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16.
Fragile, small, and countless snowflakes decorate the city of Yokohama. Like the final work of art, a sweep of white, a photographic flash that obscures the view, the slush of snow completely covers the green grass and dyes it with moist purity. The chestnut´s footprints are the only ones that reveal its true status. A grass at the mercy of meteorological decisions... a garden that can and only surrender to illusory transmutation of color. But Dazai's footsteps are good... or rather too raw, since they paint the garden in a greenish color, granting the grass a last worldly wish... or perhaps it will be a supreme longing for a breath.
Suddenly, Dazai feels the sensation of his jacket getting soaked, a slight push from behind that due to the effect of the snow, leads him to almost lose his balance and be one more (next to the grass) at the mercy of the cold weather.
A slight mocking smile crosses the brunet´s lips, who does it because he knows that no one else is watching his face. However, he decides to continue his path, making his way through the snow of the place with a haughty attitude, unaffected, satisfied. The same wet feeling passes through his pants and settles on the back of his calf. The snowball shatters in just a second and the noise it causes is almost null, like the act of a firework being unleashed without any spectator to admire its beauty. It should be a miserable, unfortunate, and tragic scenario for the redhead who is the actor of such a performance. His snowballs are causing only the white decoration of the black coat that the brunette is wearing. Without any gesture, without snapping or any sign of discomfort from Dazai.
But it is December again. And the redhead's intentions to be a child again slips into it. To remember those games in the snow that he never managed to enjoy. Of remembering a past that never existed for him, since the thought of even considering that such a past could exist was taken from him. To remember that he can also be a normal teenager.
- “Hey, Dazai! You can at lea…-” -began Chuuya, who was a few meters behind the brunet with a new snowball resting in his hands.
One second. The slight icy breeze that accompanies both teenagers. Two seconds. The view clouded by the fall of snow that does not succumb. Three seconds. The explosion of a snowball that covers his face with moisture.
Chuuya grimaces and shouts in frustration at Dazai's response, who in just a few seconds had been able to answer him clearly and proudly. Although in reality it was just a very fair game where the one who acts also expects a similar response and of the same severity. The brunet´s laughter sneaks between the grunts of the redhead who in an act of impulsivity only characteristic of him, manages to throw another snowball at him that decorates Dazai´s shoulder. Chuuya quickly runs around the brunet. The latter is staying so still as if his shoes were joined together in the grass, following him only with his gaze. However, after two snowballs, the brunet decides to take off and take flight for the first time, throwing another snowball at the redhead who tries to dodge it in an unsuccessful way.
And for a moment, Chuuya forgets about gravity. He misses out on his missions as a member of the Port Mafia. He ignores the fact that he is now carrying only solidified water in his hands instead of the equally cold handle of a weapon.
And Dazai is unaware of his own blindfolded eye. And he forgets the most effective route to the mission at hand. And he neglects his reproaches and insults towards the redhead who has reminded him so many times how stupid he is.
And they are the children they never could be. And at that moment, they are happy that no one taught them how to be.
17.
November is over and consequently the freezing days of December are appearing again. This time, both young males are prostrated under the only tree with white tops that decorates the garden. And everything looks similar to the previous year, except for a few centimeters that the brunet has gained in his height, and which are a source of insult from the redhead every time Dazai mentions it. Those snowballs they carried in their hands last year have been replaced by a beige paper bag that allowed the nozzle of a glass bottle to peek out. The smell caused Chuuya to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
- “Shitzai, I told you we should buy wine. This smells worse than you!”- Chuuya spoke, reproaching the brunette's choice of alcohol.
- “I already told you wine tastes like shit, Slug. You are the only bastard who can tolerate it.”- The brunet answered in a calmer tone, holding the bottle that still had the paper bag on it to slowly bring it to his lips.
Chuuya did not like Whiskey. He hated its aroma, hated its color, and disliked its bitter taste. But what he hated most was that the brunet was the one who could enjoy it. Quickly, he snatched the bottle from Dazai's hands and looking to the side he took a long sip from the spout of the bottle.
Yes, the same taste as the last and first time he had sworn to himself never to drink it again. Whiskey was still really shit. The brunet chuckles gently.
- “Finally enjoying it, midget?”- Dazai's voice snuck in, who attentively positioned his gaze on the redhead who still had the bottle in his mouth.
The sensation of the bitter liquid burned Chuuya's throat, who only grunted at Dazai's comment.
- “You waste of bandages! You would be the same as me or even worse if this were wine instead of this disgusting Whiskey!” -Chuuya shouted with a frown.
- “I've already told you that I can tolerate liquor. I don't like wine, but I can drink it without reproach. Not like you, simpleton.”-Dazai responded with a haughty look.
- “Next time we will bring wine. I don’t care what you think, bastard.”-
- “This time was unexpected. Next time we can bring wine… only if you promise to continue drinking today's Whiskey.” -Dazai winked.
- “Why do you want me to keep taking that shit?”-
- “It's funny to see you drunk, you're a complete lightweight. You can't tolerate even a few sips of alcohol!” - laughed the brunet. - “It must be because of your height. You're so small that alcohol doesn't have many places to go. It can only be contained in your short body.” -he continued.
Chuuya pushes him hard on the arm. - “Shut up, you piece of garbage! At least I don't have to spend so many bandages on my body. You say it's small, right? Well, you have to buy twice as much as I would have to buy if I wanted to wrap my body!” – the redhead spoke irritably.
- “Oh, has Slug gotten smarter this last year? Your insults are starting to be good. They're starting to hurt me. Really."- Dazai replies, placing his hand on his chest in an exaggerated manner, accompanied by a grimace of pretended pain.
- "Shut up. I have just gained experience in insults since I spend most of my time with you nowadays.”- Chuuya spoke without having allowed even a few seconds of Dazai's mockery to pass.
The brunet remained silent. His lips parted and a small smile appeared between them, being hidden by the spout of the liquor bottle that he was holding to his mouth. He took a long sip and closed his eyes as he rested his head on the tree trunk. And they stayed that way for a while. The bottle was fragmented, shared, united between the hands of both of them who held it every couple of minutes. And between sips and insults, Chuuya's cheeks began to turn crimson. And after a few more sips, the brunet could notice how the eyelid of one of the redhead's eyes closing slightly. It was something that characterizes Chuuya's intoxicated state. Essentially no one could have noticed this detail. No one more than Dazai, who had earned the privilege or rather the misery of witnessing the drunk slug, more than once.
- “Hey, Mack…erel…”- Chuuya spoke slightly slurring his words. - “If... if you want to die so much, why are you still in the Port Mafia?”- The drunk continued, while he brought the bottle to his lips with one hand.
So, in this drunken state the brunet was talking to the emotional Chuuya. Dazai had understood it too quickly. And when he turned slightly towards his companion, he found himself playing with the snow between his calloused fingers. They must be calloused, right? They don't look smooth in texture. However, why are they lost in the snow? Why do they become one with it?
Dazai really wanted to be just like his annoying and irritating partner right now. He wished he was drunk. He longed to be able to be so drunk, so desperately drunk that when walking alone on his own, he would slide like a dog through the damp, pale garden. He wanted to shout out loud a 2010 Pop song that only he and Chuuya could hear. However, Dazai could be many things and to his advantage being a good actor was something he did particularly well. He had a lifelong experience. And it was a kind of job that, since his childhood, he had given himself full time. The salary was not bad, no… The salary was much better than any amount of money.
- “Because it's fun to annoy you…Chuuuyaaaa…If I were to die or leave the Port Mafia, who else would I irritate until they're unable to scream because their throat hurts too much? - Dazai responded slurring his words as well, letting out a light laugh as he made his movements more slowly. It was all about giving more credibility to his act, after all. Especially since he couldn't give the redhead the real answer. No, not now. Better maybe…never.
The redhead let out a kind of growl and as if he were a tiger, a depraved lion lunged lightly on top of the brunet, attacking him from the side and hitting him hard on the shoulder. Chuuya had never necessarily been good at controlling his strength, especially when it came to Dazai. However, he had felt everything. The way the pain traveled up his shoulder and then continued into his ribs from Chuuya's fists, which it was almost a sin to call punches because of the drunken state he was in. His movements were not calculated, his touch was unprepared and dry. And Dazai did nothing but hold the redhead's wrists, trying to push him away to prevent his bodies from colliding.
Pushing away the pain of someone abandoned who is touched for the first time. And it feels good. Although they both knew that it was a way to play with each other, Dazai could notice that even drunk, the force of Chuuya's blows would not leave more than one or two bruises that would be erased the next day. And it was nice that it was like that. He wouldn't accept any form of affection other than the poor attempts of a redhead too drunk to even land a real hit. They both knew it. Still, no one was supposed to say it. It was better this way.
Dazai's cheeks turned crimson after a few minutes in which Chuuya continued to maintain contact with his body. Dazai knew that he was a good actor, an excellent movie star who did his job without having been hired by any company yet. So much so that his body responded involuntarily to his drunken act. His crimson cheeks... there would be no other explanation than that to explain the color, right?
- “Stop it, midget... You're going to run out of energy, and I won't be the one to take you back to headquarters.”- Dazai spoke trying to hide a laugh while pushing Chuuya lightly with his hand.
And the redhead fell into the snow. Apparently, he had really used up most of his energy. He preferred to rest on the damp ground, contemplate the sky with his eyes closed, forget the image impregnated from a few moments ago, the pale face of his companion with a bandage across his eye and a patch on his cheek that at this point he should call it a new fashion accessory that only suits the brunet. And he is tired, yes... so tired that... why try to erase that image from his mind?
Dazai looked forward. In reality, he wasn't focusing his gaze on anything particularly. But the red strands of the shorter one´s hair slipped in one by one and rested on the brunet's pants. And together they make an incredible contrast. And both of them could spend an entire day in the same old routine on cold December days. Days like these that neither of them dares to talk about anything, beyond the usual conversations.
- “Most of the time I wish I had a more serious partner. Someone who does take missions seriously and who doesn't act like everything is... is... a fucking joke!" - Chuuya spoke, turning his eyes up to look at the brunet´s face.
- “Hey, but I can be serious too, slug. Look."- Dazai spoke making a serious gesture with his lips, bringing them together and curving them slightly downwards. His eyes dilated slightly, and the soft wind moved one of the strands of his hair, positioning it at the level of his nose and covering his left eye a little.
- “Ah, so apart from being an idiot you are also deaf? I said serious, not like someone who doesn't feel any emotion.”- Chuuya continued trying to sound serious, however, the alcohol in his voice and the small smile on his lips betrayed him.
Dazai didn't answer for a few seconds.
- “You said most of the time. When is the exception?”- the brunet asked in an almost inaudible tone, as if he were scared to hear the answer. He was still looking ahead, without positioning his gaze on the one who was still lying on the snow.
This time it was the redhead who didn't answer.
- “Now, shitzai.”- he responded after almost a few seconds of remaining silent. And Dazai turned to look at the redhead after a long time of staring straight ahead. And the redhead looked back at him in a slightly doubtful manner, his cheeks covered in a reddish color that not even his intelligent companion could decipher if it was due to excess alcohol or the response his partner had given.
Dazai was an unusual person. Chuuya had that engraved in his mind, he had recognized it two years ago when he met him for the first time. The young man always behaved strangely. For the love of God, he was obsessed with the idea of committing suicide. What other justification was needed more than that one? However, when the brunet leaned slightly towards the redhead´s face and stared at him for a few seconds from a short distance, Chuuya could see an excessively ordinary young man. A teenager like him, a deeply ordinary boy. And his eyes shone with the same brilliance that Chuuya had had before joining the Port Mafia. They were as dazzling and pale as the very snow in which he was resting.
- “O…Samu…”- Chuuya said, insulting himself for accidentally calling him by his first name. No insult would make sense now since he had failed. He had wanted to wrap himself up and observe that same shine in the brunet's eyes again and he had called him helplessly, dismantled like a dog whose tail had just been stepped on, he had said his first name.
- “Chibi.”- Dazai whispered before closing the distance between their lips.
The kiss was awkward and extremely embarrassing. They weren't on the same rhythm and their teeth clashed slightly. But neither of them dared to separate. The taste of the bitter liquor seeped in and painted the memory of both young ones, who made no effort to do anything else in the world other than to deepen the kiss. The brunet adapted to the careless movements of Chuuya's lips before, placing his hands on the redhead's neck and introducing his tongue delicately. The other responded by opening his lips slightly and holding Dazai's hair, with a grip that anyone would have considered unconscious. And they stayed like that for a few more minutes, between the snow of the December garden and the Whiskey bottle with no liquid inside. And their lips communicating more than they could even if they consider doing it verbally.
- “Your lips taste like shit. They are really the… the worst I’ve ever tried, Shitzai… I don’t understand why you have so much luck with women.”- Chuuya said, separating slightly. His speech was no longer so slurred. It seemed like the effects of the alcohol were diminishing.
- “Yours even more so!”- Dazai spoke with a grimace of disgust. - “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?” - He continued with an arrogant smile.
- “Shut up, you bandage-wasting-device. You probably don't even have a toothbrush!”-Chuuya responded.
A few seconds passed without either of them saying a word. Dazai was playing with the edge of one of his bandages while Chuuya anxiously moved one of his feet.
- “So… do we do it again?”-Dazai asked, winking his only visible eye.
- "Yeah."- was the only thing Chuuya answered.
18.
Someone was knocking at the door. Someone...a knock on the door. Two knocks on the door. Dazai didn't want to get up. He was comfortable resting on the bathroom tiles with his head resting on the steel of the bathtub and both arms covered in cuts on his lap.
A crash was heard on the other side of the apartment. Actually, it wasn't that difficult for Chuuya to locate Dazai, he just had to observe the only light on in the entire apartment. Dazai lived most of the time with the lights off, since, according to his logic, he would save a lot more money that way. The only light on was the one in the bathroom, which was let in through the lower crack between the wooden door and the floor.
The redhead entered without knocking on the door, since he knew that the tone of voice that the brunet had maintained in the previous phone call could not mean anything good.
- “Ango and Odasaku were not answering their cell phones. They must be busy.”- Dazai said in a matter of seconds when he felt the presence of the redhead in front of him.
It was nothing unusual for the redhead. What's more, he himself admitted that he had seen worse things, really chilling, unpleasant, completely disgusting things. However, his heart couldn't help but overturn when he saw his partner in this condition. Chuuya was many things and although it didn't seem like it, stupid wasn't really something that could define him. Of course, next to the brunet he was, next to countless agents, next to the boss. Well, he really had only one problem and that was that he didn't know how to express himself in situations like this one. He was aware of that and yet his throat was screaming at him to say something, his heart was snatching him to the ground so that he could utter a word, a phrase, even a monosyllable, no matter how horrendous it may sound. Say something worthwhile.
- “Dazai…how…?”- Chuuya began. He quickly regretted it. He had remained silent.
- “Try the more traditional method...I've done it so many times. I just think this time I pressed harder than before.”-Dazai spoke looking at the redhead.
Dazai wondered what the person in front of him was thinking. Would he be ashamed? Would he feel shy?...Vulnerable? ... Responsible? Dazai kept a gaze fixed on Chuuya's eyes. The latter only focuses his attention on the cuts that marked the delicate pale arm of his companion.
- "They hurt?"- the redhead spoke with genuine curiosity, like a silly child who had just been introduced to the existence of what a cut in an area of the body means.
- “It hasn't for a long time. I already told you that I look for a pain-free method to die.”- Dazai lied.
And for the next few hours, Chuuya forgot the strange warmth he felt in his chest when he thought that the brunet had not called him first. That he had not been the first, no. Far from the second. He had been the third one on Dazai's entire list of contacts that he had considered giving a call in such a situation. And although that heat on his chest bothered him, he helped him disinfect the cuts. And as rough as the redhead could be, he tried to bandage the young man's cuts with new bandages that he got from the brunet´s room. And he gave him a small kiss on the forehead that had equaled until that moment all the words that the young man had not been able to say.
Weeks passed and Dazai noticed that Chuuya occasionally spent more time in his apartment. They were first classified as visits for missions that turned into excuses that he was close to the area and had decided to visit on his days off, when Dazai was also doing nothing but wasting time with several bottles of Sake in his room. And the redhead's toothbrush that Dazai only saw on some weekends in the bathroom was resting on the glass cup increased days, next to his own brush. His vanity was increasingly adorned with moisturizing creams that Dazai can only imagine the other young man uses to moisturize his face.
And it felt good to wake up to a new aroma coming from the kitchen every day. What did you make for breakfast this time, slug? It was nice to see a new piece of clothing from the redhead scattered on the wooden floor of Dazai's apartment every time. He smiled every time he found a new reddish hair on his other pillow.
However, Odasaku died just a few months later and everything that Dazai had considered pleasant ended. The passing of the days meant fewer mornings with different breakfast aromas and fewer of the redhead's clothes scattered throughout the brunet's apartment floor and less reddish hair decorating the pillow that Dazai did not use.
Coming across a lone toothbrush in his bathroom that only belonged to the brunet made him come to his senses.
21.
The wet and frigid days of December behave as they always did. The garden every year with a unique decoration. The snowflakes continued to fall and moistened the face of the brunet, who after several years was passing through that place. However, this year, the wet and chilly days of December no longer behaved as before. It was disturbing to know that they no longer brought the comfort that the brunet had longed for and experienced for so many years. The footprints were no longer marked the same, his coat had changed and the snow that kept falling from the sky soaked his coat and revealed the moisture stains.
And after years, Dazai attended with both eyes open. Although the garden did not bring the same comfort and the December days felt less ambitious, the park was still nice to appreciate.
In the distance, Dazai noticed silhouettes adorned with clothing that is only conducive to winter days like these. The silhouettes moved and a light unknown laughter could even be heard emanating from one of them. One silhouette was larger in height, with slightly wavy hair, while the other was adorned with a hat and fiery red locks that Dazai would have liked to forget.
The brunet was wrong. The park was no longer pretty to appreciate.
The silhouettes moved slowly until they reached the brunet and became human. They were no longer opaque shadows with few colors. They were now men of flesh and blood, with a heart, with the ability to say I love you; I need you. With the ability to be able to kiss infinitely, love, hold, open, and find within them a soul that has been broken for many years and that can only be fixed if each other exchanges parts of theirs. And for just a second before seeing them correctly, Dazai saw himself reflected next to that redhead with a hat, in the same position in which his unknown companion was, holding his hand while in the other he carried a daring ball of snow. And these December days gave, just for a second, a pinch of warmth.
- “Shitzai! I didn´t want to see you, but he insisted on approaching you."- spoke the voice that Dazai has never been able to forget, no matter how much he wanted to.
- “Osamu…Dazai, right? Chuuya has told me about you before.”- said the other companion of the redhead.
Dazai didn't bother asking for his name. Why would he ask for a name that he would later forget? Or rather, why would he ask for the name of someone he couldn't hear without feeling his chest boiling, how his fragile, neglected heart continues to shatter? However, Dazai noticed the particularities in the young man's face. His curly brown hair that slightly threatened to come undone. His honey-colored eyes and pale skin stand out even more due to the weather of the month. His tall and thin stature forced the redhead to look up to see his face.
Dazai smiled slightly.
- “Is he your new partner?”- Dazai asked, looking only at the short man.
- “He is a full-time boyfriend. Just something you will never have, you bastard!”- Chuuya spoke with his same tone of voice as always. Completely irritating, entirely strong.
The former Port Mafia member turned to Chuuya's companion. - “It's December again. Do you like this place? It's getting much nicer this season." -he expressed.
- "It is nice. Chuuya was the one who brought me here, actually. I didn't know about this park.”-answered the short one´s boyfriend.
Chuuya blushed slightly and lightly hit his companion's arm. Dazai smiled kindly before leaving the place, putting one hand in his pocket, and waving his other in a goodbye gesture. He walked for several minutes with his back to the others whom he had long ago left behind. Turning slightly, he realized that now they were just a pair of silhouettes again. A pair of human beings robbed of their clarity and color.
And in the tranquility of a desolate and overly extensive park, Dazai threw a first snowball towards his own back. It was an arduous task to do. He looked really ridiculous, reaching towards the ground to pick up a small snowball and throwing it inexpertly at his back. He continued to throw another one at his calf, only this time he had to look back slightly to see that he had actually hit his own calf. Likewise, no one could judge him now. He could cheat a little. The last snowball was thrown towards his own shoulder, which quickly dissolved as if it didn't even want to make contact with his body.
After that arduous and unfair solitary game, Dazai sat on a nearby bench and for the first time he allowed himself to cry.