Archive of Our Own

Prelude

     Dazai has never been good at it – ever. He can always try pretending he is, but he will never ever reach the pinnacle, no matter how hard he tries. 

     Time is the worst enemy one could ever wish to have, and once it gets you, there's no way in hell you can win. 

     Trying to live Odasaku's life is all a joke he drowns himself in. He can never be as good as Odasaku; even if he sells his soul to the devil, practices until his fingers bleed and his muscles burnt or sore, the lost years he could have been doing all of this would never be given to him. 

     Dazai should just give up playing the violin. 

     He's stuck at the back row of the orchestra's second violin section playing nothing but repetitive arpeggios in pianissimo. His hours of mindless practice wouldn't even be heard, effort and tears wasted. 

     Dazai cannot succumb to Mori's pressure, however. He will not take over his stupid empire of black money masked by a virtuous foundation for the needy. That very thing killed Odasaku; being associated with it disgusts Dazai and makes him want to skin himself. 

     Today is the last day he will ever play Odasaku's violin, and also the last day he will ever breathe in this world. He has nothing to be sad about; no one will mourn if he dies. Dazai has never felt for anything strongly, perhaps aside from having perfected a passage of the piece a short while ago. . .

     He might miss playing the violin a bit. But it's alright, there are thousands of even better musicians who can do the instrument justice. He's just a waste of space, anyways. 

     As Dazai tunes his instrument, his eyes catch the blonde head of the guest soloist they will accompany for the night. He struts the stage with a confident but gentle presence, gazing over the orchestra with his sharp, olive green eyes and glasses capturing the glint of the lights above the hall. 

     "Good evening, everyone. I'm Kunikida Doppo. It's an honor to perform with you," the piano soloist, Kunikida, bows curtly before the musicians then takes the stool and sits in a manner that feels stiff and controlled. 

     Connections have gotten Dazai in this very chair with a few death threats and coercion, but the pianist before them has worked through the industry with a pristine record, starting from when he was five until now that he's 24. His name rings awe from the musicians around Dazai, something he unfortunately cannot fathom. Sure, he's good by standards but Dazai is a man with a mission – none of it matters to him. 

     "Sheesh, he looks fine," his deskie, a young girl in a black cocktail dress and brown hair tied up in a bun, who just finished her music degree in a relative pace whispers, giggling as she does so. 

     "Mhm," Dazai hums, glancing at the pianist's back. "His ass looked fine to me." 

     "Gosh, you're always so uncouth, Dazai," the girl (Sakura is her name as much as he remembers) clicks her tongue in mock annoyance, but it's obvious with the way her cheeks reddened that she agrees with him wholeheartedly. 

     "I'm betting he'll get his first five bars wrong."

     Sakura snaps her head towards him, her face horrified as she props her violin on her lap. "Don't say that! Kunikida is a world class pianist, he won both Tchaikovsky and Chopin competitions!" 

     Dazai huffs, "What, you think he's god after winning some trophies? His back looked tense and his hands were trembling. He isn't ready for rehearsal."

     It's a blatant lie. Dazai didn't see that at all and he's merely added in the details just so he can supply evidence to his hunch. Kunikida looks perfect, down to his posture, his reactions, and his mere aura. However, it's so right that it feels wrong to Dazai. 

     Before Sakura can reply, the director stomps his way to the podium, mumbling apologies to Kunikida who has been seated for five minutes on the stool, unmoving. He didn't even lift the keyboard cover and just stared blankly, waiting dumbly for the conductor to arrive. 

     The director taps the podium with the baton and puts it up, signaling the orchestra to lift their instruments to position. Dazai settles his violin under his jaw, his bow hovering above the strings. They're going to rehearse Rachmaninov's 2nd piano concerto for tomorrow, their audience ranging from local bureaucrats and directors of various companies in the city. It's the most-awaited concert of a world-renowned piano prodigy and it's actually a very big deal to the classical music industry. 

     Then again, Dazai could care less. As long as he can have the night by himself after this and never see the sun again, he's fine. He's already picked a spot in the river wherein his body would sink to the depths, undetected. Everything is planned already. 

     The piano starts with solemn and dark minor chords, the clear and crisp sound bouncing throughout the concert hall. With every click against the keys, Kunikida flicks his body along the movement as if he's one with the piano. Dazai can see a little of his side profile and from his view, Kunikida has a serious look on his face, his tied hair hanging loosely over his right shoulder. The lights give him a warm aura, his auburn coat reflecting them like he's a ball of sunshine at the center of the stage. 

     Having been given the build up, gradually, the orchestra joins the soloist, prompting Dazai to focus back on playing. He's engrossed at the sight of Kunikida's playing as if he's already performing with an audience. 

     Wistful, heavy melody flows from the strings, the piano providing the bright luscious, but soft arpeggios and scales like rhythmic drops of water in a cave. Kunikida is never drowned by the booming orchestral accompaniment, but after the third bar of tutti, a ringing C sharp breaks the concentration of everyone, the music stopping abruptly with everyone turning a confused stare at the pianist. 

     As Dazai deduced a little while ago, Kunikida's perfect appearance does seem fragile, and that single mistake poked a large gaping hole in his façade. Kunikida looks devastated, his eyes downcast, staring at his hovering hands on the keyboard. 

     "Ah, it's okay, it's okay!" The director turns to Kunikida, his smile quivering as if turned on by a little electrical charge. He's never taken lightly simple ringing mistakes like this from the orchestra, but of course, the special guest has always been an exception. It's amusing watching him scramble and trip over himself. Dazai cannot hide his smirk. 

     "I'm sorry," Kunikida's voice is small, contrary to his previous oozing with confidence earlier. It must have been humiliating for him, and everyone is whispering words of contempt and judgement already. A person his type appears to be easily wavered by mere words of harsh criticisms like this. 

     The rehearsal proceeds after the awkward silence, with the pianist regaining his tempo as if there hadn't been a mistake a while ago. Dazai has ridden the high from the music, playing the violin as if it's an inseparable part of himself. It's one of the rare moments he truly feels, and undoubtedly the sole reason he still breathes until now. 

     The second movement of the piece approaches, led by the winds. As Dazai listens, he finds himself gripping his violin tighter, anticipating something breaking down. As the piano supports the melody of the clarinet, something in him shakes, like an earthquake cracking a dam. The string section joins the harmony softly with Dazai missing his entry. 

     The flutes paint the climax of the passage, and soon the piano overtakes the melody, strong and firm until the articulation of the glissando. Through the forte, Dazai has forgotten the world; of the suffering and anguish it brings. 

     Until the intense, emotional sections of the piece, Dazai feels like there's no human on the stage but only sets of harmonious notes, dancing around each other. This has been the fullest he has ever felt, as warm tears trickle down his cheeks. He doesn't notice any of it, but the sheer amount of life he experiences as he, along with tens of musicians accompany Kunikida's sublime expression of the music. 

     The piece ends, so does the reverie Dazai has gotten himself in. He leaves his arm hovering for a little longer, the final remnants of the notes from the instruments vanishing completely. 

     Dazai has completely detached from reality once more, senses blocked and numb. Long minutes passed before him, unaware, until Harukawa Ran, the concertmaster taps him on the shoulder. 

     "Hey, Dazai-kun? Everyone's already out," the older violinist says, a hint of concern etched on her forehead. 

     "Oh! Uh," Dazai scratches his nape, flashing a sheepish smile which significantly eased the tension on the concertmaster's shoulders. "I didn't notice! I enjoyed the performance so much," he chuckles and proceeds to pack his instrument. He finds his hands unsteady, his heart drumming in his chest, but he shoves the sensation down and pays no mind. Breaking down in front of someone must not happen. 

     "Truly, it was elegant and beautiful! I'm even more thrilled to perform tomorrow," Ran says, beaming as she does so. "I'll be off, be careful on your way home," she waves a hand and walks out, with Dazai keeping his smile. 

     As soon as the door closes, Dazai releases the breath he has been holding, his smile dropping abruptly and his eyes losing the glow he recently bore. 

     It's been years since he last felt alive. The last time was when he happened to encounter Odasaku, looking so lonesome while playing the violin in a spot overlooking the sea. His passion towards the instrument and music sparked something within Dazai that has kept him going. 

     He's gone now, and Odasaku's left only his cherished violin. 

     There's no turning back, however. Dazai has completely decided to end it tonight. 

     Glancing one last time towards the seats of the hall, rows of velvet-covered chairs extending upwards, his eyes capture a peculiar hue under the grand piano. It prompts him to go there and pick up the object, strapping the instrument case behind him. 

     Under the pedals lies a small green notebook, an inch larger than his hand. On the front cover is the kanji, [理想]. He picks it up and opens the first page of the notebook. 

     "Do what must be done."

     Dazai's brows flick upwards in curiosity, itching to flip to the next page. This notebook is certainly owned by the pianist, Kunikida. The existence of this thing with a blaring "Ideals" on the front practically screams everything about the uptight pianist. Interesting, Dazai thinks, as he turns the page. 

     Written on the following pages are just personal logs regarding the food he should eat, time he should wake up and sleep, practice techniques – basically all boring things. He almost stops browsing through until he sees a section with lists of various names. 

     • Mitsuri Kanao - Red-rimmed glasses, silver dangling earrings. She's your manager.

     • Kudo Heiji - Black-rimmed glasses, white hair. He's your instructor. 

     Dazai stops from reading, as the next names also consist of those descriptions, as if they're landmarks so the people are distinguished from each other. He can assume a few things based from this, but one certain condition arises in his mind. 

     Kunikida most likely has the disorder, prosopagnosia which impairs his ability to recognize people's faces. His descriptions of people are explicit and object-specific, and the pattern of most people wearing different glasses of various colors is lucid. 

     If he's writing those markers on this notebook religiously, then it only means that this is practically an extension of himself. Having that condition is debilitating, especially to someone like Kunikida who always has to meet various people throughout the day. 

     Such a shame, then, Dazai thinks. This careless error managed to slip into the cracks and with what Dazai gathered from less than an hour of observing the pianist, this is a crippling mistake. It's going to be his downfall or something and Dazai feels bad – sort of. Pity might be a better word. 

     Before he closes the notebook completely, he flips it randomly to a page and lands him into  a jackpot. Most people would have stopped snooping after reading the daily logs, but Dazai isn't most people and invading their privacy happens to be his specialty. 

     "Ideal Spouse"

     Dazai makes the most reactive face he has ever done today, eyes widening and sparking with mischief. He even feels his lips trembling into a smirk as he scans over the writing. 

     With eight pages, Kunikida basically invented an imaginary person he finds ideal to marry. It's almost adorable, if Kunikida is someone he personally knows. Heck, Kunikida doesn't even know him, but for some reason it makes it even funnier. He can worm his way towards the weird guy and annoy him to the end of his wits using this valuable information as heavy as the intel regarding nuclear capabilities of foreign countries. 

     Suppressing a snort, Dazai sits on one of the empty chairs and opens his violin case. If ever someone finds this case, he wishes that they bring this notebook back to its owner. 

     After the click, he slings the case across his back, the straps around under his arms. He walks outside the hall, basking himself with the night breeze as the pale moonlight graces his skin. 

     Dazai heads to his final destination, feeling light as if he's not going to take a plunge and not surface forever. 

__________

     Kunikida Doppo is fucked. 

     In more ways than one. 

     Bringing only his pathetic and careless self, he rushes out his temporary apartment unit, frantically running down the hallways and the streets like his life depended on it.

     Which, it kinda did, as he lost his Ideal –  practically an extension of himself. 

     "Shit," Kunikida curses under his breath, his glasses askew. It's a good thing that his apartment is just a few blocks away from the concert hall, but it's still a grave inconvenience since he's supposed to be doing his nightly routine and securing that he won't make the same mistake as he did during the rehearsal. 

     When he reached the hall perimeter, drenched in his sweat, he sees someone clad in black, the same attire worn by the orchestra a while ago. The person appears relatively tall and lean, their skin glowing pale as the moonlight touches it. There's an ivory white violin case behind them, which further cements that they are a member of the orchestra. 

     Kunikida shuffles his feet, conflicted if he should ask the person if ever they saw his notebook but before he can decide, the person starts to walk away with a slight drag from their steps. 

     It is an unusual gait, but Kunikida cannot worry about other people for now. If he doesn't see his notebook tonight, he'll miss the concert and ruin his life. 

     In another burst of adrenaline, Kunikida sprints towards the entrance and breezes his way to the hall and almost bumps into a staff. Frenzied, he asks, "I'm sorry, but did you perhaps see a green notebook under the piano?" 

     The man tips his navy blue hat and shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. Didn't see anything loitering in the stage."

     Kunikida's shoulders sag in defeat. "I see. Thank you, sir." 

     Perhaps he didn't drop it around the piano, maybe it's somewhere along the way so with a newfound energy, Kunikida backtracks his path but more mindfully. 

     He trudges the sidewalk, eyes carefully seeking for the sign of his notebook. Kunikida walks along the riverbank, the moon reflected in the water making the surface glisten and sparkle like the stars. It's a solemn night, the city noise ironically drowned by its silence. Kunikida finds himself admiring the view, the sensations seeping through him. 

     He's missed Yokohama. It has been quite some time since he truly experienced its familiar and comforting vibe. Being home is so nice, he might actually sleep here if there wasn't an important concert the next morning. 

     At the corner of his eye is a silhouette of a person standing on the bridge. Seems like he's not alone in feeling the night scenery. 

     Kunikida has barely closed his eyes when the silhouette jumps into the river, panic immediately rising to his brain. It doesn't quickly register to him that he dived into the water and swam towards the person who decided to commit an atrocious act under his nose. 

     It's dark, the moonlight isn't enough for him to see through the water but he propels himself forward nevertheless, instinctively heading to where he saw it happen. 

     Under the midnight blue river, he strains his eyes to seek for a sign from the person. A light strikes a maroon eye from beneath the waters until Kunikida manages to thread an image of a person, their bandaged arm outstretched. Bubbles of air come out from their mouth, as Kunikida kicks wildly, reaching out for the hand. 

     Once Kunikida manages to grip the hand, he pulls it towards him and wraps his arm around their midsection. He has little energy left, but he has gone quite deep in the river himself. He cannot even see the surface, as the body he holds grows limp. It prompts him to propel himself forward, towards the growing moonlight and doesn't stop until he reaches the surface, gasping for air greedily. 

     He pulls the person along him to the shore, who has lost their consciousness and has grown heavy under his hold. Kunikida reaches the shore and lays the person on the ground, stirring after a short while. 

     He's alive, thank goodness. Kunikida breathes a sigh of relief as he coughs a bit of the water. 

     The person rolls to his side and coughs out, and by the relatively deep voice, Kunikida assumes that he's a man. 

     Kunikida turns to the man as he plops to a sitting position, slightly panting from the adrenaline. "Are you alright?" He asks as the other also takes a sitting position, his arm propped on his knee. 

     "Why did you interrupt?" 

     Kunikida hears a glass shatter mentally, looking at the man whose voice grumbled with annoyance. 

     Was he mad that I saved him?

     "What…?" Intelligently, Kunikida mutters as gradually, he sees the man's face morph into something recognizable and whole. 

     The man clicks his tongue and brushes his damp dark hair. "I was busy killing myself, and you just decided to interrupt." 

     This isn't possible; Kunikida can see his face – his reddish brown eyes gleaming with the moonlight above them, his small, well-defined nose above his bluish lips, and a feminine shaped face defined by his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He can actually see a fully formed face, working a reaction as he animatedly speaks. 

     Kunikida almost forgets to breathe; everything that the other man says vanishing with the wind. All he knows is that he can see him, this suicidal stranger with such a gentle feature and face reflecting the emotions behind his tone. 

     "Hey! Earth to Kunikida-kun! I've been talking to you!" 

     Kunikida blinks and still sees his face, but this time, he regains himself despite having his entire perception fixed. If he can see this man, maybe he can see the others, too. 

     Maybe Kunikida is finally healed. 

     "I'm sorry if I interrupted you, but please don't just randomly jump into rivers where people can see it," Kunikida mumbles taking off his coat and wringing it. Despite losing his glasses, he can still miraculously see the person's face, which is getting rather annoying to look at as the time goes by. 

     The man sighs and lays on the grass. "I thought I'd die today. Sucks." 

     Whatever insanity is running through this person's mind is something which Kunikida doesn't want to be infected with. He gets it; he didn't want to be saved. However…

     "I'm not letting anyone die in front of me," Kunikida says, frowning at the man who just puffs his cheeks in reply. 

     "You really are a piece of work, Kunikida-kun."

     Wait. "You know who I am?" 

     The person gets up and grins, "I know everyone. Besides, you're a famous keyboardist or something, right?" 

     "Pianist. And I'm not… famous," the words die down his throat as the man erupts into a laughter as if he didn't attempt to kill himself minutes ago. 

     "Pianist. Got it." The man winks and stretches his hand. "I'm Dazai Osamu, a lowly fan of yours." 

     Kunikida glances at the unassuming hand as he looks at Dazai's gleaming eyes. Dazai Osamu. He doesn't need to log in the details of his face since he can clearly see it (for some reason it makes him happy, a first after a long time). "Kunikida Doppo," he holds the cold hand and stares at its owner's eyes until Dazai loosely lets go. 

     "Oh, I have something for you, Kunikida-kun. Will you follow me?" Dazai's lips are alarmingly pale and he's also shivering slightly. On the other hand, Kunikida feels rather refreshed as he just sweated a lot. 

     Kunikida clicks his tongue and offers his coat. Dazai only has his thin white dress shirt which now clings tightly on his skin. He's obviously cold and Kunikida is not an asshole to let him be. "You've destroyed my schedule enough anyways and I'm soaked. Might as well." 

     Dazai chuckles lightly, draping the coat over his shoulder. "So kind~ no wonder you're so successful!" 

     Kunikida pointedly ignores his comment. In his life, Dazai is probably the most annoying person he has ever met. His actions are all contradicting, considering that he just jumped to his death – still an information he's having troubles wrapping his head into. 

     The two soaked men walk towards the bridge and at the corner is a familiar white violin case wrapped with a black coat. So Dazai is the violinist he saw back in the hall, looking like he's in his own world. That explains everything, as Kunikida's mind supplies him with the wistful aura Dazai had who was actually planning of suicide. 

     The thought doesn't settle nicely in his mind, but feeling the warmth of Dazai's not dead body beside him brings him relief. He's actually thanking his bad luck for losing his notebook because if he didn't, then Dazai would have… 

     "So… Here," Dazai rummages in the violin case and pulls out a notebook – his Ideal. Kunikida takes all his willpower not to scream, as he bolts towards Dazai and joins him in a crouching position. 

     "You have it!" Kunikida exclaims, holding the notebook like the precious thing that it is. He reminds himself not to clutch it in his chest to not get it wet as he looks at Dazai with a grateful smile. 

     "Thanks! I searched all over for this," Kunikida flips through the pages and inhales its familiar smell. 

     Dazai returns the smile. "I found it under the piano. Thought it was yours because of that."

     "You didn't read it, did you?" Kunikida initially said that as an attempt to further lighten the mood since nobody in their right mind would snoop into other people's personal belongings but with the way Dazai's lips quivered, dread settled in his gut. 

     "... Did you…" 

     Dazai flashes his teeth, "Come on, why would I? It's your diary, after all! Who in their right mind would invade your privacy?" He says with a lilt, voice intentionally melodious. 

     Kunikida is fucked. 

     With the amount of willpower Kunikida mustered this day, he probably doesn't have enough to use for tomorrow. He actually managed not to strangle Dazai and punch his offending face (which is the only face he remembers ever). 

     "Eh, don't worry, your daily logs are boring I slept through them. You're so uninteresting," or so Dazai says, but Kunikida feels like it's an utter blunder. If it so happened he read that, well… He's screwed. Either ways, there's no point in fretting over menial details so he just owns it, and heads back to his unit with Dazai tailing him. 

     "Do you live around here too?" Kunikida asks and pays no mind the drumming in his ribcage. He pushes down all the consuming thoughts of Dazai knowing all his secrets. 

     So far, Dazai looks harmless enough. He's a fellow musician, a violinist in the city's orchestra. Being in there already means excellency in character. Perhaps, he was just in his lowest point tonight, and Kunikida and his notebook indirectly saved his life. His secrets are nothing but insignificant information about himself, he can live through it. 

     "Hmm?" Dazai looks up from staring at his shoes, looking small while hugging his violin case. "No, I live farther in the next district. Look, I forgot to take off my shoes, I was supposed to place them with my things," he giggles like a child as Kunikida looks at his shoes. He, too, forgot to take them off which is the reason why it was more difficult to swim. 

     "Idiot. Just don't jump next time," Kunikida finds himself easily replying to Dazai's weirdness as if they've known each other for a long time. He's never been this comfortable with anyone before, as he spent the majority of his life practicing the piano. 

     If Dazai lives next district, it means that he should be taking public transport to go home. He cannot possibly do that now with his entire soaked self, so Kunikida tries to do something uncharacteristic. 

     "I have spare clothes in my unit. You can take a shower first then go after you're changed." 

     Dazai stops from walking, confusing Kunikida for a second. Perhaps, he must have been too bold with his offer that it made him seem like a creep. "I mean, if that's alright."

     The brunette raises his head, his face devoid of any emotion. There's a distant haze shadowing over his eyes that Kunikida cannot shake feeling helplessness from them. He doesn't know what it means, but it stirs unpleasant emotions in him. 

     "A-are you sure? Won't that be a bother?" 

     Kunikida hears the usual tone from Dazai, lined with concealed ulterior motives and mischief. It astounds him how the man can flip through different personas in such a short amount of time, but who is he to judge him? Kunikida has his own issues. 

     "As long as I can rest assured you won't jump again tonight. There's concert tomorrow," Kunikida hears his own lecturing tone and bites the inside of his cheek. 

     Dazai's eyes return their glow, as he bounces towards Kunikida with a childish grin. "How kind of you to offer! Alright, I won't let your benevolence go to waste, Kunikida-kun!"

     Kunikida sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He has to get new glasses or else he'll go blind. 

__________

     Dazai should have been in the rock bottom right now in a literal sense. He should have been freed from life as he had wished for so long, but here he is, being scolded by the pianist in the rehearsal because he didn't take off his wet shoes when he entered his dorm unit. 

     "You're as wet as me, Kunikida-kun! It should be fine, you'll clean it away anyways, won't you?" He takes off his socks after and picks up his violin, following Kunikida in his humble-looking space. It's actually quite smaller than Dazai's own place, with a tight entrance, kitchen sink directly on the way to his right and the bed on the left. Ahead is an upright piano and a small round coffee table beside it, where Dazai puts his violin. It's fit for someone on the go like Kunikida, and it's maintained properly, no dust in sight; definitely befitting its occupant. 

     "Even so! Don't you even have some basic human decency?" Kunikida clicks his tongue and trips over the ledge, probably because he didn't see it without his glasses. Dazai doesn't comment about it, instead he sits on the piano stool and opens the keyboard, playing the Turkish March theme. 

     "Piano! Characteristic of a pianist to have a piano in his room, eh?" Dazai turns to Kunikida, who throws a white towel at his face. 

     "Who told you to feel at home? Go ahead and wash up," along the towel is a pair of sweatpants, a plain white shirt, and an underwear. Dazai picks up the latter and examines it in front of Kunikida, stretching its garter. 

     "Did you just let me borrow your underwear, Kunikida-kun? Without even a proper date, you player!" Dazai shakes his head and watches as Kunikida's cheeks and ears burn in a fiery shade of red, smoke coming out of his head. 

     "That's…! That's new! I haven't used it!" Kunikida screams, veins popping from his neck. 

     Amused chuckle erupts from his chest, as Dazai stands up, heading to the bathroom on the left. "Do you have a trash bag? I'm afraid I can't flush this many bandages in your toilet; it might get clogged," he raises his arm, batting his lashes as he does so. 

     Dazai starts to think of how he can dodge the questions regarding what's beneath the bandages once he takes them off. If he's lucky, Kunikida might have bandages in store. 

     "Bandages? Are you injured?" Kunikida looks over Dazai, specifically his arms wrapped with it. "I have spare ones, do you need them?"

     Perfect. "Oh, you're a lifesaver, really! Do you mind?" 

     Kunikida huffs and fumbles with his luggage bag inside the cabinet, pulling out a roll of bandages and a black trash bag. "Make sure I hear you alive in the bathroom, you hear? Or I'll kill you myself," he shoves the things into his waiting hands, sitting on the collapsible chair in front of the coffee table. 

     It seems like Kunikida knows of Dazai's situation. Concerning, since it means he knows someone similar to Dazai. It also doesn't seem to be Kunikida himself, though. 

     "Will you really?" Dazai looks at Kunikida, whose eyes narrow as he does. He probably sensed the seriousness beneath his words. 

      Kunikida looks even better up close, now that Dazai got the chance to be in his personal space. In his eyes reflect his infallible facade, and where the deepest insecurites are buried beneath a carefully crafted semblance of stability. Dazai sees it all and realizes how his entire interaction with the man most likely triggered something primal from him. 

      "Just…" Kunikida's throat bobs as he breaks the eye contact. "Don't make this difficult, Dazai." 

     There's something stirring within him, hearing Kunikida's pleading voice. It resurfaces memories with Odasaku which he really would rather not remember now. Dazai pulls away and nods, shutting up his mouth for once. 

     Inside, Dazai expertly takes off the bandages as they slip off of his arms and let him feel the cold on his bare skin. The surface is uneven and uncharacteristically smooth, as Dazai traces along the countless scars, old and new. The tips of his left hand fingers bear a different kind of scar which is from playing the violin; something he can put a value in for a change. There's also a similar one located along his left jaw, the skin there rough under his touch. Various shameful ones litter the other parts of his body as being aware of their existence makes him feel itchy. 

     He takes in a deep breath, pulling himself out of his spiraling thoughts. Dazai cannot stain Kunikida's pristine white tiles with his filthy red. 

     "Dazai? Are you done?" Kunikida knocks thrice. 

     "Aw, missed me already, Kunikida-kun?" 

     Dazai finishes the shower after a few minutes and takes care of wrapping his visible skin with the bandages again. His wet clothing in the bag along the discarded bandages, he heads out of the bathroom, towel draped across his shoulder. 

     "I made you coffee. If you want milk, it's there in the fridge," Kunikida meets him in the entrance, fatigue slipping in his features. 

     "Thanks, Kunikida-kun," he gives him a smile, and the blonde man returns it as a nod. 

     The room is filled with the smell of the coffee, as Dazai settles into the piano stool, wrapping the warm cup with his hands. He inhales the scent and takes a short sip, frowning at the bitterness. Truly, it needs milk or cream. 

     In the fridge are various goods, arranged in a certain way. Milk is at the corner at the edge of the door, making it easier to spot. Dazai picks it up and heads back to the stool, pouring his cup of coffee until it turns brown. 

     Even after sipping a generous amount of the warm liquid, Dazai still feels the coldness until his very bones along an itch in his throat. This doesn't bode well – catching cold is not part of the plan. Since he failed with his suicide again, he has to come to his commitments tomorrow and it includes Kunikida's concert. If he doesn't come, Kunikida will most likely notice it. 

     Though, why should he be thinking of worrying Kunikida, when the man's literally a busy person? He has no time for a waste of space like Dazai. Besides, Kunikida doesn't remember faces, he'll just be among the waves of faceless violinists to him. 

     Dazai hears Kunikida come out of the bathroom, as he tips his head down, swallowing. He's lounged longer than necessary. 

     "Thanks for the shower, Kunikida-kun, and the coffee, of course. I'll best be going now," Dazai stands up, folding the towel and handing it to Kunikida, whose hair is damp and loose. It seems like he is looking at a stranger, his golden strands framing his face. 

     Kunikida's eyes light up in acknowledgement, receiving the towel hesitantly. "Alright. I'll be seeing you tomorrow at the concert, right?" 

     Dazai looks over his shoulder, giving Kunikida a smirk and a vague nod. He cannot promise him anything, but since Kunikida looks pitiful, he might actually try for once. 

     The travel back home only took a few minutes since it's almost midnight. Though, Dazai is greeted by an unwelcomed guest. 

     "Dazai-kun? Where have you been? Your Father is worried sick!" 

     "Get the fuck out," unable to conceal the tremble in his voice, Dazai glares with animosity at the man, a carefree smile on his lips but his eyes devoid of joy.

     "I missed you, you know," Mori flashes a little of his teeth, his grin sending blaring alarms in his head. He wants to run away, but his feet are glued to the ground as the older man approaches him.

     "What do you need? Surely, it isn't to catch up with your son, is it?" Dazai swallows the terror threatening to drown him and keeps his eyes trained on the other. 

     "Tomorrow is an important day. I'm sure you're aware of your position, aren't you? Humor me this time, Dazai, or the consequences won't be pretty," Mori says with a smile, his hands behind him as he looks at Dazai as if he's a little kid. 

     Mori has almost milked him off everything except his seat in the orchestra and Odasaku's violin. They're all basically hostages once Dazai owns them – that's why he doesn't make any close relations anymore, not even a friend. 

     It's going to be a long, sleepless night.

__________

     Kunikida didn't get enough sleep as every time he turns to his left, he will see an object that isn't supposed to be on his coffee table. 

     Dazai forgot his violin in his unit. 

     In the morning, he kept glancing at the case and Dazai's face flashes in his memory, bearing a stupid grin. During his difficult practice session without his glasses, he sees the offending violin case, as if mocking him. It's even louder than the fortississimo passages he's supposed to be playing. 

     Without Dazai, he manages to annoy Kunikida with the help of his violin. 

     What a wonder – he thought that their encounter last night would be one of the lasts, but some force wants them to meet again in close quarters, as Kunikida has to personally hand the violin to him later. He cannot ask Kanao to do that for him, that'll imply lots of things and surface questions he doesn't want to hear. Kunikida has to focus today or the concert will be in a complete disaster. 

     Sending his manager a note to bring him a new pair of glasses and a request to go in the hall thirty minutes earlier, Kunikida proceeds to practice the piece, fine-tuning the runs and the tricky tenths and twelfths, while minding how he sustains them. He's played this piece for countless of times, but there's always something new to discover in certain passages, as if looking at a prism and seeing different colors every time. 

     The concert will start at 7 in the evening, so for the entire day, only practice is written on his schedule along timestamps when to rest and eat. The day goes on uneventful until his scheduled preparation. 

     Wearing a black coat outlined by golden accents in the hem, Kunikida adjusts his white bowtie and secures the cufflinks. He has his hair combed back, leaving no strands hanging on his forehead. With an inhale, he picks up the violin case on the table and walks out of the unit, meeting with his manager outside.

     Kanao asks of the violin in his hand, her voice laced with confusion. Her face is still unrecognisable to him, which means that he's only capable of remembering Dazai. Great.

     "It's a friend's," he explains, as Kanao hums. Dazai is not even a friend, he's just… a stranger he happened to meet.

     "Impressive, Kunikida-san. You usually don't interact with the orchestra or other people in general. What changed it?" Kanao inquires further than necessary, but her concern is valid. Kunikida has to respond rightly. 

     "He returned my notebook," Kunikida replies as they enter the car, with him sitting beside the driver's seat which is then occupied by Kanao. He cannot tell her the full story or else it will erupt to rains of other questions. 

     Again, Kunikida needs to focus. This is an important concert. They have VIPs in the audience and screwing up would embarrass him to the entire world. 

     They reach the concert hall complex which is now gradually being filled with a few people from the audience. They enter the back entrance which is also utilised by the VIPs and the musicians and staff. Kanao excuses herself for a short visit to the restroom, so Kunikida has to awkwardly stand near it, as some of the musicians enter. He hopes that with the violin in his hand, he will just be regarded as one of the orchestra members and interact with nobody. 

     Kanao is the one whispering the names of the prominent people he's talking to. Not having her around would make him practically blind, and that's not a good impression to make. 

     There's a small group of people arriving and one of them has the only face he recognizes. Kunikida's eyes widen as he walks towards Dazai, prompting his group to stop. 

     Kunikida doesn't notice the indignant surprise in Dazai's face, as he only has one thing in mind – return the violin. The others along Dazai might just be the other orchestra members, he assumes, so Kunikida proceeds. 

     "Dazai! Thank goodness you came," Kunikida hands him the violin as confusion and then nervousness rise up in chest. Dazai doesn't react as he expects him to, and the light he had in his eyes is gone, replaced by bitter indifference. It's almost like Dazai doesn't recognize Kunikida. 

     "Oh, your son plays the violin! And he personally knows Kunikida-san! How impressive!" A voice of an older man around his early sixties catches his attention, with Dazai not breaking the unnerving glare he cannot decipher. 

     The drumming of his heart only continues to grow as Dazai stretches his arm to receive the violin. 

     A mirthful hum makes a small change in Dazai's face, the tension only growing stronger. "He's also a new member of the Yokohama Symphony Orchestra, aren't you, Osamu?" 

     Dazai has the violin completely in his hand by now, as he breaks the chilling eye contact to turn to the people ahead of him. "Yes, Father. In fact, I'm going to perform with them tonight," he flashes a smile void of happiness it should be having, shaking Kunikida to the core.

     What is happening? Who are these people? 

     Did Kunikida make a flashy mistake of talking to people he should know? Kanao isn't here, she can't help him fix this. 

     "Shall I join my fellow musician?" Dazai continues, his voice reeking of deathly winter, its undertone threatening. 

     "Of course, young man! It's your night!" The same old man's voice quips as another voice adds, "We're looking forward to your performance!"

     Kunikida doesn't know what to do so he resorts to bowing, belatedly realizing that along Dazai are not the other orchestra members but important people. He is also apparently a son of one of them as Kunikida feels the sudden urge to kick himself.

     "Shit, sorry," Kunikida finally mutters once the older men are out of earshot. Dazai doesn't shift beside him and he's already too shaken up to look at him by now. 

     "Kunikida-kun, you saved me again," Dazai looks at him instead and his previous unnerving reaction is replaced by something more familiar – a soft smile, not quite reaching his eyes but a smile nonetheless. 

     "I don't know, I think I ruined something instead," Kunikida bites the bottom of his lip, fiddling with the hem of his black overcoat, similar to what Dazai is wearing currently. The only difference is the color of their bowties – white for him and black for Dazai. 

     Dazai bumps his arm with his elbow playfully and lifts the violin case up to his chest. "Come on, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to play tonight!" 

     Kunikida decides not to ask why and accepts it as it is. The heavy tension a while ago is enough of an explanation. He's also not interested in the matters of Dazai's private life, and he's not in the position to stick his nose into it. 

     "But you still wore your concert attire, with the waistbelt and all?" Kunikida observes as they walk forward. Dazai is lying again; he won't be surprised if he's actually just waiting for Kunikida to return the violin to escape from whatever sticky situation he has with his father. 

     Kanao finally emerges from the restroom, her red-rimmed glasses easily identifying her. "Sorry, for waiting Kunikida-san."

     "You must be Mitsuri Kanao-san, Kunikida-kun's manager!" Dazai chirps beside him, as Kunikida widens his eyes in surprise. 

     "You know her?"

     "Yes, that's me."

     "Yes, I read it from your notebook."

     The three of them simultaneously speak, with Kunikida clearing his throat to avoid Dazai from further spilling other things he read from his notebook. 

     "Then you must be Kunikida-san's friend! Nice to meet you," Kanao exchanges a handshake with Dazai. 

     "Likewise. I'm Dazai Osamu." 

     After the brief introductions, Dazai and Kunikida part ways in the dressing rooms categorized by gender and instrument sections. The pianist hears the simultaneous tuning of various instruments, the cacophony putting his mind back on track. He's alone in his room, doing final touches with his hair until he's called by Kanao to step on the stage. 

     The heavy twin doors are opened as he struts forward, the lights and tame applause welcoming him. Kunikida's eyes travel around as he heads to the grand piano at the center, bowing at the audience, the conductor, and the orchestra. He instinctively scans the violins for Dazai and there under the winds he spots his brown head and his beam, the sight relaxing the usual nervous tension whenever he starts to perform. 

     Kunikida flips his coattail back and sits promptly, hands hovering the keys. With a nod from the conductor, he starts, painting the hall with his interpretation of Rachmaninov's soulful piece. 

     With expert precision, he hits every key with conviction and delicacy, aiming to bring his listeners along his journey through the emotional piece. Usually, he only visualises a scenery and etch a common emotional theme found in the piece, but this time, he produces a contrasting texture of tone and color, his approach morphing into something more personal, instead of what the composer intended it to be. 

     He has a clearer intention in the piece, the memorized notes smoothly flowing like a river under his fingertips. He isn't playing for anyone as of the moment, but for the music itself. Him, the orchestra, and the audience just happened to join the ride and they're to discover the emotional depth of the music expressing pure and faithful, unconditional love. 

     In due time, he reaches the end, beads of sweat dropping like raindrops and catching the lights above him, making them sparkle. The final chord suspends in the air until the hall erupts into an enthusiastic applause, the thundering in his ribcage drowned. 

     Kunikida gathers his breath, standing up to bow to the audience, a small smile curling his lips. He then turns around and sees Dazai, bearing a soft and silent smile. 

     It's a success –  he may not see everyone's reactions, but it seems like he made Dazai smile at least. There must be a number from the audience who's wearing the same smile, and it's more than enough to know that.