Work Text:
Dazai has no idea how on earth she managed to pull this off.
…well, okay, that’s not entirely true. It was a whirlwind of stolen glances, secret notes, declarations of love in the cafeteria, and many, many bouquets of roses. Not necessarily in that order. And besides, her plans always succeed, don’t they?
Still, she didn’t think she’d really manage this one. After all, convincing an angel to sit for a painting is significantly different from making all of Kunikida’s pens explode.
Then again, most wouldn’t consider Chuuya to be an angel, but that’s not really her problem, is it? Such a beautiful being must have come from heaven. There’s simply no other explanation.
To prove her point, here. She looks up from the painting, eyes catching on the startling blue of the girl currently lounging on a chaise longue. Her breath catches in her throat.
Chuuya is dressed in a silky white dress that’s vaguely roman-esque, nothing else. It hugs her body perfectly as she lies, completely still on the chaise, other than the odd finger tap or elbow adjustment. Her hair curls over one shoulder like liquid fire, spilling everywhere despite the white ribbon pulling it back. The freckles that dot her skin form constellations, Dazai’s sure. She should trace them one day. Paint a mural on Chuuya’s very own skin (oh, she likes that idea a lot). She’s easily the most beautiful girl Dazai’s ever seen.
“Oi, mackerel. Why’re you staring? Shouldn’t you be painting?” Chuuya’s lips, plump and rosy and oh, does she want to kiss them, have turned into a frown. Her cheeks puff out slightly, endearing to every end. “Hurry up, this position is super uncomfortable.”
Dazai shakes her head slightly, pulling herself out of her reverie. “Just admiring natural beauty, darlin’,” she says with a smirk. “You’re the human embodiment of sea foam and crashing waves, has anybody ever told you that?”
Oh-ho-ho. She revels in the way Chuuya’s face darkens slightly, emphasising the way her scarlett hair burns like a halo in the light. She knew painting at this time with this angle would pay off, and would you look at that?
…she also may or not have done some… research.
Well, if she’s gonna get the girl at the end, she’s gotta be prepared, right? And everybody knows Chuuya’s a literature major, one especially interested in greek and roman writings. It’s why Dazai chose the dress, and the chaise, and the setup, and why she used sea foam as a description. If there’s a single Greek goddess Chuuya ressembles, it’s Aphrodite.
“Just finish the stupid painting, you idiot,” she mutters quietly. “I got things to do.”
“Mhm, I’m sure you do. What is it, poring over Greek poetry with Akutagawa in the library? You’d rather do that than spend quality time with me?” She fakes a pout. “But Chuuya, I’m your biggest admirer! I’d paint you for days!”
“You are painting me for days!” Chuuya snaps back. “It’s already been, like, three days. How much longer is this going to take?”
“Oh, just a few more!” Dazai says innocently. She’s definitely not stretching this out just so she can spend more time with Chuuya, oh no. “Come on. Do you want me to fail out of school?”
She rolls her eyes. “You won’t fail.”
“Will too.”
“Will not.”
“Will too-”
“Oh my god, Dazai, shut up, for god’s sake!” Lucy yells from the bathroom. “You are so loud!”
Silence. Dazai turns to Chuuya, who stares back with wide eyes.
They burst into laughter.
“Sorry, Lucy!” she calls back. “You’re still my favourite roommate!”
She doesn’t answer. Dazai shoots Chuuya a wink, then ducks her face behind the painting. She’s blushing, she can tell. Why? She winks at everybody, literally everyone. Is she so far gone on Chuuya that even winking will cause her extreme embarrassment?
Slowly, she ducks her face back out. The tips of Chuuya’s ears are red. Dazai softens into a smile. Her eyelashes are really long, she notes. They flutter like butterfly wings every time she blinks.
It’s like she said. An angel.
♡
“You’re painting Chuuya?” Mark asks, eyes wide. “How did you manage that?”
“Because I’m hot and charismatic, obviously,” Dazai replies flippantly.
“Okay, I’m not that gullible.”
“...I may or may not have spent the last four months bombarding her with romantic gesture after romantic gesture. She may or may not have accepted just so I would stop bothering her.”
“I knew it!” they say. “It must suck, not having a partner you could paint.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Can you maybe not shove your happy, healthy relationship in my face? I’m a grieving woman, you know.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that Hirotsu let me paint Michi and Jun, so I’m really excited about this.” Dazai could tell it wholeheartedly meant all of that. The smile on their face is telling enough. She feels a stab in her heart. Happy couples are the worst .
…but she is happy for her friend. Really, she is.
“I suppose that’s a good thing for you. And I suppose I’m… feeling very slightly pleased for you.”
“Is it really that hard to just say you’re happy for me?!”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Especially when I’m wallowing over my own loneliness and depression.”
Mark sighs. “Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even friends with you.”
She exaggerates her gasp. “Mark! My bestest, bestest art buddy! You don’t mean that!”
“Did you just call me your bestest art buddy?” Its eyes shine with warmth. “Aw! Hug time, come on!”
“Is it too late to take it back?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
♡
Luckily for her, she runs into Chuuya at dinner.
(It’s totally a coincidence.)
“Well, well, if it isn’t the loveliest portrait sitter!” she exclaims, dropping into the chair beside Atsushi. “How are you doing on this fine day?”
She just glares in response. “If you’re here to give me another fucking bouquet or chocolate or some shit like that, don’t.”
Dazai bats her eyes innocently. “I can’t just spend time with the angelic, ethereal Chuuya Nakahara? You wound me, my love.”
She watches in satisfaction as Chuuya’s face goes beet red. Oh, it’s so easy to make her blush. It’s rather pretty, the way the pink settles on her cheekbones like fairies taking a rest. She’s well aware these constant descriptions are probably getting annoying, but she can’t help it, can she? Not with a beautiful creature such as Chuuya.
“You’re so annoying,” Chuuya says finally, turning back to her plate. She shovels the rest of her pizza slice into her mouth. “Stay away from me.”
“But you’re my one true love! My Sappho! I am your hetaera, and you shall write beautiful poems of our love. Won’t you, Chuuya?”
Ahah, there goes another blush. She just keeps winning today, doesn’t she?
“Shut up! I can’t handle you and your annoying ass anymore. I’m not fucking Sappho, got it?” Chuuya seethes, standing up. “Come on, Ryuu. Let’s go.”
Dazai’s eyes are glued to the mesmerising sway of her hips as she walks off.
She is so fucked.
♡
Unfortunately, Dazai can’t delay this any longer.
It’s her final painting session with Chuuya.
“Meh…” she frowns, dipping her brush in grey-blue paint, “I feel like this is missing something. It’s so boring, you know? Hirotsu expects a lot from me. I’m the best artist in the class, obviously, I can’t just submit a simple, plain portrait like this. It needs to be unique. It needs to be special .”
Chuuya snorts. “You’re so dramatic. This was the assignment, wasn’t it? Just submit this. You’ll be fine.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I don’t need to.”
Dazai can’t fight the grin that splits across her face. “Chuuya, my darling dearest, are you saying that you think my artwork is so good that I couldn’t possibly create something bad? You are so sweet, really! Just the kindest angel I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
“I’m not- this isn’t fucking- just focus on the stupid painting, for gods sake! I hate you so much.”
“Love you too, wielder of my heart,” She winks. This is going amazingly.
♡
The painting is finished the next day.
But Dazai still feels the same - it’s missing something. She’s sure of it.
“You know, I think you’re right,” Mark says, peering over her shoulder. “I mean, you’re Dazai Osamu. You’ve never done an assignment simply. There’s always some crazy shit going on, and this is just plain and simple. To be frank, I’m disappointed.”
“Care to explain why you just turned into an art critic to tell me that?” she says, annoyed. “Look, I know it’s bad. But I don’t know what to add. It just… it doesn’t feel Chuuya-ish, you know?”
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Lucy sticks her head in. “Chuuya’s here to see you,” she says in a bored tone, before slamming the door shut. Dazai’s heart leaps in her throat.
The door opens again, and Chuuya steps in. Today, her hair is pulled up into a messy high ponytail, the tip brushing her freckled shoulders lightly. She’s dressed for the summer heat in a pair of jean shorts and a simple button-up. Plain, boring, but somehow, she manages to make it look like haute couture.
Just like she does with everything.
So why does this painting look so empty, then?
“Chuuya,” Dazai says nervously. She wasn’t expecting her to visit. This is bad. She hasn’t planned at all, and now her palms are getting sweaty. “What are you doing here?”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m here to see the painting, duh.”
She winces. “You know, I really don’t think that’s necessary. Right, Mark? You don’t think that’s necessary, do you?”
It startles slightly, like they weren’t expecting to be drawn into the conversation. “Uh, sure. I guess?”
Chuuya snorts. “Just show me the fucking painting, Dazai. I let you paint me, the least you can do is show it to me.”
“Look, you really don’t-”
Aaand Chuuya’s brushing past her, peering at the painting with furrowed brows. She smacks her head metaphorically. This is not going well at all.
The room is silent. Chuuya stares at the painting, brows furrowed and biting her lip. Mark stands slightly to the side, staring with wide eyes between the pair. Dazai just shrugs helplessly. Once Chuuya starts something, it’s impossible to stop her. Just one of the many, many lovely qualities Dazai loves about her.
“...wow,” she says finally, looking back at Dazai. “That was not what I was expecting.”
Oh. Dazai frowns. She’s not entirely sure what that means. Is it good? Is it bad? Or maybe she’s just stupid, missing pieces of context because Chuuya’s eyes are locked with Dazai’s and she’s having trouble breathing and-
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Chuuya frowns. Shrugs slightly. “I dunno. I just feel like - compared to your usual paintings - this kinda fucking sucks. No offence or anything.”
Ohh. That’s what she means.
“Exactly! There’s something missing from it, right?” Mark says, nodding. “It’s, like, empty or something.”
But Dazai’s not focusing on that. All she can think about is the start of that sentence. Compared to your usual paintings . Is Chuuya insinuating what Dazai thinks she’s insinuating…?
“Chuuya,” she begins, and oh, it’s impossible to keep the smirk off her face, “Do you perhaps check out my paintings at the art shows?”
Boom. There it is. Another blush. She is back in the game, baby!
“That’s- I’m not-” Chuuya stumbles over her words. Dazai hides a snicker.
“It’s alright, my honey bunchkins, don’t hide it. I’m honoured. Although, you do have a point. This painting is missing something, isn’t it? I suppose the essence of an angel is quite hard to capture…”
“Stop calling me an angel!”
She feigns an innocent look. “But, my pulchritudinous one, you’re the poet, are you not? You should be the one romancing me . There must be something about love in those stanzas you’re constantly jotting down, isn’t there?”
Mark snorts. “Sorry, sorry, interrupting the moment, I know, but. I’ve never heard you talk like this before, Dazai, it’s hilar-”
“Shut up, Mark.” She says with a smile. It seems to get the message, dropping onto a chair with a sigh.
“Poems…” Chuuya mutters, “Wait.”
She stands up brusquely, grabbing her tote bag and whipping out her phone in a single, fluid moment. Dazai thinks she has the body of a dancer, lithe and graceful and mesmerising with every step. “I have to go,” she announces, before running out of the room. Dazai can hear Lucy speaking with a muffled voice, followed by a door shutting.
She turns to Mark. “What the fuck just happened.”
♡
As it turns out, nobody has seen Chuuya for hours.
“You don’t have a single inkling?” Dazai frowns, tapping Atsushi’s shoulder incessantly. They roll their eyes, pushing the finger away. The frown turns into a pout.
“No, sorry. Akutagawa hasn’t said anything since the afternoon, either.” They sigh. “I’ll call Lucy, see if she has any information I don’t.”
Dazai pokes at her plate of food miserably as Atsushi pulls out their phone, giggling and laughing as they speak with their girlfriend. She hates happiness. She hates couples. Why is everybody around her so enamoured at the moment? Valentine’s isn't for ages!
Within a few minutes, the phone call ends, and Atsushi turns back to her with a grave expression. “Sorry, Dazai. Lucy hasn’t seen her anywhere.”
She sighs, loud and dramatic and maybe a tad more exaggerated than she needed. “It’s alright, Atsushi. I suppose I can go one night without seeing my muse before I depart with the night. I’m going to go wallow in my loneliness. I’ll see you tomorrow - if I survive, that is.”
They roll their eyes. “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.”
♡
Dazai wasn’t lying - she did head to her room, she did ignore Lucy, she did curl up into a tiny ball on her bed. There’s something weird happening right now. She’s never, ever felt more motivated, more inspired than when Chuuya laid on that chaise longue in front of her, so why did the painting turn out so… lifeless? What is it she’s doing wrong?
She can’t quite figure it out.
The painting stares at her from across the room, haunting her, taunting her. She stares at it for a solid twenty minutes before groaning loudly, dropping a sheet overtop it. She can’t bear to look at those lifeless, lifeless eyes any longer.
It’s only 11:43 PM. She’s not tired in the slightest.
She’s seconds away from jumping to her feet and stumbling into Lucy’s room, whining about playing a game, when she hears a knock.
…hold on.
Could it be…?
Dazai stands up slowly, carefully. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up. But, just in case - a quick fix of her hair wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Finally ready, she makes her way to the door. Winces. Pulls it open.
“About time, idiot.” Chuuya scoffs, pushing past her. “I’ve been standing here for ages.”
It’s unlike her, she knows, but her jaw drops. She really, really hadn’t been expecting this. “What are you doing here?”
“Fixing your painting. What else would I be doing here?”
It’s then that Dazai notices the journal stuffed under Chuuya’s arm. She’d been so busy focusing on the way her eyelashes shine red in the lamplight to notice it. She frowns. She has absolutely no clue what’s going on.
“And how, exactly, are you planning on doing that? Last time I checked, you were a literature major.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“You said the painting lacked life, right?” Chuuya says, pushing the sheet off the painting. “Here. I’m giving it life.” She drops the notebook on Dazai’s bed, flips to a dog-eared page, and yanks it out.
If Dazai’s jaw had been dropped before, it just hit the ground.
“What are you doing?” she cries, running over. “Don’t rip out those pages! How is this supposed to give the painting life?” She doesn’t know much about poetry, but pretty much everybody on campus knows how much it means to Chuuya. She doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why does Chuuya even care that much?
She just raises her eyebrow. “It’s my fucking notebook, and I’ll do what I want with it. Now, do I have your permission to paint on this canvas?”
Dazai just stares. She stares, and stares, and stares, and stares.
Chuuya. Chuuya Nakahara, the girl she’s been attempting to woo for the last semester. Wants to paint on her canvas .
She’d thought her work was fruitless, but it looks like… maybe not?
Her throat is dry as she speaks. “Sure, if you- if you want to.”
Chuuya smirks. “Oh, I want to. Believe me.”
♡
Dazai wasn’t allowed to look, apparently.
She’s spent the last hour sitting on Lucy’s bed, sighing dramatically every ten seconds as she pretends to read her book. Lucy gives her a death glare every time. She doesn’t stop.
God, she just wants to see the painting. She just wants to see Chuuya. She’s nervous, and excited, and breathless, more emotions than she’s felt in a long, long time piling up around her. She doesn’t know what to do about them. She doesn’t think she wants them to go away.
(She doesn’t ever want Chuuya to go away.)
When she sighs for approximately the 1235720th time, Lucy finally stands up, plucks the book out of her hands, and tosses it across the room. Dazai stares at her in indignance. That was a limited edition copy of Dorian Gray, honestly! You don’t treat it like that!
Lucy doesn’t give a shit, though, and Dazai knows that. “Stop moping,” she rolls her eyes. “Go get your girlfriend already. I’m sick and tired of your bullshit.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dazai protests weakly, ignoring the warmth that sparks through her chest at the words.
“I literally could not give less of a shit. Just get out of here already!” Lucy practically pushes her out of the door, and Dazai finds herself in front of her door. The door which leads to Chuuya.
She swallows thickly. She is so not ready.
Still, Lucy is giving her the stink eye, and Dazai Osamu is not a wimp, so she takes a deep, collected breath and-
-swings the door open.
Nothing explodes. No fire erupts. Nobody dies, and nobody’s screaming.
Just Chuuya, wiping sweat from her brow. Paint flecks her face, white and blue and pink and beautiful. It mirrors the freckles on her skin, accentuating the pale colour of her flesh and making her blue, blue eyes pop. She looks so radiant, Dazai almost doesn’t notice the canvas before her.
Almost .
Dazai thinks she understands, now.
Ink blurs with paint and paper, rolling down the canvas in big wet tears. Pink and blue hues mix with the warm colours of Chuuya’s face, the sun-streaked fringes of the room she sits in. For there, framing every edge of Chuuya’s face, are poetry lines. Words and words and words, sinking into the canvas, giving it vibrance and giving it life. Dazai hadn’t known what to add, hadn’t known what to paint, but it turns out this was all it needed. Chuuya was all it needed.
“It’s you,” she breathes. “It’s- Chuuya, it’s you.”
She turns to Dazai, gives her a smirk. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you to trust me, and look what I’ve done. I fixed it.” The smirk softens into a smile. “All you had to do was trust me.”
And oh god, Dazai doesn’t think she’s ever wanted something more. “I trust you,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “I think I always have.”
Chuuya extends a hand, lithe fingers asking invitingly. There’s only one thing she can do.
♡
They see it from the street, walking its bike back from Tachihara’s. A single light, glowing faintly on the third floor, and two figures dancing slowly, locked in an embrace.
He smiles softly. They never doubted it for a second.
♡
(Dazai receives an A, of course. She reads the mark with elated excitement, wispy red curling around her fingers. She celebrates with a chocolate cake and her lover’s kiss.
It’s the happiest she’s been in a while.)