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The Eye of Myosotis

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“A last visit.” Dazai sighed, resting on the old leather couch, his hands playing with the pillow on his lap. Eyes heavy, the tiredness almost shutting them completely, when a small silhouette suddenly breezed in through the door.

The man laying on the couch could immediately tell who it was, even having a small remnant of moonlight, that showed itself through the blinds, as his only source of light. He could already tell who it was when he heard the footsteps from far away.

“Oi! Dazai. Already tired?” the voice standing out from the footsteps, the latter getting quicker as the figure approached the blinds and opened them, filling the room with the light the moon reflected.

“Why do you ask? Worried about me, are you?” the taller one questioned as he sat up, now being able to see more clearly the shorter man’s image grabbing a bottle of wine.

Chuuya had his hat on, his red hair fell on his face, never covering his eyes. The long strand of hair smoothly fell on his shoulder, it reminded Dazai of a cascade being bathed by the sunset, or, sometimes, a river of lava, but the observant found the cascade more appealing.

Dazai sometimes asked himself why he is always paying attention to such small details, like the way Chuuya’s hand managed to open the wine bottle with such ease, or the way he walked, his body always gently swifting, even when he is ready to kill someone.

He could never find the correct answer to that question. The man, too precise to talk about death and too inexact to talk about love (the word wouldn’t even cross his mind), always excused, unknowingly, his observations, saying to himself that he is used to observing his enemies or rivals, nothing out of the ordinary.

“You are too full of yourself. I’m just making sure that if you get on my nerves, you’re not too tired to fight.” Chuuya mocked and a grin formed on his face, Dazai found it quite entertaining to see the man so satisfied whenever he got to bother his rival. The brown-haired could almost tell exactly what the redhead was feeling, he felt the same way when irritating him.

“I see. Then I won’t bother you, I’m way too lazy to fight right now.” the younger commented, his voice showing his laziness evidently, while he watched the other sit down on the armchair in front of him

The shorter just rolled his eyes and poured the wine inside the glass, they both watched as the red liquid fell smoothly. That moment, Dazai found out that there are more things that remind him of Chuuya’s hair.

The ginger tasted the wine slowly, taking small sips while looking at the outside, his eyes went from star to star, but always ended up on the moon. It was a full moon tonight, and, secretly (so secretly that even themselves didn’t know what they were feeling), they were thankful to be able to watch each other being bathed by the moon.

“Can I have some?” the brunet catechized, extending his arm so he could grab the glass Chuuya was holding, the latter rolled his eyes again and filled the wineglass, handing it to the man in front of him. “Thank you.”

They were both quiet, falling deeper into each other’s comfortable silence.

Dazai noticed how those blue eyes reminded him of a flower he once saw, a blue Myosotis. When he first saw the said flower, it rained. The flower had several water drops resting on her petals. Chuuya’s eyes looked the same with the stars reflecting upon them.

Time passed. Both of them weren’t sure how long. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. But the redhead smiled as he admired the sky and was mesmerized by a falling star.

For some reason, as he smiled, he looked at his so-called rival.

Dazai felt his heart skip a beat. That exact moment scarred in his mind. Chuuya smiling at him, bathed by the moon.

For a moment, he thought he was struck by a special ability, but no.

It was something that he couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t feel properly. Never felt properly.

It was Chuuya.

Chuuya and his smile, his hair that looks like a cascade being bathed by the sunset and wine, his hands that could open a wine bottle with ease, his delicate way to move, his blue Myosotis eyes. Him. Nakahara Chuuya.

In that brief moment, right before Chuuya went back to admire the immensity of the universe, the man that could be so precise about death, found out about love.


And after that, they never shared a glass of wine in that room again. 

But, Chuuya was there, alone, twenty-four hours later, after Osamu Dazai officially left the Port Mafia. 


Just like the previous day, Chuuya breezed into the room, but this time, the couch had only a pillow on top of it.

Just like the previous day, Chuuya rapidly opened the blinds and opened a bottle of wine, but this time, there was no one to share it with him.

Just like the previous day, Chuuya sat on the armchair and looked at the sky, but this time, no falling star.

Just like the previous day, Chuuya tried to smile, laugh even, but his throat tightened, and tears began to fall down his face.

The sky became hard to watch, and the man looking at it would like to blame it only on his blurred vision, but he knew that the memory of his rival’s eyes was too similar to that fragment of universe.  

He brought the wine bottle to his mouth, no wineglass this time, and tried to drink all his feelings with it, but the memory of him asking for the wine barged into the lonely man’s memory.

He wanted to scream. Out of hatred. Out of anger. Out of confusion. Out of sadness.

Out of love.

Chuuya asked himself if it was his fault, he should’ve realized earlier what meant to notice little things about Dazai. Such things as his stupid smile, the way his hands grabbed the wineglass, his voice speaking a bunch of nothingness that now seem like everything. And his eyes that looked like a fragment of the universe.

Oh, and how Chuuya loved the universe. Every star, planet, moon. All of it.

When he first realized that Dazai’s eyes resembled the universe, his blood boiled. How dared that man have something so beautiful in his eyes?

Then, yesterday, when Chuuya smiled at Dazai, all the stars that were already observable in those eyes, became even more apparent to the redhead.

He thought he saw the universe itself in front of him, but even without using his ability, there was no gravity, because Chuuya fully submerged into that universe.

Osamu Dazai’s universe.

“But there’s no more of that now.” he mumbled to himself, and as he was ready to throw the bottle across the room, he noticed a book under the pillow that rested on the couch.

‘Flower Dictionary – the meaning of flowers.’ read the title. As Chuuya grabbed the book, he noticed there was a marked page with his own name written in it. Dazai 's handwriting.

There was only one flower on that page.


Common name: Forget Me Not

Legend: a knight and his lady were walking beside a river. He picked a posy of flowers for her, but his heavy armor caused him to lose his balance and he fell into the river. As he was drowning, he threw her the posy of flowers and shouted out “Forget me not”.

Symbolism: In the language of flowers, Forget Me Not represents hope, remembrance, true and undying love.

These flowers are also associated with funerals and death.