Chapter One: Flowers

When I was little, my dad would always bring back flowers. They were rare in this time period, because of pollution and all the other crap in the air. But every week, without fail, my dad would always bring some back. Once he brought a type apparently called "daisies". Another, he brought back "roses". My mom would always squeal with delight. Since they were soulmates, they could see colors.

But I couldn't.

Actually, I was completely black and white. Like a flower, when the time came, I would transform into something beautiful. But until then, I would stay hidden, oblivious to all that was happening around me.

Most people my age have already found their soulmate. It's like those ridiculous before and after ads they post on the TV. Before, they droop, sulk, and all that horseshit. But after, they have a life. They run, are animated, and just look fantastic compared to those boring kids moping around all their damn lives. In some rare cases, people of the same gender fall in love. It isn't looked down upon, but it doesn't bring you any popularity either.

I hope to be normal one day, like my parents. They fell in love and had me three years later. The ideal relationship, a happy family. Dad is the mayor of Yokohama, so we're the only ones with electricity and my parents are hella rich. In school, there are the dumb jocks, the smartass girls who want to braid my "red hair", and those nerdy glasses-wearing kids that do nothing but read every damn day of their lives.

What the hell is red, anyways? A color? A scent? A feeling?

I guess they fell in love. I yearn for true love, not that paper-thin "romance" shit that's going down at my high school. They can lock lips all they want, but that isn't gonna bring them true sight. Well, except for that one girl, she's found her damn soul mate since she knows what "red" is.

But I'm still curious. What is red? Maybe I'll ask that girl tomorrow. But then again, maybe I'll lock myself in a bathroom stall, and eat my lunch seething in loneliness.

My mother is always worried that I won't ever find a soulmate. She nags constantly about my choice in clothing, my haircuts. So in the end, I'm always dressed up in these fuckboy outfits. A tophat, vest, jacket, etc. I fucking hate it all, except for the hair. It's actually not that bad, but I always end up wondering where the hell my mom gets these outfits.

Then I remember that she's married to the Mayor of Yokohama, and has probably been around this city more than most people would in a lifetime.

Thankfully, on the weekends, she doesn't give a shit on what I wear. So I don a choker, those baggy black sweaters, black jeans, and overall feel slightly better about my existence. Unless that annoying as hell, cat-obsessed neighbor, Nakajima Atsushi, comes. He eats all the rice we have. Seriously. My mom makes me dress up when he comes over, because I have to make a "good impression".

The kid's a freshman, and he's lucky enough to have a damn soulmate. His soulmate happens to be one of my old private school friends, back when my parents still made me go to "rich kid schools", as everyone calls it. Last I saw him, before I left the rich kid world, his hair was black with the tips dyed white.

Or, that was basically the description my monochrome eyes could give me. I even managed to remember his super-long name. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

When Atsushi brought him over a few months ago, his hair was a "dark brown", the hanging bangs slowly darkening into dip-dyed black and white.

I had to remind Atsushi that I couldn't see color, so I could not "check out" the new shade, and my mother had immediately jumped in to change the subject. She gets touchy about my not having a soulmate. Very often. I try to avoid the subject as much as I can, but seeing the lovesick couples practically waltzing down the street, hand in hand, even makes something in my heart twist.

The jealousy that follows after seeing Atsushi and Akutagawa together is too much for me to handle. Catching them making out in the bathroom when they were supposed to be "washing hands" made me sick to my stomach, as if the world had some disgusting vendetta against me. But then again, I've never experienced love, so I don't really know what is supposed to be disgusting, and what isn't.

But when the tongue comes out, I run. As if the gatekeepers of hell were chasing me. And they didn't even fucking notice.

Lucky for me, that day was months ago. Unlucky for me, memories are pretty much permanent, and I'm known for photographic memory. Emphasis on "graphic".

Honestly, though, after that incident I questioned everything in his house. Like, whose socks were those? What was in that box labeled: "Akutagawa Ryuunosuke"? Whose pants were those? Which toothbrush was who's?

Safe to say, I did not see neither Atsushi nor Akutagawa for a very, very long time after that. But, since a window to their room is across from mine, I can often see them do ordinary relationship things, such as reading books, watching movies, and doing all that horseshit together.

Sometimes, I turn away with disgust. Others, there's a deep gnawing feeling, at the pit of my stomach. All I want is for someone to love me...is that too much to ask for? I'm not deaf. I can hear my mom talking to the doctor. I can see that my dad has other priorities than taking care of his family. I can hear the hushed whispers thrown from behind me. Well, they've hit their target. Maybe I don't need someone to love. Maybe I just need to get a life of my own. Something to call mine for once.

Until that one day.

It's one of those normal 'the neighbor's coming over' days, and my mom sends me upstairs to change into a "fuckboy" outfit. I thought that it would be Atsushi coming over, so I didn't really bother to put much effort into fighting my mom in choice of clothing. Atsushi knew I hate those clothes, and so did Akutagawa. But after not very carefully combing my hair, dressing up in a rumpled three-piece suit, and pulling on mismatched socks, I knew that opening the door to find a gift from heaven was God's way of saying, "ya done fucked up, kiddo".

I couldn't help but feel attracted to him. He had black hair, and piercing grey eyes (they were probably a different color, but I couldn't see color.). My first instinct would have been to run my hands through the pure silk called hair on this child, but the only thing holding me back was my mom, standing in front of me and shaking hands with his mother. Before she could step aside to reveal me, I whispered "be right back" and ran faster than I ever have in my life to run back to my room and change my (now that I thought of it) horrible outfit. My back was drenched with sweat, as though I had finished running a marathon. I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I needed to get out of here.

But not in these clothes.

I practically flew to my closet, while tearing off my clothes in the process. Gasping for air, I stopped for a moment, before slipping into a pair of jeans, and stripped off my shirt. At this point, I was heaving up dry air. The loneliness and depression that had surrounded me all these years formed a wall. All along the periphery of my vision, darkness had taken over. I collapsed on the floor, slowly curling in on myself. My bones felt too tired to move.

Why?

Why was I so exhausted? I'd barely ran, and my lungs felt like indulging in suicide.

Then the door opened, and an unfamiliar tune met my ears as the teenage hot mess came walking into my room, his lips pursed in an effort to keep humming. A single index finger was held up from his right hand, and he took a single step into the room.

Then I realized.

I. Didn't. Have. A. Shirt. On.

Fuck.

As if realizing my obvious discomfort, the boy's eyes flew open, and his brow creased. "Hey, this isn't the bathroom..."

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?" My lungs suddenly found the energy to scream, and I grabbed the nearest piece of fabric to cover my skinny, scarred, and bare chest.

"Uhm, I guess that I took a wrong turn…" he replied in a slightly singsong tone, as if it was everyday he walked in on people changing their clothes. He even had the cheekiness to smile.

Then he actually took another step into my room and began to fucking speak.

"Hey, you don't look too bad," he whispered, still smiling the cheeky-ass grin with his perfect white teeth. And those lips. Okay, I had to stop. I wasn't in my right mind.

"OKAY, GET YOUR CHEEKY ASS OUTTA MY FUCKING ROOM!" I screamed in response, desperately trying to find one of my sweaters or undershirts or anything to cover up in front of this annoyingly perfect stranger.

Oops. A little too loud.

I heard the familiar shuffling of my mom's footsteps on the stairs.

"Everything all right, honey?"

"MOM, CAN YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHY THIS MAN IS IN MY ROOM?" I whispered, (as loud as I could), pulling on a sweater and not even bothering to acknowledge the fact that the subject matter of the conversation was standing right there.

My mother clucked her tongue disappointedly as she poked her head in my room, flicking the lights on and placing a hand on the mystery boy's shoulder. "Oh, Chuuya, I hope you didn't frighten Dazai-kun."

"Dazai?"

"That's my name," the boy said, flashing a smile and a wink. For some reason, both his arms, parts of his hands, and his neck were covered in bandages. "I don't think we were properly introduced. My name's Dazai Osamu."

"Dazai's going to be staying with us for a bit," my mother interrupted, to my horror."He lives outside the city, but is taking his final year of high school here in Yokohama before heading off to college. Everything's arranged with his parents already, isn't that fun, Chuuya?"

"Chuuya?" Dazai asked, peering at me curiously. "Is that your name?"

"Nakahara Chuuya," I muttered, avoiding his eyes.

I could tell that this was gonna be one hell of a year. And summer wasn't even over yet.