Chapter Text
09:12
Seven years ago, February, Shuji and Kashimura
You’re so annoying, Kashimura!
Shuji scribbled on the piece of paper and expertly passed it to Kashimura, two desks diagonally in front. Kashimura glanced at the note and glared at Shuji—that bastard. Kashimura scrawled an angry sentence back.
I am NOT giving you the answer! You know how to solve that question anyway.
Kashimura scrunched up the note and threw it to Shuji. The paper flawlessly landed next to Shuji’s book.
Pft! Kashimura is so mean! I bet that’s why he’s still 150 cm tall!
LAY OF MY SIZE, YOU JACKASS! I’M FIFTEEN, I’M STILL GROWING!
Hobbit species. Replied Shuji simply.
What an ass. Kashimura was about to write something (in all capitals) when he was suddenly called out by the teacher, looking sternly at him.
“Kashimura, what answer did you get to question three?” Asked the teacher, clearly knowing he had been passing notes with Shuji. The blackboard was full of expressions and equations Kashimura hadn’t noticed. Fuck.
“Fourteen to the power of seven.” Grumbled Kashimura, saying the first thing that came to his mind. The class erupted in snickers— attempts of trying not to laugh, but failing. How very annoying.
“Nowhere close.” Said the teacher, unimpressed. “If you are going to pass notes in my class, you need to know how to do your maths first. Now, will Shuji give us the answer?” The teacher peered at Kashimura’s “accomplice”.
“Negative six, sir.” Chirped Shuji happily.
“Correct.” Said the teacher, but disappointed that he couldn’t tell Shuji off.
Kashimura glared as Shuji smiled, all cocky. Why did Shuji even ask what the answer was when he knew it all along?
“Hey, mackerel! It’s all your fault! Why did you even decide to pass me a note? It was a nice maths lesson too!” Kashimura continued to rant as Shuji poked his tongue out at him. It was 3:15, right after the final period of the day. Kashimura threw his satchel at Shuji’s head.
“Kashimura, you’re a psycho for liking Maths! And the teacher!” Shuji spoke lazily in his voice as if he didn’t even want to use his energy to talk with Kashimura.
“You son of a bitch.” Muttered Kashimura. Yes, he likes maths, mostly because he can irritate Shuji to entertain himself, but that always somehow gets reversed.
“Now, Kashimura, that’s not a nice thing to say!” Said Shuji, pouting his lips. He discreetly likes it when Kashimura swears, but it will be on his deathbed when he says it.
“Have I ever intended to be nice to you?” Said Kashumura icily, side-eyeing Shuji.
“Why are you talking to me then, chibi?” Teased Shuji, eyes wide with mockery.
“Stop. Calling. Me. A. Fucking. Chibi.” Growled Kashimura.
“I’m fourteen, I’m still growing~!” Mimicked Shuji sarcastically.
Kashimura didn’t speak, instead casting a glare. Whatever he says, Shuji always has a way of retorting.
“You going to that drama audition tomorrow? You know, the one Port Mafia is holding for six plays?” Asked Shuji, In an attempt to steer the conversation away. It was a bit stupid, considering the answer would be no.
Kashimura is a Sheep actor, and the Sheep hates the Port Mafia productions. The Port Mafia Theatre Department has lots of successful productions, eight out of ten of their plays were recorded and released online. and even if you never saw their plays, you would have watched Port Mafia Products on TV. But the PMP was also known for hiring underage actors and involving sketchy deals. That was probably why The Sheep hated them.
The Sheep was a small local company, consisting of little kids, it was almost like a drama workshop. Kashumura is a skilled actor, but Shuji personally thinks he is wasting talent in the Sheep. They usually do common plays in the town theatre, with storylines so dire they were funny. Chuuya was a Sheep actor, but still a tiny tot fifteen-year-old, so he had to go to school. Being in the Sheep made Chuuya quite popular at school, though.
“Yeah.” Said Kashimura, surprised. “How did you know?”
Shuji, equally shocked, shrugged in an attempt to look less stupid. “Well, which play are you auditioning for? Don’t know you will betray the Sheep.” That was topped off with a smirk.
“First, that’s not being a traitor, I just wanna try that play because the script was interesting. Second, I am auditioning to be the lead of God of Fire— Arababaki.”
That name caught Shuji’s attention.
“Arahabaki?” Shuji gasped, before saying, “That one is absolute crap.”
Kashimura didn’t speak but glared at him in silence.
“What?” Asked Shuji.
“I’ve heard you joined the Port Mafia Productions.” Said Kashimura quietly.
“I didn’t. I simply cooperated with them.” Replied Shuji expertly. Except he did join the PMP. At least, he joined the theatre department. It wasn’t because he wanted to be famous and cool or anything, it’s just… personal reasons. He wasn’t even doing Arahabaki, he’s working on a project called No Longer Human.
“Okay, okay! Wanna come around to my place later?” Said Shuji, changing the topic. He’s always been good at it.
“For?” Asked Kashimura.
“Messing about?” Suggested Shuji, raising an eyebrow. That was not a suggestion, it was the actual plan.
“Alright, bet.” Agreed Kashimura, pretending to have forgotten about Shuji’s smooth steer of conversation.
Except he hadn’t. He just wants to not think about it again.
“Stupid teenagers.” The next-door neighbour of Shuji’s house muttered as Kashimura climbed over the fence of the backyard. Into the neighbour’s property.
It was all because of stupid Shuji. If stupid Shuji hadn’t stolen Kashimura’s maths workbook and horse around with it, maybe the neighbour would have had a peaceful evening, with The Setting Sun (A PMP show, ironically) playing on the television, only on Fridays.
But then…
“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
There, Kashimura was picking up his maths workbook that was mercilessly thrown over the fence of the backyard. By Shuji, obviously. The workbook was semi-soaked because of the dew drops on the grass, and as Kashimura made a mental note to kill Shuji once he retrieved his workbook, he was busted by the neighbour.
Long story short, Shuji won the bet about being the one to cause the most trouble.
“Hey Shuji, don’t know you have a habit of writing diaries,” Kashimura muttered to himself as he rummaged through Shuji’s closet. He was trying to find where that bastard hid his satchel, but instead, he found a neat stack of notebooks, with Notebook one, notebook two, notebook three etc.
Even though he was not a nosy person, Kashimura couldn’t help but have a glance at the first notebook.
“Mine had been a life of shame.” Started Kashimura, reading out loud. (partly because he wanted Shuji to come, and snatch away the book with a priceless look) “I can’t even imagine what it is like to live the life of a normal human being?”
The first two lines of the diary were already a bit depressing. No. Not a bit. Very. Kashimura began to wonder if this was a novel. And even if it is, it would be equally worrying.
Kashimura was about to read on when Shuji entered the room.
The room. This shows there are many rooms in Shuji’s house. Well, technically it doesn’t, but at least we are all informed that he lives in a house with lots of rooms.
And to top it off, he lives in it alone.
Shuji has always invited Kashimura to his place since they’ve met. At first, just for homework. Shuji hadn’t been going through his weird, clowning phrase back then. He was even sillier.
The moment Shuji entered the room, Kashimura shoved the notebook back into the closet and pretended to rummage through the drawers instead. At that moment, he realised he didn’t want Shuji to know he had been reading his journal/autobiography (at the age of fourteen?).
“Bastard, where did you hide it?” Muttered Kashimura under his breath, pretending to be irritated. Well, he was irritated.
“Here!” Shuji waved his arm and stretched up into the air, the satchel was in his palms. “Try getting it if you can, mon petit~.”
Kashimura has no idea how Shuji manages to learn English, French and Mandarin and master all of them at the age of fifteen. Fucking language genius. But that doesn’t mean he can get away with calling him ‘little’ in French. Especially 'his little'.
Stupid bastard…
Steamed tofu, red bean chazuke, miso ramen, tempura and soy sauce omelette. The steam from the food even had a taste. Shuji has to keep himself from drooling.
“Kashimura! I didn’t know you could cook!” Shuji rarely praises, so even if it were sarcasm (how is that sarcastic?), Kashimura couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not that he will admit that to Shuji. Often when he comes to Shuji’s place, he stays until past ten or just stays overnight. Shuji does not know how to cook, so all they have are mug soups, instant ramen, or instant pot noodles.
“If I have another serving of UFO instant noodles, I’ll get a stroke. Besides, you can just pop half of these in the microwave. It’s no labour.”
“Whatever, that seemed to be able to fulfil my craving,” Shuji said as he moved his chopsticks to the dish of omelettes, folded neatly into a stack.
“Huh? You’re going to eat before the chef?” Gasped Kashimura, raising his chopsticks and blocking Shuji’s ones from reaching the omelettes.
“You called for a war, Kashimura!” Shuji waved his chopsticks at Kashimura whilst trying to reach the omelettes. Kashimura didn’t budge either, and the chopstick sword fight continued over the dish.
At last, Shuji managed to flip Kashimura’s chopsticks away. The sticks flew across the room to wherever they landed.
“Who said I can use my hands?” Kashimura yelled the moment he was disarmed. He grabbed an omelette from the dish and delivered it to his mouth.
“Nuh-uh.” Shuji forwarded the chopsticks. But not to the omelettes, to Kashimura’s mouth. The chopsticks shut Kashimura’s open mouth and Shuji grabbed an omelette, which was brutally shoved into his mouth.
“I win.” Announced Shuji the moment he swallowed the egg. He finally released Kashimura’s lips. Kashimura immediately stuffed the omelette, which was still in his hands, into his mouth.
“Mackerel. It’s fucking cold now.” Cursed Kashimura, mouth half full.
“Want me to make it warm?” Said Shuji casually, wiping his soy-sauced hands with a napkin. Kashimura swore he saw a mischievous smirk on Shuji’s face.
Kashimura hoped he hadn’t blushed. “What? You’re going to wrap my food around your crusty bandages?”
Another thing about Shuji: he wraps his body with bandages. And if there was a reason for it, Kashimura was not told about it. Maybe it was for that guy’s weird clothing aesthetic, but maybe it was for personal reasons. Ever since the first day in school, he had been wearing those bandages, and no matter how many warnings and punishments he got, he just wouldn’t remove them.
“You’re so silly, chibi!” Shuji laughed sillyly as he took a bite out of a block of tofu.
The outro of the comedy show flashed onto the 50-inch television screen in the living room. Shuji turned off the television and straightened his back.
“It’s half past one, you wanna go home?” Asked Shuji, knowing what the answer would be.
“Shirase and Yuan can deal without me tonight.” Yawned Kashimura, that was his way of saying “I’ll stay here tonight”.
“Huh? You want to snuggle into my blanket?” Giggled Shuji. Ugh. Not again.
“Say that to yourself. The last time I was here you tickled my ear in the middle of the night! Unlike your insomniac ass, I need to sleep.” Kashimura grunted, “Well? Give me a mattress and a pillow, for god’s sake!”
“Get your stuff yourself. It’s in the utility room.” Said Shuji, burying himself onto the mattress placed on the ground. The mattress was always there, mainly because his lazy ass wouldn’t be bothered to walk back to his room after bingeing a whole series (which is understandable because he would have to walk up a staircase and a corridor).
“Pft.” Kashimura dragged his feet to the mattress and the pillow before placing it next to Shuji’s. Not directly next to him, that would be unwise, the mattresses were about a metre apart, with Shuji’s slender, outstretched arms making it only a few centimetres apart.
Kashimura woke up to the sound of snickering. He peered at the clock on the wall, but it was too dark to tell the time. Outside, the street lights were on, but very dimly. The moon was blue, and the light it reflected was equally feeble.
“What are you doing, you jackass?” Whispered Kashimura. There was no need to whisper, however. The neighbourhood of Shuji’s mansion was so eerily empty that you could have a full-blown karaoke party that hour and not be noticed.
Shuji snuggled into Kashimura’s covers, occasionally groping onto his limbs, and whether it was on purpose or accidentally, Kashimura could not tell.
“Kashimura, my blankets are so cold! I can’t sleep!” Shuji had used his whiny voice, which sounded like sirens.
“Then don’t. Not everyone can’t sleep! For example, here we have me, I need to sleep!” Kashimura had intended that to sound mumbly, but instead, it came out as a more aggressive response.
Shuji didn’t back off but instead became rather agitated.
“Come on! Let’s sleep together!” Said Shuji happily, his pillow in his hands.
“Sleep together with a slug?” Said Kashimura sarcastically.
Shuji smirked, “you finally realised you’re a slug? More of a reason to celebrate and sleep with your hibernating brain.”
Shuji placed himself right next to Kashimura, and instead of complaining, Kashimura made a mental note to check whether the slugs hibernated.
Not to be weird, but Shuji’s body was warm. Kashimura half expected him to be as cold as an ice pack, but instead, he was warm. Like actually, blanket-level warm. Kashimura still wouldn’t be too close to Shuji, though. In case he pulls some sort of bandage curse on him.
Sunshine spilled into the room through the gap in the curtains. Kashimura rubbed his eyes before completely opening his eyes. As he got up to brush his teeth (he always kept spare toothbrushes in the mansion) he realised something was dragging his body so he couldn’t get up.
Shuji’s arms were wrapped around Kashimura’s slim waist like he was hugging a body pillow. Kashimura’s first thought was to kick Shuji’s body away from him and possibly break his arm because despite him being smaller than Shuji, he was good at martial arts. Or he could simply resort to the second reason: staying in that position.
Kashimura chose the second reason.
“When’s the audition?” Asked Shuji when Kashimura exited the bathroom. He was dressed in a white shirt and black jeans, which was rare for him. He even tied a tie at his collar instead of wearing his clip-on tie for school.
“Half seven tonight.” Replied Kashimura, combing his wavy hair with his fingers. “I rented a studio to practice.”
“Ooh. Chibi’s serious about the audition.” Said Shuji bubbly.
Kashimura’s face flashed through a series of emotions but eventually settled on a slightly flustered expression.
“I like the play.” Kashimura blurted.
Shuji, however, did not seem bothered about Kashimura’s change of emotions. “I’ll go with you, to the studio, I mean.”
There were lots of things Kashimura wanted to say to Shuji, but he asked,
“Why?”
Shuji smiled.
“Can’t let a slug roam around freely, it would be a catastrophe.”
Shuji cannot deny that Kashimura has a knack for acting. No. That is an understatement. He is a genius actor. Every word Kashimura said was spilling with emotion. Every gesture he makes is full of expression, it would easily outshine that of a professional actor.
“Arahabaki destroys all by being all, that is the reason for my defeat.” The last line of the play ended with an empty, airy voice. Shuji forgot about his cocky personality, his eyes were wide and his mouth was half-opened.
“What do you think?” Asked Kashimura as he zoned back into himself. Yes, it had to be described like that. That acting was so phenomenal it seemed Kashimura was the lead role of the play, Nakahara Chuuya.
“Good.” Said Shuji. It was more than good, he just didn’t want Chuuya to know that was what he thought.
“Only good?” Asked Kashimura, slightly crestfallen.
“Good enough to get the role.” Confirmed Shuji. “I was thinking, though. What would your stage name be?”
“Stage name? I never thought about it that much. It’s only a local play.” Replied Kashimura. “But if you mean the name I audition as… that might be a good idea.” He sat on the ground next to Shuji.
“How about Chuuya?” Suggested Shuji.
“The person I’m acting as?” Asked Kashimura, a bit too surprised.
“Yeah. That would make sense too. I did some digging. Arahabaki was based on a real boy called Chuuya. As I calculated, this Chuuya would be the same age as us now.”
Kashimura fidgeted. “So he’s fifteen?”
“Yes. Imagine auditioning as Nakahara Chuuya for the role of Nakahara Chuuya!” Laughed Shuji.
“You’re just thinking about how funny that is!” Yelled Kashimura, but his face immediately lit up. “Actually…”
“Actually what?”
“I’ll go by the name Chuuya. But under one condition.” Kashimura smiled mischievously.
“Which is?”
“You go by the name Dazai forever.” Said Kashimura casually.
“Oh? Isn’t that the boy Chuuya works with? Why am I ‘Dazai’? Because I’m your partner in crime?” Smiled Dazai.
“No, it’s because I fucking hate the shit out of you.” Said Kashimura, returning the smile.
“Well then, I guess your name is Chuuya now.” Laughed Dazai.
“And I guess your name is Dazai now,” said Chuuya, rolling his script into a tube shape and batting Dazai’s head.
“Nakahara Chuuya.” Said Chuuya confidently, before realising he messed up. The interview had only just started, and he had already fucked up the first question. ‘What is your name and what do you go by’ is supposed to not even be a question but a confirmation, yet Chuuya managed to only say something stupid.
“I mean, Nakahara Chuuya is my stage name. My birth name is Kashimura.”
“Okay…” The interviewer jotted the name down into a form, although glancing at Chuuya with what he suspected was a side-eye.
“So, Chuuya. Which role are you auditioning for?” The interviewer asked in a neutral tone. It was clear she was annoyed that she had to ask. A guy with the stage name Nakahara Chuuya coming to audition. He will most definitely be auditioning for someone like Osamu Dazai, it doesn’t require space science.
“Nakahara Chuuya.” Muttered Chuuya, clearly also embarrassed to be asked a question so obvious.
“Right.” The interviewer clicked her pen, and Chuuya would not be surprised if she was clicking the entire swear dictionary in Morse Code to have to be assigned to interview someone like him. “I’m Abo, and I will have you feel this form for me, then we’ll get onto the important bits.”
Abo stood up and handed Chuuya a form. He noticed she was wearing semi-formal Japanese attire.
Chuuya pulled out a pen from his jacket (reminding himself NOT to thank Dazai for telling him to do so) and peered at the form. All of the casual questions, except for one.
Have you ever participated in any official theatre plays? If so, which ones and with which company?
Chuuya spinner his pen absent-minded, The faces of Shirase and Yuan appear to him, but he feels a sense of… hunger. Yearning? For what? Anyway, Chuuya felt a strange feeling of abandonment, trying to abandon the Sheep. He scrawled the words on the line provided for answering the question.
No. I have never participated in or cooperated with any theatres or company.
The rest of the audience ran smoothly. The simple sentence Chuuya wrote seemed to have taken a huge boulder away from his back.
09:26
Seven years ago, April, Dazai and Chuuya
“Kashimura, why are you sad?” Yuan asked as she blow-dried her hair. It was April, and a few days away from Chuuya’s birthday. Chuuya was slumped on the couch, reading a sheet of whatever. They were in the makeup room of the local theatre, with no stylists because the Sheep couldn’t even hire them. Chuuya did his makeup, only a bit of purple eyeliner and some blush for the lighting. Yuan, on the other hand, took much longer to get ready. She dyed her hair pink for the play (which Chuuya thought was more expensive than renting a wig, judging by the five tones of dye Yuan bought), and was wearing a checkered dress. They were playing Hansel and Gretal, with Chuuya as Hansel and Yuan as Gretal. Shirase was doing the behind-the-scenes work with the other kids, and one of the girls was the witch (after a huge amount of makeup and then deciding to buy a face mask instead).
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Muttered Chuuya. Except it wasn’t nothing.
“But come on! I’m trying to help!” Said Yuan, pouting her lips pleadingly.
“I said, I’m fine.” Replied Chuuya icily.
Yuan turned off the hairdryer. “Please.” She said again, this time her voice raspier and softer.
“No. It’s nothing personal, but just no.”
Chuuya stood up from where he sat. “I’m going to check with the lighting. See ya.”
Except he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see Yuan again.
Chuuya hadn’t told Yuan Shirase, or any of the other kids about him working with PMP. He didn’t want to hide it, he just didn’t know how to say it. Every night in the rented apartment, Shirase and Yuan (only them, the rest were home with their parents) would sit on the carpeted floor, ranting and slandering about the Port Mafia in general. During Chuuya’s difficult times, he was accepted by the Sheep, he didn’t want the Sheep to think he used them as a stepping stone to the path of fame.
He didn’t tell them about changing his name. Or at least, his plans to do so. The name Nakahara Chuuya is a part of him right now— a representation and a symbol. Often, when typing up the scripts with Shirase, he would accidentally write his name as Chuuya in his parts and had to quickly delete the words before Shirase noticed.
And speaking of the PMP, Chuuya still hasn’t been informed about the results of the auditions. He half-suspected Abo had disliked him a lot more than he imagined and proceeded to badmouth him. Anyway, it had been almost a month since the audition, and he was seriously losing hope.
As Chuuya, or in the Sheep’s eyes, Kashimura, walked out of the makeup room, his eyes settled on his locker. He wanted to take his duffel bag with his normal clothes in and run out of the building.
“Kashimura! You’re so good at acting!” Shirase’s eyes were filled with admiration as he praised him after the show ‘Little Red Riding Hood’.
“You’re a prodigy of acting, serious.” Yuan wrapped her arms around Kashimura affectionately, like a ray of sunshine, except it was the kind that would give sunburns.
“You’re the star of the Sheep!”
“No— Kashimura’s the King of the Sheep!”
“King of the Sheep! King of the Sheep! King of the Sheep!” The Sheep chanted the words like a hymn, but to Kashimura, those were curses.
“Okay, of course, I know it’s not a joke. Well, what do you want to do now?” Dazai patted Chuuya on the head.
“Yuan needs to stop trying to do this to me. I think we should set her up on a bind date. No, that’s just risky. She’s too young anyway. Maybe I’ll date her for a while to show that she won’t like me, or maybe I could just—”
“You’re such a slug. Why are you being considerate?” Interrupted Dazai.
“What do you mean?” Asked Chuuya. Genuinely confused.
“Do what you want. You have free will over your life.”
Chuuya blinked. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“But—“
“No buts,” said Dazai, placing his finger over Chuuya’s lips, “Yuan is a little bitch anyway.”
When Dazai swears, it’s an automatic sign that he wants you to listen.
So Chuuya shrugs. “I guess, then.”
Dazai checks his wristwatch. “Twenty to eleven. You wanna go out for some dinner?” He asked.
“At this hour?” Laughed Chuuya.
“At this hour.” Confirmed Dazai. “I know a place.”
Chuuya gave Dazai a look, “it’s McDonald’s, isn’t it?”
Dazai smiled. “No actually.”
“You said you know a place.” Complained Chuuya, voice competing against the hushing of the wind.
“I thought Yokohama Harbour would be a good place to celebrate my slug’s birthday.” Said Dazai. They were sat on a wooden plank of the harbour, eating some spicy pot ramen Dazai bought from a 7/11.
“It may be a good place to go if was fucking eleven to midnight.” Grunted Chuuya, slurping his ramen. “And you know I can’t stand spicy food.”
“Look at you, you're eating your food!” Shouted Dazai sarcastically.
“Pft.” Chuuya drank up the last bits of the soup base before throwing the cup away. Dazai was already done.
“Finally! You’re done! I thought I’d die before giving you your present!” Dazai stretched out his arms.
“You bought me a present?” Asked Chuuya, surprised.
“Yup. Three.” Dazai pointed at the ship parked near the harbour.
“You bought me a mother-fucking boat?” Gasped Chuuya in disbelief.
Dazai laughed. “I’m not that rich, stupid.” He ran towards the boat and pointed at a crate next to it.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “What have you put in that crate?” He ran towards it.
Dazai grinned. “Would you be able to break this with your bare hands?”
Chuuya glared at Dazai. If you want me to fucking break my knuckles, yes.”
“It’s okay, chibi. I brought a mallet.” Said Dazai, banging the tool onto the crate as it shattered.
“I bought a glass crate online.” Chuckled Dazai, “Here are your presents.”
“What the hell?” The first thing Chuuya pulled out of the sharp glass was a bottle of slug repellent.
“That way, you would be less of a slug.” Explained Dazai.
Chuuya pulled the next present out of the glass. It was a sheet of paper.
“What’s that?”
Chuuya squinted his eyes to read the text. His eyes widened as he turned to Dazai.
“You booked a tattoo appointment?” He asked.
“I thought you’d be surprised.” Said Dazai cheerily. “But if you’re scared, you can do the third one.” He pulled another sheet out of the glass. There was a logo of the government printed on the front.
“That’s your name-changing legal documents.” Said Dazai. Chuuya felt like he was floating.
“What the fuck?” He blurted.
“You don’t like it?” Asked Dazai, but he didn’t sound worried.
“That’s fucking awesome.” Exclaimed Chuuya honestly.
“Which leads me to this: I have brought the news that Chuuya Nakahara was chosen to play the role of Chuuya Nakahara in the play, God of Fire— Arahabaki .” Announced Dazai.
Stupid Dazai. Always surprises him like that.
“So now I’m called Chuuya Nakahara?” Asked Chuuya, laughing.
“Officially.” Said Dazai.
“I’m Chuuya. That’s so messed up. But I like it.” Chuuya screamed at the sea, its murky waters seemed to be listening.
Dazai checked his watch. “It’s April 29th, Chuuya. You’re sixteen now.”
It would be an understatement to say Chuuya was happy.
“I thought you were joking.” Said Chuuya to Dazai in the tattoo shop. The tattoo artist was tapping her feet impatiently.
“Come on, pick a design.” Dazai nudged Chuuya, “Gin’s waiting.”
Gin may or may not be Chuuya’s textbook tattoo artist. She dresses in a cool, unusual aesthetic, a tattered coat and a mask on her face. But unlike most tattoo artists, she doesn’t have any tattoos that Chuuya could see.
“I’ll do it if you do it.” Said Chuuya.
“You want matching tattoos?” Laughed Dazai.
“No!” Said Chuuya, slightly flustered, “I’ll get one if you get one.”
“I’ll get one later. You decide on your design.” Said Dazai.
Chuuya eyed the list of designs pinned onto the wall full of posters of rock bands and gothic art.
“Can you tattoo 「荒吐霸」on my arm?” Chuuya requested. Dazai raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? Didn’t know my slug likes this kind of stuff.”
Chuuya glared. Gin started tattooing the kanji onto Chuuya’s arm. Chuuya glared. Gin started tattooing the kanji onto Chuuya’s arm. It felt a like needle, except a lot more painful. But tattooing a word on your arm isn’t supposed to make you feel that bad, so Chuuya just gritted his teeth through it.
When the last character was finished, the fresh tattoo looked more or less than what Chuuya expected. There was a red lining on the tattoo that would fade, and it doesn’t even hurt anymore.
“Now you do it.” Grunted Chuuya, rolling his sleeve down. He wasn’t in a bad mood, it was to make Dazai feel like he had to do it.
“Okay.” Said Dazai. He doesn’t seem to be bothered about getting a tattoo.
“What design?” Asked Gin.
“「人間失格」please.” Said Dazai casually, almost like he thought about it already. “Just the side of my neck, where the bandages don’t reach.”
“Right.” Gin turned on the small machine. Dazai winced a bit when the first stroke of a word was tattooed, but he seemed fine when the whole word was written.
“How much would that be?” Asked Chuuya once Dazai was finished.
“None.” Replied Dazai, “Gin’s my friend, so it’s free of charge.” He added whilst patting Gin on the back.
“I’m not your friend,” snapped Gin, holding onto Dazai’s wrist and twisting it.
“Whatever.” Said Dazai, “let’s get you set for your practice tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Chuuya. When he was with the Sheep (he still is), there was no such thing as ‘get you set for the practice tomorrow’. You go to the rehearsal, and you rehearse.
“You need to get yourself registered and find your mentor and all that stuff.” Explained Gin quietly.
“Mentor? What mentor?” Asked Chuuya. He was not used to having a teacher or whatever. In The Sheep, he is the best, there is no need for a mentor.
“My mentor is Hirotsu, yours could be anyone else.” Said Dazai.
Chuuya’s eyes widened. “You work for the PMP?”
Oh shit. Dazai just realised he never actually told Chuuya he was with the PMP, but now that Chuuya is working for the PMP himself, there would be no point in lying.
“I was chosen to act in the lead role of No Longer Human .” Admitted Dazai.
Chuuya’s reaction was not what Dazai expected. “Oh? That’s good.”
Well, he didn’t seem mad. Dazai rolled his sleeve down, “Anyways, as I was saying, we’ll get you set for tomorrow, so we’ll be off now Gin.” Dazai waved Gin goodbye, but her face was still expressionless.
“You are...?” The security of the PMP theatre building eyed Dazai, before looking at Chuuya next to him. Chuuya thought it was ridiculous for the PMP to own an entire building just for it to be a ‘theatre building’.
“Dazai. That’s my dog Chuuya.” Said Dazai, showing the security an ID card. Again, Chuuya thought it was stupid to have a security guard for a theatre. What is there to steal anyway?
“Right.” The security guard moved aside to let Dazai and Chuuya pass. Dazai led Chuuya through a hall and passed a corridor with a few posters of plays including Arahabaki and No Longer Human. Finally, Dazai stopped by a door and said, “You’re taking your photo here.”
Chuuya’s forehead creased. “What for?”
“To get your ID photo taken, duh. I don’t want to help you enter the building every time you go to a rehearsal.”
Chuuya opened the door. A young guy was sitting behind a camera.
“Name’s Nakahara Chuuya.” Grunted Chuuya. He hated photos.
“If you don’t want to be here, let me tell you I don’t want to either. I do lighting behind the scenes until Boss told me to take your goddamn photo.” Said the guy, completely chill. “I’m Tachihara, by the way.”
“Cool.” Chuuya already likes Tachihara. He seemed pretty easygoing, “Let’s get this done quick.”
“‘Kay. Sit on the chair, give me a smile or whatever. I’ll count down to three.”
After the flash of the photo was taken, Chuuya stood up, ready to leave.
“Oh, and Chuuya,” Tachihara called Chuuya just as he was about to leave. “You’re doing Arahabaki right?”
“Yeah.” Replied Chuuya.
“Good luck.” Said Tachihara simply. Chuuya shot him a smile before leaving the room.
“You done?” Dazai was leaning on the flakey wall of the corridor. He was scrolling through his phone, and Chuuya noticed his forehead was creased.
“What’s wrong?” Asked Chuuya not to help Dazai or whatever. Just out of curiosity.
“Nothing.” Dazai slipped his phone into his pocket, resuming back to his clowning face, “Let’s go.”
After two corridors and 324 steps of stairs, they managed to reach the Registration Office. They didn’t use a lift because Dazai thought of an ingenious idea to see if they could run up three staircases in thirty seconds. That ended with him getting his wrist grazed after sliding down a few steps.
The registration office was a room of a few people in PMP Theatre Department uniforms (which Chuuya, again, thought was unnecessary), drowning themselves in paperwork that wasn’t only from this Department.
“Your name?” The woman at the desk did not bother to raise her head as Chuuya approached her.
“Dazai.” Dazai pushed Chuuya aside, “I want a copy of the rehearsal schedule for the Arahabaki shit show. Along with Nakahara Chuuya’s guide and stuff. All in a folder please.”
The woman didn’t raise her head, instead typing something up on her computer.
“Your things will be printed and ready in Printer 3, grab a folder along the way.”
“Thanks,” Chuuya said as Dazai walked away to the printer. The sheets were already printed out.
“Here’s your schedule.” Said Dazai, thrusting the sheet into Chuuya’s chest.
Chuuya peeled the paper off his jacket. “Two rehearsals in a day?” He gasped as he inspected it.
Dazai ignored him, his eyes focused on Chuuya’s guidebook.
“Ohh… this dude’s gonna be your mentor,” Dazai said as he scanned the sheet.
“Who?” Asked Chuuya, leaning over to see. The face of a man with long black hair (along with earmuffs and a heavy winter coat) was printed on the Assistance and Support section, the name Randou typed next to it.
“Randou helped the PMP Movie team a lot. He was the guy that made lots of teen actors go famous." Commented Dazai, "Never seen him working with the Theatre before."
"Well, seems like a good shitload of an opportunity.” Said Chuuya.
Dazai smiled. “You really should fix your swearing problem, Chuuya.”
“You should fix your bandage-wasting issues.” Glared Chuuya.
09:31
Seven years ago, May, Dazai and Chuuya
As much as he hated to admit it, Chuuya had started to like working with the PMP more than The Sheep. The Port Mafia was way more efficient and productive than The Sheep. So productive that the whole cast had already gone through half of the play roughly in the first two rehearsals. ( Roughly translates to godlike in this context)
Another thing Chuuya loved about the Arahabaki play was that he got to work with lots of amazing players. The different actors varied- including a blonde, sassy girl no older than ten that's called Elise. Chuuya's favourite actor here would have to be Ozaki Kouyou, not only does she have a flair for acting, but she could sing too. Lots of the musicals in the Theatre Department were directed or performed by her. She also takes Chuuya seriously, not like some cranky teenage boy.
But most of all, Chuuya loved the lessons he had with Randou.
The first session they had together wasn't the best one. Chuuya went to the studio he was assigned to practise in, and Randou insulted the shit out of him in that one-and-a-half-hour session.
“You need to round the edges of your hand gestures to make it look natural.” He would say calmly while Chuuya was just about to do that.
“Make sure you don't take a breath suddenly while saying a line. Make it realistic.”
“Don’t put your hands in your pocket every ten seconds, it makes you look smaller.”
At this point, Randou was just bullying Chuuya.
“How about you shut the fuck up and watch what I'm about to do before criticising me!” Chuuya was holding back the urge to throw his script into Randou’s face. But then again, Randou is a professional, and Chuuya just had to trust the process.
But it wasn't easy.
“Straighten your back, stop hunching.”
“Use all of the space! And stop standing a mile away from where you’re supposed to.”
Randou seemed to be even more frustrated than Chuuya himself. Every time he raises his voice ever so slightly, it is immediately followed by the hollow sound of him whimpering and blowing into his hands for warmth.
The gruelling session finally ended after the long, hellish minutes of absolute suffering. Chuuya does not doubt his acting skills, and never will. But the way Randou was acting was seriously making him worry.
Before Chuuya could storm out of the session aggressively, Randou stopped him.
“Chuuya. Your role is special. Chuuya Nakahara, and Arahabaki. Arahabaki is supposed to be a destructive, mindless monster. Remember that.” He said.
The following lessons were easy enough, with Randou and Chuuya progressing. Randou was always seated in his armchair, listening to Chuuya patiently. It was nothing like the first lesson they had.
Or maybe, Chuuya just happened to improve.