By no means does Dazai Osamu get along with his partner: Nakahara Chuuya.

Dazai can't stand Chuuya's choice in "fashion", can't stand the sight of his drunken ass, and can't stand his own respect for Chuuya's elegance on the battlefield.

He passes his spare time dreaming up ways to tease Chuuya, to get him out of Dazai's life. He plants bombs in his beloved cars, smashes bottles of his treasured wine, and calls him out for his deplorable height.

Chuuya gets angry. Perhaps that is not saying much: Chuuya is always angry. But Dazai knows how to push his buttons the right way and Chuuya becomes furious. As angry as Chuuya gets at Dazai, Chuuya never misses a mission together as Soukoku, and Dazai can't understand why.

The first time Chuuya doesn't show up at their location they planned to meet up at, something feels like it's gnawing away at Dazai's heart.

Dazai takes care of the mission easily. Of course he does. His words cut sharper than any knife and his predictions direct those words precisely where they hurt the most. Dazai doesn't even need to be a good shot to tighten his finger around the trigger a few times and hit distracted targets. He takes care to make his way around the pooling blood before pulling out his phone. He speaks a few words into it and his subordinates are forced to deal with the mess he leaves behind, even as the sun just barely peeks over the ground.

Dazai takes a stroll down the alleys of Yokohama. He passes by his favourite bar and curry place. He passes by his favourite bridge and skyscraper. He doesn't allow himself the time to jump.

And just as the sun is about to dip below the horizon, he steps into Chuuya's apartment. He pockets his bobby pin and plasters a genuine smile over his face.

Chuuya's apartment building shoots high up into the air, and Chuuya lives on the top floor. It's probably the only chance Chuuya gets for a height boost. No sounds from the bustling streets quite reach this high up and Dazai only hears a soft buzzing in his ears. He closes the door stealthily behind him. Nothing moves for a while, and the room is calm.

A fit of coughing shatters the silence.

Dazai doesn't need to see to know who the gut-wrenching sound belongs to. He kicks off his shoes and bursts into Chuuya's room with a crash.

As predicted, Chuuya is bending over his covers, with a hand covering his mouth.

The floor is completely hidden under a thick layer of deep red flowers, so dark Dazai almost mistakes them for black. Dazai is confused for a short second before Chuuya lifts his head.

More flowers spill out from his hands and dot his bedding. Chuuya spots Dazai and screams.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" he dives underneath the safety of his covers. "I don't—" he coughs, "want you here."

Dazai wades through the sea of flowers and stands beside Chuuya's bed. "And here I was wondering if our responsible and loyal Chuuya had finally ditched his work for the first time over something mildly interesting, but no. I find him here coughing out flowers and screaming like a young lady."

"If you came to laugh at me, get out of here," comes a muffled voice under the covers. Chuuya starts coughing again, and Dazai flings his covers out of the way. More flowers decorate his bed and Dazai shakes off the thought that Chuuya looked rather like a bride taking photos in a bed of flowers, along with the fact that Chuuya would be sitting on his deathbed, and not a bed readied for sex.

Dazai looks closer, and realizes that since he last saw Chuuya two days ago, his skin had turned a waxy, ghostly white. His lips are almost blue and his curls aren't so vibrant. His blue eyes seem darker and lifeless... Dazai is almost scared, until he reminds himself that no, nothing scares him and no. Nothing scares him.

"Does anyone else know?" Chuuya shakes his head and Dazai nods. "Keep it that way. I'll ask around for some information tonight."

"…Why are you helping me?"

"I have no interest in such things, Chuuya!" Dazai says grandly, spreading his arms. "But I have even less interest in losing a partner who'll do everything for me during a mission, you know? The less work for me, the better, right?"

Chuuya stares down, not looking at Dazai. A chair comes flying at Dazai from its spot on the floor before clattering to the ground harmlessly as it nicks Dazai's shoulder. Chuuya pulls his covers over himself, and buries his face in his pillow.

"Go away, shitty Dazai," he mutters. "Go away and don't you dare come back."

"We'll have to see about that, Chu-u-ya," says Dazai. He shuts the door to Chuuya's bedroom and slides down, leaning against it. He pulls back the sleeve of his coat and unwraps the bandages over his left wrist.

Four neat kanji characters are written on in a dark red ink, rather like the flowers that scatter across Chuuya's floor. Scars trail over and all around them, but the characters are as bold as ever. The characters have been there for as long as Dazai could remember, and they don't disappear no matter what Dazai does to them.

He sighs, and wraps the bandages back up.

He'd cure Chuuya's sickness. It doesn't matter what Dazai has to do.


Sun rises again as Dazai leans against the cool brick wall, handing an information broker a stack of cash. The information he receives almost horrifies him.

"Oh?" the broker laughs lightly. "It surely has been a while since someone asked me about that disease. They call it the Hanahaki Disease, the disease of heartbreak."

"What do you mean?" Dazai hands over another stack into the other's outstretched hand.

"You see, the person contracts it when they love someone who does not love them back," the broker flips through the bills, one by one. "An extreme case of an one-sided love, I suppose you could say. It is a disease that leads to a certain and quick death if not treated."

"How can they be cured?" Dazai adds again to the stack in the broker's hand.

"One of two ways," he puts a finger up. "The first way is cheap, but difficult: The person they love must truly love them back," he puts a second finger up. "Or two, you find a doctor willing to remove the source of the flowers: more expensive, but it is not a difficult operation. The person would then also lose all feelings they had for the one they loved." Dazai studies the cracking concrete under his feet with too much attention.

The broker finishes counting the bills Dazai handed over and nods contently, "You paid extra so I will tell you this: Those deep red flowers? I would assume they were mourning brides. In the language of flowers they mean unfortunate attachments and loss. I look forward to doing business with you again."

Dazai closes his eyes and opens them. He runs a thumb over his wrist, and walks away.


"I'd like to remove Chuuya from all operations until he is cured."

"That's fine," Mori says. "But how are you going to cure Chuuya-kun?"

"I'll get a certified doctor to remove the infection, Mori-san, thank you for asking."

Mori runs a brush through Elise's hair, and again, and again.

"That will be your final resort, you will try the other method first."

"…What do you mean?"

"Find the one he loves first, and if there's no way they'll love him back, then find a doctor."

"…Understood," Dazai turns and leaves through the tall, red doors.

"Rintarou, why didn't you just let him get Chuuya the surgery?" Elise asks, swinging her legs back and forth on her stool. Mori smiles.

"Chuuya-kun is most likely in love with Dazai-kun. If Dazai-kun can love Chuuya-kun back, it'll be that much easier to control Dazai-kun, wouldn't it, Elise-chan?"

"Rintarou, you're a sadist."

"Of course not, Elise-chan!"


Lingering lights of the sunset creep into Chuuya's room through the thin cracks between the curtains. The sunset reminded Dazai rather of Chuuya's vibrant red curls, before he contracted this disease.

"Aaaaand there you have it, Chuuya! Spill the beans, which beautiful lady did you fall for? Surely she doesn't love you back for your horrible hats?"

More flowers carpet the ground since Dazai was last here, and Dazai wonders just how much pain Chuuya is in, hacking up flowers by the minute.

"Leave me alone," Chuuya mumbles, looking towards the windows, away from Dazai. "I don't want your help."

"And I'm not interested in helping you, Chuuya. But your dearest Boss has ordered it, and as a subordinate of his, I have no choice but to comply, do I?"

Dazai knows Chuuya, knows how to push his buttons.

And knows how to push them well.

"You."

Chuuya's voice is so muted Dazai almost doesn't catch it. But he does. And he feels his heart sink a mile into the ground, and then deeper.

Dazai's thumb finds his wrist again, and rubs over it, again and again. He turns to the door.

"I'm finding you a doctor."

He leaves, and thinks he hears a soft sobbing even long after he leaves Chuuya's apartment.


Dazai leans over the railings of his favourite bridge, bathing in the moonlight, and letting the calm waters wash away his tension.

Dazai thinks he may be in love with Chuuya, but he knows he will never truly be in love with Chuuya. There is no way Dazai would allow himself to fall in love with Chuuya.

Dazai has always hated the idea of having a soul mate. He hates how the name of his soul mate stares up at him no matter what he does to his wrist. He hates how close he is to falling in love with his soul mate.

When Mori ordered Dazai to find out the one that Chuuya loves, he knew it wasn't out of pity. Even someone blind could guess who Chuuya loved. Mori would use Chuuya against Dazai. He wouldn't hurt Dazai, no, Dazai had already been hurt so much a little more wouldn't do anything. But Chuuya, Dazai wouldn't be able to stand the thought of Chuuya being hurt.

Dazai does not love Chuuya, and after Chuuya is cured of his disease, he would no longer love Dazai either.

It's a perfect situation, for both of them.

Unfortunate attachment and loss, Dazai remembers, and curses at the accuracy of the information broker.

Any attachment to Dazai is unfortunate enough on its own. The loss of each other.

Dazai wipes away the streak of wetness on his cheek.


Sun rises as Dazai crosses his legs on the couch, opposite from a widely recognized and respected doctor throughout Yokohama. Dazai pushes a box of cash over the table and threatens that if anything happens to Chuuya, he'd hunt down their entire family and the doctor himself would be in for an entertaining torture session. Dazai finds them very agreeable after the quick exchange.


Moonlight drenches Chuuya's bedroom the night before the operation. Dazai stands at the foot of Chuuya's bed. Chuuya is curled up in sleep, and lets out a cough every now and again. Dazai leaves his bedroom.

A glass of half-drunken wine stands tall in a pool of more spilled wine. Dazai wonders how Chuuya could've knocked over the glass and manage to put it down upright but not wipe up the wine off his precious, imported glass table. He slaps a white towel on the table absentmindedly and lets it soak up the red liquid. The dripping towel hits the bottom the trash can with a wet slap.

He places a can of crab meat on Chuuya's dining table.

He stops, thinks and heads back into Chuuya's bedroom.

He leaves a flower beside the crab meat, and leaves.


The next time they meet, Chuuya would no longer love Dazai and Dazai would only need to continue believing that he does not love Chuuya.


Dazai leans against the cool brick wall in the early morning, covering a yawn with his hand. Chuuya walks up to him and slams a can into his hand.

"What's this, Chuuya? Is it a present for me?" Dazai brings the can up to his eye level, and he feels a light disappointment, and a pressing sadness over his chest.

Chuuya hands him a small spoon. "It was lying on my dinner table when I woke up. You like this disgusting stuff, don't you? Hurry, we're way behind schedule, with the work we missed while I was sick."

Dazai cracks the can open, and dips the spoon in, "But it's Chuuya's fault we're behind on work, it's not my problem, riiiiiight?"

"You— Whatever, it is my fault this time. Hurry up and finish eating, then we can go," Chuuya takes off the glove that Dazai has never seen under. "By the way, I found this on my wrist this morning. Did you write it on? I'm going to kill you if you did. It won't come off no matter what I do."

Dazai's heart almost stops beating. Three kanji characters are written out messily on Chuuya's left wrist in an orange yellow colour— Dazai's own name.

By no means does Dazai Osamu get along with his partner: Nakahara Chuuya.

Dazai can't stand Chuuya's choice in "fashion", can't stand the sight of his drunken ass, and can't stand—

Dazai bends over, covers his mouth with a hand, and lets out a series of coughs. Something makes its way painfully up his throat.

He finally understands how Chuuya must've felt, sitting in bed all that time alone and letting out racking coughs.

Orange and yellow marigolds spill out of his hand and he hears Chuuya's concerned voice from beside him, but he can't quite make out the words.

Marigolds, the flower of jealousy, of grief.

Dazai's jealousy of not being the one to hold him in his arms, his grief of losing Chuuya.

—and can't stand Chuuya not loving him.