When Chuuya wakes up from his medically induced-coma, he notices something strange.

There were two pots of orchids in the window of Chuuya’s hospital room. One potted a yellow-petaled orchid and the other red. They were Chuuya’s favorite flower.

He doesn’t know who left them because nobody knows that about him — other than shitty Dazai. Chuuya didn’t tell his ex-partner; Dazai just found out on his own because he’s a nosey, analytical bastard who figures out people like damn puzzles. Nothing can be hidden from him, not even if you try your hardest. But why would Dazai ever leave him flowers? Short answer, he wouldn’t and that’s that.

Chuuya sighs and shakes his head minutely. Even at times like this, Osamu Dazai always manages to worm his way into Chuuya Nakahara’s mind as if he’d never left it.

“What’s the slug sighing about so deeply?”

Speaking of the devil.

Chuuya turns his head slowly to the side, glancing up at a smiling Dazai. Yet, there was something haggard about his ex-partner’s usually calm, nonchalant appearance, something worn and tired. There were crinkle lines of worry between his brows, something so expertly hidden to everybody else but visible to Chuuya.

Chuuya huffs in halfhearted, tired exasperation and annoyance. “The hell you doin’ here, mackerel?”