Chapter Text
Once upon a time, all the planets and the fates
And the stars aligned.
You and I ended up at the same room
At the same time.
Yosano:
There’s a bar I’ve been meaning to try out
It’s called Lupin. Been around for a while, but I never went in.
Wanna come with? Kunikida will be there too as DD
Lupin… now that’s a name he hasn’t heard in a while. Memories flashed within Dazai’s mind, a script of bygone times.
Bygone friends, too.
Even so, he’d been a frequent companion to Yosano’s bar adventures. She might be suspicious if he turned it down.
Only if Kunikida is paying!
The summer sunset brought a soft breeze with it, Dazai absentmindedly humming a soft tune as he retraced steps from years prior until he reached his destination.
Yosano and Kunikida had already arrived, the former flagging him down while the latter stood with his arms crossed. Dazai prepared himself for a lecture.
“You’re late,” Kunikida stated gruffly, his posture terribly stiff for someone about to enter a bar, of all places. “It’s 7:08, and we agreed to meet at 7:00.”
“Let’s be real here. For him, 8 minutes is impressive,” Yosano waved Kunikida off, opening the door before glancing back at them. “Let’s head in.”
Dazai made sure to stick his tongue out at the other man as he followed, blissfully drinking in the sputtering noises behind him. He scanned the interior as he took a seat beside Yosano at the counter, Kunikida taking one on her other side. Nothing had changed. The tables were the same, along with the chairs, lighting, and relatively low number of customers.
At least the bartender is different. That certainly will make this night easier.
The bartender in question came over, wiping a cup dry as he politely greeted them. “Welcome to Lupin. What can I get for you three?”
“Give me your finest red wine.”
“I’ll just have water, please.”
“And for you, sir?” The bartender turned to Dazai, one hand already reaching toward a wine glass for Yosano.
A wave of deja vu washed over him, causing him to hesitate. Dazai played off his pause as him thinking, resting a hand on his chin thoughtfully. “A whiskey on the rocks, please,” is what he settled for.
The bartender nodded. “Coming right up.”
“And here I thought you were going to get something different for once,” Yosano nudged Dazai playfully. “Don’t you get tired of whiskey?”
Dazai laughed off her statement as their drinks arrived, smirking. “Oh, Yosano, if you want to talk repetition, just look at him,” he gestured over to Kunikida, who was pointedly ignoring Dazai. “Always getting water, never joining the fun. What a sad life.”
He raised his glass to his lips, breathing in the sweet vanilla and cinnamon notes before taking a sip.
Kunikida huffed. “Someone has to make sure you two don’t drink yourself to your deaths.”
The night went on unceremoniously, the three talking about their latest shoots and upcoming scheduled ones. While photographers usually have private businesses, the Artisan Photography Association provides a connection between different photographers with different areas of expertise, making it commercially effective while also providing more accessibility of resources and staff.
“The model I worked with was simply exquisite,” Yosano sighed. “I never get tired of how women look covered in blood,” she swirled her red wine with a dreamy look on her face.
Yosano specializes in darker and more sensual concepts, focusing mostly on portraiture. Like Dazai, she’d been a model in the PMMA when she was younger, though she quickly made her name as a photographer in the APA with her dramatic, sultry style of photography.
Dazai and Kunikida exchanged glances from across the counter, the latter unable to hide his grimace. “I take it the shoot went well, then?” he asked uneasily.
“Oh, absolutely,” she clasped her hands together, her mind set back in the past. “Kouyou is always a pleasure to be with.”
“A pleasure to be with, you say?” Dazai wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. He received a smack on the shoulder in response as Kunikida began sputtering in the background.
“Dazai, that is incredibly inappropriate and unprofessional!” he scolded Dazai, adjusting his glasses to compose himself. “Either way,” he cleared this throat. “It sounds like you had a much better experience than I did.”
“Aw, did Kunikida scare away another client with his overbearing attitude?” Dazai cooed, resting his chin on his hand.
The man in question crossed his arms. “Of course not. It’s just that the shoot could’ve gone much faster if the model wouldn’t keep suggesting new ideas.”
“Yes, yes, of course. How dare they,” Dazai rolled his eyes.
Kunikida specializes in abstract and impressionist photography, working to stretch the boundaries of what can be done with a camera, lighting techniques, and digital manipulation. Out of the members, he’s the most experimental due to the nature of his style.
It’s just a shame that he’s so stiff when it comes to the photo process, having planned out every pose and composition with little wiggle room.
As for Dazai…
“What about you, then?” Kunikida fired back. “How was your shoot?”
“What shoot?” Dazai blinked at him innocently.
“Exactly. When was the last time you’ve taken on a project?”
Dazai’s lips stretched into a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You-”
“Oi, Dazai. Is that you?” A foreign voice sounded from the entrance. When he turned, he saw a familiar face framed by fiery red hair.
Nakahara Chuuya, one of Japan’s top models. Coincidentally, they’d also frequently interacted back in high school. Up until four years ago, at least.
Dazai attempted to hide his surprise with a mask of indifference, ignoring his friends’ whispers behind him. “You have the wrong person,” he said, watching him approach out the corner of his eye as he took a sip of his drink.
Chuuya stood by the seat to his right, huffing. “I only know one waste of bandages with that fish face, Mackerel.”
“You wound me, Slug,” Dazai pouted. They lost contact four years ago, but it was easy to slip back to their old routine. “I’m going to spread rumors that the famous model Nakahara Chuuya was a high school bully.”
“Speak for yourself, famous photographer,” Chuuya crossed his arms.
Dazai Osamu. Former model of the Port Mafia Modeling Agency turned photographer at the age of 20, more than two years ago. Photographers aren’t usually in the public eye, but with his past as a popular teen model backing him up along with his all-rounded nature of his skills, not specializing in any one style, his photography managed to strongly resonate with the public while making him highly sought after in the industry.
Any time he picks up a request, he never disappoints. Due to the other two portrait photographers being more conceptual, Dazai fills the gaps with the more generalized portrait shoots. His masterful use of lighting and compositions manage to highlight every model’s strength, his usage of props and dynamic angles making it so no picture is boring.
It also happens that his first muse is standing in front of him now.
He felt Chuuya scanning him up and down before pausing, his eyes narrowing.
Dazai’s grin only stretched wider. “What’s wrong, Chibi?”
“Stand up,” Chuuya gritted out. “Now.”
With all the grace he could muster, Dazai swept himself out of his seat to stand at his full height, eyes full of glee as his suspicions were confirmed.
Chuuya now stood just below his shoulder level, having not grown an inch. Not only did Dazai grow taller, but it also meant Chuuya had to lift his head higher.
“You’re joking,” Chuuya breathed, his hands clenching into fists. “How the fuck did your shitty beanpole ass grow taller?” He slammed a fist onto Dazai’s chest.
The punch sent the air out of Dazai’s lungs, turning his cackles into wheezing. “I’m just surprised you’re the same height. I didn’t know Port Mafia took chibis like you. They must’ve been getting desperate,” he shot back, his hand placed confidently on his hip.
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll make you shorter myself.”
“What’s that? Is there a noisy little fly in the room?” Dazai cupped his ear, looking around the room.
A light cough from behind Dazai interrupted their banter, sending them both back to reality. Kunikida’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape while Yosano quietly watched with a bemused expression, a hint of a smile on her lips.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Dazai sat down, Chuuya following suit as he muttered under his breath, slinging his black trench coat over the chair. Dazai watched with a sparkle of interest as the bartender approached Chuuya and how with a single glance, he simply nodded and poured a glass of red wine, placing it in front of the redhead.
He took the moment to observe Chuuya. Despite seeing him frequently on advertisements and magazine covers, it’s always different seeing a model in person, and while he would never say it aloud, Chuuya definitely aged well.
The baby fat of his cheeks was just about gone, his face slimmed into a more structured shape. His hair was slightly longer, swept over one shoulder. The burgundy dress shirt hugged his toned frame nicely, tucked into form fitting black slacks. The only thing that didn’t change was that hat – a tacky, yet signature piece to his appearance.
Chuuya looked… good. Dazai’s gaze scanned back upwards to his gloved hands, then up to his face, going from his eyes to resting on his lips. Suddenly feeling his heartbeat quicken, Dazai turned back to his drink, downing it like a shot right when the man next to him turned to face the others at the counter. He felt piercing blue eyes flicking between him and the glass as he slowed his heart rate, but he said nothing.
Instead, he engaged with the other photographers, waving at them. ”Yosano-san, Kunikida-san,” he greeted them. “You two work with this guy?” Chuuya pointed at Dazai.
“Unfortunately,” Kunikida lamented, rubbing the area between his eyes in exasperation.
“The three of us are part of the Artisan Photography Association, so yes,” Yosano explained.
Chuuya’s gaze flitted between the three of them, a smile splitting his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, then.”
Dazai let out a strangled sound. “Sorry for their-” he clenched his chest dramatically. “I can’t take this slander anymore. Yosano, save me!”
The woman shrugged. “You take on maybe one shoot every month at most, and the only reason why you’re still alive and employed is from how much people are willing to pay you,” she points out. “If it were anyone else, they’d call that a scam.”
“It certainly sounds like a scam,” Chuuya remarks, deadpanned, glaring at Dazai. “Might as well ask someone else to be the photographer. It’ll be cheaper and less headache inducing.”
“Hey, if we’re talking headache inducing, just look at Kunikida over there,” Dazai pointed a thumb back towards him, grinning. “He has a track record of being insufferable to his models with his ideas.”
“I told you, my ideas-” Kunikida was about to protest, only to get nudged by Yosano, who was staring at the scene in front of them with great interest.
Chuuya mirrored his grin, crossing his arms. “You say that, but in the couple times I’ve worked with him, his planning only made the shoot incredibly smooth and quick.”
“I could’ve done better,” Dazai pouted, turning his nose up petulantly. “Chuuya should do a shoot with me instead. I can’t believe you worked with these two but not me!”
“I can. If you weren’t so lazy, you might’ve been able to,” Kunikida muttered under his breath, Yosano stifling her laughter. Dazai pointedly decided to ignore that statement, keeping his attention on Chuuya.
“I remember your photos from high school,” the redhead turned away, nursing his wine. “They were… nothing special,” he stated, though his voice slightly wavered near the end.
Of course, Dazai was going to exploit that.
“Nothing special, you say? Chuuya, Chuuya, must you be so mean to me? I thought you said you loved them,” Dazai whined, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, his previous pout returning. “And here I thought we had something special going on back then.”
“Something special?” Yosano echoed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“It’s not like that!” Chuuya quickly retorted, the tips of his ears reddening at the suggestion. Before Dazai could make another remark, he earned another slap on his shoulder in warning.
Dazai rubbed the area with a soft whimper. Seriously, can’t his shoulders get a break tonight? “See? Chuuya’s such a brute,” he complained, his pout only deepening.
“Oh, please. I didn’t even hit you that hard.”
“Did too!”
“Gods, you’re still such a baby with pain,” he lifted a hand as if to reach over, but decided otherwise, folding his hand in his lap.
Dazai’s voice reached a higher octave, his tone petulant. “Chuuya remembered, but still did it?”
Chuuya paused, briefly spacing out before swiveling back to face forward, taking a long drink out of his glass. “Tch, of course I remembered.”
A silence befell the bar, Kunikida finally having enough and excusing himself to the restroom while Yosano called the bartender over for a refill. There was a slight electricity in the air, most prominently surrounding the two men currently avoiding each other’s gazes.
Yosano cleared her throat. “So, you two went to high school together?” She attempts to strike up another conversation.
Chuuya nodded. “Yeah. Don’t know what happened, but we ended up having multiple shared classes each year as well,” he rolled his eyes.
“The counselors knew that Chuuya couldn’t handle being in a class without me,” Dazai teased.
“As if! You took advanced physics just to mess with me in our last year! And you know what?” He turned to Yosano, pointing an accusatory finger at Dazai. “Despite coming to class late every day, not caring about the subjects, and never studying, he was top of the class! It’s not fair!”
“Chuuya is just jealous of my great intellect,” Dazai smirked, swirling the glass in his hand. “That’s what happens when you have the brain capacity of a slug.”
“I was second in the class below you, the fuck do you mea-”
“What’s that? Chibi’s willingly admitting he is worse than me?” Dazai rested his arm on the back of his chair, peering down at Chuuya.
Chuuya’s face contorted into an uncharacteristic pout. “It’s just a fact,” he muttered, abruptly ending the argument and directing his attention back to Yosano, who was now scanning Dazai with suspicion in her eyes. “Anyway, I was stuck with this insufferable bastard for a few years.”
“And you never mentioned you two were friends?” Yosano poked Dazai’s shoulder in the spot Chuuya hurt earlier.
“I wouldn’t really call it friends-” Dazai started.
“Dazai...” her tone reeked of disappointment as he evaded the question.
“What? It’s true!”
Chuuya shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s fine. It’s not like we talked after our last year anyway,” he said bitterly, glancing at Dazai.
“Oh? Did Chuuya miss me?” Dazai tipped his head to the side, pushing down the uneasy feeling in his gut.
Before Chuuya could retort, Kunikida returned to the counter, glancing between the three of them warily before sitting down.
The reply never came. Instead, Chuuya finished his glass, a red flush high on his cheeks. Dazai watched as he pushed himself out of his seat, making his way to the restroom with a dark look on his face.
Of course, Dazai had to follow, giving a small wave to the two photographers before strolling alongside the model.
The restroom was empty when they entered, Dazai leaning against the door expectantly as Chuuya stopped in his tracks to face him. “Why did you disappear after we graduated?” he questioned Dazai, crossing his arms.
“So, Chuuya really did-”
“I’m not playing your games today. Answer my fucking question,” Chuuya snapped, taking a step forward.
Dazai took a step forward as well, their bodies mere inches from each other. “And what if I don’t?” he tipped his head, his voice losing all warmth.
The model didn’t budge, returning his cold gaze. Suddenly, Dazai was pushed against the door, held up by his collar. “I thought you were dead, Dazai,” he gritted out, his voice quiet. A leg pushed between his knees, effectively trapping him in place. “I thought you tried one of your little tricks again and succeeded.”
“Wouldn’t that have been nice,” Dazai sneered, looking down into narrowed blue eyes. “I almost wish it happened like that,” he continued nonchalantly.
The response he received was a punch in the face.
“You bastard!” Chuuya’s voice raised in volume as he swung again, Dazai just barely avoiding the incoming fist with a duck of his head, ignoring the stinging on his cheek. “Don’t you fucking dare say something like that!” The next swing stopped next to his head, making contact on the door. “I kept waiting for anything. A call, a text, a break into my room, anything. Anything to show you were alive.”
“And I got nothing. You never answered my calls or texts, I never saw your stupid, shitty fish face climb in through my window,” Chuuya was trembling, but his voice stayed steady. Dazai's eyes were blown wide, not expecting this turn, a hand unconsciously raising. “I...” Chuuya shook his head, his voice finally cracking. The words never came out, but Dazai understood anyway.
Dazai looked around helplessly, a lump stuck in his throat preventing any words from being said. Instead, he did the first thing he could think of. His hand reached up to the one on his collar, taking hold of Chuuya’s wrist. Chuuya's other hand went to grasp Dazai’s free wrist in return, his head falling onto his chest in defeat as he pressed into the pulse point through the bandages, relaxing upon feeling the thrumming heartbeat.
A familiar gesture to both of them, and Dazai’s convoluted form of an apology. Every time Dazai woke up in the hospital after one of his failed suicide attempts, Chuuya would be there, a hand clasped around his wrist to feel his heartbeat.
“Your heart’s beating fast,” Chuuya murmured into his chest, head tilted down to hide his face.
Dazai scoffed, just as defeated. He stopped trying to control it the moment he got up from his seat. “Yours is too,” he remarks.
“I hate you, shitty Dazai.”
“Let go of me, then.”
He didn’t let go. If anything, he pressed them closer together, eyes squeezed shut as the grip on Dazai’s wrist tightened. And Dazai let him, pulling him their bodies flush together, a small, genuine smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
“Chuuya.”
He heard a soft hum in response.
Dazai took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you if you want to know what happened, just...” he paused, feeling Chuuya tense. “Not now,” his tone softened. The head below him turned to the side, Chuuya’s ear resting on top of his chest where his heart is and closing his eyes.
Just this once, he ignored the sudden moisture through his shirt, seeping in right above his bandages. They stood there in silence, content to feel the other’s presence, knowing the moment they open the door, their masks will go back up.
When they finally return to the counter, their hands have separated, no indication of the previous events, save for Chuuya’s slightly glassy eyes. Yosano and Kunikida were deep in conversation, stopping abruptly upon seeing the two approach.
“You two were gone for a while,” Yosano remarked, scanning them both inquisitively. “Had a lot to talk about?”
“You could say that,” the redhead stated, slinking back to his seat and signaling to the bartender, avoiding everyone’s gazes. “Another one, please.”
“What were you two talking about?” Dazai chipped in before they could ask anything else. “Kunikida had that face when you were talking. Keep making it, and you’ll get premature wrinkles,” he added, gesturing between his eyebrows.
Kunikida pointedly ignored the last comment. “We were talking about Atsushi-kun's next project,” he explained gruffly, pushing up his glasses. “He’s still pretty new to the industry, yet he’s already doing cover pages for big magazines like Vogue,” he glared at Dazai. “You know, the one you turned down and pushed off to him?”
“Did you say Atsushi? Is it Nakajima Atsushi?” Chuuya interjected, leaning in towards them. “I have a shoot with him for Vogue in three days.”
“Oh, so you were the model in the report?" Dazai rested his head on his hand, grimacing.
Kunikida sighed. “It was literally written inside, if you had bothered to read, Dazai.”
“Sorry, I don’t read unimportant stuff,” Dazai shrugged nonchalantly.
“As Atsushi-kun’s mentor, you should know what work you’re giving him,” he lectured.
Dazai hummed, his eyes unfocused. “Yeah, I guess Chuuya really is a piece of work.”
“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean, Ma-”
“Maybe I should’ve picked it up instead,” Dazai interrupted Chuuya, opening up his contacts list. “Now, Kunikida, Yosano, Slug, if you may excuse me, I must make a call,” he got out of his seat with a flourish before sauntering out of the bar, ignoring the confused glances and glares sent to his back.
Hearing the door shut behind him, Dazai breathed in the autumn air. The sun had completely set by now, leaving the surroundings to be illuminated by the streetlights and headlights of passing cars.
This is a terrible idea, Dazai thought, pressing Atsushi’s contact. The last times Chuuya had worked with the APA, he’d been happy to overlook the requests, discreetly putting them into Yosano and Kunikida’s requests instead. He was supposed to do the same with Atsushi this time around.
I just need to make sure Chuuya remembers who got him into modeling, he rationalized, pressing the call button. That’s all there is to it.
There’s no other reason.
Five rings, and the call connects.
“Dazai-san?” Atsushi’s voice rang from the other end. “Did something happen? Do you need anything?”
“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong,” Dazai smoothly reassured him. “It’s just, you know the Vogue shoot in three days I gave you?”
“…Yeah, what about it?”
Dazai paused, glancing at the window to catch a glimpse of the redhead. “I don’t think this is the right shoot for you,” he said carefully.
“Really? Why?” Atsushi asked, confused. “You said it’d be a good opportunity to test my skills.”
“Well, I’ve done some thinking, and…” Dazai shifted his weight from where he stood. “I don’t think Chuuya will display your strengths as a photographer.”
Which is complete nonsense – Chuuya can work with just about anyone and knows what to do for every set of pictures, but Atsushi doesn’t know that. He tends to be a more passive photographer, afraid to give direct orders to the models despite knowing what he wants out of a project.
“Oh…” the reply was quiet, dejected.
Dazai reminds himself to get something nice for Atsushi (with Kunikida’s wallet, of course). “Fret not, my dear apprentice. In fact, I happen to know a model who’d be a perfect fit for your style,” he stated with a light tone.
“Even better than Nakahara-san?”
“Even better than the chibi, yes.”
“Wait, do you already know Nakaha-”
Dazai cut him off. “So, you’re okay if I take the Vogue shoot in your place, right?”
“I mean, sure, but-”
“Perfect! Could you handle the paperwork? Thanks!” He hung up abruptly, a smug grin spreading across his face.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun.