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“You’re late,” the redhead muses from the balcony, his delicate features illuminated by the sign situated just above. The neon gives him an almost ethereal glow, bathing him in striking pinks and reds, accentuating his fiery, red hair and making him look almost untouchable.
Like a single touch would burn and sear you from the inside out, all while making you feel the euphoric bliss that poems had tried to describe and romances had coveted.
He looks like a god , the man draped in shadow thinks, as he remembers the headlines surrounding the tempest before him, a man who commanded the stage and left people reeling after a single performance. A man that demanded your attention and left you wanting for more, an oasis in the dry desert of skyscrapers and flashing light. Just a few years ago he had been one of those people, his breath held as the ginger in front of him gave his everything just to be seen, a cry to be noticed that in retrospect, always seemed like a call for love.
Though he still acts like a dog, the man continues as the other’s posture immediately tenses once he hears the footsteps, raising his head defiantly as he looks anywhere but at the man standing before him. Like a little puppy barking and whimpering for attention.
“Ne, Chuuya~” the taller one starts, making the man on the balcony finally look at him, his strikingly blue eyes finally on display, still as shocking as he remembered, though the hard gaze was a new development,“Four years of no contact and that’s the first thing you say? Ah, my chibi has grown so cold!”
Chuuya doesn’t reply, his face placid except for a single eyebrow twitching, betraying annoyance. The brunette stops just before the darkness ends and light permeates, not breaking eye contact as he finally looks at his former partner—the one who he had once promised a future to—for the first time in years.
The two had taken to simply staring at each other, one adorned with vivid hues and a choker clasped at the base of his neck, the other swathed in the darkness currently swallowing the room, loose bandages billowing in the breeze. If one were to look, they would think it a scene of romance. The look, one full of love and longing, uncertain to close the space between.
As if that space was a chasm between the two that didn’t just seem to span the five steps it would take to reach the other.
“You’re late ,” the redhead once again repeats, his tone one of annoyance, but with an underlying sense of relief. He had obviously been here for quite some time, if the messed-up bed and the empty bottle of wine were to be believed.
No, that chasm had grown too much to be traversed, a trench filled with broken promises and memories of youth and summer tainted with the i-told-you-so’s and meddling of fate. Once they believed they could conquer the world. How is it then, that this little puppy of his has strayed so far?
“Oh, but is Chuuya mad? You know I’m always sorry to keep my dog waiting! Look I even got some treats for you,” the brunet drawls, as he raises his hand and reveals the plastic bag holding the treats he’d bought just for this specific meeting.
“What the fuck are those? And stop standing there in the dark and shit, you’re being creepy,” Chuuya replies as he turns his back and lights another cigarette, the smoke drifting off into the brilliant night sky. With the satellites twinkling up above (because those were never, never stars) and the bustle of the city serving as background noise, it was like something out of a film, a scene that happens as the main character has a realization, with the music swelling as the dialogue grows in intens—
Maybe I should bring that idea up with Yosano, Dazai muses as he steps into the balcony, a cramped space that left little between the two of them, their shoulders brushing not unlike the times spent in supply closets between practices and bunk beds shared in the apartment they once called their own.
“Dog treats, of course, ones of the highest quality and the most expensive money could buy. Only the best for my dog!”
“‘Ya still on that dog bullshit? The hell, shitty Dazai, you never do change, do you?” is all the man beside him can muster, the trembling of his hands a tell-tale sign of his impending rage. Chuuya had always been quick to anger, a trait he had carried all throughout their trainee days, as evidenced by the amount of bruises Dazai had had to ice after Chuuya’s petty squabbles with the other trainees. Evidenced by the bruises he had sported himself when he was the cause of Chuuya’s fury.
He waits for the blow-up. The hit, the screams, the murderous glare...anything to prove that the redhead hadn’t changed that much, because without the anger, then what made Chuuya his Chuuya?
——
He remembers the first and only day he’d seen Chuuya truly angry, a sight for sore eyes as he tore and screamed at the trainee responsible for making Dazai trip during the monthly assessment, a mistake that had caused him his coveted spot at the top of the rankings.
“You untalented, ungrateful asshole! After everything we’ve done for you, after all the after-practice sessions we had—” the ginger bellows as he is dragged away, a whirlwind of red, white and black in security’s arms. The boy, another trainee whose name he had never bothered to remember (because why should he, when he had Chuuya?) nursed his eye as it started to bruise, the unexpected hit landing cleanly, Chuuya’s punch leaving the area around it dark and swollen .
Chuuya was suspended from training after that, only managing to come back after Dazai’s 17th birthday, more subdued but with a carefully tamed fire in his eye. He was more ruthless, executing every move with a precision unlike before, his voice unbreaking as he hit notes he had been unable to reach before.
Dazai thought he looked stupid beautiful .
——
The anger never comes.
Instead, Chuuya unclenches his fingers and takes a long drag out of his cigarette, the smoke colored cotton candy pink and popsicle green by the still-flashing lights surrounding them. A siren blares in the distance, and Dazai cannot help but stare. How odd.
As he slumps, hands gripping the railing to brace himself, Dazai notes that Chuuya looks tired. He’s always had a hard time sleeping, but the bags beneath his eyes now look like bruises from how dark they are, the slight swell certainly not attractive when photographed. He’s shaking a little as well, barely noticeable to the untrained eye.
(But Dazai’s eye is trained, has been trained for the longest time. After all, when surrounded by mediocrity and the dull faces of wannabes pretending to be idols, what else can he look at but at the puppy supernova by his side?)
“Seems like a certain little doggy hasn’t been taking care of himself, eh?” He simpers, a tone touch of teasing belying worry that even he himself didn’t understand, “Don’t you know smoking’s bad for you? You’re killing your voice! Tsk tsk, bad chibi, bad Chuuya!”
The sigh that Chuuya lets out is one that carries the annoyance of endless summers, mixed with a melancholy that Dazai isn’t sure belongs to someone like him. He should be shouting, all angry and mean, like an ogre whose swamp was being invaded. Instead, Chuuya sighed and stared, all calm and collected. Boring.
“I really am, aren’t I?” is all the ginger replies, his eyes glazing over with something that Dazai didn’t quite understand, “But enough about me...Why in the ever-loving hell did you call me here, Dazai?”
It’s the mention of his name that puts a not-quite smile on his face, the smile which he reserved for red carpets and fan events that left him feeling empty and not as satisfied as he would like afterwards, “Can't I just call my chibi out whenever I feel like it? Chuuya is my dog, and dogs always come when their master calls, am I not right?”
“You had four years to call, asshole,” Chuuya rebutts, finally facing him for the first time since he had stepped foot on the balcony, “And not once did you. Not even when you landed your big break. Or when you found a new agency to take you in.”
He says it like it’s been rehearsed, like he’d imagined a thousand scenarios of finally reuniting with Dazai in his dreams and midday whimsies, a fleeting thought that took root in the coldest of nights. Whatever it was, it was probably stupid, like most things Chuuya did.
“So Chuuya waited for my call, then? Ah, what a loyal dog I have!”
“Of course I did,” and the unexpected honesty catches him off-guard, his eyes widening the slightest bit that he knows Chuuya was able to see, “What? You expect me to lie? You were my only friend in the agency, you good-for-nothing lowlife. I mean, if you could call us that. But yeah, when the only person who had your back against dozens of pre-teen boys suddenly goes and disappears, I think you’d wait for a call, just a little update every once in a while.”
The two of them grow quiet after that, both not knowing what to say after the drop of several consecutive truthbombs. Just what do you say to someone who had willingly confessed he had waited literal years just for the slightest bit of contact, an olive branch to go and rekindle the tattered relationship?
They both stand in silence again, Chuuya smoking as Dazai stared at the lovelorn, lust-driven youths coming and checking into the hotel.
Oh, how nice it would be to be young and naive again, he thought, to think that nothing could ever stand in the way of true love.
A few moments pass, and Chuuya takes another drag of his cigaretter. Dazai waits, and waits and waits and waits. There is nothing but the chatters coming from below, his former partner quietly taking small puffs out of the killing stick. He had never liked silence before, but right now, he downright loathed it.
“So you did it then, I assume,” the words come out of his mouth even before he has the chance to think them through, “You achieved your dream. You debuted.”
——
Dazai is transported back to wintery cold nights spent huddling for warmth on a thin futon, the snores of other trainees emanating across the room. Chuuya, thirteen, had been the newest recruit, a scrawny thing with too big eyes and wild, fiery hair, an uncontrollable force that turned the rankings on its head with a single note from his lips.
“What're you doing here,” he remembers asking, because boys like Chuuya deserved to be hung up in frames in museums, not shivering because their managers had forgotten to pay the electric bills, the thin blanket doing nothing to keep out the cold.
He had been kinder then--the both of them were--as he offered to share his other blanket, an olive branch. The start of a not-quite friendship between two boys whose dreams rivalled the size of the Tokyo Dome, whose innocence was still preserved, a precious thing that would not be taken from them until much, much later in the future.
A promise, even, to always be there for each other, for better or for worse. In sickness and in health. A child reaching out to another, in the quiet of a cold, desolate room, where nothing was soft and everything was hard.
“I want to sing,” Chuuya had said back then, his voice small and breaking, the curse of puberty still ravaging his tiny body. But though small, it had been determined, the fire in his eyes just as bright as the sun on a warm day.
——
“Yeah, I did,” Chuuya replies passively, shoulders pulled taut as if it was a subject that he didn’t really want to talk about.
A beat passes. Dazai is tired of this. He didn’t ask Chuuya to come here and talk about their feelings, the heart-to-heart between them long past its expiration date. He wanted Chuuya here for one thing, and forgiveness or reconciliation was not that.
“Eh? Mori let someone as bad as you debut? He must’ve been really desperate, huh?” he says suddenly, and just like that they were back to insults, the careful, calm atmosphere shattered by Dazai’s words, “What, am I not right, though? I heard Elise’s stocks have been dropping lately.”
The sudden shift of mood is palpable, the tension rife with sudden electricity. Chuuya is looking at him now, big, blue eyes now narrowed down to slits, his hands clenching and unclenching the way Dazai has wanted them to from the start.
Good. Get angry. Show me that you’re still there, Chuuya.
“Or maybe it’s you who got desperate, hm? You always were such an eager little slug, ” he fills the words with poison, knowing how much Chuuya hated that nickname, bestowed to him by trainers due to his incompetence at picking up choreography, “Tell me, Chuuya...”
As the howls of the wind and the ditters of the city’s nightlife created a cacophonous birdsong of twisted emotions, Dazai takes a step, closing the distance between them, the chasm slowly closing little by little. A mockery of their once solid bond, a parody of the way he would once lean close to Chuuya after a hard day of nothing but training, reaching for nothing but perfection in order to achieve their dreams.
He can feel Chuuya’s anger, almost tangible in its entirety, a beast waiting to be unleashed. Most would be afraid. But Dazai is not, and has never been, part of that most.
Another step. He feels Chuuya’s breath against his neck, unusually heavy as if he had just competed in a marathon. One more step and their chests would be touching, the space between the two diminished to merely millimeters. Back in the day this would’ve been normal, the bond between them surpassing all boundaries, pushing and pushing to the point of memorizing each other’s movements and knowing the other’s quirks and thrusts.
“What the fuck are you doing, shitty Dazai?” a low growl reminds him that this isn’t back in the day. Chuuya’s eyes are narrowed slits now, the blue almost invisible as he looks down, the redhead vibrating with what he knew to be pent-up rage.
“Tell me Chuuya,” he repeats, his voice a touch lower as he leans in, until his forehead meets the other’s, eyes searching as his right hand reaches and grabs the redhead’s hair suddenly, the action jerking the other’s head until his ear was by Dazai’s mouth, ready to lay ruin to everything with just a single whisper.
“Just how many people did you sleep with just so you could debut?”
The words are hissed, almost snakelike in their poison.
Dazai feels Chuuya stiffen, his head jerking alert as if stung by a particularly vicious bee. Had he been right, then? Had Chuuya fallen so out of grace that he had sold everything , had gotten sponsors , just for a taste of a naive, childhood dream?
——
“You’re a pretty, little thing,” he remembers Mori saying, as he turned Chuuya’s head from side to side, caresses a little too long to be considered professional, but fast enough that no one could comment on it, “A little too thin, though. We’d have to schedule a meeting with the nutritionist to figure out your diet. Get some meat on those bones.”
Chuuya had been quiet the whole time, a total 180 from his usual brash and loud self. Dazai had been present during the meeting, a constant by Mori’s side as he poked and prodded, like a child toying with his newest plaything, a spark in his eyes that Dazai had only ever seen present during the girls’ monthly assessments.
The soft knock on the door spells him out of his thoughts, Mori’s secretary announcing the arrival of the company executives that were there for the monthly conference regarding the current state of the company. Dazai had never liked those people, too money-hungry and grabby for his own taste, their eyes roaming his lithe figure as he stood by Mori’s side, eyes dull face betraying none of the distaste he was feeling on the inside.
He knew what those gazes meant, young as he was.
Knew of the whispers and rumors going around, of idols debuting with the help of ‘sponsors,’ young men and women granted instant stardom after a single meeting with a CEO or a chaebol. Knew of the favors these people had carried out, just for a chance to debut and experience the heat the stage lights brought as one stood on the stage they had all learned to crave.
“Dazai, go and take Chuuya back to practice. Kouyou and I have things to discuss,” Mori stands as he dismisses the two of them, Kouyou remaining in her seat. The two boys nod and bow their respect, walking down the corridor that held the other executives as they waited for Mori to finish, their attention caught by the two trainees.
He could feel their eyes on both of them, but most especially Chuuya, with his unique coloring and fragile frame, dangled like a prize in front of them. Allowed to see, but never touch, unless faced with the right price. Dazai could feel his stomach churn at the thought, the hand gripping Chuuya’s suddenly clenching hard enough to hurt.
“Oi Dazai, what’s up with you?” Chuuya complains as he rips his arm out of Dazai’s hold, the flesh starting to redden, “You’re being weird again.”
Dazai just smiles, an awkward thing rusty from years of unuse, making him look more like a predator instead of someone assuring another that everything was alright.
“Ne, Chuuya! Just stick by my side always, and we’ll have no problems, okay?”
"Okay? God, you're so weird, you mackerel," Chuuya says, feigning annoyance. But Dazai can see the faint blush on his cheeks, the smile he's trying but failing to hide.
And though he knows there will come a time when these little smiles and actions will not just solely be for him, he takes pride in the fact that at least for now, Chuuya only reserves those smiles for him only.
——
“How dare you,” a low growl is ripped from Chuuya’s throat befitting that of a small beast, as he steps back, eyes alight with the fire Dazai thought had been lost forever, “How dare you insinuate that I would stoop that low.”
“But Chuuya had gone quiet! And didn’t they say silence has always been the best answer?” Dazai chuckles as he steps forward to invade Chuuya’s space again, a wicked facsimile of a grin on his face.
From here he can see Chuuya’s eyes burning brighter than before, as if that were possible, his rage almost palpable as his hand clenches around nothing. A siren blares in the distance, as the neon lights cast their colors on Chuuya’s skin, the man vibrating as if he were a god patiently waiting to set destruction on the world.
“Maybe, you’re just shy, then. Tell me, Chuuya. Were they good? Did they satisfy your little body the way I did? Made you scream for it the way I used to?” he presses, bringing up encounters that they had agreed to leave in the past, the touches and kisses they once shared left to rot not unlike the way he left Chuuya hanging, a week before they were supposed to debut, “Did they use and leave you afterwards, stepped all over you like the dog you are? Or maybe they made you feel loved, just so you could keep coming back and ask for more? Told you they loved you, held you like they cared, just so you wouldn’t stray too far?”
He knows the words resonate, bringing back memories of quickies in janitor closets, the frantic way they had gotten each other off during breaks, high off the adrenaline of learning the choreography for their debut track. Knows that it makes Chuuya remember the nights the two of them shared the same bed, huddled for warmth as they held onto each other as if that was all it took for the world to not tear them apart.
He knows that it makes Chuuya remember the times he had whispered i-love-you’s and other sweet nothings as they fucked, the cries of these simple words resonating in a hotel room much like the one they were in right now, the banging of the headboard and soft moans contributing to the cacophony that was them. The words whispered as Dazai held him while he cried, and as they slept and Chuuya thought the other was dead asleep.
How Chuuya had said these, knowing that Dazai would never say the same.
Dazai leans back smugly, knowing that he had made his point. He waits, expecting a hit that never comes. Instead, Chuuya rushes forward and presses their lips together, an action that makes their teeth clack together, their noses bumping, a kiss more like a punch in its ferocity.
The clashing of a supernova and a black star, the eternal battle of light and dark as their tongues mingle in a rhythm of push-push-pull, taking and taking and taking and taking until there is nothing left. A mockery of a danse macabre , with death coming to take as lips part, only for life to come crashing in as they join once more, a kiss four years in the making, built on broken promises and false words spoken in the highs of youth.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, huh? Why you called me here,” Chuuya whispers as he leans back before diving in again, the two of them threatening to drown in the enigma that is them, a hodgepodge of a relationship-friendship that was also not quite that.
Theirs is like an unfinished chapter left by an author long dead, or a musical cut-off at the climax, cursed to never find resolution or respite.
Dazai does not reply as he guides them to the bed situated in the middle of the room, maneuvering their bodies as if it were a dance. As they move they lose articles of clothing along the way, Chuuya’s jacket being shed as Dazai paws at his chest, lips hot on his neck as the shorter of the two tries to control his moans.
It has been far too long, really.
By the time they are done, the sun is beginning to rise, the start of a new day witness to the sins committed by two long lost not-quite-acquaintances (because what were they, if not that?) the night before. Chuuya knows he had stayed for far too long, as he hurriedly throws on the clothes from the night before, trying to look as presentable as possible.
His phone is buzzing from where he had dropped it the night before, multiple messages from Akutagawa and Tachihara asking him where he was. The messages were scattered with a few from Mark and Poe, with a single one from Kouyou making his head hurt more than before.
From: Manager (Kouyou Onee-san)
Where are you? Did you forget you have a
schedule today? Be by the dorm in 30 minutes,
or we’re leaving you.
sent 4:55 a.m
The CEO wants to see you, as well. Be ready.
sent 4:57 a.m.
To: Manager (Kouyou Onee-san)
Sorry. Got caught up with something.
Be there in 25.
seen at 5:00 a.m.
Fuck, they’re gonna kill me. I’m gonna die today, and it’s all because of that shitty mackerel. Fuck. Fuck my li—
“You’re wearing your choker,” the brunet disrupts Chuuya’s panicked thoughts, a plethora of marks and bodily fluids decorating his body as he sits up against the headboard.
The words make the redhead absentmindedly finger the choker adorning his neck, an old leather that had only survived so long because of his proper care and attention, “What do you mean? I’m always wearing one.”
The choker had become one of his staple pieces, having amassed a collection over the years that spanned from simple leather chokers like the one he currently wore, to gilded, heavily decorated pieces that were pretty to look at, but a pain to wear. It isn’t Chuuya without his chokers, his fans would say, as they gifted him more and more over fansigns and fanmail, to the point that he had started keeping all of them in a separate closet, much to the amusement of the others.
But this one, with the letters S.K.K engraved in the old buckle just faint enough to be invisible from afar….this one had always been special.
——
“What the fuck is this,” Chuuya deadpans, an unimpressed look on his face as Dazai handed him a slim box, the other bearing an unusually wide grin. That grin had always spelled out trouble, and this, Chuuya could tell, was no exception.
“Just open it!” Dazai had been unusually cheery all morning too, humming to himself at odd times and visibly staring at him the whole day, to the point where Chuuya had gone out of his way to avoid the other boy, creeped out by the weird behavior.
With a sign, Chuuya opens the package, revealing a slim, leather choker encased in soft velvet, the buckle making it resemble a…
“A dog collar!” Dazai exclaims, looking like the cat that got the cream, “After all, Chuuya is my most trusted, most loyal chihuahua! A good master must give his pet a collar, or else someone might steal them away!
And it’s so annoying, how Dazai thinks he can just give this to him and get away with it. As if Chuuya really is his dog that waited on him hand and foot, living for him and him only, a pet too blinded by love to see the monster hiding behind those amber eyes.
But when he looks at the choker, the beautiful soft leather feeling heavenly in his hands, he feels his annoyance fade away, instead replaced by a warmth in his chest that he had come to associate with Dazai. Upon closer inspection he could see the initials S.K.K engraved in the buckle, a clear homage to Soukoku, the name bestowed upon them by the company.
Double black. A duo that would take the music industry by storm, wreaking havoc and breaking records wherever they go. Because as long as they were together, they would be invincible.
“Thank you,” Chuuya replies, tone far too watery for his liking. His eyes burn, and maybe that’s just a reaction caused by the noodles he had earlier, because that’s the only acceptable explanation. The only other reason brings him to uncharted territory, and he isn’t ready to go there, not just yet.
“Thank you,” he repeats, when it feels like the words had gone over Dazai’s head, “Would you mind putting it on for me?”
——
The look Dazai gives him lets him know that they were both remembering the same thing, a memory of youth that he had tried so hard to repress. It wasn’t worth it, dwelling on the past and thinking about what could’ve been. It only held him back, made him far too emotional for his liking, something he couldn’t bear to be now that his dreams were finally within reach.
And besides , he thinks, as he picks up his jacket and shrugs it on, his boots making a clack-clack-clack noise in the silence of the room, he’d already made his choice. It was about time I made mine.
This time when he walks out, he doesn’t look back.
——
The dorm is a mess when he arrives, the twittering of the stylists and his members only adding to the headache he was nursing. Mark starts when he sees him, the bright smile on his face too much for Chuuya to handle. He starts walking towards where Chuuya stands, but ultimately trips on a wire connected to a hairdryer being used on Poe, thankfully landing on a stack of clothes left on the floor.
“Chuuya! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says from where he is currently spread-out, a sheepish look overcoming his face as two stylists come to fret over him, making sure that he looked as perfect as he did earlier.
“That, we were,” a voice saunters next to him, and with it a certain Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, the tips of his hair freshly dyed a blood red. His eyebrows furrow as he looks over Chuuya, looking for any bruises or any signs of violence. Finding no evidence of such, he nods to himself then claps a hand to Chuuya’s shoulder, gently steering him towards the empty chair where Higuchi was waiting, hairdryer in hand as she surveyed the makeup choices for today.
“You’re late,” is all she says as Chuuya gets into the chair. God, he didn’t expect to be chewed out by Higuchi , of all people, “Everyone’s almost done. You’re the only one left. Now sit still, and let me do my magic.”
He uses the time it takes Higuchi to prep him to take a nap, letting her careful ministrations lull him to sleep. He’s used to it by now, catching up on sleep in the times he can, whether it be during hair and makeup or downtime right after a photoshoot. After all, the life of an idol was never easy. He’d have to adapt to survive, something he’d been doing for as long as he can remember.
“Up, up you go. Just drop by Gin to get dressed and you’ll be all good. Now go, before Kouyou has both of our heads.”
The time it takes for him to get dressed and dragged inside the van is spent in a daze, the events of the night before leaving him too tired to deal with all that was happening. He remembers Tachihara coming to fetch him after he’s dressed and ready, a new choker adorning his neck while the older, more precious one is taken to his choker cabinet for safekeeping.
Take care of that , he must’ve told Gin half-asleep, put it on the top shelf . The top shelf so he wouldn’t be able to reach it without using his footstool. So he wouldn’t be tempted to wear it again, not after last night.
You’re wearing your choker. Fuck that shitty mackerel for being too fucking observant.
He spends the drive to the venue drifting in and out of sleep, resting his head on Akutagawa’s shoulder as the man talks to Poe about their schedule for the day: shooting for the music video starts at 7, with them holding recordings afterwards until 2 in the morning. With the comeback so close, it’s a bit tight, trying to fit in everything and making sure all is perfect before the big day. They couldn’t fuck it up now, not when they had sacrificed so much and fought with bare bones and bared teeth.
He raises his head when he hears Akutagawa mention the meeting with the CEO.
“So you guys are coming too, then?” he asks, stretching his hands above his head as he yawns away his fatigue. He’d have to deal with that later, after everything was said and done. An idol’s life wasn’t easy, after all.
“Yeah, Kouyou told us about it earlier. Said it was for the comeback and all,” Poe answers as the car pulls up to the photoshoot venue, a dilapidated warehouse that Chuuya knew was only a facade for the glamorous set waiting for them on the inside. The teams have always done an amazing job building these intricate designs, turning fantasy to reality and transporting all of them into another world. He knows that this time is no different.
Outside of the warehouse stands Kouyou, her red hair pulled tight into a bun, delegating tasks to other managers onset, making sure that everything runs as smoothly as possible. Chuuya thinks that without her, idol life would’ve been much tougher, the transition from trainee to idol only being so easy due to her presence in his life.
He’d be nothing without her, really.
Soon they’re all ushered out of the van and rushed into hair and makeup for touch ups and wardrobe changes, switching out the comfort of sweatpants and loose shirts for tight-fitting outfits perfectly tailored to his body, the leather of his pants hugging his thighs like a spoiled lover. His flowy, white top offsets this, the collar low enough just to expose his collarbones. The look is finished as the stylist clasps a diamond choker around his neck, matching the single earring on Akutagawa’s right ear and the bangle on Tachihara’s wrist.
One look at them and you’d immediately think royalty , decked out in diamonds and the heaviest of jewelry, donning silk shirts and corsets of royal blue, gold and burgundy. The company was going all-in for this comeback, and they were expected to not disappoint.
“Glad to see you’re alive,” a voice chimes in as a stylist messes with his hair, and he turns to see Kouyou standing right in front of him, a dry smile on her face. Fuck .
The stylist leaves them after sensing the shift in mood, rushing to Poe’s side to mess with his hair, instead. Kouyou beckons him to follow her, like a mother off to scold her brat of a son after he had done something wrong. Akutagawa looks up as they pass him, and he offers a look that’s a mix between I’m so sorry and I’ll be happy to plan your funeral for you, bro.
Chuuya shoots him a glare in return.
“You’re an idol, now, Chuuya,” she starts, as soon as they’re alone, a stern look on her face as she stands before him, “And I’m responsible for you. You can’t just go fucking around to god knows where, not answering your phone, not even telling us where you’re going...Do you want me to die early, Chuuya?”
The sigh she lets out is one of long-suffering, and Chuuya flinches as she glares at him while he stifles a laugh, “I really am sorry, onee-san. I won’t do it again.”
She merely levels a look at him, one screaming of apprehension and disbelief, because how many times has Chuuya said that, only to stir up shit again later?
Many times, apparently.
“Promise,” he adds as a countermeasure, because Kouyou knows that he never breaks his promises, no matter how small they may be. She had been with him long enough, had held him as he cried over broken promises too many times, to know that fact.
“Okay, okay,” she relents, stepping back to look at her phone for any new updates before her eyes land to Chuuya again, “Now go and wow that camera again, Face Genius. And don’t forget that we’re recording for CONSTv as well. Keep the swearing to a minimum, if none at all.”
“Roger that, Miss Manager,” he salutes as he walks back to the music video set, the other members gathered in a circle as they wait for him to start the group chant. The chant they say before and after any schedule, a tradition they had upheld as soon as they were formed, a group made of the best and the brightest EL!Se Entertainment had to offer.
As Tachihara says his short speech, one of starlight and love and fans and doing their best, he takes the time to observe each and every one of his groupmates. The people he had never once dreamed of debuting with, but had welcomed him and sheltered him after shit hit the fan.
Akutagawa, all dark and brooding in his sheer, black shirt and matching corset, the diamond earring catching the light and reflecting rainbows onto his face. He’d always been there, a student Dazai had taken under his wing during Chuuya’s 5th year at the agency, eyes wide and hopeful as they had been introduced, two dogs under one master, desperately seeking the light that Dazai had seemed to emit back then.
He had grown so much, from the kid that had gripped his hand as they watched the monthly assessments to the young man standing in beside him now, a respected artist of his own merit. Someone Chuuya knew he could rely on, evidenced by the nights they had sat side by side, exchanging secrets and dreams that only one other person in the world knew.
He looks to his left and sees Poe and Mark, people he had initially been wary of, new blood that had joined the agency just a few years prior. He hadn’t been exactly the most welcoming, snubbing the two until they were all put into the same unit, and even then he hadn’t been exactly warm, treating their relationship as mere business.
Never once taking the chance to get to know these two strangers, brave enough to stand in a place not quite their own as they flanked his sides during dance practice.
——
“Poe is Dazai’s replacement,” he remembers hearing as he walked through the company halls, the boy beside him shrinking, pretending to not to hear the ugly whispers, the comparison made between them as they went to join the others’ vocal lessons.
“But what about Mark, then? It’s not as if he’s as good as Poe, just a waste of space really,” he hears another trainee remark as the boy on his other side tenses, faking a smile to pretend like everything was fine.
Chuuya remembers the smiles on the two’s faces slowly diminishing over the day, as trainers and trainees alike criticize them again and again, their movements turning from bright and lively to almost sluggish.
“‘Ya just gon’ let them walk over ‘ya like that?” Chuuya says as the others shuffle out of the practice room, Akutagawa and Tachihara lingering by the door.
He makes it a point to speak in English, mindful of Mark who had only recently started his Japanese lessons. The words felt foreign on his tongue, coming out as clumsy and rough, but the two seemed to loosen up as Chuuya spoke, the familiar language a comfort in an unfamiliar land filled with people who wanted them to fail rather than succeed.
“If you’re training to be a doormat, then you’re doing good,” he continues, turning away as he walked to where Akutagawa and Tachihara were waiting, “But you’re training to be idols. So don’t just stand there while they talk shit about you.”
“Senpai,” the quieter of the two, Poe, murmurs, head hung low as if in shame.
“First step: Keep your head up. No more of that shy bullshit. If you want to shine onstage, you gotta shine as bright off it.”
The look Chuuya gives the both of them is sharp, stern in the way elder brothers look at their siblings. They stare for a couple of seconds, silence filling the room as they absorb his words.
And then Chuuya suddenly smiles, like the sun peeking out after a bout of rain, “And if anybody gives you a problem, don’t hesitate to go to me, okay? You’re mine now, and I take care of my own.”
——
That day seemed so far from now, the two having grown out of their shell and into the notable idols they were today. Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a mixture of pride-adoration-awe as he glanced at the two of them, pretty faces set in determination as they went to start a new day in the life of an idol.
This was not just his group. This was his family , and he’d be damned if he’d give this all up.
And as Tachihara (sweet, understanding Michizou, the glue that kept all of them together, a calm, summer day in the blistering heat of stage lights and promotions) finished his speech of the day, Chuuya took one last glance at each of his members, meeting Akutagawa’s eyes in the process.
Let’s do this, both of their eyes seemed to say, let’s blind the world with our brightness. Show them what we are made of, stars sent by the heavens above to shower the world with beauty and grace.
“Okay, huddle up,” Tachihara called out, putting his hand in the middle. This was a tradition that had started way before debut, in the sweltering heat of practice rooms and recording booths, a promise made between 5 young boys to always stay and debut together, no matter what life brings their way.
“We are stars showered by the heavens to spread love and joy to the world, get ready for,” Tachihara starts, as always, the leader that binds them together and keeps them in line. Chuuya is so, so thankful for him.
“STELA!” The five of them shout in unison, raising their voice in a battle cry as they faced the new day, stronger and brighter together than apart. This was STELA, the newest boy group debuted under EL!Se Entertainment, predicted to be the pioneers and leaders of the next generation.
A rookie powerhouse, some news outlets would say as they report STELA's album sales and Billboard #1s, setting and breaking records just three months into their career. Monster rookies, others would call them, as they dominated the searches and rose to the top of brand rankings, challenging the status quo set by previous groups before them.
This was STELA, Chuuya’s family. They fight often, squabbling almost every time they are left to their own devices. They argue about the most mundane of things, from dish soap to room assignments, and Chuuya finds himself wanting to strangle at least one of them at least once a day. But then again, isn’t that what family is all about?
Poe and Akutagawa race to the set, Mark laughing his ass off as the two suddenly start Naruto-running, Akutagawa leading as Poe tries to catch up. Tachihara calmly followed the trio, shaking his head as he bit back his laughter.
“Hey, Chuuya, what’re you waiting for,” Tachihara calls out, and Chuuya realized he’s been staring after them, a fond smile on his face which Tachihara didn’t fail to notice, based on the look on his face, “Let’s go, the children are gonna destroy the set if we don’t get there fast.”
“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming,” he shouts back, crossing the distance between them in quick strides as he hears Poe and Akutagawa start to bicker, Mark on the side fuelling the fire. A camera is filming their antics, footage to be used for the next CONSTv or a behind-the-scenes peek for the new music video.
This was his family , Chuuya thinks, and he didn’t pick the short end of the stick on this one. He may not have wanted this before (had only seen himself onstage with just one other person, a dream he had nourished up until that one fateful day), but now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
(It is only later, as he sat on the floor of the practice room, drenched in sweat, that he realizes: When STELA is with him, he doesn’t think of Dazai at all.)