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Some would say that an ordinary journalist job is unbecoming of an ex-heir of the biggest publishing house in Japan, but Dazai couldn't care less. He's happy with his life now, much more than when he worked under his father at Mori Publishing. Leaving behind the world of business meetings and the never-ending chase after money was the best decision he's ever taken. At Yokohama Weekly, he gets to do what he loves the most—write about literature.
His column in the magazine is fairly popular. Over the years, he's managed to gather a loyal readership and it allows him to choose whatever obscure topics he wants, so there's nothing more he could want.
It's rare for someone to bug him about extra work outside of his regular duties. When it happens, Dazai's usual strategy is to be as annoying as possible until the person gives up on asking him for help. The head editor is starting to get immune to it, though.
"Kuniiikida-kuuun," Dazai wails as he clings to his colleague's sleeve, shaking it lightly. "Why does it have to be meee?"
"Dazai," Kunikida says in that particular, stern way he always pronounces Dazai's name. He frees his sleeve from Dazai's grip and crosses his arms on his chest. "Today's the only day that guy is available for the interview. The whole sports section is down with flu, and everyone else is busy because we have to close the next issue by the end of the day. Moreover, I know for a fact that your piece is already written, but you just didn't send it to me yet to irritate me."
Yeah, Kunikida is getting too good at seeing through Dazai's schemes. But it's not only about the extra work this time. What's even worse is that to Dazai, no topic in the whole world is less interesting than sports.
Sports are pointless. They are loud, sweaty, and stinky. It's nothing more than cheap entertainment for the brainless part of society. Dazai has spent long hours arguing with Chuuya about this, but the truth is still clear to him—you can't even compare sports to the beauty of literature.
"Kunikida-kun, what can I even talk about with him?" Dazai wrinkles his nose in disgust, but Kunikida is as unshakable as always.
"He's a figure skater, not a rugby player, for God's sake. And I know you're capable of writing about anything, Dazai. Whatever you write, it's always a hit. Just treat this like any other interview."
Seems like there's no getting out of this one. Dazai could always simply run away from Kunikida all day (he's done that before), but he does care about the future of Yokohama Weekly. He's become quite fond of this weird group of journalists and their shenanigans, and he'd hate to go back to his old life.
Still, he releases an exaggerated sigh to show Kunikida his displeasure.
Kunikida closes his eyes and pinches his nose. For a moment, he looks like he's thinking about something intensely before he finally says the words Dazai has always wanted to hear from him.
"I will owe you one."
"WHAT?" Dazai exclaims with newfound energy, his eyes twinkling mischievously. The smile that splits his face is obscenely wide. "Kunikida-kun, are you sure you know what you're offering?"
Kunikida just rolls his eyes. "Don't get overexcited, idiot. It's a one-time offer. Do this for me and I will owe you a favor." He jabs Dazai in the chest with his finger. "But write me a good piece. This guy is Japan's new sweetheart so it can help us boost our sales. Don't make me regret it."
"Yeah, yeah," Dazai agrees absentmindedly, but his mind is already occupied with thinking up a hundred ways he could use the favor he's just gained.
So this is how Dazai finds himself at an ice skating rink on the outskirts of Yokohama.
It's a chilly afternoon in January. The winter sun shines low in the sky, blinding Dazai as he tries to find the entrance to the building. If he were a more organized person, he could simply use his hand to shield his eyes, but he's not, especially not in the morning, so his gloves lay forgotten somewhere at home. Nothing could make him take his hands out of the warmth of his pocket now, so all he does is squint against the sun.
A sigh escapes his lips and turns into a mist in the cold air. To think that he consciously chose almost freezing to death in the middle of nowhere instead of being cooped up in some corner of the office with a book and his favorite mug full of terribly sweet coffee, just the way he likes it best.
The area is strangely quiet. There's no sign for the entrance and no one to ask, so Dazai walks around, hoping to spot the right place. That's when a ray of sunlight hits him straight in the eyes. Temporarily blinded, he doesn't notice a patch of ice on the pavement before him.
He slips. It's far from an ice skating performance, and he's sure he'd get the lowest possible notes for the weird little dance he does. His hands shoot out of his pockets and he flails them ungracefully in the air, so when he manages to catch his balance, it's at the cost of his freezing hands.
Ugh. Is this all worth any favor from Kunikida?
The entrance finally comes into full view when Dazai reaches the shadow created by the building. A small bell jingles at the door as he opens it, and he suddenly finds himself faced with a young girl dressed in a red sweater. Two long ponytails make her look like a picture of sweetness, but the aura she releases is menacing.
Dazai freezes at his spot, afraid to move even an inch.
"Kyouka-chan, let our guest in!" A woman emerges from the inside of the building. She walks gracefully, gliding over the floor like a ballet dancer, her every move fluid and beautiful. "You must be Dazai Osamu-san," she says when she gets closer.
The young girl relaxes as the woman puts a hand on her shoulder and looks at her adoringly before her gaze settles back on Dazai.
"I'm Ozaki Kouyou, Atsushi's trainer and choreographer. This is my daughter, Kyouka."
Dazai bows politely to both of them. "Nice to meet you."
"Come inside. Atsushi is still in practice, but you can watch for a bit." She turns and walks inside the building, motioning for Dazai to follow. "It's so nice that you could join us. I'm sorry that we couldn't move the date of the interview. We don't want to cause problems, but our schedule is packed. There are only a few weeks left before the Olympics, so we can't afford any delays."
"Of course, I understand," Dazai says with a pleasant smile. "I'm sure our star is in the best hands, especially if he is trained by someone as lovely as yourself."
"You're quite the charmer, aren't you? I won't fall for it too easily," Kouyou laughs. "I do what I can, but he's achieved everything through hard work. You'll see for yourself."
As Kouyou leads him through the place, Dazai observes his surroundings. A lot of unfamiliar equipment lays around, rows of ice skates hang on a rack by the wall, and when he sees all of that, it starts to sink in that he has no idea about this whole figure skating business. Kunikida prepared a note for Dazai to read on the way to the interview, but when Dazai reached into his pocket, it wasn't there. He must've lost it in the subway, or maybe it's still on his desk in the office? Dazai is sure he had it in his hand at one point—the only thing he remembers is the nickname the figure skater's fans call him, the White Tiger—but if the note chose freedom instead of the confines of his pocket, he can't blame it. He kind of wishes he could do the same.
Well, it's going to be an improvisation. Dazai might be out of his element here, but he's always prided himself in his ability to think quickly on his feet. His wit and charms saved his ass multiple times in his life, and talking to someone for an hour is hardly a difficult task. He'll charm the figure skater with a few compliments to loosen his tongue, and everything should go smoothly. Worst case scenario, the guy will be boring and Dazai will have to make something up to write an interesting article. It's a bit of extra work, but for Yokohama Weekly, Dazai might put in a little effort. He won't ever tell Kunikida that, though.
Kouyou opens a door leading to the bleachers and ushers Dazai outside. "You can take a seat here for a moment," she says. "Atsushi will be done soon."
Chilly air envelops Dazai again, so he shoves his hands back into his pockets and sinks deeper into his scarf. The bleachers look cold and uninviting. His fingers are already icy and he's not enthusiastic about freezing his ass along with them, but there's not much he can do about it now. Reluctantly, he takes a random seat and looks at the rink.
It's different than what he imagined. The expanse of ice is large and quiet like the ocean on a calm day. The only sound that reaches Dazai's ears is the swish of ice skates cutting through the ice, a strange symphony of sharp notes but not unpleasant to the ear. When he follows it, his eyes finally land on the figure skater.
Even in practice, Atsushi is dressed only in black and white, accented by black fingerless gloves on his hands. He glides through the ice smoothly, his arms spread in graceful curves and hair shining silver under the bright light of the ice skating rink. The grace and elegance he moves with remind Dazai of a swan, but every spin he shows, every sharp turn he takes, shows that it's not all there is to him.
Mesmerized by the view, Dazai forgets about the cold, the interview, or anything else in the whole world. The only thing that exists at this moment is the performance before him.
Then, something changes in the air. The place seems to buzz with energy when Atsushi starts gaining speed. He takes one quick step after another, making his hair flutter with the wind, and before Dazai realizes what's happening, he jumps off the ice. Time slows down as he surges through the air, spinning one, two, three times. Once he finally lands with one leg behind him and his arms spread wide, Dazai gasps out a breath he unconsciously held.
No wonder fans call Atsushi the White Tiger. That jump made it all clear to Dazai—yes, Atsushi is full of grace, but there's incredible strength in him, something so powerful it's almost dangerous. Once you witness it, you can't look away.
After one more lap around the rink, Atsushi spots Dazai at the bleachers and skates to where Dazai sits.
"Hello! Are you here for the interview?"
Words die on Dazai's tongue. With the distance between them shortened, Dazai can finally see Atsushi up close. He notices the pink cheeks in all of their glory, the platinum blonde hair in a charming windswept mess, and the beads of sweat glistening on Atsushi's forehead in a way Dazai could only call beautiful.
Answering the question takes Dazai longer than he'd like to admit.
"Uh. Yeah, that's me. I'm Dazai." He clears his throat in an attempt to compose himself. "Dazai Osamu, Yokohama Weekly."
"Nakajima Atsushi, but you can call me Atsushi." He extends his gloved hand over the railing for a handshake. It surprises Dazai a little, but maybe Atsushi is more used to the western style of greeting because he travels the world for competitions a lot. There's no reason why Dazai shouldn't respond to the gesture.
"Alright then, Atsushi-kun," Dazai replies and takes his hand out of his pocket.
Their hands meet. The soft leather of Atsushi's glove is warm against Dazai's skin, but the skin of his bare fingers is even warmer. Dazai almost sighs when he feels his fingers unthaw a little.
"Dazai-san, your hands are so cold!" Atsushi calls out. He immediately takes Dazai's hand in both of his and rubs them lightly.
"Ah, don't worry. I just forgot my gloves at home," Dazai says, waving his free hand. The other one is still in Atsushi's tight hold, but Atsushi doesn't release it even when Dazai tries to discreetly tug it back. "I'll be fine," he tries again.
When Atsushi finally drops Dazai's hand, Dazai should be relieved—the situation was quite strange on their first meeting, even if the warmth of the Atsushi's hands felt incredible against his cold skin—but to his surprise, he finds that he isn't.
"That can't be," Atsushi says, and to Dazai's growing bewilderment, he starts taking off his gloves.
"What are you—" Dazai tries to stop him, but the gloves are off Atsushi's hands in seconds, and soon they are thrust into Dazai's.
"Don't say no. I have so many spare pairs." He closes Dazai's palm over the gloves, keeping his hands over Dazai's to keep him from refusing. He holds them like this for a few blissful moments until his gaze falls down on their joint hands. Then, he freezes.
Dazai says goodbye to the sweet pinkness of Atsushi's cheeks. Now, Atsushi's face blooms into full red and he quickly releases his hold.
"So yeah, uhm, wear them! I-I'll go throw on something warm. Let's meet inside in a moment!"
He pushes himself off the railing and skates towards the exit of the rink with Dazai's eyes following him.
When Atsushi disappears inside the building, Dazai looks at the gloves in his hands before chuckling to himself and pulling them on. Atsushi's warmth is still held within the fabric, and it spreads pleasantly over his skin.
This interview might prove to be a challenge for different reasons than Dazai anticipated.
"Do you mind if I record?"
"Not at all."
They sit opposite each other in one of the backrooms of the skating rink, two mugs of steaming hot tea on the table before them. Dazai keeps his hands around his and feels the warmth spread over his whole body. He doesn't need the gloves anymore, the tea does a better job warming him up than them, but he doesn't take them off. That would be rude, right?
Atsushi is also focused on his own drink. He blows onto the surface of his tea before he raises the mug to his mouth and takes a small sip. His cheeks are still pinker than they should be, but Dazai doesn't know if it's because of the steam from the hot tea or because he's still embarrassed. The way Atsushi keeps avoiding Dazai's gaze makes Dazai think it's the latter.
Dazai would love to tease him and witness those cheeks grow redder again, but he knows how to be professional when he needs to, so he takes out a voice recorder and a notebook from his pockets and gets ready to start.
"So..." Dazai glances at a very blank page of the notebook before his gaze goes back to Atsushi again. "How does it feel to be called the White Tiger of Japan?"
"Well," Atsushi rubs his neck, still a bit uneasy. "It felt very awkward at first. I didn't feel like I deserved such a title back then, but I think I'm slowly growing into it now. It motivates me to work harder, so I'm thankful to the fans who came up with it."
"And how did it start?"
"Someone found a video of my old routine from back when I was a junior. I skated to the song 'Eye of the Tiger' and— Don't laugh!" He chides when Dazai can't stop the chuckle that escapes his mouth. "I was a teenager and I thought it was the coolest song ever."
"It still is the coolest song ever," Dazai interrupts, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Right?" Atsushi brightens up. "Then, someone combined it with the way I always wear black and white and made up the nickname the White Tiger. It spread on the Internet so quickly I didn't even notice before everyone called me like that."
Once Atsushi relaxes, it's so easy to talk to him. He's quick to laugh and smile and wears his heart on his sleeve, but his thoughtful answers to Dazai's questions show that he's got a reflective side too. Still, there's something about this boy that won't give Dazai rest. A duality. Shy and brave. Delicate and strong. It's a puzzle Dazai needs to solve if he wants to sleep peacefully at night.
"What is ice skating to you?"
"That's easy," Atsushi replies instantly. "Freedom."
"Why?"
That gives Atsushi a pause. "I..." he trails as his insecure side takes over.
The expression on his face hints at a bigger story there, something that would surely be interesting for the article. But Dazai realizes he wants to know all there was to this brilliant boy and not share it with the world. He can't pretend anymore that it's still only journalist's curiosity.
No pushing, though. He grabs the voice recorder and switches it off. "That's okay. Don't worry, I have enough material already."
Atsushi's eyes flick between the recorder and Dazai's face.
"I lived in an orphanage when I was young. Not many people know that. For the longest time, I had nothing of my own, but when I skate... I get to be whoever I want to be."
"Dazai, you're here early," Kunikida notes when Dazai walks through the office door the next day.
"Maybe you're just late!"
Dazai doesn't stop to see Kunikida double-check his watch, which he'd do any other day. He doesn't want to waste any time.
Yes, it's unusual for Dazai to be at work early. But he's been watching figure skating videos on the Internet all night, both Atsushi's past performances and everything else he could find about ice skating, and at some point, it didn't make sense to go to sleep anymore. He wants to start on the article as soon as possible.
However, once Dazai sits at his desk, his mind is completely empty. His hands hover over the keyboard as he stares at the blinking cursor on the blank page on his computer. It's clearly mocking him, right?
Writer's block is a foreign concept to Dazai. Usually, words flow freely out of him in an unstoppable stream and it's a relief to let out at least a fraction of the thoughts crowding his head. Today for the first time in his life, he can't find the right ones. None of them seem good enough to describe Nakajima Atsushi, grace incarnate and smile warm enough to melt the ice on the whole ice skating rink.
Dazai groans and lets his head fall forward onto the desk. The keyboard digs into his forehead, but he pays it no mind.
A moment later, someone knocks lightly on the wall of the cubicle.
"Dazai-san?" a voice shyly asks.
"Yes, Tanizaki-kun?" Dazai replies, without neither moving nor opening his eyes. His voice is distorted by his face being squished on the table.
"I brought some photos of the figure skater for your article. Maybe you could take a look and choose what would fit best?"
Dazai groans again.
January 10th 2022
The White Tiger of Japan will roar at the Olympics
[Click to read more]
Dazai is allowed a lot of freedom at work, but he's still required to attend the editorial meetings. Sometimes he manages to slip away and spend the time more productively somewhere else. This time Kunikida cornered him early and dragged him to the conference room by the collar, so he's stuck listening to Kunikida talk on and on about the next issue of Yokohama Weekly against his will.
He doesn't hear any word of it. Most of the work around the office is of no interest to him, so he lets his mind wander instead.
There are so many topics more worthy of his attention—all the newly released books this week he didn't have a chance to read yet, or that promising debut novel Odasaku recommended. But soon, his thoughts get distracted by a certain white-haired figure skater he can't keep off his mind.
It's been a few weeks since the interview. After long hours of fighting with every word, Dazai finished the article, and to Kunikida's simultaneous joy and annoyance, it was pretty good.
In the meantime, Atsushi won two medals at the Olympics. A silver and a bronze. It should've been two golds; the jury was clearly blind. Dazai knows it because he watched all of his performances, sometimes sneaking off from the office to catch them live.
Atsushi was magical. Everything Dazai had seen when Atsushi was training at the skating rink paled in comparison with the actual performance. He's never expected to call any sport an art, but that's the only word that can describe what figure skating is, in particular when performed by Atsushi.
He's so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses when Kunikida speaks Atsushi's name.
"... and the next issue will again feature Nakajima Atsushi, the figure skater."
Dazai jumps in his chair and almost falls backward together with it. He logically knows that it's impossible for someone to read his mind, but it doesn't help. His ears burn as if they were on fire.
Everyone in the room turns to look at Dazai and that's when Dazai makes a second mistake—he looks up, accidentally meeting Ranpo's knowing gaze.
Shit, Dazai winces internally. This small slip-up is enough for the best investigative journalist in the country to figure out the whole situation without the need to read any of Dazai's thoughts.
Unbothered by Dazai's usual antics, Kunikida continues his speech. "Our last article about him written by Dazai was quite popular and got a lot of traffic online. Nakajima won two medals at the Olympics, so it's a great opportunity for us. He already kindly agreed to another interview." Then, he turns to the right, where the main sports reporter of the magazine sits. "Chuuya, I'll email you the details after the meeting."
Shit, Dazai curses for the second time today. He doesn't dare to look in Ranpo's direction, but he can still feel his gaze on himself.
It seems like the perfect occasion for Dazai to use the favor Kunikida owes him, so that's exactly what Dazai does. It doesn't go as easy as he hoped it would. Despite being suspicious of Dazai's intentions, Kunikida agrees to Dazai conducting the interview again, but he leaves Dazai with the worst part—informing Chuuya about the change.
Wonderful.
Only the thought of seeing Atsushi's warm smile again keeps Dazai's feet moving towards Chuuya's cubicle.
"Chuuya, my favourite chibi!" Dazai exclaims as he enters Chuuya's space. He sits on the desk unceremoniously, swinging his long legs in the air like a kid. "How is it going?"
"What do you want, shitty Dazai?" Chuuya doesn't look up from his laptop and his fingers still continue typing.
"Can't I visit you without a reason?"
"In case you forgot, a small reminder that I hate your guts." He presses enter with too much force and closes the laptop before facing Dazai. "What do you want?"
"About that figure skater you're supposed to interview," Dazai says as casually as he can. "Kunikida had second thoughts and since my last piece about him did so well, he decided to give me the job of interviewing him again."
Chuuya raises his eyebrows. "And you want to willingly write an article about sports? What the hell? You in love with the kid or something?"
"He is!" Ranpo's yell carries across the office.
Dazai hardly suppresses the urge to facepalm. Forget every fond thought he's ever had about the staff of Yokohama Weekly. Nosy journalists.
A moment later, Ranpo's head pops into Chuuya's cubicle. "Haven't you read that article? I already knew after reading the first two sentences. He's so smitten."
Chuuya's outburst of laughter could probably be heard as far as Hokkaido. "Oh my god, this is incredible," he says, clutching at his chest as he tries to calm down. "Okay. I will do this for you because I'm a good friend. And I kinda wanna see how it will all unfold. Best of luck, lover boy."
"Thanks," Dazai replies, not amused in the slightest. When he jumps off the desk and leaves, Chuuya's laugh still rings in his ears.
"He's lucky that skater is just as smitten," Ranpo says, but Dazai's not there anymore to hear it.
It was a bad idea, Dazai thinks as he paces back and forth before the entrance to a small café where he's supposed to meet Atsushi, not far from the ice skating rink where they met the first time.
He didn't come up with any plan before the meeting. Going with the flow worked fine before, but now, when his heart is on the line... What is he expecting anyway? Their first meeting was just part of the work for both of them, just like this one. Why would Atsushi be happy to see him?
Someone knocks on the café's window. Dazai stops his pacing and looks to his right. On the other side of the glass is Atsushi, waving his hand at Dazai. His mouth stretches into a big smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes and making them sparkle.
Dazai's heart almost gives out at the spot.
Once they're inside the café, time flies fast. Too fast. Dazai gets so caught up in their conversation that he almost forgets it was supposed to be an interview, but soon their coffee cups become empty and Dazai can't find any excuse to keep Atsushi there. With a heavy heart, he follows Atsushi out of the café.
It's the last moment to do something, anything, but faced with Atsushi, Dazai is at a loss for words again. It's much easier to flirt his way through life when it's all just for fun. But realizing that now might be the last time he ever sees the figure skater this close instead of on the silver screen, bright and beautiful on the ice but untouchable and far, makes his heart break.
He squeezes his fists in his pockets—gloves forgotten at home, again—and opens his mouth, even though he's still unsure what to say. What he doesn't expect is Atsushi speaking up first.
"Dazai-san, do you know how to ice skate?"
Dazai freezes. This isn't what he expected Atsushi to say, but isn't everything about the figure skater full of surprises?
"No, not really." He relaxes the fists he still keeps in his pockets and shrugs. "Never had a chance to try."
"Do you want to?" Atsushi scratches his neck under his scarf, cheeks pink from the chilly air. "I had a day off practicing today, so I still have some excess energy I need to burn off, or I won't sleep at night. You're welcome to join me if you want to."
Physical exercise and cold are two of Dazai's most hated things, but he can't pretend that he wouldn't agree to anything Atsushi asked of him.
It's dark outside when they arrive at the skating rink—the same one where they met the first time and where Atsushi spends all of his days on the skates. Atsushi rummages in his pockets for the keys. When he finds them and the door gives a satisfying click, he turns to grin at Dazai. His smile is blinding despite the darkness.
With the skates finally on his feet, Dazai starts having second thoughts. He looks at the vast expanse of the ice, beautiful and quiet but dangerous like a sleeping beast, ready to attack when someone loses focus.
Don't be mistaken, he's not scared. He's just... unsure. His usual clumsiness won't work to his advantage. But Atsushi is there, graceful on the ice as ever, skating with his arm extended towards Dazai, so Dazai shuts his brain and takes his hand.
He takes two steps on the ice and falls, almost pulling Atsushi down with him.
Failure is a strange feeling. Dazai has always been taught to always be the best, to come at the top at all costs. Even though he managed to cut himself from his father, from his past, he can't get rid of those lessons ingrained into his mind since childhood that failure is unaccepted and—
Atsushi laughs. It's this sound that stops Dazai's thoughts from spiraling any further out of control. He looks up at their still clasped hands and then at Atsushi's smiling face.
"You got the first fall out of the way quickly!" Atsushi says.
Dazai doesn't know what expression he's making, but Atsushi must see something there, something vulnerable and unsure, because his face softens. He crouches down without disconnecting their hands, meeting Dazai at his eye level.
"Hey, it's alright. Everybody falls on the first time. We just need to try again and practice," Atsushi says, his smile warm enough to melt the ice under them.
Blinded by the brightness of Atsushi's optimism, Dazai can do nothing else but believe him. He gets up and tries again, again, and again, but he finds himself powerless against the force of gravity.
"You're really bad at this, aren't you, Dazai-san?" Atsushi laughs breathlessly after helping Dazai get up from the ice one more time. His hands grip Dazai's tightly to hold him steady.
"My talents just lie elsewhere," Dazai mutters.
Atsushi is a patient teacher. It doesn't look like he's annoyed at Dazai's total inability to keep balance on the skates, but how can he not be? A professional like Atsushi is just wasting his time on Dazai and he's probably just too kind to show his irritation.
With his ass sore from falling on the ice more times than he can count, Dazai regrets that he's never been to a gym. God, he must really look pathetic in Atsushi's eyes right now. Agreeing to this was a mistake.
"Don't worry, we'll have more chances to practice!" Atsushi sends a bright smile. His hands tighten around Dazai's when the other wobbles on the skates. Then he seems to realize what he's said and flushes bright red. "I mean, uhh. You could write an article about it! You know, about learning to skate. Just an idea," he rambles and Dazai falls in love all over again.
"Atsushi-kun," Dazai sighs. "The truth is... That interview was supposed to be a one time gig. I'm not really a sports journalist. Quite the opposite, actually. "
"Oh, I know," Atsushi replies simply. "After the first interview, I subscribed to Yokohama Weekly online. I... I've been reading your column."
"You have?" Dazai asks.
"Yeah. You always write about books I've never even heard of before, but you describe them so well I can't help but want to read them and I—"
Dazai doesn't give Atsushi a chance to finish the sentence. In a split-second decision, he throws all caution and insecurity out of the window and leans down to kiss Atsushi, chilled lips pressed to chilled lips.
Atsushi startles and releases his grip on Dazai's hands. Without extra support, Dazai wobbles on the skates and crashes down on the ice again this evening before Atsushi manages to grab for him.
So... that went well, Dazai thinks as he lies flat with his back on the ice.
The cold slowly seeps into his bones. He closes his eyes, wishing for the ice to break under his weight and swallow him whole. Or for the time to rewind so that he never meets Nakajima Atsushi, the brightest star of Japanese figure skating and the most beautiful person Dazai's eyes ever lied on, and he never lives through this most embarrassing moment of his entire life.
A gloved hand on Dazai's forehead brings him out of the spiral of his thoughts.
"Oh my god, Dazai-san! Are you okay?"
Atsushi's frightened voice prompts Dazai to crack one eye open.
Atsushi is kneeling on the ice, leaning over Dazai's lifeless body, fingers peeking out of his gloves on Dazai's face. Relief floods the sunset-colored eyes when Dazai finally looks up at him properly, and Dazai gets lost in them, analyzing how yellow gives way to purple in Atsushi's irises. Atsushi looks beautiful with his white hair illuminated by the lights on the ceiling of the skating rink and his face flushed from the exercise.
Dazai stares and stares, unblinking and unmoving, committing the view to memory.
"Does anything hurt? Did you hit your head? I shouldn't have insisted on taking you ice-skating. You told me you'd never tried it before," Atsushi rambles while he gently wipes the hair out of Dazai's eyes.
Yes, something hurts, but it's only Dazai's heart. How could he even think that someone like Atsushi would be interested in him?
"Are you an angel? Did I die?" he mumbles helplessly.
Atsushi laughs. His bare fingers are still on Dazai's face, touching it gently like a piece of fine china. Shouldn't he take them away? The fall was enough reason to make Dazai's heart beat too quickly. He doesn't need another one.
"No. Thankfully, you're still alive." Atsushi's hands finally leave Dazai's face, only to grab his hand and pull him up into a seating position. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault. You surprised me and I let go of you."
"Nah, I guess I'm just not made for this," Dazai says, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He prays for Atsushi not to say anything about the kiss. Maybe they can just not talk about it and pretend it never happened? Or Dazai can leave the country and move somewhere warm where there are no ice skating rinks and no beautiful figure skaters to break his heart ever again.
Only when a shiver runs down Dazai's body does he realize how wet his clothes are. His coat is plastered uncomfortably to his back, all soaked through.
"Come on, let's dry you off. I'll make some hot chocolate to warm us up," Atsushi offers. In a heartbeat, he's up and standing, his hand extended towards Dazai to help him stand up.
Somehow, Dazai gets to the solid ground without any adventures. He almost kisses it like people did when they got off a ship after a trip across the Atlantic.
They reach the benches and take off their skates. Socks are probably the only dry item of Dazai's clothing, but they give him no comfort when his whole body feels so cold. Atsushi gets up and ventures inside the building, waving at Dazai to follow.
They stop by the lockers first. Atsushi fiddles with the lock of one of them and when it opens, he pulls an extra pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and throws them at a very confused Dazai.
"Go change out of your wet clothes in the bathroom. I'll start on the hot chocolate, okay?"
Stop it. It's over, Dazai chides his heart as it skips a beat at the smile with which Atsushi ends the sentence.
Atsushi's sweatpants are a little short for Dazai. Cold air bites at his ankles, so he pulls his socks as high as possible to cover the bare skin. The hoodie is big and (unsurprisingly) white and the whole outfit is probably a ridiculous mismatched mess, but it's dry and warm and that's the only thing Dazai can focus on right now.
When Dazai emerges from the bathroom, he spots Atsushi by the stove in the corner of the room, stirring hot chocolate in a small pot.
"You can sit there by the heater." Atsushi points in the direction of a worn-down sofa. "There are some blankets there too. Chocolate will be done any minute."
They drink in silence. Dazai keeps stealing glances at Atsushi, but he doesn't trust his mouth anymore. He's already used up all of his bravery for today and look where it got him. It's been a long day, an extremely long one, and he longs for the safety of his apartment. He's not sure what he's still doing here when this whole evening was a disaster and he should just politely say goodbye.
Atsushi finishes his drink first. He stares deep into his cup as if hoping it isn't empty so that he has something to do with his hands.
This silence must be awkward to him too, Dazai concludes, so it surprises him when Atsushi speaks up.
"Dazai-san, would you like to try again?"
"Try what?" Dazai asks, trying not to let his annoyance at himself show in his voice. "I think my body took enough damage for today."
"No, no, no." Atsushi shakes his head. "The other thing."
"The other thing?"
"You know," Atsushi says and looks away. He's avoiding eye contact, so he's probably still embarrassed about Dazai's attempt at kissing him, but is that blush on his cheeks?
Things are not adding up, even when Atsushi finally finishes the sentence.
"The kissing."
"The kissing," Dazai repeats. Maybe he hit his head on the ice because he's having trouble understanding what's going on. "But... you rejected me, didn't you?"
"What?! NO!" Atsushi almost jumps in his seat, arms flailing. "No, you just took me by surprise! I didn't know how to tell you, but I invited you here cause I like you and I didn't want this afternoon to end. Then the ice skating lesson turned into a failure and I thought you hated it." He goes back to staring into his cup, looking dejected.
"I didn't hate it," Dazai says. "I was just angry at myself for being so bad at ice skating and for making you think that I was the lamest person in the whole of Japan."
Atsushi looks up and shakes his head with a smile. "You're really far from being the lamest person in the whole of Japan."
A helpless laugh escapes Dazai's lips. "We're a bit of a mess, aren't we? For the record, I like you too. If the part when I tried to kiss you wasn't clear enough."
Atsushi grins back. "I got the message, but it's good to be perfectly sure."
"Come here," Dazai pats the empty space on the sofa next to him and Atsushi follows.
"But don't fall this time, okay?"
"Stop rubbing it in and just kiss me," Dazai grumbles.
"Alright, alright." His face inches closer to Dazai's, giving him a perfect chance to observe the fascinating dance of the violets and yellows in the skater's irises before his eyelids close and their lips press together.
It's much better when the ground is stable beneath them, but Dazai feels swept off his feet anyway. Thank God, it's only a metaphorical fall this time.
"So, lesson number two when?" Atsushi whispers against Dazai's lips when they separate.
Dazai groans and leans his forehead on Atsushi's shoulder. When Atsushi laughs, his body shakes slightly under Dazai's head.
"Anytime, just... don't let go of my hand."
"I won't. Never again," Atsushi says and he leans over to press another chocolate-flavored kiss to Dazai's lips.