Nakahara Chuuya leaned against the willow tree and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze against his skin. It was repetitive and annoying, and could not help but make him feel sad, and he had to ponder as to why he had such feelings over a simple gust of wind.

Then Chuuya realized.

Dazai.

It felt like the wind was calling out his name.

He won't cry, Chuuya told himself. He's stronger than that. It was so long ago.

He just wished Dazai could've unfurled his darkened wings and waited, before he let the wind sweep him away. Away from Chuuya's grasp.

He let the wind carry him home. He could not bare to stay under the weeping willow any longer, so he went back to his flat and locked the door.

He sat down in front of his window and stared at his hands, then back out through the glass, watching the birds fly away, weaving in and out of the clouds.

It would've been so much more pleasantly beautiful if Dazai hadn't shattered before his eyes so horribly.

But now, may he never be broken again.

Chuuya decided it was getting late (although it was barely dark out; in all honesty he was struggling staying conscious), so he decided he'd turn in for the night.

The night was sleepless, then again, Chuuya expected as much.

He could not recall the last time he got decent sleep.

Not that it mattered to him.

The world was impure. Wrecked. Jaded. It was a place that could not be endured by those so fragile. The static of the cruel world had turned Chuuya hard.

He felt as if he had no emotion at all after the incident.

But who was he kidding?

Such a world forced him to grow up far too fast. To fly like birds long before they've seen their day. Forced from the nest to stumble and fall.

But Chuuya was numb to it by now.

Morning came slowly and painfully. Ah, yes, it was that day now.

Every thirteenth of every month, Chuuya went to a certain place. The shame was, of course, in October it fell on a weekday.

Fuck it, he'd skip work. It didn't matter, anyway.

He got dressed quickly, and set off to his destination. The walk was long and painful, but Chuuya felt none of that pain anymore.

He knelt on the ground in front of the engraved stone, removing his hat and holding it to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the tears stream down his face.

He had done this ritual since June. He thought it wouldn't hurt him anymore. But he was wrong.

He remembered the plans he had for Dazai's birthday that year. He was going to let Dazai sleep in as long as he wanted. Sit by his side until he woke, then smother him with kisses and birthday wishes, spend the first half of the day doing whatever Dazai pleased, and spending the night stargazing, like they did as teenagers after a long day and Dazai drunk himself to being super clingy.

He could see the smile on Dazai's face as they'd sit and look up at the stars. He could feel their fingers intertwine. It would've been a day to remember for the both of them.

But alas, now it was too late. Dazai was gone. Six feet under where Chuuya knelt.

His stupid suicide shtick finally succeeded.

The most vivid memory Chuuya possessed was running into the bathroom and seeing a bloodied Dazai in the tub, scrapped of his trenchcoat, his bandages untied, his arms and neck stained crimson. He hurriedly felt for a pulse, although he knew that there would never be one there again.

"Wake up, wake up, wake the fuck up!"

Chuuya kept screaming through his tears. Waiting for his eyes to open and to gasp back to reality, and roll over and see his beloved Osamu sleeping beside him.

But he never woke up.

It was not a nightmare this time.

Beyond the suffering Dazai had known, Chuuya hoped he'd found his way. He hoped he was happy now. He finally got what he wanted most.

Because Chuuya sure as hell wasn't happy with it.

Ascend, may you find no resistance.

Chuuya rested his head against the tombstone and let the tears pour. He thought he was stronger than his feelings, but he was horribly wrong.

And know that you've made such a difference.

Of course, Chuuya already knew that on the day he held Dazai's hand and confessed the feelings he'd had for him since they were teenagers.

And all you leave behind...

Chuuya still remembered the way Dazai blushed. He looked so pretty with the pink in his cheeks.

...will live till the end.

Chuuya still remembered the way Dazai held him in his arms and mumbled a soft, "I love you, too." They held each other close in their arms; it felt like a blissful eternity.

The cycle of suffering goes on.

Chuuya never wanted that moment to end. And it felt like it never would. After the hug ended, and after they kissed and Dazai spent the night, it felt like it was only the beginning of the tenderness. And in a way, it was. Chuuya just figured it would've lasted so much longer.

But the memories of you stay strong.

Chuuya never thought he'd see the day where he'd fall for his bastard of a partner. He thought he hated him. But he was wrong. And never had he been more happy to be wrong.

Someday, I too will fly...

Chuuya stood up and put his hat back on his head, his heart heavier than ever. He turned around to go back home.

When he arrived back at his flat, he rested his head on the pillow that was formerly Dazai's. It still smelled like him, and it filled Chuuya with a mixture of joy and heartache. He decided he could not bear it anymore.

...and find you again.

Nine days later, nobody ever saw Nakahara Chuuya again.

Nobody knew what happened to him. Nobody saw the darkened wings unfurl from him and fly into the sky out of the bloodied puddle, until he found what he needed most once again.

Dazai.

He found him again.

At the same price Dazai paid to make it there, as well.

But the wind carried him home.

The blackbird flew away.

And may he never be broken again.