Miss Tsushima

"What's your name?"

"Is this kind of thing important?"

"..."

"Alright alright……"

"My name is しゅうじ, しゅ——う——じ."

"しゅう——じ? Shuji?"

"No, しゅう——Hiragi, it's the Hiiragi of the Hiiragi tree, じ——It's the hour of time."

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It is a wonderful thing to be held by a woman you don't know, and follow her blindly to the path where you don't know where you are going.

Dazai thought silently.

The old wooden stairs creaked, and the stairs leading to the second floor were narrow and steep.

Both Dazai Osamu and Tsushima Hiiragi took off their shoes, and he followed Tsushima Hiiragi in white socks. The narrow stairs could only accommodate one person.

Osamu Dazai's white socks left wet footprints one after another.

As he walked, he looked back.

Unexpectedly, the first floor is like a junkyard, full of messy and weird things.

The pile of objects seems to be falling down in a second, wooden furniture chairs, copper lamp stands, vanity mirrors, many books scattered on the ground, and even a medical skeleton squeezed into a folded in bed.

His hand seemed to be crushed, Dazai thought casually, how pitiful, beside a music box, he saw the severed hand of poor Mr. Skeleton.

Osamu Dazai turned his head back, picked him up, and put him next to the skeleton.

Tsushima Hiiragi had already walked up to the top floor of the stairs, and the old wood creaked loudly. She stood on a high place and looked back at him: "What's wrong?"

"Miss Tsushima is so rude." Dazai Osamu dragged his tone casually, elongated the ending, and said dissatisfiedly: "Mr. Skeleton's hands are broken."

As he spoke, he turned his head and went up the stairs. He walked as lightly as a cat, without making the slightest sound.

The second floor is a large spacious room with yellow tatami mats. There is a large glass window on the north side. Facing the glass window is a solid wood desk covered with white manuscript paper.

Osamu Dazai walked to the center of the room and looked out the window.

The glass window can clearly see the scenery of the courtyard. A bare tree stands in the courtyard, leaning against the window, and the branches covered with snow are very close to the window.

There are wisteria trellises in the courtyard, and it looks like something is being planted, but in this cold winter, they are all covered with snow.

Tsushima Hiiragi walked towards the kotatsu, which was placed in front of the futon against the wall. She put her feet into the kotatsu, and let out a long sigh of relief, "There used to be peach trees planted there."

"Beautiful flowers will bloom again in spring."

Tsushima Hiiragi propped his chin, smiling and staring at the withered branches, Dazai Osamu remained motionless, he didn't ask why Tsushima Hiiragi accurately guessed what he was thinking.

Osamu Dazai also walked to the kotatsu, Tsushima Hiiragi raised his head and stared at him, "The bathroom is over there." She pointed to the inside, and added randomly, "There is a bandage in the first drawer under the mirror. "

Tsushima Hiiragi smiled and watched Dazai Osamu's too thin back as he walked into the bathroom until he closed the door with a "click".

It's really interesting, Tsushima Hiiragi looked away from time to time, and turned to look out of the window where the snow kept falling, flakes of snowflakes kept flying, she repeated it in her heart, kept the word on the tip of her tongue, savored it over and over for a long time, and finally He laughed out loud.

"really interesting……"

When Dazai came out of the bathroom, Tsushima Hiiragi was still sitting at the kotatsu table.

The temperature of the room has risen significantly, because of the obvious temperature difference between inside and outside, a layer of mist has formed on the glass windows.

Foggy, fine droplets covered the window, the scenery outside has been blurred.

A charcoal stove was propped up next to the heater. The charcoal stove was covered with a net cage, and the black carbon gave off a dark red light.

Tsushima Hiiragi put her face close to the charcoal stove, her snow-white face was flushed with smoke, she slowly peeled the orange peel, put the pulp on the net cage, and threw the orange peel into the charcoal stove.

The room smelled of burnt things and the fragrance of orange peels being heated and dehydrated.

There were many manuscript papers scattered on the warming table and on the floor, which were not there just now, so could she write so much in such a short while?

Osamu Dazai silently walked in front of Tsushima Hiiragi.

Tsushima Hiiragi, who kept turning the front and back of his hands over and over on the stove, raised his head at this moment and looked at Osamu Dazai.

Water droplets kept rolling down from his wet hair, his curly black hair messily stuck to his face, his pale face finally had a tinge of blood because of the hot shower.

He was still wearing the original white shirt, but he didn't put on a coat. The half-wet and half-dry white shirt further accentuated his thin figure. He stomped on the floor with bare feet and looked down at Tsushima Hiiragi.

Tsushima Hiiragi looked at him with his chin propped up in a playful way.

Someone once told her that this kind of direct gaze will make people uncomfortable, but compared to other people's dissatisfaction.

It is more important to carefully observe every change in expression, speculate on psychological changes and emotional fluctuations, isn't it?

After all, she is Dazai...

No.

No matter who she is, she can write a sensational masterpiece, she is a genius unparalleled in the world.

There is no doubt about this.

The world's dissatisfaction, disgust, disgust, incomprehensible eccentricities, so what, she never minded these.

There are many people who despise her, humiliate her, berate her for being vulnerable, emotional, and moody, and also unexpectedly obsess and love her.

In short, no matter what kind of person she is, there are always more people who love her than hate her.

A bean-sized drop of water fell on the manuscript paper on the table, smudged a large piece of the ink-black handwriting, and quickly absorbed and expanded along the lines of the paper. Tsushima raised his head from time to time, and Dazai Osamu looked down at the manuscript paper.

That drop of water fell from the tip of his still wet hair.

Osamu Dazai blinked, with a pure apology on his face, "I didn't mean to."

"It doesn't matter, it's all trash." Tsushima Hiiragi rolled up the paper carelessly and threw it into the stove. The tongue of fire wrapped around the paper, and soon burned to nothing but ashes.

"Compared to this, come here." Tsushima Hiiragi patted the quilt behind him, "Let me bandage you."

She noticed from the moment Dazai came out of the bathroom that Dazai didn't use the bandages in the bathroom, his iris eyes had long black eyelashes, his eyebrows were drooping, and they were inexplicably dark.

Osamu Dazai didn't say anything, he walked to the edge of the bed silently and lay down.

Tsushima Hiiragi turned around, moved a little forward, gently rested Dazai's head on his knees, brushed the hair on his forehead, and there were scratches, iodine and cotton swabs, Tsushima Hiiragi is always stocked at home.

The red and swollen wound oozes thin threads of blood. Tsushima carefully disinfects it with a cotton swab dipped in alcohol, and then wraps it up with a bandage. The bandage is the same as when he first met him, leaving only one eye outside.

Tsushima Hiiragi's black hair fell down on his face, it was itchy, and he didn't move it away.

Only staring at the face of Tsushima Hiiragi directly above him, the backlit black pupils and the dark kite eyes staring at each other, Dazai Osamu remained motionless, allowing her to move.

Tsushima Hiiragi didn't say a word, just bandaged her silently.

Her fingers were still stained with black ink, and her fingertips had the fragrance of orange juice.

It seemed that there was no disturbance in their hearts, but the hearts of these two people were spinning rapidly, thinking about something.

After bandaging his forehead, Tsushima Hiiragi turned to roll up Osamu Dazai's shirt sleeves, wrapping the bandage gently round and round, slowly covering the wound with bruises.

"Miss Tsushima, you will definitely be infatuated with by many people."

Osamu Dazai leaned on Tsushima Hiiragi's knee, like a cat whose belly has been rubbed, narrowed his eyes, and said such a nonsensical remark.

He moved his already wrapped right hand, picked up the manuscript paper on the ground, and raised it above his face.

After reading one sheet, he handed the paper to Tsushima Hiiragi. When Tsushima heard his words, he put down the bandage. He was taken aback for a long time before laughing.

She threw the paper into the stove, "It seems that someone has said this to me."

Tsushima Hiiragi was obviously lost in memory, thinking hard about who said this to her, Dazai Osamu was still reading the manuscript paper on the ground, Tsushima Hiiragi also threw these manuscript papers into the charcoal stove .

"It doesn't matter, these."

"It's just some waste paper." Tsushima Hiiragi didn't care.

"These things are worthless, I will... I will write..." More sensational, more perfect masterpieces.

This kind of rubbish is just writing.

Just writing on paper, as long as a person can do it, right?She could write as many things like this as she wanted, but they were just random, worthless words.

Writing is a very painful thing. She needs to drain herself and fall into hell, so that she can force herself to write boring words. No matter how painful it is, no matter what she destroys, she will write and write a real masterpiece!

"I think it's quite interesting." Osamu Dazai said indifferently, "What happened afterwards? Did Yoko come back? Did Tsukiro not wait for her when Yoko came back?"

"I didn't think about it, you should be Tsukiro dead." Tsushima Hiiragi said softly.

"That's it." Osamu Dazai didn't dwell on this issue, "It's a good ending."

He turned to other papers.

"Dragon..." The handwriting on this sheet was too scribbled, and densely filled the entire sheet of paper. Osamu Dazai squinted his eyes to identify it carefully, and hesitantly made a sound for a long time.

Tsushima Hiiragi took the paper from his hand, clamped it in the leather notebook with a buckle, and put down Dazai Osamu's rolled up sleeve.

Osamu Dazai sat up and looked at Tsushima Hiiragi, the mole from the top of his head to the corner of his eyes, and the mole under his eyes.

He tilted his head, his expression seemed to be relaxed, "I really appreciate Miss Tsushima."

"Ah, by the way, I'm so rude, I actually forgot to introduce myself."

"I'm Osamu Dazai."

"That's it." Tsushima Hiiragi threw the cotton swab into the brazier, "I remember."

"Okay, the wound has been bandaged." She stood up, patted the hem of her clothes, her smile was still like a perfectly carved statue, "You should go home."

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Tsushima Hiiragi walked to the window, raised his hand to wipe off the mist, and moved close to the glass.

Osamu Dazai walked in the snow, leaving a string of footprints, he stopped under the peach blossom tree, facing the window.

His face was hidden between tree shadows and heavy snow, half white and half dark.

Although he couldn't see his expression clearly, Tsushima Hiiragi knew that he must be the same as her, watching her closely all the time.

"Dazai... rule."

"……"