The woods unfolded like a secret — green spilling out from every direction, sunlight threaded through the trees, soft and mottled. The air was heavy with the scent of moss and wildflowers, and for a long moment, the world was absolutely still.

Then she moved into it.

Her eyes went wide as if she'd seen daylight for the first time — and in a manner of speaking, she had. Each leaf, each gust of wind, every song flew past her as she twirled around in this light-headed sort of wonder, hair glinting with light as she exhaled, "It's so… real."

At her back, Dazai leaned against a tree, arms folded, trying very, very hard not to appear as if he was losing his mind. He was, though.

Because somewhere on her body — god only knows where — was the tiara. The stolen tiara, his stolen tiara, worth a king's ransom and his ticket out of being pursued by half the kingdom. And she was standing here whirling in the grass like a forest fairy that had kidnapped him.

"Can you—" he began, observing her stroking her fingers through the high grass, "not touch every single thing in the forest? One of them may be poisonous, you know."

She simply turned, smiling, sunlight flashing through her lashes. "Then I'll die happy."

He sighed, rubbing his hand through his face. "Oh, great. Perfect. That's just what I need right now — a dead girl and a missing crown. Great day."

But she hadn't even heard him; she was already running after a butterfly, barefoot, laughing as if she'd never discovered what fear was. And something in his chest — something sharp, worn, and guarded — relaxed against his will.

He loathed that.

He reminded himself it was just tactics — that he had to keep her steady until she returned the tiara — but when she whirled and smiled at him, eyes shining like spring water, he forgot about the value of the gold, the thieves, the danger.

"You don't get out much, huh?" he grumbled, voice low but strangely soft.

She shook her head, eyes set on the sky. "Never been outside before."

The silence caused Dazai to fall silent. A breeze rushed between them, rustling the leaves. For once, he wasn't prepared with a sarcastic comment. Just that odd tug in his chest, seeing her gaze at the world as if it were composed of miracles.

"Fine, all right," he sighed at last, leaning his head back against the canopy and gazing up at the leaves. "Fine. You win. Have your fun, sunshine. But when you're done with your trees and bugs, we're having my tiara returned."

She shot him a look, flirtatious. "Our tiara."

He snorted, but the side of his mouth curled. "You're lucky I find you adorable when you're blackmailing people.

And despite the fact that he'd never confess, the view of her laughing in the open sky was slightly more precious than all the gold in that crown.