bent down and picked up a small shell he had spotted amidst the grains of sand. It was slightly rounded and gray in color.

He threw it away immediately, reminded of the gray hue of the statue he had turned the innocent girl into at the temple.

Following the sound of the waves, he eventually stumbled upon a beach. It was small and appeared to be rarely visited —after all, the surrounding area seemed uninhabited, and the last town he had passed was at least a few hours' walk away.

He raised his chiton slightly, carefully wrapping it around his shoulders while exposing his calves just enough to avoid soaking the fabric in the water, but still keeping it as low as possible. He was already ashamed enough of his body and had no intention of seeing more of it than it was absolutely necessary.

He stepped slowly into the sea, the cool, salty water immediately wrapping around his bare feet. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the sky. It was almost milky white, with only a few streaks of blue shyly peeking out from behind the omnipresent clouds. Perhaps his world was forever doomed to shades of white and gray.

His gaze drifted to the water’s surface, where his reflection, distorted by the rippling waves but undeniably real, stared back at him with a bitter expression.

With a heavy heart, he examined it more closely. The snakes emerging from his head writhed restlessly among each other, though a few lay still, occasionally hissing softly. They were all crimson red, with darker spiral-shaped markings along their scales. His eyes, now darker with streaks of red in the irises, expressed a deep, excruciating pain that he no longer even tried to conceal.

He took a few steps forward, but an uncomfortable shiver ran through his body, causing him to recoil violently and collapse once more onto the warm, sun-heated sand.

Instinctively, he had entered the ocean hoping to wash away his sin, to cleanse the stain that had been left on him forever by what had been done to him. He had forgotten that it was the god of the sea who had forever tainted his body with it.

He felt angry. He felt helpless. But most of all, betrayed.

Athena was the one to whom he had dedicated his entire life—the one for whom he would have given everything he had without a moment's hesitation. And yet, she was the one who decided to punish him for his own undeserved suffering.

He tried to push away all the negative thoughts, but the vision of eternal isolation, of never seeing his loved ones again—not his mother, not Kouyou, not even his friends from the town, Yumeno, Shirase, Yuan —it all filled him with an unimaginable, unbearable sorrow.

Chuuya walked along the shore, keeping a safe distance between himself and the point where the waves lapped at the sand. Until, in the distance, he spotted a hollow in one of the rock walls, partially hidden by trees, one that could resemble an entrance to a cave.

After a few minutes he managed to reach the place, and just as he had predicted, it turned out to be a small, dark cave. Despite the short distance to the sea, the interior was dry and cooler than the hot summer air that surrounded Chuuya everywhere outside.

Exhausted, he leaned against the rough, uneven stone wall, sliding down into a sitting position. He closed his eyes, his body suddenly feeling thousands of times heavier than five seconds before, unable to muster the strength even to stand.

Despair. Chuuya couldn’t think of a better word to describe what he felt—frustration, helplessness, regret—all of it seemed too insignificant, unable to capture the storm of emotions that raged within his mind.

Once again, his mind recreated the image of the girl whose life he had taken—there was no other words to put what he had done, there was no point in sugar coating his act, even if it was unintentional. Her stone face, forever etched with the terror she had felt upon seeing him.

With that image seared into his thoughts, he finally drifted into a restless, but welcomed sleep.

three weeks after the incident.

The wind rustled through the treetops as Chuuya sat on the ground with his knees drawn to his chin, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree, humming a melody his mother once used to sing him with the intention of lulling him to sleep.

The past few weeks had been harder for him than all the most difficult times of his life combined. All the troubles he had once found insurmountable seemed so mockingly insignificant compared to his current situation.

The cold, empty cave had become the closest thing to what he could call home. His mother’s cottage or the temple of Athena, where he had spent most of his life, his mind now associated only with suffering and alienation. He no longer felt as if he belonged there—no, he simply didn’t belong there anymore. It wasn’t his feeling, it was a fact.

The snakes permanently nestled on his head were a constant reminder of that. There had been moments of weakness, especially in the first few days, when Chuuya tried to forcibly tear the creatures from their place., but that ended only in skull-piercing pain, a few small bites on his hands, and an even greater sense of helplessness.

For the first three days, he ate nothing and drank only water from a stream he had found about half an hour’s walk away from his hideout. However, as time passed, his body began to demand food, and Chuuya mentally thanked the world for the knowledge his family had imparted to him about plants and their uses. He could easily distinguish edible, ripe berries from a lookalike species that could kill him in mere seconds.

Because of that, his supplies consisted mainly of plants—there weren’t many animals in the area, and even if he did encounter some, hunting them without accidentally making eye contact and turning them into lifeless stone statues presented a tremendous challenge. He had also considered fishing, but for a particular reason, he wasn’t ready to approach the sea at the distance as close as this activity would require.

Mornings were the worst—he always woke with terrible back pain from sleeping on the cold, rocky cave floor, which was nowhere near the comfort of the bed in his family home. But that was a trivial discomfort compared to the torment caused by his nightmares.

The images from that one day seemed determined to haunt him for the rest of his life. When he thought about it, he could hardly believe it had all happened so quickly. Just one day had been enough to turn his life upside down.

One day was enough to transform a man into a monster.

From the disgusting, enraging image of Poseidon, to Athena’s furious eyes and the clear disappointment he had become for her, to the wave of pain she inflicted as she turned him into what he was now, and finally to the memory of the girl turned to stone—these memories combined into countless sleepless nights and even more shed tears.

The days passed painfully slowly, with nothing to do in complete isolation and loneliness. Chuuya tried to focus on the small amusements he could provide for himself—one of them being none other than flower collecting.

Though the area didn’t offer as wide a variety of colorful flora as the one he had once lived in, he still managed to find a few familiar species. Violets, hyacinths, irises, chamomiles, and even a few anemones soon adorned the area around his cave, as Chuuya carefully transplanted each plant one by one with great care.

“Good thing you all don’t have eyes,” Chuuya muttered to himself, patting down the soil around another flower. “It’d be weird seeing a violet in gray.”

He had always heard that talking to yourself was a sign of going insane. Ironically, it felt like one of the few things keeping him sane in his sentence of eternal solitude.

He even tried talking to the snakes on his head—after a prolonged few minutes of staring at his reflection in a pool of water, he counted nine of them. Though they never gave him any meaningful responses, he tried to find comfort rather than revulsion in their quiet hisses.

It didn’t always work, especially when he would wake up once again drenched in sweat, his dreams making him relive the night Athena had cursed him all over again. But he tried.

Most of his time, however, he spent praying. What surprised Chuuya when he knelt down to pray for the first time, was the sudden reaction of the snakes on his head when he began whispering words of devotion to Athena—the creatures started writhing and hissing, as if in outrage or anger. He ignored them and continued his prayer.

He asked only for forgiveness. Nothing more—he didn’t ask for food when his stomach twisted in hunger, nor for companionship when he felt he was losing his mind from loneliness. Forgiveness was all he needed. With it, everything else would follow.

At the same time, he hated himself for how devoted to Athena he still was. The goddess had betrayed him—punished him for someone else’s sin despite the life he had dedicated to her. Yet still, Chuuya found himself kneeling every night, his knees scraped raw against the stone floor of the cave, his vocal cords aching from hours of spoken pleas.

No one, however, seemed to hear him. No one wanted to hear him.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks into months.

Slowly but inevitably, winter arrived—and although the area that Chuuya stayed in spared him from freezing temperatures or snowstorms, the season made itself known in countless ways. His chiton was far from the warmest clothes he could have wished for, but he had managed to weave a light cloak that at least provided a bit of additional warmth. The fruits he had lived on throughout the summer were no longer readily available on every tree and bush within sight, forcing him to ration his portions carefully.

Leaning against the wall, Chuuya sat in the cave that had served as his home for the past few months. Though it was still far from the blissful atmosphere that his family house had once provided, the place no longer felt as empty as it had at first. Supplies and tools he had managed to gather were neatly arranged along the corners and walls. The cave's surfaces were adorned with charcoal drawings and patches of dried flowers glued in place with resin.

Chuuya was in the process of sharpening something that, with a stretch of imagination, could be called a weapon—it was a stone, unnaturally sharp, shaped almost like a dagger. Chuuya had learned not to underestimate things like that - with a bit of skill and luck, a wound caused by the item could even be deadly.

He remembered clearly when he had found it a few weeks earlier—picking it up from the ground and, almost reflexively, pulling aside the fabric on his chest slightly, pressing the sharp tip to his sternum while taking a deep breath. Not even ten seconds passed before he threw the dagger-like tool into his pocket, turned around, and walked away without looking back.

Of course, things were bad. But he hadn’t gone mad enough yet to commit suicide over something as foolish as snakes instead of hair or a petrifying gaze.

He turned his gaze away from his work toward the cave entrance when he heard a muffled noise outside. The snakes on his head instantly began writhing and hissing, as if they were sensing danger.

"Calm down," Chuuya muttered, standing up slowly, the dagger in his hand ready.

He moved toward the entrance, the sounds growing louder and clearer with each step. Footsteps. At first, Chuuya wasn’t surprised—animals weren’t anything uncommon in the area—but then he heard something that made him freeze.

“It should be somewhere around here, right?”

A human voice.

Something that had once been part of his everyday life, a sound he had taken for granted, and now something utterly inaccessible to him, no matter how deeply he longed for it. Once again, the crushing weight of his eternal solitude struck him with the same force it had on the first day of his curse.

His nails dug into the rocky wall of the cave as he stood just before the entrance, torn between staying hidden and leaning out, just a little, to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner. Before he could decide, however, the snakes on his head all began hissing in unison, so loudly that he could barely hear his own thoughts.

“Shut up!” Chuuya whisper-yelled, trying in vain to calm the creatures with his hands.

The footsteps abruptly stopped, only to resume again—louder, faster, and unmistakably heading toward his location.

He had nothing left to lose. Whoever these intruders were, they already knew where he was. With firm steps, he strode out of the safety of his familiar cave, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

He saw them immediately, two men —though only out of the corner of his eye, as he was careful not to meet their gaze. The glint of golden armor caught his attention, along with the pristine, gleaming blade of a sword. For a fleeting moment, in the reflective surface of the weapon, Chuuya caught a glimpse of his own, despised by him reflection.

"I think we've found what we were looking for," one of them said in a low voice, and then two swords simultaneously rose into the air, ready to strike.

"What a monster," added the second, "Prepare yourself to leave this world."

Chuuya just scoffed. Of course, he wasn’t seen as human by these two. He hadn’t been human for a long time now.

"I suggest you leave, now," he said calmly.

Both men sneered, and one of them spat on the floor.

"You think we searched for this long just to say hello?" the first one mocked. "We won’t let such a creature live in this world."

"You searched?" Chuuya repeated quietly.

Why would anyone search for him? He could picture a scenario where his mother would go from house to house after his disappearance, asking about him, desperately searching for her youngest son. He would lie if he said he never imagined it, or that he didn’t hope he was important enough for that to happen.

But that was about the old version of him. The human version of him. These people were clearly searching for the monster, the monster he was now. But why? He hadn’t left any traces, none except for the petrified priestess, whose terrified face still haunted his dreams. But that had been months ago—so why now?

You thought it was going to be that easy?

Chuuya’s breath hitched as he suddenly heard the familiar, cold voice in his head.

Of course, she couldn’t leave him in peace. The gods were powerful, but they were also petty and bored, and Athena was no exception. And bored gods liked to return to old matters and conflicts.

I promised you that no man would ever touch you again, if you only made proper use of your gift. But I never promised that no one would try. They will always try to hurt you, Chuuya .

With an empty gaze, Chuuya stared at two once proud warriors, standing before him frozen forever in time, immobilized in cold marble, like two guardians of the place that he was now forced to call home.

 two years after the incident.

As time passed, the visits from stubborn warriors who had taken it upon themselves to slay the monster that Chuuya had become did not cease—every so often, naive adventurers eager to complete this foolish and impossible mission would appear at his place.

Athena must have spread the rumor about his curse; that much was certain. She had admitted it herself, speaking to him that one single time – apart from the fateful night in her temple.

However, he couldn’t deny the fact that the weapon she had put into his eyes wasn’t one to be easily conquered. It was as much of a curse as a blessing.

Soon, a small collection of stone statues had gathered in front of Chuuya's home, a total of nine. Every encounter played out the same way: a fleeting moment where Chuuya could catch a spark in his opponent's eyes before it extinguished forever, fated for eternity in a marble shell.

With each confrontation, the guilt grew smaller.

After all, he was only defending himself. He hadn’t asked for this fate.

The second summer of his exile arrived, and Chuuya began spending more time in his garden and outdoors. He tended to the flowers he had managed to grow—plants were the only living things he could be around without risking turning them to stone. He also learned to extract paint from a mixture of colorful flowers and water.

He painted the statues.

No matter how strange it might seem—not that there was anyone to judge him—it brought him peace. Even though they were petrified versions of people who had tried to kill him, painting the vibrant colors of their irises, the sunlight-catching gloss of their hair, or the blush on their cheeks gave him a sense of tranquility and control. Perhaps he was trying to salvage the lives he had doomed with his own hands.

It was midday when Chuuya, intending to water his garden, realized that he had run out of water. He grabbed a clay vase and headed toward the nearby stream. After two years, he knew the area by heart—the forest, the stream, the spots where animals usually wandered.

And the sea. But that was a place he hadn’t dared to return to.

He crouched by the stream, slowly filling the vessel with water while keeping his eyes fixed on the clouds. He always tried to either look at the sky or directly at his feet—a habit he had developed after accidentally locking eyes with a few animals in the forest. Their statues, he painted with even greater care—those were testaments to the innocent lives he had taken.

Once the vase was full, he stood up slowly. The sun was blazing with its full summer force. He was just about to head back to his hideout—or as much as a place surrounded by a garden and nine stone statues could still be called that—when he suddenly heard a crack behind him.

He didn’t turn around immediately. The instinct to react to any noise in that way had long been forgotten and abandoned by his body. With his gaze fixed on the ground, he slightly tilted his head to catch a glimpse of the source of the noise from the corner of his eye.

Unfortunately, the curse hadn’t sharpened his eyesight. All he could make out was a blurry white-and-brown shape several meters away. Yet the height, the silhouette, and the fact that the figure was moving made it clear—it was a person.

Damn it. It had been a while since Chuuya had any visitors, and he wasn’t looking forward to another one.

He quickly got to his feet and started circling back the way he came. However, the stranger must have seen him because Chuuya soon heard a melodious, male voice echoing in the air.

“Oh! Is someone there?”

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What kind of question was that? He bit his lip nervously as he saw the figure, still visible only from the corner of his eye, clearly beginning to walk toward him. Chuuya himself was never particularly skilled at sneaking or hiding, so he didn’t even bother trying it. He could start running, of course, but then he’d spill all the water he’d just collected— that would be annoying. So, he quickly pulled his hood over his head, hoping to hide the most striking, monstrous aspect of his appearance.

When he heard footsteps right next to him, he shielded his eyes with his free hand, peeking out cautiously from between his fingers. He managed to make out the stranger’s lean, tall frame, draped in a white chiton with blue fabric at the waist and arms almost entirely wrapped in linen cloth. That alone set him apart from the other visitors Chuuya had encountered.

He didn’t look like a warrior.

The snakes on Chuuya’s head went into a frenzy as soon as the stranger got close, hissing and writhing dangerously.

“Quiet!” Chuuya snapped, pulling the hood further down.

“Whoa! Is that... thing on your shoulder? Or should I say those things...?” the stranger said curiously.

His voice was masculine yet boyish, as if the inner child of an adult man lay just beneath the surface. Confident yet innocently sweet, like honey on a bright morning, and melodious, as if made for singing songs.

“What?” Chuuya replied dumbly, not bothering to make sense of the question. “What are you doing here? This is a pretty remote place, you know.”

“I was walking along the coast,” Chuuya saw the stranger’s shoulders lift in a casual shrug, yet his gaze did not dare to venture higher than the man’s neck. “Then I sort of... accidentally wandered off course. It just happened.”

“‘Sort of’?” Chuuya said. “We’re a good fifteen minutes away from the coast.”

“Oh. That’s a shame,” the stranger muttered, visibly disheartened. “You can still hear the waves from here.”

Chuuya perked up his ears. All he could hear was the faint murmur of the stream and quiet rustles of wind.

“No, you can’t.”

“Well,” the stranger laughed, “I’ve always heard a little more than others. Oh, and my name’s Dazai,” he added.

Dazai. Chuuya couldn’t remember the last time someone introduced themselves to him in such a casual way. No shouting, no death threats—God, Dazai had even laughed a moment ago.

“Well, my name is Chuuya. I—”

Before he could finish, the snakes on his head began hissing even louder, almost drowning out his voice. No matter how much he tried to coexist with them, at this moment, he just wished they would simply disappear.

He didn’t have time to react before two of the creatures shot out from under his hood at lightning speed, heading straight for Dazai, hissing in warning.

“Shit, I’m sorry, they—”

He didn’t finish, suddenly feeling a sudden, long ago forgotten warmth of a hand. Dazai started stroking one of the snakes, almost in a way that he would pet a stray cat, and to Chuuya’s surprise, the animal didn’t seem to mind. The creature even leaned into the touch, as if quietly seeking more.

It was an odd sensation—Chuuya couldn’t pinpoint exactly where, but he could feel Dazai’s touch. After all, he and the snakes were forever connected.

“They seem well-behaved,” Dazai laughed again. His hand glided over the snake’s skin until it finally reached Chuuya’s face, brushing against his cheek and jaw.

Memories dared to flood Chuuya’s mind and his first instinct was to immediately push Dazai’s hand away, but the moment he grabbed it with his own, Dazai lifted his chin, forcing Chuuya to look up.

“No—!”

The word caught in Chuuya’s throat, time seeming to freeze. In the moment he let his guard down and raised his gaze, he had already braced himself for what was to come—to see the lively, deep eyes, glowing at him for a fleeting moment before turning into their lifeless, stone version.

But that didn’t happen.

With Dazai’s hand still on his chin, Chuuya saw something of incomparable beauty, something he would never be able to liken to anything else for the rest of his life. Milky-white irises, practically blending into the whites of his eyes, gazed at him softly, and the smile playing on Dazai’s lips seemed almost visible in his pale pupils.

Dazai's skin was pale, but that didn’t detract from his overall appearance—it only added contrast to his dark, chocolate-brown hair framing his face on both sides. In some places, the strands seemed almost golden, catching the light just in the rightest way.

“You– You’re blind,” Chuuya choked out. It probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing to say, but he couldn’t muster anything else. Dazai stood here before him, looking him straight in the eyes, alive. It was something Chuuya had never expected to experience again in his lifetime.

“You just realized?” Dazai asked, genuinely surprised. “You’re kind of slow. Like a slug.”

Chuuya huffed in offense, finally snapping back to reality and yanking Dazai’s hand away from his chin, taking a few steps back. His gaze, however, remained fixed on Dazai’s unresponsive yet breathtaking eyes.

“I wasn’t paying attention!” Chuuya raised his voice slightly.

“Yeah, sure, let’s say you weren’t,” Dazai replied. “By the way, sorry about the face-touching thing. It’s how I remember people—apart from their voices, you know.”

“It’s fine,” Chuuya said, though it wasn’t entirely true. Dazai’s touch didn’t remind him of his touch in the slightest, yet still, Chuuya wasn’t particularly fond of feeling someone’s hands on him. The memory lingered, showing itself in his reactions, in the guarded aura he carried. He hated how much that incident had shaped who he was, but what happened, happened. He chose not to dwell on it too much.

“So, as I said, I was walking along the shore and kind of got lost,” Dazai admitted again, his hand wandering up to rake through his brown curls, which fluttered in the breeze. “Maybe you could guide me back?”

“What do you need from the sea?” Chuuya asked, his voice coming out more accusatory than he intended. He had no desire to go anywhere near the water.

“Well, I thought about drowning myself,” Dazai replied as if it were the most normal thing to say. “Or maybe I’d get lucky and find one of those jellyfish that kills you in seconds. Hey, by any chance, are your snakes venomous?”

“What the hell are you rambling about?” Chuuya scoffed in disbelief. And to think he’d considered himself the insane one here.

"That was a joke," Dazai said matter-of-factly.

Weird sense of humor , Chuuya thought.

"I tried drowning once, but it wasn't very pleasant. And you know, I recently had this thought—suicide alone is so, so boring. Wouldn’t it be better to die with someone by your side?" Dazai asked, clearly engaged in the discussion he had initiated himself.

Chuuya definitely didn’t get the point of Dazai’s joke.

"Mhm. You’re crazy," Chuuya muttered. Just his luck, that the one person he could safely be around turned out to be an insane suicide fanatic.

"I’ve been called worse," Dazai chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Do you live nearby?" Chuuya asked, even though he already knew the answer would be no. If Dazai lived anywhere close, Chuuya would have known—they would have run into each other at some point over the last two years. Besides, there were no towns in the area—only an endless forest and the coastline stretching for hours.

"No," Dazai shook his head. "Is it noon?" he asked, tilting his face upward toward the sky, his unseeing eyes seemingly trying to catch the light and sense the sun’s position in the infinite blue expanse.

Chuuya did the same. Dazai’s intuition proved to be surprisingly accurate—the sun was indeed at its zenith.

"Yes," Chuuya replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I left home at sunrise and have been walking straight ahead ever since. That should give you a general idea of how far I used to live."

Chuuya hadn’t expected that. What would drive someone to undertake such a journey? Why did Dazai speak as if he’d left his hometown behind for a definitely longer period of time than just a few days trip? Millions of questions filled Chuuya’s mind, and he didn’t even know which one to ask first.

"Used to live? So where do you live now?"

"Uh, good question." Dazai scratched his chin, mimicking a thoughtful gesture. "Maybe at your place?"

Chuuya nearly laughed at those words, and even more at how nonchalantly they rolled off Dazai’s tongue.

"Yeah, quit the act. I'm serious."

"Well, nowhere then. I kind of... how do you say it nowadays? Ran away from home this morning. So I don’t particularly have anywhere to go." Dazai shrugged.

"Ran away? Why the hell would you do that?" Chuuya said, almost offensively.

"Had my reasons."

The words suddenly sounded distant, and it was painfully clear that Dazai didn’t want to elaborate. Chuuya fixed his gaze on the ground, biting his lip.

A wave of non-physical pain coursed through his body. Ironic, how their situations—though he knew so little about Dazai’s—seemed to contrast so starkly. Dazai, voluntarily leaving his family home behind, and Chuuya, who would give anything just to return to his own, even for a minute, for a second.

Well, one can’t have everything in life.

"Come on, I’ll lead the way. Don’t slow me down."

Chapter Text

The path to Chuuya's shelter wasn’t long, but it was certainly prolonged by a few minutes due to Chuuya glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, ensuring that Dazai was still following him and hadn’t accidentally bumped into a tree or any of the other obstacles the forest surrounding them had to offer. It would probably have been easier to guide the blind man by the hand, but that kind of physical contact, even for those few minutes, was something Chuuya definitely wasn’t ready for. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

As they neared the entrance, Chuuya turned to look back. Dazai had stopped by one of the statues—a warrior, frozen in stone, one of the many who, like those before and after him, had come with the intention of defeating the monster Chuuya had become. Dazai’s slim hands were tracing the shapes of the sculpture’s stone face, which had already been painted by Chuuya long ago. The pale hair and golden armor of the fallen man gleamed vividly in the midday sun, around the statue's neck hung a garland of dried purple hyacinths.

"This feels pretty," Dazai remarked. "Seems like you’re quite talented."

"Talented?" Chuuya asked, not fully understanding what Dazai meant. It wasn’t like he could see the colours that Chuuya had put on the once gray statue.

"You’re a sculptor, aren’t you? Or is this someone else’s work?"

Oh. If only Dazai knew the true story behind the existence of those marble statues.

"No," Chuuya denied. "I’m not a sculptor."

"Ah, so it’s not your doing." Dazai sighed.

"It is," Chuuya blurted out. God damn it. He was only making this conversation more and more complicated.

"How come?" Dazai asked, visibly intrigued, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"It's a long story. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Trust me, I've experienced enough in this world to believe the unbelievable. And I think we have all the time in the world, Chuuya. I'm not planning on going anywhere," he said, his smile growing wider.

"That I can see," Chuuya huffed, lightly kicking Dazai's leg as a signal for him to keep walking.

He lifted the floral vines hanging at the entrance to the cave, which served as a makeshift barrier against the wind on colder days and added a touch of aesthetic to the surroundings. Dazai followed closely behind, squinting as his face brushed directly into the green foliage.

"You could’ve warned me," he complained, his voice echoing distinctly off the stone walls.

"Don’t be dramatic," Chuuya muttered, setting down a vase filled with water that he had been carrying in a corner of the room. "Anyway, this is what I call home. It’s not really big and definitely not the most comfortable place, but considering I’m letting you stay here for free, you shouldn’t complain."

Chuuya watched in silence for a moment as Dazai ran his slender hand along the walls, likely trying to feel and visualize his new surroundings as best as he could.

“There’s not much in here,” said Chuuya, partly to break the silence between them and partly to assist Dazai in imagining his surroundings. “Mostly supplies, some fruits and water stored against the wall, a few paints. There’s something I call a bed, just some fabric and feathers I managed to gather. Uh, the walls are painted and carved with patterns in some places.” Chuuya tried to describe everything his eyes could capture.

“Cozy,” Dazai commented with a smile. “I like the smell. It reminds me of a meadow I used to visit as a child. There were tons of flowers, and I’d always come back stung by bees.”

“They don’t sting unless provoked,” Chuuya said.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly see where I was going. Might’ve accidentally stepped on one or two,” joked Dazai, continuing to trace with his fingers along the curved wall, his slim hand still attempting to gather as much information as it could from the cold stone.

“Let that be your excuse,” Chuuya huffed. “But yeah, there are a lot of flowers here. And in the garden outside, we passed through it. My mother was a florist. I… guess I got that from her,” Chuuya added, cutting himself off before too much slipped from his lips.

Dazai’s hand stopped suddenly when it encountered a distinct section of the stone wall, etched with hundreds of small, carefully carved vertical lines arranged in rows. Chuuya treated it as his calendar—since he’d been cursed and exiled to live in solitude, and the cave had become his new home, he’d marked each passing day with a small line on the wall.

“What’s that?” Dazai asked, his fingers gliding from one groove to the next.

“It’s so I don’t lose track of time,” Chuuya explained. “Each mark means one day.”

“That’s a lot of days here, then,” Dazai murmured.

Definitely too many .

“It is what it is.”

“Counting from any specific moment?” Dazai asked. The question might have seemed casual, but there was a weird hint of seriousness in it the tone.

Chuuya was starting to hate how perceptive this man was, even without his sight.

“Since I left my hometown,” he replied, trying his best to sound indifferent. But his voice still carried a hint of sorrow—an undertone he couldn’t shake and likely never would.

“You don’t sound like that was something you did willingly,” Dazai observed.

"Not everyone here is some foolish runaway," Chuuya retorted, his words coming out harsher than he intended.

Dazai’s hand stopped, but his lips remained in a faint, quiet smile. Yet in his milky-white eyes, Chuuya could see something that could resemble nostalgia—or perhaps even regret.

"Ouch. I'm hurt," Dazai replied sarcastically after a moment. Chuuya noticed that it took him a second longer to come up with the retort than it had before.

One of the snakes on Chuuya’s head hissed loudly, making him raise a hand to calm the creature down.

"You take those things everywhere with you?" Dazai asked, his hands finally leaving the wall and crossing over his chest.

"You could say that."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It’s part of a story you wouldn’t believe," Chuuya shrugged. "Water?" he asked, taking out a small clay bowl and pouring some of the liquid from a larger vase.

"Wouldn’t hurt," Dazai replied.

Chuuya raised the small vessel to his lips, taking a few sips before handing it to Dazai. For a moment, their hands brushed against each other, the coldness of Dazai’s skin meeting Chuuya’s warm palm and making him immediately retreat his hand.

They sat on the stone floor of the cave, occasionally passing the bowl back and forth. There was so much to say, so many questions to ask, yet Chuuya found himself not wanting to break the silence, at least for a short while. Just to let that moment of peace, even if only illusionary, last for a bit longer.

For the first time in two years, silence felt comfortable.

"So, you live here alone?" Dazai prompted after a few minutes, handing Chuuya the now nearly empty bowl.

"Yeah," Chuuya said, his voice carrying a faint trace of melancholy. "I told you, it’s not exactly a well-traveled area."

"Oh yeah," Dazai agreed. "There are rumors, though—about only one creature living around here. A monster with snakes as its symbol and the power to turn people to stone at will."

The sound of shattering echoed through the cave as the clay bowl slipped from Chuuya’s hands, breaking into dozens of tiny fragments. The crash felt louder than it should have, shards of glass spinning for a moment before falling flat on the floor, welcoming back the now uneasy silence.

"So you knew," Chuuya said quietly, his voice barely more than a hiss. He stood up instinctively, towering over Dazai, who remained as calm as he had been moments earlier.

Of course. How could he have been so foolish? Another trap. Another cruel joke disguised as someone who might fill the emptiness in his heart—the void left by the absence of his family, his friends, his home. Another mockery of his curse. Another blow to his already shattered trust.

Chuuya pulled a dagger from his pocket, pointing it straight at Dazai. The whistle of the blade slicing through the air was surely impossible for the blind man’s heightened hearing to miss.

"How I hate when people jump to conclusions," Dazai sighed, sounding entirely unbothered by the weapon aimed at him.

"Get out of here before I slit your throat," Chuuya said, his voice shaky. Every ounce of his being strained to keep his voice from trembling, but the fury and disbelief were heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Sure, I can leave and let you rot here by yourself for a few more years," Dazai said nonchalantly. "Or you could listen to me."

"I don’t give a damn about what you have to say!" Chuuya yelled. "You heard about me from who knows where, came here with some hero complex to slay me, pretended to be an ally, and now think you’ve got it all figured out. You’re just like every other one before you." His voice cracked slightly at the end.

"I’ll agree with the first part," Dazai said, "but I’m not a liar, Chuuya. At least, not right now. I did run away from home, and yes, I did intend to find you."

"How do people even—"

"Know about you? Our beloved Athena isn’t exactly known for keeping her mouth shut, Chuuya. She spread the rumor about you months ago."

Chuuya felt his hand holding the dagger begin to shake with rage and helplessness. He had long accepted that the goddess, even after cursing him, wouldn’t make his life simple or easy—but Dazai’s words were a painful confirmation of that reality.

"Although," Dazai continued, "I think she was wrong about one thing. I’m starting to doubt if there was ever any monster to begin with."

"You’re pathetic," Chuuya hissed. "What is this, some weak attempt at comforting me? You don’t know what I’ve done. You have no right to assume who I am or who I’m not!"

"I'm not assuming anything, I'm just observing," Dazai shrugged. "But you know, the more you try to convince yourself you’re a monster, the more likely you are to become one."

"Spare me the shitty advice," Chuuya retorted.

Chuuya had never been good at understanding his own emotions. But now, the conflict between throwing Dazai far beyond his threshold and the absolute, horrifying yearning for the simple presence of another person was almost unbearable.

“If you're not here to kill me.” Chuuya said, clenching his fists. “Then why? Curiosity? Boredom? If it's any of that, you're pathetic.”

"Partially, it probably is," Dazai admitted. "Both of those are human traits one can easily rid themselves of, even if one no longer considers themselves human."

"Partially," Chuuya repeated, silently urging Dazai to reveal more.

"Well, the main reason was quite the literal opposite. I didn’t come to kill you; I came because I wanted you to kill me."

Chuuya's eyes widened. At this point, such a response from Dazai shouldn’t have surprised him—the blind man had hinted at his suicidal tendencies more than once, yet, it still didn’t make sense to Chuuya. Why would Dazai go through all the trouble of traveling here, following a mere rumor about a monster who might not even exist, when there were so many more accessible ways to end his life?

"I don’t like pain," Dazai continued before Chuuya could even form a reply, "So, I’ve been searching for the most painless way to go. Turning into a beautiful marble statue in a span of a second seems like a good idea, don’t you think?" he paused for a moment, resting his cheek on his palm, his expression turning contemplative, melancholic almost. “However, our dear Athena forgot to mention that it only happens through sight. And, well, uhm. That’s not exactly my strong suit. So, the offer is off the table now."

"That’s not even an offer," Chuuya snapped. "You just wanted something, with nothing to give in return."

“That’s a small detail,” Dazai replied casually.

“So what?” Chuuya shot back, the realization that Dazai no longer needed him suddenly hitting him. “You don’t want anything from me. Are you going back to wherever you came from?”

“I didn’t particularly plan on it, no,” Dazai replied, his expression suddenly somber.

“Why? I’m no use to you,” Chuuya scoffed, glad that Dazai couldn’t see how his muscles instantly tensed at the mere thought of being alone again.

“Not everything has to be about benefit, Chuuya.”

“Cut the bullshit. You just don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?”

Dazai gave a weak smile, leaning back against the cold rock of the cave, blinking for a second longer than necessary. He didn’t reply. The silence was enough of an answer.

Chuuya sighed, crossing his arms as he sat on the opposite side of the cave, putting the dagger beside him, but within reach, as his eyes scanned over Dazai’s figure. The blind man’s unseeing eyes stared blankly ahead, and a soft melody of gentle humming began to escape his lips.

Though it wasn’t obvious to the naked eye, the truth was that both of them needed something from each other. For Chuuya, it was as simple as the basic human need for companionship—no matter how unbearable and annoying that companion might be. It was something he had yearned for every day over the past two years. Dazai’s motivation was a mystery, but it was more than clear that, for some reason, he didn’t want to return to his hometown. Chuuya promised himself he’d get the reason out of him, no matter what.

“And what? Just because you’re a suicidal, damn mess, you think— you think you have the right to step into someone else’s life and make it their problem?” Chuuya clenched his fist. It wasn’t just anger anymore; it was something deeper, something he had been pushing back into the darkest corners of his mind for far too long now, threatening to finally surface.

“I don’t think I do,” Dazai replied calmly. “But you can give it to me. Or not. It’s your choice.”

“Don’t pity me, Dazai!” Chuuya snapped. “What are you, some insecure fool with the intention of fixing everyone you—”

“I’m not even sure if I can be fixed myself,” Dazai interrupted. “And sure as hell, I’m not intending on fixing you. There’s no point in changing something that’s not broken.”

Chuuya had never in his life felt so confused. Hurt? Of course. Angry? More times than he could count. But never so torn between what seemed right and rational, and what was wanted by his…

Heart? No. Something as sophisticated as that wouldn’t suit him.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice echoing against the cave walls. “Stay for today, then I’ll think. I don’t care, as long as you’re not a complete burden.”

Dazai’s milky-white eyes shifted toward Chuuya. Though slightly off-target, it was clear the blind man was doing his best to locate Chuuya’s face by sound.

“See? I knew we’d get along.”

A quiet, bitter chuckle escaped Chuuya’s lips.

“Yeah. As if.”

The first day after meeting Dazai seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, faster than any minute had ever felt for the past two years.

Dazai was the kind of person who physically could not shut up. They had spent the entire day either sitting in the cave or wandering around Chuuya’s garden, and Chuuya was genuinely amazed that Dazai’s throat wasn’t sore yet.

Especially with all the questions.

"Where did you live before?"

"Did you plant all these flowers yourself?"

"Who are the people in the statues?"

"Has anyone else ever lived with you here before me?"

Chuuya answered maybe half of them. At best.

But his guard was still up—it had become instinctual at this point. At this point, trying to lower it would take more effort than constantly staying on high alert, which had become a default for him. Especially now, around his strange, new companion.

There was something about Dazai that Chuuya just couldn’t place. Maybe it was because he hadn’t spoken to another human being in two years. Maybe. But deep down, Chuuya knew it wasn’t just that.

Between the jokes, the stupid questions, the sarcastic comments—beneath the charming, playful facade—there was something unsettling about Dazai. Like another person was hiding underneath, buried deep beneath this carefully constructed persona.

Chuuya had learned to expect the worst from people. It was easier that way—no matter how promising or alluring the surface might seem. And he promised himself, was going to see through Dazai. But for now, with the other’s intentions unclear, he had to be careful.

Dazai’s blindness was more than obvious. The guy had bumped into more things than Chuuya could count, wandered in the wrong direction, or lost track of Chuuya entirely whenever he got a few meters too far. But with trust as shattered as Chuuya’s, he was skeptical—paranoid, even—enough to question the other’s disability.

As they sat in the cave facing each other, Chuuya quietly lifted his hand and held it just millimeters from Dazai’s nose, expecting a blink, a flinch—some kind of reaction.

He got nothing.

Instead, Dazai smirked.

"I really am blind. I lie a lot, but that is, very unfortunately, true."

Chuuya immediately pulled his hand back, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks. If Dazai really couldn’t see, then how the hell...?

"Then how did you—see? Well, feel—" He struggled to find the right words.

"Warmth." Dazai said simply. "Your hand is warm, and I could feel the heat radiating onto my face. When you lose one sense, the others tend to sharpen."

Chuuya nodded, forgetting for a moment that was a reaction Dazai could not quite grasp.

"I see," he quickly said instead, the words slipping out before he could even think. Amazing work, Chuuya. You’re doing great.

Dazai just chuckled, lifting a hand to his lips as a smile found its way onto his face, his eyes squinting slightly.

"Well, yeah, you do," He laughed.

"Oh, shut it,” Chuuya muttered, standing up. “I’ll go put out the fire. Don’t want us burning to death overnight.”

Dazai feigned deep thought, placing a hand on his chin. 

“Yeah, fair. That would be too painful. But at least we’d burn together, right? A double suicide, Chuuya! Isn’t that a great idea?” His milky-white eyes seemed to brighten slightly.

Chuuya just scoffed, unsure whether to laugh or be genuinely concerned. This guy was something else.

“How are you even still alive?”

“Told you, I just haven’t found the right way yet.”

“Well, with how you bump into everything and how utterly helpless you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if you died even without meaning to,” Chuuya retorted.

"But I want to, and I can’t," Dazai pouted.

"Yeah, go cry about it."

"I will!" Dazai's yell managed to reach Chuuya's ears just before he stepped out of the cave, grabbing a bucket of water on his way.

The flames from the fire, which they had earlier used to heat water for herbal tea—over the past few months Chuuya’s usual drink for both warm and chilly evenings—had already started to die down on their own. It only took a small splash of water for the fire to fully extinguish with a sharp hiss, leaving behind a wisp of smoke and a pile of charred wood and dry twigs.

He looked into the dying flames, watching the sparks rise into the warm summer air, reflecting in his eyes. One of the snakes, Lavender, gently wrapped itself around his neck, nuzzling its small head into his skin. Chuuya stroked it lightly, letting out a sigh.

“What the hell should I do?” he whispered, his voice so quiet that not even Dazai’s sharp hearing could pick it up from inside the cave.

The snakes only hissed in unison—at least, the ones that were still awake. A few had already dozed off. Chuuya smiled when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Plumeria and Lotus tangled together, almost like two people holding each other. He wished he could ever feel that again without disgust creeping in—a wish that seemed unlikely to ever come true.

He glanced over his shoulder at the entrance of the cave, where Dazai still was. What if he was just now stealing Chuuya’s supplies? Or setting up a trap, waiting to strike the moment Chuuya returned? What if—

He shook his head, pressing a palm to his forehead and looking up at the stars. How did it come to this?

It felt like his trust had shattered that day on the temple floor, crushed underfoot and scattered into a million pieces. And the thought that he might never, ever be able to rebuild it terrified him.

He could chase Dazai away. That would be the easy choice. Just like that, everything would go back to how it was yesterday—and every day before that for the past two years. One day wasn’t enough to get attached, right? He’d fall back into his old routine in a matter of hours.

Or, he could choose the risk. He could let Dazai stay. He could defy whatever the gods had planned for him. He could push down his internal conflict and tangled emotions even further and just… see.

He didn’t know which option was worse .

He stared blankly ahead at the trees, shrouded in darkness, stretching endlessly before him, as if the answer would suddenly appear out of nowhere, magically revealing itself in golden, glowing letters, spelling out words of wisdom.

To no one's surprise, nothing happened.

With a sigh, he lowered his gaze, kicking a few stones out of his path as he made his way back to the cave, pushing aside the vines that covered the entrance.

He was going to kick Dazai out. The man's presence could bring nothing but trouble, so it was better to do it now rather than later. After all, it was the gods' will for Chuuya to be alone, and he knew better than anyone that he wasn’t someone who could afford to defy them.

He stepped into the cave and parted his lips, ready to force out the painful, frustrating words that would send Dazai away. But before he could utter even one, he stopped.

It seemed Dazai could shut off his endless chatter and boundless energy just as fast as he could dive back into it. In the short time that Chuuya had been outside, Dazai had already fallen into a deep, blissful sleep, half-sprawled across Chuuya’s makeshift bed.

Chuuya’s first instinct was to wake him up—after all, who did Dazai think he was, sleeping in his place on the very day they had just met?

But then he stopped himself. First, he didn’t want to touch Dazai and couldn’t think of another way to wake him up other than shaking his shoulders. Yelling would take too much effort. Second, the other had been wandering for hours since early morning and definitely needed rest.

Not that Chuuya cared about that. No, of course not. It was just the fact that a sleep-deprived Dazai would probably be even more insufferable than the normal Dazai.

Chuuya sat down a few meters away, leaning against the cave wall, his gaze still focused on the man lying on the floor. Dazai’s chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm, and his eyes were closed—something Chuuya hadn’t seen him do before for longer than it took to blink.

He scoffed under his breath as he caught himself wanting to drape something heavier than his light robe over Dazai’s slightly trembling shoulders. It was a familiar instinct, something ingrained in him from the past. He had done it for his mother, after long exhausting days when she came home weary from working—whether he was seven, eleven, or sixteen, he would always prepare her a quick meal and then lead her straight to bed, covering her with a warm woolen blanket. He had done the same for Yumeno, placing his outer robe over the stubborn kid’s shoulders when they insisted on staying in the temple until the cold evening. It was something he had always done for people he cared about.

He shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. He did not care about Dazai. They had only just met and Chuuya was here to make the other one leave. Not give him any more reason to stay.

Quietly, he walked over to one of the wicker baskets lying nearby and took out his spare robe, carelessly draping it over Dazai’s sleeping figure.

Chuuya needed to talk to Dazai. Before it was too late.

But that could wait until morning.

Chuuya was used to waking up early—despite living alone, with no obligations beyond survival and whatever the hell he wanted to do, the habit of rising with the first rays of sunlight filtering through the curtain of vines at the cave entrance had stubbornly remained with him.

He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself into a sitting position, only to feel a sharp pain flare through his back. Right. He had slept on the floor.

And there he was—Dazai, sprawled out as if he belonged there, looking almost annoyingly comfortable, snoring softly, ruining Chuuya’s perfectly routine morning.

Chuuya had hesitated last night, convincing himself that morning would make things easier. That after a night’s sleep, the decision to send Dazai away would be clearer, more resolute. That it was just the darkness of the night, the melancholic glow of the stars, that had made him second-guess himself.

Turned out, now it was even worse.

One of the snakes atop Chuuya’s head shifted, nuzzling against his ear, as if sensing his unease.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “I know.”

With a huff, he stood up, walking towards the entrance of the cave. The air outside was crisp, the scent of damp earth and greenery filling his lungs as he inhaled deeply.

It didn’t take even a minute for him to hear quiet footsteps behind him.

“Morning,” Chuuya muttered, turning his head over his shoulder.

There was Dazai, with his arms crossed, which made him look unusually sheepish and defensive—or maybe that was the effect of his squinted, sleepy eyes and even more messed up hairstyle. Despite it being a lot warmer now, the robe Chuuya had covered him with the evening before, was still loosely hanging off his shoulders. Chuuya could bet Dazai would be fine without it, but he decided not to comment on it.

“Good morning,” Dazai muttered, yawning.

“How did you sleep?” Chuuya asked as Dazai stopped right in front of him. He was still impressed at how well the other could navigate without sight.

The question felt painfully awkward, but then again, it was difficult to suddenly regain the ability to hold a smooth, natural conversation after two years of isolation from the world. And the fact that Dazai still felt like a stranger, an intruder in Chuuya’s familiar space, didn’t make it any easier.

“Unusually well,” Dazai said. “I tend to wake up a lot during the night, but today I slept wonderfully,” he chuckled.

“I’m not surprised. You must’ve been exhausted after not shutting up for a moment yesterday,” Chuuya retorted.

“Hey, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dazai huffed. “How did you sleep then?”

Chuuya almost instinctively wanted to say ‘awful’—like it had been every night for the past two years. He couldn’t recall a single time he had slept through the night without waking up in cold sweat, shaking, with his heart hammering in his chest. 

But then, as the memory of last night lingered in his mind, a sudden realization hit him. Today, he hadn’t woken up to that familiar, suffocating panic. For the first time in over two years, he had slept through the entire night peacefully. No nightmares. No frantic gasps for breath. Just simple, but long yearned for, silence. The kind of peaceful sleep he had almost forgotten was possible.

“Fine,” he said quickly, his response prepared even before Dazai asked. “Didn’t quite enjoy the cold, stone floor, though.”

Dazai shrugged, the smile never leaving his face as he knelt down, feeling for a good spot on the grass to sit.

“I got the guest treatment,” he said, settling down and resting his cheek on his palm. “I’m honoured.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Chuuya muttered. “You’re not staying here forever.”

“Aren’t I?” Dazai pouted, clearly exaggerating his disappointment. “I thought you agreed yesterday.”

“I agreed for one day, and then I said I’d think about it. Today is the second day, if you can even count.”

“I can count!” Dazai said proudly. “My father used to teach me math a few years back.”

“Really?” Chuuya said, raising a skeptical brow.

“Mhm.” Dazai absentmindedly started playing with a blade of grass, curling it between his fingers. “I can be smart if I try.”

“Well, you’re definitely not trying right now,” Chuuya scoffed. “Now get your ass up. We’re going to the orchard nearby to pick some oranges for breakfast.”

“You go. I’ll stay here,” Dazai said, stretching his arms above his head before flopping onto the grass completely, lying flat on his back.

“Oh, no way,” Chuuya said, walking over and looming over him, arms crossed. “I’m gonna make you at least slightly useful. As far as I know, being blind doesn’t stop you from carrying a damn basket.”

“But laziness does,” Dazai muttered in response, a slight smirk on his lips.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and lightly kicked him in the ribs.

He had expected to meet resistance—a normal amount of weight, even if Dazai was lanky. But the second his bare feet pressed against Dazai’s ribs, he felt just how thin the other was. Not just naturally skinny, but the kind of thinness that came from neglect.

His kick had barely any strength behind it, yet Dazai still let out a quiet grunt, shifting slightly as if he actually felt it.

“Damn,” Chuuya muttered, his voice slightly shocked. “You’re all bones.”

“You sound surprised.” Dazai hummed in response

“Yeah, because I am,” Chuuya admitted, crossing his arms. “Do you eat at all? Or do you just survive on bullshit and pure stubbornness?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Dazai smirked.

“As if. Get up or I’ll drag you by myself.” Chuuya said, turning away and going to pick up two baskets from the cave.

“You wouldn’t,” he heard Dazai’s pouty reply from the outside.

The orchard was one of Chuuya’s favorite places to go, especially now in the summer, when the leaves were at their fullest, vibrant green color, contrasting beautifully with the orange hues of the oranges and the red of the apples. And, it was the easiest way to get food, so the half-hour walk was definitely worth it.

Well, that was an opinion Dazai did not share.

“We were walking here forever.” He whined, as soon as they arrived.

“Not like we have anything better to do,” Chuuya said, picking one of the oranges and throwing it into the basket. “Besides, you slowed us down by bumping in every possible tree in the way.”

“There are too many of them here!” Dazai said.

“It’s an orchard, idiot.” Chuuya replied. “They’re supposed to be here,”

Dazai let out a dramatic sigh, dragging his feet along the ground as he walked.

"Manual labor and I were never meant to be a pair," he lamented, reaching his hand out blindly in an exaggerated manner. 

Chuuya didn’t even reply, rolling his eyes. He turned his gaze to Dazai, who was blindly feeling for the closest low-hanging branch and searching with his fingers for the fruit. His movements were slow, sluggish almost, but he finally managed to find the orange and carefully pluck it out. For someone who swore he would rather be doing anything else right now, it looked like he was at least trying.

“I’m amazed,” Chuuya commented, unable to resist teasing Dazai a bit.

“Hey,” Dazai said, clearly offended. “For the first time, I did just fine.”

“First time?” Chuuya repeated, not expecting that. “Really? How did you even survive until now?”

“My family was quite rich, at least for a time,” Dazai smiled, though it was a sad smile. “I never had to worry about that as a kid. And there was no orchard near my house, and my father wouldn’t let me wander too far on my own because of… well, you know, the eyes.”

Chuuya paused for a moment, letting Dazai’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but somehow the idea of Dazai growing up sheltered made too much sense.

Freedom was another thing Chuuya had always taken for granted—at least before. Throughout his entire life in his hometown, he had no limitations. Everything he did, whether it was household chores or helping his mother with work, was of his own free will. The same applied to serving in the temple.

After he was cursed, one could say he became freer than ever. He could go anywhere, travel across half the world if he wanted to—no one was holding him back. Quite the opposite.

But he could swear, freedom never felt that bad before.

"Sounds suffocating," Chuuya muttered, reaching for another orange.

"It was," Dazai admitted, still twirling an orange between his fingers. "But it’s not that bad when you don’t know any better. I figured that was just how life was supposed to be."

“Is that why you ran away?” Chuuya asked, before he could even think.

Chuuya looked at the other, who’s unseeing gaze was stuck on the ground, his fingers still tapping slowly on the fruit in his palm.

“No,” Dazai said simply.

There was something about the way he said it that made Chuuya want to press further, to ask for more details. But he realized that would be out of place—after all, he wouldn’t share his own story with Dazai, not yet, probably not ever.

“Mhm,” Chuuya just hummed, eager to change the subject already. “Well, since you’re staying here as a freeloader, you’re at least going to help.”

He tossed another four oranges into Dazai’s basket, making the brunet’s arm lower under the new weight as he huffed in annoyance.

“Fine, fine,” Dazai said. “But maybe I could be more useful in the quality control department,” he added, bringing one of the apples to his lips.

“No,” Chuuya said, snatching the apple from Dazai’s hand and putting it back. “That’s for later.”

“No fun,” Dazai commented but didn’t argue further.

By the time they had gathered enough fruit to last at least a few days and returned to their hideout, it was already past noon. They walked back at a comfortable pace, Dazai carrying one of the baskets despite his constant complaints, while Chuuya took the other.

Once they arrived, Chuuya prepared a small meal, consisting mainly of the fruit—some carefully cut into pieces and some squeezed into juice, providing a refreshing drink for both of them. Dazai sat lazily beside him the entire time, to which Chuuya unusually didn’t oppose—no matter how much he hated his ‘I am doing nothing to help’ approach, he was definitely not trusting Dazai and his carelessness with a sharp object. So it ended with Dazai lounging nearby, making occasional remarks about Chuuya’s knife skills and receiving well-aimed orange peels in return.

After eating, the day slowed into a lazy afternoon. The summer heat made them both reluctant to move much, so they settled outside the cave, near the stream, in the place where the shade of the trees offered some relief.

Dazai dipped his feet into the water, letting the coolness soothe the warmth of the day, while Chuuya sat on a rock nearby, plucking petals from flowers he had gathered earlier from the garden and crushing them in a ceramic bowl to make paint.

For a while, they sat in a prolonged yet comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Chuuya only looked up when he felt water droplets land on his hands and saw Dazai splashing water from the stream in his direction, wearing a proud expression.

“Stop,” Chuuya said, annoyed, wiping the water off with his sleeve.

Dazai didn’t stop—in fact, he took it a step further, throwing a small rock at Chuuya.

Chuuya dodged at the last second, the pebble whizzing past his ear. A few of his snakes hissed in displeasure, making it very clear they were not happy with the situation.

“What was that for?” Chuuya snapped, irritated. For a blind man, Dazai had an annoyingly good aim.

“I don’t know. I was trying to get your attention,” Dazai said, stepping a little deeper into the stream. The water now reached his knees, soaking the lower part of his robe.

“Congrats, you did. By almost throwing a rock in my face,” Chuuya grumbled.

Dazai just laughed, tilting his head up toward the sky and closing his eyes. Chuuya watched as he tucked his hair behind his ears, probably trying to fully immerse himself in the sounds of the stream, the quiet rustling of the wind, and the distant chirping of birds.

“You know, I think I like it here,” Dazai mused after a moment.

“Of course you do,” Chuuya scoffed. “You don’t have to do anything but steal my food and sleep all day.”

“I like it because it’s peaceful,” Dazai corrected. “And you’re not the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“If that was an attempt at flattery, it was a shitty one,” Chuuya said, setting the bowl of crushed petals aside.

“You can interpret it however you like,” Dazai smirked.

“You’re an idiot. You can interpret that as an insult.”

“Thank you. I think that’s the fifth time today you’ve called me that. You should be more creative, Chuuya.”

“Oh, believe me, I could write a whole book of insults just for you.”

Dazai just laughed again. Chuuya thought it should be illegal for a human to have such a beautiful, musing laugh.

His eyes lingered on Dazai’s figure—his closed eyes, his head tilted toward the sky, his hair flowing freely, gently tousled by the wind, almost as if it was dancing. The sky had already taken on a purple-yellowish hue, reflecting in the water and casting a glow on Dazai’s hair and his pale face.

Chuuya should have kicked Dazai out yesterday. Because if the decision to do so seemed difficult back then, right now it seemed impossible.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get used to it too.

"Are they really attached to your head?"

"Get off!" Chuuya yanked Dazai’s hand away, the snakes on his scalp hissing in unison as if trying to scare away the potential danger.

"Come on, I just asked a question," Dazai rolled his eyes.

"Yes, they are," Chuuya said, shifting slightly, so he sat further away from Dazai. "Why would I lie about something like that?"

"I don’t know. I would," Dazai shrugged.

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

No, he didn’t .

It had been a few days since Dazai decided to stay with Chuuya—a few days that passed faster than mere minutes in the loneliness that had been previously sentenced to. It was just the time in the summer that brought warm and sunny weather, so most of their time, when they weren’t gathering supplies or when Chuuya wasn’t tending to his garden, they spent walking along the forest paths together.

Dazai was becoming more at ease in his new surroundings, as well as increasingly comfortable in Chuuya’s presence. It showed in the small gestures—in the way he would sometimes detach from the world just to take a deep breath and relax for a few moments. To shut off his mind, to lower his guard—because he knew that in case of danger, there was always someone next to him to be his eyes.

Dazai was a strange man. That much was certain.

And Chuuya was doing a shitty job in keeping his distance from him.

As they were walking through the woods, Chuuya bit into one of the apples he had gathered, savoring the familiar, sweet taste on his tongue.

"Share," Dazai whined, holding out an open hand in Chuuya's direction.

"No," Chuuya said, pulling the apple even further out of Dazai’s reach.

"Come on. Some pity for a poor blind man."

"No way. Unless you tell me why you ran away from your hometown."

Chuuya had lost count of how many times he had asked that question in the past few days. Leaving home—especially for someone with a death wish—wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence. Chuuya just knew there had to be a more serious reason behind it than a simple desire for adventure.

"So tell me how you got cursed."

Yeah. That was how it always ended. Dazai would turn the question back on Chuuya, and then there would be silence. Because there was no way in hell Chuuya was sharing his story with anyone.

"Fine, be stubborn," Chuuya huffed, moving deeper into the trees.

"I don't think you're the one to say that," Dazai laughed and paused for a moment before continuing. "It’s boring here. Let's go see the sea."

"We are not going to the sea," Chuuya said firmly, leading Dazai back toward the cave. He held back a branch so the brunet could pass freely—though the urge to let it snap back right into his face was, to say the least, strong.

"Boring," Dazai whined, his voice almost childlike in complaint. "One day, I'm just going to run away if you keep acting like this."

"Go ahead, no one's keeping you here by force."

"I'll rethink that," Dazai smirked.

Both of them knew damn well Dazai wasn't going anywhere.

Past few days, they were spending most of the time in Chuuya’s hideout, sitting outside on the soft grass in the garden outside the cave (every time Chuuya checked at least twice if Dazai didn’t accidentally sit on any of his flowerbeds) with the flower-scented air and the faint murmuring of the nearby stream, all this was creating an almost Eden-like atmosphere. Sometimes, even too perfect for Chuuya’s liking.

Or maybe it was just because the last time he had felt this happy, everything had gone downhill faster than he could blink.

Chuuya began petting the snakes in his hair with his hand, almost as if he were combing through the red curls he once had. Dazai immediately noticed the gesture—always-present hisses suddenly quieted, almost softened. He smiled faintly.

“Ow,” Chuuya muttered involuntarily as one of the snakes playfully, but harmlessly, bit his finger. “Come on, Hyacinth, really…”

“They have names?” Dazai exclaimed in surprise.

“Mhm,” Chuuya mumbled. “After flowers.”

“Who would have guessed,” Dazai chuckled. “Your obsession isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Oh, shut it, will you?” Chuuya rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips.

He watched as Dazai started searching for something with his hand from where he was sitting, his fingers blindly wandering through the air. Chuuya shook his head before gently taking Dazai’s hand in his own, guiding it toward the nearby begonias. For a moment, he found himself not minding the other’s touch.

“Here,” he said softly.

Dazai began slowly tracing the flower’s shape with his fingers, a focused expression on his face. His unseeing, white eyes, however, remained fixed on Chuuya’s—and despite knowing that the brunet couldn’t actually see him, it made Chuuya feel so damn special that he wanted nothing more than for this moment to last forever.

With a swift movement, Chuuya suddenly plucked the flower that had caught Dazai’s interest and gently tucked it between his tousled brown hair.

Dazai slowly reached up to touch the flower, then smiled—and for a moment, Chuuya could swear he saw those pristine white eyes light up just a little.

“Is this your way of giving flowers to everyone?” Dazai laughed, tilting his head slightly, careful not to let the flower fall.

“No. Not everyone,” Chuuya mumbled in response.

By the time Chuuya was carving the thirtieth mark on the cave’s wall since Dazai’s arrival, he had to admit that the time was literally slipping through his fingers, definitely faster than he would like it to.

Dazai never once tried to leave. Chuuya never once tried to make him.

The days settled into a routine of sorts. They would wake up, stay curled up in the cave until late morning, make some breakfast (or rather, Chuuya would), and eat together outside. Dazai always complained about this, mainly because the sweet fruits seemed to attract a swarm of bees. Chuuya would tell him to relax and not provoke them, to which Dazai would inevitably panic, earning himself at least one sting every few days.

They would go on walks, usually to the stream, taking in as much of its coolness as they could on hot summer days. Sometimes they walked in silence, but more often than not, Dazai’s absurd commentary and far-fetched stories filled the air—stories that Chuuya wasn’t quite sure he believed.

On some days, they would gather food, herbs, or anything useful that happened to come into their hands. Every time, Chuuya would listen to Dazai’s complaints about being unfairly and brutally forced to work. Despite the man’s overdramatic protests, Chuuya could see that he genuinely tried to help, whether it was picking the fruits, preparing the tea, or making their cave a little less of a mess.

And at night, they sat by the fire, or near the stream, or just outside the cave beneath the stars. Dazai liked to hum sometimes—aimless, wordless melodies that made Chuuya’s throat tighten in a way he didn’t want to think about.

It was dangerously close to feeling normal. Too close to feeling comfortable. And that terrified him the most.

Chuuya had spent two years alone, fighting every instinct that begged for companionship. But now, with Dazai here, it was way too easy to let his guard drop down.

He knew it wouldn’t last. He wasn’t supposed to have this. The gods had made sure of that.

Hope was a bitch though. One he couldn’t get rid of.

As a kid, Chuuya loved sunrises. After he got cursed, he grew to prefer sunsets - the purple, yellow and pinkish colours of the sky, slowly fading into black, symbolized another day he managed to survive. Symbolized that despite everything, he was still standing.

With Dazai by his side, he found himself growing fond of sunrises again. As the early light dappled the trees and flowers in a soft, almost white glow, and as he gazed at the closed eyelids covering those equally white, hauntingly beautiful eyes, Chuuya felt glad to witness another dawn.

It had been eighteen days since Dazai had confidently and refusing to take no for an answer walked into his life— Chuuya knew the exact number because the mark he had etched onto the cave wall that day was noticeably deeper than the others. He had even smeared a smudge of violet paint over it.

Chuuya was in the middle of painting golden patterns onto the stone armor of a warrior who had once fought him and lost—his body now forever frozen in rock. The paint Chuuya had earlier mixed from marigold petals shimmered faintly in the morning light and nearby, Dazai sat with his back against another statue, his fingers idly tracing the cold, unmoving stone of a hand frozen mid-reach.

“Say something,” Chuuya muttered after a prolonged silence. “You’re so quiet it’s annoying.”

Dazai chuckled, his hand falling idly onto his lap.

“I thought it annoyed you when I talked too much.”

It did. Dazai was definitely a talker—the kind of person who couldn’t finish one story without starting another halfway through. Every evening, he would say goodnight at least five times, only to remember yet another thing and spiral into another tangent, ending it all by claiming he had made it up. Chuuya would usually tell him to shut up or respond with a noncommittal murmur, but—though he would never admit it—he found comfort in Dazai’s endless chatter.

After being alone for so long, Chuuya felt like he could never get enough of the sound of another human voice.

"Yeah, but now you’re not talking at all. You just can’t find the golden mean on purpose, can you?" Chuuya huffed, placing the brush into a small ceramic bowl filled with paint before walking over to Dazai and sitting directly in front of him.

Dazai smiled, trying to focus his unseeing eyes on Chuuya, relying on the sound of his movements. This time, he managed just fine—the pure whiteness of his gaze locking with the deep blue of an ocean he would never truly see.

"I was just thinking."

"That’s unusual for you," Chuuya quipped. "About what?"

"Them." Dazai gestured vaguely to the statues surrounding them. "How do you think they felt? Did they even realize what was happening to them before they died? Or was it so quick they didn’t have time to?"

Chuuya’s hands clenched into fists before he could stop them, his gaze dropping to the ground—anywhere but the statues. Suddenly, they all seemed to be looking down at him in unison, staring with condemnation and hatred. Like they would at a monster.

"I don’t want to think about that," Chuuya hissed. "It doesn’t matter."

"Well, you seem bothered enough it. Even though they’re dead already."

"Exactly! They’re fucking dead, so it doesn’t matter!" Chuuya snapped, jumping to his feet.

For a brief moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of shock passed over Dazai’s face. But he quickly composed himself, remaining rooted to the spot.

"So why do you blame yourself?"

Why did he? What kind of stupid question was that? How could he not ?

"I—How could I not?" Chuuya hated the slight tremble in his voice.

"Chuuya, do you think a monster would blame himself?" Dazai asked, rising to his feet.

Chuuya bit his lip, already knowing where this was going.

"I am one. Don’t try bullshitting me into thinking I’m not. I made peace with that a long time ago."

"People don’t turn into monsters for doing things they were forced to do. They turn into monsters when they choose to do those things. You didn’t."

"But I’m not human either."

Dazai paused, his expression unreadable for a moment, as if weighing the weight of Chuuya's words. Then, without warning, he did something that caught Chuuya completely off guard—he laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a soft, sincere sound that echoed around the quiet space between them. His eyes were more closed than open, with a genuine smile reaching them for once.

"I don’t know," Dazai chuckled. "Is there something that officially makes you pass as human? Some kind of codex? A rule saying you can’t have snakes for hair or something?"

Chuuya stared at him, blinking in confusion. The question was so absurd, so completely ridiculous, that it left him momentarily speechless. But before he could process it, he saw Dazai’s smile—infuriatingly, annoyingly beautiful—and it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

"Told you." he added, after a moment of silence from Chuuya.

The words snapped Chuuya out of his spiraling thoughts, but before he could muster a response, Dazai turned on his heel and started walking away. He moved toward the cave, humming a quiet tune under his breath as if nothing had just happened, as if Chuuya’s internal chaos wasn’t almost tangible in the air.

“Damn it,” Chuuya exclaimed, pulling his hood up.

It had started raining—not just a light drizzle, but a torrential downpour that appeared out of nowhere. One second, the sky was clear and sunny, and the next, he and Dazai were soaked to the bone.

It wasn’t anything unusual for the area where Chuuya had spent his entire life. Now, he was after all only a few hours' walk from home, and he had experienced these sudden weather shifts more times than he could count. Rain had always reminded him of carefree days—back in his hometown, whenever it rained, people would flood the streets. Some rushed out to collect as much water as they could in buckets, others used it to cool off during the scorching summer days, and children simply played, splashing in puddles and sticking out their tongues to catch the falling droplets.

Chuuya remembered playing with Yumeno, telling them stories about how the gods controlled the weather and what it all meant. Their curious expression never left his face, their eyes locked firmly onto his, hanging onto every word.

"Come on," Chuuya muttered under his breath, pulling his hood up, feeling the snakes beneath it writhing against each other, almost as if trying to keep warm in the rain. Him and Dazai were supposed to have a nice walk, but now all he wanted was to crawl back into his hideout. He didn’t like water. Not anymore.

He turned around and took a few steps, but through the sound of wind and raindrops pounding against the ground, he didn't hear Dazai's footsteps behind him.

"God, can you just move, for fu—"

He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes landed on Dazai, standing a few meters away. His eyes were closed—something he rarely did, since, as he had said, it didn’t make any difference to him. His face, a bit paler than usual, was tilted towards the sky, transparent raindrops sliding down his cheeks like the purest, most beautiful tears.

"Just a moment," Dazai said, completely still, the only movement coming from his lips and the water cascading over him, soaking through his chiton and into his skin.

Chuuya sighed and looked up himself. The sky was unusually clear—ironic, given the torrential rain that was falling, almost as if it were appearing from thin air rather than from a dark, heavy cloud. Weird.

He stepped closer to Dazai and closed his own eyes. He tried to relax his muscles, but instead, they only tensed further.

Suddenly, the water felt suffocating, as if he were drowning. It was trapping him, holding him in its embrace, refusing to let go no matter how much he tried to shake it off. It was stronger, inescapable, omnipresent. It was—

"Let's go," Chuuya said quietly but firmly, wiping his face with his sleeve, trying—futilely—to brush off the feeling. Just like he had tried for the past two years.

"Why? It feels nice," Dazai said, his unseeing gaze flicking in Chuuya’s direction.

"Because I said so," Chuuya muttered, taking a step away.

He stopped when Dazai grabbed his hand.

His body reacted instantly—screaming at him to fight, to run, to yell, to pull away—yet he couldn’t bring himself to.

Because when the initial shock passed after a few seconds, suddenly, Dazai’s touch felt different.

It felt warm. It felt safe.

Dazai’s grip was so gentle, his wet fingers brushing lightly, almost hesitantly, as if asking for permission to hold on. It made Chuuya want to cry right there and then.

He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and, with full awareness of what he was doing, squeezed Dazai’s hand back.

He had held Dazai’s hand before, but it had always been for a matter of seconds—to guide him, to help him navigate unfamiliar surroundings.

This?

This felt far too intimate for Chuuya’s liking.

And what was even worse was how good it felt.

It felt so natural, so right it hurt.

“If you really want to go back,” Dazai’s voice snapped Chuuya out of his thoughts, “we can.”

Chuuya thought for a moment. With Dazai here, everything didn’t seem so scary anymore.

“I’m good,” he murmured. “Where did you want to go?”

There weren’t many places left to explore after the past few weeks, so their options were limited. Their usual choices were walking along the stream, venturing deeper into the forest, or heading toward the coast where apple and orange trees grew. But never too close to the shore, never too far from the hideout—Chuuya wouldn’t risk that.

“Anywhere. Everywhere,” Dazai answered with a smirk, making Chuuya roll his eyes. “We could go further into the woods,” he suggested after a moment. “Maybe we’ll find something.”

“Doubt it. And with your sense of direction, I’d rather not go too far,” Chuuya muttered as he started walking, still holding Dazai’s hand. He sneaked a glance behind him, watching as the brunet carefully stepped forward.

“You’re doubting me? Wow.” Dazai clutched his free hand dramatically to his chest.

The rain stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun. Within minutes, the sky turned a clear, pale blue, and the only traces of the downpour were the droplets clinging to leaves and grass—and, of course, the fact that both Chuuya and Dazai were soaked to the bone.

Chuuya felt Dazai’s hand tremble slightly in his and glanced at him. His expression was the same as always—unfocused, distant—but his usually relaxed shoulders were tense, shivering just a little.

With a sigh, Chuuya let go of Dazai’s hand and shrugged off his cloak. The moment his hood fell, the snakes nestled beneath it stretched out, hissing softly—not in warning, just reacting to their sudden freedom. Ignoring them, Chuuya draped the damp fabric over Dazai’s shoulders.

Dazai clearly hadn’t expected the gesture. His eyebrows knit together slightly as he ran his fingers over the cloth, taking a few moments to realize what it was. He opened his mouth to say something, but Chuuya beat him to it.

“Shut up. You’re not catching a cold. I have better things to do with my herbs than waste them on an idiot like you.”

Dazai smiled in response, tugging the cloak closer around himself.

As Chuuya stepped closer, one of the snakes shot out from its nest atop his head, wrapping itself around Dazai’s arm.

“Hey, Iris!” Chuuya scolded it.

“I don’t know why you keep scolding them,” Dazai replied, already petting the creature. The snake had made itself comfortable, its eyes closed as it curled snugly around Dazai’s bandaged arm. “They just like me.”

“I hope he bites you,” Chuuya muttered, trying to untangle the serpent so he could step away.

“He wouldn’t,” Dazai said with certainty.

“One wrong move, and he would,” Chuuya retorted as he finally managed to pry Iris off. The snake let out a quiet, almost disappointed hiss.

“Well, that would be painful, so no, thank you,” Dazai shrugged.

“Says the guy with a death wish.”

“Chuuya!” Dazai drew out his name dramatically. “You never listen to me. I’ve told you a million times—I’m looking for a painless way to go!”

Chuuya knew. He was damn well aware. And no matter how much Dazai joked about it, every time he heard another mention of suicide, it made his stomach twist.

“They wouldn’t want you in Hades,” Chuuya said. “You’d go on one of your talking sprees, and they’d send you right back.”

“But you haven’t thrown me out yet, have you?” Dazai grinned.

“Yeah, guess I’m just better than the—”

Chuuya cut himself off mid-sentence, horror dawning on him as he realized what he was about to say. Had he just—had he almost compared himself to the gods? Had he nearly challenged their superiority? The mere thought made his blood run cold.

“Come on, it’s no surprise you’re better than the gods,” Dazai said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Chuuya reacted on instinct, slapping a hand over Dazai’s mouth before he could utter another blasphemous word.

“Stop fucking talking,” he hissed.

“Why? You think they’re listening?” Dazai teased, pulling Chuuya’s hand away. “They think too highly of themselves to bother eavesdropping on two pathetic men down on Earth.”

“They see everything. They hear everything. They’re omnipresent, for fuck’s sake—they’re gods ! What don’t you understand?” Chuuya snapped.

“And? You’re already cursed, what more can they do?”

Chuuya had thought about it many times. What could be worse than this? Death was the first thing coming to his mind. On the other hand, he had thought about it many times — whether in the darkness of the night, when his fate of eternal solitude seemed thousand times more crueler than it did in the light of the day, or when yet another person fell victim to his curse and his petrifying gaze, becoming nothing but a frozen, beautifully painted statue.

It was ironic— since Dazai became a part of his life, for the first time in years, Chuuya found himself scared of death.

“I don’t know,” Chuuya answered evasively.

Dazai suddenly stopped in his tracks, placing a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder and turning him to face him.

“Which one was it?”

Chuuya didn’t need him to elaborate. The question was direct—who was the god who did this to him?

The problem was, he had two answers to that question. The real issue was which one hurt him more.

That Chuuya didn’t know.

And, Dazai already knew about Athena’s doing. She was the one to spread the rumour about Chuuya, adding a regular visits of idiotic heroes wannabes to already a bunch of his concerns. Dazai was asking about the other one.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said instead.

Dazai smiled faintly and shrugged.

“I guess. They’re all assholes anyway.”

“Shut up, before a lightning strikes right at you,” Chuuya scoffed, shaking Dazai’s hand off his arm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dazai chuckled under his breath, unfazed.

"Well, if they were listening, they’d have done something by now, wouldn’t they? And hey, lightning wouldn’t be that bad of a way to go—"

"I said, shut up!"

Despite Dazai not being able to see him, Chuuya turned away anyway, unwilling to face the brunette’s carefree expression. He bit into his lower lip, feeling the drop of blood on his tongue, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

He hated—absolutely despised—how easy it was for Dazai to talk like that. To dismiss the gods as if they were nothing more than figments of imagination. To treat them as though their existence had no effect on his life.

While in Chuuya’s, they had changed everything.

He had been punished, cursed, stripped of everything that made him human. He had felt their wrath, their overwhelming power. He had stared into his own reflection in the water, loathing for every moment of it, because of them . He had watched people turn to stone before they even had the chance to scream, because of them .

"Don’t speak like you know what you’re talking about," Chuuya hissed.

"Prove me wrong," Dazai challenged. "Tell me what happened to you, and who knows? Maybe I’ll admit you’re right."

That manipulative, cunning bitch.

"No fucking way," Chuuya snapped. 

“Then I’ll just continue to think that you’re a fool when it comes to this, Chuuya,” Dazai shrugged. “Do you think I haven’t noticed, when we sit in silence in the evenings, how you mutter silent prayers, even though no one, no one listens to you? How you pick more fruits or flowers from your garden to offer them as your silly offerings? You’re just lying to yourself if you think anyone up there gives a single damn.”

At this point, Chuuya wanted nothing more than to grab Dazai by his robe and shake some sense into him, until the other understood. It was faith they were talking about, not some used, weary toy—faith that had been a part of Chuuya’s life since he was born, etched deeply into the deepest pits of his mind, tangled with his very being whether he liked it or not. It wasn’t some stupid addition. It was a part of him, one he couldn’t just simply get rid of.

“Just who are you mad at?” Dazai asked, his voice slightly quieter. “Me, or them?”

The snakes hissed at Dazai, something they usually did with a hint of instinctive affection, now was tinged with clear and visible distress. To Chuuya’s surprise, since the beginning, they had been fond of Dazai, almost seeking his closeness and company. Now suddenly it changed, as the mention and defying of the gods made them snap into a completely different creature.

It was a reminder. It was a reminder that even after years of coexistence, they weren’t entirely a part of Chuuya. Despite everything, they were Athena’s doing. And it was her they were most loyal to.

“You.” Chuuya said instinctively.

It was a damn lie, and he hated it.

The rain continued, only its loud hum echoing around them, as Chuuya stared at Dazai’s white, pure eyes, looking almost like two glowing lights in the half-darkness caused by the gray, sun-blocking clouds.

A lightning strike suddenly hit nearby, making them both flinch and turn their heads toward the direction. As the sound of the explosion slowly died down, Dazai chuckled.

“See? If they really were mad at me for saying all those things, they would have aimed better.”

Chuuya couldn’t stop himself from letting out a bitter chuckle.

"Sure, tell yourself that. Now let's go back. I’m soaked to the damn bone."

"Okay," Dazai shrugged. "We can light a fire when we get back. What do you think?"

Chuuya sighed. He both hated and appreciated how quickly they could slip back into casual conversation after a sharp exchange. It felt like both a curse and a blessing—so many words left unspoken, so many feelings buried deep, and yet, they could still sugarcoat it all with a natural, mutual understanding.

"Yeah. Let’s go."

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, the dampness creeping into Chuuya's bones as they walked side by side. After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the cave, raindrops falling from their bodies onto the cold, stone floor, leaving darker water marks.

Chuuya felt his whole body shiver, cursing the weather outside. They couldn’t light a fire inside, and with the storm raging outside, starting a spark outdoors seemed more than impossible.

Luckily for them, it wasn’t long before the sky started to clear. Chuuya stepped out first, feeling the pleasant, timidly peeking out from behind the dark clouds rays of the sun on his wet skin.

“Come on, we can light a fire!” he shouted to Dazai, who had decided to take his sweet time gathering himself inside the cave.

Soon, the fire was lit, and Chuuya found himself relaxing, moving his hands closer to the flames to warm his cold palms. Dazai, sitting beside him, did the same, and Chuuya caught himself sneaking glances at him, ready to intervene if the other accidentally got too close to the fire.

A soft, quiet melody reached Chuuya’s ears, and he tilted his head to see Dazai humming again. He tended to do that a lot, whether in the middle of a conversation to annoy Chuuya, or to fill in the silence. It seemed to genuinely calm him down, so Chuuya decided not to tease him about it, letting the weirdo do his thing. He had no right to judge—he’d done much more questionable things out of solitude and loneliness over the past two years.

“Where did you get it from? The melody?” Chuuya asked.

Dazai stopped humming for a moment, letting out a prolonged sigh of contemplation.

“I made it up,” he smirked. The usual smirk he always used when he was talking bullshit.

“Yeah, totally,” Chuuya replied. “It’s too nice for you to have come up with,” he blurted out before he could think.

“I’m offended,” Dazai chuckled. “I was harmonizing with the sea.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow skeptically. Right, he constantly forgot about Dazai’s extraordinary, probably even too extraordinary hearing. Or maybe that was just another stupid lie Dazai had come up with for his own entertainment, which Chuuya had foolishly believed. That, he would never know.

Despite his doubts, Chuuya closed his eyes, and with a focused expression, concentrated all his attention on picking up the sounds. The rustling leaves, the crackling of the fire, the sound of the wind—sure, but nothing from the water.

He used to love the sea—the deep blues and greens, the way the sunlight made the waves shimmer. He’d grown up surrounded by it, the salty breeze woven into his childhood. Now, he couldn’t go near it. Not after him.

“We’re too far to hear the sea,” he said stubbornly, giving in.

“Not for me,” Dazai said simply. He shifted a bit, pulling his knees closer to his chest, resting his head on one arm as he faced Chuuya. “I can hear it if I focus.”

“You got scared because you didn’t hear me walking behind you when we were at the orchard.”

“I was spaced out!” Dazai defended himself. “I can hear you perfectly. Actually, I can even hear a lot that you don’t, and I know your usual movements and breathing patterns by heart now.”

“That’s just creepy,” Chuuya muttered under his breath.

“I like to focus on sounds,” Dazai shrugged. “People say they like the silence to relax. For me, it’s always been uneasy. You know when you can’t see, if you don’t hear anything, there’s just—”

“Nothing left,” Chuuya finished.

Judging by Dazai’s expression, he hadn’t expected Chuuya to finish for him, but the next second, he smiled faintly.

Chuuya wished he could show him that smile, his own smile, which Dazai was never meant to see. He had a habit of wanting to share the things he loved.

“Yeah,” Dazai said softly.

A moment later, the melody returned—soft and steady, rising and falling like the waves that Chuuya still couldn’t bring himself to face. But at the same time, it carried something in a good way familiar, something he ached to get closer to. And he couldn’t quite explain why.

Chuuya looked around the garden. The sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon, the main source of light becoming the fireplace they were sitting by. Its warm light dappled the flowerbeds, trees, and statues.

The statues. Chuuya cursed himself mentally for sitting in the place he had chosen because when he looked up, his eyes locked directly with the stone ones of one of the frozen marble warriors. He didn’t look away, holding his gaze as long as he could.

And then it happened. The statue blinked at him.

Chuuya immediately tensed up, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He blinked, trying to convince himself it was just a trick of the light. But no, there it was again—the subtle shift of the stone figure’s eyes, as if it were alive. His breath hitched in his throat.

Dazai, annoyingly quick to notice Chuuya’s distress, went quiet and after a moment asked,

“You okay?”

Chuuya shook his head, focusing his eyes on the ground.

“I’m just tired. I need sleep,” he said. He didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

“Okay,” Dazai said, not prying further.

Chuuya extinguished the fire, his movements quick, just wanting to hide in the safe space of the cave’s center as fast as possible. When he finally finished, he placed the now-empty water bucket beside him and took a deep breath. With trembling hands, he looked up, his heart hammering in his chest.

The statue was still there, still watching. The same features carved into the stone, the inevitable effects of time. The same armor, the same sword gripped in its hand. Just not the same face.

The statue’s head was tilted slightly, Chuuya was sure of it. It was looking directly down at him, which made him let out a quiet gasp and stumble a few steps back. His snakes began hissing all at once, making his ears hurt to the point that he instinctively put his hands over them.

He felt dizzy. He felt nauseous. His vision blurred as his heart raced. The hiss of the snakes was drowned out by a deafening ringing in his ears, like a thousand voices screaming at once. His knees buckled beneath him, and before he could catch himself, darkness took over, pulling him under like the tide pulling at a drowning man.

When he woke up, it was quiet. For a moment, he thought he was out there in the darkness, but then, unable to properly open his eyes, he felt the stone, familiar floor of the cave beneath his body, providing at least a small amount of comfort.

And then a sweet sound reached his ears.

He slowly tilted his head, opening his eyes, seeing a figure lying beside him. Dazai was curled up, his knees drawn slightly up, his eyes hidden behind his eyelids, his lips slightly parted. The humming was faint and distant—Dazai was still asleep, the sounds leaving him as he dreamt.

Dazai must have brought Chuuya here, since the last thing he remembered was passing out on the cold grass. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to push the memories out of his mind.

Looking down, he couldn’t hold back a small smile as he saw he was on the more comfortable of their makeshift beds. Usually, it was Dazai who sprinted to the cave, claiming the spot to sleep before Chuuya could even think about it. Now he had willingly given it up to him.

Chuuya rested his head back on the feathers covered by linen cloth, his head tilted toward Dazai’s direction. His gaze lingered on Dazai’s peaceful face, watching the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. It was strange—he wasn’t used to such closeness. Usually, he was the one keeping his distance, the one who closed himself off. But here, now, with the soft glow of the fire casting shadows on the stone walls, it felt different.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t mind having fallen asleep next to someone else.

Chapter Text

Dazai woke up a while later. As soon as Chuuya heard him stir, he instinctively backed away, putting some distance to the little space that was between their bodies.

He watched as Dazai yawned and slowly pushed himself into a half-lying, half-sitting position, feeling the ground with his hands.

“Hey,” Chuuya said quietly.

Dazai tilted his head in his direction, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Hey,” he replied, stretching his arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just—yeah, I’m fine. I must’ve eaten too little yesterday or something,” Chuuya tried to brush it off with a laugh, but it came out as an awkward chuckle instead. Great.

Dazai raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“I don’t know, we had a pretty solid meal yesterday,” he said. “So that doesn’t really explain why I heard a thud loud enough to wake up the whole forest, only to find you passed out on the ground. You’re lucky you didn’t fall into the fire.”

Chuuya exhaled, feeling the snakes on his head slowly slithering around each other, their movements—as usual—picking up on his distress. What was he supposed to say? That he saw a stone move and got so scared he fainted?

The memories flashed before his eyes again. The statue’s gaze, somehow more petrifying than his own had ever been.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It made no sense at all.

“I wasn’t feeling well. Big deal,” Chuuya said, avoiding Dazai’s gaze.

“Mhm.” Dazai didn’t sound convinced. “You were perfectly fine just a moment before. Then you went to extinguish the fire and... what happened there, Chuuya?”

Chuuya bit his lip, his eyes drifting toward the cave’s entrance, covered with hanging vines. Just outside, only a few steps away, was the reason for this entire mess. And he hated how he suddenly found himself wanting to stay inside forever—just to avoid facing it again. He hated how afraid he was of what he might find.

“Nothing happened,” Chuuya said firmly. “Drop it.”

“You should know by now that I won’t let it go until you tell me,” Dazai said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So, you can tell me now, or you can spend the whole day listening to me nagging you about it.”

“I hate you so much,” Chuuya scoffed, shifting slightly to pour himself some water.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. I’m all ears,” Dazai said, moving closer and sitting cross-legged.

“It’s stupid,” Chuuya muttered, hating how difficult the words were to get out. “I… it was probably just a trick of the light. But I thought one of the statues moved. Blinked at me.”

He almost laughed at his own words, waiting for Dazai’s reaction. He was certain the bastard would laugh, mock him, tease him for actually thinking a statue blinked. Or maybe just straight up think he had gone crazy. And honestly? Chuuya wouldn’t even blame him.

But to his surprise, Dazai was silent - no laughing, no mocking, no teasing. He just seemed deep in thought, as if urging Chuuya to continue.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Why wasn’t this idiot saying anything? The usual stupid jokes Chuuya was fed up with seemed like they could be a blessing right now. But Dazai stayed silent.

“What? If you think I’m crazy, just say it,” Chuuya said, the words coming out more accusatory than he intended.

“Relax,” Dazai said. “You’re sure it was... real? Not just—”

“I already told you!” Chuuya cut him off. “It probably wasn’t real. Might have just been a trick of the light, might have been the fact that it was dark and I was tired.”

But it wasn’t. Chuuya had spent countless months learning every damn edge and detail of the statues, every shade and curve was familiar to him, etched in his mind after seeing the figures day after day. He knew exactly what they were supposed to look like—what they had always looked like. And it wasn’t just a trick of light. Chuuya knew that.

But he wasn’t sure if he wanted Dazai to know.

“Okay,” Dazai said, his voice calm. “Then it doesn’t explain why it made you pass out.”

Chuuya swallowed hard and forced himself to take a sip of water, hoping it would wash down the unease.

“I don’t know,” he lied, setting the cup down beside him. “I probably just—stood up too fast. Got dizzy.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Dazai asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Chuuya nodded.

“Why don’t we go check it now then?”

Chuuya hesitated for a moment, his mind spinning with doubt. Part of him wanted to pretend it never happened, to ignore the strange feeling that had crept over him last night and just keep going like it was nothing. But there was another part of him, the one that still couldn’t shake the image of the statue’s eyes shifting and wouldn’t rest until he was sure it was just an illusion. If it even was.

"What’s the point?" Chuuya scoffed, trying his best to act indifferent. "It probably just stands there as always, nothing extraordinary."

"All the more reason to not mind checking it, don’t you think?” Dazai chuckled lightly.

Before Chuuya could answer, Dazai stood up, holding out his hand for Chuuya to take. It was a little too far to the left, but he decided to take it, without commenting on it. And for once Chuuya was glad that Dazai couldn’t see his face, because he couldn’t bring himself to even try to hide affection from his eyes as he stared at the other’s pale face and those milky-white irises.

The air outside was cold against Chuuya’s skin, autumn making its presence known for the past few weeks, even occasionally giving way to winter. It felt surreal to think that Dazai had stuck by his side for this long already. Chuuya could swear it was just yesterday that they had met on that warm, impossible to forget, summer day.

As his feet pressed against the damp earth, an uneasy feeling crawled up his spine. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he looked up—but he was definitely expecting something, at least a slight change, or even a major one.

But he hadn’t expected nothing to have changed. And yet, there it was—the same garden as always, standing ahead of him. And so were the statues, looking completely ordinary.

Chuuya’s gaze immediately wandered to the one that had caused yesterday’s incident. Unmoved. Unchanged. Just stone. Just a statue. The carved details of the face. The ridges of the stone armor. The way the sword was gripped tightly in its petrified fingers. Nothing had changed.

“And?” Dazai’s voice came from behind him.

“It’s back to normal,” Chuuya said quietly, his eyes never leaving the statue’s stone-etched face. “I told you. I must have just been hallucinating yesterday or something.”

Dazai hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer until he was standing beside Chuuya. He tilted his head slightly, as he ran his fingers down the statue’s cheek, as if studying the statue.

“You sound disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Chuuya repeated, confused. “I’m not.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you wanted something to happen.” Dazai said.

Chuuya crossed his arms, stubbornly keeping his gaze on the statue

“If anything, I was hoping I didn’t lose my damn mind.”

“I think you lost your mind the moment you decided to let me stay,” Dazai laughed.

Chuuya’s eyes finally left the statue, finding their way to Dazai’s smile.

“At least you’re self aware,” he mumbled, before turning away.

But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Dazai was right. Because somewhere deep, in his mind, he was still a person who yearned and missed what he used to have. Somewhere there was a hurt boy who didn’t quite make peace with the fate he was provided.

A thought flashed through his mind. His curse was supposed to ensure he was doomed to eternal solitude, isolated for the rest of his years.

What if the presence of another human weakened it?

Somehow, it made sense. If his curse was tied to solitude and loneliness, did that mean Dazai’s presence was enough to suppress it? Or was last night just a fluke, a trick of his own exhausted mind?

Chuuya shook his head. There was no point in thinking too hard about it. He would only get his hopes up.

“Come on,” he said. “Might as well grab something to eat while we are outside.”

The crisp autumn air nipped at Chuuya’s face as they walked, boots crunching against fallen leaves. The trees were beginning to turn bare, the once vibrant reds and oranges now littering the ground, giving way to the creeping gray of winter.

“We should start storing more food,” Chuuya muttered, kicking a stray rock out of his path. “It’s getting colder faster than last year.”

“That’s a pity,” Dazai sighed, his voice intentionally dramatic, as if the news was some grand tragedy. “Seems like I’ll just have to steal your rations. I really didn’t want it to come to this.”

Chuuya scoffed, shooting him a glare.

“If one of us is going to starve, it’ll be you,” he said. “Your survival skills are nonexistent.”

“That’s why you’re heroically taking care of me,” Dazai grinned, crossing his arms behind his head. “Besides, I could survive on my own just fine.”

“Just a few days ago, you almost ate poisonous berries,” Chuuya reminded him.

“It’s not my fault they felt like normal ones,” Dazai shrugged. “And, you cared enough to stop me before I did.”

“Yeah, I cared enough to not have to drag your poisoned, useless corpse back to the cave.”

“The berries could be a good way to go, though—”

“Dazai.”

“Okay, got it. No poisonous berries.”

They walked a little further before reaching the wild persimmon tree, its last few fruits hanging stubbornly from the branches.

“Pick the ones from the ground, I’ll get the ones from the branches,” Chuuya said, not giving him a choice in the matter.

They started working in silence, Dazai muttering something about ‘being forced into manual labor again’ but going quiet after a while. The only sounds that remained were the distant rush of the stream, the occasional hisses of Chuuya’s snakes, and Dazai’s ever-present humming.

With a slight crack of a branch, Chuuya picked another fruit, carefully balancing them in the folds of his cloak. He couldn't help but glance around, his gaze flickering to the first signs of frost creeping along the edges of fallen leaves. The seasons were changing. Time kept moving forward, whether he was ready for it or not. At least, for the first time in two years, he wasn’t facing it alone.

Chuuya managed to climb onto one of the lower branches, comfortably settling himself as he reached for the higher fruit. Then all of a sudden one slipped from his fingers, and before he was fast enough to catch it, it fell down—right on Dazai’s head.

Chuuya looked down, catching Dazai’s annoyed expression, and burst out laughing. He held onto his stomach as Dazai ran a hand through his messy hair, pulling out a dry leaf.

“Really?” Dazai said, clearly annoyed. “I’m just here minding my business, and you attack me out of nowhere.”

Chuuya couldn’t stop laughing—the sight of Dazai, standing there looking so genuinely bothered by the situation, was just too much. His laugh echoed through the quiet air, and he had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

When he finally stopped laughing, he looked back down, opening his mouth to say something. But he was caught off guard when he saw Dazai, his head tilted slightly, his milky eyes holding a hint of dreaminess, and a smile more genuine than Chuuya had ever seen, resting on his cherry-red lips.

“What?” Chuuya asked, still smiling.

Dazai just chuckled quietly.

“Nothing.”

"I didn’t mean to, idiot," Chuuya said between chuckles. "It just slipped."

“Sure, let’s say I believe that,” Dazai hummed. “Though it’s hard to believe since it landed perfectly.”

“Just a coincidence. Maybe it was fate punishing you for not doing anything,” Chuuya said, looking at Dazai, whose hands were still empty even after the minutes they had already spent there.

With a final glance at Dazai, Chuuya reached up, plucking the last of the fruit and carefully lowering himself from the branch. He landed softly on the ground, handing the fruits he had collected to Dazai with a satisfied look.

“You’re carrying them,” he declared, taking a few steps ahead.

Dazai rolled his eyes but took the fruits without protest, though he did make a show of staggering a little under the weight.

"Of course, I'm the one who has to carry them. How unfair," he muttered dramatically.

Winter did come anything but gradually and gently—one day there was an autumnal landscape engulfed in shades of orange and brown, and the next Chuuya would wake up shivering and frozen, with the entire garden and the forest that spread out further away covered in a layer of snow and frost.

The days grew shorter, the nights longer. And, of course, colder. Most of their time was spent in the cave, which provided at least some warmth, or sitting at the entrance with a fire lit, watching the world outside. Time passed talking about nothing or everything, or just sitting in silence, simply minding their own business. Chuuya made sure to gather supplies of flower pigments over the last month, so he spent his time painting on the walls of the cave, searching for the few remaining empty spots, while Dazai seemed to enjoy just closing his eyes and losing himself in the world of his imagination, quietly humming some melody. Chuuya rarely asked what the other was thinking about — for some reason, he felt that whatever it was, it felt like it wasn’t meant for anywhere but inside Dazai’s mind.

He did paint Dazai. Nothing elaborate—just as he saw him in that moment, leaning lazily against the cave’s wall, covered by two layers of cloth, with his bandaged hands playing with a small twig (Chuuya replaced it with a hydrangea flower) absentmindedly. It wasn’t the most detailed portrait Chuuya had ever done, but that wasn’t his goal. In fact, he didn’t paint Dazai’s face at all, just the slim figure and messy, unique in some way hair.

It wasn’t perfect, but Chuuya didn’t mind. He didn’t expect it to be. There was something about the rawness of the moment that felt more important than any fine detail.

“I’m done,” Chuuya said, scoffing.

A few days ago, Dazai had shown him a game of rock, paper, scissors—of course the spoken version of the game, since Dazai wouldn’t be able to see the gestures. Nothing too complicated, but enough to provide some entertainment during the boring, cold days. And since then, Chuuya hadn’t won even once—which, to say hurt his ego, would be an understatement.

“Come on, it’s only been five minutes,” Dazai grinned after another won round.

“Five too many,” Chuuya said. “I need fresh air.”

“It’s cold outside,” Dazai whined.

“No one’s forcing you to come with me,” Chuuya retorted, standing up and throwing an extra layer of cloth over his shoulders.

Chuuya retorted, standing up and throwing an extra layer of cloth over his shoulders.

Dazai grumbled something under his breath but stood up anyway, following him toward the exit. Chuuya rolled his eyes before tossing him an extra linen coat, which Dazai caught with an amused smile.

They walked side by side in silence, the only sound the crunch of snow beneath their feet.

“I never liked winter,” Dazai muttered after a while.

“I used to,” Chuuya shrugged. “Not as much as spring, when—”

“When the flowers bloomed,” Dazai finished for him.

“Yeah, whatever.” Chuuya rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Winter was tough sometimes, but it wasn’t all bad,” he continued after a moment. “I remember me and my friends constantly getting yelled at to stay indoors when we were kids, but we never listened. We’d throw snow at each other, or go sliding across the frozen lake.” Chuuya laughed to himself at the memory of young himself, Shirase and Yuan.

“Sounds fun,” Dazai mused.

“It was,” Chuuya admitted. “Until I’d always end up getting sick, and my mom would spend days taking care of me, making me tea every five minutes.” he sighed.

He didn’t like thinking about his mother. No matter how much comfort the happy memories brought, it always led to one thing—worrying about the present and future. His whole life, he had promised her he’d take care of everything when he got older. That he’d repay her for the years she had spent raising him, watching over him, caring for him. Now, he couldn’t be there to fulfill his promise.

And what was even worse, he couldn’t even imagine what she must have felt after his exile. She couldn’t have known what really happened, there was no way. So what did she think? That he ran away? That he died?

“She sounds like a sweet woman,” Dazai said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Of course, she’s the best.” Chuuya murmured. He took a breath, watching it curl in the cold air. “I couldn’t have wished for a better mom.”

There was a longer pause before Chuuya spoke again.

“What about your family?”

“Not worth mentioning,” Dazai said, the words sounding way too much like a rehearsed answer, an excuse just to avoid the subject.

“You did mention your father once or twice, though,” Chuuya pressed a little more.

“Did I?” Dazai asked, even though he was definitely well aware that he had. “Well, I suppose there are a lot of things you could say about him. But mostly that he was a prick.”

“Figured,” Chuuya muttered.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were that intelligent, Chuuya,” Dazai smirked. “We should celebrate the first time you’ve actually connected the dots and figured something out.”

“Oh, shut up,” Chuuya said, lightly punching him in the arm. “You literally told me you ran away from home the day we met. It was more than obvious you didn’t come from some happy, perfect family.”

“Obvious, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re not as mysterious and alluring as you think you are.”

“That’s a pity, I tried my best to be.” Dazai said, feigning disappointment.

“What about your mother?” Chuuya asked, continuing the subject. He knew that if he dropped it now, the next opportunity to ask Dazai about it would probably not come again for at least a few weeks.

“She died in childbirth.”

“Oh,” the word slipped from Chuuya’s lips before he could stop it.

“Not mine, though,” Dazai added quickly. “My younger sister. I was six at the time.”

Chuuya didn’t know what he had expected, but it was definitely not this. From the scraps of information Dazai had let slip about his past, the way he had been sheltered from the world because of his disability, Chuuya had always imagined him as the center of his parents' attention, their only child. He never expected Dazai to have a sibling.

“I’m sorry,” Chuuya said, as it was the only thing to say that came to his mind. “About… losing your mother.”

Dazai just smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it wasn’t a sad one either. It was a smile of someone who had long ago made peace with what he had lost.

“It’s fine,” Dazai said. “You can’t really lose something you never had. I barely remember her.”

“Barely doesn’t mean not at all,” Chuuya pointed out.

“Maybe,” Dazai murmured. “I got the melody from her.”

Chuuya immediately knew what he meant. The ever-present humming, sometimes shifting, sometimes changing, but always returning to the same familiar tune—the one Chuuya, despite all the time that had passed, never seemed to grow tired of.

“So you lied when you said you made it up,” Chuuya smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “I knew it. You’re anything but a musical genius.”

Dazai let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly in Chuuya’s direction. 

“You should be used to me lying about things like that by now.”

"I know I should," Chuuya muttered.

"But I guess by now, it kind of is mine. Since I’ve sung it more times than I can count," Dazai said.

Chuuya thought about that for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.

"There’s nothing wrong with it," he murmured.

"With what?"

"Taking something that belonged to someone you loved and making it yours."

Dazai didn’t respond at first, but then his usual soft chuckle echoed in the cold air.

"You’re more sentimental than I thought," he said.

"Shut up. I was just... never mind," Chuuya cut himself off mid-sentence, knowing that trying to explain himself would get him nowhere. "Anyway, if you ever wanna... talk about it," he hesitated, uncertain if he should continue, if he even had the right to. "I’m here."

Dazai just hummed under his breath before taking a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hold onto some warmth.

"You still haven’t told me your story," he said. "It would be unfair if you knew mine, don’t you think?"

"It’s not a damn competition," Chuuya scoffed. "I’m just telling you that I’m here to listen if you want to talk. If not, then fine, it’s not like I give a damn."

Dazai only laughed.

"Would you talk, Chuuya?"

Chuuya thought about it. Countless nights, lying awake, haunted by the images of that one night, his mind replaying the events over and over again. Glancing at Dazai, usually deeply asleep on the other side of the cave, the remnants of whatever was left of the human part in him screamed for closure, for understanding. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to get it off his chest, to finally be heard, even if not fully understood.

But then morning always came, and it all faded, replaced again by the instinctive need to avoid it, the deeply ingrained urge to keep his distance.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Then maybe some other time,” Dazai said easily. “We’ll find a nice spot where the flowers are blooming and dump our wonderful, traumatizing life stories on each other.”

“You’re insufferable. That shit actually happened to us—it’s not some silly story to tell over a fireplace,” Chuuya scoffed.

“I tend to forget that,” Dazai said with a small smile.

They must have been walking for a while, because before Chuuya realized it, they had reached the place where the stream widened into a small, currently frozen lake. The surface was smooth and unbroken, the ice thick enough that Chuuya, cautious as he was, didn’t hesitate to step forward. The sound of their footsteps changed, snow turning to slick ice beneath their boots, as Chuuya moved easily, familiar with the sensation. He crouched, brushing away the thin layer of snow to get a better look at the ice beneath.

Dazai took a step behind him—but the moment he set foot on the ice, his balance was gone. His arms flailed wildly for a second before he managed to catch himself, feet spread wide apart in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Chuuya let out a laugh as he looked at him.

“You’ve never walked on ice before, have you?”

“What the hell is this?” Dazai whined, clearly confused.

Right. He never had the chance to be near a frozen lake, let alone walk on one, considering where and in what conditions he grew up in.

Chuuya pushed himself back up and dusted the frost off his hands. 

“You just have to—” But before he could finish, Dazai wobbled again, instinctively reaching for Chuuya’s arm in a panicked attempt to steady himself.

“I want to get off this thing,” Dazai said, voice strained.

“You’ll get used to it in a moment, just don’t—”

Before Chuuya could finish his sentence, Dazai’s balance failed him completely. He yanked Chuuya forward as he fell, landing flat on his back. Just as Chuuya was about to react, he lost his footing too, his balance giving out as he crashed down beside Dazai with a startled grunt, the cold seeping through his clothes instantly.

Huffing from the impact, Dazai turned his head toward him, his breath coming out in short, visible gasps.

“Well, well," he said, grinning. "Look at that. Seems like the ice got you, too.”

Chuuya glared at him.

“I hope you freeze.”

“Nah, that would be too painful,” Dazai said, trying to lift himself up, only to lose his balance again and fall on his palms.

Chuuya got up without much of a problem, watching as Dazai settled himself laying on the cold ice, clearly giving up on trying to stand up.

“Get up,”

“No,” Dazai muttered. “I’m hibernating here. Wake me up when the spring comes.”

“Get up, before you actually freeze,” Chuuya repeated, annoyed, taking Dazai’s cold hand into his.

“I thought you wanted me to,”

Not receiving an answer, Dazai groaned quietly in annoyance but grabbed Chuuya’s hand anyway, letting himself be pulled up. The moment he got to his feet, though, he wobbled again, his grip tightening around Chuuya’s wrist to keep from slipping.

They managed to sit down on the soft snow, which sank slightly under their weight. Chuuya tried rubbing his hands together to keep warm, but it took more effort than it was worth.

"So, what about my question?" Dazai asked.

"I already told you, not—"

"Not yet, I know," Dazai repeated. "But what’s the real answer, Chuuya?"

The real answer? Chuuya wanted to tell him. But he never got what he wanted, did he? And even when he did, the moment he obtained it, everything always went downhill. Chuuya didn’t want that to happen this time too.

"I'm not telling you anything."

"Guess I’ll just have to get it out of you," Dazai smirked, his gaze unfocused, his fingers absentmindedly tracing random patterns in the snow.

"Good luck with that."

Dazai just smiled.

"I'll take my chances."

It didn’t take long for winter to fully settle in, the cold becoming the ever-present companion, snow covering the ground and turning the once vibrant garden into a landscape of white of gray hues, with trees standing bare against the milky sky. There were moments, when the season seemed to stretch on forever, but it was a kind of stillness that both Chuuya and Dazai have come to settle into, each in their own way.

And Chuuya would be lying if he said that, despite everything, this wasn’t the most bearable winter he’d had in the past two years. At least now, he had someone to share his body heat with or someone who would prepare a warm herbal tea before he could even properly open his eyes in the morning, and suddenly —it all did not seem that bad.

Chuuya stirred and groaned quietly as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His gaze wandered down to his right, where Dazai was still lying on their makeshift bed, made out of straw and soft leaves. His chest rose and fell slowly, still completely lost in slumber.

It took him a while to realize what had woken him up—muffled voices outside the cave. His whole body suddenly tensed, his ears perking up to catch exactly what he was hearing. Maybe it was just the wind, or wild animals running back and forth. Until he realized, it was a human voice.

Chuuya untangled himself from Dazai’s arm—his grip was surprisingly strong, considering how physically weak he usually was—and stood up quietly, careful not to make noise by stepping on the leaves. He did not remember falling asleep cuddled with Dazai, but then again, the brunette had an awful habit of shifting in his sleep every five minutes.

Chuuya walked toward the entrance of the cave, squinting as the morning rays of sunlight hit his eyes.

The garden hadn’t changed much since yesterday—the same old plants, a few withered and frostbitten flowers, statues lightly dusted with snow, looking around with their empty gaze.

Except for the three figures in the distance, which Chuuya caught from the corner of his eye.

“There it is!”

Chuuya didn’t look up, his stare still focused on the ground before him, even when he clearly heard steps moving towards him.

Just what he needed at the moment. Especially with Dazai here now.

“Get out of here,” he said firmly, his voice loud enough to drown out the snakes writhing on his head, hissing wildly as they sensed the danger.

“We are here to defeat the monster you are,” one of them declared. “Don’t even try to look up and petrify us. If you do, you’ll take an innocent life.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened as he realized what the man meant. He could only see their figures from the feet up to their waists—he wouldn’t dare look any higher, not yet—but he could clearly recognize one of them as a woman, dressed in a simple robe rather than the armor the others wore.

They weren’t reckless enough to charge at him mindlessly. They brought a kind of bait.

“Oh, you understand now, don’t you?” the other man mocked. “Now!”

Before Chuuya could say another word, both men lunged at him, one of them gripping the woman’s arm, using her as a living shield. Chuuya instinctively took a step back.

He couldn’t look up. He had no guarantee he wouldn’t accidentally lock eyes with the innocent woman. It had happened once before—on the day he was cursed—when he had turned an innocent priestess to stone. It was something he had promised himself he would never, ever allow to happen again.

He could run, luring them far enough away from his hideout—but for what? They would return, sooner or later. Running would only delay the inevitable.

The only option left was to fight—without relying on his curse.

Chuuya wasn’t weak. His whole life, he had physically worked in his mother’s garden, enduring both the scorching heat of summer and the biting cold of winter. When he was ten, he used to sneak away with Shirase, playfully practicing combat or racing through the streets of their town. They may had been kids, but those days had toughened him.

One of the men swung his sword, aiming straight for Chuuya’s chest. He caught the man’s wrist just in time, stopping the blade inches from his body. At the same moment, he lashed out with a powerful kick, sending the second man stumbling backward. The woman, now free, staggered away. Without hesitation, Chuuya grabbed her, pulling her close and covering her eyes with his hand.

And then, he looked up.

The first man froze instantly. Their gazes locked for just a fraction of a second before his body stiffened, turning to cold, lifeless stone.

The other man was faster. He had repositioned himself behind Chuuya, and just before he met the same fate as his companion, he slashed his sword across Chuuya’s back.

Chuuya gasped, his knees hitting the ground, scraping against the rough stone.

“Go,” he choked out to the woman, who was now standing a few feet away.

He didn’t need to say it twice. She let out a sharp breath and ran. Chuuya listened to the fading sound of her footsteps until they disappeared entirely.

His hand reached back, fingers pressing against his torn clothing and the warm, sticky blood soaking through. He inhaled sharply as pain shot through him, then pulled his hand away to find it stained red.

“That was quite a show,” a voice spoke from behind him.

Chuuya didn’t move. He couldn’t find the strength to, his hand clutching the ground beneath him, nails digging into the dirt.

“That slash didn’t sound very light,” Dazai’s voice rang out just behind his ear as Chuuya heard him kneel down. His back arched away instinctively when he felt Dazai’s touch, just sending another wave of pain through his whole body.

Gritting his teeth, Chuuya forced himself to stand, stumbling slightly before turning his gaze to Dazai’s face.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just some more wonderful people trying to kill me.”

“Oh yeah, I heard that,” Dazai said, trailing behind him as Chuuya started walking back to the cave.

“And you didn’t think about helping me?” Chuuya scoffed.

“Well, you did fine without me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, just great.”

But they both knew that Chuuya was relieved that Dazai hadn’t left the cave. If he did, he would have been nothing more than a distraction—another person for Chuuya to worry about, making it impossible to fully focus on the fight. Without words, with just mutual instinctive understanding, Dazai did exactly what Chuuya wanted him to.

Back in the cave, Chuuya sat down carefully, resisting the urge to lean against the wall out of habit—he knew that would hurt like hell.

Dazai knelt beside him, placing the herbs and white cloth, some of the supplies they had gathered over the past few months, within reach. With careful hands, he pushed Chuuya’s robe off his shoulders, letting it slip onto the cold stone floor, exposing the deep slash across his back.

Reaching for a bucket of water, Dazai soaked the cloth and pressed it gently against the wound, which he had first found with his palm.

Chuuya gasped silently, his breath hitching at the sharp sting. Almost in sync, the snakes on his head let out a chorus of hisses, writhing as if sharing his pain. If he would think about it, the idea was both comforting and disturbing.

After a few moments, the initial burning subsided, and Chuuya exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You okay?” Dazai asked, his tone light but laced with something deeper.

“Take a guess,” Chuuya muttered sarcastically.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Chuuya clenched his jaw. Of course, he knew. The physical pain was nothing compared to the weight settling in his chest. It could have been the hundredth time, the thousandth, and it still wouldn’t make a difference. The guilt never faded.

And today, for the first time, Dazai had been there to witness it.

“They probably had families,” Chuuya murmured, his voice quieter now.

“Maybe,” Dazai replied, still tending to his wound. “And? Their families are probably better off without some idiots who decided to go on a suicide mission just because they felt like it. You defended yourself.”

“And? I still fucking killed them.”

Dazai sighed, putting some herbs over the wound and then tying the last part of the bandage over them securely. 

“Relax. You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you.” he said. “It was them or you. Life sometimes requires extreme decisions.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it that way,” Chuuya replied, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Dazai smiled faintly, the expression barely visible.

“No, you don’t. But blaming yourself will only exhaust you. You saved that girl, didn’t you?” he reminded him gently.

Chuuya continued to absentmindedly scratch at the stone floor, his nails dragging across it with a sound that almost echoed in the quiet cave. 

“I didn’t really. She was probably stolen away from her home, I have no idea if she’ll even find a way back there. She could just as well die somewhere in the woods.”

“But she’s free,” Dazai responded calmly. “Don’t you think dying on your own terms is better than dying being used by someone? Dying for... someone’s benefit.”

Chuuya glanced over at him, as Dazai’s voice had wavered slightly as he spoke the last part. It was subtle, but Chuuya knew the other man too well by now to miss the personal resonance in Dazai’s words, the undercurrent of emotion hidden beneath them. As if he wasn’t talking just about that woman.

“Guess you’re right,” Chuuya sighed. He felt Dazai reposition himself to sit beside him rather than behind him, and he couldn’t stop himself from resting his head on Dazai’s arm, the warmth of it oddly comforting despite the tension still lingering in the air.

“You should rest,” Dazai said after clearing his throat, his tone softer now.

“It’s only morning. It hurts like a bitch, but I’m not tired enough to sleep.”

“Fine then,” Dazai said, his voice still quiet.

He paused for a moment, as if thinking carefully about his next words. When he spoke again, it was with a measured calmness that seemed to fill the space between them.

“Sometimes sharing a burden helps with carrying it.”

Chuuya’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he turned his gaze to the cave wall, his eyes narrowing in thought. He wasn’t sure why, but for the first time, the idea of letting someone else carry part of the weight felt almost... tempting.

Dazai had stuck by his side for almost a year now and there were no visible signs of him leaving anytime soon. And the reality was, even if Chuuya hadn’t fully admitted it to himself yet, that deep down, he had started to trust Dazai. But on the surface, he still felt like that hurt boy in the temple—bound to expect betrayal, cursed not only with his petrifying gaze but also with the inability to ever fully put his faith in anything, in anyone, again. No man would ever touch him again.

But Dazai wasn’t like any other man.

If it came to it, Chuuya knew he would likely sacrifice his life for Dazai, but the idea of sharing his secret—that was something else entirely.

The curse, in all its cruelty, was meant to isolate him. It was designed to keep him alone, forever. But Dazai, with his persistent presence, was the exact opposite of that. Their accidental meeting had been a literal loophole in the gods’ plan—something even Athena might not have foreseen. The fact that they were here together, now, was a miracle of sorts. Or perhaps, a cruel irony.

Chuuya exhaled sharply, his thoughts drifting. Maybe life didn’t need to be about what the gods planned. Maybe it was about finding the loopholes.

Maybe he was still somehow in control. Maybe this curse didn’t have to define all aspects of his life.

Maybe with Dazai, he could still, in some way, be human.

"What if I don’t want to carry it anymore? What if I’m tired of it?" Chuuya asked quietly.

Dazai smiled at him.

"Then let me."

"You’ll hate me when you hear it. You’ll be disgusted," Chuuya said.

Dazai shifted, leaning against the wall in front of Chuuya instead of behind him. His unseeing eyes tried to focus on Chuuya’s face. I’m here , his white, deep eyes seemed to be saying.

"Try me," he said with a chuckle.

"Wow, it really doesn’t help now that I can actually see your face while saying this."

"Good thing I don’t have that problem," Dazai grinned.

Chuuya inhaled slowly, staring at the flickering shadows on the cave walls. His chest felt tight, like the words were pressing against his ribs, refusing to come out. But Dazai was waiting. He was still here. That, at least, gave him something to hold on to.

"Damn you," Chuuya scoffed, wincing slightly as another wave of pain shot through his back. But that, ironically, wasn’t his biggest concern right now. "I... I don’t know where to start."

"Anywhere," Dazai shrugged. "You already told me you used to live with your mother and friends in a small town, mostly devoted to Athena."

That was true—Chuuya had mentioned that before. Sometimes, only sometimes, when he was tired enough or had a particularly good day and knew that speaking about his past wouldn’t cause him an immediate breakdown, he allowed himself to give Dazai glimpses into his old life.

He had told him about his mother’s garden, how his favorite part was where the rosemary grew, and what songs she used to hum to help him sleep. He had spoken about Shirase and the others, recalling their silly childhood games and how they could turn even the most boring chores into an adventure. He had told him about Kouyou, how she was like an older sister to him, teaching him not just survival but also morality—because she was the kindest, warmest person he had ever known, someone he had looked up to in every way possible.

But he had never mentioned the temple, except for the fact that he had once aspired to be a priest of Athena. After that, Dazai had stopped pushing the topic.

"I did," Chuuya mumbled. "I was sixteen when it happened. The night before Panathenaea—Athena’s festival."

Dazai nodded, a silent way of telling him he was listening. He even closed his eyelids—something he did whenever he wanted to concentrate fully. Chuuya really, really fucking appreciated that.

"I went to the temple I was assigned to," Chuuya said, gaze dropping to the floor. Each word made him feel more and more ashamed. "For no real reason, to be honest. I was just so nervous, you know?" He let out a dry laugh. "That day... it meant something to me. For the first time in my life, it was something that really mattered to me. I guess I was just too restless to sleep. I wanted to make one last offering to Athena before the temple became crowded and loud the next morning."

Dazai remained silent. Chuuya bit his lip and exhaled, a bit louder this time. He both appreciated Dazai’s quiet attentiveness and at the very same time wished for some stupid, ironic, Dazai-like remark—anything to break the tension that was making him feel like he might throw up at any moment.

"Turns out, I wasn’t alone there," Chuuya continued after a long pause. "There was another god there. I’m—I’m not going to say the name. I can’t. I physically can’t—"

"You don’t have to," Dazai interrupted gently, his voice so soft that it made Chuuya’s throat ache as he swallowed back the lump forming there. "I know."

That made Chuuya let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was even holding.

"How?" Chuuya’s voice wavered.

"People don’t just develop a panicked fear of the sea for no reason, Chuuya," Dazai sighed.

"So you figured it out a long time ago," Chuuya muttered, but there was no resentment in his tone. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance—of course Dazai had known. Of course, how would Dazai not know?

"It wasn’t... hard to guess."

"Yeah, well, I won’t pretend it was," Chuuya muttered. "So... where was I? He was there. I have no fucking idea why. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe he just wanted to mess with someone. I don’t even know if it was about me. Maybe I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe... maybe it was just a cruel twist of fate."

Blood was already dripping onto the cave floor, staining it red from where Chuuya had been scraping at the skin on his finger with his nail.

“I prefer to think it was,” Chuuya choked out, feeling the lump in his throat growing bigger, “you know, a coincidence. Because if it wasn’t, that would mean I deserved it. And I don’t really like the thought of living my life in a way that would make me deserve something like this.”

“That’s just stupid,” Dazai interrupted.

“Stupid?” Chuuya repeated skeptically.

“Stupid. Illogical. Whatever,” Dazai continued. “You didn’t deserve it. Their actions don’t determine what is good or bad.”

“But they’re—”

“You have a fucked-up perception of what the word ‘god’ means, Chuuya,” Dazai said, his voice flat, almost monotone. “They’re not some kind of saviors. They’re like people—with flaws and no morality. And worse, they’re like people who were given way too much power.”

Chuuya stayed silent, processing the words. It sounded so wrong, so incorrect. Comparing a god to a mere human? A divine being, said to be infallible, reduced to such a low status? Gods weren’t supposed to be flawed. They weren’t supposed to be cruel. They were meant to be above the pettiness of mortals. That’s what he had always believed. That’s what he had been told.

“That’s just... theoretical speaking,” Chuuya tried to oppose, rebelling against his racing thoughts.

“I don’t think your situation is a theoretical one, Chuuya,” Dazai responded. “I’m just telling it how it is. They’re not ideal. It’s just common sense.”

“Common sense, huh,” Chuuya scoffed, laughing mockingly, but mostly at himself. “What else does your wonderful common sense tell you?”

“It tells me that you deserved better than that.”

Chuuya clenched his jaw, staring down at the dried blood on his fingertips. The cave felt suffocating all of a sudden.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Dazai added. “I know it’s hard to change your mind about something that’s been drilled into your head since you were a child.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya said, not trusting his words anymore.

“But you can start by stopping blaming yourself. Now, sorry. Continue.”

“Where did I even...”

“The temple. Posei—”

“Right, right, I remember,” Chuuya sighed. “Then after the whole thing, he just left. I don’t remember much to be honest, I think my brain just kind of—turned itself off until it felt like the danger had passed. I remember waking up, or maybe I wasn’t even asleep, just regaining my consciousness when he was already gone. I felt... I’ve never felt so bad in my life.”

He paused for a moment. The words were already slipping out on their own. For once, Chuuya decided to let them.

“Not later, after she did what she did. But after him. It was worse. I felt just so... damn it, I’ve never felt so many things than I did back then and now I can’t even put it into words.” He said, his fists clenching on their own.

“Slowly,” Dazai said. “We have more than enough time.”

“Maybe,” Chuuya said. “But I’ve had almost three years now to come to terms with what happened, and I just fucking can’t.”

He tilted his head up, looking at the stone ceiling of the cave. The snakes slithered slowly, touching his bare back, tangling themselves around his neck and arms.

“Then she... appeared, I guess,” he continued after a moment. “Out of thin air. She was beautiful. Not exactly how I imagined her, but beautiful. And powerful. And it felt like— the first thing I thought was that she had come to save me. To erase what happened, to comfort me. Like a mother comforts her child.”

“The gods aren’t in this world to watch over us,” Dazai said, his voice holding a hint of sadness.

“I know,” Chuuya said. “But I didn’t back then.”

He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting Dazai's—those unseeing, white, almost ethereal eyes that seemed to pierce through the layers of silence between them. It sounded foolish, but the quiet assurance, that Dazai wasn’t even aware he was giving him, made Chuuya’s chest feel just a little less tight, his mind a little less clouded. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him grounded or give him the strength to continue.

“I sometimes believe she was just trying to protect me. Like she said,” Chuuya said, his voice barely a whisper. He hated how vulnerable he sounded. It made him want to just push Dazai away, or run off and never return, seeking whatever twisted sense of comfort he could find in isolation and solitude. But deep down, he knew that would be cowardice.

“Protect you? How?” Dazai asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“She promised me no man would ever lay a hand on me again,” Chuuya recited the words, which haunted him constantly—both in his dreams and while awake. “And that’s what I needed, right? That’s—”

“That’s straight-up manipulation,” Dazai interrupted. “If she truly cared about you, there were countless other ways to protect you. And those ways definitely wouldn’t include hurting you again.”

“I didn’t know that,” Chuuya said, his voice almost desperate now. “I looked up to her my whole life. I devoted my whole life to her—letting myself believe she wasn’t what I thought she was would mean accepting that I wasted all that time. That it was all for nothing.”

“And what if it was?” Dazai said.

“What?”

“Who cares if it was? You were sixteen, Chuuya. That’s barely any time. You’re eighteen, almost nineteen now—you have your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to stick to your old beliefs just because you dedicated time to them. Things change.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying it’s better in the long run.”

“What do you know about the long run? Running away from home, suicidal thoughts—you’re not exactly a perfect example of someone who has their shit together.”

Dazai didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Chuuya immediately regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I... Where was I? Athena, right.” He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “Well, she cursed me with these.” Chuuya gestured toward the snakes before realizing that Dazai couldn’t even see them. “I was stupid enough to think she was bluffing at first,” he continued. “I... met one of the priestesses on my way out of the temple.” He swallowed hard. “You can imagine what happened.”

Chuuya could still see it—the memory burned into his mind, no matter how much time passed. A moment of confusion in her eyes before her body froze mid-step, forever trapped in stone.

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault. He had told himself that over and over. But it had still been his eyes that turned her to stone. His gaze that had stolen her life.

Chuuya inhaled deeply, forcing himself back to the present. The cave, the fire, Dazai sitting in front of him, silent but attentive. Just focus on that. You’re here now .

“I ran after that,” Chuuya muttered. “Not like I had much of a choice. I don’t remember how far, how long—just that I kept running until my legs gave out.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t even know why I thought it would help. Like I could somehow outrun what happened.”

“Makes sense to me,” Dazai shrugged. “I’m not exactly better in that regard.”

“Right,” Chuuya let out a bitter laugh. “Running away from home, wandering around aimlessly, waiting for death to catch up with you. Sounds like you.”

“I’m just that unique.”

Chuuya paused for a moment, his gaze flicking toward one of the paintings he had done on the cave wall. It was a landscape—simple, almost childlike at first glance, but nonetheless comforting. A meadow filled with flowers, and in it, small, distinctive figures, barely more than silhouettes but for Chuuya recognizable enough. Each one represented someone who had mattered to him. Shirase and his childhood friends, his mother, Kouyou, Yumeno.

 And, since a few months ago, also Dazai.

“It’s the worst when I let my thoughts spiral,” Chuuya said, his voice quieter now. “When I think of all the what-ifs. When I imagine how things would be if none of this had ever happened. If I could still be with the people I love.” His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. “Sometimes... sometimes I wish I had just been born like this. Because then—then I wouldn’t know any better.”

“That would be easier, wouldn’t it?” Dazai mused. “But that doesn’t mean it would be better.”

“What?”

“Our past is what shapes us. If you were born like this, if you had never lived the life you once had, you wouldn’t be the same Chuuya who’s sitting in front of me now,” Dazai said, as if stating the obvious. “Maybe you wouldn’t have fought so hard to stay you . Maybe you wouldn’t even know what was worth fighting for.”

“That’s just some poetic bullshit you’re spouting now,” Chuuya scoffed.

“Not really,” Dazai smiled. “I’m just saying it’s still you . No matter what’s changed, no matter what you’ve lost. You can’t erase that. Life isn’t a book you can just rip pages out of. And wishing it was, will only drive you crazy.”

“Probably,” Chuuya muttered.

A sharp pain flared in his back again, making him wince as his wound reminded him of its presence. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to continue, to distract himself from the burning sensation.

“There wasn’t much after that,” he said. “I found this place. Tried everything I could to keep myself occupied, to actually live my new life instead of just... existing.” His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable bitterness beneath it. “Soon after, the warriors started coming, you know, to slay the monster they heard rumors about.” A scoff left his lips. “Now they’re just the statues outside.”

“I hate when people jump to conclusions,” Dazai sighed.

It was the same thing he had said on the first day they met. Chuuya decided to keep that observation to himself.

“What do you mean?”

“All those hero-wannabes,” Dazai said. “It’s just stupid to me. They don’t see you. They see the curse, what they want to see. They don’t come here to fight you, they come to fight the idea of you.”

“It is what it is,” Chuuya said. “We can’t change the past, right?”

“No, but we can move forward from it.”

“You sound like the type who wouldn’t listen to his own advice.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dazai smiled.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Yeah, figured.”

He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—that Dazai always had something to say, or that, somehow, his words always stayed with him longer than he would like them to.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

“Leaving?” Chuuya repeated, not quite understanding. “Leaving where? I don’t have anywhere better to go. It’s a miracle I found this place.”

“I don’t know,” Dazai shrugged. “Somewhere with people. If you’d be careful enough, keeping your gaze down, maybe-”

“No,” Chuuya cut him off, almost letting out a laugh at the thought. “No, not in the world. What the hell do you expect it to be like? Me, walking into a village and pretending I’m normal? Hoping no one looks me in the eyes and turns to stone?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have the slightest chance of success.”

“You never know until you try,” Dazai said.

“If you want to leave, go ahead!” Chuuya snapped. “No one’s keeping you here.”

“No,” Dazai said simply, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Chuuya looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Might sound funny,” Dazai continued, tilting his head slightly, “but here, with you, I’ve found myself not wanting to run away or leave for the first time in my life.” His voice was light, but there was something underneath it, something deeper. “Let me cherish that for a moment. Unless, of course, you want me to go. Then—”

“Shut up,” Chuuya muttered, cutting him off again.

He hated how vulnerable his own words sounded. Hated how easily Dazai managed to poke at the parts of him he tried so hard to ignore. Who would have thought he’d ever be so terrified at the mere thought of losing someone?

Dazai could have had the world. He could travel, visit new places. Even if, for some still unknown reason, he wasn’t fond of the idea of returning to his hometown, the world was endless. He could find a new one, among people. His disability was nothing compared to the curse Chuuya had to live with and the limitations that came with it.

The thought made Chuuya feel things—guilt, happiness, a strange sense of appreciation. Gratitude.

“So you got attached to me?” Dazai laughed, poking Chuuya’s arm.

His fingers trailed down, a bit slower than necessary. They stopped at Chuuya’s hand for a moment before retreating, as Dazai placed his palm flat against the stone floor.

With what little mental strength Chuuya had left, he placed his own hand over it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he chuckled.

Dazai’s body reacted immediately. The subtle tension that was in his shoulders suddenly disappeared, making him relax and lean into the touch. His fingers twitched slightly beneath Chuuya’s, before he intertwined them all together.

Chuuya’s gaze fell to Dazai’s hand. The end of his bandage hung loosely from his wrist, parts of it frayed and slightly undone, clearly in need of fixing. Beneath some of the folds, glimpses of bare skin were visible—marked with both faint and deeper, more pronounced scars.

He had seen them before. He had never said anything about them, picking up on the subtle cues Dazai gave him—the way he always turned away when changing them, the way he carefully adjusted them when he thought no one was paying attention, as if keeping them in place was the only thing holding him together.

Chuuya had never pushed. Not because he wasn’t curious—because he was—but because he knew what it was like to have wounds you didn’t want to explain.

“Those need changing,” Chuuya finally broke the silence. “The bandages.”

Dazai’s free hand immediately moved to his forearm, gripping the fabric too tightly, but the worn material loosened anyway, beginning to unravel.

“You’re just making it worse,” Chuuya said, and gently, careful not to startle Dazai, lifted the hand that was holding his, bringing it up until it rested against the fraying bandages. “Let me.”

Dazai’s expression flickered for a brief moment before settling back into something neutral, unreadable. But in that split second, Chuuya caught the hesitation, the uncertainty buried beneath the practiced indifference.

“No need to,” Dazai smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll just—”

“Really,” Chuuya insisted.

Dazai hesitated, but after a moment, he slowly lifted his arm, extending it toward Chuuya.

Chuuya took that as permission.

He worked in silence, at first trying not to let his gaze linger on Dazai’s scars for too long. But, his willpower didn’t last long, and soon he found himself unable to look away from the faint lines on Dazai’s forearm. Of course, he had caught glimpses before—small, fleeting parts—but this was the first time he could really see them

Some were barely visible, faint marks against his skin. Others were more distinct, crossing his arm in different directions—some vertical, some horizontal, some diagonal, as if someone who had caused them hadn't cared for precision or couldn’t see what they were even doing. Well, Chuuya had a pretty good idea of who that someone might have been.

He dampened a piece of cloth—the same one Dazai had used earlier to clean his wound—and pressed it lightly against Dazai’s bare skin for a moment. Then, setting it aside, he reached for a fresh bandage and began wrapping it around Dazai’s arm, his hands steady and deliberate. Slowly, carefully, he covered what Dazai wanted hidden.

“Here, done,” Chuuya muttered. “Not falling apart anymore.”

“Now we’re square,” Dazai said with a smile.

“Yeah, let’s say we are. I didn’t exactly rub my fingers into an open wound like you did to me,” Chuuya teased.

“Hey, I couldn’t exactly see it,” Dazai huffed. “Had to somehow know what I was taking care of.”

“Whatever,” Chuuya sighed. “Try not to mess them up so soon. I’m not going to waste my time every day changing them.”

“Okay, okay, guess I’ll have to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience,” Dazai teased.

“You better,” Chuuya chuckled.

Dazai laughed, his posture relaxing further. His arm, previously stiff with hesitation, now rested easily between them, his newly wrapped wrist brushing against Chuuya's knee.

“I have one too. A scar,” Chuuya said after a moment.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I mean, I have a few, but most are small. From stupid accidents as a kid, from working in the fields, and some on my legs from frostbite during my first winter… alone,” Chuuya admitted. “But there’s one that’s different.”

He lifted the wide sleeve of his robe, revealing his forearm. Just above his wrist were two slightly curved lines branching symmetrically, almost forming a V shape, but with the ends curling outward.

“I think it’s a little raised on the skin,” Chuuya said, “So maybe you’ll feel it.”

Dazai blindly searched for Chuuya’s extended arm for a moment before finding it. Slowly, he ran his fingers over the scarred skin, tracing the lines of the symbol.

“It was supposed to be sheep horns,” Chuuya explained, a small, nostalgic smile creeping onto his face. “Me and my friends did them when we were like twelve. We used to hang out in the meadow on the outskirts of the town, and there was this flock of sheep that often passed through. Shira—one of my friends always got over excited and ran straight up to pet them.” He let out a quiet laugh.

“Never encountered one in my life,” Dazai laughed.

Chuuya’s brain whirred, trying to come up with some kind of description that would actually do them justice. Colour? No, that would tell Dazai less than nothing.

“They’re… soft,” he started, not really sure where he was going with that. “Like… have you ever touched willow catkins?”

“No,” Dazai said.

“Really? Well, I’ll make sure you do once spring comes.”

Chuuya looked down at the scar Dazai was still tracing. After years of staring at it every time he felt down, he knew every detail by heart—the slight unevenness of the left line, the way the right one was just a bit shorter. He remembered exactly how Shirase had apologized to him a million times, saying it was ‘crooked and messy’, while the symbols Chuuya had carved onto his and Yuan’s skin were almost perfect.

“Pretty extreme way for a friendship matching, if you ask me,” Dazai’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Chuuya shrugged. “We were kids. Thought we’d stick by each other’s side forever. I don’t regret it, even if we didn’t.” He paused for a moment, his gaze distant. “It’s a nice memory.”

“I guess some things are meant to be only that. Memories,” Dazai murmured, his voice low.

“Probably,” Chuuya said, his eyes softening. “I don’t regret it, even after we parted. I think if something makes you happy, even for the littlest amount of time, there’s no point in regretting it, right?”

“Makes sense to me,” Dazai replied, his tone thoughtful.

Chuuya smiled slightly, letting his mind drift back to the past.

“We knew each other since… I don’t even know. We lived in neighboring houses, all three of us, and played together before we could even properly talk.” He chuckled, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “We kind of grew up with each other. Shirase was the one who always came up with the stupidest ways to pass the time—like climbing the tallest tree, racing down the river current, or sneaking out at night to steal apples from the nearby orchard. Yuan tried keeping us in check, but, well, she always got dragged into everything anyway.” He smiled to himself, the memories feeling almost tangible now that he had spoken them aloud. “One time, Shirase wanted to build a raft and sail the sea on it. We spent two weeks gathering wood and putting it together.”

“Did it work?” Dazai asked.

“Yeah,” Chuuya said, a grin tugging at his lips. “For about five seconds.”

They both started laughing, the sound echoing on the cave walls.

“Of course, he tried to blame it on me,” Chuuya scoffed, shaking his head. “Said I tied the ropes wrong. Like he even knew how to tie a proper knot.”

The laughter died down, and there was a brief silence before Dazai asked the inevitable question.

“So what happened?”

“They left,” Chuuya said, the answer long before prepared in his head, knowing that Dazai, being Dazai, would pry. “Shirase was always… longing for more than just our small hometown. He wanted to travel the world.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I had other priorities, like serving in the temple, my… faith. And Yuan, well, she had always been a bit closer to Shirase. They knew each other longer. She just followed him.”

“And you stayed,” Dazai said.

”Yeah,” Chuuya admitted. “I didn’t see any reason to leave. I never wanted to,”

A sudden new wave of pain shot through his back, making Chuuya let out a quiet whine. This damn wound would probably keep reminding him of its presence for at least a few more weeks.

“You should sleep it off,” Dazai said. “You probably got extra tired sharing your oh-so-eventful past with me,” he smirked.

Chuuya scoffed but didn’t argue. He lay down, trying to calm the snakes wriggling on his head and find a position comfortable for both them and him. The fact that he couldn’t sleep on his back didn’t exactly help.

“Next time, you’re sharing your tragic backstory,” Chuuya muttered. “Then we’ll be even.”

“Already assuming it as tragic,” Dazai said feigning offense.

“Well, am I wrong?” Chuuya said skeptically.

“Next question.”

“Thought so. You’re telling me when I wake up,”

“Oh, but then there would be nothing mysterious and secretive about me anymore,” Dazai pouted. “I have to keep my enigmatic reputation.”

“You don’t have one,” Chuuya muttered. “You’re telling me or I’ll get it out of you.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll tell you someday.”

Chuuya shifted, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to find a comfortable position. Every time he moved, a sharp pain in his back reminded him of the fresh wound, making him grunt in frustration. He was exhausted, his body demanding rest, but no matter how he lay, the ache refused to let him slip into sleep.

Dazai, still sitting against the cave wall, watched him with mild amusement before finally speaking up.

“Someone is struggling there,”

“One more word, I swear—” Chuuya was cut off as suddenly one of his snakes, probably irritated from the constant moving, bit him on the neck. He groaned, yanking the creature away. Great, this just couldn’t get worse. “This is impossible.”

“You could sleep here,”

Chuuya blinked, needing a moment to process what exactly Dazai was implying as he patted his lap. He practically waited for the other to laugh, to say it was a joke—but the long seconds of silence that followed made it clear that Dazai was actually serious.

“No way,” Chuuya said, disbelief clear in his voice. “No way I’m sleeping on you.”

“Fine, be miserable there,” Dazai shrugged.

Chuuya hesitated, glancing down at the stone beneath him. It was cold, hard, and unforgiving—not exactly ideal, especially in his current situation.

And yet, his body was aching, his eyelids were heavy, and the warmth of Dazai, steady and unmoving, was far too tempting. He exhaled sharply through his nose, cursing under his breath before reluctantly pushing himself up and shifting closer.

"This is just so I can actually get some damn sleep," Chuuya grumbled, as if trying to convince himself more than Dazai. With stiff, hesitant movements, he lowered himself down, resting the side of his head gingerly against Dazai’s thigh.

“Right. Totally just that.”

Chuuya wanted to snap back, but the warmth and exhaustion finally won over his stubbornness. His body relaxed, his breathing slowed, and before he knew it, he drifted off.

And for the first time in three years, Chuuya didn’t pray before falling asleep.

He didn’t find himself whispering the same words over and over in his mind, a quiet, desperate plea for forgiveness from someone who had likely stopped listening long ago—if they had ever been listening at all. He didn’t reach for the comfort of the habit, didn’t hold onto the fading traces of faith that had once shaped his entire existence, who he once was.

Tonight was different. Tonight he just let himself be enveloped in comforting warmth, an almost unnoticeable but present, soft smile on his face as his mind and body slowly were shutting down, letting his body loosen and his mind go quiet. Even his snakes, usually restless, stilled as well, curling lazily against his shoulders.

No guilt. No desperate yearning for something he could never have again. No lingering fear that he’d wake up to find himself more monster than man. Just the simple, undeniable feeling that—for this moment, in this place—he was exactly where he wanted to be.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Text

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“No!”

A few weeks had passed since the incident, as they were now wandering between the trees, going deeper into the forest than they’d ever gone before. Dazai had insisted that his grand life story deserved somewhere special—“not just the same place we waste our days in”—which, apparently, meant dragging them both through the wilderness with no real destination in mind.

Chuuya’s wound had mostly healed by now, leaving behind a web of fading scabs, the dried remnants of blood slowly giving way to a long, jagged scar stretching across his back. At least for the first time in weeks he could move for a longer than fifteen minutes without it hurting like a bitch.

The snow had already begun to melt, giving way to the first hints of green grass pushing timidly through the frost-bitten earth. The sun shone high in the sky, its golden light spilling over the trees, their branches slowly unfurling fresh, healthy leaves. And for the first time in three years, Chuuya was glad to welcome spring with someone by his side.

As they wandered in circles, Chuuya had come to a conclusion—this whole journey was nothing but an excuse. Dazai was buying himself time, dragging them aimlessly through the forest, stretching every moment as far as he could, delaying what Chuuya had been owed for days now. Dazai’s past.

“We are going nowhere,” Chuuya groaned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And here I thought I was the one usually complaining about walking too much,” Dazai said, smirking.

“Because you are,” Chuuya scoffed. “You start whining after five minutes of walking, but suddenly for no reason at all you seem like you could wander forever,” he added sarcastically.

“Can’t you just believe I’m enjoying the nice weather?”

“No,”

“Okay, fine,” Dazai sighed. “We can sit down now.”

Chuuya looked around, scanning their surroundings. They had stopped in a small clearing where the sun filtered lazily through the branches, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the soft grass. A few early-blooming flowers peeked through the remnants of melted snow, their petals trembling slightly in the breeze.

He sat down on the fallen tree trunk, grabbing Dazai’s hand to pull him down beside him. His gaze locked onto the other’s face—how Dazai tilted his head up towards the sun, the light hitting his skin, painting it golden, softening the ever-present light smile that usually played on his lips.

“Have I ever told you I had a sister?" Dazai asked after a moment.

Chuuya’s mind instantly whirred, searching through every conversation they’d ever had. Had Dazai ever mentioned something like that before? And then, he remembered.

“Once,” Chuuya said. “You told me your mother died in childbirth, right?”

“Oh, right,” Dazai said. “Well, my father... He didn’t take it well. Back at the time he actually cared for some people and my mother was one of them. He mourned her loss deeply. He would probably go crazy back then when she died if not for Elise, my sister. He made her his new priority, the apple of his eye.”

Dazai paused. Chuuya didn’t look away, not even for a second. His sharp eyes stayed on the other’s face, reading every flicker of expression, searching for the words Dazai wasn’t saying. There was something in the way Dazai spoke—nostalgia laced with something heavier, something unspoken. Chuuya wanted to see in Dazai’s mind, even if the other was trying his best to let out what was curling in there with his words. He wanted to see the unspoken thoughts, touch them, hear them.

“What about you?” Chuuya asked quieter.

“Me?” Dazai repeated, taking a second to form his next words. “I was just there. All my life I felt like I was just there. You know, I never left my house much, no matter how weird it might sound,” he chuckled dryly.

“Because of the-”

“Yeah,” Dazai said. “That’s why I love when you tell me stories of your childhood.” 

Love. They never said it. They both knew the truth—they enjoyed each other’s presence more than either of them would ever admit—but they never put it into words. Not like this.

For a second, Chuuya wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You do?”

“Makes me feel like I’m there with you,” Dazai said. “I try to imagine it every time. Stupid.”

“I don’t think it is,” Chuuya said. “I’ve been imagining I’m somewhere I’m not every night for two years straight. If you’re weird, then I guess we both are.”

“Two, huh? Not three?” Dazai smirked, but a smirk was softer than his usual ones.

“No, not three.” Chuuya responded, rolling his eyes. Damn you Dazai.

Dazai hummed, as if turning the words over in his mind, letting the silence stretch between them. Chuuya’s fingers idly traced patterns against the bark of the fallen tree, a nervous habit that Dazai probably wasn’t even aware of. Or maybe he was, with this hearing of his.

“Elise got sick when she was nine. I was fifteen,”

Chuuya’s breath stilled, but he didn’t say a word, letting Dazai continue.

“It started lightly. Coughing, low fever, tiredness, but not exhaustion. And, my father was a doctor, so the herbs he gave her helped, or at least, they slowed things down. So no one thought it was anything serious. Everyone just assumed she was one of those weaker kids, but there was nothing wrong with that, right? Maybe she wouldn’t be an athlete, maybe she’d get tired more easily, have some headaches now and then—but she’d live. That’s what we thought.”

Chuuya’s mind flickered to Yumeno. They had been the same age as Dazai’s sister. And it felt so, so wrong to even imagine a kid that young suffering like that.

Chuuya had never been raised in a world that sugar coated death. It was never a taboo, never something people pretended didn’t exist. He had worked in the temple, seen people pray—not just to thank the gods, but to beg. Beg for health. Beg for life.

He had been there, watching them with his own eyes. He had never lived in a bubble of untouched happiness. He had seen the poor districts of his hometown, and had known what suffering looked like. But knowing something existed never made it hurt any less.

“It didn’t get any better,” Dazai continued. “In fact, it got worse. My father tried every trick in the book—neglected his job, neglected our house, neglected... me—all for a cure that probably never even existed. It got to the point where Elise stopped eating, stopped getting out of bed, barely even spoke. No one really knew why. But, my stubborn father didn't stop looking for a solution, no matter how extreme.”

His voice was steady, unnervingly so, but there was something about it—something fragile, like a thread stretched too thin.

“But after a while, he ran out of ideas. Nothing worked. The best healers didn’t know what was happening to her, and she was dying—slowly, right in front of him.”

“So he gave up,” Chuuya said.

Dazai let out a sharp laugh, loud and almost mocking, the sound echoing through the clearing.

“Oh, no. Just the opposite.” His smile was empty, hollow. “He refused to give up. At first, it was just desperation. He kept going back to the gods, to temples, to priests. He spent everything we had on offerings—gold, food, relics, anything that might catch their attention.” Dazai let out a quiet chuckle. “But the gods don’t listen. Not to people like us.”

Chuuya knew that truth all too well.

“And in the midst of all that desperation, he forgot the most important thing.” Dazai's voice lowered slightly, something unreadable settling into his tone. “He didn’t spend time with his dying daughter.”

Chuuya swallowed, fingers pressing into his knees as he listened.

“I was the one who took care of her,” Dazai continued. “I was the one who wiped the blood from her lips when she coughed, the one who held her hand when the fever got so bad she couldn’t even cry. I made up stories, telling her about places neither of us had ever seen, just to keep her awake a little longer. Just to make her forget, even for an hour, that she was dying.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, but it was empty.

“I’m not saying this as an accusation. If anything, I’m glad.” Dazai tilted his head back, his unseeing eyes turned toward the sky. “If I made her last days even slightly more... bearable, then maybe it was worth something.”

Chuuya wanted to say something—anything. That Dazai shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. That he wasn’t just there , that Elise must have loved him more than words could ever express. That it wasn’t fair. That he was a damn kid. But the words just wouldn’t leave his mouth. And anyway, Dazai probably didn’t need them—not now.

“You know, I used to pray too back then,” he smiled ironically, shifting slightly, “I’d sit beside her bed at night, listening to her breathing, and I’d pray. Just asking for... anything at this point. First for her to be healthy, of course, but when I realized it wasn’t working, I even asked to take some of her suffering, anything.”

“Did they listen?” Chuuya asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course not,” Dazai laughed dryly. “Millions of people beg for the lives of their loved ones every day, so why would they?”

Chuuya knew that. Of course he did. He had spent half his life working in a temple, watching people kneel on cold stone floors, whispering desperate prayers with shaking voices. Some left in relief, believing their words had been heard. Others left in silence, eyes hollow, realizing they had been speaking into nothing. But still—he had believed back then. Believed that maybe, just maybe, someone up there cared.

“So I prayed for them to take me instead. I wanted to die ever since I was a kid, so why at least not do it for a right cause? I thought maybe they would listen to something like that instead of just ‘please heal my sister’ talk. Well, they didn’t.”

Dazai paused, a sound of him swallowing suddenly loud in the ever-present silence of the meadow.

“And then, a year after she got sick, she died.”

Another pause. Longer.

“In my arms.”

Dazai’s nails were digging into the rough bark of the fallen tree, blood starting to drip slowly from his fingertips. Chuuya took his hand in his, squeezing in lightly. It felt like the least thing to do.

A strange thought crossed Chuuya’s mind. Dazai had been sixteen at the time—the same age Chuuya was when he was cursed. Somewhere in the world, at the exact same time, they had both been suffering parallel tragedies, without even knowing it.

Both betrayed by the gods, both trying to change their reality, without enough power to do so, both spiralling into frustrating helplessness. Two lives unraveling at the same time. Two different kinds of suffering. And yet, maybe, the same pain.

And now, here they were, sitting side by side, telling their stories like they were nothing more than words.

“You would think my father finally came to his senses when Elise died,” Dazai said after a while. The words sounded cruel, they were cold, sharp, but after all Dazai was never one to pick the sweet ones. “No. He started looking for a way to cheat death. I think he started to go crazy after mom died, but just masked it really well. Elise’s death was just another breaking point. I think the thing he hated the most was helplessness. Probably more than if the gods would reject his prayers, it frustrated him that they didn’t even respond, didn’t listen. So, after two years of scheming and coming up with the most twisted ideas, he decided to do something that would sure as hell catch their attention.”

“What?” Chuuya asked, not even realizing when his voice got this shaky.

“Sacrifice me,” Dazai said, his voice flat. “Life for life. As if that would ever work.”

“Sacrifice you how? She was already—”

“Yeah, well he wouldn’t accept that,” Dazai scoffed. “She was the... wanted kid. I was one who was tolerated. Maybe not since the beginning, maybe not at first—I think my father did care, back when I was little. And I think my mom loved me. But after Elise was born? Everything changed. She was perfect. A sweet, normal little girl. Not a blind, isolated boy who got told ‘you can’t do that’ more times than he could count. I don’t know, maybe when the gods were customizing me, someone was drunk or something,” Dazai laughed suddenly. “Like hello, how can you not give a hu—someone the ability to see? That’s so funny,” he started laughing even more.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, raising his eyebrows in disbelief, but a small smile tugged in the corner of his lips. Not because of Dazai’s words—hell, that was more concerning than funny—but because he couldn’t not smile, seeing Dazai’s unseeing eyes spark with laughter.

“You’re a real idiot,” Chuuya muttered, rolling his eyes. “Noone fucked up anything about you. Maybe besides your sense of humour.”

Dazai only grinned wider, but the moment passed just as quickly as it came.

“Anyway, my father got this brilliant idea. He knew I had a death wish from... from incidents,” Dazai’s free hand, automatically brushed against his other forearm, covered tightly with layers of cloth. “So one day, he just walked up to me and straight up told me about it—like it was a favor. Like I’d just agree to it without hesitation. It was comical, how sure he was it would work. Like he didn’t even consider that, in the worst-case scenario, he’d lose not just one, but both of his children. Or maybe he just didn’t care at this point.”

Dazai let out a soft breath—not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“I wanted to die, Chuuya.” His voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. “I’ve wanted to die for as long as I can remember. But not like that.”

Chuuya understood that. He also wanted to be saved. But not like that.

“Not for him. Not for some gods who never once gave a damn. Not for some grand, poetic exchange where I was just another offering on an altar,”

Then, with a smirk that was far too easy for the weight of his words, Dazai added:

“And if I was going to die, I’d at least like to do it with a beautiful human being! Not some crazy madman calling himself my father.”

Tilting his head even further toward the sky, Dazai let the cold breeze wash over his face. He stretched back slightly, shifting his weight, and before Chuuya could process what was happening, Dazai nearly tipped over. With a sharp curse, Chuuya grabbed his arm, yanking him forward before he could lose his balance and fall off the log.

"Oops," Dazai chuckled, steadying himself.

"Yeah, oops, " Chuuya groaned, still gripping his wrist before letting go with an annoyed huff.

“You know, he really used to be good sometimes,” Dazai said in a melancholic tone, “As I said, when I was really little. On rare occasions, he’d actually take me out of the house, holding my hand the whole time, trying to describe things to me. The different things being sold at the market. The sounds of the streets. What the birds looked like.”

Chuuya listened, his gaze fixed on him.

“I remember telling him, ‘But if they fly and can’t touch the ground, how do they navigate?’” Dazai laughed lightly, shaking his head. “He never answered. Probably didn’t want to say to my face ‘they’re not blind like you.’”

“Maybe they navigate through wind currents,” Chuuya said, the words sounding even stupider out loud.

“Maybe,” Dazai chuckled. “Anyway, there were a few good memories. Decent enough to remember. It makes it even harder when you think about it.”

Because it was easier to hate someone when they were always terrible. When they never gave you a reason to second-guess yourself.

“I know,” Chuuya said.

“Yeah, bet you do. Anyway, I should probably thank him.”

“The hell for?”

“Because,” Dazai smiled, small and unreadable. “If he hadn’t tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have run. And if I hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have met you. And then who would be here to catch me every time I almost fall off a log?”

Chuuya scowled, shoving his shoulder—maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Idiot.”

“Someone has to be,”

There was a brief pause before Dazai continued.

“There was also... someone else. A friend, let's say. He worked in our house. My family was quite... wealthy before my father threw it all away.” Dazai’s fingers traced idle patterns against each other. “His name was Oda, but I called him Odasaku. He was a few years older. Took care of me and Elise. Mostly me, after Elise got a real doctor to tend to her.”

Dazai tilted his head, as if recalling something distant, something familiar, something only he knew.

“Odasaku wasn’t like the others,” he said finally. “The servants, the doctors, the people who passed through our house—most of them either ignored me or handled me like I was made of glass. Odasaku never did that. He didn’t care that I was blind. He saw me as a human, even if I didn’t see myself as one. He was my only friend, beside Elise. I’ve known him for a few years before she died. And then when she did, he overheard my father’s plans. He was the one who told me to run away. He wanted to run away with me. But my father found out and killed him before we had a chance to.”

Chuuya bit his lip, exhaling deeply. He had a feeling this revelation was coming, from the way Dazai talked about Oda, from the way his words seemed so focused on the long gone memories.

The words were so simple, so direct—so final . Like they didn’t hold the weight of something that did change Dazai’s entire world. But they did. And Chuuya noticed how Dazai’s voice didn’t waver, but wasn’t entirely steady either.

“How?” Chuuya asked, his throat suddenly dry, every part of him screaming that he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Poison. A quiet, easy way,” Dazai scoffed, his voice dripping with something bitter. “Fitting, really. A doctor killing with medicine. And he made absolute sure to do it right in front of me.”

Chuuya didn’t know what to say. Again. But the thought of Dazai losing the third person who had ever cared for him, made his stomach sick. How much loss could one person take?

“I almost wanted to give in after that,” Dazai exhaled, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“What?” Chuuya turned to him.

“My mother and Elise were one thing but... his death was so unexpected, you know? I was starting to feel like I was cursed, doomed. Maybe I was just not made to experience happiness. I felt his blood on my hands,” Dazai continued, his tone eerily steady, “and it felt like there was nothing left for me. That maybe it was time to die—fuck whatever my father wanted me for. I just wanted to be gone. But then, of course,” Dazai added, chuckling softly, “Oda, like always, had to get the last word.”

The sound was different this time. Not dry. Not bitter. It echoed in the open air with something else—something sentimental, something almost fond.

“What did he say?” Chuuya glanced at him.

“That I should try to find something to live for. Continue with our plan, get the hell away from that place. Take my faith in my own hands, for once. Not my father’s, not the gods’.”

“He was right,” Chuuya said instantly, “You deserved that after... years of letting them control you.”

“Maybe. But as freeing as it was, it was scary as hell.” Dazai said. “I’m still blind after all, I was relying on Odasaku completely when we were planning the escape. He was the one who knew the paths, the one who would guide me. And now suddenly I had to run, god knows where, god knows how long and it—it felt scary.”

Chuuya’s mind immediately shifted to his own memories. He couldn’t remember much from his escape from the temple after he was cursed—his mind had buried it too deep, too violently. A defense mechanism, maybe.

But he remembered the feeling. He remembered the panic clawing at his chest, the frantic gasps for air, the unbearable weight of realization sinking in as he ran—that he had nowhere to go back to.

“But you made it,” Chuuya said. “You got away.”

“I did, yeah,” Dazai smiled. “You found me after all,”

Chuuya smiled back, his eyes softening.

“Yeah. Lucky you,”

Back then when they met, Chuuya hadn’t known what Dazai had been through, what he was running from, what kind of life had led him to be wandering alone in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t known about the father who had tried to kill him, about the sister he had lost, about the friend who had died in front of him just days earlier, about the weight he carried in every carefully measured word, every quiet chuckle that used to never quite reach his eyes.

All he had seen was a threat. Someone to push away, someone to keep his distance from. Someone who could hurt him, so it was better—smarter— to keep his distance. Well. He fucked that up pretty badly.

But as he looked at Dazai, at his sparkling, pure eyes—the colour resembled white anemone flowers in Chuuya’s mind–, for the first time, they didn’t seem quite the same as before. They were fuller. They held something new. Hope, acceptance.

And Chuuya felt, for the first time, like maybe—just maybe—he was worthy of knowing what was behind them.

Chuuya felt that Dazai trusted him. He knew Dazai did, he had proven it multiple times. But there was always something hidden, as the other always spoke in riddles and half-truths, always keeping a piece of himself just out of reach.

And he wanted to know it.

He wanted to know all of Dazai. Every scar, every wound, every stupid, reckless thought that ran through his mind. He wanted to be there—not just when Dazai was smiling and laughing, but when he was tired, when he was hurting, when the weight of everything became too much. He wanted to be the person Dazai didn’t have to perform in front of.

He wanted to see Dazai at his lowest, to be the steady hand Dazai had never been given. He wanted to see him at his best, to be the reason for his smile. He wanted to share everything—every little thing that made him happy. He wanted to show Dazai happiness, in the way he himself had almost forgotten it. He wanted—

Oh no. Oh, fuck, no.

Looking at Dazai, suddenly recalling all the moments they had spent together, his head started spinning. Chuuya’s stomach twisted violently, his fingers curling against the rough bark beneath him. His heart was pounding too fast, too hard, like it had suddenly realized something his brain had been too stupid to accept until now.

With Dazai, Chuuya felt human. And that was something he hadn’t felt in three years. And he wanted to feel more of that.

But wanting was dangerous. Wanting meant losing. Wanting meant pain. He had already lost so much—what was the point of wanting more? But damn it, he couldn’t help it. And that was the worst thing about realization—once it hit, there was no undoing it. It was already too late.

The snakes started hissing all of a sudden, his chest feeling like it could explode any moment. It felt like something inside him was going to burst open, unravel, spill out into something he couldn’t take back. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself—before the very person responsible for all of this chaos in his head pulled him back to reality.

“You okay?”

Chuuya blinked a few times, disoriented, before forcing himself to nod. Oh right. Stupid.

“Yeah,” he choked out after a moment.

“So what were you thinking about just now?”

“Nothing,” he said instantly.

Dazai just chuckled but, for once, didn’t push further. Chuuya was glad he didn’t.

Chuuya’s gaze followed a small bee, which after a moment landed delicately on Dazai’s knuckles. Instinctively, Dazai’s free hand twitched, ready to flick it away, before Chuuya stopped it with his own, in a sudden, but also gentle move.

“It’s just a bee,” he said. “Don’t touch it. It won’t hurt you unless you hurt it first.”

Dazai hummed in acknowledgment, relaxing under Chuuya’s touch, letting him guide his hand away. Their fingers remained intertwined and neither of them were eager to change that.

“I guess a bee found a new favourite spot, then,” Dazai mused.

“Maybe it did.” Chuuya exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“Hey, doesn’t this mean it’s spring?” Dazai asked suddenly. “You know. Bees, flowers. All your stuff.”

Chuuya looked around, taking in the surroundings he hadn’t even noticed had changed so much. The snow that once blanketed the earth had long since melted, replaced by stubborn patches of green fighting their way back into the landscape. The trees, once bare and skeletal, had begun to bloom again, tiny buds dotting their branches, reaching toward the sky. And the air smelled different, too—fresh, alive, less sharp.

“It is,” Chuuya said after a moment. “Yeah, definitely.”

“How time flies,” Dazai said in an exaggerated, dreamy tone. “And then it’ll be summer and our first anniversary.”

“Our first anniversary?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“Mhm,” Dazai smiled. “A year since we first met, right?”

“That’s— That’s not what you call an anniversary,” Chuuya said, but couldn’t help but feel a warm feeling in his chest when he thought about it.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Anniversaries are about celebration or something,” Chuuya shrugged, his eyes still locked on the small bee chilling on Dazai’s palm.

“I think me putting up with you for a year is enough reason for celebrating,” Dazai said.

“Hey!” Chuuya punched his arm lightly. “I’m the one putting up with you, not the other way around.”

The bee suddenly flew away at the sudden movement, causing a small pout forming on Dazai’s lips.

“See what you’ve done?” He whined dramatically.

“Right, my apologies,” Chuuya scoffed. “There’s plenty of those back— home. In my garden.”

“But that one was special! I already named it.”

“Really?”

“No,”

“I swear to—”

But Dazai just laughed as if he’d just come up with the funniest joke ever, and it made Chuuya stop mid sentence, just like that forgetting about an insult he was about to throw. He just stared as the corners of Dazai’s eyes crinkled, even though he couldn’t see. As his cheeks flushed a little, as his hair was tousled by the wind. And Chuuya didn’t force himself to look away.

Chuuya liked routine.

He had fallen into it once, years ago, when his life revolved around the temple—when his days were dedicated to serving Athena, returning home to help his mother, sitting with Kouyou for an evening tea.

And now, he was falling into it again. Not that he ever would have expected, years ago, that his routine would now involve living in the middle of nowhere, with an annoying, blind idiot as his only company.

Yet, he didn't mind. Worse, he liked it.

The days blurred together in a never-ending yet strangely comforting cycle—waking up at sunrise, gathering food (which, thanks to the warmer weather, was far less of a struggle than it had been just weeks ago), making small adjustments to the cave to keep it livable.

Chuuya would spend most of his time tending to the garden. Watching flowers bloom, taking colours- it brought him comfort. The deep reds of poppies, the rich purples of irises, the golden glow of marigolds—he could stare at them forever. It reminded him of his old life, of his hometown. Of his mother’s garden, of sunlit mornings spent with his hands buried in the soil, of the familiar scent of earth and petals carried on the breeze. But for the first time in three years, he was able to think about it with a nostalgic smile instead of that suffocating, aching longing.

Some days, he would simply sit among the flowers, brushing his fingers against the petals, inhaling the mingling scents of earth and flowers. Some days he would pick a few, giving them to Dazai, always without a word—the gesture was embarrassing enough on its own. Usually it was mostly hydrangeas, because of the offhand comment Dazai had once made, about liking how they felt when he touched them. And Chuuya, as stupid as it was, remembered.

There had been a shift between them, subtle but undeniable. They had learned almost everything about each other—or at least, Chuuya assumed so. But even if there were things left unsaid, it didn’t matter. There was an understanding between them, something unspoken yet solid, something Chuuya had never felt with anyone else and he didn’t need to memorize every detail of Dazai’s past to understand the other. It came naturally.

They stopped minding physical touch. They would sleep curled with each other, usually Dazai’s head resting on Chuuya’s chest, rarely the other way around. It helped Chuuya with the nightmares, it helped Dazai with insomnia, so why wouldn’t they? When Dazai shivered in his sleep, Chuuya would instinctively tug the cloth higher over both of them, and when Chuuya mumbled in restless dreams, Dazai would trace absentminded patterns into his arm until he settled, until the snakes on his head would quiet down. It wasn’t something they ever talked about. It simply was.

“I’m going to refill the water,” Chuuya said one day when his bucket ran empty after watering all the flowers. Nothing unusual—it usually took about three trips to the stream to collect enough for the entire garden.

“Okay,” Dazai hummed lazily. He was sprawled out on the grass, entirely focused on carving some pattern into a smooth rock he had taken from the stream the day before. A childish whim, really, but he had insisted on bringing it back. His movements with the dagger-like tool were precise, carefully etching something into the stone—something Chuuya couldn’t quite make out. Every now and then, Dazai would pause, running his fingers over the carving to check its shape, then return to his work.

“You’re not coming, I assume,” Chuuya said.

“Nope.”

“Fine, just wait until your legs give out from how little you use them,” Chuuya scoffed, turning away.

“I go with you sometimes!” Dazai protested. “It’s not my fault you feel the need to go there, like, four times a day.”

“Oh, shut it!” Chuuya called over his shoulder as he started walking. The trip usually took about fifteen minutes one way, a short enough distance that he didn’t mind making the journey so often.

The forest was alive with the sounds of spring—birds singing, leaves rustling, the distant murmur of the stream guiding his way. The air was warm but crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Chuuya let himself enjoy the walk, the familiarity of it, the rhythm of his footsteps against the ground.

When he reached the stream, he knelt by the water’s edge, dipping the bucket in and watching the ripples spread across the surface. The water was cool against his skin, refreshing after the warmth of the day.

He looked up at the sky, exhaling as he felt the sun against his skin. After a moment he lowered his gaze to see if the bucket was already filled, only to nearly drop it in shock.

He was met with his expression staring back at him from the water. But it wasn’t the face he had grown used to seeing over the past three years.

No writhing snakes where his hair should be. No haunting, unnatural glow in his eyes. No cursed, pale complexion that screamed that he wasn’t like he used to be anymore. Instead, the reflection staring back at him had familiar curly, auburn hair, messy but undeniably just like he remembered them. Eyes that weren’t glowing but their natural, warm shades of brown and blue. His skin had more colour to it, no longer ghostly and pale.

Unable to avert his gaze, he just stood there, frozen, staring into the water as if trapped in a dream. His grip on the bucket loosened, fingers trembling slightly as he unconsciously leaned closer, unable to focus on anything but the reflection staring back at him. It was him. Or at least how he used to be.

His chest tightened, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he lifted a hesitant hand to his cheek. The reflection mimicked his movement perfectly, fingertips brushing against skin that looked human —warm, alive, untouched by the weight of a curse.

He touched his cheek—his water reflection did the same. With a relieved gasp, he moved his hand up to his hair, reaching for his hair, wanting to feel the soft texture again, after so much time.

But he wasn’t met with one.

His fingers made contact with a familiar, scaly surface, and he felt one of his snakes tangling itself around his wrist, in a way they always did.

Just as it happened the water rippled and the reflection started changing. The ginger strands darkened, twisting into serpentine coils that pulsed and writhed, as Chuuya felt the snakes continuing their slow, restless movements atop his head. The spark in his once-human eyes flickered, before returning back to the unnatural glow, the color in his cheeks drained, his skin paling into that same ghostly hue that had stared back at him for years.

And then it flicked again. For a mere second, maybe even less, but it was enough for Chuuya to see. Her face. Athena’s face.

Chuuya stumbled back, the bucket forgotten as it tipped over, spilling the water onto the dirt. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, the soft breeze that had been so gentle just moments before. His breath came in uneven, shallow gasps, each inhale burning his lungs as if he had been running for miles. The snakes atop his head hissed and curled tighter around him, reminding of their presence in every way possible.

“The hell you want?!”

His voice came out as broken, cracking at the very end of the sentence. It was pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His body was shaking, his breaths were shallow, as if he was drowning, the memories of the temple flooding his mind. Her gaze. The same one as back then.

The ground didn’t feel like the forest floor anymore. The feeling of grass, damped dirt was suddenly gone, turning into something else. He could feel the coldness of the marble floor, the screaming silence, the feeling of helplessness and humiliation. He felt again like the sixteen-year-old boy waiting to be discarded by the goddess he devoted himself to like he was nothing.

His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms hard enough to sting. He gritted his teeth.

“Come on,” he said, voice lower this time, steadier, forcing his breath to even out despite the racing of his heart. “Say something, if you’re so interested in what I’m doing.”

Silence.

The presence was still there, thick in the air, pressing down on him like an unseen weight. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her message had already been sent, loud and clear.

It was about Dazai.

What else? Chuuya felt stupid all of a sudden, for thinking for a moment, that he could do something without the gods noticing. They always knew.

He broke the unspoken rule, knowing he was supposed to be alone. That solitude was what his curse was really about. And that Dazai was not supposed to be here with him. Chuuya had let himself want something. He had let himself have something. Or rather someone. That appeared to be enough to make the gods mad.

Athena hadn’t just taken his old life away. She had ensured that if he ever tried to build something new, she would be there to rip it apart. But for the first time in his life Chuuya didn’t feel like giving it up. He didn’t feel like kneeling at the feet of gods who had never cared for anything but their own will.

If the gods could ignore his and Dazai’s prayers for so long, why couldn’t he ignore them now?

“Really? That’s all you have? Some water tricks?” He choked out, trying to yell, though his voice still shook at the edges. “Go to fucking hell.”

He didn’t get an answer. At least not an audible one.

Chuuya finally forced himself onto his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him, his breath uneven. His fingers curled angrily around the bucket again, filling it once more with water—this time without sparing a glance at his reflection. He wouldn’t fall for it twice.

He turned sharply, heading back toward their home. Their home. Not his, not just his. He wasn’t going to let it become just his again. Not this time. The memory of marble floors and cold temple air still clung to him like a phantom, but he pushed through it, his footsteps growing steadier, his grip on the bucket tightening. He wasn’t that sixteen-year-old boy anymore. And he wasn’t going to be.

“I’m assuming you heard everything,” Chuuya said, as he walked past Dazai, who was still lying in the same position as if no time had passed, still carving something—something that resembled a face a bit more than it did half an hour ago—into the rock.

“You were yelling so loud it was hard not to,” Dazai replied, his voice flat, betraying no emotion.

“I wasn’t,” Chuuya said, his voice definitely louder and more defensive than it needed to be. He couldn’t help it—the experience still left him a bit on edge.

“I could argue with that.”

“At least it saves me the trouble of explaining.” Chuuya scoffed, setting the bucket down a little too forcefully and wiping his damp hands on his clothes.

“I didn’t know you cared that much about me being here,” Dazai laughed quietly, an annoying smirk already forming on his lips.

“You did,” Chuuya muttered, crossing his arms as he shot Dazai a glare.

Dazai only chuckled, the smirk on his lips growing as if he could hear the irritation in Chuuya’s stance alone.

“True,” he admitted shamelessly, “But it’s nice to hear it out loud.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Chuuya said, but now the irritation in his voice was suddenly gone. With a tired sigh, he lowered himself onto the grass beside Dazai, their shoulders touching slightly.

His eyes locked on the rock Dazai had been carving. It was nothing special—just a simple, childlike face, two uneven dots for eyes, a small line for a nose, and a curved smile. But it made the corners of Chuuya’s lips lift up a little.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Dazai’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What’s there to talk about?” Chuuya sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “The gods are pissed I’m not miserable enough for their taste, so they decided to remind me of my place. That’s all.”

“But you didn’t let them,” Dazai said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I won’t lie, I'm a bit surprised. And even proud.” he laughed.

"Proud?"

“Yeah,” Dazai hummed. “You could’ve broken right there. Let them push you back into whatever lonely hell they wanted for you. But you didn’t. That’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s not impressive,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I’m just fucking tired of breaking.”

“Well, you have every right to be,”

They sat in silence after that, the only sound between them the whisper of the wind weaving through the trees, rustling the leaves that had just begun to grow again, before it was once again broken by Dazai.

“What did she show you?” he asked, shifting slightly, his bandaged fingers running absentmindedly over the carved surface of the rock in his lap. 

Right. Even with Dazai’s heightened hearing, he had no way of knowing what had caused Chuuya’s initial panic at the stream.

“She showed me my reflection in the water,” Chuuya said hesitantly. “My old one.”

Dazai didn’t say anything, but Chuuya could feel his attention, the way his head tilted slightly, waiting.

“It was just- catching off guard,” Chuuya continued, the words sounding almost stupid now. “For a second I thought that maybe a miracle happened, that maybe- God, it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not,” Dazai shrugged. “Hope is a human thing to feel.”

“Yeah.” Chuuya swallowed. “I thought it was real for a moment. But then the water rippled and it was gone, just like that.”

“Wow. Petty.” Dazai said.

Chuuya couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that. He snuggled his face a bit more into Dazai’s neck, feeling the other’s hand on his hip, pulling him closer, grounding him in a moment. And he felt safe.

“Would you take it back?”

“Take what back?” Chuuya blinked in confusion.

“If she stepped out into the morning sun, opened her arms, and generously offered to lift your curse, to give you back your old life. Would you take it?”

Chuuya thought for a moment. It was what he had always wanted. What he had dreamed of every single day. What he had prayed for every night, hoping that when he woke up, he’d be back in his bed with nothing but the memory of a bad nightmare, that he’d open his eyes to his old room, to the familiar scent of lavender from his mother’s garden seeping through the window, to Kouyou scolding him for being late to morning prayers.

Of course he wanted it back. To look people in the eyes without fear. To walk into a village, into a home, without carrying the label of a monster on his back. To feel human again—not just in fleeting moments but always, in every breath, in every touch.

But now—there was also this. Right now.

And as he felt the warmth of Dazai’s presence beside him, his solid and steady heartbeat, for a moment, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. It felt enough. It felt more than enough.

“I don’t know,” Chuuya admitted finally, surprising even himself.

“You don’t know?” Dazai blinked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“I don’t like to think about what-ifs,” Chuuya grumbled, smoothly avoiding the subject.

“Fine,” Dazai said, smirking. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since you don’t know, you’re conflicted between your old life and being here with me.”

“You just had to make this about yourself, didn’t you?” Chuuya groaned, shoving him lightly.

“I have a hidden talent to make things about me,”

“It’s not very hidden, idiot.”

“Still,” Dazai spoke after a while, his tone playful but softer than usual. “It’s kind of funny.”

“What is?” Chuuya turned his head slightly.

“You.” Dazai grinned. “You spend all this time saying how annoying I am, how I ruin your peace, and yet the moment some goddess tells you to get rid of me, you go and yell at her like she just insulted your favourite flower.”

“That’s not—” Chuuya stopped himself, realizing that no matter what he said, Dazai would twist it back at him anyway. Instead, he just exhaled sharply and looked away, mumbling, “Shut up.”

Dazai’s laugh echoed around, blending nicely into the sounds of rustling leaves and occasional wind’s breeze.

“A year ago,” Chuuya said after a moment. “I’d take it without hesitation.”

“I know,” Dazai said.

For some reason, that was not an answer Chuuya expected, but at the same time it felt like the best he could get.

“I wonder what it would be like...” Chuuya hesitated, his fingers curling slightly into the grass beneath him, feeling his heart pounding in his chest for no good reason. Why was he so damn nervous all of a sudden? “To live together but—but not like this.”

“You said a minute ago that you don’t think about what-ifs.” Dazai smiled.

“Shut up, let me finish,” Chuuya huffed. “You know, I mean... somewhere else. In some town, among people. Where there’s always something happening. Going to the market together, working. Just… living.” His voice softened, his gaze distant. “And somewhere where faith isn’t something people treat as their top priority.”

“That would be nice, huh?” Dazai responded after a moment. “But normal would get boring after a while, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” Chuuya shrugged, glancing at him. “You’re not bored here?”

“Oh, of course I am,” Dazai said dramatically. “ That’s why I’ve been secretly plotting my escape every single day, searching for a way out of this agonizingly dull existence with you, the most boring person in the world,” Dazai said, voice dripping with exaggerated sarcasm.

Chuuya scoffed, shoving him lightly.

“You just have to ruin every moment we have,”

“Maybe.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and stood up, stretching slightly before glancing down at Dazai’s face, illuminated by the soft, golden-orange glow of the late afternoon sun.

“I’m gonna go water the flowers,” Chuuya said, picking up the bucket and turning toward the colorful plants swaying gently in the breeze. He had barely taken two steps before Dazai’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Chuuya?”

“Yeah?” Chuuya tilted his head, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Don’t think about her too much,” Dazai said, his voice quieter this time. “It won’t help with anything, and it’ll only stress you out.”

“Easier said than done,” Chuuya muttered, his voice holding a hint of resignation to it. He just knew a sleepless night was coming today.

“I know. ” Dazai hummed, “I’m just saying, it won’t change a thing. So you might as well not give a damn.” he added, stretching his arms behind his head with an easygoing smirk.

“Right. Like that’s so simple.” Chuuya scoffed.

“I mean, you’re the one who just told a goddess to go to hell, so I expect great things from you,” Dazai laughed.

“Idiot,” Chuuya said, before turning away and walking towards the garden.

“Don’t take too long!” Dazai yelled after him. “Or I might die of loneliness!”

“Good for you!” Chuuya yelled back, a small smile tugging up his lips.

He stared at how the drops of water slowly slid down the petals of the red roses, thinking about what Dazai had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was better to ignore everything that had happened—at least for now.

At least until it happened again.

"The scent is nice," Dazai muttered as Chuuya placed yet another flower in his hair, making it look almost like a crown. He carefully tied the stem to a strand of Dazai’s brown hair so that it would at least stay in place for a few hours—at least until they went to sleep and Dazai ruined it all by tossing and turning.

They were sitting in a small meadow near their home, Chuuya’s legs crossed while Dazai’s head rested on his lap, the rest of his body stretched out on the grass.

"It is," Chuuya muttered, focused on his work. "It looks nice too."

"Well, I can’t exactly see that," Dazai laughed wholeheartedly, his hands playing with the blades of grass beneath him.

Chuuya reached for another flower—a pink primrose—as he slowly opened his mouth, hesitating before asking his next question. It was something he has been thinking for a while, and something he probably knew the answer to–but still wanted to hear with his own ears.

"I’ve been wondering for a while," he started. "But… have you been blind since birth? Or did something happe—"

"Since birth," Dazai interrupted. "I’ve never seen the world with my own eyes, not even once."

Chuuya didn’t respond right away. He had suspected that answer for a while. It could be noticed in the smallest things. Dazai never gestured when he spoke, and even if he did, it felt unnatural and forced. He never referred to things that could only be seen and not touched, like, for example, the sky or the stars. He never reacted to sudden flashes of light, nor did his pupils adjust to brightness the way someone’s would if they had once relied on their sight, so Chuuya figured Dazai’s perception of light was also non-existent.

“But as I said once,” Dazai continued. “It's easier not to mourn something you never had in the first place.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Chuuya hummed. “Still sucks. I wish you could see it.”

“It? What, my hair?” Dazai smirked as Chuuya absentmindedly ran his fingers through his messy brown locks. “I think I can survive without that.”

“No, you idiot,” Chuuya huffed. “The— Never mind. It’s not even that impressive anyway, you’re not missing out on much,” he added quickly.

“Now that sounds like a very obvious lie to make me feel better,” Dazai chuckled.

“It was not—”

“Come on, Chuuya,” Dazai cut him off, his voice softer now. “Just as long as you don’t pity me. You can tell me what I’m missing out on.”

Chuuya hesitated, pressing his lips together. He wasn’t sure why—Dazai asked , didn’t he? And yet, something about describing the world to someone who had never seen it before felt like an impossible task. Where the hell was he even supposed to start?

His hand still hovered over Dazai’s hair, eyes scanning his face—pale skin, relaxed expression, and white pupils framed by the crown of flowers Chuuya had made. He looked peaceful. Chuuya loved seeing him like that.

“I don’t know. The sky, that’s for sure,” he started, glancing up. “The cloud patterns, the stars. It's the... endlessness. How you can look at the horizon and feel like it never ends anywhere. Like there’s so much ahead of you.”

“That sounds overwhelming,” Dazai said.

“Huh,” Chuuya hummed, not really expecting the answer. “I guess it makes you feel small in a way, but not in a... bad way. More like you’re a part of something.”

Dazai tilted his head slightly, as if imagining it.

“You mentioned the stars,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah, I did,” Chuuya nodded. He hesitated before continuing, realizing that something as simple as describing the little lights wasn’t so simple for someone who had never seen it. “They’re like… little dots scattered across the sky. Glowing.”

“Glowing?” Dazai repeated, the word foreign to him.

Chuuya chewed his lip, thinking for a moment. Then, without saying anything, he gently took Dazai’s arm, his fingers ghosting over the pale skin. Slowly, he started tapping in different spots, imitating the small points, like the stars sprinkled all over the firmament. 

“Oh.” Dazai exhaled, almost too quietly for Chuuya to hear.

“Yeah,” Chuuya murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Like this.”

His fingers moved again, but this time in deliberate patterns, connecting the imaginary stars with invisible lines.

“Sometimes they form shapes. People call them constellations.”

“My mom told me about them once, I think,” Dazai said. “Constellations. She said they tell stories.”

“She was right,” Chuuya said softly. “People gave them names a long time ago. They made up stories about them, myths.”

“That’s silly.”

“Like your stories ever make any sense,” Chuuya retorted, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, but mine are just for fun,” Dazai grinned. “The stars sound much more poetic.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Chuuya admitted.

“Tell me more then.”

So Chuuya kept tracing. He drew the shape of Orion’s Belt, as well as he could do it from memory, on Dazai’s arm, explaining how the three stars lined up perfectly, how people used them to find their way on long journeys. He outlined the curve of the Big Dipper, talking about how it always pointed to the North Star. He told him about Cassiopeia, Pegasus, anything that came to his mind.

“And they never change,” Chuuya said. “Always there, always constant, no matter what happens. The world could end and they would still be there.”

“Maybe they’re other worlds,” Dazai mused.

“Other worlds?”

“Yeah. Like other universes. Maybe there are different versions of us, somewhere far, far away, on one of those stars.”

“That’s absurd,” Chuuya scoffed.

“Is it?” Dazai smirked. “If people can make up stories about them, why can’t I?”

“Alright then, storyteller,” Chuuya muttered, tilting his head slightly as he thought. “If there are other versions of us out there, what do you think they’re doing?”

“Well,” Dazai hummed, as if genuinely considering the question, “one of them is probably living in that town you were talking about. You know, the ‘normal’ life. Just living together, having a nice house. Maybe the other Dazai owns a bookstore, and the other Chuuya spends his days in the garden, yelling at anyone who accidentally steps on his flowers.”

“I wouldn’t!” Chuuya huffed.

“You would.”

“Okay, maybe I would.”

“Or maybe,” Dazai continued, a teasing lilt in his voice, “there’s a universe where I’m the responsible one.”

“Now we’re getting unrealistic.” Chuuya laughed.

“Maybe there’s a version of us where we’re both completely different,” Dazai went on, too lost in his thoughts to acknowledge Chuuya’s comment. “Maybe we met under different circumstances. Maybe we never even met.”

Chuuya furrowed his brows, glancing down at Dazai’s distant expression. The thought of such a possibility struck him harder than he liked. It was just a stupid theory—so why did it?

A world where they had never met. Where Dazai had never stumbled into his life, where Chuuya had remained alone in his exile. Or worse—a world where they had been as strangers who passed each other by without a second thought.

“That’d be a shame,” Chuuya muttered before he could stop himself.

“Right? You’d miss me too much,” Dazai said. “And you wouldn’t even know what was missing.”

Now, that was something Chuuya didn’t even have to imagine. It was something he had lived with his whole life—a stubborn, empty feeling in his chest, a sense of lacking something, without ever knowing what it was.

“Don’t start.” He scoffed.

“Fine, fine,” Dazai smirked. “I was just gonna say that maybe there’s some poor version of you out there, miserable because I’m not around to brighten his days.”

“You literally said that by saying you were going to.”

“Oops.”

Dazai earned himself a light poke on the forehead, but instead of pulling away, he just chuckled and shifted, leaning even more into Chuuya’s touch, practically sinking into his lap.

And for a moment, they simply existed in that space—beneath the endless sky, surrounded by the scent of flowers, with only the quiet rustling of the wind and the occasional soft hisses of Chuuya’s snakes filling the air between them.

“What about the colours?” Dazai asked after a moment.

“Colours?” Chuuya repeated.

“Mhm. You’ve done so well with the stars, maybe you could explain them to me too.”

“Well, that’s gonna be a bit more difficult,” Chuuya admitted, letting his mind spiral with thoughts. “It’s, uh... different things have different colours and—”

He stopped, realizing he wasn’t going anywhere with that explanation. He needed to think of a comparison, something Dazai could actually grasp—without relying on the visual cues that meant nothing to him.

“Do you know any?” Chuuya asked carefully after a second.

“Oh, yeah,” Dazai said easily. “My father made me memorize them all once. You know, probably to impress others or something. I had to remember all the names and at least twenty things associated with each colour. Never once did it make any sense to me, though.”

“That’s the worst thing he could’ve done, really,” Chuuya said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Colours aren’t just words to memorize. It’s… more about feeling.”

Dazai tilted his head slightly, considering that. 

“How does yellow feel, then?”

“Like... the sun on your face on a warm morning. One when you wake up before anyone else does, and feel it’s going to be a good day,” Chuuya said. “Like the smell of sunflowers, or the sound of birds chirping.”

“Sounds comforting,” Dazai hummed. “What about blue?”

“It depends,” Chuuya said. “Dark blue is like... the coldness of winter on your skin, or the sound of waves crashing in the ocean. Light blue is like a clear sky, like the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat after you’ve been thirsty for too long. But it can also be kind of sad. Like when you’re alone with your thoughts, and you can’t tell whether it’s peaceful or just lonely.”

They sat there for a while, the only sounds around them being the rustling of leaves and their quiet breathing. Chuuya absentmindedly ran his fingers through Dazai’s hair, his mind drifting between thoughts.

“Green is like nature,” Chuuya said. “The smell of grass after a rain, or tall trees. It’s calm. Safe. Like something that’s always there, even if you don’t notice it right away. And, uhm, what else...”

“Red.” Dazai said.

“Red,” Chuuya repeated. “It’s all in one, to be honest. It’s the most alive one. Can be anger, can be passion, can be warm. Burning almost. Like the warmth of the fire on a cold evening or feeling the rush of blood after you’ve been running. But in a good way,” Chuuya added quickly, aware of what memories the comparison might stir in Dazai. “Like when you’re excited for something. And like the sun, but not the soft morning spring one—more like the scorching heat of midday in summer. Or when you feel so strongly about something, about someone, that it makes your chest tight. It’s—” Chuuya faltered, his fingers pausing in Dazai’s hair for just a second before continuing.

“I think you’re red.” Dazai said, before he could continue.

Chuuya’s fingers stilled midair. He looked down at Dazai, searching for an explanation in the other’s expression, but Dazai only lay there, relaxed, as if he had just stated something obvious.

“Why?” Chuuya asked, trying to sound unbothered.

“You’re like that. Alive, human, burning with passion.”

Chuuya swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn't sure what response he had been expecting, but somehow, hearing those words from Dazai made him feel something he couldn’t quite name.

“I used to have red hair,” Chuuya let out a short, breathy laugh, trying to shake off the feeling.

“Suits you then,” Dazai smiled. “What colour would I be then?”

Chuuya looked down at him, at the way the dying sunlight caught the strands of his brown hair, the way his bandaged fingers toyed absentmindedly with a blade of grass, the way his expression—normally so teasing—was calm, waiting.

Chuuya let his gaze drift toward the horizon, where the setting sun painted the sky in a blend of soft pinks, deep purples, and golden yellows, bleeding into the whitish clouds like in a painting.

“Violet,” Chuuya said after a moment.

“Violet?” Dazai echoed.

“It’s something between red and blue,”

“That’s strange, considering you described them as complete opposites.”

“There’s always a middle between something, isn’t there?” Chuuya shrugged. “Violet is… warm, like red, but in a different way. It’s softer, calmer, like blue. Like irises. And also feels like there’s a lot to figure out about it, that makes you want to get closer. And it’s rare, you won’t see it as often as green or yellow. It makes it even more special.”

“Is this your way of saying I’m special?” Dazai asked, shifting as he pulled himself up so he was sitting instead of lying in Chuuya’s lap. His eyes, unseeing yet searching, turned toward Chuuya, his face effortlessly finding the other’s by sound alone.

Chuuya didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on Dazai’s pale face, on the soft curve of his mouth, the way the last traces of sunlight hit his skin. His mind was too far off, drifting between thoughts, too tangled in everything Dazai was.

“It’s like twilight,” Chuuya murmured, almost to himself. “But after a good day. Not when you’re glad that it ends because you just want it over, but when you’re glad you lived it. When you’re glad you’re here,”

His voice dropped to the whisper. Dazai didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. Chuuya reached for the flower crown nestled in Dazai’s hair, adjusting it slightly so it wouldn’t slip. He was about to pull his hand away when Dazai caught it, his fingers gentle but firm as he guided it to his own cheek.

Chuuya barely had time to process the warmth of Dazai’s skin beneath his fingertips before Dazai smiled softly.

“I think this moment is violet,” Dazai smiled.

Chuuya’s heart stopped. For a moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk down to just this—just the warmth of Dazai’s skin beneath his fingertips, just the way Dazai was tilting his head, leaning ever so slightly into the touch, how the sight was impossible to look away from. It was careful. Gentle. Like Dazai wasn’t rushing anything—just living, being here, in this moment.

And fuck, Chuuya wanted to be here too, with every part of himself.

And even if this moment was already violet—he wanted to make it overflow with it.

Slowly, carefully their forehead pressed against each other. And just then, anything but slowly, both of them leaned into each other at the very same time.

Chuuya had never even considered this moment, never let himself entertain the thought—not like it would ever be a realistic possibility, right?

But there he was, with Dazai sitting in his lap, his milky eyes filled with more love than they ever had, and suddenly—holding back was no longer an option. In one swift yet deliberate motion, Chuuya tilted his head up and closed the space between them, pressing his lips against Dazai’s.

The feeling of Dazai’s lips on his, the way his fingers brushed against the back of Chuuya’s neck, his other hand gripping the fabric covering Chuuya’s chest like a lifeline, the warmth of Dazai’s cheek against his palm—it was unlike anything Chuuya had ever known. There was no comparison, no past experience that could measure up to this.

It wasn’t rushed. For someone as reckless, as insufferably impatient as Dazai, he kissed like he had all the time in the world. And Chuuya wouldn't be lying if he said that, at this moment, it felt like they did.

Everything else went away. The meadow, the wind, the thoughts—beside one, beside one that screamed Dazai’s name in Chuuuya’s head all over again. He could only hear their tingling breaths, short gasps they managed to take in between kisses, although Dazai’s lips on his felt more like breathing than taking in any oxygen ever had.

Chuuya noticed everything . How Dazai’s lips curved slightly whenever he smiled against him, the corners of his mouth tilting just so. How his tongue traced slow, lazy circles against Chuuya’s own. How their noses brushed together in fleeting touches, soft and unintentional, yet grounding all the same.

And fuck—Chuuya never wanted to let go.

He should have felt cautious. He should have had doubts—after all, this was everything he shouldn’t do, everything the gods wouldn’t allow him to. He had told himself over and over again that wanting was dangerous, that hope led only to disappointment, that anything he let himself love would eventually be taken away. He had spent years believing he was unreachable, untouchable,  he had forgotten what it was like to want this much, to feel something without pushing it away in fear of losing it. But right now, every single one of those thoughts vanished, dissolving into nothing. All that remained was this —the yearning and the quiet yet undeniable certainty that he needed this. That he needed Dazai.

It took a moment, before Chuuya let his eyes flutter open, taking in the sight in front of him—Dazai, with his unseeing eyes, his barely-there smile, his expression impossibly soft. And Chuuya never once in his life felt like he belonged somewhere, as much as he did at that moment.

Dazai pulled back just slightly, barely an inch, his breath warm against Chuuya’s face.

“You’re shaking,” Dazai said, his voice quiet. The hand that had been resting on the back of Chuuya’s neck slid down slowly, tracing gentle circles against his spine,

Chuuya hadn’t even noticed at first. But now that Dazai had pointed it out, he could feel it—the faint tremor in his fingers, the tightness in his chest, the way his body was wound up like a string pulled too taut.

His mind was still here, still present, still drowning in the warmth of Dazai’s touch. But his body—it remembered. It remembered the unwanted touch, the taunting helplessness, the fear of not knowing what cruelty awaited him next.

But now Chuuya wanted it. He wanted it so badly, and it frustrated him how his body was betraying him, fighting against the very thing he desired.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice tight, forcing his muscles to relax under Dazai’s touch. “I’m more than fine.”

Dazai just smiled, letting Chuuya sink into his chest, holding the other in a protective way.

“Okay,” Dazai said. “But if you need a—”

“I wanted this,” Chuuya cut him off, not sure if he was trying to convince Dazai or his own body.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, his hands moving slowly, deliberately, cupping Chuuya’s face between them, his fingers brushing lazily over his smooth cheeks. “I know. I really do.”

And Chuuya understood. He understood that Dazai wasn’t just saying ‘I know you want this’. He was saying ‘I know why this is hard’.

Chuuya said nothing, just exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding and planted another quick kiss on Dazai's lips, smiling as he saw a fleeting look of shock on the brunette's face. He rested his head on Dazai's lap, his eyes slowly closing, his chest moving in a more steady rhythm than it had moments before.

It was just this—just Dazai, just him, just this violet-stained moment stretching into forever.

Chapter Text

Everything felt different now.

They were still them, of course—still bickering, still throwing playful insults, still testing each other’s patience with an ease no one else could ever match. But now, between every argument, between every quip, between every dramatic sigh of exasperation, there were things that hadn’t been there before. Things they hesitated to do before.

Holding hands became second nature, something they did without thinking, without questioning. Whenever it was physically possible, their fingers found each other, entwining lazily, absentmindedly—like a quiet reassurance that neither of them was alone. It didn’t matter if they were walking, sitting by the fire, or even just lost in their own thoughts—there was always some kind of contact.

Sitting together no longer meant just being near each other—it meant being with each other. Chuuya would paint while Dazai sat behind him, chin resting on his shoulder, arms draped around his waist, Dazai would carve patterns into stones, while his head lay on Chuuya’s lap, getting lost in his own world, inside the swirl of thoughts in his mind. Though, he started voicing them a lot more than he did before.

And then, there were the kisses. They came easily now—soft, fleeting ones in between conversations, barely-there brushes of lips whenever one of them felt like it. Kisses stolen mid playful argument, when Chuuya raised a hand to smack Dazai for some obnoxious remark, only to have his wrist caught, and be pulled right onto Dazai’s lips.

And then, there were the longer ones—the ones that made the world fade, that filled their veins with something warmer than blood. Filled with passion, Filled with desire, desire to be as close as possible, not only with their bodies, but also their souls.

It scared Chuuya sometimes, how easy it was to let himself have this.

There were subtle changes in the way they were talking to each other, like Dazai taking up a new hobby to call Chuuya ‘love’, which always resulted in an exasperated scoff, a roll of his eyes, a muttered “you’re insufferable” from Chuuya. And a smile tugging in his lips. But Dazai didn’t have to know that. Still, Dazai didn’t stop calling him that, not all the time—not to overdo it—but just enough to make Chuuya’s ears burn. Not in a bad way, though. Never in a bad way.

“You can’t sit still for more than five seconds, I swear,”

They were sitting on a fallen log near their home, hidden beneath the shade of the trees, shielding them from the warmth of the spring noon sun. Chuuya had a sharp dagger in his hand, running his fingers through Dazai’s way too long hair, planning how the hell he could cut it so it wouldn’t look like a complete disaster.

“I’m sitting perfectly still. Must have been the wind.”

“Of course, everything’s the wind’s fault,” Chuuya scoffed, lifting a chunk of hair from the back of Dazai’s neck. He could feel the warmth of Dazai’s skin beneath his fingers, the contrast between the heat and the cool strands of hair making him pause for half a second longer than he should have. He shook it off. “I swear one more flinch and you're going bald.”

“Oh no,” Dazai whined, tilting his head back dramatically. “You wouldn’t do this to me.”

“No, fortunately for you, I wouldn’t,” Chuuya muttered, tugging his hair back into place a little rougher than necessary. “Because from the two of us, I’m the one who has to look at you.”

“So you’re going to make me a goddess of beauty,” Dazai teased, smirking.

“As if that was possible.” Chuuya snorted. Because, if he were honest with himself, Dazai already was one. At least in his eyes.

“Are you saying I'm already beautiful?”

“Shut it.” Chuuya retorted.

He worked carefully, using the dagger with the best precision the makeshift tool could offer. He had never cut someone else’s hair before, but he figured it couldn’t be that difficult—he trimmed the longer strands first, cutting away at the wild mess that had grown out over the past few months, then evened the shorter hair at the front and bangs. Every now and then, Dazai would shift, and Chuuya would press a firm hand to his shoulder to steady him.

“Feels nice,” Dazai tilted his head a little.

“I'm trying my best,” Chuuya muttered, still fully focused on the task.

“Feels better than when all the people who worked for my father did it. And in comparison to you, they actually had proper tools.”

“Are you insulting my wonderful dagger?” Chuuya smirked, pausing for a moment to inspect his work.

“Of course not,” Dazai grinned. “Your wonderful dagger is doing a fine job of not cutting my throat so far.”

“That can change,” Chuuya muttered, laughing slightly at the remark.

“You know I’d thank you.”

“Idiot,” Chuuya huffed, brushing Dazai’s hair once more before taking a step back. “There, all done. Not a complete mess, I guess.”

“ Just not a complete mess?” Dazai said dramatically, his hand reaching up to touch his freshly cut strands. “Huh. Feels better. Lighter.”

“I’m glad,” Chuuya said, unable to hold back a small, satisfied smile.

“No, really.” Dazai said, still feeling through his hair. “You did a good job.”

“Of course I did,” Chuuya scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, before shifting to sit in front of Dazai on the dry grass. “Who do you take me for?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Dazai hummed thoughtfully, a smug smile creeping onto his lips. “The love of my life?”

Chuuya’s hand, which had already been reaching for Dazai’s, suddenly stopped mid-air. His breath caught in his throat, lips parting slightly as if to say something—although his mind suddenly forgot every single word in existence. 

Dazai just laughed, leaning back on his hands as he basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“What?” he asked, his tone light. Like he had just said the most obvious thing in the world.

“Nothing, you—you can’t just say things like that,” Chuuya scoffed, looking away.

“Why not?” Dazai tilted his head slightly, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “It’s true. And besides, you’re predictable. I knew you’d react like that.”

“Like what?”

“Pretending like it’s something you didn’t already know.”

Chuuya opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the words tangled on his tongue.

“It’s different,” he muttered after a pause, his words sounding unconvincing even to his own ears. “When you say it out loud.”

“I’m just saying how I feel. You should try it sometimes.”

Chuuya just punched Dazai on the arm, which made the other only laugh in response, the sound being like honey to Chuuya’s ears. He settled down beside Dazai on the sun-warmed grass, his gaze drifting up toward the clear, open sky. Dazai mimicked his movements, lying beside him, their shoulders barely brushing.

“Now your turn, love.” Dazai said.

“My turn what?”

“To say out loud who I am to you.”

Chuuya tensed slightly, his mind scrambling for an answer. To be honest, he couldn’t even think of a word that could properly describe what they were. Friends? Gods, no. That wasn’t even remotely close. Lovers? Maybe, but even that felt like too small of a word, to describe the mess of feelings Chuuya found himself having for the idiot beside him. Love of my life? First of all, already used, second of all, sounding too fairytale-like for Chuuya’s liking.

“You already know,” Chuuya muttered. “And I’m not good with words.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Dazai shrugged, entirely unbothered.

“I hate you.”

“Hey, that’s not what you were supposed to say!”

Chuuya scoffed, his eyes following the clouds drifting lazily across the sky, carried by the wind. Why was it so damn hard to voice something he was so sure of?

“You’re my everything,” he said after a moment. “You’re always there when I need you, always knowing what to do, say... it’s kind of annoying,” Chuuya chuckled quietly. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before and didn’t know were possible. I thought I knew what I had to know about love, I’ve loved my mom all my life, I’ve loved my friends, I loved… her.” He paused for a moment. “But you’re just something else entirely. And this feeling I have when I’m with you, it makes me feel more... human, I guess. It’s stupid.”

There was a moment of silence, and Chuuya turned his head slightly, letting his gaze fall on Dazai’s face, bathed in warm sunlight. He searched for something in his expression—something that would tell him what he was feeling now. He could see a faint shock in Dazai’s eyes—like he didn't actually expect Chuuya to say all this out loud.

“Wow.” Dazai said after a pause. “See, you are capable of saying nice things to me.”

“Yeah, enjoy it, because it was the first and last time.” Chuuya laughed.

“That’s a shame,” Dazai muttered. “But better once than never.”

They laid there for a moment, the air between them settling into something warm and comfortable, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty. Chuuya just closed his eyes and focused on listening to the quiet rhythm of Dazai’s breathing beside him.

“Hey,” Dazai spoke up again.

“I’m trying to sleep,” Chuuya mumbled, his voice a bit muffled as he pressed his face against Dazai’s chest.

“Too bad,” Dazai said, slightly pushing Chuuya off him. The other huffed in offense, his snakes hissing in unison, as if they shared his indignation.

“What?” Chuuya groaned, tilting his head up to glare at him.

“I was just thinking,” Dazai started, a smile creeping into his voice, “since you’re so bad at putting labels on things, maybe I should help.”

“What are you on about now?”

“We could get married.”

Chuuya blinked a few times, staring at Dazai in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to turn the situation into one of his usual jokes. But he didn’t .

“That’s— That’s ridiculous.” Chuuya laughed nervously, trying to hide how bothered he was by those four simple words.

“It’s not really when you think of it,” Dazai shrugged. “We live together, sleep by each other’s side, we—”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly it, Chuuya.”

Chuuya exhaled a breath, his eyes locked on Dazai’s face. He had never put too much thought into marriage, god, it sounded too abstract enough in his thoughts, let alone reality. Even if he would want it, a ceremony, a priest, traditions—none of it was something he could ever have, something reachable. The gods had stripped him of that possibility a long time ago.

“We— don’t have a temple, a priest, a—”

“Who needs that anyway?” Dazai cut him off, dragging out his words in clear irritation at the mention of anything connected to the gods. “It’s about the promise, between the two of us. Noone else.”

“So you say we just decide to get married because we feel like it?”

“Exactly.” Dazai smiled.

“This is the worst proposal I could ever imagine.” Chuuya huffed. Obviously it was a lie. He’d rather have the worst proposal with Dazai, than the most beautiful and elegant one with someone else.

“Hey, that’s not the end,” Dazai said, reaching for something hidden beneath his cloak, curling a small item between his fingers, covering it just enough for Chuuya not to see.

“What is it?” Chuuya said, trying to steal a peek.

“Give me your hand, love.”

Hesitantly, Chuuya held out his hand, brushing it lightly with Dazai’s, so the other could feel it. Dazai took Chuuya’s hand in his own, his touch slow and deliberate. He lifted it slightly, fingers grazing over Chuuya’s skin, before carefully slipping something cool and solid onto his ring finger.

Chuuya’s eyes widened. A ring.

Well, not exactly a ring he would imagine if he heard the word—not made out of silver or gold, but from the woven, dried grass, carefully braided together into a pattern, with a few purple rose petals, tucked between the strands.

“What the— You had time to do this?”

“Please, I’m very efficient.” Dazai said proudly. “And I wanted it to be not the worst proposal in the world. Maybe at least second worst.”

Chuuya let out a laugh, his eyes drifting between Dazai and the ring over and over again. It wasn’t gold, wasn’t polished, wasn’t anything extravagant. But it was something Dazai had made, something created with care, something real.

“Thank you,” Chuuya said, his voice softer, carrying more emotion than he had intended. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

“And I’m not even finished.” Dazai said. “The vows, remember?”

“Right.” Chuuya choked out. He was definitely going to hit his limit for sweet and cheesy words for at least the next two months. Maybe even more.

“So,” Dazai murmured, his smirk softening into something more sincere as he took both of Chuuya’s hands in his, sitting right in front of him on his knees, his thumbs tracing small, absentminded circles over Chuuya’s skin. “Am I looking at you?”

Slowly, Chuuya reached out, cupping Dazai’s face with a careful touch, tilting it just slightly to align their gazes. Dazai’s white, unfocused eyes stared back at him, and suddenly, drowning in them had never felt better.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then I’ll go first.” Dazai said, taking a breath. “Chuuya, I— I want to be yours, now, tomorrow, in a month, in a year, in one hundred years. I don’t need to wait for the future to know I’d choose you in it. I already have.”

Chuuya’s fingers trembled slightly, but Dazai only squeezed his hand tighter.

“I promise to be there for you, whenever you need me, in the light of day, when your laugh is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Or at night, when you’re too stubborn to admit how much you’re hurting.” Dazai continued. “I want to be here every time. I want to live for you.”

The sting in Chuuya’s eyes was getting more and more annoying with every word Dazai spoke, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Not now, not when he felt like the happiest person in the world. Because hearing that Dazai would live for him meant so much more than if he had promised to die for him.

“That’s so unfair,” he choked out, trying to laugh past the tightness in his throat. “What am I supposed to say after this?”

Dazai just laughed, his arms slightly lifting up as he did, but his head never moved—probably not to accidentally lose eye contact with Chuuya.

“Say what you feel.”

“Well, I definitely promise to wipe that smirk off your face when I’m done talking.” Chuuya chuckled. “And keep you out of trouble. As much as I possibly can.”

“You’re supposed to say nice things, not call me out!” Dazai pouted.

“Okay, okay.” Chuuya took a deep breath. “I might be repeating after you but—I promise, I’ll be there. I’ll be there no matter what it takes, no matter what or who I have to fight, I’ll always find my way back to you.” Chuuya paused. “To be the reason for you to want to live.”

For a second, neither of them spoke, but Chuuya’s thoughts felt so loud, like they could become audible at any moment. This was it. If fate ever existed in this world, it was that they had found each other. And he meant the promise—meant it with everything he had—to always, always find his way back to Dazai.

Dazai didn’t respond right away. He just smiled, his smile soft and filled with emotion, one that felt like it belonged only to Chuuya.

“Now that was a proper vow, husband.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya scoffed, rolling his eyes at the word.

“I’m just saying things as they are. We’re married now.”

“Not for real.” Chuuya huffed. “We would need a temple, a witness—”

“Well, your little snake friends are here. Does that count?”

Chuuya gave him the flattest look possible, while the snakes on his head hissed in what he swore was irritation and offense.

“I can’t believe I’m bound to you now.”

“So you admit we are married.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, we are married, Osamu.”

The name slipped out of his mouth before Chuuya could even think about it. And Dazai stilled, his lips parting slightly as if he was at a loss for words, like he had momentarily forgotten how to speak. It was just a name, just one word, but Chuuya could see how much of an effect it had on him—he could swear, for a moment, Dazai’s unseeing eyes sparkled.

“Osamu.” Chuuya repeated, softer this time, letting the syllables roll off his tongue.

“Stop!” Dazai said, his hands letting go of Chuuya’s in a poor attempt to hide his face.

But Chuuya definitely wasn’t going to—not when he finally found the one thing that could leave Dazai flustered, while usually he was the victim of the other’s teasing.

“No, I think I won’t, Osamu.” Chuuya smirked. “Better get used to it.”

Dazai let out a dramatic groan before collapsing against Chuuya, burying his face into the other’s chest.

“I changed my mind. I’m gonna die,” he mumbled, voice muffled against Chuuya’s tunic.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Chuuya huffed, though he made no move to push him away, instead brushing his hand through Dazai’s hair and failing to suppress a soft smile that was tugging at his lips.

They stayed like that for a while, Dazai’s body growing heavier against him, fully relaxed, as if melting into the warmth of the sun and the comfort of Chuuya’s presence. The meadow around them was quiet, peaceful, untouched by the world beyond—like nothing and no one could take this moment from them. Or at least, Chuuya thought so.

Until something flashed in the corner of his vision, a quick movement somewhere between the trees in the distance.

His body stiffened, fingers pausing mid-motion in Dazai’s hair. He blinked, once, twice, forcing his eyes to focus, but whatever it was had already disappeared. His gaze drifted back down to Dazai, who remained blissfully unaware, his head still resting comfortably against Chuuya’s chest.

It was probably nothing. Just a wild animal. A trick of the light.

But then, cautiously, he lifted his eyes again and his breath caught in his throat. It was there for just a second, before it disappeared. Maybe not even that. Maybe just a fraction of one. But it was enough. Enough to see the figure standing there, watching. Enough for Chuuya to know exactly who it was.

She was watching. She had always been watching. Someone forbid him to have a moment of happiness.

But Chuuya still stood by what he had promised himself at the stream—he wouldn’t break. Not now. Not after everything.

“Chuuya?”

Dazai’s voice sounded distant, like it was coming from somewhere far away. Chuuya’s eyes remained locked on that particular spot, the place where, just a second ago, a goddess had been standing. Now it was just the trees swaying gently, undisturbed, as if nothing had ever been there at all.

“Yeah?” he replied after a delay, his voice slightly off—just enough for Dazai to notice.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” Chuuya smiled. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this moment, no way.

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so he was facing Dazai, their faces now closer, Dazai’s hair practically brushing against Chuuya’s face, carried gently by the wind, but Chuuya didn’t mind. He leaned in, closing the space between them until their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of Dazai’s breath ghosting against his lips.

“I’m really glad you’re here, idiot.”

“Do you just have to throw an insult even when you’re saying nice things?”

“It’s to keep the balance.”

Dazai just laughed, the sound wide and honest, and Chuuya barely had a second to register what he was doing, before he pulled Dazai into a kiss—slow, lingering, full of something unspoken but understood. He could feel the ring on his finger, a reminder of the quiet promise they had made. He could feel Dazai’s warmth against him, steady and constant. Everything was in place.

And when Dazai leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Chuuya’s lips, it felt less like a beginning and more like something that had already been there all along.

Summer arrived as swiftly as spring had, bringing with it scorching temperatures, the constant warmth of the sun on their skin, the long days blending seamlessly into their routine.

It wasn’t much. Just simple things—walking around the woods together, sitting in the soft grass by Chuuya’s garden, daily trips to the stream, offering a brief relief from the relentless heat—and for Dazai to never miss the opportunity to splash some water on Chuuya, grinning like a fool when the other inevitably retaliated, chasing him through the shallows. It always ended with them just laughing and holding each other, while their clothes clinging to their bodies under the water, and Dazai couldn’t help himself but to pull Chuuya into a kiss.

At nights the world felt quieter as they’d talk until sleep took them. Sometimes about meaningless things, sometimes about those that mattered more—past, future. Promises.

And yet, in the quiet moments when the heat of the day faded into the cool embrace of the evening, when the fire crackled softly in their home, Chuuya could feel it creeping in. The unease. The uncertainty. The nagging feeling that something was off.

No matter how much he wished it was just a feeling, a stupid intuition, maybe just a trick of his twisted imagination—he could see it, with his own eyes, things that looked way too real to be only hallucinations. He started catching glimpses—shadows shifting at the treeline, flickers of movement, always disappearing the moment he turned his head. The birds acting strangely, flying in patterns he had never seen before. New cracks on the statues, ones that he was certain hadn’t been there before.

And the dreams.

He had been having them for two years—it wasn’t anything new. But damn, Chuuya would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped they were gone for good. After all, the nightmares had stopped when he started sleeping beside Dazai. Nothing had changed since then—hell, they were practically clinging to each other every night now—so what had gone wrong?

They started small. Blurred images, fleeting impressions, the kind that dissolved the moment he woke up. But they didn’t stay that way for long—they became clearer, more suffocating. Visions of his hometown, of streets he hadn’t walked in years, of familiar faces twisted in pain. His mother, her back turned to him, calling his name in a voice that never quite reached his ears. Athena, golden eyes locked onto his, her lips moving in silent warning.

But Chuuya did not tell Dazai. He just couldn’t. No matter how suffocating the lies felt, no matter how painfully they sat in his chest, he just couldn’t bring himself to ruin the perfect little life they had built together—away from the gods, away from the world. And maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would just go away, right?

So every time he woke up in the middle of the night, forehead damp with sweat, breath coming in ragged gasps, he would use all his willpower to stay still, forcing his body not to move and not wake Dazai up. So far, it had worked, and Chuuya simply continued to cling to the illusion of peace, burying the thought of losing it somewhere far, far away in the back of his mind.

“What the hell…” Chuuya muttered to himself, crouching beside his flowers, fingers brushing over the delicate petals of the irises. Just yesterday, they had been vibrant, a deep, rich violet, standing tall and proud in the warm summer sun, but now—now they were completely gray. Their once-soft petals had curled in on themselves overnight, brittle and lifeless beneath his fingertips.

“What is it?” Dazai’s voice came from behind him, followed by the sound of his approaching footsteps.

“The flowers are withering,” Chuuya muttered, still staring at them. “They’re not supposed to, it’s—it’s the middle of summer.”

There wasn’t any storm in the night, nor a sudden temperature change. This wasn’t natural.

“Maybe you over watered them.” Dazai suggested.

“No, I didn’t.”

He looked around, scanning the rest of the garden, and a shiver ran down his spine. It wasn’t just the irises. The marigolds looked paler, their usual golden glow dull and sickly. The lavender had started drooping, their scent weaker than before. Even the grass beneath them seemed… off.

“Then maybe it’s for the same reason your nightmares suddenly came back.”

Chuuya tensed immediately, his grip on the flower tightening, almost crushing the dead petals between his fingers. Of course Dazai would notice. Foolish of him to think he could hide waking up in the middle of the night, breathless and shaking, from the very person sleeping beside him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chuuya said. “It has nothing to do with it.”

“Right. Nothing at all.”

“Dazai, I—”

“Were you even planning on telling me about it all?”

Chuuya swallowed, his gaze anywhere but on Dazai’s face. There was no point in lying now.

“No.”

“Oh.” Dazai let out a quiet breath. Not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, just a small sound that Chuuya couldn’t decipher, and somehow, that made it worse.

“Okay, look,” Chuuya said, forcing himself to stay calm. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’ve had nightmares before, I always somehow managed. Maybe they’ll just go away, like last time.”

“Maybe,” Dazai said, but his voice held no real belief in the words. “But I thought we were supposed to share what’s bothering us with each other.”

“I—It wasn’t bothering me.” Chuuya replied too quickly.

“Damn it, Chuuya, stop lying to me.”

Chuuya clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up in his chest.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” His voice came out sharper than he intended. “To ruin all we’ve built here just for—”

“You wouldn’t be ruining anything,” Dazai cut him off. His tone wasn’t angry—just steady and determined. “You really think you would? That one problem is enough to break the bond we share? You’d really rather hold onto the illusion of a fake paradise than just—just tell me what’s wrong like a normal human being?”

“I’m not a normal human being.”

“I’d argue with that.”

“Argue with a wall then.” Chuuya snapped, standing up abruptly, his body tense, his snakes hissing in agitation at the sudden movement.

He turned away, fists still clenched at his sides, willing himself to take a deep breath, but his lungs suddenly felt impossible to fill. The sun was too bright, the air too still, the grass under his bare feet too dry, the sounds around him too loud.

“I once told you that sharing a burden helps with carrying it. I still stand by that.”

The words echoed in Chuuya’s ears, as he looked at the horizon, his mind with ease recalling the exact moment when he had heard the words for the first time. He hated it, hated how one simple sentence from Dazai could crash through the walls he had built around himself in an instant.

“I just didn’t want to worry you,” Chuuya said quieter. 

“That’s not how this works,” Dazai replied, finally pushing himself to his feet, standing in front of Chuuya, searching for his hand with his own.

Chuuya hesitated for only a second before reaching out, guiding Dazai’s hand to his own, intertwining their fingers slowly, finally feeling like he was able to look up at Dazai’s face without breaking down here and now.

“I know,” he said. “But I have a feeling you know exactly what’s going on.”

Dazai was quiet for a moment, his fingers giving the slightest squeeze around Chuuya’s.

“I do.”

“Then why are you making me say it?” Chuuya sighed.

“Because,” Dazai said. “I also know exactly how much you’d like to keep it from me. And, well, I really don’t like that idea.”

“It always has to be the way you like it, huh?”

“I prefer it that way,” Dazai smirked.

“Of course you do.” Chuuya exhaled, trying to gather his thoughts and come up with a sentence that would make at least a bit of sense. “You remember what happened at the stream? Few weeks ago?”

“Yeah.” Dazai said simply.

“Well, it’s... been repeating. Not in the same way, but I feel like there are... signs.” Chuuya hesitated, voice wavering slightly at the end. “Never direct, but… they’re here. A flicker of light where there shouldn’t be, a shadow at the edge of my vision, cracks in the—fuck, I sound paranoid.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do, and I’m just so, so sick of it.”

Dazai just listened, letting Chuuya get it all out, all of the things he had spent last weeks trying to bury deep inside him.

“Let it out.” Dazai said after a moment.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Nothing.” Dazai said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Nothing?” Chuuya repeated, almost mockingly. “That’s your grand plan?”

“I mean, the only thing you could do to please her is probably leave me,” Dazai shrugged. “And I’m not letting you do that, so I guess you’re out of options here, love.” He smiled softly, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over Chuuya’s skin.

“You’re impossible.” Chuuya muttered.

Because deep down, he was more than glad that Dazai was so set on not letting Chuuya let go of him.

Because knowing himself, knowing his paralyzing fear of losing the things that meant the world to him—Chuuya knew exactly what he would have done if Dazai weren’t so stubborn. He would have pushed him away the second the danger was in sight. The second there was even the mere possibility of someone taking him away. Because pushing people away was easier than losing them against his will. It was easier to walk away on his own terms than to be forced to watch everything fall apart. And yet, Dazai refused to let him. And fuck, Chuuya had never been more grateful for it.

“Maybe I should try to come up with a new tea recipe,” Dazai said in a thoughtful tone. “You know, a special magic one to keep the nightmares away.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes at how fast his idiot of a—oh shit, husband—could turn the whole conversation into a joke.

“You’d burn the water.”

“That was one time.”

“One too much.”

“I make one mistake and you remember it forever.” Dazai huffed. “But you didn’t even remember my birthday.”

Chuuya blinked a few times. Birthday. He never celebrated it, it wasn’t a tradition in his family, but the concept wasn’t unfamiliar to him—he knew some people celebrated it, the more wealthy families, probably ones like Dazai’s. In Chuuya’s, they only celebrated sacred days of birth of gods, but people themselves? It never seemed like something worth celebrating.

“You never told me when your birthday is,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms.

“I’m telling you now,” Dazai grinned. “Today.”

“Idiot, you could have told me earlier!” Chuuya swatted him on the arm, glaring.

“What difference would it have made?” Dazai whined, rubbing the spot where Chuuya hit him like he was actually hurt.

“I could have—I don’t know, done something?” Chuuya huffed, exasperated. “Made you something? Found a gift?”

“If I said you being here is enough of a gift, would you punch me again?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then I’m silent.”

“Just wait,” Chuuya huffed, standing up and turning on his heel and heading toward the garden.

Before Dazai could ask what for, Chuuya stood up, turning on his heel and heading toward the garden. Dazai listened to the soft rustling of grass as Chuuya walked away, leaving him behind for a moment. He smiled to himself, tilting his head up toward the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin.

And then, after a few minutes, the rustling of grass returned. Chuuya settled beside him again, and Dazai barely had a second to react before something was placed in his hands.

“Here,” Chuuya muttered.

Dazai brushed his fingers against the familiar texture of soft petals and a smooth stem, inhaling the fresh scent.

“Lavender,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Chuuya said. “It means devotion. Or something like that. Well, now it means you’re old.”

“I’m not!” Dazai said, offended, still holding the flower up under his nose. “And if I am, you’re even older.”

“How would you know that?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“You said you were born in spring, didn’t you? The same year as me, so you turned nineteen a few weeks ago.”

Of course, he and his mom had never celebrated birthdays, but they had kept some track of time. His mom had always told him he was born on a warm, spring day, when the flowers were in full bloom, the timid sun finally peeking out after the long winter. So, every year since, they had marked one of the nicer spring days as the day he turned a year older.

But even with that knowledge, birthdays had never meant much to him. Why celebrate something so trivial? Still, as he glanced at Dazai, holding onto that small sprig of lavender like it was made of something precious, Chuuya thought maybe it wasn’t such a stupid thing after all. After all, he was glad Dazai was alive. Really glad.

Screams. Lights. Faces. Water.

And then—a loud gasp, sharp and ragged, tearing through the silence of the night as Chuuya jolted awake. His body lurched forward, hands gripping at the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling in uneven, frantic breaths, his pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

The cave was dark, blurred shapes barely registering in his unfocused vision. It took him a moment to ground himself, to remember where he was. He wasn’t drowning. He wasn’t back there. He was here. Safe.

But damn, it didn’t feel like it.

“Chuuya?”

The soft voice of his partner pulled him from the haze, making him turn his head slightly. His eyes landed on Dazai’s face, pale and almost glowing in the dim light of the cave, his unseeing white eyes like distant stars against the night sky.

“Sorry,” Chuuya muttered.

“You don’t have to be.” Dazai’s voice was gentle as he pushed himself up to sit, his hand blindly reaching for Chuuya’s. Their fingers brushed before Dazai intertwined them, his grip steady, grounding.

“A bad one?”

“It’s always the same.” Chuuya exhaled sharply, his free hand moving to his forehead, fingertips brushing against the familiar, yet still unsettling smoothness of the snake’s scales just above it. “I just—it's so fucking tiring. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Dazai hummed softly, his thumb tracing slow circles against Chuuya’s knuckles, offering quiet comfort. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for details—he never did, not unless Chuuya wanted to share.

Chuuya leaned into Dazai’s body, seeking for warmth, comfort, anything he could get, just to feel like he really was here, safe in Dazai’s arms, not dirty in the hands of a god, being tainted for the rest of his existence.

As he felt Dazai’s hand brushing against his skin, Chuuya closed his eyes, a sudden realization hitting him.

“I can differentiate it.” Chuuya said suddenly.

Dazai’s hand, warm and steady, paused for just a moment before resuming its slow, absentminded movements against Chuuya’s skin.

“Differentiate what?” He asked.

“The touch. His and yours.” Chuuya swallowed. “I used to think—I was scared it would always feel the same. That no matter what, every touch would just… remind me of that.” His voice faltered for a second, but he pushed forward. “But it doesn’t. Not with you.”

Dazai smiled lightly, his hand coming up to cup Chuuya’s cheek gently.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

And before Dazai could say anything else, Chuuya leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, capturing his lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

Dazai reacted immediately, his lips parting slightly, a silent agreement—no, agreement was too weak of a word, a silent invitation, a silent desire for more, for whatever Chuuya was willing to give him.

Their fingers found their way to each other, curling together in a grip that was anything but gentle—more feeling like suddenly their whole lives depended on it, like the other would suddenly disappear if they let go. Chuuya barely registered the moment his back hit the stone wall, too caught up in the way Dazai was pressing against him, too lost in the sensations to care, instead only pulling Dazai deeper into the kiss, until it was impossible to tell where one breath ended and the other began.

A shiver ran down his spine as Dazai’s cold fingers slipped beneath his tunic, skimming across his skin, his fingertips tracing thoughtless patterns against Chuuya’s ribs, that had no meaning except to drive him insane. Chuuya could feel the coldness of Dazai’s palm, contrasting starkly with the warmth that was overflowing his whole body, as Dazai was running his fingers over his stomach, his hips, his chest—like he was memorizing every inch of him by touch alone.

And Chuuya loved this feeling. Feeling like he was wanted, but not mindlessly desired, rather delicately cherished. It wasn’t about such a simple need as intimacy—it was about trust they managed to build with each other over the past year. And it was something Chuuya was proud of. For both of them.

So he let himself enjoy it. Let himself let go. Let himself slip out a few involuntary sounds from between parted lips, let himself sink into the warmth of Dazai’s touch, let himself be. And from the way Dazai leaned into his grip on his soft, brown hair, from the way he pressed deeper into the kiss, from the way the once-tense muscles in his body relaxed beneath Chuuya’s touch—he knew Dazai was letting himself, too.

Chuuya pulled back just slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against Dazai’s, to feel the way their breaths mingled in the space between them. His hands moved to cup Dazai’s face, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” Dazai asked quietly, his unseeing eyes, no matter how unknowing of the world around him, still felt like they were piercing through Chuuya’s body—seeing something deeper, something no one else ever had.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t,” Chuuya gasped, not letting Dazai form an answer before pulling him into another kiss, erasing whatever space was left between them.

It wasn’t long before their clothes were scattered around and forgotten, the only thing anchoring them to the moment, the only important factor being the feeling of each other’s touch. Chuuya’s palms roamed over Dazai’s now-bare skin, trying to grasp every inch of it, his nails digging into his back as Dazai’s lips traveled down his neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering marks down to his torso. He exhaled shakily, a ragged breath followed by a quiet, unrestrained moan as Dazai bit down gently on his skin.

For the past few weeks, Chuuya had feared it would feel unnatural, awkward—accompanied by a spiral of negative thoughts, tangled in the mess of his tainted mind. But with Dazai, the act felt anything but that. It felt like a real act of love.

His body responded instinctively, without hesitation, without the trace of overthinking he had feared so much before. Dazai’s fingers ghosted over his waist, while Chuuya buried one hand in Dazai’s soft, tousled hair, his other one landing on Dazai’s bandaged arm, fingers carefully pulling at the cloth, slow and deliberate, silently asking for permission. Dazai didn’t resist. He didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. And it made Chuuya feel so privileged—privileged to be someone Dazai wasn’t afraid to show his whole self to.

He lowered his head, before gently putting his lips on Dazai’s arm, feeling the uneven ridges of his scars underneath. He had seen them countless times before, of course, but this—this wasn’t about just seeing. Maybe, for once, this was about understanding the world the way Dazai always had.

He kissed every scar, one after the other, his mouth and tongue working slowly, delicately, tracing each mark with an almost reverent care. There was a precision to it, one that surprised even himself. But when it came to Dazai, Chuuya felt a deeply ingrained need to give his lover everything he could, in the most perfect way he knew how.

“You’re being awfully gentle, Chuuya.” Dazai breathed out, voice was quieter than usual.

“Are you complaining?” Chuuya asked, tilting his head up, his eyes locking onto Dazai’s unfocused white ones. They were only half-open, clouded with something Chuuya couldn’t quite name.

“Never said that.”

“Good.”

Chuuya shifted slightly, adjusting his position until he was sitting comfortably on Dazai’s lap, his legs curling around Dazai’s waist, feeling the warmth between them. His hands gripped Dazai’s now bare shoulders, thumbs brushing over smooth skin, hearing how Dazai’s breath hitched under his touch.

For a moment, he just stared—taking in the soft glow of Dazai’s face in the dim light, the way his lips parted slightly, the relaxed expression that Chuuya could never seem to get tired of, no matter how much he would pretend otherwise. A beautiful face he never once thought he’d have the honor of calling his.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he whispered.

“Me too,” Dazai responded almost immediately. “Really, I—”

“I know.”

That was all Dazai needed before he leaned in again, capturing Chuuya’s lips in another slow, lingering kiss. Chuuya didn’t hold back either, cupping Dazai’s cheek with his hands, while his whole body almost ached to be closer, as close as it was physically possible.

But they had time. They didn’t need to rush anything. There was no urgency, no frantic need to take—only give, give their loved person the best they could.

Chuuya woke up early. It must have been before sunrise, or just barely after it—the summer air was still cool, creeping into the cave and sending a trail of goosebumps over his naked skin. The only thing shielding him from the cold was the thin cloth he shared with Dazai, though he didn’t even remember pulling it over them.

But he didn’t care. Shifting slightly onto his side, his eyes landed on the figure sleeping next to him—their legs tangled together, his chest pressed against Dazai’s side, his fingers idly brushing through soft brown curls.

He watched as Dazai’s bare chest rose and fell with each slow breath, how steadily his breaths sounded, how his face was free of any worries in this quiet time of sleep, a relief for his always overthinking mind, from thoughts that never seemed to stop during the day. Dazai looked so peaceful. And damn, if that didn’t make Chuuya’s heart ache in the best way possible.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss onto Dazai’s lips, lightly blowing on his face to wake him up.

“Hey.” Chuuya said quietly. 

Dazai didn’t stir. Chuuya frowned slightly, brushing a few stray curls away from Dazai’s face. He tried again, this time squeezing Dazai’s hand gently.

“Come on, idiot, wake up.” His voice was still quiet but held a hint of impatience.

Nothing.

Chuuya’s stomach twisted. Dazai was a light sleeper—he always had been. The slightest movement, the softest sound, and he’d usually wake up instantly, cracking some stupid joke about how Chuuya was too restless for his own good. But now, his breathing remained deep, undisturbed.

“I wouldn’t waste my time trying.”

The voice came from behind Chuuya, making him turn around almost instantly. He knew that voice, oh how well he did. And how he wished he didn’t.

There she was. Not just a flicker of light, not a barely tangible figure hiding in the shadows, not just a distorted reflection in the water—in her full glory, Athena was as always looking down on him, her golden eyes piercing and unreadable. She looked so out of place in the quiet, earthy space they had made their home it made Chuuya want to scream.

“What did you do to him?” Chuuya’s voice was sharp, defensive. It wasn’t going to crack, not today. He didn’t even feel scared, not even deep within. Just angry.

“He’s simply sleeping,” she said, taking a step forward Chuuya. “A deep slumber—for now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have any reason to believe me.” She said, her tone almost bored. “But I’m telling the truth. I just wanted to have a conversation,” she paused, “that would be only between you and me alone.”

Chuuya’s entire body tensed, his hand squeezing Dazai’s even stronger. The air in the cave felt colder now, despite the warmth of summer still lingering outside. He could feel his snakes stirring, responding to his agitation, hissing softly in warning.

“Wake him up.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” She said, her gaze falling on Dazai’s soundly sleeping, unmoving figure. “This doesn’t concern him.”

“Of course it does concern him.” Chuuya scoffed. “You wouldn’t have been here if it wasn’t for him, would you?”

“It’s you, who broke the rules.” Athena said firmly.

“There were no rules!” Chuuya exhaled sharply. “You—You left me there, made me a monster—”

“I told you no man would ever lay his hands upon you again.” She cut him off, her voice as cold and unyielding as ever. “You knew what the curse was about. Just because I didn’t say it outright doesn’t mean I didn’t make it clear, Chuuya.”

He practically winced at the sound of his name spoken from her lips. He looked down, but the moment he did, cold fingers brushed against his skin, a firm grip lightly grasping his chin and tilting his face upward.

It had been so long since Chuuya had stared into the eyes of another—anyone other than Dazai, and it had been even longer since he had looked into these particular golden, emotionless ones. And suddenly he felt more like a boy than a man.

“You were given your fate for a reason.” Athena’s tone didn’t waver.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Chuuya choked out. “He used me. You know he did. Please—”

The word barely left Chuuya’s lips before Athena’s grip on his chin tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of exactly who she was. Who he was speaking to.

“And so I protected you.”

“Protected?” Chuuya repeated, his tone almost mocking.

“Yes. I protected you, because I cared about you.” Athena’s voice was much colder than the stone floor he was sitting on.

“You never cared!” Chuuya yelled, the words barely making it past his tightening throat. “You let him do it. You let all of it happen.”

For the first time, Athena’s expression flickered. It was brief—so brief that Chuuya almost convinced himself he imagined it. But for a second, just a second, something almost like pity flashed in her golden eyes.

“I don’t like being defied.” She hissed. “And that’s what you’ve been doing for the whole last year.”

“I wasn’t trying to defy you.” His voice was steadier now, his breathing evening out. “I was just trying to live.”

“In a way you weren’t supposed to.”

“Then why didn’t you just kill me?” He exhaled sharply. “If I wasn’t supposed to have anything, if I was just meant to suffer—”

“We have different definitions of suffering, Chuuya.”  she interrupted coldly. “I made an exception for you. I let you keep a part of yourself—when I could have taken everything. Even though most of the gods would kill you on the spot.”

Chuuya felt his breathing getting quicker, the snakes curling in agitation atop his head, feeling more foreign than ever. They weren’t on his side. Not when it was against her.

“You’re projecting.” He said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Athena looked down on him, a gaze almost as killable as his own.

“You wanted him to suffer. But he’s a god, so you can’t just punish him like you can a mortal, isn’t that right?”

“Enough!” Her voice echoed through the cave like thunder as she released his chin, stepping back. “How dare you speak to me like that?”

Chuuya didn’t answer, still hearing the goddess’ voice ringing in his ears, over and over.

“You think you are merely a consequence of his actions, but you are also a reminder of mine.” Athena said, her fury almost tangible in the air. “And my actions are not to be discarded or ignored. So this is a final warning,” Her golden eyes flicked again to Dazai. “Let him go, or there will be consequences. There will be consequences faster than you’ll be able to say his name.”

Chuuya swallowed. He wanted to fight, wanted to yell, but the truth was, he had nothing. No divine power, no weapons that could rival a god. He wasn’t a hero in some grand myth—he was just a man. But he was a man who was willing to do anything to protect what was his.

“I won’t let go of the only person important to me. I’ve lost enough.”

Athena held his gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for something—hesitation, fear, submission. But Chuuya refused to look away. He refused to give her the satisfaction.

“As you wish.”

Without another word, Athena turned around, the air shifted, and just like that—she was gone.

Chuuya’s gaze stayed locked on the exact spot where she had just vanished from, before he blinked a few times and shook his head, immediately rushing to Dazai, still motionlessly laying on the floor.

“Hey. Dazai. Dazai, wake up. Osamu.” he repeated in an urgent voice, squeezing Dazai’s hand in his, his free one brushing through his soft hair, and slowly sliding down to his cheek.

It took a few painfully long seconds, but finally Dazai stirred, his body finally waking up.

“What... Chuuya?”

Chuuya didn’t say anything, he couldn’t—he simply just threw himself into Dazai’s arms, practically collapsing onto him.

Dazai barely had time to react before Chuuya’s weight pressed against him, his arms wrapping around him so tightly it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

“Whoa, hey.” Dazai muttered, his voice tinged with the remnants of whatever unnatural sleep he just woke up from, his hands instinctively finding their way to Chuuya’s back, holding him closer. “What happened?”

Chuuya finally inhaled a slow, shaky breath, before forcing himself to pull back just a little.

“She was here.” He muttered.

Dazai didn’t ask who. He didn’t have to.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Dazai said.

“I couldn’t.” Chuuya said. “She put you to some weird fucking sleep.”

“Oh.” Dazai let out. “Never thought a goddess would lull me to sleep.”

“It’s not damn funny!” Chuuya shoved him in the arm.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Dazai sighed, his voice more calm now. “Tell me.”

Chuuya hated himself for not wanting to. For once again, wanting to keep up the illusion of their perfect peace, rather than ruin it with uncomfortable truth.

But it didn’t work last time. It wouldn’t work this time. He knew that.

“She told me to let you go.”

Dazai didn’t answer for a moment, his white eyes flicking with something Chuuya couldn’t name.

“I wouldn’t let you.” Dazai said after a moment, a soft smile on his lips.

“Yeah.” Chuuya let out a bitter scoff, resting his forehead against Dazai’s shoulder. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

He buried his face in the crook of Dazai’s neck, trying to steady himself, to slow his racing thoughts. But no matter how much he tried, they kept coming, flooding his mind one after another.

He was selfish. He was putting both of them in danger. She could take Dazai from him here and now, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. She was probably watching him right now—of course she was. She could make Dazai not wake up the next time and it would be entirely Chuuya’s fault. His fault. His fault, his fault, his fault—

“Stop thinking,” Dazai hummed, running his fingers over Chuuya’s palm.

“How can I?” Chuuya scoffed.

“Like that.” Dazai said and flicked Chuuya’s forehead, a lazy smile finding its way onto his lips, causing Chuuya to roll his eyes in response.

“Wow. How didn’t I think of that?”

“Because I’m smarter.”

“As if.”

There was a longer pause, and every second felt like stabs to Chuuya’s skin, the air in the cave still thick, as if she was still here, as if she had never really left. He closed his eyes, hoping to find some peace in the eternal  darkness behind his eyelids, but all he could see was those golden eyes, ready to take away from him everything he had ever cared about.

“I don’t know what to do, Dazai.” His voice was quieter now, but even his own words were better than the awful silence. “She won’t stop until she takes you from me. I know she won’t.”

“And?” Dazai said. His tone was casual, light, as if they were talking about the weather, and it made Chuuya’s blood boil.

“And?” he repeated. “And? And—She can do anything! She can curse you, she can kill you—”

“It doesn’t scare me, Chuuya.” Dazai said. “Which is, to be honest, scary.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s scary that it doesn’t scare me.” Dazai clarified. “Because that means I’m so far gone for you that it doesn’t even bother me when a goddess is angry with me, just to be with you.”

The words felt stuck in Chuuya’s throat as he tried to form a response, to say anything. It wasn’t fair, the way Dazai was able to say things like that so easily, so casually, while Chuuya felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the freefall below.

“It should,” he finally forced out

“Probably, yeah.”

“You should be running the hell away from me at this very moment.”

“Probably, I should.”

“You should be saving yourself.”

“You saved me, Chuuya.” Dazai said, without any hint of hesitation.

Chuuya bit his lip, letting himself fall again into Dazai’s arms. He didn’t want to argue to push Dazai away. No, it wasn’t just that. He just simply couldn’t bring himself to push Dazai away. No matter how selfish it felt.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Dazai said, brushing his fingers over his cheek lightly.

“And you won’t leave anyway.”

“I swear on every god I don’t believe in, Chuuya,” Dazai pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Chuuya’s lips, sealing the words between them “I’m not going anywhere.”

The next few days passed in a strange, fragile balance. Everything was the same—almost. They still went on walks, still lay together in the grass, still bickered about pointless things that never really mattered. Dazai still stole fruit from Chuuya’s basket when he wasn’t looking, still made dramatic declarations of love just to feel Chuuya roll his eyes in annoyance, still leaned into him like gravity itself pulled them together.

But the thoughts weren't just something Chuuya could simply turn off. And he hated the way that every time he looked at his lover, there was that fleeting, unwelcome thought, that at any moment, it could be ripped away from them.

“The lavender died.” Chuuya said as he stepped into the cave, brushing dirt off his hands. His voice was flat—or at least, he tried to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure if he was succeeding.

Dazai, who had been lounging against the stone wall, tilted his head in Chuuya’s direction at the sound of his voice.

“All of it?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah. All of it.” Chuuya admitted.

It sounded stupid—of course it did. They were just flowers. But at the same time, they were something he had tended to for three years now, something constant, something that had given him purpose, even before Dazai had entered his life. A small, fragile piece of his past, a thread that still connected him to the good memories of his hometown. And now it was all gone.

Dazai didn’t say anything for a moment—he just simply opened his arms, inviting Chuuya silently to fall into them. Chuuya didn’t even hesitate. He crossed the space between them, sinking into the warmth of Dazai’s embrace, letting himself be held, their hands instinctively finding their way to each other. 

“Maybe I’m really not meant to have things.” Chuuya muttered, his voice quieter now, like he wasn’t sure if he even wanted Dazai to hear it.

“Hey, don’t say that.” Dazai said, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against Chuuya’s palm. “Don’t let one thing get to you so much.”

“One thing will lead to another.”

“Or maybe it won’t.”

“You know it will.”

The silence was loud, almost unbearable. It never felt like this with Dazai before. But it wasn’t Dazai’s fault, maybe it was just Chuuya’s thoughts that had never been so loud before.

“I have an idea.” Dazai said after a moment.

“What now?” Chuuya said, his voice so resigned, it made his own ears hurt.

“We could collect the dead flowers, dry them and then decorate the cave with them. Maybe stick them to the walls on resin or something.”

Chuuya hummed, lifting his head slightly to look at Dazai’s face. He used to do that—dry flowers that had fallen from their stems, make paint from them, preserve them in some way. His gaze drifted up to the wall.

His eyes stopped at the largest painting right in front of him. The silhouettes of his mother, his friends, and finally Dazai, standing in the meadow full of flowers. It’s been so long since he really stared at it—he grew so used to the presence of it on the wall he stopped really paying attention, it had become just another part of the cave, something he had stopped truly noticing. Maybe he should do it more often.

“You want to decorate the cave with dead flowers?” he said after a moment.

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds depressing.” Dazai chuckled. “But I meant it in a poetic way.”

Chuuya huffed, but there wasn’t any real annoyance behind it.

“And what’s so poetic about keeping dead things around?”

“Because they mattered to you.”

Chuuya hesitated for a moment before sighing.

“Fine. But if it looks bad, I’m blaming you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Dazai laughed.

They spent the next few hours picking up the dried flowers, selecting the best-looking ones, and collecting resin from the trees. Chuuya worked carefully, his hands moving on instinct, the repetitive motions keeping his mind from spiraling too deep into thoughts he didn’t want to deal with.

Dazai, on the other hand, functioned mostly as a distraction, coming up with his smart comments every few seconds, rambling about everything and nothing. It was annoying, but it helped—having Dazai’s voice fill the silence, keeping Chuuya here, in the moment.

By the time they finished, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting the cave in warm, slanted light. Chuuya stepped back, wiping his hands on his tunic, his gaze trailing over their work. The once bare stone wall was now adorned with carefully arranged dried flowers in between paintings, the colours working together nicely, creating a strange but beautiful harmony. The deep purples of the lavender, the golden remnants of marigolds, the faded reds of poppies—it wasn’t the same as having them bloom in the garden, wasn’t the same as tending to them every morning, but it was something. A way to keep them. A way to hold onto them, even if just in fragments.

He exhaled slowly, arms crossing over his chest, and turned his gaze to Dazai. The other man was running his fingers gently over the brittle petals to feel them.

“Happy?” Chuuya asked.

“I don’t know,” Dazai smiled at him softly. “Are you?”

Chuuya didn’t answer right away. He wanted to be. He wanted to focus on this carefree, domestic moment they were having, without thinking about the past, and even scarier future. He really fucking wanted to.

So, he would try to anyway.

“Yeah. I am.”

They curled into the corner, cuddling together as they did every evening, getting ready to sleep. Dazai shifted slightly, adjusting his position until he was comfortably pressed against Chuuya’s side, his head resting on Chuuya’s shoulder, seeming not to mind the quiet hisses of the snakes just above his ears. If anything, he seemed utterly at ease, like the creatures had long since become an accepted part of the space they shared.

Chuuya let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes. He tried focusing on the moment, on the feeling of Dazai’s touch, visualizing all the thoughts swirling in his head to melt away, disappear. It didn’t work perfectly, but wasn’t entirely useless either.

“You’re warm.” Dazai muttered, nuzzling in the crook of Chuuya’s neck, fidgeting every two seconds in search of a comfortable position.

“Yeah, and you’re cold.” Chuuya retorted.

“Mhm. Guess that makes us a good match.”

Dazai stilled, his breathing slowing, but Chuuya could tell he wasn’t fully asleep yet. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested against Chuuya’s side, and every now and then, he let out a soft sigh, like he was thinking about something he wasn’t saying out loud.

“Go to sleep.” Dazai said after a moment.

“I am trying to.” Chuuya rolled his eyes in the darkness.

“I sleep better when you’re already asleep.”

“Well, that seems like a you problem.”

Dazai let out a quiet, dramatic whine—like a child denied their favorite toy—before snuggling even closer, pressing against Chuuya in a way that the other didn’t even think was physically possible.

“You used to sleep better. Before.”

Chuuya bit his lip. Before. Before the signs from the gods became too tangible, too clear-cut to ignore.

“Goodnight, Dazai.”

“Don’t goodnight Dazai me.”

Chuuya sighed, tilting his head down a little.

“What do you want me to say then?”

“I don’t know. I just want you to be okay.”

Chuuya stilled for a moment, his chest tightening at the quiet confession. Slowly, he shifted, reaching up to cup Dazai’s face in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over sharp cheekbones, the coldness of his skin cool under Chuuya’s warm touch. He guided Dazai’s face toward his own, making his unseeing, milky-white eyes meet his own. God, he could never get rid of the sight of them.

“I’m going to be okay if you are, okay?” Chuuya said, his voice natural, raw. “So promise me you will.”

“I promise.”

There was no silence, no hesitation before the answer. Just quiet, but firm certainty and a small, almost unnoticeable in the darkness, but real smile on Dazai’s face.

“Good.” Chuuya smiled back. “Now sleep or you’re going to be a complaining mess tomorrow.”

“Mhm. You'd still put up with me,” Dazai muttered sleepily.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Chuuya laughed, wrapping a protective arm around Dazai again. “Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Chuuya.”

For the last time, everything felt fine.

“Chuuya!”

The voice barely reached him through the pain overflowing his entire body, his vision swimming, blurred by heat and ash, his eyes stinging with every agonizing second he forced them to stay open. He turned sharply, gasping for air, his lungs burning as he sucked in thick, acrid smoke.

The smoke clung to his skin, searing it in slowly and painfully, but the screams were worse than any physical pain could ever be.

He could feel the coldness of water on his body, the stinging feeling of sea salt biting into his skin, and the burning of incandescent fire at the very same time. He tried to move but the air surrounding him felt so suffocating, as if it was pressing in from all sides. Once again he forced his hurting eyes to stay open, stumbling forward, knees buckling at the sight before him.

It was his hometown. He could recognize it easily—the same roads, the same houses, same places that he could once call home.

But burned to the ground.

The once proud buildings, houses, or small temples stood there as nothing more but charred skeletons, some still being eaten by flames, covered behind a layer of thick, dark smoke. The roads he remembered being filled with laughter, chatter and life were littered with debris, the memory of once present colourful flora surrounding them long forgotten.

It wasn’t just simple destruction, it was practically erasure.

The screams flooded his mind again, clawing into his skull, as he dug his nails into the dry, cracked ground beneath him, trying and miserably failing to keep his body from shaking. He knew these voices. His mother’s voice, Kouyou’s voice, even Yumeno’s—every single one calling nothing, but his own name. But every time he tried to move even an inch, wanting nothing more than just to rush into the flames, to do anything, his body would fail him, over and over again.

“Chuuya!”

His heart stopped. Was that...? It couldn’t be.

One voice, different from the others. One he knew so well, yet felt so impossibly distant in that moment. Dazai.

Chuuya jolted awake with a breathless gasp, his body acting before his mind could catch up, yanking him upright, lungs still burning from the inside like they were filled with smoke, his throat dry as he fought for every inch of air he could get.

“Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya.” He could hear Dazai’s voice, but it felt muffled, like it was underwater, distant. Even the warmth of Dazai’s hand on his back, the arm wrapped securely around him, felt strange. Foreign. Like they weren’t really here, like he wasn’t really here.

“Breathe.” Dazai’s voice was gentle, patient.

Chuuya’s breath hitched, a choked sound forcing its way from his throat. He tried to steady the uncontrollable gasps, calm his racing heart, falling into Dazai’s arms involuntarily.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the moment he did, all the images of the nightmare returned, an invisible force pulling him back into its depths. So instead he forced his eyes open and looked up at Dazai’s face to focus on it. The unruly curls that framed his blind, milky-white eyes. The quiet concern etched into them.

“Just hold me.” Chuuya choked out.

“I am.” Dazai said without hesitation, his arms still wrapped protectively around Chuuya’s shaking body.

“I have to—” Chuuya started, his voice wavering.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Dazai interrupted, firm but gentle. “Maybe except for calming down.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Chuuya, it was just a—”

“Stop fucking talking!”

The words tore from his throat, raw and shaky, so much that Chuuya didn’t even recognize himself in the sound of his own voice.

Dazai fell silent. His hand, which had been tracing slow, soothing circles against Chuuya’s skin, suddenly stilled.

“Explain to me then,” he said quietly. But he didn’t push further—he just waited. For when Chuuya was ready.

Chuuya swallowed hard, staring at the space between them as if searching for the right words somewhere in the dark. His body still trembled slightly, the echoes of the nightmare refusing to release their grip on him.

“I saw my hometown.” He said after a moment. “Burned. Destroyed. Everyone—there was no one left. And there were people screaming, my—my mother, my friends—” Chuuya took a shuddering breath. “Screaming my name. And I couldn’t do anything. And it was real.”

“It wasn’t real,” Dazai said. “It was just a—”

“Don’t say it,” Chuuya cut him off, his tone sharp, his breath still uneven. “It wasn’t like any other before. This was— I was there. I saw it.”

“Thinking about it now won’t change anything.” Dazai sighed. “You’re just going to get yourself a headache and feel even worse.”

“I’m not going to only think about it.”

With effort, Chuuya pushed himself up from Dazai’s embrace, his legs still unsteady beneath him, but the determination in his eyes burned through the lingering fear.

“I’m going back.”

Dazai didn’t react at first. He simply sat there, expression unreadable, his white eyes locked somewhere in the distance, as if he was trying to figure out if Chuuya was serious.

“No, you’re not.” he said after a moment.

“Yes, I am.”

“Chuuya.” Dazai’s voice was quiet, even, but there was something firm beneath it. “You don’t even know if what you saw was real.”

“I know what I fucking saw!” Chuuya snapped, taking a few steps towards where their supplies were gathered, already starting to prepare. “Maybe I do sound insane, maybe I am, but I know what I saw!”

“She’s playing with you.” Dazai said. He didn’t need to name anyone, both of them knew damn well who he was referring to. “You’re just falling for it.”

“Maybe I am. I don’t care.”

“You should.” Dazai said more sharply. “You go back there and what? If it turns out it was really just a dream, and your hometown stands there untouched?”

“Then I just go back here.” Chuuya said. “I can’t return there, that I made peace with a long time ago.”

“So why even bother?”

“Because I have to know.” Chuuya clenched his fists, not even looking at Dazai. “Even if the chance that it was real is practically zero, I have to know. I’ll see it for myself. I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering.”

Dazai sighed, running a hand through his hair. He tilted his head toward the ceiling as if listening for something only he could hear, before shaking his head.

“Fine. When are we leaving?”

“We?” Chuuya repeated. “You’re not going.”

“Like hell I’m not.” Dazai repeated, voice calm but unwavering.

Chuuya scoffed. This was his past. His burden to deal with. The last thing he needed was to drag Dazai into it, to put him in danger over something that had nothing to do with him.

And there was this nagging thought in his head. If the nightmare was real—if his hometown was really gone, reduced to nothing but ash and ruin—Chuuya didn’t want Dazai to see how much more broken he could become.

“Yes, you’re not.” Chuuya said firmly. “I don’t need you watching over me.”

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

“I’ve handled myself alone before just fine.”

“And how well did that turn out.”

Chuuya clenched his fists by his sides. Fucking bastard.

“Just so you know,” Dazai said, pushing himself to his feet and taking a few steps in Chuuya’s direction. “I’ll follow you anyway, even if you tell me no a hundred times. And that would only slow you down, don’t you think?”

For all the gods, Chuuya hated how easily Dazai could figure out a way to get exactly what he wanted, every damn time.

“Fine.” He shot Dazai a look. “But it’s a full day’s walk one way. If you complain even once, I’m leaving you behind.”

“Noted.”

Chuuya peeked out from their cave, looking up at the sky. It was clear, just beginning to take on shades of blue, the sun shyly emerging from beyond the horizon. Sunrise .

“If we go now, we should be there by dawn.” Chuuya said.

If he remembered the way, that is. But Dazai didn’t question it.

“Okay,” he said simply, stepping up beside him. “Let’s get going.”

Chuuya spent the next few minutes gathering what little they would need for the journey—some water, a few fruits, a small dagger he tucked securely at his waist. He didn’t need much. He wasn’t planning to stay.

He exhaled, glancing toward the cave’s entrance. The sky was lighter now, the golden glow of morning fully stretching across the land. It felt surreal, heading toward a place he had abandoned so long ago—toward something that might not even be real.

But he had to go.

Dazai walked over to him and held out his hand. A small, simple gesture, but combined with everything that had happened, it made Chuuya’s eyes sting with tears.

He swallowed them back, pushing the feeling aside, and instead intertwined his fingers with Dazai’s. Taking one last look at the cave, he took a step forward, towards whatever lay ahead of him. Whatever lay ahead of them.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp, the sky a pale shade of blue as they walked. It should have been peaceful. It would have been peaceful.

But it wasn’t. Not when the most powerful goddess in existence had marked you as her target.

Chuuya did his best to navigate, scanning his surroundings for anything familiar—anything that could guide him. But as the minutes stretched into an hour and they ventured deeper into unfamiliar territory, the task became harder. The last time he had taken this route was three years ago. And back then, barely conscious, he hadn’t exactly been in the right condition to pay attention to his surroundings.

“Hey.”

Dazai’s voice made Chuuya stop in his tracks and turned around him.

“What?” he asked, frowning as he watched Dazai reach out, fingers running over the rough bark of a tree, tracing its texture like he was searching for something.

“Isn’t this the place we first met?”

Chuuya looked around, scanning the trees, the uneven dirt path, the distant sound of running water. It didn’t look familiar at first—but then, slowly, something clicked.

“Yeah. I think it is. Last year. What, getting all sentimental now?”

“Just stating the facts.” Dazai huffed a quiet laugh.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, but for a brief second, the tension cracked—just a little. Back then, Dazai was just another danger to his carefully constructed walls, another problem he didn’t need.

He was still a problem, of course, but one Chuuya would die for.

“Did you cross a river when you came here?” Dazai asked, pulling Chuuya from his thoughts.

“I…” Chuuya hesitated, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that day. “I think so.”

“I can hear one. There.” Dazai pointed ahead, in the direction they were already moving. “Seems like we’re going the right way.”

“That’s some good news, at least.” Chuuya let out a breath. “Come on.”

“You know I almost drowned once as a kid?” Dazai said, a bit too casually.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Chuuya shook his head, continuing forward.

“I ran a bit too far in our yard.” He said. “There was supposed to be someone watching over me, but I guess they got bored or something.”

Chuuya glanced back at him, frowning slightly, but Dazai just kept going.

“I found a stream near our house,” he continued, “and oh , I was thrilled. You know—new sensation, water splashing, adventure. Five-year-old me thought I’d discovered something magical.”

“And then you did something stupid,” Chuuya muttered.

“I didn’t intend to,” Dazai said defensively. “One moment the water was up to my ankles, and the next—well, I just fell into it.”

“Of course you did.” Chuuya sighed.

“I remember how fast it happened. I thought I could swim—I mean, I could—but panic does weird things to you. It’s strange, you know? The way your mind slows everything down when you’re about to die.” Dazai said, his voice thoughtful, but not sad, like the memory had stopped affecting him a long time ago. “Eventually someone got me out, I don’t even remember who. But I got sick after that, and my dad forced the most disgusting medicine down my throat every few hours.”

“That’s what you get for being reckless.” Chuuya hummed.

“Give me some credit.” Dazai chuckled. “But, if I fall again, I’m counting on you to save me this time.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll make sure not to rush to you when you do.”

“Cruel.” Dazai smirked.

The conversation faded into quiet as they kept walking, the crunch of dirt and leaves beneath their boots filling the silence. The morning air had lost some of its chill, warmed by the steady rise of the sun, which was now at its zenith.

Occasionally Dazai would slip into mindless chatter, while Chuuya did his best to focus, responding just enough to keep the conversation going. Though his mind remained half elsewhere, somewhere he didn’t want it to be.

As the hours stretched on, the landscape around them began to change. The dense clusters of trees thinned, giving way to wider stretches of open land, where the sky felt too vast, too exposed. The distant murmur of the river grew louder—just like the pounding of Chuuya’s heart with every step forward.

There were moments when he wanted to stop. To turn back while he still could. To believe Dazai’s words—that the nightmare had been just that. A dream. A trick of his mind. The goddess’ cruel games.

But then there was that thought, that unbearable possibility. That it had really happened. And if he didn’t see it for himself—if he let himself walk away—not knowing would kill him just as surely as the worst truth.

It took a few hours, a few stops because even if Dazai didn’t complain, just as he had promised, Chuuya could see when he was getting tired. He could hear it in the slight drag of Dazai’s footsteps, in the way his endless string of stories slowed, his voice dipping just a little lower with each passing mile.

But finally, Chuuya spotted it. A hill. And the temple at its peak.

The one temple Chuuya used to call his second home. The sacred ground where he had spent years serving, where he had built his faith, where he had thought—truly thought—he had found his purpose in life.

Or at least, he used to believe that.

“There,” Chuuya choked out, his grip tightening around Dazai’s hand as his pace quickened. His heart pounded louder than his footsteps against the dirt. “There’s the temple. The town is only half an hour further.”

“And?” Dazai asked, his voice calm, measured.

“And,” Chuuya said, his gaze fixed on the temple as he started up the hill, gripping Dazai’s hand tighter, pulling him along. “It looks the same.”

They made their way closer, the entrance looming ahead, when Chuuya stopped.

Everything had happened here. Everything had started here. The place he had once called home was now the place he feared the most.

You’re no longer welcomed here.

Athena’s words from three years ago still rang in his ears, sharp as a blade. The pain of the curse she had put on him in this very place burned in his bones, the fear, the panic, the moment his life had been ripped apart. The god’s filthy hands on his forever tainted body, feeling like a shadow he could never get fully rid of.

“We don’t have to walk in there if you don’t want to.” Dazai’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I don’t know.” Chuuya shook his head. “It’s her temple. Her sacred place.”

“It’s a bunch of stone and marble, Chuuya.” Dazai said. “If it has ever meant something to you and you want to go, then do it.”

“Have I ever mentioned that I hate how you make everything seem so simple?” Chuuya scoffed. And worse—so much worse—was how Dazai’s words actually did make the decision simpler.

Dazai huffed a quiet laugh.

“All the time.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering back to the temple. The same entrance he had once walked through with purpose, with devotion. Now, it loomed in front of him like a monument to everything he had lost.

They reached the entrance, and suddenly he felt small, towered by the marble columns that stretched high above him, untouched by time. Or maybe not untouched—maybe three years just wasn’t long enough to leave a mark. But for Chuuya, it felt like an eternity.

“Do you hear anyone?” he asked Dazai quietly.

Dazai stood still for a moment, focusing, before shaking his head.

“Not a thing. I think it’s empty.”

“That’s weird.” Chuuya said, taking a hesitant step ahead. “It’s the middle of the day. There should be people here.”

They were greeted by a sight all too familiar to Chuuya—the towering golden statue of Athena, standing at the center of the temple. The polished gold shimmered under the sunlight filtering through the high windows, making her presence feel alive , as if her unseeing eyes were watching their every move.

Chuuya had stood before this statue countless times. He had bowed his head, whispered prayers, and searched for guidance. Now all he could feel was resignation and anger.

He took a few steps closer—but not too close. Some small, naïve part of him still hoped that if he moved carefully enough, if he didn’t disturb anything, the goddess wouldn’t feel their presence. His gaze fell to the spot at the statue’s base, where he remembered all the offerings had once been placed. It was empty.

“Where are all the priests, the priestesses? All the people?” he murmured.

He turned, looking at Dazai, who was running his palm over the carved stone wall, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know,” Dazai answered. His fingers traced the surface slowly, thoughtfully. “It doesn’t feel like an abandoned place. Just… empty.”

“But why would it be?” Chuuya asked, fists clenching at his sides, the worst-case scenarios already flooding his mind.

“Don’t panic yet.” Dazai said, though his voice lacked the same steady calmness he had back at the cave, when he had reassured Chuuya the nightmare was just a dream. A random person wouldn’t have noticed the subtle shift in his tone, but Chuuya—after all the time they had spent together—picked up on it instantly.

“Fine. I just want to leave.” He said, turning on his heel, and walking back to the entrance.

“You sure?” Dazai asked, following him. “If this place meant something for you—”

“Meant.” Chuuya cut him off. “Past tense. It doesn’t anymore.”

Dazai hummed thoughtfully but didn’t argue. Instead, he simply kept pace beside him as they started down the hill, reaching out to take Chuuya’s hand gently in his own.

The path from the temple to the town hadn’t changed. It was the same one Chuuya had walked every day—sometimes alone, sometimes with Yumeno or Kouyou by his side. But now it felt different. Like he wasn’t welcomed to be here.

“What are you going to do when you see them?” Dazai spoke up after a moment.

“What?” Chuuya blinked.

“When it turns out the dream was just a dream.” Dazai said, like he was certain of it.

“Nothing.” Chuuya responded. “It’s not my place anymore. I’m just going to make sure and—” he paused. “If everyone’s fine, we just go back and pretend nothing happened.”

“Just like that?” Dazai hummed.

“Yeah, just like that.”

Chuuya barely had a second to breathe before a sudden cough forced its way out of his throat. He inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. It was faint, but unmistakable. The acrid, lingering stench of smoke. The kind that no fresh breeze could fully erase.

He looked up only to see a wisp of smoke curled in the distance, his breath catching in his throat. No. No, it had to be something else. A fire for warmth, for cooking—something normal.

But as they crested the next hill, the distant view of the town came into sight. And the next thing Chuuya felt was Dazai catching him as his knees buckled beneath him.

Chuuya’s vision blurred for a second—not from exhaustion, not from the strain of the journey, but from the sheer, unbearable wrongness of what lay ahead. It wasn’t his hometown anymore, no, it was what was left of it.

The smoke was ever-present, lingering between the skeletons of burnt houses, the roads once filled with life standing empty, covered in thick layers of debris, with flames still lighting in some places. And there was not a single soul in sight. There was only destruction. The scent of burnt wood physically hurting his nostrils, stronger with every passing second.

“No—” The word barely made it past his lips, strangled and broken. His legs moved before he could think, shoving himself free from Dazai’s hold as he stumbled forward, his body acting on sheer instinct.

“Chuuya—wait!” Dazai’s voice barely registered in his ears, drowned out by the chaos in his head.

He ran. Just like back then. Just in the completely opposite direction. Not from, but to .

He ran down the hill, through the uneven terrain, his steps unsteady but relentless. His lungs burned from the smoke, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t think—he couldn’t afford to. The only thing that mattered was getting there.

His legs were practically giving out beneath him as he trudged through the gray dust coating the ground, mixing with the dirt beneath his feet. But it wasn’t exhaustion from the day’s journey that weighed him down. No, it was something worse, a lot worse.

The edges of the leaves were brittle and blackened, reduced to fragile remnants of what they once were. Charred branches lay half-buried in the earth, stripped of life, as if the fire had reached even the roots of this place.

Chuuya finally reached the buildings—or rather, the remnants devoured by flames. He tried walking to the doors, his first instinct to find someone, anyone—but it wasn’t even necessary. Most of the buildings were so utterly destroyed that he could see straight through them, their walls nothing more than collapsed heaps of ash and rubble.

He started running again, one destination in mind—his old house. The pain in his legs, the burning in his lungs, none of it mattered anymore. It all was numbed by the desperation that took over his whole body.

Only when he finally reached his house, he finally stopped, panting loudly. But this wasn’t his house, not how he remembered it. It was mere remnants.

His mother’s once proud garden, gone, turned into nothing but ashes. The decorations that once framed the entrance, the woven mat at the doorstep, gone. The scent of warmth, fresh fruits, blooming flowers, replaced with the stench of smoke.

Chuuya fell to his knees, but his body barely registered the impact. A ragged breath tore from his throat, his vision swimming as he forced himself to look around. He lasted maybe five seconds, before he closed his eyes shut, a violent mix of cough and cry escaping his chest.

And suddenly he heard something. A quiet cry, whimper of pain, a high-pitched voice he knew too well. For a moment, he thought he imagined it—another cruel trick of his mind, born from desperation and grief. But then it happened again. And again.

He tilted his head toward the ruins of the house next to his. It was the house Yumeno lived in. His eyes landed on the shattered pieces of a broken mirror, scattered across the charred remains of the wall. And in its fractured reflection—nothing but a hurt, crying child on the other side of the ruin. Yumeno.

His body acted on instinct again, forcing him up and rushing to the kid. He immediately tilted his face downward, extra careful not to let his cursed gaze meet anyone’s—especially not theirs.

“Yumeno,” Chuuya breathed, his voice breaking as he stumbled over the wreckage, his hands shaking as he reached for them. He couldn’t see their face, of course not, but he recognized the familiar tunic they always wore, and the black-and-white strands of hair barely grazing their shoulders.

Yumeno let out a weak, pained whimper, curled up against what little remained of the wall, their small body trembling, covered in soot and blood.

He dropped to his knees beside them, careful—so damn careful—not to look directly. Instead, his gaze flickered to their reflection in the mirror shards, using the broken pieces as his only way to see them.

Their face was more mature than he remembered, there was a sharpness to their features now, a hint of something that hadn’t been there before. But it was still the child he had always taken care of, still a kid forced to grow up quicker than they should have.

“Chuuya?” Yumeno said weakly, their voice wavering.

“It’s me.” Chuuya said, trying to steady his voice. He couldn’t afford weakness, not in front of the kid. “I’m here.”

“I thought you... left... us...”

“I—” Chuuya swallowed, not knowing what to say. What was there to say? That he didn’t want to? That he didn't choose to? None of it mattered now, there was no time for explanations. “I'm here now. I am.”

He dared to look up just a little more, letting his gaze land on Yumeno’s lips—curved into a small, weak smile. It broke his heart a little more.

“I knew you would,” they murmured, voice thin, a cough breaking through their words. “You should go… see your mom. She cried a lot when you were gone.”

Chuuya’s chest ached with guilt, pain, everything he couldn’t name, as he squeezed Yumeno's hand tighter. It was cold. Way too cold.

“I will.” He choked out. “Where… where is she?”

Yumeno didn’t answer right away. Their breathing was slow, shallow, and for a terrifying second, Chuuya thought they had already slipped away.

“I don’t know,” they said. “There was… it all happened so quickly… and everyone was gone.”

Gone.

Everyone.

And Chuuya knew exactly whose doing it was. And who was the one to cause all of it. But he couldn’t break, not yet, not now.

“It’s okay,” he said, though the truth was, none of this was okay. “Don’t talk too much, just—just stay with me, alright?”

“You've always worried too much, Chuuya.” Yumeno muttered.

“Someone has to.” He forced a smile, biting back a sob.

Yumeno’s fingers twitched weakly in his grasp.

“What are… those on your head?” they asked quietly.

Chuuya blinked, momentarily confused—until it hit him. Yumeno was talking about the snakes, of course they were. They had never seen him after the curse. The thought that despite his monstrous, changed appearance, they still managed to recognize him almost immediately, made his heart ache.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said, forcing his voice to be as reassuring as possible. “They won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” they murmured. “You’d never let anything hurt me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. You will be okay. You will be fine.”

“Chuuya, can you look at me?”

He wanted to. Gods, he wanted to. But his gaze wouldn’t offer any comfort—just the opposite.

“I can’t.” he forced out.

“Just once,” Yumeno pleaded, their voice barely more than a breath. “I want to see your eyes.”

“I’m right here,” he said, his voice shaking, his throat burning. “You don’t need to see my eyes to know that.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched as their fingers slipped, and he barely caught their slick, trembling palm before it hit the floor.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he said, panic creeping into his voice. “Just—tell me something. Anything. What were you doing while I was gone?”

This time, Yumeno took even longer to answer, and for a moment, Chuuya wasn’t sure if they’d even heard him.

“I don’t know,” they breathed out quietly. “Just... everything. Praying, trying to be... good.” They paused for a moment. “Kouyou took care of me. We would visit the temple and... ask Athena for you to come back...”

The words hit like a physical blow. Athena’s name, spoken with such kindness, such hope—when she was the very reason for all of this. The cause of the destruction and tragedy surrounding them. If only Yumeno knew. But now wasn’t the time for it. It never was.

“Tell me more,” Chuuya urged stubbornly, desperate to keep them awake. “What else?”

“Not much,” they murmured, their head falling weakly against Chuuya’s arm. His hand instinctively reached up, brushing through their hair, gentle despite the way his fingers trembled. “Played with some children from town. Picked flowers. We would give them as offerings later. And Kouyou taught me how to make braids.”

“Aren’t your hair a bit too short for that?” Chuuya chuckled, tears stinging his eyes once again.

“They are. I practiced on Kouyou.”

“You should be honored she let you,” Chuuya murmured, forcing a small smile.

Yumeno didn’t answer. Their head remained resting against his shoulder, their small hands growing limper with every passing second, their breaths turning shallower, fainter.

“It’s cold.” they whispered.

It was scorching warm.

“It's a little cold,” he said quickly. “But it’ll warm up. Just stay with me.”

“But I’m sleepy.”

“I know, I know, but—” What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to say any of this? “But I need you to stay awake. Come on, I just got back, you’re not gonna fall asleep on me, right?”

“M’sorry,” Yumeno murmured, their voice barely above a breath as they nuzzled into Chuuya’s neck. “I’m just so tired... Will... you be here when I wake up?”

“Of course.” Chuuya said quietly, his voice finally cracking completely. “I will.”

He held Yumeno even closer, his arms tightening around them in a hug. He didn’t know which one of them needed it more.

“Just a little longer,” he whispered, rocking them gently, as if that could keep them here. As if that could change anything. “You’re doing great, just—just stay with me.”

Yumeno didn’t respond. Their fingers, which had been curled weakly around his sleeve, slipped away entirely.

“Yumeno,” he repeated. “Please—I can’t.”

Their small body has gone completely limp and cold, and Chuuya knew . The truth was too obvious to deny anymore.

“No, no.” he cried out, pulling Yumeno’s unresponsive body slightly away. His breath caught in his throat as their head lolled backward, completely slack, without even the smallest bit of control. “Oh my—”

His hands shook violently as he reached forward, brushing trembling fingers through their soot-covered hair, pushing a few strands away from their forehead. And with a deep breath, forced himself to look directly at their face.

Their skin was pale, bruised in a few places, their lips slightly parted, but with—what was breaking him the most—a small smile tugging at the corners. Chuuya’s breath hitched, his fingers ghosting over their cheek, completely, unbearably cold. He closed their eyes with hand and suddenly they looked peaceful, like they were only asleep, like they would wake up later, scolding Chuuya for worrying so much. But they wouldn’t.

A broken sound tore from his throat as he pressed his face against their body, his entire frame twitching, shaking violently. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a muffled, pained scream. It took him a moment to realize he was the one screaming.

His throat burned, raw from the force of his own cries. His body suddenly felt like it wasn’t even his anymore—like all the grief, all the pain he had buried over the years had culminated into this one moment.

Time stopped existing. He couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour—everything blurred into an endless, suffocating haze of grief. And then, a touch on his shoulder.

Warm. Familiar. Yet he felt none of it. It was like one mere drop of water in the overwhelming heat of the desert.

“Chuuya.”

Dazai’s voice felt like some background noise, something that no matter how much he wanted it, wouldn't quite reach Chuuya's ears. It was drowned, muted, somewhere too far away. Maybe because Chuuya wasn't meant to have it.

He ignored it, instead pulling Yumeno’s body even closer to him, holding onto it desperately as his tears were falling on their pale, lifeless face. He sobbed violently, his whole body trembling, as he felt a hand touching his own. Warm. Alive.

“Get off me!” He yelled, swatting it away. His voice came out so raw, so broken, it scared even himself.

But Dazai didn't seem to listen to him—instead he just took Chuuya’s hand in his despite the other’s efforts to get out of his grip, gasping as he pushed Dazai away with all the strength he had, his body acting on pure instinct. He punched Dazai in the ribs, making him stumble a bit backwards, but the other’s grip on him didn't loosen—it just got even more tighter.

“Chuuya.” Dazai tried again, his voice steady.

Too steady. Too calm. For fuck’s sake—didn’t he see? Didn’t he understand? How Chuuya’s world was falling apart, crashing down right in front of them? And what did he want to do? There was nothing to do. Nothing to fix. Nothing, nothing, nothing—

“Just shut up!” Chuuya yelled. “Just fucking go away!”

Dazai didn’t move an inch. Chuuya’s whole body trembled with the force of everything crashing down on him at once—the grief, the anger, the unbearable emptiness. He could feel it all. Dazai’s warm, alive grip on him, and the cold, lifeless stillness of Yumeno’s body. The contrast made him want to scream.

He barely registered it as Dazai slowly, carefully, began to pull Yumeno away from him. A quiet, broken "no" slipped past his lips as he reached out—tried to hold them again. But his body wouldn’t listen. He was too weak, too drained. Too late.

His head fell against Dazai’s chest as his trembling fingers clenched around the fabric of his tunic. Without thinking, he twisted it, pulling it tightly around his own neck, as if suffocating himself would somehow make the pain stop. He had never understood Dazai’s need to hurt himself before. He did now.

“Chuuya.” Dazai’s hands were on him in an instant, prying his fingers away from the fabric. “Calm down.”

Calm down? How was he physically supposed to calm down? How was he supposed to breathe when all that surrounded him when he looked around was destruction and death, and everytime he closed them he could see the kid he had once promised to take care of dying right in his arms?

“Let… go of me!” he choked out in another desperate attempt to push Dazai away, crying as he tried to get out of the other’s hold. To be alone, to push everyone away, because that’s what happened when he didn’t. His nails clawed at the arms wrapped around him, desperate to tear himself free, his kicks were erratic, wild, fueled by nothing but sheer desperation, his legs twisting, thrashing, his entire body bucking like a trapped animal.

It was all his fault. The whole town of innocent people, of his family, wiped out because of his actions. His doings. His selfish desires to have something , when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. They were all gone because of him .

“It’s all—all—my fault.” he rasped. “All of—”

“No.” Dazai said. “It’s not.”

Chuuya barely felt it—Dazai’s hand brushing his skin, the same familiar motion he always did to calm him down. But instead of soothing him, it just made him feel worse. Because he didn’t deserve that kind of comfort. Not after this. Not after what he’d done.

He struggled again against Dazai hold, but the other kept him in place, shushing him and whispering soft words that didn’t quite reach Chuuya’s ears. Maybe he didn’t want them to. All he could hear was his own heart pounding loudly, uncontrollably.

“Breathe.” Dazai said. “In and out.”

Chuuya hated him for how easy it was to say. How easy Dazai dared to think it was to breathe, while Chuuya’s hands were the one stained with blood—not only Yumeno’s, but hundreds of people he used to call family.

He didn’t want to be held. Didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to exist in a world where this—where Yumeno, his mother, Kouyou, everyone, was dead because of him. His fingers twisted into Dazai’s tunic—not to seek comfort, but to tear it apart, to hurt, to do something, anything to make it stop. But his grip faltered, shaking too much to follow through, as sobs wrecked through his chest, brutal and unrelenting.

“Let me go.” Chuuya repeated, but this time it wasn't a yell or a scream. It was a pathetic cry.

His vision blurred—whether from tears or exhaustion, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to be here. If they all weren’t here anymore, why did he even have the right to?

“No.” Dazai said quietly. “I won’t.”

Chuuya’s fist met Dazai’s chest for the last time, before his strength finally gave out, his body sagging against Dazai’s, trembling and weak, with all that was left being his wrecked, hollow sobs.

“I—I can’t—” Chuuya’s voice cracked, hoarse and broken, his breath catching on another sob before he could even finish.

“I know.”

And that was it. That was all it took for Chuuya to finally break, burying himself in Dazai’s chest, his tears staining the white cloth, but his body finally letting itself be held—letting him feel the warm and loving hands around him, the very much alive breathes on his skin, the feeling of love he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time had stopped meaning anything a long time ago. Chuuya’s breathing was still uneven when he finally spoke, voice muffled against Dazai’s chest, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

“Why?”

He was never the type to pity himself. Not when he was a kid, not when he was a teen, not even after he was cursed. Every time, he had endured. Gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and kept going.

But now, the thoughts appeared in his head against his will. Why? Why him? He didn’t do anything wrong. He was devoted, he tried to be good. Then he was hurt. And then punished for being hurt.

And when he had finally, finally found something worth living for, something that gave his dull existence colour, he had to suffer for it too.

“Because gods are cruel.” Dazai muttered, his chin resting on Chuuya’s head, his hand still tracing patterns on Chuuya’s hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I must have—”

“No. You didn’t.”

Chuuya wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that so badly. But belief had only ever gotten him hurt.

A drop of water landed on his arm, cool against his skin. Before he could even process it, a torrential downpour crashed down upon them, soaking them both within moments. The rain fell mercilessly, drenching their clothes, Dazai’s hair and Chuuya’s crimson and restless snakes, writhing just above his face. He barely reacted, his body frozen in place, his fingers still loosely intertwined with Dazai’s.

They stayed like this for what felt like eternity and a mere moment at the same time, as the sky cried with him.

“Do you want to go?” Dazai asked quietly.

Chuuya didn't know. Staying here felt like dying inside all over again, yet leaving felt just as wrong—like abandoning everything, like running away, even if there was nothing left to run away from.

“I don't know if I can.”

Chuuya's voice was still shaky, but gradually calming, though it was still far from peaceful. The numbness that was overflowing his whole body slowly subsided, replaced by the constant, pounding in his head and violent shivers running down his arms and chest, despite the suffocating heat of summer. He exhaled shakily, staring down at his hands—at the dirt and blood staining his skin, at the way his fingers still trembled even as Dazai held them.

“It's fine.” Dazai said. “We can stay.”

Chuuya nodded, lifting his head up. But then his gaze landed on Yumeno’s lifeless body again and everything inside him shattered all over again. He shut his eyes, tilting his head up toward the sky. The rain dripped down his face, mixing with the salt of his tears. It didn’t feel like enough to wash anything away.

“Chuuya. Stay with me,” Dazai whispered again.

“I am.” Chuuya said, gritting his teeth. It was a lie—he didn’t feel like he was here, not at all.

All your fault, all your fault, all your—

His grip on Dazai’s hand tightened—hard enough that Dazai must have felt a sting of pain—before he let go entirely, forcing himself to pull away. Through his still-blurred vision, he caught the confusion etched onto Dazai’s face, saw the way he instinctively reached out to grab him again—but in vain.

Because this—Dazai’s presence, Dazai’s touch, Dazai’s voice— Dazai himself, was what Chuuya yearned for. What he cared for from the bottom of this stupid thing called a heart. What he would die for. And things like that always ended up being taken away from him. Or dead. He wasn’t going to let Dazai be one of them.

So he did the only thing he could—he stepped away.

Dazai’s brows furrowed, his hand hovering where Chuuya’s had just been, his fingers curling slightly before they dropped back to his side.

“Chuuya.” His voice was quieter this time, cautious.

“I’m leaving.” Chuuya said, his back turned to Dazai. He wouldn’t be able to say those words if he was looking into those white eyes, that he was sure of.

“Then we are leaving together.”

“Are you deaf?” Chuuya snapped, his voice cracking. “I’m leaving. Without you.”

For a moment, the only sound between them was the rain, pouring relentlessly, soaking through Chuuya’s clothes, dripping from the ends of Dazai’s hair, the sky still mourning with him.

“No. You’re not thinking straight, you can’t—”

“I’m not thinking straight?!” Chuuya yelled, taking a few steps back, out of the ruined building and onto the debris-covered street. The once-raging flames had been dimmed by the downpour, but the devastation remained. “I wasn’t thinking straight when I deluded myself into believing I could have something. Have you .” He clenched his fists. “But we see how that turned out.”

He took another step forward, walking ahead, back to where they had come from, his eyes unfocused. Despite the heavy rain, he could still hear Dazai’s footsteps behind him—and then a hand stopping him in his tracks.

“So, what?” Dazai asked, his voice cracking slightly for the first time since they left—the mask of calmness and steadiness slowly falling apart. “You’re just going to run away?”

Chuuya’s nails dug into his palms. His hands trembled, but he forced them to stay at his sides.

“If it means keeping you alive, then yes.”

Chuuya looked around at the scenery, barely registering when they had reached the top of the hill again. The town—what was left of it—lay far below, a distant, broken silhouette against the horizon. The ruins were bathed in the warm glow, as the sun lingered hesitantly on the horizon, as if it, too, was reluctant to leave. As if it knew that when it finally disappeared, when darkness swallowed the town whole, there would be nothing left but silence.

As Chuuya’s eyes finally met Dazai’s, he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel like breaking down all over again. Dazai’s unseeing irises were practically piercing through him, rain dripping from his lashes. Chuuya could see the hint of pain behind them—so real, so open. Dazai didn’t even try to hide it. It must have been bad .

“Don’t.” Chuuya practically pleaded.

“It’s not only your decision.” Dazai’s voice wasn’t even close to steady, his hand trembling against Chuuya’s—and yet, their fingers still intertwined as effortlessly as always, like they had always belonged together. “It’s mine too. And I don’t want to leave.”

“You don’t get it, don’t you?” Chuuya’s voice broke, barely holding itself together. “She won’t stop here, you—you’ll die, if you stay, you can’t—”

“I once said I would live for you, Chuuya.” Dazai said, his eyes somehow perfectly lined up with Chuuya’s. “But I never said I wouldn’t also die for you.”

It took Chuuya a moment to process the words. Then came relief—fragile and fleeting. Then came fear, burying itself into his every bone, unshakable, impossible to rid himself of. Then there was helplessness, resignation—something beyond simple sadness. Then came guilt, relentless and consuming, fueling everything else. Then came pure desperation, painful and endless. And finally—anger, sharp and suffocating, curling in his chest like a fire he couldn’t put out.

And between all them, there was love, love he wouldn’t let himself feel. He didn’t deserve that.

“You’re selfish. You’re fucking selfish, Osamu.”

“No,” Dazai said quietly. “I’m just fighting for what I care about the most in this world, for the first time in my life.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched. He wanted to scream at him, shake him, force him to understand—

“I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t care, Chuuya. We promised each other something.” Dazai placed his unusually warm hand on Chuuya’s cheek. “You promised me.”

Chuuya’s breath trembled as he leaned into the touch, his skin pressing against Dazai’s palm, only a few drops of water separating them. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be.” Dazai said, equally quiet. Chuuya had never once before heard so much raw emotion in his voice. Not during the sleepless nights when they sat side by side, saying nothing but understanding everything. Not when Dazai had whispered his most guarded secrets into the darkness, finally letting out what he never could before. Not when he was at his lowest, haunted by the ghosts of his past, the weight of his own existence pressing down on him.

Chuuya swallowed past the lump in his throat, his fingers trembling at his sides. If this wasn’t the man he would keep going for, then there was no one left to keep going at all.

“I love you.”

The words didn’t just slip Chuuya’s lips. They weren’t an accident, weren’t spoken in a moment of weakness, the result of adrenaline coursing its way through his veins. Maybe he hadn’t planned on saying them like this—broken down, bloody, barely holding himself together, his body feeling like it was tearing itself apart—but that didn’t make them any less true. He meant them with every single inch of his body, with every single shattered piece of his soul.

And there it was—a faint, barely noticeable smile ghosting on Dazai’s lips. A smile Chuuya had loved for longer than he dared to admit, one he would never have the words to describe, not even in a lifetime. Not even in a million years.

“I love you too, Chuuya.”

The kiss they shared just a second later had nothing, and everything gentle about it at the same time. It wasn’t just physical—in fact, it felt like the most emotional thing they had ever done. It was anger, it was loss, it was desperation, all merging into something that Chuuya could only call love.

Because for fuck’s sake, he loved Dazai more than he had ever loved anything before.

Their lips collided in a feverish crash, but Chuuya could only pull Dazai closer, his fingers tangling in his damp hair, his other hand still intertwined with Dazai’s in an relentless hold, like he never wanted to—was afraid to ever—let go. Dazai’s palm ghosted over his cheek, slowly tracing patterns Chuuya’s mind was too occupied to register.

Their tongues moved together, both in harmony and in chaos, like a battle and a dance all at once.Chuuya’s forehead pressed against Dazai’s as he tried to memorize everything—the taste of him, the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath catching in the space between them. Only his eyes were closed, but he didn’t need to open them to see his lover. Dazai never did, so maybe—just maybe—Chuuya had learned that from him.

The rain poured around them, cold and relentless, but Chuuya barely felt it anymore. All he felt was Dazai—his warmth, his breath, the quiet gasp he let out when Chuuya tilted his head, deepening the kiss as if he could pour everything he felt into it. Everything he was, everything he would ever be.

They pulled away finally, and Chuuya exhaled slowly. But then something felt off—Dazai’s hand clenched around his almost painfully, his grip suddenly unsteady. Chuuya could hear the faint hitch in his breath, the way his body tensed ever so slightly. Concern prickled at the edges of his mind, as he looked up to see Dazai’s face, to try and figure out what was wrong.

But then Chuuya froze, his eyes opening wider than they probably ever had.

Dazai’s eyes weren’t the pure, empty white Chuuya had grown so used to. They weren’t distant, lost behind a fog of blindness.

What locked onto Chuuya’s gaze were deep, rich brown irises, wide with something that went far beyond mere shock and confusion. They were soft, carrying a warmth Chuuya had never seen in this way before. A subtle, golden spark flickered within them, shifting with each second, as if catching onto the light, reflecting something neither of them could yet name. And they were looking—really looking—at Chuuya. Staring and not being able to look away.

It was overwhelming. It was terrifying. And it was beautiful.

“What—” Chuuya gasped.

“I can see you.” Dazai said quietly, his brown irises never leaving Chuuya’s. They weren’t brown like tree bark, dark and muted, or withering leaves losing their color under autumn’s touch. No, they were something else entirely—brown like dark amber, with golden reflections catching the light, shifting, gleaming, resembling honeycombs kissed by the sun.

And there—just around the pupils—were lighter rings, delicate and distinct, that made Chuuya think of rings of a young tree. A quiet echo of time, of stories, of a life that had been kept hidden behind a veil of white for so long.

Chuuya had never seen eyes so beautiful like those.

But then it hit him. Dazai could see him. Really see him . For the first time in life.

Chuuya instinctively wanted to look away, the impulse he’d grown to act on, when the moment locking eyes with something was a mere possibility. But now, he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to force his body to move, it felt as if some invisible force had locked him in place.

And Dazai wasn’t looking away either. His gaze was unwavering, filled with something close to wonder, something Chuuya could only describe as pure, unfiltered awe. Chuuya couldn’t recall a single moment in his life when he had been looked at this way, with so much dedication, so much love, so much mesmerization. He was staring at Chuuya, memorizing him, taking him in, as if he had been starved of this moment for a lifetime. Which he was .

Seconds passed, but nothing changed. Dazai was still standing in front of him, alive, breathing, still gazing at him with the same enchanted expression. He hadn’t turned to stone. He hadn’t disappeared. He was here, alive and breathing. Chuuya let out a breathless, short laugh, even though his own eyes stung with another wave of tears.

“Oh my—” he started, swallowing a lump in his throat. “You really—you can see. And you’re—how are you not—”

“Chuuya.” Dazai cut him off, his voice warmer than scorching summer heat surrounding them. “Just let me look at you.”

Chuuya nodded, not trusting his words anymore, feeling like any attempt to form a coherent sentence would just pull him back into a sea of emotions he wasn’t sure he could handle. He leaned into Dazai’s palm, still gentle against his cheek, tilting his head ever so slightly, while his eyes, still full of lingering love, remained fixed on Dazai’s face.

For a fleeting moment, the pain seemed to fade. In those quiet seconds, the bubble of peace and happiness they had desperately tried to create together was almost tangible again. It was as though he was exactly where he was meant to be—safe, content, loved. Even when he was at his lowest, dirty, bruised, completely broken down, Dazai was looking at him as if he was a masterpiece.

“I won’t.” Chuuya whispered, his throat feeling dry. “I won’t leave.”

Dazai nodded, his smile never faltering, his eyes never stopping to glow and never, even for a second leaving Chuuya’s face. He let out a deep breath that sounded just a little too similar to a laugh.

You never learn, boy.

Chuuya’s expression immediately fell as the voice rang out in his head. He searched for anything in Dazai’s eyes that could imply that the other heard that too—but he found nothing. Only a slight concern shining in those now brown eyes, as he saw the change on Chuuya’s face.

This will be your final lesson.

“Chuuya.” Dazai said firmly. “Calm down.”

The words, even if not spoken out loud, hung in the air, and Chuuya felt his entire world tilt. He could feel the pounding of his heart quickening, his breath becoming shallow as panic slowly began to creep in. The memories of his ruined, desolate hometown—his family, his people, everything lost—rushed back into his mind, her voice echoing in his ears on top of all.

You brought this upon yourself.

And then he felt it—the change so obvious and almost painful, it was impossible to miss. The warmth of Dazai’s hand on his cheek, which had been so comforting just moments before, suddenly turned completely cold, as though the very life had been drained from it. With horror, Chuuya pulled away slightly to look at the fingers hovering over his cheek.

No . No, no, no.

Just at the tips, slowly spreading down to its knuckles, Dazai’s fingers were slowly consumed by the white-greyish stone, freezing them in place. The unyielding marble was creeping down toward his wrist, taking its sweet, painful time, sealing Dazai’s body behind cold stone, each second a drawn-out agony.

“No—fuck—oh my.” Chuuya’s voice was shaky, as he desperately grabbed Dazai’s hand, already half-encased in stone, trying to move the still fingers—but in vain. The other hand, still gently entwined with his own, began to also feel unnervingly cold, making Chuuya squeeze it even harder, as he could somehow transfer some of his own warmth into Dazai’s body.

“It’s—”

“Don’t you fucking dare to say it’s fine, Dazai!” Chuuya yelled out, looking back at Dazai’s face. There was a quiet acceptance in his brown eyes and Chuuya hated it. He hated every second of it—the calm, resigned look that told him Dazai had already come to terms with the inevitable, while he couldn’t even grasp the reality of it happening.

“Chuuya.”

The way Dazai spoke his name, so soft and deliberate, was enough to make another tear slip free from Chuuya’s eyes, trailing down his cheek and down Dazai’s marble finger.

“What?” he said, his voice shaky.

“I couldn’t imagine a better way to die.” Dazai smiled, a quiet, gentle laugh escaping his lips.

“Don’t you dare fucking say that,” Chuuya choked out, his voice breaking with each word, growing more unsteady with every passing second, even if he thought it wasn’t even possible anymore. “Please. Please, I—”

There were tears in Dazai’s eyes now, too. Chuuya could see his own reflection in the deep brown of Dazai’s gaze—his own broken face, his expression conveying more pain than a human body should ever have to endure.

But Dazai was smiling. Despite all this, he was still fucking smiling.

And that smile was all Chuuya could physically take, before he threw himself into Dazai’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He knew it wasn’t what Dazai would like to see in his last moments, but it was everything he could bring himself to. The thought of Dazai’s hands not being able to hold him anymore—that familiar comfort he always offered in Chuuya’s darkest moments—was the final breaking point. It felt like he was being torn apart all over again.

The curse spread slowly, more agonizingly than ever before. In the past, anyone—any person, any animal—who had fallen victim to Chuuya’s petrifying gaze was turned to stone within seconds. But now, as if some cruel twist of fate had altered its power, the process dragged on, inching its way down Dazai’s body with excruciating slowness.

Chuuya couldn’t tell if Athena was showing him some twisted form of mercy, or if this was just another part of his punishment—an even crueler torment to make him feel every agonizing second of it, and not being able to do anything about it. To make him understand just how powerless he really was.

“At least I got to see you, didn’t I?” Dazai laughed quietly, but it sounded muffled, like the words were painful to leave his throat. “You're beautiful. So beautiful.”

“Stop talking like you’re saying goodbye!” Chuuya snapped, pulling away, so their gazes locked again—it seemed like Dazai’s never really left him, just looking at him like he was the only thing in the entire world. Chuuya’s hand reached to Dazai’s torso, where his heart was, slowly being taken over by the cold stone.

“But it is.” Dazai said, his voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be, but it is.”

“Don’t—I—” Chuuya’s voice broke apart before he could finish. I can’t do this. I can’t let you go. I can’t—

“Thank you.” Dazai cut him off. “For giving me a reason to live. And for letting me see your soul. Thank you, Chuuya. It was the most beautiful thing I could ever dream of.”

Chuuya’s breath came out shaky, almost a sob, as he pressed his palm harder against Dazai’s chest, right where his heartbeat was beginning to slow beneath the spreading marble.

“Me too.” he cried out quietly.

“I know.” Dazai smiled. “I love you. And I promise—” his voice hitched in his throat, his words faltering as the stone crawled higher, climbing over his collarbone. “I promise you will be okay. I know you will. And I promise it’s not the last time we are together. We will always be. Okay?”

Chuuya wasn’t sure if he was nodding because he truly believed Dazai’s words or because he was desperate to cling to them, to cling to anything that made this feel less like an ending.

“Okay.” he forced out, trying to keep his voice steady. “I love you. So fucking much.”

If this was all Chuuya could give Dazai—one final piece of reassurance, one final promise, one final moment—then he’d give it without hesitation.

Dazai smiled softly. His eyes, still full of emotions deeper than any ocean, stronger than any god, more sincere than any truth in this world.

And that was the last thing he did.

Chuuya gasped as the last trace of warmth vanished beneath his fingertips.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, his voice raw, his hand brushing desperately over Dazai’s frozen face. “Say it back. You don’t get to not say it back.”

His cries echoed around him as his trembling fingers traced the contours of Dazai’s face. It was entirely hidden behind a layer of stone, his smile and expression—so full of love—forever etched into his features.  Chuuya let out a broken yell, or at least tried to, as he clawed at the cold marble, his nails practically breaking as he scratched it, in naive hope that maybe he could break the stone with his bare hands. But it didn't even leave a mere scratch.

His knees failed him, and he collapsed, sinking down as his body gave out beneath him, his hand still gripping Dazai’s, refusing to let go. It was cold—deathly cold—combined with the heavy, freezing rain soaking him to the bone, making his whole body shiver. But he couldn’t force himself to let go of it. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

“Osamu,” Chuuya gasped, his breath hitching. “Don’t—please don’t leave me—”

He tilted his head back, looking up at the stormy sky. Raindrops mixed with his tears as they blurred his vision, falling right into his eyes.

“Please.” he cried out, a desperate plea leaving his lips, before he could even think about who he was even begging. “Bring him back. I beg you.”

No one heard him. Or maybe no one listened to him.

And it was at that moment, that Chuuya Nakahara realised he had nothing left. No home. No family. Not his goddamn humanity.

Not even the love of his life.

“Wake up, please.” he whispered so quietly, it barely reached his own ears. “You promised—you can’t leave me—all alone—”

His words dissolved into another sob, as he tried to steady his breathing, but it seemed more than impossible at the moment. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t control his own body. He couldn’t hold back a scream that tore out of his chest a moment later.

This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dazai had promised him. They were supposed to have more time. They were supposed to have forever.

He stayed there, kneeling in the cold mud, his fingers still wrapped tightly around Dazai’s hand as the rain poured down, washing over them both. His throat was hurting so badly, he wouldn’t even be able to let out a whisper, even if he wanted to.

And he did. He wanted to say a lot of things—that Dazai was a fucking bastard for not keeping his promises, that he had no right to leave him, that he should just stop playing around and wrap those warm, familiar, safe arms over Chuuya again. But he wouldn’t.

So Chuuya just stayed there, kneeling in the cold mud, his fingers still wrapped tightly around Dazai’s hand as the rain poured down, washing over them both.

“Please,” he whispered again, his forehead pressing against Dazai’s frozen hand. “Please... come back.”

Silence.

Deafening, maddening silence.

And then it hit him. Ever since Dazai had gotten his sight back—even in the moment he realized the deadly curse was overtaking his body, draining his life slowly—he had never once looked away from Chuuya. Not even once .

He didn’t turn to take in the vast landscape around them. He didn’t look up at the sky he had always longed to see. He didn’t take a chance to see the colors of the world he had been deprived of for so long, the endless shades he had once only imagined.

The first thing Dazai had ever seen was Chuuya. And the last thing he had ever seen was him, too.

The thought shattered something deep inside Chuuya, and the tears he had thought were his last proved, yet again, that they weren’t. His body, trembling from grief and exhaustion, finally began to give in, as if offering him the cruel mercy of unconsciousness—of a momentary, pathetic escape.

The last thought that crossed his mind before the darkness took him was the same cruel realization: Dazai hadn’t even spared a single glance at the world he had been deprived of his entire life.

What Chuuya didn’t know then—and perhaps never would—was that Dazai had, in fact, been looking at his entire world all along.

Silence.

A distant, quiet whistling of the wind.

Darkness.

Then, shy streaks of sunlight, slipping past his eyelids, nudging him back into awareness as Chuuya slowly, slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he felt was the familiar, cool stone floor beneath him. His gaze wandered, taking in the muted colors of the paintings on the walls, the way the sunlight peeked through the vines curling around the cave’s entrance. Their belongings were scattered around as usual—various herbs, their calming scent still lingering in the air; the cloths Chuuya always used to wrap Dazai’s arms with, the multiple makeshift cups Dazai always used for tea, haphazardly placed in the corner where Chuuya had always insisted they didn’t belong.

But there was something missing.

Someone missing.

Chuuya’s body jolted as he pushed himself upright, his breath suddenly sharp and uneven. His eyes darted around in panic. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The last thing he remembered—he was on that hill, where Dazai—

Dazai.

No, no, no.

It had to be a bad dream. It had to be. Since he was here, safely in their home, none of it could be real. Dazai must have just gone on one of his stupid morning walks, like he always did—wandering off without a word, pretending he wasn’t worrying Chuuya half to death. Right?

Chuuya scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp ache in his limbs and the way his head spun. He refused to acknowledge the dried blood and dust clinging to his hands, the obvious signs that screamed at him that it all wasn’t just a dream. He stumbled toward the cave’s entrance, barely catching himself against the stone wall as he shoved the vines aside.

Warm sunlight struck his face, momentarily blinding him. The world blurred before snapping back into sharp, unforgiving focus. A strangled cry tore from his throat as his gaze finally took in what was standing before him.

His garden—it was blooming again. The last time he had seen it, every flower had withered and died, drained of life, but now—it was in its full glory again, looking better than ever.

But in the very center of it all—right where no flower had ever grown—stood something that didn’t belong there. Something that shouldn’t be there.

Dazai.

Chuuya’s legs almost gave out beneath him, but he forced himself to move, stumbling toward the statue. His hands found the cold marble of his lover, fingers trembling as they traced over the details—that infuriatingly gentle smile, the strands of his hair frozen mid-motion, as if caught in a breeze. His posture was relaxed, almost effortless, one hand slightly extended outward—of course, he was cupping Chuuya’s cheek with it when it happened—and the other just hanging loosely at his side,  his fingers looking as though they were waiting to be intertwined with another’s.

His head was tilted ever so slightly downward, and his eyes—Chuuya swore he could still see the warmth in them, even now—were locked onto the exact spot where Chuuya stood. Where he stood then, and where he stood now.

Chuuya pressed his forehead against Dazai’s unmoving chest, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. The warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—things Chuuya had taken for granted—were gone. All that was left was lifeless stone, Chuuya’s snakes already wrapping themselves around it, around Dazai’s face and neck. It made Chuuya feel sick.

“You fucking idiot,” he choked out, his fist clenching on the cold marble. “You could have—just left when you had the chance. But it just had to be your way, didn't it?”

With trembling fingers, he intertwined his hand with Dazai. It fitted perfectly. Naturally. Like they were made for each other. Like it always had.

But it was cold—so painfully cold, in stark contrast to the scorching summer heat lingering in the air. And it was wrong. Dazai had never felt like this. Not Dazai that Chuuya knew, not Dazai he had been learning about for the past year—that Dazai felt like the light, like the warmth, like the very thing that gave Chuuya’s pathetic existence meaning.

He leaned his cheek into Dazai’s other hand, shutting his eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend the cold wasn’t real. That nothing had happened. That they were still as they had always been—together, holding each other in quiet understanding, content in the simple presence of one another. Just to pretend for a second that Dazai would open his eyes and murmur some insufferable, poetic nonsense about how Chuuya looked even prettier in the sunlight. That at any moment now, warmth would return to that hand, and Dazai would finally, finally close his fingers around Chuuya’s.

But it didn’t. The soft, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the subtle squeeze of his fingers when Chuuya’s grip tightened around his—missing. The warmth of his body, even if usually Dazai was the one complaining about being cold—gone. The soft sounds of his breathing and occasional laughter or a hum—absent.

It was the first time Chuuya truly felt like he had no tears left to cry.

He wanted to scream. To yell. To let it all out again, just like before. But his body refused to move, refused to do anything except stay right where it was—pressed against the statue—no, against Dazai. Because pulling away would mean accepting it. And Chuuya wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be.

But at least—at the very least—Dazai wasn’t lost in some forgotten place, wasn’t left alone beneath an unfamiliar sky. He was back home, back where he had once said that he truly belonged, for the first time in his life—and they were together again, in the only place that had ever felt like theirs. Perhaps this was Athena’s final mercy. Perhaps her first. Or maybe both.

The garden around them swayed gently in the warm breeze, petals brushing against his skin like whispers. The sun that only just began to rise, casted a golden light over everything—over the flowers, over the cave, over the stone that had once been Dazai Osamu.

And so, Chuuya stayed. He stayed until the sun reached its peak, he stayed until it began to descend, he stayed until the stars adorned the night sky. Because that was all he had left—to just stay.

Athena never gave him any sign again.

Maybe she was done with him. Maybe she was even a little ashamed. He didn’t know. He didn’t really care.

Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. The world moved on. The seasons changed, the landscapes changed, the weather changed. Only Chuuya’s feelings didn’t.

Because Dazai kept his promise damn well—he never really left. He was in warm mornings they always had been spending together, bathing in the sunlight. He was in the quiet hum of the rain against the cave walls, the way it always used to lull them into peaceful silence. He was in the taste of herbal tea they always drank together—the familiar blend of chamomile and mint, the same one Dazai had always claimed tasted better when Chuuya made it, even though he brewed it the exact same way himself. He was in the breeze of the cold evenings, in the way it slipped through the cracks of the cave, brushing against Chuuya’s skin, feeling a bit too much like Dazai’s touch once had. He was in the rhythm of Chuuya’s own heartbeat, which refused to forget what it once meant to beat alongside another.

Dazai never left—but he didn’t come back either.

The first days were the hardest. After a few months, Chuuya barely even remembered them—probably his mind’s way of protecting itself, in the most fucked-up way possible, pushing memories somewhere far, far away. But what he did remember was that he hadn’t left Dazai’s side for a long time, definitely longer than just a day or two—just slipping in and out of consciousness, stubbornly staying next to the statue.

At some point, hunger must have gnawed at him. At some point, his body must have begged for rest. But none of it mattered. The world outside blurred into irrelevance. The only thing that existed was this small, unmoving piece of it—the cold marble beneath his fingertips, the silence that surrounded him.

If Chuuya ever felt like he might have gone mad—now he was sure he did.

The first time he managed to force his body to get up was when his gaze landed on another statue—one of the many warriors who had tried to kill him over the years. Their stone faces covered in paint—every detail, every colour, every painstaking brushstroke he had spent hours perfecting was still there. A strange, pointless tribute to those who had come to end his life.

And if those pricks deserved even that—then Dazai deserved something a million times better.

So, Chuuya picked up a brush.

At first, he could barely last ten minutes before his hands started to tremble, before his vision blurred too much to focus. It was unbearable—trying to bring colours to something that was never supposed to lose them in the first place. Trying to paint life back into someone he still couldn’t accept was gone. But gradually, he made progress—putting on the warm tones of Dazai’s skin, the deep brown of his hair, the faintest hint of red at the corner of his lips, the light folds of his clothing. It was slow, meticulous work, and he wasn’t sure if he really quite enjoyed it. But he didn’t despise it either. It just felt like something right to do.

The flowers around the statue and around his garden were always blooming—no matter if it was the height of summer, the decay of autumn, or the deep freeze of winter, they never withered. Another thing Chuuya didn’t question, another possible act from a certain someone, that he didn’t want to put much thought into.

Sometimes, he talked. The first time he found himself speaking to Dazai, he even caught himself waiting—genuinely waiting—for a response. The silence that followed led to a breakdown that lasted for at least a few hours, until the stars faded into the soft glow of the rising sun. Later, he stopped pausing for an answer—just imagined that Dazai was listening to him, no matter how out of character of him it would be to not make some snarky comment every five seconds. So Chuuya made them for Dazai, saying how obviously he was the only one keeping this place together, how clearly Dazai would’ve just lazed around all day while Chuuya did all the work, how of course he was still the better cook, the better fighter, the better everything.

Yeah, he was definitely going crazy.

Grief was a weird thing. There were days when Chuuya thought he was close—so close—to accepting it. That he had his fleeting days of happiness, and then they simply passed, like everything else in life. That this was just how things worked, how life worked.

Other days, it swallowed him whole, the unbearable feeling of longing, the never ending cycle of what-ifs tormenting his thoughts and worst of them all—guilt. Guilt that he was still here while Dazai wasn’t. Guilt that he was the reason Dazai was gone in the first place. That if he had never allowed himself to get attached, to let someone in, none of it would have happened. Guilt that he hadn’t been enough to save the person he loved the most.

Those were the days when he didn’t even have the strength to even get up—sometimes for multiple days at a time. Might’ve been the result of starving himself, which he tended to do a lot. At first, he planned to let it kill him—he figured it would be easier that way, to just stop eating, stop drinking, and let nature take its course. But after four days, he found out the hard way that his body’s survival instincts were stronger than his will. Even when his mind screamed for it to just end already, his body refused to comply and forced him to shove down anything down his throat.

Still, going without food for three days at a time had become routine by now. It made him feel hollow, but he figured he already was. 

He had lost count of how many times he had placed a dagger to his chest, the sharp tip hovering just over where his heart was. How many times he had tightened his grip around the hilt, taking slow, measured breaths, telling himself this time. This time, I’ll do it. And every single time, he cursed himself for how fucking weak he was when he couldn't push it further.

As he talked, he imagined Dazai’s answers—the teasing lilt of his voice, the way he would hum in thought before responding, the little scoffs and chuckles and sighs. He had to. Because if he ever forgot the sound of Dazai’s voice, he didn’t think he would be able to handle it.

Some days, the illusion was strong enough that he could almost trick himself into believing it was real. That Dazai was still there, leaning against the cave wall with that lazy, amused smile, watching Chuuya fuss over something insignificant.

‘You’re talking to yourself again, Chuuya,’ he could almost hear, in that sing-song, taunting voice.

“Shut up, idiot,” he would mutter under his breath, forcing himself to keep his hands steady as he painted over a faded patch of colour on the statue.

Months passed. Seasons changed, as Chuuya tried to keep himself occupied with painting. He collected pigments from flowers, carefully extracting their colors. He spent hours adding the smallest details to the gray, unmoving marble—trying, desperately, to bring back the life Dazai once held. When the silence grew too heavy (and it always did), he filled it with mindless chatter, talking nonsense just to hear something. He redid the same parts of the painting over and over, never satisfied, never feeling like he had quite captured it right. Never perfect enough. And Dazai deserved perfect.

He found himself waiting—though he wasn’t sure for what. Maybe for the moment the pain would finally lessen. Maybe for the day he would wake up and realize it didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe for some sign that Dazai was still there, somewhere, watching over him. Maybe for the moment he’d finally gather the courage to drive that dagger all the way through.

Summer ended. Autumn passed. Winter came and went in a fleeting blur of freezing winds and nights spent barely surviving the cold. There were no warm hands to wrap around Chuuya—not this time. And then, it was spring once again.

"The orchids didn’t bloom," Chuuya muttered in frustration, tracing the leaves with absentminded care.

"Oh? That’s a pity," Dazai murmured back, his voice distant, as if he'd been pulled from another tangled mess of thoughts.

"I wanted to give those to you. I think you’d like them."

"We will spend all the springs together from now on," Dazai chuckled, so certain, so full of promises. "You’ll give them to me next year."

What a liar you are, Dazai.

Chuuya thought bitterly as he knelt beside the orchids, his fingers brushing over their delicate petals. They had bloomed beautifully this year—right beside Dazai’s frozen figure, unmoving, unchanging. A painful contrast of life and death.

With a quiet sigh, he reached for something beside him—the stone plate he had spent the last few days carving in. He had framed it with dried flowers, sealing them in resin to keep them preserved. And in the very center, etched with painstaking care, were the words:

Osamu Dazai.

Carefully, he placed it at the feet of the statue, pressing it into the earth to ensure it wouldn’t topple. Sitting back, he stared at the name carved into the stone. It wasn’t much—it wasn’t enough—but it was something. His mother had always told him that people needed to be buried with their names, not just left anonymous. That it would help them find peace in the afterlife. Just in case, Chuuya also carved his own name into the stone in small letters on the back of the stone.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, smearing dirt and dried paint across his skin.

“I should’ve done this earlier,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “Well, not like I hear you complaining a lot nowadays.”

The wind stirred, rustling the leaves around him, as Chuuya closed his eyes. He took his own hand with the other, for a moment pretending that it was Dazai’s, that he was still here holding him, that the warmth wasn’t just his own. That if he opened his eyes, Dazai would be there, laughing at his face, clinging to him as he always did, with those white eyes full of the spark they once shared.

But when he opened his eyes again, Dazai was still there unmoving, frozen in time, silent as ever. His chest tightened painfully, as he reached for the paints once more, trying to ignore the ache that was beginning to consume him from the inside out.

“Not very talkative, are you?” he mumbled.

Chuuya exhaled, shaking his head as he dipped the brush into the paint. The strokes came naturally now—his hands knew the movements by heart. The last details. The last touches. After almost a year, this was all that was left to finally complete his work.

Finally, he pulled back, staring at his work.

Dazai’s clothes were painted in a soft lilac shade, a mix between white and light purple. He could have left them untouched, let the stone speak for itself, but Chuuya had been careful—so, so careful—not to let a single hint of gray slip through. Dazai’s hair was of a deep brown, with some lighter strokes, just like the sunlight always illuminated the soft curls. Chuuya had spent weeks trying to get it just right—the way it waved slightly at the ends, the way it always seemed a little messier than it should be, as if a breeze had just passed through it. One day, halfway through painting it, with still some gray patches left, Chuuya broke down for hours, overwhelmed by the painful realization that Dazai would never grow old enough for Chuuya to see his hair turn gray.

And then, there was his face. Chuuya had avoided painting it for the longest time, always putting it on a back burner. It had taken him forever to mix the right shade for Dazai’s skin, to recreate the perfect soft shade of pink that always danced on his cheeks, the intense red of his lips, the slightly darker colour of light bags under his eyes. His features were gentle, relaxed, a faint smile lingering on his lips—Chuuya had made sure of that. Because Dazai always smiled—even now, forever frozen in time, he still did.

The last thing Chuuya painted was his eyes.

It was impossible to truly capture them, but Chuuya figured it was for the best. He wouldn’t be able to look again into them, knowing they weren’t looking back at him. Still, he tried. He carefully recreated the pure, heavenly whiteness of Dazai’s irises, painting them exactly as he remembered them. Just like he loved them so much.

He took a hesitant step closer, leaning his cheek into Dazai’s hand. He tended to do that a lot—just to feel something, anything.

“Who would’ve thought I’d devote so much time to you,” he murmured, a hollow laugh escaping his lips.

Chuuya bit his lip as he stared at the statue, suddenly unsure of what to do. He had poured everything into this—his grief, his love, his guilt, his longing. Every stroke of paint, every carefully chosen color, every painstakingly precise detail was a piece of him, a tribute, a desperate attempt to give back even a fraction of what Dazai had given him.

So why did it feel so insignificant all of a sudden?

His breath hitched as he exhaled shakily, feeling the sting of unshed tears. He didn’t cry much these days—honestly, he hadn’t really cried at all since that day. Not really. His breakdowns didn’t come with tears—they came with rage, with mindless screaming, with bruised knuckles, with shattering whatever he could get his hands on.

But now—now he felt just fucking sad. Not angry, not hollow, just aching, just unbearably, overwhelmingly sad. Just missing Dazai so much to the point when it physically hurt, just wanting him to be here, to say something stupid, to brush his fingers through his hair, to kiss the top of his head and tell him he was being dramatic. Just wanting to hug him for the last time, just wanting his lover to come back.

“I tried,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I just—I can’t do this without you. Look what you’ve done to me, idiot.”

His fingers curled slightly against the cold stone, his gaze fixed on the painted eyes.

“It just never gets better. It’s different, but it’s—it’s never better. It’s never the same.”

There was no anger in his voice anymore, not really. Just exhaustion. Defeat. A quiet, lingering affection that hadn’t faded no matter how much time had passed.

“You once told me,” he paused, voice catching in his throat, “that if you never have something in the first place, losing it is easier. But fuck that, you know? I wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if you were only here for a month, a week, a day—I’d still want you.”

He paused again, drawing in a slow, shaky breath.

“You ruined me, you know?” he whispered, pressing his forehead gently to the cool marble. “And I’m glad you did. I guess I love you too much to be mad at you.”

Silence.

“You know I only said it to you on your last day?” Chuuya continued, voice soft, almost apologetic. “ I love you . Of course I meant it a million times before, but I could never bring myself to just say it like that. I don’t even know why. I don’t know why I couldn’t say the one thing I was most certain of in my entire life.” He scoffed quietly to himself. “So yeah. Sorry about that. You deserved to hear that shit more.”

His hand lifted to brush a speck of dust off Dazai’s painted sleeve, careful not to smudge anything, before gently cupping Dazai’s cheek—just as Dazai was holding his.

“I thought you were annoying, talking so much, but you know what?” Chuuya sniffled, voice cracking slightly. “You’re even more annoying silent. Just throw a comment to piss me off already.” A dry laugh left him, bitter and hinted with grief. “God, I even miss hating you.”

A soft melody left Chuuya’s lips as he started humming. He never did that before, but now it just came to him effortlessly, naturally, like he didn’t even quite control what he was doing. Maybe it was Dazai speaking through him, maybe speaking to him, he didn’t know.

But before he could realize what he was doing, he found himself humming the very same tune Dazai always did. His melody. He closed his eyes once again trying to imagine it was actually his lover’s voice and not only his body’s pathetic attempt to mimic it.

Chuuya didn’t know how much time had passed as he stayed like this, until he heard a quiet rustle behind him. He didn’t move right away—he’d grown used to the sounds of the forest, of animals passing, of wind shifting the underbrush. But this one was different. He heard a footstep. Then another. Purposeful. Measured. He opened his eyes slowly, not bothering to turn around.

“Nakahara.”

The voice that reached his ears was unfamiliar, sounding like it belonged to a man older than him, though not quite one of age. It was low, controlled, dangerous even, but somehow it didn’t stir any fear in Chuuya. After all, he wasn’t afraid of death anymore.

“That’s what they call me.” he answered, almost to himself, his eyes never once leaving Dazai.

The man behind him stepped closer. Chuuya could hear the shift of boots against earth, the rustle of a weapon being drawn. A blade, most likely. Another self-righteous hero, another fool who thought slaying a monster would make them worthy of something.

He stayed silent, even as he heard the blade slashing the air behind him. There was nothing left for him to say. Nothing he hadn’t already whispered a hundred times into the silence. Nothing Dazai would hear, anyway.

“You, who terrorized innocent people, mercilessly killing them with your deadly stare. You will now receive the punishment you deserve.” The voice behind him echoed in a sharp and confident tone.

“I deserve...” Chuuya repeated quietly.

What did he deserve? Dazai always used to tell him that. That he deserved better, that he deserved more. But now Chuuya wanted to deserve only one thing.

Peace.

“Very well. Be the hero then.” Chuuya said, his voice shallow and unshaken.

The man behind him didn’t matter. Not his cause. Not his pride. Not his weapon. The only thing that mattered was the sight before him. Dazai. And Chuuya didn’t look away from his lover, not once. Not even as the blade fell.

The sharp sting at his throat never truly registered. His body gave out before his mind could catch up. No pain. No panic. Just a sudden stillness.

The last thing he felt—faint but unmistakable—was a hand finally closing over his.

Warm. Familiar. Home.

The colours on the statue never faded—not after ten years, not after a hundred. They remained as vibrant as the day they were painted, untouched by time or weather. And the flowers around it never stopped blooming—nurtured not only by nature, but now also by one particular soul.

And on quiet nights, they say, if you walk past the garden under a sky full of stars, you’ll hear two voices—soft, steady, laughing—like lovers who had all the time in the world again.

Chapter Text

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. It isn’t dark, it isn’t light—it just is. Not that it’s something he isn’t used to. He had spent his whole life just being, spent entire life just existing in this cursed emptiness. At least until .

Time doesn’t move here, not really. It doesn’t stop—like it did the first time he heard Chuuya’s voice, or the first time he heard him laugh, or when he felt Chuuya’s lips on his for the first time. It just never starts either—everything just felt like it’s always been like this, and always will be. Constant.

He can see things sometimes. Well, not exactly see—he doesn’t have eyes anymore, he doesn’t have any form of physical body, he just is. The things come and go—sometimes they’re just voices, sometimes full visions, sometimes just feelings, feelings he can easily associate with a certain moment of his life.

It started with the melody. His mother humming to him—softly, soothingly—quieting his mind with a kind of love he hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes. In the midst of it, sometimes, he could hear the quiet, distant laugh of his father. From the days when he still looked at him with eyes full of admiration. When he truly saw him as his father. And then came the never-ending ramble of his sister—rapid, lively, impossible to follow. He couldn’t make out the exact words anymore, but her voice was here. It wrapped around him, warm and familiar. It made his non-existent lips tug into a very real smile.

Then it was Odasaku. He felt so real—so here again. Like he never left. Like Dazai could reach out and find him sitting in their family garden with that quiet, steady breathing, watching the world with a kind of patience Dazai had never possessed. Like he could still hear him talk about things he didn’t understand back then, but at the same time feeling more recognized in his feelings than ever. Dazai could feel him—feel the way he used to make things seem less sharp, less final. Like maybe the world wasn’t all rotten after all. Like maybe there were still people worth saving.

And there was Chuuya.

The memories that flooded Dazai the first second after he died were almost overwhelming. It was everything—from his childhood up until the very moment his life ended. But most of them came from the last year of his life. The one that was spent with Chuuya only.

The first time they met. How ironic, he had been looking for a painless way for someone to end his life, yet Chuuya had given him a real beginning to it. Did Dazai plan on falling in love? Probably never in his life. He never thought of himself as someone who deserved love. But Chuuya taught him that some things don’t need to be deserved. They’re just simply given.

He remembered the first time they met. And the days that followed—cautious, uncertain, as one would expect from two people with enough trust issues to sink an entire ship. But somehow, slowly, something began to shift. Somewhere in between silence and snide remarks, they began to find comfort in one another.

He remembered the first time Chuuya fell asleep near him—not touching, not yet, but close enough that Dazai could hear the steady rise and fall of his breath. And something in him just quieted.

He remembered the cozy mornings, usually with Chuuya making them both herbal tea, his fingers brushing over Dazai’s as he handed him the mug, muttering something about how “he’s always doing all the work,” and Dazai smiling to himself like a damn fool. Because if he were being honest, he had fallen for Chuuya instantly. The feelings only deepened over time, but from the second he first heard that voice in the trees, he could swear he felt it. Fate? That word felt too small. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was just love. Simple. True.

They built something, slowly. A kind of rhythm. Mornings spent in the quiet glow of sun filtering through the trees. Evenings sitting by the fireplace, shoulders sometimes brushing. Long walks to the stream, or simply sitting together in the nearby meadow, where Chuuya would pick wildflowers and braid them into Dazai’s hair, while Dazai spun ridiculous stories just for the sake of speaking. He knew Chuuya didn’t mind no matter how much he claimed he did.

They saw through each other. Dazai had never imagined himself telling his story, his past  out loud, unfiltered. No sugarcoating. No jokes. Just the truth. But he did. For once, he listened to his own advice—that sharing a burden makes it a little lighter.

He had spent his whole life running, but with Chuuya, he finally felt like he really, really wanted to stay. Like he had finally found his place.

Chuuya painted Dazai’s soul in colours he never thought he would be able to understand.

He remembered their first kiss—how right it felt, how good it felt. There was something about Chuuya, about their lips meeting in a harmony Dazai didn’t know was possible, that made it unforgettable. And somehow, it never faded. If anything, it only grew stronger. The touches became bolder, the silences more comfortable, their presence in each other’s lives a source of quiet reassurance. There was nothing else in this world Dazai could compare it to. Nothing came close.

He had never believed in forever. But if there was such a thing, he was sure it did look like this. Like waking up next to Chuuya, listening to his melodic voice that Dazai could never get tired of, spending time in silence that didn’t feel empty, because Chuuya was part of it. Just being together.

When Odasaku told him to find purpose in life, he imagined something great—a redemption, a journey, something like that. Turned out this quiet life with Chuuya was more than he could ask for, it was more than enough. A space where they could exist without being chased by the shadows of their pasts, or even if they were, they could face them together. A space where love didn’t feel like a mistake, and pain wasn’t the price of it.

He had never feared death. Quite the opposite—he spent most of his life chasing it, teasing it, waiting for it to catch up. But never with fulfillment. Never with the peace of mind that he was truly finished here.

But when he was actually dying—truly, finally dying—seeing his whole world in front of him, the love of his life for the very first and last time, feeling Chuuya’s warmth surrounding him like a blanket, like home—he welcomed death with open arms. Maybe it was a bit selfish—of course it was. But he knew Chuuya would be here too. Some day. He just had to wait.

In the pure, calming emptiness, something shifts. The something is not burning like fire, but steadily glowing like a candle that never goes out. Constant. Familiar. It doesn’t blaze—it simply is, gently pulsing like a heartbeat, like something that had always been meant to return. It’s almost tangible. Close. It settles right in the center of what Dazai could only guess was his heart, even if he no longer had a body to hold it with. And still—he reaches for it anyway.

And it reaches back, a feeling he could only compare to those familiar fingers intertwining with his own, the familiar peace of mind it had always brought. The kind of peace he had only ever known with one person.

Dazai smiles—or whatever his soul does in place of a smile.

“You’re here. Didn’t take you too long. You missed me so much?”

The silence around him feels like it laughs softly, a laugh he wouldn’t mistake for anyone other than Chuuya.

“Maybe,” comes the answer. “But you can only blame yourself for that.”

And this time, to say they have all the time in the world wouldn’t be an exaggeration, or a hopeful lie—just a simple fact.

Yeah. Dazai definitely likes forever, if it means spending it with Chuuya.

A brown-haired boy sat under a wide oak tree at the far end of the kindergarten playground, his small body slouched against its rough bark of the tree, his head tilted slightly backward, the weight of it pressing gently into the trunk. His milky-white eyes were distant, unfocused, gazing off into nothing in particular.

He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees, pulling them close to his chest as if to protect himself from the rest of the world. He rested his chin on his knees, his mind drifting to the sounds surrounding him. There was comfort in the noise—voices of children laughing, the playful shouts of games being played, the occasional scolding from a teacher. The soft rustling of the wind in the leaves, the distant hum of an airplane passing by, the squeak of shoes.

Suddenly, he felt something hit him—a soft, bouncy texture that collided with his shoulder before falling to the ground. The familiar sound of crushed leaves underfoot followed—someone was coming closer.

“Why didn’t you catch the ball?” A curious voice reached his ears. It sounded like it could belong to a boy about his age—probably one of his classmates that Dazai never really cared about. He instinctively pulled his knees tighter to his chest, shrinking into himself.

“I can’t catch the ball,” Dazai mumbled quietly, his voice barely audible, as if he was speaking more to himself than to anyone else.

“What was that?” The voice came again, closer now—he could tell the boy had knelt beside him.

“I can’t,” Dazai repeated, his voice a little louder this time, though still laced with embarrassment.

“But everyone can catch the ball!” the boy exclaimed, genuinely confused. “Look, you have to open your hands like this.” There was a brief pause, and Dazai could sense the person’s hands miming the motion, as if trying to demonstrate. “And then close them together in time!”

The ball hit Dazai again, this time on his face, making him wince a little.

“Oh no,” the voice said, its owner sounding genuinely upset now.

“I can’t see it,” Dazai said softly, his fingers gently rubbing his cheek where the ball had struck him.

“But it’s right here!” The voice insisted.

“I can’t see at all.” Dazai explained. “My dad calls it blindness.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, a pause that seemed to stretch longer than it should. “Is that why your eyes are white?”

“I don’t know what white is.”

“It’s a colour!” The other boy said, almost proudly for some reason. “We learned about it in our pre-school classes, dummy!”

“I can’t see colours either,” Dazai said slowly and patiently. Despite his young age, he was already a master at answering silly questions or misguided ideas about his disability.

The other boy fell silent for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Dazai could feel the confusion in the air, almost tangible, like the boy was trying to figure out what to say next.

“Hm. I don’t know how to explain colours but I’ll think about it and tell you next time we meet!” He said, and Dazai could practically feel the smile on his face, even without seeing it.

“Next time…?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sure! My name is Chuuya, by the way.”

“I’m Dazai,” he answered, and before he could add anything else, he felt Chuuya’s hand squeeze his gently, shaking it up and down in a bit clumsy, but friendly greeting.

“Dazai.” Chuuya repeated, his tone thoughtful. “That’s a cool name. You know, I think I can teach you more stuff. I’ll tell you all about colours, like what white looks like! Maybe you can tell me what things feel like since you can’t see them.”

Dazai smiled a little, a small curve of his lips, though it wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes. He didn’t expect people to understand. He didn’t expect them to get it, either. But sometimes, the simple fact that someone was trying to understand was enough.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Hey, you can’t see things, but you can smell them, right?” Chuuya asked, his voice suddenly taking on a more serious tone, as if the information was a matter of great importance.

“I— Yeah, I can.” Dazai answered, caught a bit off guard by the shift in Chuuya’s tone.

There was a sound of something being plucked from the ground, followed by a movement that brought it right under Dazai’s nose—perhaps a little too close for his liking, but he didn’t comment on it.

“A flower.” Chuuya said, his voice soft but proud. “For you.”

Dazai inhaled deeply, the scent of something fresh and earthy filling his senses. The fragrance was subtle yet sweet, with notes that reminded him of spring.

“It’s nice,” he said exhaling, genuinely touched by the gesture.

“It’s one of my favourites. A daisy. My mom always picks them for me and puts it in my hair. Like this.”

Dazai then felt a warm hand making contact with his hair, messily putting the flower between the curly strands.

“Thank you.” he smiled lightly.

“No problem, Dazai,” Chuuya said with a chuckle. “I’ll bring you more flowers next time. Maybe I’ll find a way to help you imagine them too.” 

There was something about the promise that Dazai couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t like the words he usually heard from adults—those murmurs laced with pity, the heavy sighs and hushed voices lamenting the tragedy of a young boy who had to live in complete emptiness. No, it was something entirely different. Not pity, but a genuine want to share something with him.

For a moment, Dazai didn’t know what to say. The feeling was unfamiliar, warm in a way he wasn’t used to. But Chuuya didn’t seem to expect a response—instead, he just sat beside him, legs crossed, humming a quiet tune to himself. The world around them was still filled with the usual sounds, but for once, Dazai didn’t feel so separate from it all.

“Hey, Dazai,” Chuuya said suddenly, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Wanna be friends?”

Dazai opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to answer. No one had ever asked him that before. He wasn’t someone others saw as a friend—only as someone to be pitied, treated like something fragile, something as breakable as glass.

But apparently, not to Chuuya.

“Friends?” he echoed after a few seconds.

“Yeah! You know, like... we talk, we play, we do dumb stuff together.” Chuuya explained matter-of-factly. “And I’ll bring you flowers. ‘Cause that’s what friends do.”

“Friends.” Dazai repeated once more, this time more like an agreement than a question. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Great!” Chuuya laughed, the sound ringing through the air, full of warmth and life. Dazai had never heard anything more beautiful. “You’re stuck with me then.”

The world suddenly didn’t feel so dark and cold anymore. Somewhere in that never-ending emptiness, there was a light, reaching toward him—warm and, strangely yet undeniably, familiar. He didn’t know why, but it felt as though it had always been there, just hidden, waiting for the right moment to appear. And Dazai didn’t hesitate to reach back toward it. It felt like the right thing to do, like something he had been waiting for all along.

It felt like being back home.