Dazai Osamu, age 15, blood type AB, gender male.
Dazai Osamu, age 15, blood type AB, gender ma-
Gender –
Dazai sighs, and ticks the ‘prefer not to say’ box.
He folds the paperwork in half, and pushes it away from him.
Hermione coughs, Fred giggles at something George said, and
Egg yawns.
The clock ticks forward.
The clock ticks –
Dazai grabs his paperwork back, and scribbles over the tick.
Dazai Osamu, age 15, blood type AB, gender prefer not to say male.
As it is – as it should be. He wrinkles his nose, scowling internally. Merlin, what would father say? What would Mori say? What was he thinking?
What would he even be if not a boy, a girl?
The thought is almost enough to make him laugh.
Some of the discomfort must have shown on his face, because Blaise nudges his hand gently.
“Everything okay?” He whispers. After five years of friendship, Blaise has come to know Dazai’s ticks annoyingly well.
Dazai nods, glancing over at Blaise’s form. His eyes flick over the ‘gender’ box, where a neat little tick sits next to ‘male.’ If only it were that simple for Dazai. But nothing can ever be simple for him, because Dazai’s wrong. An enigma among mafioso, and an enigma among his friends.
Featherbrain squawks, tugging at a strand of his hair. Dazai squeaks, batting her away.
“What do you want, stupid bird? I’m not feeding you again.”
“I thought we were past the ‘stupid bird’ thing.” Ron mutters, which is just, well – rude.
“ But she’s being mean to me!” Dazai whines, slumping into the desk. The dumb owl always manages to sniff (sniff? Does an owl even have a sense of smell?) out when he’s having darker thoughts. Not that he needs it, stupid bird.
“How is your owl being mean to you, Dazai?” Hermione asks matter-of-factly. “She’s a bird. I doubt she even understands what you’re saying.”
“You’d be surprised.” Dazai mumbles. “I’m sure she’s secretly an evil genius. Some kind of robot spy from another planet, sent to find out all my secrets and report them back to her almighty alien overlord.”
Ron snorts. “What kind of secrets do you have to hide, mate?” Draco looks away, and Dazai feels Blaise tense momentarily beside him. Unbeknownst to them, however, this particular secret has nothing to do with violent mafiosos or shady politics.
Dazai stares down the gender box on his form.
It feels like it’s taunting him.
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Madam Pomfrey pauses when she reaches Dazai’s updated medical forms, zeroing in on one particular detail.
“Mr. Dazai is biologically male, correct?” She asks, turning to face Severus. She doesn’t know when the two started to hang out for more than just their unofficial ‘Dazai protection club’ meetings, but she can’t say that she’s displeased with the development. One does tend to get lonely when their sole job is to sit and wait in the infirmary day in and day out.
“I believe so.” The Potions Master replies, curt. “His... guardian made no move to suggest otherwise. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just,” Poppy begins, “The boy appeared to have a little trouble deciding which box to tick for his gender.” When Severus looks up, intrigued, Poppy continues. “He seemed indecisive on whether to tick ‘male’ or ‘prefer not to say.’ Mr. Dazai settled on the former in the end, but the struggle is evident.
Severus mulls over this information, mentally backtracking through any recent conversations he’d had with the boy.
“...Perhaps he simply prefers to present androgynously?” He finally decides on. “You’ll remember he mentioned once that he didn’t mind wearing more feminine clothes.”
Poppy barks out a laugh at that. “Merlin, Severus, that was years ago! How much attention do you pay to the boy?”
Upon finding no suitable retort, Severus pushed past the jibe. “He did wear a dress to the yule ball, after all...” He muses.
Poppy shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Perhaps you should ask him?” She suggests. “You are practically the boy’s father, after all.”
“I most certainly am not!” Severus splutters, and the conversation peters out. After all, this was most certainly just another one of the seemingly endless amount of oddities attached to the enigma known as Dazai Osamu.
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Dazai remembers when his mother used to paint her nails. Even as a child, Dazai had never cared for much, but he remembers the way he used to marvel at the pretty colours; at the way the light reflected off of shining golds and reds. Remembered the way he used to ask if he could paint his nails, too.
He remembered the way she’d laugh.
Remembered the way she’d laugh at him.
(“Don’t be silly, Shuuji! Nail polish is only for girls. You’re a boy, aren’t you?”)
(“You’re a boy, aren’t you?”)
(“Aren’t you?”)
He is. He is a boy. Dazai is a boy, and he should’ve outgrown this stupid phase long ago. It was unfit for a mafioso, and unfit for a boy. Which Dazai is. He is boy.
The colour Hermione is painting her nails is really very pretty though – he sort of wishes he could try some on. He wonders if the colour would look good on him.
He squashes that thought down almost as quickly as it arrives, because what the fuck? What kind of stupid, wishy-washy thought was that? Mafiosos don’t wear nail polish. Boys don’t wear nail polish. Dazai doesn’t wear nail polish.
Ron does, though. Or, at least, Hermione is trying to get him to. She’s been at it for the last twenty minutes – asking, begging, and bribing Ron to do his nails. Dazai doesn’t quite understand the girl’s insistence on the subject, but he commends her enthusiasm anyways.
“I’m not wearing nail polish!” Ron splutters for what has to be the fiftieth time. “I’m a boy! Nail polish is for girls.”
“Nail polish is for everyone.” Hermione retorts sternly. “All this: ‘some things are for girls and some things are for boys’ talk is complete nonsense! Wouldn’t you agree, Dazai?”
Dazai blinks, startled out of his musings by the question. He takes a moment to ponder what answer would fit his ‘bumbling idiot’ persona more, but he must have taken too long to answer, because suddenly Hermione is gasping with outrage.
“Not you too, Dazai? Oh – you boys are so silly. Come here, both of you. You’re both getting your nails done.”
“No thanks!” Dazai is quick to answer. “I’m all good. But Ron is really excited about getting his nails done, aren’t you Ron??”
At the other boy’s protest, Dazai glances round the room for more people he can deflect on to.
“Or, or – Blaise!” The boy in question raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Blaise, you’d love to get your nails done, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ll do mine if you do yours.” Blaise answers simply, and Dazai opens and closes his mouth like a fish.
“Honestly, Dazai,” Draco drawls from where he’s sitting on a chair – sitting on Dazai’s chair – in the corner. “Are you seriously allowing yourself to be lumped into the same boat as a Weasley? What happened to all that talk about him being your dog?”
Dazai pouts, crossing his arms indignantly. “That’s peer pressure. You’re peer pressuring me, and I won’t stand for it.”
Draco shrugs, Ron squawks indignantly, and Hermione runs an exasperated hand down her face. “Draco - stop making fun of Ron and Dazai, or I’ll paint your nails as well. Ron and Dazai – let me paint your nails or I’ll tell Professor Snape that you both had first years do your last potions assignment. Your choice.”
All three boys shut up and obliged quite quickly after that.
Dazai had never liked the way his hands looked. Had never liked the way any part of his body looked, really, but he learned to keep that shit to himself when he was nine – learned to keep it wrapped up and contained beneath swathes of white bandages and misleading smiles.
Hermione doesn’t say anything about the peeling flesh by his cuticles, nor the faded burn scars snaking up the length of his thumb. She just smiles, and paints. And Dazai moans about how cold the polish is, and complains endlessly about the colour - but ten minutes later, when his nails are dressed in still-drying scarlet red, Dazai feels a small, private burst of joy.
But he learned to keep that shit to himself when he was nine, and so he doesn’t say a word.
═══════⋆★⋆══════
It’s a normal day when it happens. Dazai’s just come out of an arithmetic exam – one so boring he barely bothered to take part in, when Blaise asks it.
“Dazai,” He begins, brows furrowed in a way that makes Dazai know that whatever the other boy has to say is going to be troublesome, “Are you sure you’re a boy?”
Dazai stills, shoulders tensing and heartbeat racing without his permission. “Are you sure you're a boy, Shuuji?" Mori coos, smoothing his hair down with a gloved hand.
"Of course I am!" Dazai forces himself to untense. "Why would you ask such a silly question, Blaise?"
The other boy shrugs. “The nail polish the other day.” He says, as if that explains anything. “ The dress you wore to the yule ball – and the way you always argue that skirts are better than trousers whenever clothing is brought up.”
Dazai sniffs, crossing his arms. “That makes no sense.” He starts. “By your definition, every boy that prefers feminine things should want to be a girl, or whatever. That just isn’t factually accurate.”
“You get this look in your eyes,” Blaise presses on, ignoring all of Dazai’s protests. “When feminine things are mentioned. I know you, Dazai – and it makes me think that maybe, you aren’t entirely comfortable in the body that you’re in right now.” Blaise leans a little closer to Dazai, nudging his hand. “Besides, I never mentioned anything about you being a girl.”
Dazai bristles. “I just used context clues. It doesn’t mean anything.” Blaise raises a knowing eyebrow, and Dazai tenses further, leaning away defensively. “I’m not a girl , Blaise. People don’t just – switch genders. It doesn’t work like that.”
“It’s called being transgender. It means-”
“ I don’t care, Blaise!” Blaise blinks, evidently surprised at his outburst. “Sure, maybe people can be ‘ transgender’ or whatever. And that’s great for them! Wonderful, even – but that’s not me. It’s not – I'm not a girl, Blaise!”
Blaise takes a step back, hands out in front of him like he’s facing a cornered animal, caged in and defensive. To be fair, Dazai would be surprised too, if he were in Blaise’s position. Dazai doesn’t... Dazai doesn’t do this. Outbursts, that is. He doesn’t get emotional, or snap at his friends. It’s so unlike the persona Dazai normally presents – the contrast must be jarring.
“Dazai...” Blaise’s brows are furrowed in something like concern. Disgusting, grating concern. Expressions like that aren’t made for things like Dazai. He wants to run – to hide away somewhere nobody will ever find him. Somewhere he can rot in peace.
“Dazai, are you okay?” Blaise takes a step towards him. Dazai wants to scream. Every bone in his body is begging him to get away! and so he does what he’s best at. What he was born to do.
He bites, and then he runs.
“I don’t want your stupid little terms, Blaise.” He snarls. Blaise stills, something unidentifiable flickering across his face. “Go bother someone who cares enough to deal with your bullshit.” Dazai turns on his heel and stalks away, vehemently ignoring the sound of Blaise calling out to him. He’s half aware that he’s breathing a little too fast, a little too uneven, but he’s too focused on running and hiding and maybe killing himself to really care.
Blaise is talking nonsense. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Dazai, a girl?? How stupid is that!!
He squeezes his eyes shut, and resists the urge to stick his fingers down his throat and spill his suffering onto the shiny, polished school halls.
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His wrists hurt.
That’s the first thing he notices when he comes back to reality – that his wrists sting; and he’s shivering and numb with cold.
He doesn’t quite remember how he ended up here, sitting at the edge of the forbidden forest, shaking and curled up into himself. His wrists hurt, though, and so he can pretty much guess what happened. He must’ve dissociated pretty hard after he ran away from Blaise.
Oh, shit – he ran away from Blaise!
He takes a shaky breath as the memories come back to him, digging his nails into the skin of his wrist. No doubt Blaise has already rallied the gang – started a search party for him, or something. Dazai squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t handle facing the gang right now. Can’t handle looking them in the eye, and admitting to being helpless and weak and wrong – he just can’t.
Thinking about it, his choice of hiding spot makes more sense now. The school grounds don’t show up on the Marauder's map, and so he has a while yet before Hell’s Hounds tracks him down. He shifts, leaning back against a snow-covered tree. His fingers are frozen, and he absentmindedly picks at the nail varnish on his hands. Hermione will be mad when she realises he’s messed up all her hard work, he thinks amusedly, before realising that Hermione would likely never want to look him in the eyes again if she knew the truth.
“ Dazai!!” Dazai startles, whipping around so fast he almost pulls a muscle. Blaise is running towards him – seemingly alone, with his hand raised in greeting. Dazai tenses with trepidation.
"Blaise?” He calls, his voice raw with cold and disuse. The boy stops in front of him, leaning on his knees and breathing heavily. “What are you doing here?” Dazai asks dumbly.
Blaise brushes the light dusting of snow off of his robes, straightening up. “I was looking for you, idiot boss.”
“ Hey!” Dazai protests, despite the way he can hear his heart thumping in his chest. Blaise drops down next to him, his brow furrowing almost instantly.
“Merlin, you look freezing. You’re not even wearing your cloak!” I was too busy having a fucking panic attack to bother with my cloak, Dazai’s brain supplies unhelpfully. Before he can really register what’s happening, Blaise is pulling him in for a side hug, rubbing his gloved hands down Dazai’s arms. Dazai flinches, and Blaise frowns.
“Sorry.” He says, not looking sorry at all. “But I don’t want you to get hypothermia.”
“Why?” Dazai blurts out, mouth moving faster than his brain. “I was awful to you. Why would you care if I froze?”
Blaise smiles sadly. “You’re my best friend. For better or worse, I think I’ll always care. Besides, I was in the wrong, as well. I shouldn’t’ve just sprung that on you – it was unfair of me.”
Dazai smiles self-deprecatingly. “I don’t think you were.”
“Sorry?”
“I don’t think you were wrong.” Dazai corrects. “It’s me, I’m wrong”
Blaise stills. “Dazai, you’re not-”
“You were right, you know?” Dazai interrupts. “Everything you said, about me. I think you were right.”
A pause. Blaise falters, then pulls Dazai in tighter. “I know.”
"I don’t like it, though. I don’t want you to be right.”
“I know.” Wordlessly, Blaise links their hands together. Dazai thinks of his mother painting her nails, and the way Hermione had painted them for him. Thinks of Mori’s hand in his hair versus Blaise’s hand in his. To him, it’s clear which one he prefers.
“I don’t - I don’t think I’m a boy.” Every bone in Dazai’s body protests against the confession, against the vulnerability. He squeezes Blaise’s hand tighter, letting it warm his chilled bones. He leans closer, whispering like a sinner in the confession booth. “ I think – I think I might be a girl.”
A part of him still expects Blaise to recoil with disgust in spite of their conversation earlier. Expects mocking laughter, or perhaps a harsh smack round the face. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to be pulled in for a hug more gentle than he could ever deserve, to be filled with a sense of safety and comfort that he’s never felt in all his life. He doesn’t expect Blaise to lean in, to whisper like he’s imparting the world’s most precious secret:
“ I know.”
Dazai sort of wants to cry. He – she – doesn't, because, female or not, she’s still Dazai, and Dazai Osamu is not known for her emotional outbursts. She just hugs Blaise tighter, bathing in the warmth of acceptance.
“Like I was going to say earlier, the term is ‘transgender.’ Trans-feminine, to be exact. You should ask Hermione about it, she knows more on the subject than I do.”
“Hermione, huh?” Dazai chuckles. “Have you two been gossiping about me, Blaise?”
“Only a little.” Blaise replies, a smile playing at his lips. His expression turns serious a moment later. “They’re all worried about you, you know. The gang.”
Dazai hums. “I thought they would be with you.”
“I thought you might want to speak alone.”
“Ah - Blaise knows me so well.” Better than I want you to.
“ Is that necessarily a bad thing?” You should let people care about you.
Dazai shrugs, finally pulling away from the hug. “We should get back inside before we freeze.” She stands up, offering Blaise a hand. He takes it after a second.
“And whose fault would that be?” He asks, a smile tugging at his lips.
“This is transphobia. Blaise is a transphobe!” Dazai whines. Blaise just rolls his eyes, linking their hands together once more. “Okay, drama queen.” He pauses, turning to face Dazai. “...Are you going to tell the others?”
Dazai thinks for a second. “Maybe not right now. I will - but... not right now.” She tugs Blaise in the direction of the castle, and he follows after a second of hesitation. “D’you think Hermione will paint my nails for me again, if I ask her nicely?”
Blaise chuckles, smiling. “I’m sure she will.” Dazai smiles back, and for a moment, her world feels just a little bit brighter.
Fin.