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It was 2:00AM on a Saturday evening and Chuuya Nakahara was nowhere to be seen.
Usually, Chuuya's disappearance wasn't anything to be worried about. On the rare weekend that Soukoku was given off, he would usually take the time to enjoy some time alone from his frustrating (albeit— ah ah, no, he refused to go down that line of thinking—adorable) partner. Working and living together— thanks to the wishes of their boss— was rather draining for the redhead.
Currently, Dazai was trying to convince himself of this. There were many places his angry little partner could have gone; the arcade, a bar, back to his office, out with coworkers, maybe even out on a mission he forgot to tell Dazai about... but all of this was no more convincing than the last thirty explanations Dazai had tried to come up with.
Chuuya was responsible, he never stayed out past midnight without telling Dazai.
Right?
Maybe Chuuya had no use of Dazai anymore and therefore cared no longer?... No. He wouldn't think about that.
Regardless, he was still worried for Chuuya. He wanted to respect the boundaries Chuuya so adamantly set before him, but enough was enough. Crossing the small living room him and his partner shared, he picked up his sleek, silver phone (the new model a certain mafioso had convinced him of buying, telling him that it was in the agreements that Mori would pay for electronic devices used for mafia purposes, and what better way to waste Mori's time and money than to buy ridiculously expensive mobile phones?).
Within seconds he had opened the program he secretly used to track Chuuya's location, a loading sign popped up, moving achingly slow. Seconds turned into minutes, the loading sign becoming more and more irritating as the seconds passed until the phone in his hand lit up again and pinned Chuuya's location to...
The skating rink?
What the fuck.
Did sports games even go on at 2 AM? Was that an odd thing he had never heard of before? Figure skaters were odd, he decided he wouldn't dwell on it further and instead put on clothing suitable for the weather and stepped out of the building. As he walked, he wondered why he was even bothering to find Chuuya but before he could even begin to form anything that remotely resembled a reasonable answer, he was standing in front of the skating rink.
There was an elderly woman sitting at the front desk, seeing as he didn't know where to go, he thought she would be a good start.
"I'm looking for someone," Shit, Chuuya has so many alibis what could he possibly be using? Instead of guessing randomly, he opted for the safer option "Short, 5'0? Red hair, blue ey-"
"Yes, yes. I know the one, always here, isn't he?" There was a small smile on her face as she spoke about Chuuya. "On your right, take a left and you'll find him."
"Great."
He hurried off, wondering what his encounter meant. Why was she so happy to speak about him, how did she know Chuuya? Was there something going on that he didn't know about.
In a few short moments, he would decide that it absolutely did not matter whatsoever, not because he wanted to or because there was any sort of logic behind his actions, no, but because his brain shut off and refused to restart.
The skating rink was empty save for one figure on the ice.
They moved gracefully, moving and jumping with ease. There was a certain level of comfortability in this individual's movements, as if they wholeheartedly trusted their safety and well-being on ice. Even without the comfort, there was an undeniable level of confidence, like this person had been born to be on the ice, to move like this. There was no place this person would rather be. They artfully glided around, completing a program without anxiety. Something about their passion made the choreography much more enjoyable than it would have been without. Everything had a level of personality to it, and well.. the red hair certainly stood out against the white of the ice and the skater's clothing. It moved in flashes of crimson and scarlet, drawing attention to where each movement was most engaging.
God, he could watch this all day.
Unconsciously he moved closer and closer to the skater, nose almost hitting the glass, but he still watched. He refused to take his eyes off Chuuya for even a second.
Chuuya had stopped his routine abruptly, halting his movements in favour of reaching down to unzip the thin jacket he was wearing on top of a tight black shirt, throwing it on the ground and carrying on as usual
Lord help me. Dazai couldn't breathe.
There was another aspect to Chuuya's movements that made his skating distinct. His jumps were unnatural in a beautiful way— much like the beauty of a completely artificial city, a sea of concrete and chemicals actively destroying the planet in their beauty— as if his jumps were to perfect and his landings too smooth. Gravity defied his every movement, and it was ground-shattering.
For someone who never cared for pretty things, Dazai understood the notion now.
Dazai had watched children picking flowers together for years, and he always stopped to wonder. It was the most simple thing, children picking flowers, but it never failed to perplex him. Why would anyone want to rip out— and inevitably kill— something of interest to them? Why not simply admire from afar, what—at its very roots— was the need to possess everything interesting worth?
But god did Dazai want the chance to have Chuuya for himself as he watched the man in question skate effortlessly on the ice.
And when Chuuya finally completed his performance and looked over to Dazai, sweaty and breathing heavily, Dazai's whole world came crumbling down upon him.
Dazai Osamu was falling in love with Nakahara Chuuya.
(Dazai held a special place in his heart for figure skating ever since that 2 AM visit to the skating rink)