I. The End
The world ends when Atsushi is sleeping.
He wakes up to the incoherent screams and shouts and the sky looks at him with menacing red, through a barred hole in the corner of the room, where no one can reach. Something falls and bangs on the iron door, and it snaps Atsushi out of his haze. He calls out for anybody, shouts for the nurses, for the workers, for someone with a key, but no one answers. He tries shouting out names he knows, the kids that had bullied him before, and even the headmaster, but the deadly silence presses back and Atsushi feels lost, everything glowing in red and making him wish that it was all a dream, that he will wake up any moment.
He pushes the door, tries to get to the small hole to the outside and scream, but nothing brings anyone to him. Outside the screams subside, but the red is still there, the black sun looking at him and casting long shadows on the walls.
He peaks through a slight gap between the door and the wall, and sees the face of a nurse, with her face twisted in eternal agony, and lifeless eyes staring into Atsushi’s. There’s a key dangling at her limp fingers. Atsushi recoils and throws up, his body finally succumbing to the fear and anxiety and incredible dread.
“I won’t die here,” he says it loud, to anyone who’s mocking his misery, to any god that’s watching him. “I won’t die here,” he punches the walls and screams till his throat is raw and his knuckles are bleeding.
He falls asleep to the sound of a kid crying.
Days pass in the locked room till Atsushi wakes up at the sound of a loud crash, body curling in almost instinctively, fearing a punch or cruel fingers grabbing his hair and pulling him up. What comes instead is the ceiling and the building, and Atsushi presses his body to the safe corner of his bed, hiding his head under his arms and repeating I won’t die here again and again, like a prayer.
When the world stops shaking and the crashing noises quieten, Atsushi looks up and sees the vast red sky, with deep blue clouds and the black sun, looking at him from where it was once a ceiling. The walls have crumbled around him, giving him the freedom he has always wished for.
Freedom was never supposed to be this scary, he thinks as he clutches the filthy sheets on his bed and looks at the crushed limbs under the rocks, blood pooling under them.
He steps outside, to the new world for the first time, when sun sets and the sky turn all black, with no sign of the familiar glow of the moon. Atsushi steps outside, clutching his blanket around himself and hesitation clear in his every step.
“I won’t die,” he vows to the dark sky and dead stars, and moves on.
II. Water Turns to Blood
The world has changed.
There are piles of corpses everywhere, and the few people who have survived search through them like stray dogs, clinging into anything that would help them survive another day. The town is heavy with the sound of deathly silence, and occasional cries and sobs that die soon. The soil has turned blue. All the livings are dead; plants, animals, insects. Water has turned into searing poison, yellow and smelling sour and bitter.
Atsushi walks through the flames.
He tries to search for shelter, anywhere with a ceiling and a solid ground that’d keep him from the retching smell and the seething soil. Houses are either ruined or occupied, and people act hostile toward him, reminding him of injured animals. He doesn’t give up. He had snatched a bit of food from the orphanage before he left, but the supply is scarce and he is running out of time and energy.
The lights in the streets flicker on and off, as a small girl cries and shakes a dead woman. People don’t spend her a glance, faces frozen in fear and urgency. A man shoots himself in despair and a young woman screeches as the others attack the fresh corpse, taking off anything that may help them. Atsushi’s heart clenches but he keeps going, forcing himself to look straight. He needs food. He needs rest.
He can’t die.
A happy tone catches his attention, a short melody whistled carelessly, as if it’s not the end of the world, as if no one is doomed to die. Atsushi turns to see a young man with brown hair and brown eyes, white bandages all over his body, standing on an unstable chair, tying a rope to a shaky street lamp. Atsushi is mesmerized by his fingers, quick and nimble, like they have practiced the act of hanging the man for ages.
“Like the show?” the man’s voice, smooth and teasing, brings Atsushi back to his senses, and he blushes furiously, caught red-handed. The man chuckles, not unkindly and not kind, a theatrical laugh made for the stage he is creating for himself. Atsushi is nothing but an audience.
“Why are you doing this?” Atsushi asks, enticed.
“Why not?” the man replies easily, no hitch in his fingers, “why should I wait for the God to kill me slowly, painfully while he gave me the power to do it by myself, gracefully?”
Atsushi stays silent, not really having an answer for that, and not wanting to leave the strange man with diamonds on his tongue, sharp and shiny, cutting and attracting.
“Life is nothing but a gamble. I throw a dice, will I live tomorrow or will I die? Will I live by stepping forward or will I die from leaving my house? No one knows,” the man talks to no one and everyone, voice full of joy and sorrow, a beautiful collage of contradictions, “So why play a game you already know you might lose? I rather do this by my own hands, than being played around. Don’t you agree?”
The sun stares down at them like a gaping hole in the sky, and Atsushi thinks of his dreams and hopes, of his plans after running away from the orphanage, of the burning soil beneath his bare foot as he first stepped outside of the white room.
“I don’t see life as a gamble or a game,” he starts, surprising himself with his steady voice, and the man looks at him with deep brown eyes, “for me, life is a constant war. And I will fight to survive, to laugh in the face of the ones who are trying to kill me. I won’t lose the only thing I own in my life. I won’t lose my life.”
The man’s eyes become unreadable, tinged with a foreign emotion. He looks at Atsushi for several beats, and jumps off the chair as it wobbles dangerously.
“Well!” the man exclaims cheerfully, and brushes the dust off his hands, “I can’t let such a pleasant talk turn bitter by killing myself, right?” He brushes past Atsushi, hands in his pocket and whistling a new tone, when Atsushi’s body moves on his own and grabs the man’s sleeve.
“Who are you?” Atsushi asks, wondering about the grey faces of the living and the rotting corpses, and about the colorful man, acting like the world is not falling in around them, as if nothing has changed, waxing poetry and philosophy.
“How rude of me to not introduce myself,” the man grins, an empty one that doesn’t reach into his eyes, “my name is Dazai Osamu.”
“Nakajima Atsushi,” Atsushi murmurs when the man- Dazai- looks at him expectantly.
“May our paths cross again, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai’s eyes linger on him for a second and he turns around, and Atsushi can do nothing but stare at the eccentric man. The rope catches his eyes, and he finds it frayed and unable to tolerate the weight of a grown man, and turns back to Dazai, hands in pockets and singing a verse of bible out of tune and loudly.
“I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land. And the men shall know that I am God, when I stretch forth my hand upon the land, and bring out the good from among them.”
III. Frogs
The corpses are everywhere.
Their suffocating smell is even worse than the sharp metallic smell of chemicals that have been in the air since theDay, and people start wearing clothes over their mouths and noses to keep themselves from throwing up while rummaging the bodies.
Atsushi tries to remember the faces.
He thinks about the lives, about people who used to have families, used to feel emotions, love, sadness, anger, that are now rotting corpses on the ground, a familiar scene that no longer shocks anyone.
He tries to remember by naming them, thinking about their lives and their stories they were never able to tell. A young woman with light auburn hair is Haruno and she owns a cat, lives in a small house and is a secretary. The boy with short fluffy hair has lost his father in an accident, becomes a hacker out of spite to find revenge. Another woman with blond hair lives with her sister, and has a major crush on his mentor.
But the faces blend in and the stories run out, and Atsushi’s desperation turns into dull pain, and numbness as he goes through thousands of faces and bodies, tiredness clawing at his body and mind.
I won’t die, he sounds weaker and weaker as days go by with no success in finding shelter or food. His steps turn into staggers, and his vision turns black whenever he stands up for too long. Dead eyes turn on him, silently begging him to join them, to rest for a while, don’t you want to sleep? It’s warm here, and cozy, you won’t even feel a thing when you close your eyes, and fall and fall-
He collapses through a door to a dark store, tucked in a corner and deserted. The smell of rot is stronger in there and Atsushi tries to get up, the foul aroma urging him to get up and out, when he sees a young man sitting beside a table, idly looking at him and chewing on something. Atsushi yelps and falls back, stammering through an apology.
“I’m so sorry- I was- I just collapsed and- can I- ”
A small package lands in front of his feet, and he looks at it. Daif*ckuis written in happy pink letters, and the red light makes it feel like a dream.
“You’re clearly starving,” the man says in a bored tone, as he munches on his own food, “eat it.”
Atsushi doesn’t let the man take back his words. He digs in and doesn’t think for few blissful minutes, a part of his mind ashamed of him eating like an animal but the other parts are just screamingeat, eat before it’s over, and too soon the food ends. Atsushi cleans his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiles bashfully at the man who has been looking at him with half-lidded eyes, the green of his eyes shining bright in the dim light of the room.
“Too bad you escaped late, huh?” the man asks, and Atsushi’s heart skips a beat, “all of the good shelters are occupied.”
“How do you-”
“I’m the best detective in the world,” the man says, and after a beat, adds with smaller voice, “at least what is left of the world.”
“You were a detective?” Atsushi asks.
“Not a detective per se, since no one could appreciate my intelligence,” the man boasts with childish glee, happy to find an audience and Atsushi’s thoughts return to Dazai and his brown eyes, performing for dead people.
“I can tell you everything about everyone, alive or dead,” the man seems eager to appease Atsushi and Atsushi is more than willing to listen after days of endless silence.
“Whose story do you want to know?” the man opens another candy and shoves it in his mouth, green eyes glinting in the dark, “do you see the woman with black hair? She was a double agent. A kindergartener in the morning, and by the time of sunset, a brutal assassin. The man that has collapsed by the ramen aisle was a policeman, searching for the assassin woman for months, about to reach his deadline. The other man with a coat and scarf, do you see him? He was a spy from France, coming to this small town to visit a government agent. When the world ended he was one of the survivors, but the despair took him and he took the cyanide he had kept on himself for emergency situations. Whose story do you want to know?”
Atsushi looks at the dead, looking at him with wide eyes full of fear and twisted faces, and looks back at the man.
“I think I’ve had enough of dead tales. What’s your story?”
The man blinks, taken aback, “I’m Edogawa Ranpo. I was in this shop when the world ended, and everyone in the shop died. I didn’t want to go out. I didn’t know if I could survive.”
His voice makes him look younger than he looks, and when his voice breaks at the end of the sentence, his facade of a confident man slips and Atsushi only sees a lost kid, a man who has no future and no plan, and is afraid of stepping outside, tired of the stories he sees all day and tired of the red glow in the darkness.
“There are survivors outside, forming groups. I’m sure you’d find a place to fit in.”
“What are the odds of finding them before dying though?”
“Shouldn’t you find it out by yourself? Anything is possible after all.” Ranpo casts him a weird look but says nothing. When the silence prolongs, Atsushi stands up and starts cleaning up as a gesture of gratitude toward the man who saved him from starvation. He takes the corpses outside and piles them neatly, finds a broom and starts sweeping. Ranpo keeps looking at him, like he’s an enigma and he has to solve it. Then he suddenly gets up and goes to the door, pushes it open and then looks at Atsushi over his shoulder, a boyish grin on his face.
“I think I might step outside for a while,” he says, his tone nonchalant but his eyes shining brightly, “would you mind taking care of this shop for me? I need to find a friend.”
Life is nothing but a gamble. I throw a dice, will I live tomorrow or will I die?
Atsushi stops sweeping and bites his tongue, Dazai’s sound so loud and clear in his mind that he was sure if he turns around he will see him, laughing with hollow eyes and his fingers tapping at his chin, mimicking a thoughtful expression.
“Tell me one thing before you leave,” Atsushi says, unable to stop the words, “What’s the story of a man who seeks death and runs away from it? A man who tries to die but never tries too hard?”
“I don’t know,” Ranpo answers easily, “isn’t it the story you should find out by yourself?”
And leaves the shop as the black sun casts his long shadow on the shop’s rusty tiles, and Atsushi allows himself to smile.
May our paths cross again, Atsushi-kun.
And so he waits.
IV. Lice
The days stumble by and the agitation grows.
“Give me your food,” a man starts screaming and Atsushi looks from the window, careful to hide in the shadows. The shouting man holds a gun in his shaky hands, pointing them to a young boy. The boy looks at the man, bewildered.
“I saw your base,” the man shouts, the gun shaking dangerously in his hand, “you have too much food! We’re starving here! Give me your food, don’t make me shoot you!”
The boy looks at the gun and the man’s frantic eyes, and starts running. The man closes his eyes and shoots, and the boy falls to the ground. Atsushi covers his mouth and sits on the ground, trying to stay quiet and forget the image that has burned in his memory.
The blue soil turns red by blood dripping on it.
“Give me your daughter and I’ll support you,” a man with fuzzy white hair kicks another man who’s groveling in front of him, “this applies to all of you! I have food, just pledge your loyalty to me and you shall never be afraid of feeling hunger ever again.”
Dead faces, frozen in fear, look at the disarray between the livings.
The black sun glares down.
Atsushi stays inside, waiting for Ranpo to come back and retrieve the neatly kept store. But days go by and no one comes. With the massacre happening outside, Atsushi is immensely grateful for the store’s insignificance and bland looks, that attracts no one.
I wonder what he’s doing.
The bells at the door chimes and Atsushi looks up from where he was checking the date of the supplies. He sees a young man, dressed in black, covering his mouth with a bloodied hand, coughs spilling out.
“Hey, do you need help?” Atsushi gets up and scoots over, extending a hand, “I can help-”
A cold feeling in his arm cuts him off, and Atsushi looks down and sees a black dagger, deep inside his arm. Numbness and panic spreads fast in his body, his mind goes a hundred miles per hour, I’m stabbed, I’m stabbed, I’m-
“I was right,” the man says coolly, and pulls the dagger out of Atsushi’s arm and Atsushi’s breath hitches from the pain and shock, “this shop is a good place.”
“What do you want,” Atsushi grits out, hand clutching his wound tightly to stop the bleeding.
“I want you dead,” the man answers, but when he attacks with dagger Atsushi is quick to dodge and throw a ramen cup in the man’s face. This surprises the man, and Atsushi uses the opportunity to hide behind counter and find something, anything that’d work as a weapon. The wound starts throbbing and Atsushi feels the telltale prickles of mind-numbing pain. The man attacks the counter and punches its wooden, fragile surface. It breaks and Atsushi dodges another punch, this time aimed for his head.
I won’t die.
His hand clasps around a body spray and he sprays it in the man’s face. the man growls and covers his eyes, the dagger falling from his hand. Atsushi kicks it to the furthest corner of the shop, but the man grabs Atsushi’s wounded arm and digs his fingers painfully. Atsushi shouts from the pain and his body goes slack.
“Stop resisting,” he says and looks at Atsushi with blood-shot eyes, reminding him of the red sky and the black sun.
“Why are you doing this?” Atsushi gasps out, as he watches his own blood dripping from the man’s finger, “I’ve done nothing.”
“You’re an idiot if you think this is personal,” the man answers coldly, “men are lice. We feed on human blood, sucking them out of their life sources in order to ensure our own lives. Kindness is just an altered form of this parasite life- after all, we do things to earn something.”
“You’re wrong,” Atsushi tries to struggle but the man grips his arm with more force and Atsushi screams as blood drips on the floor he has swept not long ago.
“The ones who think otherwise are fools, just like you,” the man yanks Atsushi’s arm and grips his hair, “and will be eliminated in wildlife.”
“Oh, Akutagawa-kun, what a pleasant surprise,” a silky voice smoothes over from the door, and the man jerks his hand back as if it’s burned. Atsushi collapses on the ground, clutching his bloodied arm and looking up.
“Dazai-san,” Akutagawa snarls, shoulders tense like a cornered animal.
“Hey, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai smiles at Atsushi and Atsushi feels relief washing him over, “sorry I’m late. I was searching for some water supplies.”
“This shop is yours?” Akutagawa asks.
“Yes,” Dazai and Atsushi answer simultaneously, one calm and the other frantic.
“How’s your sister doing, by the way?” Dazai walks around calmly, seemingly unaware of Akutagawa’s increasing unease and tension, “tell Gin-chan that I said hi.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” Akutagawa hisses and Dazai smiles, a smile that made Atsushi’s blood run cold.
“Wild and untamed as always,” he coos, like Akutagawa is a small baby that makes stupid mistakes, and Atsushi wants him to stop, want him to ask Akutagawa to leave and want him to stop smiling with empty wide eyes, “it’s always nice to know that an Akutagawa would never change.”
“You-” Akutagawa growls but Atsushi cuts him off, feeling light-headed from loss of blood and near tears.
“Dazai-san,” and Dazai’s eyes snap back at him, like he’s snapped out a trance and worry flickers in his eyes, and Atsushi staggers toward him, “please.”
Please stop, and Dazai hears his quiet plea.
“I’d like you to leave this store now,” he says, his tone smooth and silky like honey, “and don’t tell mafia about us.” and before Akutagawa has the chance to protest, raises his hand to shush him, his bandages glowing white, “you do remember that you owe me, right?”
Akutagawa recoils and coughs in his hand, dark blood mixing with Atsushi’s blood on his hand. He looks up at them one more time, and leaves the store without any words. When he’s out of sight, Atsushi lets himself fall from relief, his knees hitting the cold tiles loudly. Dazai sits next to him and examines his arm, clicking his tongue lightly when he sees the damage. Atsushi looks at him and gives him a timid smile.
“Thanks for saving me, I was sure that was the end.”
“You were lucky,” Dazai says lightly, as he takes out a bandage roll from his pocket and tears Atsushi’s sleeve open, “that I was around when I heard the crash.”
Atsushi hums and leans on Dazai, feeling the dizziness taking him over. Dazai finishes bandaging him up and stands up, much to Atsushi’s displeasure, and moves Atsushi to a lying position. He comes back with a small orange juice, and forces him to drink it. When he tries to get up again, Atsushi grabs his sleeve.
“Stay,” he says with a ridiculously small voice, and blames it on his blood loss. Dazai looks at him and gives him a small smile, patting Atsushi’s head.
“I’ll stay,” he says, and Atsushi smiles, and before blackness takes him away, he hears a soft murmur, between the line of reality and dreams.
“I'll stay.”
And Atsushi closes his eyes.
V. Flies
There are other survivors, along with some humans.
co*ckroaches rule over the corpses, getting bigger and fatter since they are the only ones in the food chain. A new fly appears as well, ovipositing the corpses with white round eggs, and purple worms come out of them and feed on corpses, and turn into violet flies that are like shiny lights in the sky as they attack another corpse.
Atsushi needs new shoes.
Nothing can touch the soil except for the insects without breaking into painful boils and holes have appeared on Atsushi’s already worn-out shoes, so he tries to find another pair of shoes.
“‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here?’ ” Dazai reads aloud from a worn-out book in his hand, his voice clear and echoing in the silent world, yet people spare him no look. Only a man with yellow hair and ponytails casts him a pointed look while he looks over corpses and writes down stuff in a small notebook. Atsushi takes off a young boy’s shoes. They don’t fit.
“‘That depends a good deal on where you want to go,'said the Cat.”
Dazai has stayed with him since the accident with Akutagawa, saying that two people can protect the store better than one. Atsushi doesn’t complain; Dazai fills the silence with humming songs and crazy ideas about suicide, and manages to make Atsushi laugh at his jokes. Atsushi is secretly grateful to have him around, even though he acts exasperated when Dazai becomes unbearably childish.
Atsushi takes off another shoe and tries it. It’s too big.
“‘I don’t care where-,’ said Alice.”
Too small.
“‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk,’said the Cat.”
Not comfortable.
“‘-as long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation.”
Worn out.
“'Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat,‘if you only walk long enough.'”
“Why is this happening?” Atsushi thinks aloud, looking at the bruised feet of dead and nails turning green. Dazai looks up from his book and stares at the red sky and the deep black clouds forming dark shapes.
“There was a leak,” he says, and looks back at Atsushi, “several governments were working on a biohazard bomb. Something that’d destroy a whole town, with less chemical after-effects like nuclear bombs. They wanted something to attack the specific genes of human beings, something they could program and control.”
The sun glares back at them, hovering in the sky.
“It was an international affair, a shared sin. They tried to use one system for all underground faculties, keeping track of each other’s work, worried that one would eventually backstab them. But a linked system has its own weaknesses, such as a small leak would turn into a giant lake. One mistake, and suddenly all of the faculties were unable to control the dangerous chemicals. One mistake, and the world ended.”
“So why are we alive?” Atsushi doesn’t ask how Dazai knows all of this, doesn’t doubt his words and doesn’t question his sanity as he looks at the red sky reflecting in Dazai’s eyes, staring into something that’s out of Atsushi’s reach, out of Atsushi’s mind.
“Apparently this chemical doesn’t effect on people who lack or have an extra gene- it’s all assumption up to now, since people are more concerned about starvation than scientific causes of this curse.”
He turns to fully look at Atsushi, eyes blank and scary, and Atsushi is unable to move.
“But if you ask me, we’re just plain unfortunate.”
“Excuse me,” Atsushi looks up to see the blond haired man hovering over them, his look stern as he adjusts the cracked glasses on his nose, “your rather loud musing might be distracting to the others, so I’d like to ask you to stop.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dazai closes the book, smirking at the man, “I didn’t notice we were in a library?”
The man splutters indignantly and Atsushi decides to help the poor man who has been searching around the corpses for so long.
“Can you check the store, Dazai-san?”
Dazai stands up and leaves whistling, ignoring the withering looks of the man.
“I’m sorry,” Atsushi apologizes even though he doesn’t know why.
“It’s okay,” the man sighs and looks at Atsushi, noticing the abandoned shoes around him, “do you need shoes? What size are your feet?”
He takes Atsushi to a corpse with same physiques as him, and Atsushi is delighted when the shoes finally fit him and he sighs from relief.
“How did you know?”
“I’ve been trying to organize my knowledge,” the man said, “trying to write any basic knowledge about this world. I know where to find things and how to avoid them. You need these kinds of things in order to survive in this situation, kid.”
“Thank you.”
The man’s stern eyes soften, and he sighs and rubs his eyes, looking old and tired.
“it’s - it’s nothing kid. Just take care, okay? There are messed up people out there. You said that you have a store, right? That’s what they’re looking for. They want food and water to gain more power. They have been attacking all of the stores and houses. They’ll find yours as well.”
The sky glows red. Atsushi looks at the black clouds.
men are lice. We feed on human blood, sucking them out of their life sources in order to ensure our own lives.
“I know. I mean, I have been attacked.”
The man looks at him with curiosity and worry, and pulls out his notebook, writing down something quickly.
“They’ll probably attack you again, they’re not one for accepting failure. Let me give you some advice, kid. Avoid the Flies.”
“Flies?”
“The mafia. The main storage is in their hands and people are joining them for that. Their power is growing more and more. They tattoo a violet fly just beneath their ear, so look out for them. They’re ruthless and quick, don’t let them in the store. Cover up the windows, never light anything in the night, and keep the food and stuff in the back rooms or under the tiles. Keep a small weapon on yourself or nearby. The other man that was with you, he knows too much. Tell him to be more careful of where he’s talking aloud. Be aware of everything. No one here is your friend, kid.”
“Thank you,” Atsushi said, not knowing what to say or how to thank the man more properly. The man gives him a small smile, and takes out a paper out of his notebook, writes something on it and gives it to Atsushi. Atsushi looks at the black ink sprawled on the white paper.
Kunikida Doppo, Central Library, it reads, and Atsushi looks up at him.
“If you ever needed me,” Kunikida says, “you know where to find me.”
Atsushi is still staring at the paper when Kunikida leaves, then he folds it neatly and keeps it in his pocket, near his heart, so he’d never forget his kindness.
The sky turns dark red.
VI. Murrain
It happens just as everyone has predicted it.
The food supplies end, the stored foods are either rotten or in mafia’s territory. The cries of hunger and pleads for mercy and food fill the heavy silence of the town like a hum, but doesn’t manage to break it fully as people start dying from starvation. The co*ckroaches which feast on the corpses become food, but the flies are poisonous, glaring in the dark sky with their shiny wings.
Atsushi looks at the sunken cheeks and boney corpses and helplessness swallows him.
“Don’t give food to anyone,” Dazai tells Atsushi whenever he sees the look on his face, warning him of their own scarce supplies.
“They just want food.”
“We want food too.”
Somewhere in the middle of the apocalypse, Dazai and Atsushi have become one. Things are no longer Dazai’s orAtsushi’s, but rather theirs, ours. Atsushi won’t admit it aloud, but he likes the sounds of it.
“If you give food to one beggar, the others will come here too, like flies. I know how you feel, but we should put ourselves ahead of the others, till we find another source of food and water.”
As much as Atsushi is reluctant, he knows that Dazai’s logic is the best course of action to survive. So he just keeps track of their own food, and tries not to look out of the window so often, tries to drown the noises of the tortured by humming the song he has heard from Dazai.
Dazai often leaves him alone, asks him to take care of the store while he takes care of things outside, and never quite answers Atsushi’s questions about it. He usually comes when the black sun is setting and the world is turning pitch black, his smile tired and his shoulders tense, and Atsushi feels worry bubbling in his chest as he watches the white bandages turning red and black from the blood.
It’s early morning when he wakes up from a banging sound, his heart racing and hand reaching out for a small dagger Dazai has given to him. He gets up slowly, expecting to see the Flies coming for them, but instead, a young thin boy with bright yellow hair and a brighter smile waves at him and signs him to stay quiet. Atsushi grips the dagger tighter.
“Show me your ear,” he whispers and the boy tucks a strand of golden hair behind his ear.
No tattoo.
Atsushi sighs, but doesn’t put away the dagger. With the new wave of hunger, anyone can be an enemy, anyone can be desperate enough to kill men and gain food. A loud bang makes both of them jump, and the boy looks frantic. Atsushi peaks out of the window and sees a man, slim and dressed in all black, wielding a katana and kicking the corpses. Atsushi makes up his mind.
“Come,” he whispers and pulls the boy’s hand, to a small air duct entrance he found some days ago, and opens it, “you can hide in here. Don’t move, don’t make a sound.”
The boy stares at him with wide eyes but gets in the narrow place, and Atsushi puts a wooden block over it. He hides in the shadows, his dagger ready in his hand, and waits with bated breath.
The door opens slowly.
The man looks like a black co*ckroach, Atsushi thinks to himself as he watches him slowly search around the small store, looking for his bait, for a small slip and a small breath. His katana reflects the red glow of the sky, and Atsushi looks at the filthy blood dripping off the blade.
The man stays still for a few seconds, and Atsushi doesn’t dare to breathe or move. Then he huffs and leaves the store, not closing the door.
He’s still waiting for you to move, Dazai’s whisper echos in Atsushi’s head. He counts to ten, and backward, and again, and again, till the red glow becomes dimmer and darker and Atsushi gains the courage to move his limbs again.
A quick look at the door and outside confirms that there is no one outside, waiting for them, and he quickly closes the door and moves to the air duct, worried that something has happened to the boy. Atsushi puts the wooden block away.
“Sorry, I had to make su-”
The young boy is unconscious.
Atsushi, panicking, pulls him outside of the duct and checks his vitals. His breathing is shallow and ragged and his heart pulses weakly, and his hands are ice cold. Atsushi takes out his futon, and puts the boy in it, hoping that the blanket would warm him up.
The boy wakes up after Atsushi forces him to drink a sweetened apple juice, his eyelashes fluttering against his dusty cheeks. Atsushi brings him a can of sweet red bean paste, and looks over other foods to find something that’d help the boy.
“Thank you,” the boy says, with a genuinely grateful smile, and Atsushi can’t help but smile back at him. He looks remorsefully at a frozen package of meat. He has kept it hidden and safe so he could use it for a special occasion, cooking it the way Dazai likes, and maybe he could see another of Dazai’s rare smiles, the ones that reach his eyes.
Well, no use crying over spilled milk, he thinks as he puts the meat in a pot over the small kitchen gas Dazai had found and brought to the store, and searches for other things to add. Some green peas, a package of frozen vegetables, and it’s all set. He pours a bowl for a boy and takes it to him. He gratefully digs in and Atsushi is reminded of himself, when he first came to this shop.
“My name is Miyazawa Kenji,” he tells Atsushi between swallowing bits and pieces, “I used to live in a village near the town. One day, I woke up, and everyone was dead, including our vegetables and our caws. Only one of my sisters survived, but she is deathly sick. I came to town to find help, but I found it in shackles as well. I have been walking for days, seeking medicine and food. Thanks for taking me in. I shall leave soon.”
“You can stay here till you feel better,” Atsushi tells him, heart clenching at his sad story, “you can use my futon, and I’ll share the other one. You can’t go out like this.”
Kenji smiles at him and says nothing.
“Do you live with someone else?” he asks as he watches Atsushi sweeping the floor and checking out of the window several times.
“Yes, but I doubt he’d come for tonight,” Atsushi says, looking at the sky turning dimmer and darker, and whispers, “I hope he’s safe.”
Kenji hums.
“I hope my sister is still alive,” he whispers as well, and Atsushi wants to cry all of a sudden.
“This is not fair,” he says, “this is not fair at all. There’s no future, or if it is, there’s no promise that we can make it.”
“My mother used to say that a good rain can clean up everything,” Kanji says, and looks at Atsushi with a sad, bright smile, “I know it seems scary, and dark, and no one is helping us, but whenever I’m too tired, I look at the dark clouds that are forming. There’s rain coming, I can feel it. and I hope that a good rain will indeed wash everything away; the blood, the dead, the poison and the pain.”
Atsushi lays down in Dazai’s futon as the boy falls asleep and tosses and turns, not because of the familiar yet unfamiliar smell of the man, and not because of Kenji’s soft sighs in his sleep, but because of the promise of the rain.
Atsushi wakes up to an empty futon, spare from a paper flower on the pillow, the only thing left from the bright joyful presence. He frantically puts his shoes on and runs outside, looking for Kenji, calling him in the dead silence. No one answers back, and he comes back to store when the sun is setting, and Dazai is back and looks at him with worry, but doesn’t say anything as Atsushi keeps the futon open and unoccupied and slips in Dazai’s futon when they’re about to sleep, and doesn’t say anything when he notices the paper flower that Atsushi keeps with care.
Not everything needs to be said, after all.
VII. Boils
The soil is poison.
The soil that used to be the symbol of nourishing, of life and birth has now become a cruel reminder of death and disease. Anything that it touches receives an illness in shape of painful boils that’d spread over the body. The boils are highly contagious, moving people to start quarantining the sick ones and burning the corpses, trying to keep away from the disease.
But soon the wind begins, beckoning a sand storm so terrible, anyone unfortunate enough to stay out during the storm dies a horrible, painful death.
Atsushi smiles more than before.
He has never realized how rarely he used to smile till he starts smiling more and more, letting himself laugh at Dazai’s jokes and weird antics, and lets himself smile when warm silence falls upon them, a comfortable blanket that keeps them safe from the cold, dark silence of the outside.
Dazai smiles less that when Atsushi first met him, but it makes Atsushi feel better, because now Dazai’s smiles are smaller, less fake, and sometimes they reach his brown eyes, and Atsushi can’t help but feel giddy about it.
Atsushi looks at the deep blue clouds in the horizon and says, “a storm is coming.”
Dazai hums and resumes half-napping on the window sill as Atsushi covers the slight holes and cracks on the glass. They can’t afford the sand coming inside and spreading the illness in their safe haven. He looks out of the window and sees people walking around aimlessly, and corpses staring up at the red sky and the weird looking clouds.
“I want to run away,” Atsushi says and Dazai snorts with closed eyes.
“To where?”
“To a cliff, outside the town. Build a small house and live there.”
“Does it make any difference? There’s no running away from the apocalypse.”
“It’d be nice to be away from all of these corpses,” Atsushi wistfully says, and looks at Dazai and his half-lidded eyes, “and there’d be no Flies or sicknesses.”
“It’d be nice,” Dazai smiles slightly, “will you let me in your house?”
“If you promise that you’d help me and not laze around like now,” Atsushi says in mock exasperation and puffs up his cheeks, his hands on his hips in a meek gesture of anger and stares down at Dazai. Dazai chuckles, and sits up, and leans in to ruffle Atsushi’s hair, but his gesture turns into something more intimate and delicate as he tucks Atsushi’s long strand behind his ear, and Atsushi’s heart stutters in his chest, his body frozen.
And suddenly there are lips against his own, chapped and slightly cold, leaving a chaste butterfly kiss against his lips.
Atsushi flinches and the moment is gone as fast as it came.
“What- I’m-” Atsushi stutters and Dazai leans back casually, eyes and face carefully blank, and he gives a hollow laugh.
“Don’t think about it too much,” he says, and he stands up, walking toward the door and Atsushi’s stomach drops.
“Dazai-san,” He says, willing his heart to calm down and his body to move.
“Sorry for stealing your first kiss,” is the only thing that Dazai says and he leaves.
It breaks the haze Atsushi was in it, but when he runs outside he finds no trace of Dazai.
“Dazai!” he shouts and shouts, hoping for an answer, but none comes. The dead look at him with judgmental silence as tears run down his face and his hands grab the root of his hair, what have I done, what have I done, and when he feels the telltale prickles on his skin, he knows that the storm is about to begin. He gets to the store just before the storm begins and he stays up all the night, listening to the sound of the sand against the window, and thinking about Dazai and the butterfly kiss against his lips.
The storm goes on for days, and each day Atsushi wakes up in an empty futon, his heart clenching and his throat tightening. No one would be able to survive the storm and the boils, but he hopes that Dazai has found shelter and is safe.
Please be safe.
After five days, Atsushi wakes up not the sound of the windows rattling or the sands, but to the sound of fire. something is on fire, he gets up in a panic and runs outside, only to find a woman, fully clothed, staring at what seems to be a burning pile of corpses. She catches Atsushi’s eyes and waves a hand lazily.
“The best way to stop the boils from spreading is to burn the corpses,” she tells Atsushi even though he didn’t ask, “I have been doing this in different areas. better safe than sorry, right?”
“Did you see a man with brown hair and eyes, and a worn-out trench coat?” Atsushi tires to keep the desperation out of his voice but fails, “he has bandages all over his body. I haven’t seen him since the storm.”
“I haven’t seen him between the corpses, if that’s what you’re asking me, kid,” she quirks an eyebrow and Atsushi doesn’t try to hide his sigh, from both relief and disappointment.
“You seem tired,” he offers shyly, “do you want to come in and drink something?”
The woman looks him over, and gives him an unfriendly toothy grin, “just so you know, I’m fully armed and ready to kill.”
“I mean no harm,” he says, slightly offended, “you just seem tired and I don’t think walking in heels all the day is a comfortable experience.”
The woman throws her head back and actually laughs, “you’ll get used to it, believe me. Okay, I guess I don’t mind a drink and a good company.”
Inside the store, she takes off her gloves and looks over everything curiously as Atsushi tries to find her a drink.
“A beer would suffice,” she tells and sprawls on the ground, stretching her legs and sighing contently, “you have found yourself a nice cozy thing, kid.”
“Someone left it in my hands to take care of it till he comes back, and I’m not a kid.”
“You’re a kid, because you let a fully armed woman in your store,” she smirks, “I can easily kill you and take away all of your foods.”
“You won’t,” Atsushi answers, “I can feel it.”
The woman looks at him, and shrugs.
“You’re right, I won’t,” she says, “but can you say it with this much confidence about others? This world is not a joke or a story. There are people who can eat you alive.”
“But you’re not one of them.”
“You’re sassy,” the woman opens the beer and drinks from it, “I like it. Maybe you’re not so naive after all. But you should learn to take something in return of anything you give.”
After all, we do things to earn something.
“So, like a trade?”
The woman hums and finishes her beer.
“Tell me your story.”
The woman raises an eyebrow to that, but shrugs.
“I’m Yosano Akiko. I used to be a doctor, and now I travel around and see if anyone needs any help, or if I’m of any use to them. I get things instead of payments, food, a place to sleep, anything.” she looks at him, “it’s not the exciting story you were expecting, was it?”
“All of the stories are enticing,” Atsushi says to her, and she hums.
“What will you get for that pack of cigarettes? I’ve been yearning for a good smoke. Meds? Pills? I have good stuff.”
Atsushi looks at the outside, still hoping for Dazai to casually open the door and step inside, maybe chiding Atsushi for letting a stranger in, but the only thing he sees is the vast red sky and the black sun, and the ashes of the dead in the air.
“Do you have bandages?” Atsushi asks and Yosano brings out rolls of bandages from her bag, along with a disinfectant, and puts them in front of her. Atsushi picks up one roll, and looks at it.
“I can teach you,” Yosano offers, and gives him a small smile, “a thank you for letting me in and rest.”
And the day rolls in by Atsushi practicing bandaging Yosano’s arm, and Yosano tells him about disinfecting wounds and taking care of bleeding ones, and when Atsushi start taking notes she puts a hand over his.
“Here, have this,” she takes out a notebook out of her bag, full of notes and scribbles, “I used to take notes about all of this stuff. Now that I know them by heart, I don’t need it anymore. So, you can have it.”
“I don’t think I can pay you in return,” Atsushi hesitates, but Yosano pushes the notebook toward him.
“Maybe next time I was around, you can treat me to another beer,” she smiles and Atsushi smiles back, chest feeling lighter.
Yosano leaves when the fire dies and the corpses turn into gray ashes, floating around the people who gained enough courage to crawl out of their holes, searching for food and anything valuable.
“Take care,” she says to Atsushi and Atsushi clutches the notebook to his chest, and nods. Yosano ruffles his hair and leaves, a bizarre sight with her heels and straight-back pose, between the people who were either dead or close to being one.
Atsushi returns to the store, and puts the bandages in a safe corner.
Please come back.
VIII. Hail
The clouds become larger and darker.
They cover the red sky like big black splotches, and the familiar red glow turns into dim grey, and people look up at the clouds, fear and anticipation visible in their eyes. It’s evil, some whisper, those who have lost all of their faith in life and nature. It’s a blessing, some whisper, those who still reach out for the tiniest glow of hope.
Atsushi searches for Dazai.
He still hasn’t come back, and each passing day leaves a more bitter taste in his mouth. He tosses and turns in the futon they used to share and almost cries when it stops smelling like Dazai, and thinks about possibilities, and the chances of Dazai being safe and sound.
The chances of him, coming back.
He was sweeping the floor and trying to distract himself, when a loud thunder makes him jump. He looks at outside, at the dark clouds, and the brief flash of light. Another thunder roars, and a kid screams.
It starts to rain, and Atsushi eagerly leans to the window to watch it better. The people who were searching the corpses are now trying to find a shelter for a few hours. Something big falls on the ground and a kid shrieks. Atsushi tries to find a better angle to watch the events unfolding, when he feels something coming and dodges unconsciously.
Above him, the window shatters into one hundred pieces.
It’s not rain, Atsushi looks at the glass shards and the round solid thing that broke it, big as his palm, and feels the panic rising inside, it’s hail.
He tries to shield his head from pouring hails and the glass shards as a new wave of hail starts shattering them and runs to the counter. He trips on a rather large one pellet of hail and falls on the ground, cutting himself on a glass shard. He doesn’t spend time taking it out, he just gets up and runs, and once he’s behind the counter he realizes that he has been clutching his bloodied hand. He takes out the shard carefully, and grips it and waits till the bleeding stops. Outside, the screams rise and Atsushi can hear the sound of hails crashing the ground and the corpses and the shelters, as people try to hide away.
Another thunder roars, and Atsushi covers his ears, body shaking from all of the noises and crashes and screams.
“It’s fine,” he shouts, and tries to drown the noises, “it’s fine.”
The hail doesn’t stop for hours, and when it does, it takes Atsushi another hour to move his sore, shaky muscles. When he peeks from behind the counter, he just realizes the severity of the damage done to the store.
The windows are shattered, and there are huge holes in the wooden chair he put next. A shelf is broken as well, spilling the clothes Atsushi had neatly put in them. The ground is full of broken shards and melting hails as well.
Atsushi doesn’t dare to look outside when he hears the wails.
Instead, he takes out the broom out of the closet and starts cleaning up, willing his hands to stop shaking and his mind to stop jumbling around, always reaching a certain brunette and his whereabouts.
“It’s fine,” he says to himself and wills it to be true.
He gathers all of the pieces and puts them outside, decidedly ignoring the blood on the ground. He tries to talk himself loudly to distract himself from tiny sobs and the crunching noises.
“I have to do something about the window,” he says, “the night is too cold to spend it with fresh air. Also, there’s always the problem of sand storms and this foul smell is not tolerable. Not to mention that our security and privacy will be totally ruined.”
Dazai smiles in his mind and leans his chin to his hand, and what can you do about it?
“I don’t think I can do anything alone, so I’ll wait for replacing the glass. But we-” he falters, “I can cover it up with a blanket for now.”
“It’d work,” says a voice right next to him and Atsushi jumps, his hand reaching his dagger on instinct. The owner of the voice raises his hands and gives him a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, I thought you’re talking to me,” he says and tucks his long bangs behind his ear, showing the clear skin beneath his ear. Atsushi puts away his dagger and flushes from embarrassment.
“Sorry,” he says, “I was trying to drown the sounds around me.”
“It’s understandable,” the boy gives him an easy smile and Atsushi takes his appearance in. The boy is around his age, maybe younger, with faded dyed red hair and clothes that are bigger than his size. Beneath his chin, there’s a scar running on his neck and under his collar, and Atsushi’s eyes linger on it.
“A nasty Fly gave it to me,” the boy catches his eyes and smiles, “do you need help?”
“I can’t pay you,” Atsushi’s mouth runs dry and he tries not to think about how much of their- hissupply might be ruined by the sudden strong hail.
“I won’t place a high price,” the boy rubs the back of his neck, “listen, you just seem really lonely and this job is really not fitted for one person. Let me help you.”
Atsushi bites the inside of his cheek, but he knows that the boy is right. He would be able to cover the windows, but it’d take more than the few hours that are left to dusk.
“Thank you,” he says as the boy scoots over and looks at the blankets that Atsushi had kept beneath the counter. They look through them and find one that fits the best, and spend the next hour trying to figure out how to fix it in the place.
“I’m looking for my sister,” the boy says when they finally manage to cover the window and celebrate it with tea, “her name is Tanizaki Naomi, mine is Tanizaki Junichirou. I lost her during a fight with Flies, and but she managed to run away from them. She’s a smart, capable woman, and I’m sure she’ll survive. But I want to find her and make sure, and just be with her again. I have been searching everywhere. I even caught a Fly and tried to gather information from him, but he hadn’t seen her.”
He hands a faded photo to Atsushi. The siblings are standing side by side, hands in hands and huge smiles on their faces. Tanizaki looks younger in the image, without the worry lines and the scars, and his sister looks radiant, with shiny black hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. He hands the photo back, and Tanizaki strokes his sister’s picture affectionately, sorrow visible in the lines of his tight smile.
“In this world,” Tanizaki says, his eyes glued to his sister’s smile and his tone grave, “you’re nothing but a searcher. Searching for power, food, shelter, or someone that’s dear to you.” he looks up at Atsushi, “which one are you searching for, Nakajima-kun?”
Atsushi’s throat tightens.
Chapped lips on his, warm brown eyes and a careless smile. White bandages that turn brown and black from dried blood. An out of tone song, a constant hum.
“I haven’t seen her,” Atsushi says and wills the thoughts away, “but there’s a man- his name is Kunikida Doppo, and he stays around the central library. He must know something.”
Tanizaki smiles gratefully, and stands up.
“That's my price.”
He leaves and Atsushi is left with the pressuring silence once more, mind full of buzzing questions. He finds Tanizaki siblings' photo on the counter when he is about to call it a night, and tucks it carefully next to Kenji’s paper flower.
What are you searching for, Dazai-san?
Sleep doesn’t come easily that night.
IX. Locusts
Things start settling down.
People start getting used to the red sky, the black sun, and the blue soil. They start getting used to the lack of food, the boils, and the glowing flies that are the only light in the deep of the dark.
Atsushi can’t get used to loneliness.
He can’t help but stare out of the window, hoping for a familiar face and a familiar voice. He keeps the store neat and tidy to distract himself from his thoughts, wandering everywhere and fearing everything.
The doorbell chimes. Atsushi looks up and sees a man with a crooked nose and a broken arm.
“Please,” the man whispers and falls on the ground, “help me!”
Atsushi runs to him, his mind running a hundred mile per hours, “Sir, what’s-”
A glowing purple tattoo, right beneath his ear.
Atsushi jumps back just in time to avoid the man’s hand, coming to grip his heel. His hand reaches forthe dagger that's not on him and he curses silently. his eyes widen as the man snaps his fingers and five other men enter the store as well.
“Catch him,” he drawls lazily, and two of the men move toward Atsushi.
Stay calm, stay focused.
He walks backwards to the counter, and hopes that his fear is showing on his face as well. His back hits the wooden counter, and he puts a shaky hand on it.
“There’s nowhere to hide boy,” the first man says, lighting a cigarette, “give up.”
The man’s hand grips his shoulder.
Now.
Atsushi pulls out the spray he had hidden just beneath the broken part of the counter after Akutagawa’s attack, and sprays it in the man’s face. The man releases Atsushi’s shoulder with a shout and covers his eyes. The other man lunges at him but Atsushi throws the spray can at him and tries to run behind the counter when two other men grab his hands painfully and pull him back. One of them pulls out a pocket knife out of his jacket, and holds it close to Atsushi’s throat.
“Listen carefully, kid,” the man snarls, “this knife is poisonous. A simple cut and you’ll be dead. So stop pulling out stunts, and be obedient. Got it?”
Atsushi grits his teeth and refuses to say. The man grabs his chin and makes eye contact with him.
“Say yes sir,” he says.
Atsushi struggles in their hands, but when the cold blade is pressed against his throat more forcefully he relents.
“Yes, sir,” he says and tries not to think about the way the blade feels against his throat when he gulps.
The first man starts walking in the store and looking over everything.
“Where did you hide the food?”
Atsushi doesn’t answer. The man who’s holding him twists his arm painfully and he bites his lip to stop himself from shouting.
“This is a nice place,” the first man says appreciatively, “the boss would be happy to add this place to our base. After we forced the information out of him, we can hand him over to the boss as well. I’ve heard that he’s into kids, young flesh or something like that.”
They all snicker, and Atsushi feels the blood rushing to his ear, his heart beating loudly.
“We’ll get a huge prize, just wait and see.”
A loud bang makes all of them jump, and the man who’s holding Atsushi presses the blade more forcefully to his throat. The store door opens as the men are ready to attack, and a man with a bloodied hole on his forehead and dim eyes fall on the ground. Behind him, there’s familiar figure and Atsushi feels like sobbing out of relief, a strong wave of deja vu washing over him.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dazai gives a toothy grin, “and It’d be nice if you could release my friend over there.”
“Bastard, you killed Ito!” one of the men shouts as Dazai gracelessly kicks the corpse and enters the store.
“Stop moving!” the first man says, “or we’ll kill your friend right there.”
Dazai taps his finger on his chin, thinking and walking toward them. There’s a gun dangling from his other hand, and Atsushi realizes that the other men are too afraid of him to attack.
“Let’s imagine that I do as you said,” Dazai says, tone light and playful, and Atsushi can feel the hand that’s holding the knife on his throat shaking, “I surrender, and put my gun away. You tie me up, and take over the store. You don’t need us anymore, so you’ll get rid of both of us. Sorry, I feel like I’m holding the winning cards now and it’d be wasteful if I fold instead of call.”
“I know you,” the first man says, “you’re the rat that has been stealing our resources.”
Dazai shrugs, and taps on his chin, “guilty as charged.”
Two taps. Be ready.
“The boss will double the prize if we take you to him,” the man says, greed dripping from his words, and Dazai’s eyes darken, “change of plans. Kill the boy, take this one.”
One tap. Attack.
Atsushi uses the suspension that was made by the sudden change of order and headbutts his captor who has lowered his knife. The man rears back, covering his chin and Atsushi kicks the knife out of his hand, aware of Dazai doing the same with the men around him. Another man attacks him, this time a young boy with frightened eyes and shaky hands. He blindly moves his knife around, with no aim and care, frantic and desperate.
He doesn’t want to be here.
“You don’t have to do this,” Atsushi tells the boy and dodges another attack. The boy doesn’t react, he just breathes harshly and shakily, and Atsushi tries to grab his wrist or his shoulder, to snap him out of it. The boy sees Atsushi’s hand stretching toward him, and flinches, eyes wild and afraid, and they both go still when the boy’s knife gets caught in something.
Atsushi’s palm is bleeding.
“Oh,” Atsushi says, and he falls and falls, in the deep darkness that swallows him.
“Atsushi!” frantic hands caress his cheek and he leans into them, trying to open his eyes but everything is so dark and he’s so heavy and tired, he can barely move.
The door opens and the headmaster comes in, looking at Atsushi with cold blue eyes.
“You thought you can run away, huh?”
Atsushi is lying down in a pool of mud, slowly bleeding away.
“Take him to the basem*nt.”
A pair of hands grab his shoulder and try to make him sit, and he writhes and tries to gasp out words, or anything that’d save him from the pain that’s running inside his veins and it’s cold, cold, hot, cold, hot, hot, cold-
Two fingers open his mouth forcefully and he sobs, not knowing what is happening. The headmaster is looking at him, face devoid of emotions.
“It’s me,” a warm voice whispers in his ear, and Atsushi stops thrashing around, “take this for me, please?”
Something bitter enters his mouth and Atsushi throws his head back, almost throwing up, but a cool glass is pressed against his lips and he drinks from it eagerly.
“Take him to the basem*nt,” the headmaster says again, and several chains come out of the ground and wrap around his wrists and waist, pinning him to the ground.
“Please,” he gasps, “not the basem*nt, not the-”
A kick to his mouth silences him, and he feels blood on his mouth, bitter, bitter, hot, bitter, hot-
“You’re lucky I’m not killing you,” the headmaster says icily, “you worthless piece of garbage, do you know how much time and money was spend on finding your sorry ass?”
Atsushi tries to speak, but his mouth feels heavy. A distant voice is calling him, but he can’t concentrate on it.
“You’re coming back,” and Atsushi is back at his white room, with white walls and a small barred hole near the ceiling, and the locked door and the chains on the wall and Atsushi starts screaming until he’s throwing up, a hand runs back and forth on his back, you’re doing great, you’re gonna be fine , and Atsushi looks up and sees brown, feels brown, and tries to touch the brown.
“Please,” his voice breaks, “come back. I miss you.”
The brown wavers and flickers, and Atsushi tries to grasp at it. A warm hand touches his cheek, and he grasps it with both hands, relishing in the fact that Dazai is here, he’s really here.
“Stay.”
“I’ll stay.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
A small huff of laughter, tired and relieved.
"I'm sorry for running away."
"But you came back."
"I did."
Gentle hands brushing his sweaty bangs away.
“You need to rest now- the antidote has done his job, it’s your body’s turn to heal.”
“Where did they go?”
“I got rid of them.”
A tired hum.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Now sleep.”
And Atsushi closes his eyes.
X. Darkness
The silence is pregnant.
It’s pregnant with the dead’s wishes and dreams, with the regrets and pleads of the living, with nightmares and tears and sweats, with horrors and the unknown, with the constant hum of the flies and the rustle of the co*ckroaches.
Nothing can break it, even death or chaos.
The silence is pregnant with untold secrets.
Atsushi heals from the poison slowly, and heals from the loneliness that has been scarring him for so long. They don’t talk much, Dazai and him, and Atsushi can’t pinpoint if it’s an awkward silence, walking around on eggshells, or if it’s a calm silence, the one that they had reached, when they didn’t need words to communicate. It's probably a mixture of both.
Nights are different though.
It’s no different in silence- it’s even more silent, with no cicadas and the sky is pitch black, no stars and no moon, an unfriendly scene. No one talks at night, no one dares to say a word, but the bodies talk loud for themselves.
Atsushi wakes up from his nightmares with a soft gasp, bolting up and clutching his chest. It takes him some time to remember that he’s in the store and the world has ended, and when two hands sneak around his waist and pull him back to sleep, he doesn’t resist.
Dazai wakes up from his nightmares with no sound and no movement, but Atsushi wakes up anyway, and listens to Dazai’s calculated breathing and his erratic heartbeats, and leans his head to Dazai’s back or chest, trying to offer silent comfort, and they fall back asleep together.
Some nights, they don’t sleep.
The darkness makes Atsushi’s hands bold, roaming and touching and learning, and he finds pleasure in changing Dazai’s bandages with a small candle that casts a warm light on them, and doesn’t miss the way Dazai sighs when he touches the scars, the silent stories that Dazai wouldn’t tell him.
In return, Dazai’s hands love to entangle themselves in Atsushi’s hair, caressing and untangling the knots, as Atsushi lies on the top of his chest and they listen quietly to their shared heartbeats, the only sound in the whole world.
The silence is pregnant with dreams.
Atsushi doesn’t know if he dreams of Dazai’s lips brushing against his or if he’s really kissing him, humming contently in his throat as they lace their fingers and their noses bump and they have to break to breathe, but the kiss stays soft and warm, chaste and beautiful, unlike the world out there, but they could make it beautiful inside, with how Dazai likes to hold him and how Atsushi strokes his head when Dazai puts his head in his lap, with how comfortable they feel around each other when the red turned into black and they create illusions for themselves.
Everything feels possible when they’re in each other's arms.
The silence is pregnant with love.
XI. Death of the Firstborn
Dazai leaves the store for three days, and when he comes back, he looks dead.
There’s blood on his hand and coat and no light in his eyes, and when Atsushi asks him what’s wrong, he doesn’t answer. He goes straight to the futon and lies down, not responding to Atsushi’s touches. Atsushi’s heart tightens when he puts his hand on Dazai’s back and feels a slight tremor, but decides not to bring it up.
He asks gentle questions, but Dazai doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge him, and he curls in himself when Atsushi tries to hug him, so he stops and wonders about what has gone wrong, what had he done wrong.
He’s not searching anymore.
Atsushi wakes up with a start to an empty futon, his mind scrambling back to full awareness as he touches the cold side of the futon and sees the red sky, and something inside him trembles with fear.
Dazai.
Atsushi runs out of the store, barely remembering to wear his shoes. People look at him as he runs and runs, hoping that he’d be there on time, please, please god-
A shaky lamp street, a wobbly chair. Dazai looks old and weary as the scene repeats itself, and once again Atsushi is mesmerized by Dazai’s fingers, quick and nimble, like they have practiced the act of hanging him for ages.
Something inside Atsushi aches.
“Dazai,” he says, out of breath, but Dazai doesn’t turn around.
“Go, Atsushi,” Dazai says, his tone grave and serious, and Atsushi feels sick as he watches him tying the knots. The rope is strong this time, and there’s no melody whistled carelessly to lighten the atmosphere.
“Please, Dazai, listen to me,” Atsushi pleads and takes a step forward.
“I said go.”
“I won’t. I won’t leave you.”
Dazai covers his face with his hand, pushing the palms to his eyes and sighing.
“I can’t do this,” he says, sounding a thousand years old, “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What happened?” Atsushi asks, trying to not sound desperate.
“I knew this day would come,” Dazai continues as if Atsushi hasn’t spoken, “Anything that I don’t want to ever lose is always lost. I don’t want to lose you too.”
“What are you talking about?” Atsushi’s eyes start burning, “I’m right here.”
“But I would, eventually. I lost him too.”
“Who’s he?”
And Dazai starts crying- tears start running down his face and he scrubs them with his sleeve, almost angrily. Atsushi circles his hands around his legs, leaning his head and waiting for Dazai to speak, to spill his heart, to tell his sorrows and his hopes, his dreams and his regrets, to tell his story he tucked away in his heart for so long.
“I just wanted to save him- he was my dearest friend, but I lost him after the apocalypse. He- god, he had five kids. He adopted them. They- they’re all dead. All of them. I saw them. He got into mafia to protect his kids but they killed him and his children. Their- their bodies were still warm, Oda- he died in my hands, and I couldn’t save him. What good am I? A man who can’t even hold the ones who are dear to him? A man who lets everything slip away, unable to save them?”
Tears run down Atsushi’s cheeks.
“You saved me,” he says, and his voice breaks, “doesn’t that count? You saved me from Akutagawa, and then from the Flies, and even before that, I would have died sooner if you hadn’t helped me with everything.”
A tremor runs through Dazai’s body.
“You saved me too,” he says, voice hoarse in painful honesty, “you’re still saving me.”
“I know it’s painful,” Atsushi continues, “life is not fair, and it’ll never be, even if the world ends and begins again, but it’ll pass. Time will pass and your pain will turn into scars. Won’t they?”
“They will,” Dazai’s hand find his ways through Atsushi’s hair, caressing it.
“So please,” Atsushi says, and tries to untighten the knot in his throat, “can you come back home, with me?”
They stay like that for a long time, Dazai’s hands caressing Atsushi’s hair and Atsushi holding Dazai’s legs, till the red in the sky grows dimmer, signing the end of the day. Dazai slowly hops off the chair, his eyes red and tired, tear tracks on his cheeks, and grabs Atsushi’s hand, placing a tender kiss on his knuckles.
“Let’s go home.”
XII. The Beginning
After the world ends, Atsushi makes paper flowers, and Dazai draws stars on the ceiling.
The sky is still red, and the sun is black, but grey clouds begin to form, and Atsushi hopes that things would start change eventually.
I hope that a good rain will indeed wash everything away; the blood, the dead, the poison and the pain.
The first rain is acidic, but it clears away the corpses and reduces the number of co*ckroaches and flies.
Kunikida visits them around the fourth rain, claiming that he just wanted to check the area, but Atsushi is so genuinely happy to see him that he admits that he wanted to see them as well. He brings good news as well, as he has been helping Tanizaki siblings to find each other.
Not yet, but we’re close, he says, and Atsushi folds an orange paper flower for them.
Yosano comes before the seventh rain, doing a medical check-up and getting the beer she had wanted for so long. She and Dazai become good drinking buddies, and Atsushi smiles fondly as he listens to Dazai trying to flirt with him drunkenly.
The tenth rain brings a tinge of blue sky, and Atsushi weeps.
We can move to the cliff you wanted to go, Dazai whispers in his ear during the twenty-fifth rain, as they lay down in the darkness and listen to each other’s heartbeats and the sound of rain, and Atsushi plants a kiss on his lips, you’re where I want to go.
Nature revives itself, Atsushi can hear Kenji’s voice as he looks at the paper flower, growing yellow and wrinkled but he would never throw it away.
I love you, Atsushi says to Dazai when the stars start appearing, and Dazai kisses him.
I love you, Dazai says to Atsushi when the first green appears on the ground, and Atsushi cries.
And so, when the world begins again, Atsushi plants flowers, and Dazai counts the stars.
