Work Text:
Dazai Osamu was what his parents called an "odd child." He could absorb new information like a sponge, and was always looking for something interesting that could pass his time. Even when his parents left him alone (which was always), he would explore the dangers of the outside, where he would see large amounts of violence and theft. He felt no fear, even while hearing gunshots just outside his front door. It was simply a way for him to learn more information and keep his boredom at bay.
When he was eight, he was finally able to ask his parents to allow him into a nearby school. The argument lasted for many days, as the school he wanted to go to was far too expensive—alas, Dazai was able to convince them with his clever words, and the argument was his for the taking. When he enrolled, he had already managed to lower the prices to half of what they had been (unknown to the school, of course).
The school, however, was boring.
It seemed like they would teach the same things over and over, which Dazai had already learned to its completion. So he would often sneak into the library for recess. The teachers only brought him back to class for the first year or so, but after that—when it was clear Dazai already knew all they were going to teach—they let him wander off from the class.
It stayed like that for two years.
~~~
Dazai had been mindlessly reading a book (one he had already read a multitude of times), and was abruptly taken out of his bubble when someone tripped over his foot. Dazai looked up, disdain written across his face, and had the breath taken from him.
The boy who had tripped over his foot was standing awkwardly, looking at Dazai with a mix of fear and anxiety. His hair was split into black and white, while his eyes were the colors of twilight and sunrise.
"Sorry," he mumbled, quickly running off to the other side of the library.
Dazai hadn't responded, and instead watched as the boy found his place in the darkest corner he could find, where he easily slipped into the shadows. It was eerily similar to what Dazai was doing, except the other boy never reached for a book to read. He just tucked his head into his knees.
The action gave Dazai the impression of a flower trying to bloom, but being in too harsh of an environment to even look for the sun. He had the urge to see what would happen if he provided even the slightest bit of warmth—to see if the petals reached out, desperate to live.
~~~
The next day, roughly around the same time, Dazai watched as the boy entered the library and escaped into his dark corner. Now that Dazai was able to see more than the day before, he came to the thought that this boy looked young. Surely, he could only be a year younger than Dazai himself, but he had an innocently young aura around him. As if he was filled with hope for something that couldn't happen. Like how children hope to be famous, only to come to the realization years later that the goal is unattainable.
Curiosity piqued, Dazai swiftly made his way over to sit across from the boy. He didn't move into the dark corner with him, but he did provide his presence. This didn't seem to be comforting to the other, who shuffled away nervously.
"I'm Dazai."
Both boys stared at each other for a long moment, surprise on their faces. For Dazai, it was the surprise that he had spoken first. For the other, it was that Dazai had spoken at all.
"S-Sakura," the boy stammered, caught off-guard by the introduction.
Dazai nodded, then tilted his head, inspecting him—Sakura—closely. His eyes were wide, giving the impression of a scared animal. All Dazai saw were the different colors glinting in the darkness.
"Are they real?" Dazai asked, pointing at the mismatched eyes of the other boy.
"What?" Sakura responded, flinching back. "O-Oh… yeah…"
Before he could ask if they seemed weird, Dazai was already saying the next thing to come to mind.
"They're cool."
And immediately, Dazai was able to watch as the petals of the drooping flower in front of him reached out of their beloved shadows toward him. The hope they held, even reaching forward so timidly, was unlike anything Dazai had ever seen.
Dazai had been living a life of nothing for as long as he could remember. There was no money, there was no love, there was no life worth living—it felt too foreign to strive for anything other than that.
There was nothing to strive for, and yet Dazai was watching a flower bloom with the mere brush of warmth.
Sakura Haruka was nine years old when he stopped smiling. It wasn't that he had forgotten how, but that there was simply nothing to smile about. In the past years, even while getting passed between families, he could always find something that could make him smile—no matter how small. Sometimes it was the shadow puppet shows he would put on for himself, and other times it was his dreams, showcasing a world in which he was looked at not with hatred, but love.
The day his smile paused was on a day when he hadn't had a dream in two weeks.
His teacher had pulled him aside from the other children just before recess, speaking quietly.
"Sakura," she said, "I understand how the work we do in class is hard for you, but you're taking extra long to complete it."
The woman looked at the boy expectantly, wanting him to say something in response. Sakura merely stood, silent, with his hands clasped tightly around the edges of his shirt. She sighed.
"You know, it will only get harder? From now, to fifth grade, to junior high, and then to high school—it will get harder. You know that, right?" Her voice had risen with each word.
Sakura's eyes looked back at her, vacant. Both eyes, even while one was as bright as the sun, were dark. Devoid of light. All of the words his teacher said echoed around in those eyes, back into his head.
He knew better than anyone how hard it was to keep up with the world when it pressed against your skin, then past your skin, and settled into your soul by clawing through your insides. There was nothing she could say that he didn't already know.
A lot of adults were like that, he found.
~~~
Dazai was the first person to ever say anything kind to Sakura. And because of that, Dazai found himself being followed around the library by a pair of hopeful eyes and hesitant steps. Then, it went from the library to the hallways, from the hallways to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria to the classrooms, and from the classrooms to anywhere outside of the school.
Sakura followed him everywhere—even all the way back to his house, through alleyways filled with thieves and gangs. Dazai only allowed it because it felt nice to be something to someone. For his life to have a meaning, even when he couldn't see it for himself.
Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself the pleasure.
It was two years later that Sakura would snap.
Dazai had been watching the day that Sakura's father had come to pick him up and dump him at another orphanage, seeing that fragile hope begin to tear as the word the man had spoken filtered into the younger boy's mind: murderer.
Sakura hadn't moved for a long time after that, and Dazai was sure the boy was searching for darkness to hide in. He was watching in real time as the petals he had been so carefully tending to began to shrivel up and droop.
It had only been a few weeks later that Dazai watched as Sakura was being picked on by other kids. He frowned when the leader of the group punched the younger boy's cheek.
And then, Dazai's eyes widened. Sakura's expression was far different from what Dazai was used to. His fragile string of hope had been torn and shredded beyond recognition, and it gave way to another emotion:
Anger.
~~~
Sakura only came to when Dazai's hand found its place on his shoulder, and he looked down to see his hand clenched into a fierce fist. Blood was dripping from his nose, and his cheek was swollen, but he wasn't nearly as messed up as the guys who were laying around him.
"Did…," he swallowed, "did I do that?"
Dazai nodded, silently taking in the messed-up appearances of the other boys.
"You were cool."
And while Dazai said that, Sakura's life took a drastic turn. No one would bother him anymore, all of them judging from a distance—it was relieving. He didn't feel as helpless as he had in the past, and it made the fact that everyone left him alone even more freeing.
Still, the only person that didn't leave was Dazai. When Sakura was feeling hopelessly angry, Dazai took him to the alleys around his house, where Sakura could happily indulge in taking out his emotions on unsuspecting thieves and gang members. His style became pronounced, using his smaller size to move freely during fights. He could even scale buildings, using the things nearby as extra leverage when needed.
Watching Sakura fight made Dazai feel just a little bit more intrigued in life. The flower that he had so carefully tended to had grown again, this time without any coddling. It had sprouted through the cement of the sidewalk, and bloomed, and bloomed, and bloomed. The petals swallowed any competitor who dared cross it, and no one looked at it without feeling hatred.
Dazai seemed to be the only one who could see its beauty. He didn't mind.
It was Dazai's last year in Junior High. Sakura still followed him around, though he didn't have to—he could already bloom without him.
And it was while Sakura was away, possibly fighting, that Dazai attempted to take his life.
If you asked him why, he wouldn't have an answer. He had Sakura, someone beautiful and bright and somehow, through everything, filled with warmth. Yet, he couldn't feel the warmth. He simply wasn't made for it.
Sakura's warmth was filled by the fire inside him. It was the fire to keep on living; to find the people who would love him despite all of his flaws, and all of the punches he threw. The people who would move him from between the cracks in the cement, and put him in a place deserving of love.
Dazai didn't have the warmth within him, nor the hope that could drive him forward through it all. Watching the humans around him, watching Sakura strive for things, fight for things, he simply felt as if he did not belong. There was nothing for him where warmth existed.
So he attempted to reach for the cold.
Only to be met with darkness.
~~~
Dazai Osamu was fourteen when he met an underground doctor by the name of Mori Ougai, who brought him into the clutches of Yokohama's Port Mafia. And he was fifteen when he met the fire of life itself.
~~~
Sakura Haruka was thirteen when he heard that the person who had saved him from a life of loneliness had attempted to take his own life, only to promptly disappear. And he was fifteen when he found the place of love and warmth that he had fought for so desperately.