SHE / bsd

This Is Given Only Once

"Lunch break everyone! Be back an hour from now!" Kunikida announced, his eyes watching the clicking clock.

"Dazai-san," Atsushi called out, running to catch up to his superior. "With all due respect, you look terrible." Atsushi had felt terrible after his run in with Dazai. He hadn't asked for an explanation, afraid of being a gossiper. It only filled him with distraught.

"Thank you Atsushi-kun, really." He ruffled the boy's hair, smiling towards him as a signal for the two to head out.

When the two entered the cafe, Dazai insisted on treating him. Atsushi took the offer. The cafe wasn't as lively as usual. Most of the agency went to try a new Korean BBQ down the street. Both declined the offer, having "files" to discuss.

"I often look at flowers during the winter." Dazai began after their drinks were served.

"The season where they're at their lowest. I find myself wanting to be one. Only because they wither, slowly and painlessly. I want to know if they ever feel pain. If they know they're beautiful or not. I want to know how beautiful she felt. The pain she felt..."

Atsushi only thought of his flaws. How a man, like Dazai Osamu, would only ever bring torment, and torture. "Do you find it amusing, Dazai-san?" Atsushi sipped the cup in front of him. The taste of his coffee bitter, not to his usual liking.

"I find it amusing," His eyes gazed out the window. "The way that she talks, the way her words slip off of her tongue."

"So, a selfish desire? If I hadn't know you any better, I would have labeled you a psychopath," Atsushi chuckled, raising his hand to brush through his hair. "Maybe you are one."

"Do you think Yosano-san would approve of such things?"

"I'm not sure. I would ask her but she won't be back for another week. She left yesterday for Seoul." Dazai's silence was taunting. Almost as if one peeking sound would send him erupting.

"I did something wrong. Something I'll never forgive myself for, because it was selfish of me to pursue." His gaze switched to the palms of his hands, searching for something to complain about, his ending abrupt, palms over his eyes. "I felt sick. So sick, I felt that I had maybe just ruined something special."

Atsushi thought it was wrong of him to hear his denial, that it was too invasive on his part;

Atsushi only smiled, "It's okay, I'm okay just knowing that you're fine."

SHE
CHAPTER SIX: THIS IS GIVEN ONLY ONCE.

When the days flew by all he could think about was the proposal.

"I think I would rather be a poet. Is there a significant difference?"

The proposal of whether or not he would put down all he would miss of her when she left.

"I guess not but I'm not sure, who knows? You're still writing something either way. I like poems. They're not as consuming, sometimes very straight forward. I think poems are very much like you Chuuya,"

"They're considerable." His shirt hung loosely on him. His coat discarded on the ground for her to sit on.

"I just think that there is a miserable part within it." He couldn't help but coax with the idea. He wasn't educated enough for it and he was quite dense when it came to touching a blank sheet with a quill.

It was the two who sat near the river. Seoul was enough like Shibuya, where it's endlessly filled with people of youth. The Han River peered next to them. The nations landmark, because of its beauty and because its consistent suicides.

"In other ways it would be different. Poets tend to reflect on themselves,"

They sat under the shade of a tree. It was the middle of winter and it happened to feel like it was a day in spring. The breeze flowing through her locks of hair. Quite frankly the day was refreshing.

"I had all the time in the world to do the things I love but I was afraid."

They sat there for hours on end, not bothering to complain about the slight cold, not bothered by the heavy breaths filled with cold air and dismaye.

"Do... you think everything was worth it?" Chuuya wanted to know what heart still remained embedded in her. The soul that would likely never remain.

"Moreso..." she mumbled. Awaiting the day she would perform for the last time, she felt quite uneasy.

Had she wanted to cut out singing from her life?

Had she acted instead of performing?

It all drained her into believing that maybe everything will be fine and that sooner or later she will see the sun shine glaringly.

"We wasted so many weeks. Why didn't you give me a hint sooner?"

"I did. I came back." A stubby grin on her face, to try and enlighten the mood. "I've thought about it and Im guilty,"

"Tsuki stop,"

"I'm sorry for making you fall in love with someone who can't return,"

"It's no use Tsuki,"

"Im...very, sorry." She rubbed her face, wiping away the uncontrollable tears that fell from her face. Torment filling her to the brim.

"Look Tsuki," He placed his hands on her cheeks,

"I regret everything, but you. I have loved you since the day we met"

•

"Dazai, do you think you'll ever forget?" The day's work had just ended and honesty was all Atsushi held. "I'm not urging you to do so. I ask because of the fragment your mind still holds onto."

It was February, March on the tips of their fingers. March where the cold was slowly dying and the spring harbors a field of flowers that blossom slowly and die too quickly.

"Well, I never fully remembered, and I don't think I ever will, which is fine I suppose..."

"Atsushi, I was about your age when I had lost my recollection of her. Maybe younger, but around your age. I wasn't very vulnerable but she kept me content. How many Ladies have I faced, and said a thing or two to make them feel something? To make them feel 'content'?"

"I'm not saying that it's the right thing to do, but I can't help it because of how she did. I constantly feel disregarded, and I just... long for what I once had." The two didn't stop walking until the salty air hit them. Dazai could help but smile. He let out a sigh before sitting on the ground, in front of the rail that separates the sea from the two.

"Atsushi. I don't care how one lives their life, when you start taking interest in people, whether it's a woman or a man, you'll start to realize what maybe I mean. Who knows, maybe I will forget, maybe I won't. We'll just have to wait and have patience."

He knew he should've known better than to let the girl captivate him and grind him to despair. It was the same thing. Over and over, and over again.

Like water running through the wooden water wheel that stood on the pond he would visit, when another one of his attempts had failed miserably and the disappointment of living another day washed over him.

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