Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spring

In an ancient world of gods and monsters, it was a curious thing that power yielded in favor of love. 

Love was the force ingrained in every interaction, looping like a vine around throats, arms and legs; constricting and liberating in equal parts depending on how kind the fate bestowed upon you, but choking nonetheless. Chuuya was the God of Spring, he knew about vines. He also knew about restraint. With each passing day, he knew less of patience. 

Mount Olympus was home to those who had once defeated the Titans. The great deities of Chuuya’s time had ensured the survival and consequent appearance of the rest of the gods and godlings under the big three, transforming Olympus into the divine acropolis that it was today, and establishing the twelve-god ruling council. For such a legacy, fantastical and breath-stealing, what moved society forwards was a concept as banal as your destined one. A soulmate.

It could also be called a marketable exchange of sorts if Chuuya really pondered about it. Impatience led to desperation, and desperate people paid a fortune for any scrap of information that could lead them to potentially find their other half. 

He knew it was futile; not the Goddess of Love, a visit to an Oracle, or even the Fates themselves could offer any insight into when or where one would reunite with their match, neither grasp the faintest clue about their hair, their eyes, or either of their names–not the given one, nor the one related to their godhood. And Chuuya had tried.

It was a universal system bound or controlled by no one, set into place millennia ago, even before the last of the Titans had fallen and the new era of gods began. Thousands of matches had taken place ever since. 

Not Chuuya’s. 

Chuuya walked along the field of peonies he had just finished tending to. Pink, white, and the most vibrant of reds brushing against his fingers as he padded through the waist-tall bushes, their sweet floral scent wafting with the breeze. He was most proud of his job in moments like this, whenever he could take a minute or two for himself to enjoy his latest creation, that precious moment when the flowers were yet too delicate, newly bloomed and still unready to be enjoyed by the rest of the world. A time of peace and a lesson in letting go. 

Times of peace, though, had the penchant for being shattered entirely too early. 

‘Chuuya!’ The screeching call of his name clashed loudly over the stillness of the meadow, somewhere behind him. Chuuya felt in his bones how his flowers began to wilt. ‘Speedy delivery for my favorite god!’ 

Albatross crashed into his back with the force of a typhoon, making both of them topple over because the messenger god, his soon-to-be ex best friend, knew nothing of respect and all of misbehaving. 

Face down against the soil, Chuuya half turned, disregarding Tross’ dead weight on his back, just enough to grab the blond braid and pull on it repeatedly. 

‘Get off me you fucking buffoon,’ Chuuya grunted, and accompanied each word with a harsher tug. He felt pleased with each ‘ouch’ he received as a response. ‘You’re always doing this shit instead of saying hello like a normal fucking person-’

‘Aww, now where is the fun in that?’ Albatross’ voice was strained after the poor landing and Chuuya’s unkind ministrations, but he still managed to make him the recipient of a satisfied grin. 

Albatross got up with a spring in his jump, partly dragging Chuuya upwards with him. He patted some remaining dust off Chuuya’s shoulders and back–all under the weight of his withering look–and then proceeded to fabricate a small box with Chuuya’s name on it. ‘Ta-da! For you.’ 

Chuuya snatched the packet from his hands. ‘You could have broken it! This is fragile.’

‘I literally couldn’t. Messenger powers and all that.’ Albatross wiggled his fingers in front of his face. ‘Anyway, what’s inside?’

‘None of your business,’ Chuuya said, but opened the little box in front of his best friend anyway. White dust that looked like moonshine powder was finely pressed inside the case; it was the result of Chuuya’s latest work in tandem with Kajii, arriving straight from Hephaestus’ forge. 

Chuuya dusted some of it on his finger, and, in a careful display, pressed the powder to the petals of the flowers that had suffered the arrival of the messenger god the most. They bloomed once more, this time stronger, shimmering.

‘Shit, that’s pretty, can I get one?’

Chuuya swatted Albatross’ hand away before he could think of touching the petals.

‘No, those are still young,’ he said. ‘Why do you even want a flower? You wouldn’t know what to do with it.’

‘Doc likes red roses.’ Albatross shrugged. ‘We’re meeting this afternoon by the river, you’re coming right?’

‘These are peonies, you fool.’ Chuuya rolled his eyes, but still produced a single giant red rose for him to gift the water nymph, removing thorns and leaves so only the healthy stem remained. ‘Here, now away with you. I’ll meet you all later.’

‘See? This is why you’re the best.’ Tross hung himself from Chuuya’s neck, nosing the side of his head as a goodbye. He whispered into his ear, ‘What’s got you so sad today, though? Don’t think I didn’t notice.’

‘‘m not sad.’ Chuuya pinched his side affectionately before breaking the side-hug. ‘Just absolutely pissed that your brute ass fucked up all of my work.’

He busied himself with mending the rest of the buds to avoid the unimpressed look Albatross was sending his way.

‘You look like you have the deceased ghost of loneliness perched on your shoulder.’

Chuuya tilted his head towards him with his lips pressed and his eyebrows set in a line, before moving towards the next section of the meadow: the cultivation fields. The proliferation of the grain crops was still Chuuya’s responsibility, even if harvesting and agriculture fell under Paul’s duty.

He said over his shoulder, ‘Your flashy presence shoos away any possible ghost of mine.’

Albatross trailed after him in a rush, aiming to stride past Chuuya only to show him his biggest smile. ‘Thank you. I do try. Is it the soulmate thing?’

Chuuya stopped dead on his tracks. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I know you sneaked in a trip to Agatha’s last week.’

Chuuya’s visit to the Goddess of Love shouldn’t have been known even to the messenger god. He had taken all the precautions, had arrived at the crack of dawn, had offered a hundred white lilies for purity, three hundred jasmines for beauty, and one thousand red roses for love.

He embraced the silence of the fields; only the occasional bird chirp accompanied the careful caress of the wheat sprigs against each other. Chuuya answered nothing in the face of Albatross’ implication.

Albatross broke Chuuya’s peaceful quiet devastatingly for the second time. ‘I caught you walking out of her temple when I dropped by to deliver a message from her secret lover. So much gossip going on at the same time I almost forgot to ask you about it.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Chuuya enjoyed the prickling feeling from the sprig awns against his fingertips. Tross turned him around with a grip on his arms.

‘Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me that I mistook my one and only best friend in the entire Olympus for someone else? Is that what you’re going to do?’ he asked, eyes set on Chuuya’s with a mocking edge.

Chuuya headbutted him away, the thud of their foreheads knocking together just enough to sting. He squeezed his eyes and blinked the pain away, watching how Albatross rubbed his affected area. He said, ‘Piss off.’

Albatross wouldn’t understand. He had met his soulmate a while ago–his decision to categorically disregard the match notwithstanding. There wasn’t a world in which he would stand to be told what to do by no invisible force of nature. Albatross was a free soul, and sometimes, Chuuya envied that about him. Most of the time, though, Chuuya would give his entire self just to know. If there really was someone out there sewn from an identical pattern to Chuuya’s, someone that owned half of his soul by design, someone born from the same starburst at the beginning of the universe, sharing bit by bit the essence that made up Chuuya’s body; someone who, come their last breath, would turn back into the same pile of celestial dust, to be thrown back into their bestowed constellation together… If such a person existed, Chuuya needed to meet them.

For a still half-empty god, Chuuya’s chest weighed him down with the pressure of a bottomless sea. He hated that he got to meet loneliness instead, when he was constantly surrounded by people. The doubts festering in his mind fueled his desperation, eating him alive.

What if his soulmate was dead?

What if they had been a godling that already passed away, what if they had been felled in battle, what if they were no longer useful to the Olympus' ecosystem and had been cast away to the human realm?

What if—What if there was something intrinsically wrong with Chuuya? What if he didn’t have a soul at all?

The moment Tross tried to retort, Chuuya spoke over him, ‘I have work to do.’

Albatross sighed, his shoulders dropping. ‘Alright, alright, but don’t think this conversation is over. Catch you later, yeah?’ He patted him on the head and then he was off with the same fanfare as he had stumbled onto Chuuya.

Drawing in a shaky inhale, he carried on with his daily rounds, but his work to provide the Olympus with the prosper, colorful environment its inhabitants loved clashed against his decadent mood. Chuuya’s mind refused to grant him any respite today, however; the old clump of unanswered doubts cluttering his every thought, permeating every step, every action, every look Chuuya took at his surroundings, always searching, always unsettled, fearing, trembling before the possibility that he was not supposed to have a soulmate, that he had been sentenced to solitude centuries ago, for many years to come. Worse still, that Chuuya, perhaps, had crossed paths with his destined one and had walked on by, his love unnoticed, overlooked, disregarded.

His usual path shifted on its own, and Chuuya found himself walking farther and farther away from town, from his meadows and the village parks, venturing up an uneven dirt trail scattered with jagged stone.

The first time Chuuya visited the Fates he had been barely past his first one hundred years, still a youngling as far as Olympus was concerned, and trying to desperately acclimatize to the extent of his power. He had been born the God of Spring, as simplistic a category as it felt. His magic was never only about the flowers, it was all life underneath, his power traveling through roots, through soil–the beauty of Chuuya’s power was just the surface of it; but it was the part that lay dormant, unused, the one constantly calling him, its song like the pull of gravity, identically as inescapable.

His ability encompassed all life that sprouted from the earth, and Chuuya had always had the inkling that in his wrath, he could level Olympus to the ground where it stood.

In his quest to understand more of himself, he had stumbled upon the Three Witches in a cave by the shore–the entrance partially hidden behind a rotten dead knot of beech roots that Chuuya had brought back to life just to test how altering the course of time felt on his fingertips.

Their first interaction had been a strange one, where Chuuya had come out with his temper poked and zero useful information about his ability. He had kept visiting them time and time again after that.

Chuuya caught Sigma spinning the thread of life, languidly sitting by their spindle on a blanket near the door. As he walked closer to them, Nikolai and Fyodor came into view, the sounds of their fighting reaching Chuuya first, and then the image of Nikolai moving the thread away every time Fyodor tried to snip it.

‘It’s not the proper length,’ Nikolai said, pulling the fine, silver string closer to his face.

‘You’re the one measuring it,’ Fyodor sighed.

‘Yeah, well, you’re not cutting where I point! You’re messing with my job,’ he added with a pout. ‘The previous guy wasn’t supposed to live until eighty, you gave him five extra years!’

‘Stop measuring by eye, then.’

Nikolai huffed, offended; blinked his scarred blue, measuring eye at Fyodor twice, and then began to gather all the thread by his feet into his arms, walking away from him with a clear sulk in his step. He halted when he saw Chuuya by the entrance of their lair. ‘Oh, if it’s our favorite spring god!’

‘I’m the only one you know,’ Chuuya deadpanned.

‘Precisely!’

Sigma raised their eyes from the spindle looking for Chuuya, waving him over to their cushioned sitting spot on the ground. He drifted towards them, plopping himself down by their side. Sigma immediately let go of the thread, latching onto Chuuya’s hair instead, splitting the locks, curling them around their fingers and watching the hair glide softly, bouncing back into loose curls.

‘You’re just in time to tell Fedya here that he’s being unreasonable,’ Nikolai started.

Fyodor placed his adamant shears on his station, turning towards them. ‘Kolya, love, don’t be dumb now. You know exactly why our darling Chuuya is visiting again.’

‘But he can also settle our quarrel—’

‘Can I have this?’ Sigma said from beside him, holding Chuuya’s lovelock together.

Chuuya chuckled, ‘I already gave you some last time. You’re going to have to let it grow a bit.’

Sigma frowned and mumbled, ‘I don’t have enough to spin yet.’ They raised their gray eyes to stare straight into Chuuya’s. ‘What if I gave you what you want? Would you let me cut it, then?’

‘Sigma,’ Nikolai said, prolonging the name and meandering towards them, several inches of thread flowing from his arms to the ground, dragging behind him, ‘Don’t go speaking unspeakable things now.’

Chuuya blinked. ‘Why do you want so much of my hair?’

‘Your lifeline will be long,’ Sigma said, fingers resuming their ministrations on Chuuya’s hair again. ‘Your hair is of the best quality. I’m going to need a lot of it to spin your thread.’ They smiled; a rare sight. ‘It’s my gift to you.’

‘You’re such a creepy fuck.’ Chuuya stopped in the midst of rolling his eyes. Frozen in place like a marble statue, he barely twisted his torso towards him. ‘What did you say I want?’

Sigma tilted their head forwards. ‘Your soulmate, of course.’

‘But you can’t—’

‘Sigma!’ Nikolai let the bundle of threads drop, shaking his arms in exasperation. ‘Fedya, why am I being the responsible one?’

Fyodor added, completely unhelpful, ‘It’s simple, I’m enjoying watching you squirm.’

‘Sigma,’ Chuuya called their attention, turning around fully on his knees to grab them by the shoulders. ‘Do you know? I’ve been visiting all this time, and you knew?’

‘No.’ The answer came from the three witches at the same time, a strange amalgam of cryptic voices. Chuuya’s chest dropped.

‘There is an archive, though,’ Sigma said, pinching Chuuya’s bangs away from his eyes.

‘What?’ Chuuya breathed out.

‘Every soulmate match is written in an archive book, there are records of the bonds that have been formed already, and those that are yet to meet.’

Sigma’s words didn’t initially register in his brain, but then they shook Chuuya to the core all of a sudden, made him taste the faint sweetness of hope on his tongue only to force him to choke on the sour aftertaste in the same swallow.

‘Wha—Wait. I don’t understand. My soulmate is written in a book? Fuck—’ Chuuya’s laugh erupted hysterically out of him. He shook Sigma’s shoulders further. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been—I’ve been here a thousand times.’

‘Because you cannot access the archive, doll,’ Fyodor said, laying beside them on the cushioned surface. ‘It’s in the Underworld for a reason.’

The Underworld was a realm outside Olympus ruled by Hades. Olympus’ law had no jurisdiction there, even if said king had a seat at the council. It was the dark, feared place where most of the gods and certainly all of the damned went in death. As such, all access to the realm was controlled by its ruler, so unless you were dead and ready for the boat trip, entrance required an invitation by the king. Not that many gods or godlings wanted to cross the bridge on their own anyway.

Chuuya’s face fell. ‘But I could. I can go and ask Hades to let me through.’

Fyodor laughed, or so Chuuya thought. The disuse was evident in the sound, hard to be catalogued as anything coming from happiness or fun, but it seemed to enthrall Nikolai because he slotted himself in between Sigma and Fyodor, sharply staring at his mouth. The sitting space suddenly a bit tight for the four of them. ‘And I would love to watch Dazai’s face while you do.’

‘Do you know him? Can you… put in a good word? Help me get invited or something?’

‘Chuuya,’ Fyodor said. ‘Not even Dazai himself goes into the archive. He just guards it. It’s in the Underworld because no one can go in without his invite, so other gods don’t try to tamper with it.’ He showed Chuuya an unimpressed look and the lift of an eyebrow. ‘Do you understand?’

Chuuya’s lungs tightened mid-breath, and let his arms fall from Sigma’s shoulders to hang by his sides. ‘No, no I don’t,’ he swallowed. ‘I’ve been trying so hard, I’ve been doubting myself, my existence, all this time. And you tell me there’s a way for me to know but I can’t use it?’

‘It’s just a matter of time,’ Nikolai said. ‘And you have plenty of it, you’re practically immortal.’

Chuuya scoffed, getting up from their cocoon of cushions. ‘Easy for you to say.’ He turned around on his heels.

‘Come back when your hair is longer, okay?’ He heard Sigma call as he walked out of their cave.

Chuuya’s heart was beating unhealthily fast; he got a dizzy spell when the sunlight hit him in the eyes again, so he was forced to tackle the walk back on unstable legs. This information changed everything. He stumbled down the uneven path, crossed the never-ending yellow fields with his feet light on the ground, barely stepping fully into the soil before he was taking another large stride ahead, breaking into a run towards the riverside, dodging bushes, trees and flower beds alike. His feet got tangled on a bramble patch that pricked his ankle but Chuuya couldn’t care less, not when his point of salvation was so close, just down the hill where the grouped heads of the flags materialized in his view, resting under the shadow of an olive tree.

Chuuya had been lost and drowning for so long, searching everywhere, imagining what his soulmate would look like, sound like, feel like, every waking and sleeping moment. He was nothing more than a static bundle of energy bound in time, waiting to be set in motion. Chuuya had waited for ages; and now was finally seeing some sliver of light at the end of the tunnel where his soulmate, half of his soul, stood, ready for him. Chuuya wanted nothing more than to feel whole, to meet his person.

An arm enclosing around his midsection stopped him abruptly, right before he could do an Albatross and land on top of the group. Chuuya looked over his shoulder at Iceman, panting heavily.

‘Wanting to crash against the tree today?’ Iceman said.

Chuuya gasped one last time. ‘I didn’t want to be late.’

Iceman raised his non-scarred eyebrow, and unhooked his arm from around his waist.

The effusive welcoming from his friends sweetened the cracks of his bitter heart.

‘Ah, Chuuya, thank you for the rose,’ Doc said as a greeting. ‘It was beautiful, it served me well.’

‘Hey, what? It was my gift!’ Albatross complained, half turned towards Doc from his position sprawled on the ground by Lippmann's legs.

‘Yeah, no one believes that,’ Piano Man snorted. Chuuya stepped nimbly between the tangle of limbs on the floor in Tross’ direction, and hauled him up by the arm as Iceman reclaimed his seat among the group.

‘Come with for a second,’ Chuuya said, dragging him away, closer to the riverbank. Albatross let himself be pulled around with a smile.

‘What’s up?’

Chuuya stopped by the water edge, turning to face him. He looked back at the chatting group for a fraction of a moment, and then at his best friend. He whispered, even with the meager distance, ‘I need a coin.’

Tross’ smile froze before it widened. ‘A coin? What do you need money for? You’re literally loaded.’

Chuuya shifted his weight on his feet. It wasn’t about money per se. Since gods were mostly immortal, their currency was worth nothing in the Underworld; therefore, the coin he needed had to come from the mortal realm.

‘A gold coin. For the boatman.’  

Albatross broke into a laugh, but he extinguished it when he didn’t catch Chuuya chuckling alongside him. ‘For the boatman,’ he parroted. ‘Surely, you cannot be speaking about Hades’ boatman.’

‘Surely,’ Chuuya said. ‘But if I were, I would need a coin.’

Albatross searched the depths of Chuuya’s eyes for a joke that wouldn’t come. ‘You want to go into Dazai’s realm?’ He screeched, full of disbelief. His voice raised another pitch. ‘King of the Underworld Dazai? One of the big three Dazai?’

‘You visit the Underworld everyday, why can’t I?’ Chuuya crossed his arms against his chest.

Albatross waggled his arms around, pointing at himself, not far off from an entertainer’s display. He showcased a burst of his magic to ensure his point got across, with the conjuring and disappearance of a bunch of packets and letters. He said, for good measure, like Chuuya had forgotten he was the messenger god, ‘I offer delivery services to the Underworld, I don’t plan heroic adventures inside of it!’

Chuuya fought not to roll his eyes in the face of the obvious, when it was precisely Tross’ condition as a messenger that allowed him privileged access everywhere. ‘Yeah, well, Dazai doesn’t know me, so he’s not inviting me. That’s why you need to get me a coin.’

‘Chuuya.’ Albatross laid a sympathetic hand on the side of his neck and squeezed. ‘I would do anything for you, but not this.’

‘Why?’ Chuuya scoffed.

‘What do you mean, why?’ Tross leaned his head closer to him, shaking Chuuya incredulously. ‘For the same reason I don’t stab you with a knife and leave you to die, that’s why! Why do you even want to go there?’

Chuuya said, his voice charged with desperation, ‘Tross, this is my chance—There is this archive-’

‘Oh shit, it really was the soulmate thing.’ Albatross deflated, all the air leaving him in a breath.

Chuuya saw his own frown deepening in the green reflection of Tross’ eyes. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ He licked his lips. ‘Just get me the coin, I’ll owe you forever, I promise.’

Albatross laughed with the humorless disdain that could only be born from worry. ‘Chuuya, your brother is never ever going to let you set foot within a mile from the passage.’

‘Who said he has to know about it?’ he shrugged.

Albatross’ hand fell from Chuuya’s shoulder. He took a step back. ‘You’re going crazy, dude. Or suicidal. I don’t know which one worries me the most.’

‘For a divine trickster you sure are lacking all your damn mischief when I need it for once,’ Chuuya said; a low blow to Albatross’ pride that hit its mark spectacularly, making him fidget and squirm.

‘This is worse than any mischief we’ve engaged in before.’

‘So I’m hearing you’ll do it.’ Chuuya took a step forward to cover Albatross’ mouth when he thought he would retort. ‘You’ll do it, right? If anyone can do it, it’s you.’

Albatross’ words were muffled against Chuuya’s palm. ‘Don’t try to flatter me, praise doesn’t work on me.’ Chuuya raised an unbelieving eyebrow and Tross sighed. ‘Man, if he strikes you or something, I had nothing to do with this.’

‘Thank you, Tross, it really means the world to me.’ Chuuya smiled, blindingly bright. He let himself be dragged closer by the waist. ‘It will be quick, nobody will notice.’

‘Yeah, the moment you step a foot outside this realm everyone is gonna notice. I hope you know the flags are gonna get pissed when they do.’ Albatross hung an arm around his neck, guiding him back to the group. ‘And you’re spoiled enough that I will be the one suffering their scolding in your stead.’

Chuuya’s laugh drained half of the perpetual weight on his chest. ‘It won’t be that bad.’

‘Oh, and I’m avoiding your brother until you come back. He’s gonna make Olympus undergo a famine in his wrath, you’ll see.’

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Albatross took three days to summon Chuuya to the subterranean passage towards the Underworld. It was a narrow entrance carved in the core stone of Mount Olympus that widened onto the underground bank of the river Styx, where Charon made one of his secret stops in his course down the river.

‘Here,’ Albatross said, fist closed on top of Chuuya’s outstretched hand. ‘What you asked for.’

He didn’t open his grip.

‘Tross,’ Chuuya called. ‘Hey, come on.’

Albatross let the coin fall onto Chuuya’s palm with a resigned sigh. ‘Fuck me, dude. Just don’t die or anything.’

‘I’m not going to die,’ Chuuya said. Or at least he didn’t think he would. ‘How did you get it?’

‘Oh, obviously I begged Hades for it—how do you think I got it?’ Tross huffed. ‘I stole it from a poor soul that’s now damned to roam the limbo forever. See the things I do for you?’

‘And that’s why you’re my best friend. Thank you.’ Chuuya held onto the coin tightly, starting towards the stone arcs only to get interrupted by a hold on his arm. He looked back over his shoulder.

‘Don’t lose that,’ Albatross urged, voice heavy. His eyebrows curled upwards. ‘It’s your way back. Since you still belong to the world of the living, you can’t pay the full price until your return trip, Chuuya. You’ll have to bargain with Charon and leave some kind of guarantee.’ Tross stared at him for the duration of a breath, and then, ‘Fuck it, I’ll meet you there, I’ll use the messenger portal if I have to. I’m not letting you do this alone.’

‘Tross, no,’ he said, conjuring his most reassuring smile. ‘I have to do this myself. It will be fine, I’m sure there’s something I can offer him.’ Chuuya squeezed Albatross’ hand so he would release him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back sooner than you realize.’

Albatross reluctantly let him go and, with a farewell wave to his friend, Chuuya wedged himself into the slim passage before he could try to stop him again.

The cave was bioluminescent green, most of the illumination sustained by the glowworms on the walls and the living (or not so much, considering it was home to the unresting souls of the damned) organisms of the river bottom. Chuuya trailed towards the lone lamplight by the wooden pier; he hesitated before stepping on it, as it looked and sounded like it wanted nothing more than to collapse under Chuuya’s weight.

Chuuya waited. His leg started to bounce until the creak of the planks beneath his feet turned from a slight warning to a full-fledged complaint, and thus he took a conscious step back into the comfort of solid ground.

Just then the bow of Charon’s boat pivoted around a river rock, and the ferryman steered slowly towards the pier. He docked in front of Chuuya.

Chuuya had expected… someone more ancient, perhaps. The man had pale skin the likes of which hadn’t seen a ray of sun in the last one thousand years, his hair gray and waist-long, and yet his face was spotless, unblemished and without a wrinkle in sight. He did wear long, black rags that had seen better days, and a wooden pin with an engraved name to the right of the chest that said ‘Bram’–as if this were a job he clocked in for instead of his unending, unique purpose in existence.

‘Payment,’ Bram said, staring straight ahead. Chuuya showed him the coin, and he gave a slight nod as permission to step in.

Chuuya sat on the bench on wobbly legs that tried to balance with the tilting current. The boatman pushed them away from the shore.

‘You have to put the payment in the toll box,’ Bram added.

Following the minute slanting of his head, Chuuya found a small, rusted metal box screwed to the inner side of the hull.

‘I can’t, I have to return soon.’ Chuuya shook his head at the box and stared at Bram’s nape again. ‘I can leave you a guarantee that I’ll pay the full price when I travel back.’

‘Which guarantee?’

‘Uhm.’ Chuuya checked his garments. His options were limited; he didn’t think to carry any extra necessity than what he wore. Unless Bram missed the sight of the surface colors and allowed Chuuya to offer him a display that would bring gods to tears and priestesses to their knees, he was rather unequipped. Chuuya said, ‘My armband is gold, too.’

The response was quite unsatisfactory. ‘Jewelry is of no use to me.’

Chuuya’s surroundings passed by in a blur, the rock walls mixing together in shades of brown and fluorescent green. Charon stopped the boat by the next pier, and a frail-looking soul stepped in, depositing its coin in the box. The ashen spirit of sorts sat down beside Chuuya before their journey resumed. It was a tight fit on the tiny bench.

‘What’s of use to you then?’ Chuuya asked.

‘An eye,’ Bram hummed. ‘I have use for an eye.’

Chuuya huffed. What’s with people always wanting his body parts?

‘I can’t give you an eye, I have use for them,’ he rolled said eyes.

Bram’s head turned all the way around on its axis while his body kept steering the boat. Chuuya was fairly immune to absurdity by virtue of his friends, but the scene was outright sinister. When Bram spoke again, his voice was gravelly, reverberating inside of Chuuya’s skull like it had hit him from all directions at once. ‘Deposit the coin, now.’

‘No,’ Chuuya stubbornly said, ‘There must be something else you want as a guarantee.’

Bram narrowed his eyes and stopped his steering. His hands left the punt pole, shifting his body around to match his head. ‘Failing to pay has a punishment of one hundred years of roaming the riverside.’

Chuuya showed him the coin again, flounced it even. ‘I can pay, though. Just not now.’

In a movement way too speedy for someone so dead-like, Bram snatched the coin from between Chuuya’s fingers.

Chuuya stood up, chasing after him. ‘Hey-’

Bram held out the coin with brittle, scrawny hands and gave it a sniff. He asked, ‘This doesn’t belong to you, does it?’

‘It does.’ Chuuya gritted his teeth.

He was unsure of the punishment that would befall him if Chuuya just looped a thorny tendril around Bran’s foot and shook the coin out of him. The laws of the Underworld were unknown to him; whether he would be struck down for disrupting the natural order or if he would be bound and dragged to Hades’ feet, he didn’t know. But oh, he would sustain it. If only he didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to.

‘This coin smells like death and you don’t,’ Bram grumbled, his nostrils flaring. ‘It would please me to throw you overboard for your trickery and see you swim your life away with the other deceiving souls, but we have arrived. Consider your trip paid for just this instance.’

Unnoticed by Chuuya, the wooden boat had docked once more. He lifted his eyes and looked over the vast expanse of the town in front of him.

‘Welcome to the Underworld,’ Bram said, and Chuuya blinked his attention back to the ferryman.

‘Wait, no, I need—’ he started, but he was being pushed out of the boat by the other soul on board, who was trying to disembark through Chuuya himself, as if it didn’t see him.

The moment both passengers were on the ground, Bram resumed his course, and the boat set off down the river once more.

Well, shit.

Albatross’ earful was going to be legendary, inescapable in such a way that Chuuya would be hearing about it for centuries. He would never let him live down the one time Chuuya made a mess so spectacular he got himself into a concerning situation, instead of the other way around.

Well, he would have plenty of time to consider how to get back to the surface later. He was standing in the pier of what he supposed was the epicenter of the Underworld; the town where Dazai, his cohort, and other undead inhabitants resided. Or so he hoped. Chuuya certainly should have investigated further about the geography and status quo of the realm before embarking into this… journey completely blindsided.

A handful of signals to his right pointed the direction to several landmarks, though they provided less information than he would have hoped. Chuuya traipsed towards what he figured was a main square. The Underworld was already plunged into the starry darkness of the night, even if back at Olympus the sun had barely begun to set. For a place that was allegedly full of, well, dead people and other spirits, the town seemed to be well-lived, with shops of different topics scattered on both sides of the paved streets Chuuya crossed, and, while it was mostly silent save for the few people that still lingered outside, it probably had to do with the absolute nighttime.

The business center of the town was established in the base of a mountain, with the residential area settling on the slopes. There, at the highest point of the hillside, a palace stood, proud and magnanimous. Although the many signals he had passed made no mention of anything related to Dazai’s whereabouts, it was as good a place as any to start asking questions. Chuuya began the trek; he blinked several times, trying to get accustomed to the lack of light of the residential area in comparison to the pier. Some streetlights were scattered along the sidewalk he was following, but they were few and far between, as if the village had been built to disrupt the night sky as little as possible.

Chuuya chose his path guided by a vague sense of direction and the unwillingness to spend the entire night going in circles.

By the next intersection, a green and purplish will-o-wisp materialized at his side. Chuuya tripped on a protruding stone.

‘Fuck,’ he said, trying to swat at it with his hand in case it was a lost soul or ghost that wanted to fuck with him. The fire disappeared, only to reappear a few steps away from him. Then, a second flame a bit farther than that, and a third. Chuuya frowned at the closest one and asked, ‘Are you some kind of spirit?’

Of course, there was no answer. Chuuya followed the mysterious floating fires. The last of them flickered next to a pitch-black, seemingly unending, trail of stairs starting at the end of the stone path. He hesitated before the first tread of uneven stone–this wasn’t the time to chicken up just because there was a bit of darkness waiting for him. Chuuya lightly stepped on it to test for slippery patches, and then continued; just as his eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of lighting, the will-o-wisps appeared again.

‘Alright, alright,’ Chuuya muttered.

By the time he finally stood before the palace, Chuuya was out of breath, yet it sprouted from the growing anxiety rather than the physical strain. He was so, so close he could feel it in his bones, in the earth beneath his shoes. The identity of his soulmate was just within his grasp and Chuuya would do anything for Dazai to let him into the archive, he would give him the moon if he asked–Chuuya would work for him, turn the Underworld into the most beautiful garden ever bloomed putting Olympus to shame; do his bidding for a month, anything, so he could get permission to take the fastest, sneakiest look into that book.

He didn’t care how he’d go back to the surface, or what it would cost him.

The palace was carved from black marble, with pillars tall enough that the ceiling could be mistaken for the night sky. The halls were wide, guarded by painted wood and gold statues of fierce sentinels. Humid quietness stubbornly stuck to the air, permeating every crevice, and unbroken by the occasional wandering spirit.

Would Dazai be sleeping? Did the king of the Underworld even sleep?

Chuuya turned around on himself, his surroundings a maze of identical hallways and obsidian doors. Fuck, he was tired. The thought of spending the night in an aimless search deprived his body of every drop of energy.

‘I could do with one of those wiggly flame spirits right now!’ he shouted to the emptiness of the corridor.

The lack of an answer didn’t surprise Chuuya; there was also no way he hadn’t passed by the same eerie picture on the wall twice. Leaving a trail of flower petals behind him started to sound more appealing with each step.

In a burst of fire, two wall sconces ignited. They framed the double door to Chuuya’s right–the orange cast of the candles made for the warmest, most welcoming spot since he had disembarked in this dreary realm. Chuuya’s hands closed around the doorknobs, and all the air inside his lungs vanished, like the last spark of an extinguishing flame, gone too soon to be seen. His inhale was hitched, forceful, an involuntary one to fight the light-headed sensation before pushing into the room. He stepped into darkness. The short hairs on his nape raised, standing on edge; the room was cold enough to make him shiver, devoid of any trace of the warmness of the candle fire.

The doors closed behind him with a soft click. Chuuya wasn’t naive enough to think he was alone inside.

A swirl of heady, unknown power enveloped him and the deep well where Chuuya’s ability resided reacted to it, wanting to come out and play. Incorporeal energy that his body answered to as if it was skin on skin touch. A tendril of darkness meticulously caressed one of Chuuya’s curls away from his face, tucking it behind his ear with utmost precision. He closed his eyes to the feeling.

‘I wasn’t expecting a visit,’ a deep, smooth voice said, not far behind him. ‘Much less such a lovely one.’

Chuuya didn’t care to open his eyes, he wouldn’t see in the pitch darkness anyway. The god paced around him with calculated steps that aimed not to be heard, but Chuuya’s senses could pinpoint his location by the vibration of his feet against the ground. He clicked his tongue at the absurd display of authority, and then mentally chastised himself. He was here to beg after all.

His voice deceitfully docile, Chuuya said, ‘I’d like to be able to see you.’

The honeyed chuckle arrived first, and then the intoxicating tendrils of power drifted away from him, returning to their rightful owner.

‘And with clear demands of its own, I see.’ He took a seat a couple steps away from Chuuya. ‘Open your eyes, then.’

Chuuya did. He squinted at first, when the light bore down on them. Chuuya was standing in a throne room, and on the dais, perched on his seat, the God of the Dead was looking at him. He was handsome, painfully so. His smile, lopsided, stretched over his sinful mouth, and his jaw rested on his closed fist–the fact that he wasn’t terrifying to look at set Chuuya on guard, considering the vastness of his power. He didn’t look a bit the cruel king he allegedly was. Chuuya wouldn’t trust that self-sufficient smirk in his life.

‘Hello, Persephone,’ Dazai purred.

Chuuya’s jaw clenched. Dazai pronounced his name with the same care a man would watch a blooming bud unfold. At first hearing, one would think those lips were trying to pay a visitor their customary respect; Chuuya knew the man in front of him only wanted to test the limits of his patience, and enjoy it in the process.

Dazai was pissing him off on sight. Despite that, Chuuya swallowed his pride.

‘Hades.’ Chuuya gave the slightest bow of the head, enough to border between the required demonstration of deference and a mockery. He never took his eyes away from Dazai as he did so.

‘I wonder what exactly could incite a surface flower to make the scary trip underground.’

‘It wasn’t scary,’ Chuuya blurted out, and then regretted it when Dazai’s grin deepened.

Dazai rose from his throne, shortening the few steps that separated them. Chuuya followed the lazy stroll with his eyes, but remained unmoving and facing forwards even as Dazai walked past him, behind him, his path an indulgent loop around Chuuya. Dazai’s gaze was heavy, the intensity of those brown eyes inescapable as he stripped Chuuya of the protective shield of his acted indifference, leaving him bare.

‘There is something I want,’ Chuuya said; Dazai would have read it on him even if he had stayed mute, had probably been aware of his hidden wishes from the moment he had set foot in the Underworld.

Dazai halted in front of him. This close, their height difference was unavoidable, demonstrated further when Chuuya was forced to tilt his head back to keep playing their staring match. Dazai leaned forward just the space of a whisper, close to his ear. ‘Don’t you dare keep your deepest desires from me.’

Chuuya breathed in the scent of deep earth and agarwood incense, softened by the sweet touch of pomegranate. The pleasant smell did nothing to quench his blossoming irritation. Dazai might laugh at his expense all he wants, but Chuuya wouldn’t be deterred–not when the promise of a soulmate was dangling in front of him, at a finger’s reach.

‘Your archive,’ he said, and then specified, ‘the soulmate archive. I want to see it.’

Dazai hummed and stepped away. ‘Anything else?’

‘Please,’ Chuuya added, because gods with big egos were hung up on manners.

‘I see. Well,’ Dazai said, sitting back on his throne and swatting Chuuya’s request away with his hand. ‘I’m afraid I must say no.’

‘What?’ Chuuya whispered, frowning. He shook the confusion away; he had expected initial resistance, or outright rejection. He was ready to work around it. He asked, ‘Why not?’

Dazai’s lips thinned in an outstanding heartfelt performance. ‘It pains me to deny you, really, but no one goes into the archive.’

Chuuya stepped onto the dais, closer to the throne. Dazai’s eyebrows raised ever the slightest.

‘No, you don’t understand.’ Chuuya laughed through his nose. ‘I have to go in. I can pay, I’ll give you anything—anything you want, you just-’

Dazai’s hand closed around his chin in a whirlwind, his fingers imprisoning Chuuya’s unsaid words inside his mouth.

‘Ah, ah, ah,’ he chirped. ‘Now I’ll do you a favor, and stop you right there. Don’t promise someone like me such an enticing reward.’

Chuuya waited for Dazai to release him. When he did, unhurriedly, his dark gaze remained stuck where his fingers had been. Dazai was about to read Chuuya’s next words on his mouth.

‘There has to be something I can get you, I—I came all this way.’ If he sounded desperate, he didn’t care. Chuuya had never bargained with a god of such caliber before; he searched Dazai’s face, there ought to be something he could offer. His eyes lidded right on Dazai’s lips. Chuuya averted his gaze. ‘What—An eye? Some of my hair, too? he offered. ‘Just say it.’

Dazai’s snort was a soft, breathy sound. ‘Since you’re so eager,’ he said into the space between them. ‘We could make a deal.’

The amount of power that seeped into the word left Chuuya unsteady on his feet. He narrowed his eyes.

‘A deal?’

‘Yes. It’s nothing, really,’ Dazai said, raising a casual shoulder. ‘But there’s one way in which I could let you take just the littlest peak.’

‘Alright,’ Chuuya nodded. ‘What is it?’

‘In exchange, you’d have to pay the measly price of your soul.’

Chuuya staggered. No, that—No. Never his soul, or whatever he owned of it. If he lost that, only the pale shadow of a god would be left of him, of Chuuya Nakahara. Giving away his soul defeated the entire purpose of this trip, of his arrival to this world. It wouldn’t matter then whether he found his soulmate or not, he would just lose them–he’d have nothing to offer. The bond would never fully form; what it felt like to be complete would remain unknown to Chuuya.

Watching his hesitation with never-ending pleasure, Dazai added, ‘Of course, I know it’s a tough decision to make. But don’t worry, I’ll give you a week to ponder about it. I expect your answer then.’

Chuuya scoffed, breaking the puff of air into a full, blown out sneering chuckle. ‘Oh, you are nothing but a miserable piece of-’

Dazai bit his lower lip to stop his grin from widening. ‘A dainty fairy of spring shouldn’t be speaking so crassly.’

Chuuya stumbled backwards, away from him. He had finally found every bit of cruelty attributed to Dazai in the form of a vicious deal from a wicked man. The price was unaffordable, and he wouldn’t pay it in a million years.

Chuuya showed him the middle finger.

He turned around on his feet–if the Goddess of Fortune was on his side, he hoped to never cross paths with this asshole again.

The richness of Dazai’s unrestrained laugh trailed after him. ‘Do think about it, will you? I’ll see you in seven days.’

Chuuya halted by the door, and then stomped back to the dais under the amusing raise of Dazai’s eyebrow, the unexpected surprise shining in his brown, bottomless eyes.

‘Okay,’ Chuuya said, and stretched his hand, palm upwards. Dazai had very evidently and purposefully not extended him a formal invitation back into his realm, which meant he believed there was no chance Chuuya would consider the deal in the first place. ‘Give me some coins.’

‘Pardon?’

‘So I can come and go.’ Chuuya lifted a shoulder with a nonchalance his burning, enraged temper didn’t really feel. ‘I’ll need at least three, one to leave now, and another two for the trip in seven days.’

Dazai looked pensive as he hummed, tapping his fingertips against his lips with the sort of deceitful expression that could teach the trickster god a thing or two, and concluded, ‘No, I don’t think I will.’

Chuuya’s power lashed out. A thick, thorned vine sprouted from the floor, breaking through soil and stone, and barely stopping a hair’s breadth away from Dazai’s neck. Chuuya had to forcefully rein it in. This might be the moment where his volatile temper brought a definite end to his nearly immortal life. At least he would go down fighting.

Dazai didn’t react to it however; only when Chuuya reluctantly retreated the vine away from Dazai’s skin did his power come out to play, a coil of darkness poking his plant like a child’s rounded cheek.

‘Hi.’ Dazai had the audacity to coo at it.

Chuuya tried to retort with words instead of with the slap to the face he was picturing, lest it cost him more than a random body part. ‘Listen-’

‘You managed to get here on your own just fine, it doesn’t seem like you need my help at all.’

Dazai’s bright eyes danced around his face, as if he was seeing Chuuya in a new light and he was unable to resist the curiosity.

‘No, that was—’ Chuuya would love nothing more than to wipe the damn smirk right off his face, but he had lost the fucking bargain spectacularly. He hated to admit, ‘I can’t go back.’

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way,’ Dazai goaded him. Chuuya remained silent in their gaze match, gritting his teeth. Options—he wasn’t done yet, he had to think, he still had options. Dazai added, ‘Now, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a room to stay for the week? As a guest, of course.’ He slouched back against the gilded throne; the satisfaction this victory brought him was unavoidable, portrayed to the detail in every visible inch. ‘If you want it, it’s yours. If not, well, you look smart enough to figure it out.’

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his options were shit.

Dazai read Chuuya’s decision in his expression without him needing to mutter the words out loud. Chuuya, on the contrary, saw his rejoice and kept fighting the need to spit in his face.

A greenish spirit was summoned to show Chuuya his room. The padding soul guided him, oscillating between its corporeal form and the see-through shape of its body, down the lengthy corridor. A room for a single night; Chuuya shouldn’t spend a week away from the surface if he didn’t want Olympus’ nature to suffer his absence, or his brother to go through a psychotic attack.

Just one night, more than enough time to try to come up with a way to return home. The only sounding footsteps in the hall belonged to Chuuya, and they dragged against the marble with the heaviness of his defeat.

Dazai needed to change his mind; there had to be something in this forsaken place that Chuuya could use in his favor to either work around the deal or sway Dazai’s position about the no-visit rule. If Chuuya learned more about him, if he discovered whether Dazai was sympathetic, or if there was a drop of tenderness to his heart, if he was a romantic underneath the mask of his cruelty–provided said cruelty was, indeed, only a mask–Chuuya could exploit that. Aim for Dazai’s better qualities. Chuuya wasn’t made to give up, there wasn’t a single quitting bone in his body.

Especially when his soulmate was at stake.

His appointed bedroom was luxurious–the walls painted with colorful images, spacious enough that Chuuya had a table with chairs by the tall window, an empty shelf, and an adjoined bath chamber. Dazai hadn’t lied about him being a guest, then. The bed was canopied, though the curtains were tied to the posts, and the enclosed mattress in such an open-wide space made for a cozy cocoon.

Chuuya freed one of the knots, caressing the rich embroidery of the tent between his fingers. He should invest in something similar once he’s back home.

He climbed onto the mattress, pulling the fabric closed behind him, and hit his head against the plumpness of the cushions.

He was exhausted enough after the trip and mental chess with Dazai that when he blinked his eyes open again, the faint morning light sneaked in through the window. Chuuya frowned, focusing on the soft shadows that the tent cast over the bed–his body got used to being underground faster than his mind did, and the unfamiliarity of his surroundings was disorienting. Shit, he was a mess.

When he managed to drag himself to the appended bathroom, a bath was already running for him. The possibility that most workers of this palace operated in invisibility dawned on him, especially as one materialized out of nowhere in front of Chuuya while he patted himself dry, walking back into the room.

The spirit stretched his clothes over the mattress, the faint scent of jasmine and orange blossoms reaching Chuuya’s nose. He flushed–his state of undress was awkward, but the workers here doing his fucking laundry was another level of excess, given his short stay.

‘Uhm, thank you,’ Chuuya said, pressing the towel further against his body,

The wispy voice of the spirit drifted towards him. ‘The king formally invites you to breakfast in the dining hall.’

A small envelope was placed beside his chiton.

‘Ah, okay.’ He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

The spirit floated out of Chuuya’s room, leaving him his much needed privacy. He snatched the envelope from his bed, breaking the wax seal with a passion, uncovering Dazai’s curling cursive calligraphy. His elaborate signature pissed him off. The damn asshole refused to make Chuuya’s life the slightest bit easier by extending permission to travel to and from his realm but he went out of his way to write an invitation for breakfast? Shitty fucking breakfast?

If Chuuya wasn’t hoping to change Dazai’s mind, and getting into his good graces wasn’t beneficial for said plan, he would have answered with a lengthy letter of his own explaining where Dazai should shove the damn invite, to the detail. But he needed the deal to ask for something feasible, a payment that wouldn’t strip Chuuya of the only thing he was holding on to like a lifeline–this single part of him that proved he was normal at all.

Another servant led him to the dining hall and opened the door for him.

He was seemingly the last one to arrive. Dazai was sitting at the head of the table, and two other men occupied the chairs on either side of him, but Chuuya’s attention was chained to the huge white tiger that roamed the room unshackled.

What?

‘Ah, our esteemed guest. Good morning,’ Dazai greeted, on a poorly concealed note of teasing. ‘Take a seat.’

Dazai clearly underestimated how much Chuuya longed to wipe the smugness out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Morning,’ he said, sitting beside a man with dark auburn hair and stubble, who gave him a curt nod of his head as a salute.

Chuuya barely directed a glance to the dark haired guy across from him, much preferring to keep his eyes glued to the wandering wild animal. The tiger stretched on his rear legs behind Chuuya, before resuming his path around the table. In his lazy traipse to the chair opposite from him, it morphed back into a white-haired kid.

‘Hi,’ this kid said with a smile and a rough voice. He cleared his throat to try again. ‘Hi.’ He sounded way younger now.

‘You look like you have just the question at the tip of your tongue,’ Dazai hummed. ‘Don’t keep it to yourself.’

Chuuya needed a moment of assimilating silence. He ignored Dazai for longer than it was probably considered polite, entertaining himself by perusing the bowl of different fruits he had in front of him. He settled on a gleaming red nectarine that looked plump enough to suit his taste.

‘Where is your dog?’ he finally said.

Dazai broke out in a laugh–a rich sound pried from the depths of his chest, short-lived, yet surprisingly pleasant to the ear. Unusual enough that it had Dazai’s companions shifting their eyes between such a view, and the force that had caused it.

‘What dog?’ The white-haired tiger-boy asked.

‘Legend says you have a dog with three heads.’ Chuuya shrugged. ‘As your guardian or something. Does he like being petted? Or she.’

‘Well, you’re staring at it. Allow me to introduce you to the three heads of my trusted council.’ Dazai nodded towards each man at the table. ‘Odasaku, Ango and Atsushi. I’m not sure about the petting part, maybe Atsushi in his tiger form.’

‘Ah, I guess behind the ears feels nice?’ Atsushi unhelpfully added, eyes lighting up.

‘Oh, well.’ Chuuya’s lips thinned. ‘This is a bit underwhelming. No offense.’

‘None taken.’ Odasaku brushed it off with a brief swat of his hand.

‘I didn’t know we had extended an invitation to Demeter’s household,’ Ango asked instead.

Chuuya jutted in, ‘It wouldn’t be me sitting here if you had.’

‘But aren’t you—’

‘I don’t live with my brother. It would be in poor taste to send my mail there.’

‘Our resident spring god will be staying with us for a week,’ Dazai said, his eyes remaining glued to Chuuya’s blue ones as he did–his chin propped up on his fist. Didn’t he eat? Staring at Chuuya surely couldn’t be nutritious enough. Dazai’s words were as evasive as they came; he didn’t comment on his unusual trip, so Chuuya didn’t either. Regardless of his lack of intention to stay for the seven days in this realm.

Dazai’s gaze was heavy, darkened by his eyelashes, uninterested in leaving him even for a moment. Chuuya finally bit onto the fruit in his hand. It was indeed ripe, just at the peak of its sweetness, exactly his preference, and filled with juice. The water dampened his fingers, dripping down to the plate beneath. Three drops, scandalously loud in the taut silence between them. Dazai was still looking at him.

‘I have arranged your visit to Atlas today,’ Ango said, unaware, or uncaring, about his boss and Chuuya’s glaring contest. ‘You’ve been avoiding it but Zeus has requested your report twice now. He’s sent a warning about calling for a meeting in Olympus so you can deliver it in person otherwise.’

Atsushi scrunched his nose. ‘That guy is always trying to trick me into carrying his weight for him.’

‘Have you considered he might just want to play fetch with the ball?’ Odasaku joked, or so Chuuya thought. He had sported the same relaxed face since Chuuya’s arrival; it was admittedly hard to read.

Without granting Ango his due attention, Dazai said, ‘Mori should know his threats are inconsequential, I’m not leaving the Underworld anytime soon. And if he wants an extensive, detailed listing of Atlas’ suffering, he can go check on him himself.’

The way Dazai’s head tilted while watching him, his words might as well have been directed at Chuuya.

‘Atlas the Titan?’ he asked.

Ango wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about being interrupted during his morning task listing.

‘The very same,’ Dazai said.

‘Oh, I love his work on dynamics.’

‘Do you read about physics?’ Odasaku asked.

‘Yeah, I like Atlas’ studies on movement and forces the most. My brother only has a few parchments in his home library, since most of his work was destroyed after the war.’

Chuuya’s opinion was a bit controversial on the surface, but he was already in hell, so. Questionable interests were the least of his concerns. In fact, if Dazai wasn’t going to be in the palace later today, his absence gave him the perfect opportunity to snoop around for the soulmate archive. The chances of it not being guarded to the core were slim, but any information he gathered about the possibilities to bypass the deal, or about Dazai’s own preferences were Chuuya’s key to success.

‘You’re very particular for a spring fairy,’ Dazai said. ‘You might enjoy the library here at the palace. I could-’

Ango cleared his throat. ‘We don’t have time for a… detour. The schedule today is packed enough.’

Chuuya seized the opening. He said, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you or anything.’ He stood up, but still lingered to pick up another nectarine from the bowl. ‘I’ll make myself scarce.’

‘Chu-’

He politely half-bowed and left the room.

Chuuya wandered around for what felt like an eternity, dodging between busy, rushing spirits and other employed souls. The halls and doors all looked the fucking same to him. This palace needed, in his humble opinion, a tad bit of color. Staring at the dark marble of the walls, the longing for his meadow and fields back home became unbearable; a tight knot in his gut at the neglect of his duty, the instilled routine of his rounds. Unless he wanted Olympus’ ecosystem to resent, it shouldn’t remain unattended for too long–Chuuya had faith in his work, and the strongest months of the never ending spring could sustain a longer absence, but still.

He couldn’t find it in himself to leave even then, because Chuuya had never felt so close to his soulmate before. Every second into this palace made it harder to breathe, his mind hazy; and yet the load inside his chest had lessened to leave space for shivering anticipation. The archive had to be close, the undeniable proof that there was a reason for Chuuya to be so lonely, for there was another soul feeling the exact same thing, waiting for him, for his touch.

Chuuya frowned.

He had passed the last servant two turns ago. The size of the palace was absurd.

This wing was distinctly private: darkness clung to the corners of it, and the most gruesome paintings hung on the walls. Gone were the sentinel statues, leaving handpicked images of past wars and ancient creatures instead, all throughout a long hall with only two doors. The stillness that surrounded him made clear the area usually remained undisturbed.

The shadows danced like living entities on the floor and over Chuuya’s skin, in the places where the light from the wall scones couldn’t reach. They peeked at him, observant, vigilant, though their coldness wasn't unwelcome.

Chuuya pushed into the first set of doors, tired of wandering aimlessly.

The morning sun warmed his skin first; the whirling shadows leaving him before his eyes had adjusted to the new light. Chuuya blinked, at the glass walls and ceiling, at the impossibility of the expanse of the room. A greenhouse. Dazai had a massive greenhouse inside the palace, and given the unending reach of it, this chamber had to be enchanted. It was the first alive thing he had seen in this realm.

The entrance was arranged as a workstation of sorts, with a couple of workbenches shoved to the sides. Piles of papers cluttered with sketch designs and rushed calligraphy littered the space, along with a bunch of tools and knickknacks. Two rows of exposition counters followed, made of wood and pale green tile, where planted pots bloomed haphazardly–a bunch of the plants hanging from the edges of the tables, others trying to climb up thinly built wired arches. Or, well, the corpses of plants. They clearly weren’t in their best shape.

There was no way the greenhouse belonged to Dazai. Perhaps the servants tried to keep this place running, or the palace had an unskilled gardener or farmer working for the kitchens, or something unrelatedly sinister.

Chuuya’s face broke into a smile infectious enough that it brought the closest plant to life. The greenhouse extended far longer than he could see from the last couple of tables onward, and the excitement of discovering everything the room hid propelled him forward.

At least this finding helped him fend off part of his nostalgia. Now, this greenhouse needed a caring hand. Chuuya got to work, starting with the succulents closest to the entrance as they were the easiest to fix, and had the highest endurance. Coaxing the climbing roses back to life took him longer, guiding their path around the arc shape wire above the counter; flowers like these were always stubborn, fighting to choose a path of their own. He was overjoyed to discover the buds were dual color when he helped them unfold and petals of orange and pink spread out in front of his eyes.

Chuuya left the young camellia trees for last, as those were his favorite.

‘Did you do all of this?’

The proper pot he was trying to transplant the saplings into slipped from his hand, splitting in three uneven pieces.

‘Shit,’ he grunted, bending down to pick up the shards. Chuuya looked over his shoulder as he crouched, leaning his weight against the table.

Dazai stood between some of the work tables, examining the newly bloomed roses.

‘Yes,’ Chuuya answered, despite the rhetorical aspect of the question, considering the circumstances. ‘Who tended to them? The buds were in dire need of some care.’

‘I did,’ Dazai muttered, following the same path Chuuya had while fixing up the plants, inspecting his work. Chuuya kept his gaze on him intermittently, resuming his interrupted job with the camellias. ‘This is my… pet project. Though clearly you’re better at it than I am.’

‘Duh,’ Chuuya chuckled, the sound soft, brushing the leaves in front of him. He cleared his throat; so much for his plan to get in Dazai’s good graces. ‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just…’ Chuuya drifted away to the next bench over when Dazai walked closer in his perusal. ‘The king of the Underworld doing gardening on the sides?’

‘Not gardening.’ Dazai leaned toward the deep red camellia buds–they were still young, but the color bled through beneath the outer leaves, and once they unfolded they were going to be breathtaking–but he never touched them. Chuuya could have kissed him on the mouth for that. ‘Only my magic is supposed to work here,’ he added as an afterthought.

Chuuya remained silent, shifting to the following table when Dazai moved again. The sad sight of three pansy slips awfully planted on a small bucket pained his heart; they were never going to germinate due to the cutting technique. Chuuya helped those out by merely fixing Dazai’s mistakes before shifting to the next table over, moving when he thought Dazai might continue with his stroll.

Dazai caught his eyes over the climbing roses, held them captive.

‘Has anybody ever told you you’re extremely powerful for an alleged minor god?’ he asked. With great difficulty, Chuuya averted his eyes, yielding a short shrug as his sole response. Most people assumed his power was limited to making Olympus look pretty. ‘Makes me wonder what you’re doing looking for a soulmate between the godlings, considering pairings are a match of strength, among other things.’

Well, Chuuya had looked everywhere. Never turning down any possibility; in fact, he would have loved for Dazai to broaden his searching scope by letting him take a look into his damn archive without the whole deal sham, but alas.

Chuuya pivoted on his heels to walk towards the next work counter–he crashed against Dazai’s chest. Chuuya blinked up at him, raising an eyebrow. His materializing in front of Chuuya allowed for no space between them, forcing Chuuya to tilt his neck all the way back uncomfortably, exposing his neck. The unguarded position had him swallowing, hyperaware of its visible proof in the movement of his throat. Chuuya was denied Dazai’s reaction to it; his face was blank, eyes darkened, shadowed by his eyelashes.

‘What?’ Chuuya breathed.

Dazai stared down at him for a second too long, pointed in the way nails might scratch smoothly down Chuuya’s back, goosebumps rising in response as if they had. And then, ‘I keep the greenhouse looking like this because I find it peaceful, I’m sure you understand.’ Dazai extended his arm, signaling the area still unvisited beyond the workspace. ‘Let me show you.’

Standing this close to Dazai, Chuuya was once again hit with the sweet scent of pomegranate. It made him crave one. Had he ever liked the fruit this much?

He offered a small nod, and Dazai guided him forward until the floor turned from stone plates to grass. Soon they were jumping over a small stream; and then a vast meadow stretched out in front of him, bare like a blank canvas, ready for Chuuya to paint with all of the colors he desired. He was right to believe this place was enchanted; the soil was green all over, the turf short, with the occasional spring wildflower scattered throughout, and moving with the gentlest of breezes. Above him, an open sky.

His heartbeat rushed to his ears, the pump of the rhythm audible from where he stood. Chuuya found no logical reason for the sudden haziness that shook him; he dragged his eyes from the naked field before him back to Dazai, hoping to discover if he was equally affected.

Chuuya needed to take a double look.

Dazai’s stare was already on him–Chuuya was willing to bet that it had never left him even for a moment–and he was smiling, or Chuuya imagined he was. His expression was tender and the corners of his mouth relaxed, stretching his dimpled cheeks barely the proper amount to suggest where the indentations would be were Dazai to break into a wide grin; his eyebrows were softened, no longer shadowing his eyes but turning them less infinite, honey rather than dark coal.

Chuuya’s breath hitched.

‘Ah, feel free to do any spring fairy thing you’d like,’ Dazai said, finally depriving Chuuya of the hint of his dimples. ‘I’m going to go hide in my thinking spot until my guardian dog finds me and berates me for the unforgivable sin of not sticking to my schedule.’

Chuuya chuckled, unrestrained, and Dazai lingered in the sound of it, taking his fill of the sight. When he looked away, the aftermath of his undivided attention left a trail of heat in its wake, as he walked towards a lone, ancient olive tree casting shadows onto the grass. He lay down beneath the branches, closing his eyes.

Chuuya found himself still smiling. Shaking his head, he knelt and pressed his palms against the grass, feeling the earth under the turf and the roots enriching the soil. Dazai was right; the view was peaceful indeed.

He thought of the kind of flowers a man like Dazai might enjoy, thought of his favored colors, and preferred textures. Chuuya thought of black dahlias, deep red carnations and blue moonflowers that would wait for the night’s arrival to bloom, dotting the greenhouse of some color under the moonlight. He thought of Dazai enveloped in darkness, standing among the full-bloomed buds.

Chuuya set to work.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Chuuya chose not to join Dazai for breakfast the second morning. Considering his lack of success in finding a way to go back home or any leverage to sway Dazai’s mind regarding their deal, time was of the essence, and spending it mingling with Dazai’s friends and under Ango’s judging stare didn’t meet his list of priorities.

As if Dazai had known Chuuya wouldn’t be gracing them with his presence, a bowl of fruit and some pitchers were waiting for him on the table next to his bed when he woke up. An assortment of apples that looked pristine, the green, yellow and red colors spotless. He barely stopped to pick up a red one before walking out of the room.

He started down a different path from the previous day. The palace was as disorienting in the morning light as it was during the nighttime, and it had stairs, apparently, to other stories as well. It broke with Olympus’ preference to build their palaces with a single floor, leaning towards long, thin halls, and massive central chambers to parade their wealth in front of guests.

Chuuya stepped down the stairs, the passage leading him deep into the mountain the temple was partly carved into. Halfway down the flight, the last streak of natural light disappeared, leaving the torches on each side of the narrow walls in charge of the illumination. The color of the flames was a strange blue, reminding him of the will-o-wisps. The passage opened up into a cave.

A dark haired witch was working bent over a bench.

Chuuya halted by the entrance. The cave was cluttered with parchments, books and mineral stones thrown all over every available surface. Shelves upon shelves of unlabeled jars were carelessly pushed against the irregular stone walls, mindless of the bent boards struggling to support the combined weight. On the workbench, a skull served as paperweight for whatever the witch seemed to be drawing in blood over grayed paper.

Atsushi lay beneath the table in his tiger form, sleeping away his morning by the witch’s feet.

Chuuya cleared his throat. ‘Uhm, hi.’

The witch didn’t rise from his bent position over the table, instead simply pointed towards a wall behind him. ‘Mind the sign,’ he said, voice rough, as if he spoke through a sore throat.

Chuuya followed his thumb to the wall. The alleged sign said: No astral charts. No love potions. No dismembering curses. And then, nailed to it like an addendum, the words stabbed harshly into a thick piece of wood: No white tigers allowed.

He drifted his eyes to the massive white tiger literally lying by the witch’s feet. Chuuya asked, ‘Are non-dismembering curses okay?’

The witch finally raised his eyes to look at him. Pale gray irises peeked at him beneath light eyelashes and hairless brows.

Hecate. Of course, how did he not notice? His skin was pale as the moon, like the white tip of his frontal hair locks. From his neck down, Chuuya caught indiscernible blood red drawings, and if he squinted his eyes, now that the light from the torches illuminated his face properly, there was a visible white half-moon branded on his forehead.

Hecate said, ‘What do you want?’

Chuuya hummed. ‘Can we curse Dazai to be less of an asshole?’

Hecate stopped the blood-dripped quill in its way down to the paper; he studied Chuuya in his unmoving position near the stairs in an attempt to gather the earnestness of the request, and finally said, ‘That’s outside my skill set.’

‘Meh, worth a try.’ Chuuya shrugged. ‘I’m Chuuya.’

Hecate went back to bending over his work, dipping the quill in ink to soak the dried tip again. ‘Akutagawa,’ he said.

To Chuuya’s ears, an introduction sounded like permission to step further inside his lair and snoop a little. ‘What’s that?’

‘A necromancy spell,’ Akutagawa mumbled, finishing his painted circle. The stack of papers by his side moved; it that was the spell, Chuuya was partly unimpressed.

A small blue snake came out slithering from under the parchments, around the paperweight skull.

‘Aw, hello there.’ Chuuya brought his hand closer to the snake’s mouth. Her forked tongue flickered, and then she thrust her body forward, curling around Chuuya’s arm to slither her way up until her head rested over his shoulder. Alright, then. ‘Is this what you do?’ Chuuya asked, turning his new friend towards Akutagawa.

‘What? No, that’s just a snake. It lives around here.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Snake,’ Akutagawa said, blowing once over his paper to dry the blood-like ink. He rolled his spell closed, using melted wax to bind the edge in place.

‘That won’t do, she needs a name.’ Chuuya looked into her unblinking brown eyes perched on his shoulder comfortably. ‘Hello, Sky. Do you like your new name?’ The snake curled further around his shoulder so Chuuya assumed she did. ‘So,’ he started, attention back to Akutagawa. ‘Do you also work for Dazai?’

‘With him, not for him,’ he emphasized, shoving his work into a jar and stepping away from the workbench, careful not to step on Atsushi’s tail when he passed it, dragging his feet towards a hole in the floor Chuuya hadn’t noticed. Peeking over it, the hole gave way to a mountain stream of the river Styx, as glowing green as he remembered it. Akutagawa shoved his arm with the jar into it, and when he lifted it back, a soul of the perpetually damned swam anxiously inside the little bottle.

Matters of the deceased were always so fucking weird.

The things he put up with in exchange for information about Dazai. Chuuya asked, ‘Is he usually interested in dismembering curses?’

Akutagawa stared at him in a way that perfectly conveyed he was done with Chuuya’s prying and the interruption of his work. And also an unmistakable underlying threat to shove him out of his lair through any of the two entrances. Chuuya offered him a plain smile; he didn’t want to swim nor did he fear a fight, though he did want to keep prying in the future, so he mimicked a lock over his lips and busied himself peeking into the different herbal jars on a shelf.

‘Have you noticed that the nights in the Underworld are longer than those above?’ Akutagawa asked, an eternity later. Chuuya half turned towards him again. ‘Very short sunrises, a couple hours of sunlight and especially beautiful sunsets, all leading into the longest night.’ Chuuya nodded curtly, his left eye wrinkling closed as the snake made her way further upwards into his hair. ‘That’s Dazai’s design, and his magic powers the system. I set it up for him.’

‘And what, do you get to do your creepy little deadly projects here in exchange?’ Chuuya snorted, opening a jar of oregano and smelling it. He winced–fuck, it was rancid. Akutagawa’s silence was quite telling. His face went slack. ‘Oh, wow,’ he said, voice dry, ‘your deal is so much better than mine.’

Akutagawa watched intently how Atsushi gave a big, feline stretch, blinking his eyes open lazily. ‘I also guide lost souls when it pleases me.’

‘I see… Wait. Were the torches that guided me here your doing?’

Akutagawa only hummed, hanging his finished concoction from the rock above their heads with a thick red thread. Many similar filled bottles in different stages of progress dangled beside it.

Chuuya leaned over the desk, closer to his face. ‘If I wanted to go back, can you take me?’

Akutagawa gave him a curious look, once again unsure if he was being serious or mocking him. Chuuya couldn’t see the possible mockery in wanting to return home. ‘I can help you find your way, but you won’t be exempt from paying the price.’

Only dead ends in this goddamn palace. Chuuya slammed the oregano jar over the desk. ‘You should restock some of this.’

‘Putrescence makes the potion stronger,’ Akutagawa offered against his frustration.

Chuuya coaxed the snake out of his hair back into the pile of papers she had been hiding in before. ‘I’ll leave you to your witchcraft.’

‘It’s necromancy.’

The complaint reverberated on the stone walls, accompanying him as Chuuya climbed the stairs back to the hall. Fuck it. He was nowhere close to finding a means to make the trip back home, far away from his friends and family, from his home and his job. Short of lowering to his knees in front of Dazai pleading to be sent back home, he was resolutely empty-handed; and Chuuya wasn’t even sure Dazai wouldn’t try to spin it on him and to strike another deal just as precarious, if not more.

Chuuya walked past the door to his room in the direction of the greenhouse. He needed a comforting place to think; clearly, being left to his own devices in a giant temple, roaming around blind was leading him nowhere. A plan. Two plans, actually, to get into the archive, and for his trip back. And then he would try again.

Chuuya stopped in his tracks, taking a few steps back. A stack of books tied with a ribbon were placed by the door, waiting for him. When he knelt to gather them up, the snake from earlier seized the opportunity to latch herself around Chuuya’s arms again. ‘Oh, hey again, you,’ he said, standing up and pushing into his room. ‘Did you follow me?’

Chuuya left the books over his table, undoing the knot to pick up the first one. The book was leather bound, delicate, the sheets sewn together begging to be handled with care. Flicking through the pages, blocks of text and figures blinked at him, some of which he recognized. Chuuya rushed to glance through the second and third books. These were all Atlas’ notes on his work about movement theory and dynamics, but most importantly, they were all original manuscripts. Chuuya found Atlas’ signature on the fist page, dragging his fingertip over the rough letters with a silken touch. What?

He stomped down the hall, book in hand. Chuuya stalked the first working spirit he chanced upon until it disclosed Dazai’s whereabouts, and then set off to the throne room.

The sentinels stationed outside the double doors reached for the doorknobs before he could open his mouth to ask whether Dazai was available or not. Well, as soon as he stepped inside it became clear that he wasn’t.

Dazai was in the middle of a meeting with two minor gods and a forest nymph that didn’t seem to be going particularly well. The ambience was thick with stagnant air, dense enough to stop the passage of time, waiting in heady anticipation for the next damning word from Dazai’s lips. Darkness clung to the corners of the walls as the result of Dazai’s power commanding the room–Chuuya knew those weren’t simple shadows, and the difference with how that power had behaved with Chuuya in this very same room had his nails biting into his palms.

Dazai’s gaze over the three men was a prime example of the ruthless reputation he held outside and, probably, inside of this realm. Gone were the traces of a dimpled smile and the tender, honey-colored eyes from the meadow.

Shit. This wasn’t going to play out well for his plan to change Dazai’s mind, right? Dazai directed an apathetic glance to the door when it closed behind him, and now Chuuya was in the spotlight, after interrupting official matters, with a stupid physics book hidden behind his back.

‘Leave us,’ Dazai said, the severity in his voice spreading through his body like an ice crack, staining his brittle share of a soul black. Chuuya nodded, backtracking immediately. ‘Not you, Persephone.’

Chuuya remained frozen in place while the three men scrambled to stand on their feet and hurried through the door. His grip tightened around the back of the book; there was no way, there was just no way for him to disclose to Dazai that he had interrupted official business with the absolute most unimportant reason Chuuya could think of, the alleged gifting of a book he’d claimed he would love to read, without a single clue indicating this was a Dazai doing. Just utter embarrassment and a whim.

If Dazai had nothing to do with this, Chuuya would be the one throwing himself into the Styx for eternity.

Dazai rose from his throne. Chuuya didn’t move an inch. He winced the moment Dazai strolled towards him when propriety called for Chuuya to be the one to do it instead. Such an amazing way to gain Dazai’s favor.

‘Apologies, I shouldn’t have-’

Dazai swatted it away. ‘It’s fine, I was growing deadly bored,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve made a friend.’

Dazai lifted his hand to Chuuya’s ear, the barest of touches enough for all of Chuuya’s attention to travel there, hung up on Dazai’s every movement, holding his breath. Sky, curled around his arm and hidden in his hair, slid her head out to flicker her tongue against Dazai’s finger.

Chuuya swallowed, and commanded all his will to say with a teasing tone, ‘I’m training her to bite on command.’

Dazai let out a soft laugh, his arm falling to his side. ‘Would expect nothing less.’

Foolishly, he felt colder in the aftermath of Dazai’s touch. Chuuya cleared his throat and brought the book forward, between their chests. The courage needed to expose his impulsive visit easier to conquer than lingering on the effect of a single brush against his skin. ‘Did you leave this for me?’

Dazai lowered his eyes to the book between them, gave the minute twitch of a shoulder and said, disinterested, ‘A servant had orders to deliver them to you.’

‘This is Atlas’ work.’

‘Yes, he was excited to know someone else held his work in high regard. His ramblings weren’t particularly appreciated by his people back then,’ Dazai said, as if he hadn’t been the one to bring up Chuuya’s existence unprompted to a Titan. He added, ‘Those are his personal diaries.’ His voice was too bland for him to be emphasizing the invaluableness of the gift.

Dazai acted like this had nothing to do with him even if his words told the opposite story, and when Chuuya knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that these precise books hadn’t spawned out of nowhere beside his door after he had shown clear interest in them. But fine, if it would kill Dazai to be straightforward, Chuuya would learn to play his game.

‘Oh,’ Chuuya said, ‘Well, give him my express gratitude when you meet him again.’

‘Your gratitude will be extended.’

Dazai’s gaze never left his again. Chuuya held onto his eyes, not because he found them beautifully fascinating, which he did, but because they were the only true thing in Dazai’s face. Dazai loved to conduct his interactions behind a mask, dictated by his iron control. Chuuya only ever had for himself the scorching intensity of his eyes, but he wanted more.

He squared his shoulders. ‘I’d send him a gift but I’m not sure he has use for anything given his predicament.’

Dazai minutely clenched his jaw, the tell gone as fast as Chuuya had caught the movement. ‘I didn’t know your affections were so easily gained by scribblings on a book.’

‘It’s a polite gesture, the likes of which I doubt you know anything about.’ Chuuya bit his lower lip. ‘My affections are reserved for someone else.’

Dazai laughed, humorlessly. ‘Of course, your darling soulmate. How could I forget.’

This smile was intrinsically different than the self-satisfied smirk Chuuya had come to know in the past two days–way sadder to look at. He didn’t care, Dazai was still mocking him. How hard could it be to own up to a nice gesture and just say I hope you fucking like it or something? And what was there to laugh about Chuuya wanting his fucking soulmate? About being tired of loneliness? About trying to do something about it?

Chuuya hugged the book to his chest and directed at him a fake, but proper polite smile. ‘Apologies again for the interruption,’ he said. And then, to test Dazai because he could, ‘I’m gonna go enjoy Atlas’ gift now.’

With the mandatory curt bow, he turned around and left the throne room. The sentinels didn’t have time to close the door behind him, it did forcefully on its own with an aggressive bang.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Oranges were his fruit for the third day, already peeled and with the different pieces split, waiting for him in a bowl when he stretched himself awake. If nothing else, Chuuya could get used to the breakfast in bed.

He took his time in the bath, trying to relax the knots in his tense muscles and in his brain. Today was the day he focused on the archive; the size of the palace was kicking his ass in terms of finding anything, yes, but it was Dazai who was driving him mad to the point of distraction.

Chuuya couldn’t afford to get distracted, not now.

He sat by the table, tasting the fruit. The first bite made him wrinkle his nose; god, they were too sour for his taste. Still, he attempted to finish the segment—

‘You—’ Chuuya heard, from all around the room at once, a rush of cold air brushing his skin, the tingle of magic making all his hair float momentarily. The voice had traveled faster than the portal had finished opening. ‘—are in so much fucking trouble.’

A bundle of limbs came crashing into him and he toppled over, chair leaning back under the weight of their bodies combined. Chuuya tried to hold onto the new body, yet still ended up a mess, half against his mattress, half over the floor; when he finally managed to stop seeing double, he stared, perplexed, at Albatross splayed on top of him.

Albatross pushed onto his wrists to lean upwards and look at him. ‘What the fuck, Chuuya?’ he said, eloquently.

‘I didn’t miss this,’ Chuuya groaned, his head ringing from the fall.

‘Are you okay?’ Albatross asked, grabbing his arms. His pupils were worryingly wide in his frantic outburst; Chuuya was glad that he wasn’t shaking him at least.

‘I mean, you weigh a ton, but nothing new.’

‘Chuuya,’ he said, and the first shake came. ‘You’ve been gone for two days. You said it was going to be quick, and I’m,’ he emphasized, ‘bending over fucking backwards trying to cover your fucking whimsy trip. Are you okay? Did he trap you here? Did he hurt you? Oh my god, did he hurt you?’

Chuuya struggled to keep up with the amount of rushed words. ‘Tross, I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down, and get off.’ Albatross never heeded his words; instead, he patted Chuuya down his arms and then shoulders, for some reason, as if expecting him to have any protruding bruise. ‘Do I look like I’m hurt?’ Chuuya asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Other than a possible fucking brain bleed from your terrible landing, that is.’

With a relieved sigh, Albatross stood up, lending Chuuya his hand to propel him up with him. ‘You’re okay,’ he said to himself, sighing. His frown came back deeper, wrinkling his forehead, the space between his eyebrows, and the corners of his eyes. ‘You’re okay? Why aren’t you coming back?’

Chuuya patted the dust off his chiton. ‘Technically, I can’t-’

‘You can’t?’ He shook his head. ‘Fuck, I knew he was going to trap you here. Did he take your coin?’

‘My coin?’ Chuuya huffed. ‘You didn’t tell me bargaining with Charon meant he’d ask for my eyes.’

‘How was I supposed to know that?’ Albatross threw his hands around. ‘I’ve never been on a boat in my life!’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Chuuya said. ‘I’m fine, I’m just-’

‘You’re fine?’ Tross laughed, walking to the table. A letter materialized between his fingers and he dropped it by the fruit. ‘From your Ane-san,’ he said, and produced a second letter. ‘From your brother.’ Another one. ‘From your brother.’ And a fourth letter. ‘Oh, did I say from your brother?’

Chuuya rushed to pick them up, sorting through the envelopes. ‘You told them?’

Albatross stared at him momentarily, the way you would watch your best friend descend into madness. ‘Chuuya,’ he said, ‘the whole Olympus noticed your absence. It’s impossible not to. I told them you’re on a short, spiritual vacation to find inner peace. Your brother cried in front of me because you didn’t “tell him beforehand”.’ Albatross accompanied the words with air quotes. ‘It was a first in my career passing someone tissues while he wrote his letters to you.’

‘What? I haven’t taken a vacation in-’ His answer died as Albatross’ words finally sunk in. ‘Oh I’m going to help you find inner peace.’

Paul wasn’t going to let Chuuya live down such a trip, regardless of it being a short vacation or not. If he ever discovered the true nature of this visit, Chuuya was going to have to fend him off for at least five hundred years.

Albatross swiftly jumped to the opposite side of the table and raised his arms, palms facing Chuuya. ‘You don’t get to complain!’ He started towards the door. ‘Look, I’m just gonna go talk to Hades, you’re coming back with me.’

‘No, Albatross, wait.’ Chuuya held him by the wrist. ‘I’m choosing to stay here.’

‘It’s your choice? Really? So you can leave whenever you want?’

Chuuya let him go. ‘No, but-’

‘So he’s kidnapped you.’

Chuuya clicked his tongue. ‘No, sit down, listen to me.’ He guided Albatross until he was seated at the foot of his bed, Chuuya standing before him. ‘I’m in the process of making a deal with him to access the soulmate archive. I think I can-’

‘A deal? With Dazai?’ Albatross snorted. ‘You’re absolutely out of your mind.’

‘It’s just seven days,’ Chuuya said. ‘I’m still looking for a way to bargain with the price, but…’

‘What’s he asking for?’ he asked. Chuuya stilled. Albatross stared at him unblinking at first, then leaned forward after the lack of a response. His eyes widened a bit as he warned him, ‘Chuuya.’

Chuuya parted his lips.

‘My soul.’

Albatross launched himself towards the door, standing up from the bed with a leap. Chuuya was lucky to have been expecting it–to have quick reflexes and the kind of power that allowed him to conjure a small root on the floor, merely tall enough to make Albatross trip. Chuuya jumped after him and they stumbled, once again, in a mess of limbs onto the floor. Chuuya came on top, knees bent on each side of his hips.

‘Are you crazy!?’ Albatross was panting from the fall, staring up at him so riddled with anxiety that when his hands latched to Chuuya’s sides, they trembled.

‘I’m not giving him my soul, I’m not.’ Chuuya’s attempt to be reassuring was unsuccessful, since Albatross tried to drag himself towards the door once more. ‘Tross,’ he called, ‘the archive is right there, I have to at least try.’ Albatross never stopped looking at him like he needed to be saved from himself. Chuuya whispered, ‘Please.’

‘The flags keep asking about you.’ Tross pressed his lips together, and his frown relaxed to make space for his eyebrows curling upwards in the most pitiful expression he had ever managed, not unlike a puppy kicked twice out of spite. ‘Olympus looks ugly. You should come back.’

‘Don’t use the flags against me, Olympus looks exactly the same because I’ve been gone for barely longer than forty-eight hours, and I’ll come back.’ Chuuya’s eyes softened as he said, ‘Soon.’

‘Yeah?’ Albatross asked. ‘And how exactly do you intend to do that?’

Chuuya stood and helped him up. ‘I don’t know yet, I’ve been searching the palace.’ He shrugged; his gaze darted towards the letters on the table. He stepped away from the distress in Tross’ voice. ‘I’m sure I’ll find something. Dazai isn’t going to want me here forever, so either I find my way back or he kicks me out eventually.’

Chuuya was going to omit the nature of every conversation he’d had with Dazai to date for his best friend’s sanity. He couldn’t yet rule out the option of having to swim back to the surface with the damned for a hundred years.

‘Why—Just why can’t you wait like everyone else?’ Albatross said, trailing after him.

‘Wait?’ Chuuya twirled around. ‘I’ve been waiting for centuries, I’ve been watching everyone get with their match, waiting for my turn.’ His voice failed him as he said, ‘I’ve been searching everywhere.’

The silence that followed brought him a headache. Chuuya needed all of three breaths to continue, forcing down the lump in his throat. ‘You found your soulmate, while I waited. Piano Man, Iceman, Doc, Lippmann. Even Eros has found his soulmate. What does he even need a soulmate for?’

‘Ranpo is literally the god of love and desire…’ Albatross added unhelpfully.

‘He’s a frolicking piece of shit!’

‘He would say there’s no better way to find your other half than trial and error. Maybe you should try that yourself.’

‘Well, maybe you should trust me.’

Chuuya held Albatross’ gaze as a last resort, a wordless technique of looking into light green eyes until he reached the most tender, weakest bit of his mischievous heart and squeezed. It never failed to make him cave.

Albatross noticed his intention, face going slack and lips parting, ready to complain. He was always helpless to stop him. ‘I hate this. Don’t do this to me,’ he moaned. Chuuya deepened his staring. ‘Fuck. The fact that I can’t say no to you will be both our undoings.’ With one last defeated groan, Albatross leaned forward, engulfing Chuuya in a hug. ‘If you’re not back soon, I’m taking this matter into my own hands,’ he said beside his ear.

Chuuya hugged him tighter. ‘Thank you.’

Albatross leaned back. He took one last searching look at his face and sighed.

‘Come back!’ He said, and then he disappeared inside his portal, aiming for his next delivery address.

Chuuya stared at the letters on his table, at the unfinished orange pieces, at the sour drips of juice that stained the bottom of the ceramic bowl. He was running out of time; the people back at Olympus were going to be satisfied with the vacation excuse for so long, and the moment the environment started to change in his absence the higher gods might get involved.

The problem was that Chuuya hadn’t expected to feel so… comfortable in the Underworld. He was searching, yes, for the archive and for a way back, yet at the same time he struggled with the sensation that he had somehow arrived at the finish line. He should have been anxious, sticking to Dazai’s side, begging until he got sick of the sight of Chuuya and conceded his wish just to get rid of him; should have found the archive by now, should have been worried about the fact that he didn’t have a way home.

But he wasn’t, and his fight or flight response refused to activate because Chuuya was, in no way, shape or form in danger. He knew, in the deepest crevices of the soul he still possessed, that he was safe.

In the Underworld.

In Hades’ palace.

Maybe Albatross was right, and he was going insane.

His hesitation to leave was undeniable by now, impossible to explain in a way that was as confusing as it was terrifying, and equally as burdening as all the things Chuuya should feel but didn’t. It was even more evident when he exchanged his original plans of searching for the archive with visiting the greenhouse.

He felt better after checking on the state of the saplings, enjoying the scent of the full bloomed roses on his way to the stream. He jumped over it, walking through the camp of dahlias and carnations, knowing that, in a few hours, when the magical dusk of the Underworld started to set, the moonflowers would awake, too.

Chuuya laid on Dazai’s spot under the olive tree. The breeze was soft, brushing his hair against his face, too gentle to tangle it.

He closed his eyes to the sensation. Enjoyed the movement of his clothes against his skin.

Chuuya drifted off to the sound of the rustling leaves.

In his dreams, Chuuya didn’t enjoy the beauty of spring alone. The fabric of his clothes moving with the wind wasn’t the only thing brushing all over his skin. The caress of the grass around him, down his arms, down his legs, wasn’t the touch that awoke him gently.

In his dreams, the scent of ripe pomegranate drifted around him, engulfing him, making him crave a taste, to take the sweetest bite.

His eyes fluttered open. Chuuya forgot all about the dream.

Dazai’s head, framed by the hues of sunset, was right above him; his deep brown eyes set on his face, shining impossibly bright–impossibly warm with the orange light. To rule over the dead was an unfair sentence. Dazai should be out on the surface, among Chuuya’s colors. Chuuya’s spring would do him wonders.

Chuuya blinked the remnants of sleep away.

Dazai said, soft like the wind, ‘May I sit?’

Chuuya leaned up, resting on his elbows. He must have slept longer than intended.

‘You may,’ he answered. Chuuya cleared his throat, patting the green scraps of grass from his clothes. ‘I should be going. I’m occupying your thinking spot.’

Dazai languidly took a sit by his side, laying onto his back with his arms bent behind his head. ‘I’d rather you stayed. I was hoping to not have to think at all.’

Chuuya nodded, his sluggish mind taking its sweet time registering the words. He pouted and said, with a teasing drop, ‘Hey now. Are you calling me a nuisance?’

Dazai was in no rush to answer, closing his eyes to the breeze, much like Chuuya had. The silence stretched long enough that he thought Dazai was the one asleep now.

Chuuya hesitated between joining him or leaving him alone.

‘A distraction,’ Dazai said next. And then, as a whisper meant to hide the words among the rustling of the petals and the last of the bird chirps. ‘The most compelling one.’

Chuuya gasped, his folded index rising to silence his traitor lips. He was glad the wind was keeping all their secrets. Unsure how to answer, he laid down on his napping spot beside Dazai once more.

He felt like stardust, drifting away in the celestial realm. Made of aether, a weightless piece of the cosmos. He felt whole in ways previously unknown to him. He felt like he had never known loneliness.

Chuuya asked, another secret for their greenhouse to keep, ‘Has anyone else ever come to you asking to enter the registry?’

He didn’t expect a response, but he received one anyway. ‘Plenty of desperate gods, yes.’

Dazai’s voice showed the comfort this place brought him. Chuuya blindly plucked one of the wildflowers close to his hand. When he lifted it to his eyes, it looked like a daisy.

‘And how many have taken the deal?’ Chuuya asked. He brushed away the white petals; felt the sudden, cruel impulse to pull them out one by one.

Dazai’s answer was crueler. ‘None.’

Chuuya released the petal he had been pinching.

He turned his head to look at him. ‘What? Really?’

Dazai’s eyes were lidded, staring up at the night sky. ‘I never offered them the chance.’

Chuuya’s bones ached, begging him not to ask why. He did anyway.

‘They had nothing worth bargaining for,’ Dazai said. ‘Their souls could never interest me.’

‘And mine does?’

Dazai’s mouth remained shut. Chuuya felt the irrational need to press. ‘Why?’ he asked out loud once more, and then in his mind why why why why why.

Dazai lifted his shoulder minutely, as much as the laying position allowed him.

‘I had nothing better to do.’

Chuuya sat up. ‘Why is it always layer upon layer of deceit with you?’ If his outburst surprised Dazai, he didn’t show it. ‘Would it kill you to be honest once in your immortal fucking life?’

Dazai looked at him, only looked at him, eyes dark as the starry sky above them. He wasn’t going to get an answer. He stomped his way up to standing on weakened legs.

Dazai didn’t care to stop him, and Chuuya left. Not without seeing that, in the place he had been laying, a bed of daisies had bloomed with the shape of his body and all the colors he had been picturing in his dream.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

When Chuuya woke up on the fourth day, the anger from Dazai’s evasive answers hadn’t been placated in the slightest. His illusion of peace had been shattered in the harshest way, and he had no intention of staying locked into this palace with nothing to do but fail at everything he planned.

He ignored his fruit of the day–pears, this time–in lieu of barging into Dazai’s throne room unannounced.

Dazai snapped his head to look at him; surprise made his face look younger by centuries. Chuuya doubted the widened eyes had to do with his noisy entrance, but had entirely to do with his presence altogether. Dazai finished signing the parchment a servant was stretching before him and raised to his full height.

Before he could say anything, Chuuya beat him to it.

‘I want to go visit the town.’

‘Okay…?’ Dazai averted his eyes momentarily. ‘You’re not a prisoner here, Chuuya. You’re a guest. You can go wherever, whenever you want.’

Chuuya blushed. His name on Dazai’s lips an unexpected hit that stripped him of his anger, of the air in his lungs. Chuuya gaped.

‘Fine,’ he said, turning on his heels to leave and find his own way back to town, and if it had to be down a thousand stairs again then so be it.

‘Are you asking for company?’ Dazai said.

Chuuya swirled around. Dazai was way closer to him than he had been before.

‘I don’t want company,’ he muttered. ‘Least of all yours.’

Nevermind that Chuuya sounded insincere, that his words were born from the need to save face, it was the last thing he said before Dazai grabbed him by the wrist and he was enveloped in rush of dark power. The tug of space bending around him threatened to split him in two, traveling body first and mind second. A fog of blacks and blues dissipated into the town by the river.

For an excruciating second, Chuuya had no idea where or who he was.

He focused on the busy streets in front of him. He had been transported, alongside with Dazai.

‘Your manners leave so much to be desired,’ Chuuya groaned.

Dazai did an extraordinarily poor job at hiding his amusement.

‘Possibly. Shall we?’

Dazai extended his arm toward the street in front of them. The village looked so different under daylight; Chuuya had guessed correctly that first night, the atmosphere was lively, full of people loitering around the streets. Or, well, the soul of the deceased, who, while still corporeal, presented the occasional spirit-like drifting movement.

The street Dazai pointed at was almost filled to the brim, and the adjoining ones looked very much the same. Any remainder of his previous irritation left him.

‘Today’s market day,’ Dazai explained, walking slightly behind him. ‘Many shops have stalls on the street to sell specialties and items on discount.’

Chuuya’s first stop was at a jewelry stand, filled to the brim with pieces made of high-quality materials and an ample variety of stones–his attention stolen by a black onyx ring.

‘The Underworld doesn’t look half as scary and depressing as some stories make it to be.’

Dazai waited for Chuuya to finish perusing the bracelets, and said, ‘That’s because we’re in Elysium. This town and the fields along the river are where the honored souls get to spend their merry afterlife.’ They moved to the following shop. ‘The bad guys are kept somewhere else.’

Chuuya cast a side-glance towards Dazai. He was busy taking in the pouches of different spices and teas, engaging in polite conversation with the owner, but the remnants of the pleased tone still lingered in his soft smile. For someone that had the ability to be so cruel, Dazai’s smile could be surprisingly soft. His happiness was a rare sight, at least for Chuuya. While doing business, Dazai’s teasing had a much more sinister tone–Chuuya mustn’t forget the impossible deal he had presented him just to watch Chuuya’s hope crumble in front of him, for his own wicked enjoyment. But when he looked at Chuuya like he wanted to know all he had to say, when he paid attention to him, when he was accommodating, and infuriating, but tender; when he found solace in Chuuya’s power and when he looked at him with stars and honey in his eyes, stretching his sinful lips just enough to show Chuuya the beginning of those dimples… Chuuya’s chest sparked with heat, and his mind got rid of everything that wasn’t Dazai, and suddenly his utmost priority was trying to make out what hid behind those rare smiles he showed, all for Chuuya.

He must be reading into them more than there really was to it. He had to. God, he truly was going crazy after his time spent in the underground without his routine and his friends.

Chuuya shook his head and looked at the different mixes of herbs and spices. He wasn’t particularly hung up on tea as his drink of choice, but he had been brought up to enjoy a cup from time to time by Ane-san. Maybe getting some fruit-flavored blend to take back to her when he returned to Olympus would help lessen the length of her questioning.

‘There are more variations inside if you’d like to take a look,’ the shopkeeper said.

The young woman was sitting by the door, filling some small fabric bags with lemon verbena leaves. She tied them with a pink bow, and then got up from her small seat, patting her apron to get rid of the tea dust.

‘Oh, sure,’ he said, pulling on the long sleeve of Dazai’s black tunic so he would follow him inside. He didn’t complain.

The store was pretty much stuffed with big bags of tea blends, sets of different herbs tied together and unground spices. On the shelves, some homemade liquors were tagged with their bottling date and the fruit being distilled.

‘Looking for something in particular?’ the keeper asked, stepping behind the counter.

‘Do you have anything citrus and peach?’ Chuuya walked towards her while Dazai stayed behind, by the shelf with the berry liquors. A soft hum escaped his lips. ‘As for the herbs, maybe lemongrass and citrus root.’

The woman disappeared behind a curtain and brought with her some samples for Chuuya to smell. The options varied from floral to earthy with an underlay of smoke. He nodded with a small appreciative moan at one of the warmer scents, the perfect mix of jasmine and plum over a base of lemon tea that he knew Kouyou would love.

‘This one?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, that’s good… Wait.’

Chuuya blushed. God, he was embarrassed. He hadn’t thought about it, of course, still used to his… monetary privilege back in Olympus. But Olympus’ money was worthless here, where Chuuya should have remembered that a different currency was used.

Chuuya’s ears burned as he admitted, ‘I’m so, so sorry but I can’t get that.’

The woman smiled kindly, filling a bag for him. ‘You can take it. It’s not everyday that his highness brings such a lovely friend.’

‘No, I—’

The shopkeeper kept packaging the tea bag, all of Chuuya’s attempts at dissuading her going unheeded. Helpless, Chuuya took an inconspicuous step back.

‘Dazai,’ he whispered.

Dazai shifted his perusing gaze from the liquors to him. ‘Hmm?’

‘Lend me some money, please.’

Dazai snorted softly. ‘Aw, but what do I get from doing that?’

‘Come on, you don’t get to be both stingy and an asshole.’ Chuuya shifted his weight between his feet under the weight of his unyielding eyes. He sighed. ‘Next time you’re in Olympus I’ll get you something in return.’

Dazai stepped closer to him, leaning into the liquor shelf by his side, towering over Chuuya. His proximity was always a strain on Chuuya’s neck, and an adrenaline shot straight to his blood.

‘At least beg me a little.’

‘Here, really?’ Chuuya deadpanned. ‘In front of everyone?’

Chuuya watched Dazai stretch his lips into a smirk that forecast nothing appropriate was going to leave that mouth next, so he pulled on his sleeve again to drag him to the counter before he could open his wicked mouth.

Despite the shopkeeper’s insistence, Dazai paid for his tea, and then they resumed their stroll down the market stalls. The bustle of the people around them made for pleasant background noise while Dazai pointed at the most popular shops in town and explained the intricacies of the Underworld, listing some of the illustrious heroes who had made it to Elysium in the afterlife.

‘So are your friends dead and confined here or do you also make them beg for an invite to be able to travel?’

‘They can come and go.’ Dazai exaggerated a shiver. ‘I wouldn’t want to watch Ango beg, though. I’m only moved by the tears of pretty things.’

‘Pig,’ Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. He stopped walking abruptly, rejoicing when Dazai had to backtrack to keep up with him.

The flower shop had a carefully selected display of beautiful hyacinths in deep colors, from striking blues, to gleaming purples and burgundies; red poppies and yellow narcissus surrounded by aconites, and an impressive bucket of red anemones.

‘Do you plant all of these?’ he asked the old lady manning the stand.

‘Yes, my wife and I have a garden at home.’

‘It’s impressive work, especially the anemones considering the amount of sunlight they need,’ Chuuya said, moving over to the next bucket of flowers. ‘Asphodels. These ones can only grow here right?’

‘That’s right.’ She came around the stall to stand beside Chuuya, pointing at the anemones. ‘We don’t usually have so many, but they bloomed beautifully a few days ago. It was a nice surprise.’ She motioned for Chuuya to follow after her. ‘Come, look,’ she said, bringing over some of the anemone pots she kept bathing in the sunlight by the entrance of the shop. ‘Keeping them in pots helps so we can move them around with the sun but… The petals always suffer.’

The side of his face burned. Chuuya stumbled, trying to pay attention to the seller–an impossible feat when the tingling sensation of Dazai’s eyes dead set on his skin worked like a flint striking against steel, with the only intention of setting him on fire. Chuuya spared a glance back at him and the look on Dazai’s face almost made him choke, shoulders growing tense. Dazai quietly observed his interaction with the florist, enjoying it languidly without any intention to rush them, and yet the intensity in his eyes spoke of the pleasure he took in staring at Chuuya solely.

It had Chuuya struggling with his next words. ‘Yeah, huh, moonshine can fix that for you, I have a recipe but you need a forge…’ He shook his head, in an attempt to clear the fog that riddled it, to no avail. ‘I will try to get some delivered to you.’

The woman’s surprise was easily readable in the widening of her eyes and the upturn of her eyebrows. It made her drop some of her years. ‘That’s too kind, I couldn’t ask that of you.’

Chuuya smiled at her tightly, the warmth from the point where Dazai had his eyes on him spreading all over his body. He licked his lips. ‘It’s fine—’

‘Here,’ she said, picking one of the harvested anemones and cutting the stem shorter. She was careful in spite of the slight tremor in her hand as she tucked the flower behind Chuuya’s ear. ‘As a thank you.’

Chuuya thanked her and braved the short steps around the counter, back into the street where Dazai waited. He came to a halt right in front of him, head tilted back to meet his eyes. Dazai raised a steady hand to Chuuya’s temple, caressing the skin towards his ear in a soft curve, following the round, spread out petals of the red anemone. His jaw was tense.

‘You look radiant,’ he said.

Chuuya had to be making up the words he wanted to hear between Dazai’s lips. There was no other possibility.

‘Shall we continue?’ he asked, to cover up the way his breath had hitched.

Dazai took his hand away.

‘Yes.’

Their next stop was a stall piled with books and parchments sorted by topic. The more he saw of the market, the deeper Chuuya fell in love with it, with the diversity between the stands, the atmosphere, the hustle and bustle of people engaging in conversation, making their purchases. Chuuya could find happiness just by wandering along the streets to his heart’s content, getting to know the different vendors, if his attention wasn’t consumed by Dazai in its entirety.

He cast a sideways glance towards him. Dazai was leafing through the books, hanging around those in the astrology pile. Chuuya couldn’t take his eyes off him; he still felt the ghost of his fingertips on his skin–his lingering touch had branded a path on Chuuya with the force of a burning star. Dazai’s caress would have sent him to hell if he wasn’t already in it.

That wasn’t an appropriate train of thought at all. He begged his mind to stop straying–this feeling, blooming fast in the depths of his chest, carried through in his veins, was unbecoming. These were the kind of thoughts Chuuya should have for his—

‘Would you like to taste some sweets?’

Chuuya spun around. A bearded man was standing in the stall behind him, with a gilded plate extended forward.

‘We have several flavors, ranging from sweet to sour,’ he said. ‘Come, take one.’

‘Alright,’ he stepped closer to him. ‘I’ll do a sweet one.’

The man turned the plate around so small, golden brown rectangle sweets were facing him. Chuuya picked one.

‘Don’t stray,’ Dazai said, sticking to his side out of nowhere. ‘You’re so small I almost lost you in the crowd.’

Chuuya stepped on his sandaled foot. Dazai bent in, letting out a small groan that he masked so well Chuuya might have believed he was starting to hear things if they hadn’t been so close together. Satisfied, he bit half of the sweet.

The flavor exploded in his mouth. A honey and sesame candy that melted on his tongue, sticky at first yet soothing as it traveled down his throat, and undeniably delicious.

He twisted his shoulders towards Dazai, showing him the treat. ‘Oh, you have to taste this, it’s exquisite.’

Leaning down into Chuuya’s space as he had been, the candy hung between them, damningly close to Dazai’s mouth. Chuuya hadn’t meant to, but his innocent gesture was an unequivocal offer. Dazai’s eyes were on his, golden and sweet like the treat, melting Chuuya in his place, too. Without taking his eyes off him, Dazai leaned forward the remaining distance, eating the half-bitten candy straight from Chuuya’s hand–he let him do it, even as Dazai’s mouth stayed pressed against his fingertips, kissing the last bit of sugar from them, Chuuya let him do it.

Dazai stretched to his full height, taking his own thumb to his mouth. ‘It is.’

His fingertips were clean, rid of the stickiness of honey. Dazai had made sure of that. Chuuya still licked at them, tasting the remains of Dazai’s kiss.

‘Yes,’ he offered, neither necessary nor helpful, head lost in a daze.

Dazai bought them a couple of candies from the vendor, who Chuuya refused to look at in the face anymore. He still enjoyed his treat, the honey flavor of it leaving him dizzy for the remainder of their stroll.

When the sun began to set, and the shopkeepers started to put away their stalls, Dazai took them back to the palace. Their tour was over so fast that Chuuya wouldn’t have minded taking the stair trip back up the mountain, as cozy as the dark fog of Dazai’s power felt when it enveloped him. Once the last dregs of mist dissipated and they were both standing before the door of his room, Chuuya couldn’t fend off the disappointment that drenched him to the marrow.

Dazai didn’t move right away to go retire to his chambers, and Chuuya didn’t step into his room either.

‘I hope the town was to your tastes,’ Dazai said, clearing his throat.

‘I had fun,’ Chuuya admitted. ‘I might have changed my mind, your company is not so bad either.’ He felt the need to poke Dazai some more, so he added, ‘Half of the time.’

‘And the other half?’

‘Infuriating.’

Dazai smiled, the soft dent of his dimples coming to light. ‘Good. I have a reputation, you know.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Chuuya rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Dazai stalled, enjoying the tail off of Chuuya’s laugh. ‘Goodnight, then—’ He didn’t move. ‘Chuuya.’

Chuuya opened the door to his room behind him. ‘Goodnight—’ He stepped backwards into it. The door remained open, his hand on the knob. Dazai was standing still on the other side, and the choice was in Chuuya’s hands. If Chuuya opened the door any further–if he took a single step back, left the offer in the space between them, Dazai would take the step forward. Dazai would be walking into his room; he would be the one to close the door after them, hold Chuuya close, take him to bed.

And then Chuuya’s whole life would shatter.

His hand tightened on the doorknob. Oh, Chuuya had known loneliness before, but he had never known desire. Not like this, not so all-consuming, so maddening, so terribly brain-melting.

‘Goodnight,’ he repeated. ‘Dazai.’

The door clicked shut, and only the somber-like mist trail of Dazai’s power remained in the corridor.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

On the fifth day, the fruits were strawberries. Supple and carmine red, they were without a doubt handpicked that very same sunrise; the color vibrant, reminiscent of the red petals that had adorned Chuuya’s hair in the market.

The anemone now rested undisturbed on the unused white pillow on his bed, beside Sky’s curled, sleeping form. He should have asked for a vase to put it in water, instead of relying solely on his power to keep it intact. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a mess. All of his plans were a raging chaos in his mind. He couldn’t go home, he was nowhere close to being let into the archive and he preferred not to address the matter of Dazai’s good graces.

He was also partly embarrassed about almost falling into Dazai’s arms the night before. What was he thinking? He made a dangerous trip to the Underworld in search of his soulmate and suddenly he was more than ready to jump into the first dark, tall, and handsome guy he met? Just because he had honey eyes and dimples?

Chuuya was wasting everyone’s time. His time, Dazai’s time, the whole Olympus’ fucking time. He was never going to sell his soul to take a peek into the archive, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t find the damn room anywhere either, regardless of wanting to partake in a suicidal attempt at sneaking in or not, because this fucking palace was massive, and he had looked everywhere. At this point, even if Chuuya got on his knees in front of Dazai and cried about it, Dazai would only enjoy the sight and then send him back home out of pity because he wasn’t the kind of man to bend the rules he set in place under any circumstance.

So Chuuya was back to square one. Well, he had never actually left square one.

And maybe he should invest some time thinking of a way to return that wasn’t dependent on Dazai’s magnanimity come the end of his given week.

Instead, Chuuya found himself occupying one of Dazai’s workbenches in the charmed greenhouse. He still intended to show his appreciation for the money he had lent him, even when he currently had nothing to his name but his power. First, he took care of Dazai’s pet project for him, checking in on the plants he had fixed before and looking over the latest additions. Chuuya smiled softly to himself when he was done, humming as he set up a new pot for his next gift. What were the chances that the king of the dead found spring relaxing? Enough to have a massive, enchanted greenhouse inside a palace that he had tried to fill with color, but still leaving the natural space empty, as if waiting for Chuuya to arrive and bring the flowers with him?

His mind had, irrationally, illogically, held on to this fateful coincidence and stripped Chuuya of all the anxiety from being away from home. Chuuya might be the only god that had set foot in the Underworld and felt like he belonged.

He plunged his arms into the moist soil of the pot. There were so many things that could be conveyed with the thoughtful choice of a specific flower. Chuuya had his preferred picks, too. Most people would resort to a red rose when trying to be romantic, missing out on the breathtaking power of a pink peony. White lilies were the standard for gratitude, but Chuuya would bloom for Dazai a bouquet of purple lisianthus instead, elegant and royal–a perfect match for him.

Chuuya would never be found being called an ungrateful guest; he prepared the flowers with the utmost care, and once they were ready, soft and shiny under his touch, he bound them with a white ribbon and set off to find a place to deliver them, ideally without facing Dazai himself.

The palace was more silent than usual, and it took him some time to find a working spirit that could help him figure out a place to leave his gift. Because of Dazai’s, apparently, constantly crammed schedule, Chuuya had a chance to leave his bouquet in Dazai’s study and flee the scene, pretty much like Dazai had done with the books.

He thanked the spirit when he opened the door to the study for him, and stepped into the room. A dark wooden desk at the far end of the chamber was dimly lit by the window on the wall behind it. It would do. Chuuya placed the bouquet on top of it, fixed the ribbon until it reached his standards of perfection, and took a step back to admire his work. Neat.

‘Chuuya.’

Chuuya jumped forward, hitting his hip against the edge of the desk. He swallowed his complaint, back stretching ramrod straight as he turned around.

Dazai, and Odasaku and fucking Ango were staring at him from the door. He stilled as if he had been caught doing something naughty, and then smiled tensely like his presence didn’t clash inside the room at all.

‘Oh—yeah,’ he said, nodding at them. ‘I was—huh.’ Ango frowned at him, and Odasaku didn’t seem exactly impressed by his display. Dazai he was avoiding looking at. Chuuya set off. ‘Goodbye,’ he waved, scurrying away around Dazai. ‘Put them in water!’

He was faintly aware of Dazai turning with him trying to catch him by the arm, but Chuuya was quick on his feet and quicker in his will to get away from such a mortifying encounter. In moments like this Chuuya wished he could send a quick message to the Fates for Sigma to finish with his hair thread at once and get Fyodor to snap it. Though, technically, that wouldn’t take him away from the Underworld, but anchor him to Dazai’s realm forever. Ah, well, he’d be out of the palace at least. Maybe aim for a pretty home in one of those river fields he mentioned. Or be sent straight into where he kept the ‘bad guys’–both worked, as long as he didn’t have to face Dazai’s friends’ inscrutable faces again.

Chuuya’s runaway attempt took him down the stairs to Akutagawa’s lair again, hoping the witch’s company would take his mind off things. The moment Chuuya stuck out his head through the stone arc, the nastiest stench of decay reached his nostrils. The whole room was a green cloud of death seasoned with the putrid touch of rancid coriander. Akutagawa raised his eyes to look at him, they weren’t pale gray anymore but a glowing green. There was a corpse on his table.

‘Shit,’ Chuuya said.

‘I’m a bit busy at the moment,’ Akutagawa spoke, not through his own mouth, but the corpse’s, whose lips had moved instead.

‘Have fun,’ he said, holding his breath in. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

He backtracked, jumping up the stairs two by two. Chuuya didn’t breathe again until he arrived at the palace’s halls, heaving for fresh air. Alright, so, no company. Fuck, he had weird friends in the surface but the people inhabiting the Underworld would give them a run for their money.

Chuuya walked out of the palace, still chasing after oxygen that didn’t stink of decay and bone dust. The area surrounding the temple was shaped by the rock paths that continued up towards the peak and around the mountain–the irregular edges and boulders that deformed the natural shape of the trails were the indisputable proof that the outside of the temple didn’t receive the same care as the inside, let alone the greenhouse.

He followed a narrow path to the right, framed by bone-thin trees, blunt-cut roots and rock. Maybe this was meant to be Chuuya’s solution all along–his focus on finding the archive inside the palace blinding him to other possibilities. Maybe he just needed the fresh air.

The branches crossed above his head, tangling with other twigs on the opposite edge of the trail. Chuuya dodged the protruding, thick branch of a pine–the path was clearly abandoned, which was a shame, as it had the potential to come back to life with honest care and a crumb of patience. Chuuya dragged his thumb along the nearest branch and picked himself with a sharp chip, despite the bark being thornless. Perhaps not everything was destined for beauty, then. He sucked on his bleeding thumb.

The trail opened up into a maze of dry vine and leafless cedar bushes; it was tall, but withered enough for Chuuya to see, in between the gaps of the dead vegetation, that it was large, decaying and un-walkable with all the roots sprouting from the ground at odd angles, the vines sharp enough to cut.

Chuuya stepped through the entrance. A rush of wind blew past him strong enough to snap the thinnest twigs. Alright, a bad-tempered labyrinth then. These weren’t Chuuya’s fields nor did he have permission to tamper with it, so as much as his fingers itched to give it a quick makeover, he refrained from doing so. It didn’t look like the place would appreciate it either. He did clean the floor a bit, though, returning to the soil all that belonged to it, just enough for him to walk comfortably inside.

Further into the maze, the vines looked stronger, less like they’d break under a harsh gaze and the brush of a fingertip. Their core was still green despite the dry brown of the edges, tougher in their grip around the bushes, and knotted into themselves to shape the walls.

It could be so easy to get lost between them.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

For the second time in a day, Chuuya was startled by Dazai. In his involuntary shiver, his hand shot out to latch onto the vine wall tightly.

He waited until there was no trace left of his shock to ask, ‘Why?’ Chuuya spared a single glance at Dazai and continued walking deeper into the maze. ‘You said I could go wherever, whenever.’

Dazai moved with him. ‘Some of the worst wraiths wander places like this to succumb to insanity in solitude.’ He stopped, five paces away from Chuuya when he finally turned to look at him. ‘What do you think they’d do to a pretty soul like yours?’

‘You said bad guys were kept somewhere else.’

Dazai closed the steps that separated them. The warmth of his body and the weight of his power reached Chuuya, engulfing him.

‘Not every honored soul adapts to the afterlife, especially when there’s certain people they will never meet again.’

Dazai’s expression was blank, and Chuuya decided he hated it when he wore so many layers in front of him. He had already seen some of Dazai’s other facets, why can’t he just be himself with Chuuya? He wanted to poke his cheek, see if he’d still find the dimples even when Dazai tried to keep them hidden. He didn’t–instead, Chuuya ventured further into the maze, his fingers following along the vines in the wall.

‘Still,’ he said over his shoulder, shrugging. ‘I can kick their ass, and yours.’

By the end of the wall, Chuuya stopped. Dazai hadn’t moved.

‘I don’t doubt that, but let’s not risk it.’

Chuuya slipped around the blunt corner of the wall, following its shape, aware of Dazai’s presence on the other side; slivers of his face were visible through the gaps in the plants, and he never took his eyes off Chuuya, his every movement, reading his body like an old, familiar map, all of his hidden urges marked red with the shape of a giant X. Chuuya felt the thrill of the chase in his bones, his nerves flaring, small hairs standing on edge. He let Dazai catch that. Chuuya bit his lower lip until he managed to forcefully peel a swab of skin off it, until he tasted blood.

‘Or what?’ he said.

There was something intoxicatingly dangerous about pushing back the king of the Underworld inside his realm. It was time for Chuuya to admit he might not have a sense of self-preservation. On this trip, so few things were in his control; he had been constantly pushed and pulled around by other people’s rules.

This was the time Chuuya tested the boundaries of them, stepped over the drawn line, disobeyed Dazai’s order.

‘Chuuya,’ Dazai warned.

Chuuya paid no mind to the fact that Dazai had read his intention clearly. He took a step backwards, and then another, towards the open path behind him, leading further into the maze.

His eyes found Dazai’s on the gaps between the leaves and vines.

Dazai shifted, careful as if not to spook him. It rushed Chuuya’s blood to his head, left him lightheaded. He breathed out a laugh, impossible to be heard in the tenseness of their positions on opposite ends of a wall.

Dazai took another step, closer to the end of the hedge.

‘Don’t be foolish now.’

Chuuya set off.

The hunt began.

Chuuya sped through the path behind him, turning right, then left, erratic in his choices, the twigs and branches from the bushes scraping at his arms as he jumped over vines and rocks.

The night loomed over him, even when no time had passed at all. Chuuya squinted his eyes to keep forward, sliding through passages narrowed by deviated growth, squeezing his body sideways between tangled tendrils and roots. He ran faster than he had ever before, twisting left again only to be met with a dead end, crashing against it with just enough time to cushion the hit with the palms of his hands.

He ran the opposite way, the shadows at his heels. He ran, ran for his life as the last threads of light dimmed, his eyes straining to keep up with the path ahead of him. Pitch darkness extended over him, around him–Chuuya lost his sight.

Dazai’s power, thick, scorching hot over his skin, enveloped him. Chuuya collided against the wall in front of him, holding onto two thick vines to keep himself up, his grip tight, knuckles white and clutching onto the plants in agonizing desperation.

He was completely surrounded by Dazai, by his essence. He felt Dazai’s body mold against his back, and the first brush of a hand roaming over his hips. Chuuya gasped. He couldn’t see anything, just feel–feel the tendrils of Dazai’s power caressing over his stomach, his arms; a non-corporeal hand that wrapped around his neck.

Chuuya’s head fell backwards into Dazai’s shoulder, trying to breathe in through his mouth, the sound coming out absolutely choked out, shortened. His mind had blurred out of existence anything that wasn’t the daring caress of a hand lowering from his hip to his thigh–Chuuya’s body was burning up from the inside out, a pool of liquid fire settling low on his stomach. He was going to faint. Deft fingers lifted the short skirt of his chiton and Chuuya’s eyes widened, rolling to the back of his head when Dazai’s fingers caressed over the softness of his thigh.

He moaned.

His grip on the vines tightened impossibly further; the weight on his back was hard and inescapable, and Chuuya trusted it to hold his body up when his legs started to fail him, all of his attention fighting to keep up between the fingers trailing to the inner side of his thigh, and the ones closing around his throat.

The air shortage fogged his brain, and his breath hitched, a sigh and a gasp trying to leave his body simultaneously, and then Chuuya was falling, falling, falling into the soft mattress of his bed where he had been dropped.

A choked exhale left his lips.

His mind tried to reorient itself, taking in the familiar disposition of his room, the pristine white of the sheets, the fact that he was alone save for a small blue snake that slithered her head out from beneath the pillow to greet him. His body was another matter altogether, still hung up on the maze, still feeling the aftershock of Dazai’s touch and his towering presence behind him.

Chuuya stifled a sob, patting blindly around himself to pick up a cushion and press it against his face, groaning into it. Fuck, fuck, his legs were still trembling. Chuuya pressed his thighs together and the remnants of heat shook up his body, throbbing between his legs.

He pressed the cushion further against his face.

The betrayal was sweet enough that Chuuya didn’t have any time to feel angry about it, only bare frustration managed to make its way past the addictive feeling of denial.

Chuuya was hit with how much he wanted Dazai, and how terrifying it was to discover that the extent of his desire was endless.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Chuuya woke up and the frustration still lingered underneath his skin, crawling along his muscles, pulling them taut, ready to snap. He had to wait until the bath that one of the working spirits had drawn for him cooled down–earning him a curious, non-blinking look in the process–hoping for the cold water to alleviate the tension in his body.

The fruit waiting for him when he stepped out of the bath on the sixth day were pomegranates. The sight landed like a sucker punch to the gut; a cruel reminder that rendered his cold bath useless.

At least he could have this little, harmless desire satisfied, right? Chuuya was already in hell, what was the worst that could happen to him if he indulged?

He sat on the table and picked a pomegranate from the bowl. The fruit in his hand was heavier than it should have been, as if its weight transcended the physical realm, and the simple action of eating the seeds covered up a monumental choice laid out for him.

Chuuya split the fruit in two, the red pearl seeds shimmering bright under the morning light. The scent reached him first, and his mouth watered. Chuuya licked his lips, raising a half towards his mouth.

The blue flash of Albatross’ portal blinded Chuuya momentarily, as his best friend stepped out of it into his room.

‘Delivery!’ Tross said.

Chuuya jolted on his seat, straightening his back. The pomegranate hung halfway to his mouth. He frowned, dropping it into the bowl.

‘No crashing and landing today?’ Chuuya asked.

Albatross’ face was blank when he sighed, and then took a seat across from Chuuya.

Chuuya’s brows wrinkled deeper. ‘Alright you’re weirding me out—’

‘Chuuya,’ Tross said. ‘I bring a formal message from your brother and Kouyou. They know where you are, and they demand you to come back immediately or they will try to surge into Dazai’s realm to get you.’

‘What?’

‘You never answered their letters,’ Tross said, with the slight lift of a shoulder. ‘The alleged vacation and my word that you’re okay aren’t enough anymore.’

Chuuya blinked momentarily, and then scrambled back to pick up some paper and ink from beside his books.

‘Shit, I forgot to read them,’ he said, bending over the table. The words rushed out of him into the paper, the ink blending together at the ends of the letters and the places where it shouldn’t. It was a disaster, the perfect representation of the turmoil that shook him and made his steady hand waver. ‘I can answer now.’

Albatross reached out to stop his wrist. ‘I think it’s a bit too late.’ He slowly shook his head no. ‘They don’t trust that you’re not being kept here against your will.’

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. He should have planned better for his overbearing family, especially since ignoring even the most insignificant of messages was an unforgivable sin in the eyes of his brother. Whenever Kouyou and him got mad about the same topic it turned into an endless stream of feeding their indignation back into each other, an unbreakable cycle of fury that made their issue the entire Olympus’ business. And they always had a fucking axe to grind together.

He would hate to bring that explosive combination here just because he had been so blinded by his own soulmate dilemma that he forgot about their nature–and they were as prideful as gods could get. But Chuuya hadn’t anticipated his week-long stay in Hades’ realm, much less the subsequent revelation that he wasn’t particularly eager to travel back.

‘No one can enter the Underworld without Dazai’s permission.’ Chuuya resumed with his letter.

‘They intend to go through Mori if they have to,’ Albatross said.

Chuuya smeared the ink on the paper. Shit. ‘That would mean war.’ He darted his eyes to his friend. ‘Dazai and Mori aren’t known for being on the best of terms precisely.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Albatross gave him a pointed look. And then, he muttered to the side, ‘Was it worth it?’

‘Don’t fucking start,’ Chuuya said, folding the letter in half. He handed it to Albatross. ‘Here. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

Albatross picked the letter with a hesitation that conveyed his opinion on the matter with immaculate precision, the paper disappearing into his pocket realm.

‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow, not particularly convinced. ‘Do you have a way back to the surface?’

Chuuya pressed his lips together. Had he ever honestly looked for a way to go back? How much effort had he actually put into returning home? The fog inside his mind kept him from remembering, but he could only avoid his duty for so long. Whatever was going on between him and Dazai must come to an end. Chuuya had to wipe it ever happened from his mind. Go back to his life.

‘You don’t have to worry about that. Just deliver this.’

‘Yeah that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.’ Albatross stood up. ‘I’m going to try to get you another coin, which I should have done fucking earlier.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll be back tomorrow, one way or another.’

Chuuya didn’t see Dazai forcefully keeping him in the Underworld when Chuuya refused his deal.

‘Alright,’ Tross said, invoking his portal again. He took one last look at Chuuya. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

‘Yeah.’

Chuuya watched him disappear, his eyes remaining stuck to where the portal had swallowed him long after he parted.

The room he had inhabited for the past week grew cold. A shame, because Chuuya had always believed it to be warm and welcoming, and he liked it–the canopied bed, the tall window, the round bath and his pile of books; the red anemone now in a small glass of water, and Sky slithering from under her pillow to meet him now that he was alone again. It was unfair that Chuuya suffocated inside of it now, the walls squeezing tightly around his lungs, ready to crumble over him, making him feel unwelcome, and, for the first time, like he didn’t belong.

Time had slipped through his fingers so fast; he still had so many things to do, to see of this realm, and it all had gone by in a blur. Chuuya tried to get up, but one step forward and he was stumbling over, catching his weight on the mattress with his palms.

Was he even the same person he used to be when he disembarked from Bram’s boat? Chuuya had made the desperate trip to exhaust an impossible clue that pointed to his soulmate, only for that debilitating need to be pushed further and further away, into the deepest recess of his mind–Chuuya had learned, instead, swiping his core beliefs under his feet, that he could want a man other than his soulmate, that his heart and mind could get hung up on someone else; that there would come a day when Chuuya would stand face to face with his soulmate and know that his heart had stopped for another before.

Coming here was a mistake. This trip had fundamentally changed Chuuya’s understanding of the universe.

Chuuya staggered out of the room on unsteady feet. He couldn’t stay holed up in there if he ever wanted to leave this place. What an absurd thought. Chuuya wasn’t meant to be here. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The small walk to the greenhouse left him out of breath. Chuuya didn’t know where he belonged anymore. The sight of the flowers, blooming healthy and strong under his care, ceased some of his anxiety. Perhaps it was the lack of a routine that had destabilized him. Perhaps Chuuya should just go back to his duty and never try to stray again.

Chuuya kept stumbling forward, but this path wasn’t similar enough to his usual rounds to finish grounding him. He jumped over the stream, threading between the dahlia bushes.

Dazai was making use of his spot under the olive tree.

Chuuya’s stomach grumbled.

Ah, yes, he had never finished eating his breakfast.

He swallowed, walked just close enough to say, ‘You seem lost in thought.’

After his last encounter with Dazai, the words were almost shy. Dazai’s eyes fluttered open, reflecting his pensive solitude, and tilted his head towards him. Chuuya hid his white-knuckled fists behind his back.

‘Chuuya,’ Dazai said, pulling him closer just by the shape of his name on his lips.

‘I didn’t mean to interrupt, I—’

‘—Needed a thinking spot, too?’ Dazai finished for him.

Chuuya lowered to his knees onto the grass, chuckling. ‘Yeah.’

Dazai patted the spot by his side. Chuuya laid beside him, blinking up at the clear sky, and dragged his body closer to Dazai’s inconspicuously. He let the gentle breeze wash over him.

Chuuya waited until he was sure Dazai would be back to his own thoughts just so he might not hear him, to gently ask, ‘Do you have a soulmate, Dazai?’

Judging by how Dazai stilled beside him, he had heard Chuuya alright. ‘I suppose I do,’ he said.

Chuuya’s heart stopped. It would never beat again. Of course, what was he expecting? Someone like Dazai had to have a soulmate. Everyone had a fucking soulmate. It was just Chuuya who was destined to remain alone. It would be funny watching Dazai trying to take his soul away when every moment seemed to prove, doubtless and resoundingly, that Chuuya didn’t even have one.

What would Dazai’s soulmate even look like? Someone powerful, hopefully with enough temper to keep up with him. Someone harmonious like him, an undeniable kind of beauty. Someone that stood out among the darkness.

‘Somewhere,’ Dazai added.

Chuuya’s thought process stalled. He turned his head to the side. Dazai was already watching him.

‘You haven’t met them?’ Chuuya asked. He supposed it made sense, otherwise Dazai wouldn’t have probably… touched him, like he had done in the maze.

Dazai just shrugged, but his hands squeezed around nothing at his sides.

‘You don’t want to?’ he pressed.

‘I had never thought about it before,’ he said. ‘I’m the king of this realm, I can’t ever abandon my duty. It’d be… unfair to drag someone into this.’

‘Your soulmate wouldn’t see it like you dragging them,’ Chuuya said, with what he hoped was an edge of teasing meant to lower the stakes of the conversation.

Dazai searched his face. Chuuya’s smile fell.

‘I don’t think they’d appreciate being pulled from the light into a life surrounded by death.’

If only Dazai knew how hard it was for Chuuya having to return to the world of the living. He couldn’t imagine it being any different for the soul that matched Dazai’s. Chuuya’s lips trembled as he said, ‘If I was your soulmate-’

‘I think it’s best if you don’t finish that sentence.’

Chuuya’s stomach dropped, and the utter cold that had seeped into his bones inside his bedroom came back tenfold. Dazai turned away from Chuuya again, eyes glued to the clear sky.

‘You have an important choice to make tomorrow. You should rest,’ he said, voice equally as toneless.

That was a dismissal if Chuuya had ever heard one. God, he was so fucking stupid. What was he thinking? Chuuya had never considered himself naive, but taking one last look at the profile of the King of the Underworld, Chuuya believed it an appropriate description.

Chuuya rushed to stand on his feet, walking away from the thinking spot, from their shared greenhouse, from Dazai.

When was the last time he had actually thought about his own soulmate at all?

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Chuuya met Dazai in the throne room at dusk on the seventh day.

Standing on the dais before him, Chuuya felt like both not a minute and an eternity had passed since he ended in this very same position the first day he arrived at the Underworld.

‘Seven days,’ Dazai said, supporting his chin against his fist. He stared down at Chuuya from his perched position on his throne. ‘Do you have an answer?’

Chuuya’s answer was no–had been no since Dazai laid the impossible deal in front of him, since that cruel attempt to play with his last, desperate sliver of hope. And yet, during the past week, Chuuya had started picturing his soulmate less and less. Chuuya would have never believed that was a possibility for him, he had been waiting for them for so long, in all possible ways a person could wait for another. He had spent centuries picturing how it would feel to have his person before him, within touching distance; how his heart would know, how the bond between them would sound, like a ‘snap’ when their pulled apart selves finally came together. But Chuuya could desire someone else, want someone else, and letting go of his holdup was blindingly terrifying, especially because it was Dazai, and for Dazai what was happening between them clearly didn’t feel as monumental, as dizzying–didn’t burn in the same way Chuuya was hurting, coughing up his bleeding heart onto a silver platter to gift away when it was unwanted.

It only proved further and further what Chuuya already knew about his fate.

‘Yes,’ Chuuya said. If Chuuya truly didn’t have a soul and Dazai tried to take it from him, nothing would happen. If he did, at least Chuuya would get to know his soulmate’s identity, find them, and begin to explain. ‘I accept the terms of the deal.’

Dazai’s lazy smile froze. He stood up, walking the step down the dais, standing before him, at the same level. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I am.’ Chuuya answered, in the face of Dazai’s hesitation. ‘Go on. I said yes.’

Chuuya, for some reason, didn’t even feel like he wanted or needed to search for his soulmate with the same passion as before.

‘Chuuya—’

Chuuya shortened the last remaining step that separated them, staring up at him with the blankest expression he managed, despite the constant weight in his chest, the utter hopelessness that had replaced his desperation. This trip was a lesson that kept on giving.

‘Do it,’ he urged.

What was the point of having a soulmate if Chuuya could still feel like this?

‘Alright,’ Dazai said. He stayed unmoving for the duration of a last look at Chuuya’s face. Chuuya never allowed a single twitch of an eyebrow, or the corner of his mouth; he barely blinked. Maybe he had learned something during his time with Dazai.

Dazai breathed in–and shoved his hand into Chuuya’s chest. His lungs emptied, Chuuya tried to inhale through his mouth but couldn’t. The hand inside his body gripped at his heart, his very essence, and the pain erupted. It traveled like an arrow within his blood, through his veins, sliding into every crack between his ribs, following the web of his nerves. Chuuya gasped, eyes widening. The throne room spun around him, a blend of darkness, white spots, and the wet shine of honey brown eyes. His ears rang; his throat dried, and itched.

Dazai tore out his hand from Chuuya’s chest. If Chuuya thought he had known pain he was mistaken. He lost the connection with his own body, he knew he crouched forward though not by feeling his own muscles shift but from an outsider’s perspective; it was impossible to focus on anything except for the vast emptiness that haunted him, oh, god, Chuuya wasn’t alive anymore, he couldn’t possibly be. His legs gave out beneath him. He recognized the adrenaline of the fall as he propelled down; the rustling of fabric and then he was caught by the waist before his knees touched the ground. Why? The fall would hurt him in the slightest compared to the utter agony right beneath his skin.

‘—ya, Chuuya—’ he heard. His consciousness wandered away from him again; Chuuya might have passed out for a second, a useless attempt to avoid the pain crushing his soulless body. He didn’t want to cry, god, he hoped he wasn’t crying.

Chuuya squared his jaw, refusing to blink and hoping that the forced dryness would keep any furtive tear at bay.

‘Chuuya,’ Dazai said, pulling the weight of Chuuya’s body into his chest.

He didn’t know how, but Chuuya managed to push himself away. ‘I did—I did my-’ Chuuya stuttered, breaking into a cough. He said through a gasp, ‘—my end of the deal.’ He tried to find Dazai’s gaze again, but his vision was so blurry he didn’t know where to look. ‘Now, you do yours—’

Chuuya made an effort to stand, but holding his own weight was still out of the question.

‘Chuuya,’ Dazai called once more.

‘You have to let me-’ Chuuya groaned. ‘You have to—Hades.’

The hands that held him tightened around his waist.

‘Very well.’

Dazai’s power enveloped him, and it was finally a sensation familiar enough that it managed to ground Chuuya in his pain. Breath by breath, Chuuya brought his lungs to work again. The warmth of Dazai’s ability comforted him enough to fend off some of the shivers that shook his body, at least momentarily, until the last trail of darkness dissipated around him. Chuuya pressed his eyes together, willing the fog in his vision away.

Dazai had taken them to a room carved in stone, possibly in the deepest part of the mountain judging by the stale air and absolute silence. The room only housed two giant doors of obsidian and gold, barely lit by flickering flames. Magical will-o-wisps, considering there was no air current.

Chuuya managed to hold himself steady on his legs, finally tripping out of Dazai’s embrace to take a better look at his surroundings. Except for the giant doors to the archive, there was no other visible entrance, nor light enough for an easy check of the walls. Chuuya wasn’t even sure how far back the room stretched. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find it on his own.

He dragged his feet towards the doors.

‘Chuuya, wait,’ Dazai said, but he didn’t stop, not until he was in front of the doors, pushing them open. They gave way under his weakened push.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Chuuya stepped out of the soulmate archive on steady feet. He felt nothing at all, though, well, that was to become his new normal as he now lacked a soul. The pain had dulled to an ignorable constant stream of discomfort, and only the phantom feeling of having his metaphorical heart taken away from him remained.

Dazai waited for him in the room, half cast in shadows. Chuuya was seeing him for the first time all over again.

‘Do you have your answer?’ Chuuya couldn’t even begin to speak. Dazai must have read it in his face, because he continued, ‘I guess you do.’

Dazai looked so cold, so utterly detached that Chuuya learned he still had the ability to feel heartbroken. His chest dropped. Dazai took a step closer to him, out of the darkness.

There wouldn’t be anymore honey-brown eyes and cheek dimples in his life, Chuuya realized.

‘What you found,’ Dazai pressed, ‘Was it to your satisfaction?’

Chuuya struggled to find his voice, so his question came out with great difficulty. ‘Did you know?’

And Dazai, ‘cruel King of the Underworld’ Dazai, ‘love of his life’ Dazai, ‘Chuuya’s soulmate’ Dazai, only lifted a dismissive shoulder as an answer. Chuuya’s first tear threatened to fall now, and he blinked it away on stubborn will alone. He had sustained a literal hell to be here, he wasn’t going to cry right now either.

‘Fuck you,’ he spit out. ‘Take me back.’

His words landed like a physical punch because Dazai surrendered a step. His eyes widened, wrinkling his forehead. He whispered, ‘What?’

Chuuya didn’t want an explanation, he wasn’t sure his body would sustain anything else anyway. Why? Just fucking why? How could he not know? Chuuya, who probably wanted a soulmate more than anyone else out of the entire Olympus. He had been so hung up waiting for a huge, glowing sign. He was pathetic.

‘I want to leave,’ he said. If only Chuuya had realized it sooner. But it didn’t matter now; Dazai had lied to his face all this time–had taken his soul away even when that would mean they would never get to be together properly as soulmates, and dismissed any attempt at a deeper connection than the physical attraction.

His own soulmate didn’t fucking want him. What a cosmic joke.

‘I don’t have a coin nor the energy to find another way back, so just take me. I know you can,’ Chuuya said. ‘I don’t want to see you anymore.’

Dazai’s power surrounded him again, swiftly concealing the room in a cloud of black mist. The drifting sensation was ten times more disorienting with Dazai not being there to hold Chuuya through the trip. Dazai didn’t take his eyes off him for a second.

‘As you wish.’

It was the last thing he heard before the darkness completely swallowed him.