Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re coming with me,” Kouyou told Chuuya on a warm summer morning in Yokohama. 

Chuuya, still groggy from a late-night flight, wore a dark red band shirt and loose, ripped jeans, and his auburn hair put into a low messy bun. He laid on their couch, giving Kouyou a look that represented his sheer tiredness. His vivacious roommate, Kouyou, donned a light pink floral sundress, eagerly awaiting Chuuya's response, which remained elusive.

“Hirotsu from work canceled for tonight, you have to come with me instead. I paid 10,000 yen for these tickets, no way I’m going to let them go to waste.” She said, trying to sway him

“What concert is it?” The redhead asked, blue eyes flashing Kouyou’s direction

“It’s a musical.”

Oh great.

“Thanks for the offer, seriously. I would love to watch people make a total fool of themselves while on stage, but unfortunately, I’m gonna have to decline.” He replied, smirking.

In truth, Chuuya would do anything for Kouyou. They became friends in grade 3 and have become inseparable since. Their friendship was built on various joke marriage pacts, sharing crushes on the same boys and mutual family trauma. The two of them just got out of college in the Spring, Kouyou becoming a grade school teacher and Chuuya training to become a pilot. Their tight bond led them to share an apartment conveniently located in Yokohama, with Kouyou working in a nearby school district and Tokyo's airport, just a stone's throw away.

“You’re coming. Show starts at 7, be ready by 5:30.” She commanded.

“I’m already ready” Chuuya grimmaced at his roommate

“The actors might see you, you know that, right?”

“Another reason for me not to go.”

“I’ll take you out for dinner beforehand”

A pause.

“Deal”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Navigating through the bustling crowd, the duo made a stop at a quaint convenience store. Amidst the shelves, Kouyou sought out the fresh flowers, eventually choosing a diverse assortment of roses—cream, pink, yellow, and a striking ruby red. Chuuya observed the eclectic bouquet as she placed it on the counter, confused about the purchase. They resumed their journey through the lively streets.

"Another hookup tonight?" Chuuya quipped sarcastically, genuinely curious about the floral motives.

"Very funny. No," Kouyou promptly dismissed.

"So, the flowers are for me? You're confessing your love tonight. Please don't. Save the embarrassment of rejection for both you and me," he teased.

She chuckled, "No, no. You'll see."

They finally got to the theater and were seated in plush red seats. They were placed first row in the center lower balcony, in which Kouyou claimed to be the perfect spot. They were surrounded by the scent of expensive perfume and cologne. 

Chuuya had only seen one production prior to this one, where Kouyou played Babette in her high school’s production of Beauty and the Beast . He was always too busy to go out of his way to see any of the nearby productions, nor did he really care. He would hear all about them from Kouyou anyways.

The evening's performance was titled Moulin Rouge, unfamiliar to Chuuya but a favorite of Kouyou due to its movie adaptation. The set was a fascinating blend of bright cardinal with gold accents, adorned with large hearts in the background and a prominent sign proclaiming "Moulin Rouge." Crimson curtains hung above their heads like heavy eyelids. On either side there was a cherry windmill and an oversized elephant. 

The color red seemed to surround him wherever he looked. The intimate setting, atypical for such productions. Chuuya hated to admit it, but it was already captivating.

“A romance...Really, Kouyou?” Chuuya remarked, his tone rich with skepticism.

She slightly smiled in response.

As the lights dimmed, the show commenced with a low instrumental, featuring two ladies in leotards who effortlessly swallowed swords.

Hm. What a way to start a show. 

Then, a man took the stage, clad in a long navy trench coat. His brown, scraggly hair framed his face, and his presence caught Chuuya's attention. There was a captivating quality to him, as if it were his first time performing, despite repeated shows. His performance was raw. It was evident he absorbed the energy of the audience, and there was something in his eyes that proclaimed a natural affinity for the stage. He didn’t even need to say a single line.

Kouyou was right about actors being able to see the audience.

The man's gaze locked onto Chuuya for a lingering moment before he gracefully moved to the other side of the stage and disappeared. The subsequent flashy numbers failed to divert Chuuya's thoughts from the mysterious man. The longest ten minutes of his life were spent in the theater, eagerly awaiting the man’s return to the stage.

And eventually he did, not only that but it was made obvious that he wasn’t an ensemble member, but the lead. 

Should have read the damn Playbill.

Once again, Chuuya was captivated by him. Each movement, each line delivered, resonated with an authenticity not many actors can show. And then he sang.

Shit. He’s good.

Chuuya almost wished he was bad at singing, just to make this person on stage seem at least a little bit more like an actual human being with at least some sort of flaws.

Time passes and intermission arrives too soon. Chuuya’s first instinct is to rummage through the Playbill. 

“The main guy, the character’s name is Christian, right?” Chuuya questioned, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah” Kouyou paused, “He’s pretty good, isn’t he? I guess this is his debut, he hasn’t been in anything before this”

“Mhm” Chuuya murmured.

Christian…………………………………..Dazai Osamu

Satine…………………………………………Kyoko Minatozaki

Harold Zidler……………………………Yuzuru Tanaka

“Dazai Osamu…” Chuuya said under his breath. His name came out of his mouth almost a bit too seamlessly.

The lights dimmed once more, and the second act commenced. Chuuya watched intently on  Dazai Osamu, his thoughts lingering outside of the musical.

Has he ever messed up a line?

Are those actual tears?

Is he into broke ginger guys who love to fly planes?

About an hour later, the show concluded, and the actors took their bows. Kouyou distributed roses to the people around them, presenting a red one to Chuuya. Uncertain of what to do, he glanced down at it, and then Dazai came out, bowing on stage.

“Throw it. It’s tradition” Kouyou instructed

“What?” Chuuya said and then witnessed the audience throwing various flowers onto the stage. It was beautiful—a cascade of yellows, whites, and pinks falling like a gentle rain. Instinctively, he threw his rose onto the stage.

He watched it as it delicately fell and as Dazai caught it in his hand. Dazai smiled at the rose and then up at Chuuya.

How the fuck did he know it was from me. Cocky.

The actors left the stage and Kouyou pulled Chuuya alongside her to get out of the theater. It was now dark out. The two managed through the crowd until they got to a barricade. 

“What’s this all about?” Chuuya asked

“Stagedoor. It’s to meet the actors.” Kouyou responded

“No, let’s just get out.”

"Chuuya..." Her voice was commanding, making him hesitate.

Some actors and actresses emerged from the stagedoor, signing playbills and posing for photos with the theater-goers. It felt like an eternity until Osamu Dazai walked out, greeted by extra cheers compared to his castmates. 

Chuuya observed closely as Dazai interacted with the fans. He stared at him, city lights shining on his face. He exuded charisma, offering compliments, expressing gratitude, and even going so far as to hug a few younger admirers.

It took ages for him to reach Chuuya and Kouyou.

"Oh, you, thanks for the rose!" Osamu Dazai exclaimed as he signed Kouyou's playbill, adding with a smirk, "Must have made your girlfriend here jealous."

"Not dating," they both said in unison. It was a familiar response, one they had synchronized to perfection after hearing the comment countless times.

"Hey, Chuuya, can you take a photo of us?" Kouyou asked. Chuuya obliged, grabbing his phone and snapping a quick photo.

"And would you like a photo as well?" Dazai grinned at Chuuya.

"I'll pass," Chuuya replied bluntly.

"Just let me take a photo," Kouyou interjected, taking the phone from Chuuya and capturing a shot of him with Dazai.

"Come and see the show again sometime!" Dazai called out as he moved on to the next group of people.

Will not be doing that.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The two returned to their apartment, exhausted. Kouyou enthusiastically raved about the show, discussing the fantastic lights, vocals, and offering her own critiques.

Once her rant concluded, Chuuya retreated to his room. He kicked off his boots and sprawled on his bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day in his bones. He took a quick look at his alarm, to his right that read 1:15am

Just sleep.  

…

Realizing that sleep wasn’t going to quickly come to him, he grabbed his phone and scrolled on Instagram. Not to his surprise, Kouyou had already posted about the experience, the cover photo featuring her and Osamu.

What a fan.

…

Who can blame her.

A direct message notification popped up at the top of his phone. Expecting it to be from Tachihara or Gin, he was surprised to see it was a message from a profile he didn't recognize.

osamudazai 

How did you enjoy the show?

I’m too tired for this shit.

Chapter Text

Chuuya's morning took an intriguing turn when the rhythmic knock on his door interrupted the remnants of his sleep. Groggy but curious, he swung the door open to reveal Kouyou standing there with two cups of dark green tea in her hands. The mere sight of her bearing tea signaled an unusual morning routine, a telltale sign that she was in an unusually good mood.

“Someone’s having a nice morning?” Chuuya quipped, accepting one of the cups from her.

“Well, a certain person may have liked my post this morning” She replied with a soft blush on her face, “A certain person named Osamu Dazai,” she flaunted.

Chuuya’s thoughts had not yet pieced the two together.

Oh.

The mention of Dazai's name added a layer of unexpected intrigue to the morning. The enigmatic figure from last night's theater performance was now making his presence felt in the waking hours. As Kouyou shared the tidbit about Dazai liking her social media post, Chuuya's curiosity mingled with a hint of skepticism.

“Did he DM you also?” Chuuya asked, still heavy with sleep

“What.”

“What.”

Kouyou's quizzical expression mirrored Chuuya's confusion, leading them to a shared moment of mutual confusement. She, however, swiftly regained her composure.

“It was probably a fake account” She said unimpressed. He grabbed his phone off of his bedside table and went to Instagram. 

“Instagram name is osamudazai? No periods or anything?” Kouyou questioned, her interest piqued

“Yep,” Chuuya confirmed, allowing her to inspect the account. She took the phone from him, scrutinizing the profile with a hint of skepticism

“It's probably a bot or something.” Chuuya rationalized, taking a sip of the tea.

“You didn’t respond to him?” 

“Why would I?”

“Because he’s Dazai Osamu.”

“I haven’t even heard his name before yesterday.”

Kouyou sighed, leaving the room with a parting glance at the Instagram mystery. Chuuya, however, found himself tempted to explore further. With a glance at the messages, he decided to take a playful jab at the enigmatic Dazai.

Fuck it.

c.nakahara

The show was good. Never really saw anything like it. Personally I thought your acting was a bit over-the-top. Take that as you will. Good voice though. I liked the rendition of “Roxanne” and “Bad Romance.” 

No way he’s actually gonna read that.

He took in another sip of tea, setting his phone down on the bed.

It lit up immediately 

osamudazai

Thank you for that response!

Fucking bots. Might as well have some fun.

c.nakahara

BTW you did not need to bend down that low to take a photo with me. 

osamudazai

Just wanted to make sure you got the perfect photo to remember me by ;)

Chuuya choked on his tea, caught off guard by the response.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Chuuya, now embarrassed by this interaction decided to leave THE Osamu Dazai on seen. He then glanced up to see the time was 9:00am. He had a flight he was supposed to observe at 3, therefore giving him enough time to go to a local bakery and get something for both him and Kouyou in exchange for the tickets and tea in the morning.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya slipped on a pair of Docs, an oversized jean jacket and his sleek, black headphones and he was on his way. He flipped through a couple songs and then settled on “Matsuri” by Fujii Kaze, a song he wouldn’t usually listen to, but it fit the atmosphere of the day.

As he stepped outside, the vibrant ambiance of Yokohama greeted him—a mix of the sweet fragrance of freshly cut grass and the floral scents lingering in the air. As much as he hated his living conditions, he genuinely did love living in Yokohama. It wasn’t as rustic as Kyoto, but still had history and wasn’t as modern as Tokyo but held a city feel to it. It was the best of both worlds.

As soon as the song started fading out, he was already entering the bakery. It was a Parisian themed joint that had wide windows that made the front look like a greenhouse, allowing in as much natural light as possible. There were many plants as well ranging from ivy growing on the front of the building to fig plants in corners to white orchids on the counter. 

Chuuya slipped his headphones off of his ears and onto his neck as he observed the array of various pastries, each one almost begging to be bought. Chuuya, himself wasn’t really into a majority of pastries but Kouyou was the type to enjoy any kind of expensive sweet given to her. 

He eventually decided on a dozen macarons for her and then a bagel for himself. The baker even gave him a discount since he frequented this place often. He sat down at a circle table and opened his bag to start eating.

Could this day get any better?

Fishing out his bagel from the bag, he looked up and-

What the fuck.

His eyes were met with brown doe eyes looking back at him.

“Pleasure meeting you here!” Dazai exclaimed as if they had been life-long friends.

“Yeah, yeah. Piss off” Chuuya responded with a glare

“Why do you hate me?” Dazai inquired, his tone a blend of genuine curiosity and mock hurt.

“You stalked and found my Instagram and fucking DMed me for starters” 

“I was just trying to find a critique on my performance!” Dazai grinned, casually placing his tea on the table, as if seeking feedback from a random theater-goer was a completely normal thing to do.

“And why would you turn to me? That was the first professional show I’ve ever seen” Chuuya responded, baffled by Dazai's choice of confidant, and attracting the curious gazes of nearby cafe patrons

“You had this look on your face like you weren’t satisfied at the stagedoor. All I wanted to do is hear your thoughts.”

Chuuya responded with nothing but a glare, confused by this whole interaction. It’s not like Dazai was a bad actor. His stage presence was golden and his singing was somehow better, but something about his acting made him seem almost too perfect. Like he never fully let his emotions rise to the top.

“Do you want me to be honest?” Chuuya finally asked, breaking the silence that hung between them.

“More than anything~” Dazai gleamed, looking softly into Chuuya’s fox eyes

“You don’t seem human up there” Chuuya bluntly told the other man, his words cutting through the air with raw honesty.

Dazai's initial playfulness evaporated, replaced by a vulnerability that flashed in his brown doe eyes. His expression shifted, brows furrowing slightly, as if Chuuya's words had struck a chord he hadn't expected

“But you’re good. Like seriously” Chuuya said with a laugh in his voice, “God, your singing is so…like…smooth. I don't know how to describe it. And the way your energy draws the energy in is a spectacle in itself” A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of Chuuya's lips as he recalled the undeniable charisma Dazai exuded during the performance. However, Dazai's response was far from what Chuuya anticipated.

However, Dazai’s facial expression did not change.

“Thanks for that” Dazai’s eyes fell onto the checkered flooring. 

“Jesus Christ, you asked me to be honest, my bad.” Chuuya interjected, the uneasy tension between them lingering in the air like an unresolved chord.

There was a tense moment between the two filled with confusion. The awkward air between Chuuya and Dazai lingered like an unresolved melody, a dissonance of uncertainty that neither of them seemed eager to address. Dazai's expression remained a stoic mask, his gaze fixed upon the checkered flooring as if seeking refuge from the uncharted territory of honesty.

Breaking the silence, Dazai, ever the master of shifting dynamics, ventured an offer, now back in his usual whimsical demeanor. "May I offer you tickets for tonight?"

“What makes you think that I want to watch you two nights in a row?” Chuuya questioned

“I’ve been told I’m alluring~”

“Yeah, right” Chuuya said sarcastically, looking away from the person sitting across from him.

A little patch of catmint and ivy outside the windows caught Chuuya’s attention. The peaceful sight provided a momentary distraction until he heard an unexpected sound—the unmistakable crunching.

“What the hell, those are for my roommate, bastard!” Chuuya raised his voice, looking over to Dazai who had taken a bite out of a powder-blue macaron.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if one is missing-”

“It’s a she by the way.”

Dazai looked a bit taken aback by this comment. No way a man is casually roommates with a girl. 

“Oh! my apologies. Let me start over. I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind,” he smirked

Chuuya scowled.

“I told you last night that we aren’t dating,” the redhead retorted

“So you’re telling me that the girl you went to the theater with to go see a romance show with, and you quite literally live with and you are not dating?” Dazai asked, cocking his head to his left

“No. We’ve been best friends for years, it would be weird.” Chuuya answered

“So why don’t you date her?” Dazai persisted, undeterred by Chuuya's dismissive stance.

“No thank you”

“Let me guess, she’s in a relationship with some handsome man and you have been pining over her since you were both kids. How cute! It’s like a little Hallmark movie” Dazai practically squealed. 

“Uh no.” Chuuya replied enthusiastically. 

“Hm. So I’m gonna guess that maybe you’re parents are super strict and it would be-”

“I’m gay.” Chuuya interrupted abruptly, cutting off Dazai's speculative line of questioning.

Another tense moment unfolded, the weight of Chuuya's revelation hanging in the air. For Chuuya, the uncertainty lingered—he questioned whether divulging this personal detail to a stranger was the right move. Meanwhile, Dazai grappled with the realization that he might have overstepped his boundaries

“So… that chick you were with…” Dazai tentatively started, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction

“Her name is Kouyou,” Chuuya said, not liking the direction of this conversation.

“Is she by any chance…” Dazai began, leaving the sentence hanging.

“Spit it out, Dazai” Chuuya demanded, an air of impatience coloring his tone.

“Single?” Dazai completed his thought, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Yes.” Chuuya responded, somewhat disappointed by the predictability of the question.

“Set me up with her.”

“No fucking way.”

Unfazed, Dazai reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills, initiating a playful negotiation. Chuuya, relishing the opportunity to toy with the charismatic stranger, raised the stakes

“Higher," he challenged, a smirk playing on his lips.

Dazai let out a soft grunt, taking out two more bills, making the total $200.

“It’s a deal” Chuuya smiled at him, holding out his hand.

Dazai gave him a half smile, handing over the money and then shaking the other’s hand. And-

Shit.

Of fucking course he has soft hands.

“You better hold up your end of the deal.” Dazai swiped his tea off the table. He gave Chuuya a quick wink before exiting the cafe’s double doors. 

"Typical straight man," Chuuya muttered under his breath, watching the door swing closed behind Dazai.

Chuuya watched him as he left, he was met with high-school aged girls who seemed to be fans of his. He took a quick picture with them and then sent them on their way. Leaving Chuuya wondering how the hell he was gonna play matchmaker with his childhood best friend and this straight man who he totally doesn’t like.

Right?

Chapter Text

Chuuya entered the shared apartment with a certain heaviness in his steps, the macarons he had brought serving as a silent gesture of gratitude. Placing them on the counter, he accompanied the sweet treat with a note that read, 'Thanks for the show,' adorned with a little top hat sketch—their peculiar way of communicating since their middle school days.

The tradition had its roots in the sixth grade when they exchanged notes. Kouyou would leave behind a delicate sketch of a sakura branch, and in return, Chuuya would hastily scribble a top hat, encapsulating their personalities in each doodle. It was an odd pairing, the boisterous and anger-prone Chuuya juxtaposed with the softer, more refined Kouyou—a "woman of society." On paper, they shouldn't have clicked, but life, in its mysterious ways, saw them fitting together like disparate puzzle pieces.

Retreating into his room, Chuuya collapsed onto his bed, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions enveloping him.

Maybe I should-

No.

…

It’s not like I’m a stalker…

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened google to search up ‘Osamu Dazai’

Dazai Osamu…

Dazai Osamu moulin rouge

Dazai Osamu movies and tv

Dazai Osamu marital status

Dazai Osamu age

Chuuya chuckled at the absurdity of searching for Dazai's marital status, wondering how many teenage hearts harbored such thoughts. Opting for a more general search, he probed into Dazai's background, uncovering a mix of credits, from background roles in TV shows to a notable stint in Moulin Rouge. Scrolling further, he discovered that Dazai was only 21, a mere two months younger than himself.

Talented asshole.

He then tapped on the photos section. There were a couple headshots, some photos of him on stage, some paparazzi, the usual stuff. He looked good in the photos, but Chuuya felt like he looked so handsome in person. Not that he thinks he’s handsome or anything. He’s just slightly better than average. He was about to click on Dazai’s instagram when he saw that it was 1:37pm.

Fuck.

The realization struck him like a wake-up call, snapping him back to reality. He had a plane observation for a company he aspired to work for, and the clock was ticking. Gathering his belongings, he rushed to the airport, leaving behind the maze of emotions and thoughts that entwined him.

For Chuuya, flying was a therapeutic escape, a respite from the turbulence of life. Whether at the controls or seated in a plane, the skies offered him a brief reprieve. It's like all his issues were on the ground, and he was up in the air, far away from them. He didn’t have to think about his past. He didn’t have to think about his flaws. And for this flight- he didn’t have to think about straight boys who seduce him with their eyes and then admit that they want to date his best friend. 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Dazai got to the theater a good three hours before the scheduled showtime. Being in a theater wasn’t entirely a new experience for him. The familiarity of the theater setting was no stranger to him, having trodden the boards since the age of five. However this was his first time with a professional touring company. 

The current show embarked on its third leg of the tour, with Yokohama, his hometown, hosting the production for a month. Tokyo had already witnessed the spectacle, and the journey would continue to Osaka and Fukuoka. Five major cities, each granting the troupe a temporary residence for a little less than a month, would shape the trajectory of their tour.

Once in every city, Dazai liked to explore the theater he was in. Fully explore it as well, like he wanted to know it like it was a living, breathing human. He would talk to the ushers, give them flowers at the beginning of the run and ask about about the place he would call home for a month.

Wandering through the labyrinthine halls, he absorbed the aesthetic tapestry around him—the dark red carpet beneath his feet, the timeworn wallpaper, and the subtle fragrance of aging books lingering in the air. His scrutiny extended to the ornate, golden frames cradling snapshots of old Yokohama and the theater's inaugural productions. Drawings paying homage to the roots of Japanese theater, such as Kabuki and Noh, adorned the walls, amplifying the rich heritage encapsulated within the venue.

He decided to get to the highest level of the theater. That led him to find a door leading to the roof of the building. The elevated vantage point offered a picturesque view of the city, a stark contrast to the mundane rooftops he had encountered before. Standing at the edge, he gazed out, soaking in the urban sprawl from an elevated perspective.

He checked out the theater itself. He always sees the theater from the stage, but never from an audience's perspective. He got on the second floor, and went onto the balcony. Specifically the lower center balcony, and took a seat. He imagined the shows that have played here much before he got onto that stage. He thought about other people who have sat in this exact seat: each one having a different face, different history, different reason for being there. He thought about the laughs that others have had in this seat, the tears spilt, the love that-

Just getting too poetic here.

With a final, appreciative glance at the stage he was destined to grace in a few hours, Dazai ascended to his dressing room. Greetings were exchanged with the theater's staff along the way, a ritual of acknowledgment and camaraderie preceding the meticulous preparations for the impending performance.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

It was an hour before the show, and Dazai found himself sipping the last remnants of his tea in the cocoon of his dressing room. Engrossed in vocal warm-ups, he received a text.

c.nakahara

Ticket offer still stand?

Dazai smiled at this text.

Not for any reason. 

Immediately, he checked the seating chart, confirming the availability of an orchestra seat that, realistically, was never going to be sold.

osamudazai

link.org

osamudazai

so you wanna watch me after all ? how cute :3

c.nakahara

You are a 21 year old using :3, be so for real.

osamudazai

glad to see you did your research on me !

Dazai silenced his phone, shutting out potential distractions to ensure a flawless performance. The familiar pre-show ritual unfolded — light meditation, journaling, meticulous skincare, and an extra moment devoted to accentuating his eyes in the makeup routine. He completed the transformation with the costume for the opening act.

Thirty minutes before the call for places, Dazai delved into other dressing rooms, exchanging words with castmates to elevate their collective energy.

Twenty minutes before places were called, he would go into his own room, take a spoonful of honey and drink it, and mumble a quick Japanese prayer. Tonight, however, he had two spoonfuls of honey and actually enunciated the words to the prayer.

No reason.

Ten minutes before places were called, he reconnected with his castmates, engaging in stretches and energy-boosting chants — the customary pre-show traditions. Typical pre-show traditions. Someone asked him before the show why he seemed a happier this night, he responded with ‘afterparty.’

And so, the show commenced

Dazai, a seasoned performer in the show, approached each night with a determination to make it unique. Acutely aware that many in the audience were experiencing the production for the first time, he injected novelty into every performance — a higher note in “El Tango De Roxanne,” a spontaneous ad-lib, or an extended, intense gaze with an unsuspecting spectator. Every rendition had to be distinctive.

As he stepped onto the stage, the spotlight honed in on him. Instead of promptly doing the iconic sign raise,(-) he broke convention, directing his gaze out into the audience. His eyes were on a mission, searching for the distinct shock of red hair in orchestra section 3, seat 11e. Instead of a ginger guy staring back at him in awe, there was only a vacant space.

Maybe he got lost

He searched around more, and Chuuya could not be found. So he just went on with the show. No big deal. 

It was a couple of songs into the performance when concerned cast members questioned his uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm. Brushing it off, he attributed it to a late night. Backstage, during other scenes, he attempted to reclaim the energy that had momentarily eluded him but found nothing to rekindle his motivation. He then went on for “Your Song”

And that's when he finally saw him.

Standing near one of the exits, Chuuya patiently waited for a blackout to slip into his seat without disturbing anyone. Though visibly fatigued, there was an unmistakable joy in his presence. The two locked eyes briefly before Dazai had to start singing. (-)

In that moment, the energy surged back. Dazai sang with an unexpected passion that even caught his castmate playing Satine off guard. And possibly while kissing her at the end of the song he pretended she was an overly angry ginger boy. 

Just possibly.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

osamudazai

meet me backstage. just tell the guys ur here for Shuuji

Chuuya scoffed at that text. 

And then he thought about it.

And then he ventured to the stagedoor, informing the attendant that he was there for Shuuji, who promptly guided him to Dazai.

“Long time no see!” Dazai exclaimed from his vanity, taking off the rest of his makeup

“Why do you want me here?” Chuuya snapped

“I want to ask you two things- are you free tonight and how is progress going with Kokomi? Koharu? Kohaki? My apologies I-”

“It’s Kouyou for your information. And yeah, I am free tonight, no you can’t ask to come into my house to seduce my roommate if that’s what you are asking” Chuuya remarked, refusing to make eye contact with Dazai who was reapplying a bit of makeup on his eyes. Dazai laughed, still focused in on his makeup.

“No, no. There’s a party happening tonight, here.” Dazai went onto explain, perfecting his eyeliner

“Here? Like in the theater?” Chuuya questioned

“Yeah, it’s a tradition for every Saturday of our show in a new city to have a small party on the stage. Nothing crazy. But this time, I don’t have a plus one, and I was expecting a pretty redhaired girl to be on my arm, but I guess it will have to be a pretty redhaired boy tonight”

Chuuya was a bit taken aback by Dazai’s words. Especially the “pretty” part. 

“What's the drink situation?” Chuuya asked nonchalantly

“Champagne, but I have a bottle of wine.” Dazai said, observing as Chuuya’s attention peaked when he mentioned a bottle of wine. He continued, “So I’m assuming that’s a yes?”

“It is” Chuuya replied, as if he was forced into this ordeal.

Dazai then reached into a bag, unveiling a dark green wine bottle. He also took out two wine glasses from a cabinet in his vanity.

It’s like he fucking planned this shit.

He poured two glasses, handing one over to Chuuya, who drank it swiftly. Dazai, on the other hand, savored each sip. Chuuya poured himself another drink, and Dazai watched closely as he downed it.

“You poison this shit or something? Stop looking at me like that” Chuuya growled at the other.

Dazai laughed under his breath.

“You could say thank you for the free wine I’m giving you” Dazai teased him. They both drank, discussed the show, and then Dazai led Chuuya out of the dressing room, walking arm-in-arm with him. It was a brief journey until they arrived on the stage.

When Chuuya absorbed the sights of the theater, he was captivated. The red seats, the lighting, the chandeliers, all looked so different from this perspective. It almost took his breath away. He stood there, looking out, lips parted. He didn’t even notice the way Dazai was gazing at him.

The party on-stage was filled with joyus people, each of them having a different kind of flair. Most of them performed in the show, as well as some people who worked on the show behind the scenes. Some cast members approached Dazai to congratulate him on the outstanding show, expressing that it might be one of his best performances. Dazai graciously thanked them, his eyes gleaming with appreciation.

Among them was a girl, instantly recognizable to Chuuya as the one who played Satine. Dazai warmly hugged her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Oh, Kyoko! Please, meet Chuuya,” Dazai introduced Chuuya to Kyoko, his enthusiasm apparent. Kyoko possessed an unusual type of beauty, mostly European features with soft brown eyes. Two white streaks adorned her hair, hidden by a black wig during the musical.

After a handshake, they engaged in small talk, and Kyoko led them to a cart stocked with champagne and glasses. The trio poured themselves drinks and started enjoying the bubbly together.

“So, have you seen the show, Chuuya?” Kyoko inquired, a slight blush coloring her cheek.

“Two times,” Dazai chimed in, speaking for Chuuya and visibly irking him.

“You two must be close. How long have you known each other?” Kyoko turned her attention to Chuuya.

“Two days,” Dazai interjected again, prompting Kyoko to shoot him a look that clearly said, ‘shut up.’

“Really?! It seems like the two of you are much closer,” she remarked with curiosity. “Oh my gosh, Yosano! You did so good!” she squealed as a girl with short black hair and blunt bangs came up to her. Chuuya squinted at her, trying to figure out who she played, only putting it together that she played Nini. Chuuya got a bit lost in thought thinking about how different people look with different hair colors, it’s almost-

“I need some air,” Dazai declared, grabbing Chuuya by the arm and guiding him to the spiral staircase that led to the roof. They stumbled their way up until they reached the rooftop, where the cool night air greeted them. Though it was a bit chilly for the middle of summer, it was a welcome sensation as their faces were warmed by the alcohol. Dazai led them to the ledge, both of them silent as they gazed out at the forest of buildings. They looked up at the crescent moon simultaneously. It wasn't long before Chuuya pulled out a pack of Malboros.

“Do you smoke?” Chuuya asked, lighting his cigarette.

“No, I need my lungs to be in good shape so I can sing and dance through a two-hour show eight times a week,” Dazai replied matter-of-factly. Chuuya just looked at him and took a long drag. Dazai gazed back at the cityscape. Chuuya puffed again, blowing smoke in Dazai’s direction. The brunette looked at the cigarette dangling from Chuuya’s hand.

He swiftly swiped it from Chuuya, placing it in his own mouth and inhaling deeply as Chuuya growled faintly.

“What happened to you caring about your lungs as well as asking for it?” the ginger demanded.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Dazai replied with a grin. They continued to survey the cityscape, passing the cigarette back and forth until it burned out.

“This view is somehow even better when you are tipsy,” Dazai remarked to Chuuya, who responded with a soft hum.

As if on cue, an airplane flew not too far from where they were. The two of them watched as it cut through the night.

“Hey,” Chuuya said faintly, slightly out of breath.

“Yeah?” Dazai perked up.

“I flew one of those the other day,” Chuuya remarked.

“You fly airplanes?!” Dazai exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Chuuya muttered.

Silence overtook them for a couple of minutes as they observed the cityscape, trying to say something not too foolish while tipsy.

“Hey Dazai?” Chuuya asked.

“Hm?” Dazai hummed.

“This might be a weird question.”

“Just go for it.”

“How…fuck…how do you like…kiss people and not feel anything for them?” Chuuya slurred his words.

“Like this,” Dazai began to explain, cupping the sides of Chuuya’s face. He looked down at him, his eyes asking for permission. Chuuya’s eyes flickered between Dazai’s eyes and lips, awaiting his next move.

Dazai leaned down, giving Chuuya time to move if he wanted, yet he stayed there. His hands automatically went to the actor’s waist.

Dazai got close to Chuuya’s face as he asked, “You sure?” in which Chuuya gave him a tiny nod. Dazai closed the distance between them, finally kissing Chuuya. Chuuya grabbed harder onto Dazai’s waist, bringing him in closer. Dazai’s left hand traveled to his hair, running through the soft waves. They eventually parted, both of them needing air.

“Like that. See? Neither of us have feelings,” Dazai acknowledged.

Yeah. Totally.

Chapter Text

Chuuya didn’t want to dwell on the events of last night.

He didn’t want to ponder the fact that he found himself back at the theater, watching Dazai perform once more.

He certainly didn’t want to recall how tipsy he had become, requiring Dazai to take charge and drive him home.

And he positively didn’t want to think about the kiss he and Dazai shared—a kiss that seemed to hold no significance for Dazai.

But despite his best efforts to bury these thoughts, they nagged at him, demanding attention. So, he resolved to telling Kouyou about Dazai’s interest in her. She was watching some romcom on TV when Chuuya sauntered into the living room. 

Kouyou glanced at him, offering a polite greeting before returning her attention to the TV.

“I really enjoyed the macarons you—” she began.

“Osamu Dazai wants to date you,” Chuuya interjected, his tone sharper than intended.

Kouyou’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. Silence settled between them, heavy and charged with unspoken questions. Chuuya shifted uncomfortably, regretting his impulsive confession. Kouyou tries muttering something but is unsuccessful. Chuuya just bites his lip, trying to find the right words to say to the girl in front of him, who always made it so easy to talk.

“He does?” Kouyou finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper

“We’ve been talking…” Chuuya trails off

“You have?” Kouyou eyes widen

Chuuya shifted uncomfortably, a defensive edge creeping into his tone as he responded, "Yeah, only a little. But he seems to think you’re pretty, so give him a chance or something. I really don’t care." His arms crossed tightly over his chest, signaling his underlying discomfort.

Kouyou eyes him, knowing damn well that there is a problem. Usually, he fesses up his authentic feelings within a couple of seconds. She waited a bit longer until he spoke.

“Go on. Just date him. It’s not like I care,” Chuuya avoided any eye contact. She gave him another disapproving glare.

Kouyou's expression softened, her concern evident as she gently prodded, "There's something you're not telling me."

“Just call the guy or whatever. Try to not make too much noise, these walls are paper thin,” Chuuya said half-heartedly, getting up from the couch.

Chuuya went back into his room and sprawled himself on his bed. 

He felt like crying. 

No idea why he would.

Instead, he picked up his keys and got into his car. Chuuya took a couple of deep breaths before turning it on, and getting on the streets.

Chuuya found himself aimlessly driving through the city streets, seeking solace in the anonymity of the night. The neon lights blurred into streaks of color as he sped past, the rhythmic hum of the engine providing a temporary distraction. He drove around the area until he went to streets where other cars rarely go. There, there was no speed limit, no law enforcement, no one to tell him what to do.

So he drove.

Fast.

He drove until his problems were in the rearview mirror. He eventually found a small airport. Parking the car in the lot, he stepped out into the cool night air, the faint scent of jet fuel mingling with the breeze. He saw a notification pop up on his phone, which he quickly shut down.

Leaning against the hood of his car, Chuuya watched as planes took off and landed, their lights twinkling against the indigo sky. The rhythmic whoosh of their engines was oddly soothing, a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond his own troubles. And then he looked at the time, seeing that it was 5:36 pm.

Shit.

He had been out for three hours. 

He put his keys in the car once again, and let his music consume him. He arrived home and turned on his phone to be greeted with two DMs.

osamudazai

[image.jpg]

omamudazai

thx for setting me up with Konami

The text was accompanied by a photo of Dazai mid-show. Slightly sweaty, holding up half a heart, Dazai gave a sly smile that Chuuya had seen too many times in the past week. 

Chuuya sent back a photo of him holding up his middle finger. No text. 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

A sharp knock echoed through the shared apartment, disrupting the quiet evening. With a heavy sigh, Chuuya reluctantly rose from his seat to answer the door, his irritation evident in every step.

"I'm here for my date," Dazai announced with a smirk, his charismatic charm oozing from every pore as he stood before Chuuya, clad in a sleek three-piece suit and holding a bouquet of vibrant yellow roses.

“Get the fuck out,” Chuuya nearly slammed the door in his face, only to be thwarted by Dazai's firm grip on the handle

“What’s your issue with me?” Dazai demanded, his voice edged with frustration as he struggled to maintain his hold on the door against Chuuya's resistance.

"I'm not your damn date, you bastard!" Chuuya growled, their battle for control of the doorway escalating until Dazai finally managed to push his way inside the apartment

“I didn’t say you were my date,” Dazai chuckled softly, his gaze flickering toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

As Kouyou emerged from her room, adorned in a flowing pink dress and an oversized floppy hat, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Dazai standing in the living room.

“Why, you look stunning. Let’s go, shall we? I’d rather not spend another second with…people who aren’t dressed for the occasion” Dazai mentioned, looking over to Chuuya who was wearing loungewear.

“I wasn’t planning to go out with you, nor do I want to,” Chuuya looked like he was about to kill the brunette. He watched as Dazai kissed Kouyou’s hand, causing a blush to rise in her cheeks. He led her out of the door, taking her arm into his. 

It disgusted him. He already knew how tonight’s events would unfold. Dazai would take her to a lavish dinner, way too fancy for a first date. They would make small talk. And then realize that they have nothing in common. Then he would find a spot where only he knows. He would tell her about kissing on stage and then kiss her. He would then bring her to his apartment to do god knows what. 

Kouyou could do so much better than him.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

It was around 10 pm when Chuuya heard two pairs of feet scurrying past his door. They faintly murmur unintelligible things that Chuuya cannot hear.

Ew.

With a disgruntled sigh, Chuuya buried his head deeper into his pillow, attempting to drown out the noise and drift off into sleep. But just as he was on the verge of slumber, he felt an unfamiliar weight settle on the edge of his bed.

Mm?" Chuuya mumbled, still half-asleep and disoriented by the intrusion.

"Shh…" came the soft response, lulling Chuuya back into a drowsy state as he resigned himself to the unexpected presence.

However, as the weight shifted and another figure joined him in bed, Chuuya's senses snapped into alertness, his mind racing to comprehend the situation.

"Kouyou... did things go so wrong that you're seeking refuge here?" Chuuya questioned groggily, assuming his roommate had sought solace in his bed.

“Nice try, but I’m not Kouyou,” his voice replied, sending a jolt of panic through Chuuya's sleep-addled brain.

In an instant, Chuuya sprang up, his hand instinctively reaching for the switchblade on his bedside table as he prepared to defend himself against the intruder.

“YOU BETTER GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I FUCKING MURDER YOU” Chuuya yells in the dark, heart pounding with adrenaline. The only response is a low chuckle.

And then the lights turn on by the figure.

Dazai is standing there, a white button-down shirt unbuttoned at the top, and dark grey slacks. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chuuya demanded, his voice tinged with incredulity.

“I just-” Dazai begins, his eyes shifting uncomfortably under Chuuya's scrutiny before he attempts to offer an explanation.

“Ew. What the fuck. Did you just fuck my roommate?”

“Well, I-”

“And you came to me for sloppy seconds? You have to be shitting my dick right now.” Chuuya looks like he is about to throw up.

Dazai just looks at him, tongue poking at the bottom of his right cheek. Gaze darting around the room and back at Chuuya.

“I’ve had a bit too much to drink tonight. I don’t think I can get home,” Dazai tries to explain himself

“Get a goddamn Uber then,” Chuuya remarks, his patience wearing thin.

“Can’t. Too famous,” Dazai responds with a wink, which only infuriates Chuuya further. 

“Find a way then,” Chuuya turns off the lights and gets into his bed. Dazai gets in beside him.

“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” Dazai jokes. Chuuya pushes him out of the bed. 

Dazai sleeps on the floor.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Kouyou left for work, leaving Chuuya to care for a violently hungover Dazai. Dazai lounged on the couch, looking worse for wear, while Chuuya busied himself brewing a much-needed coffee.

“You’ve got any tea?” Dazai groaned

Chuuya shot him a withering glance. "No," he replied curtly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. But Dazai, being Dazai, refused to take no for an answer.

Ignoring Chuuya's dismissive tone, Dazai reached for the remote and flicked on the TV, switching the channel to some obnoxious reality show.

And then he turned up the volume.

A little bit more.

And some more after that.

Enough to make the one in the kitchen infuriated enough grab the remote out of Dazai’s hand turn off the TV, and then put the remote on a high shelf where he thought Dazai wouldn’t be able to grab it.

Until he did.

Forgot the fucking height difference.

Eventually, the two of them sat on the same couch as Chuuya sipped on his coffee. Dazai turned off the TV.

“So my performance a couple of nights ago, we never discussed it,” Dazai brought out of the blue.

“Nothing to discuss,” Chuuya mentioned, avoiding eye contact.

“Of course, there are things to discuss! It’s a three-hour musical. I wanna hear your thoughts. I tried improving to be more your tastes,” Dazai continued, gazing at Chuuya like his opinion was the most important thing.

Chuuya avoided meeting his gaze, choosing instead to focus intently on his drink. "You did fine," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

“And…”

“Your voice was better. More confident. There was more chemistry between you and that Satine girl,”

“There’s something else” Dazai tried coaxing a true answer out of him.

“Same thing as last time, you don’t act like a real human being” Chuuya finally told him, meeting his eyes.

Dazai's expression flickered, a mixture of disappointment and resignation crossing his features before he composed himself. "I see," he murmured, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usual facade.

Without another word, Dazai rose from the couch and made his way to the door, leaving Chuuya to grapple with the weight of his words in the heavy silence that lingered behind him.

Chapter Text

“So…how was the date” Chuuya broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled between him and Kouyou at their dining room table. It was obvious Kouyou had had a rough day. She'd been on the date the night before and was unexpectedly called into work afterward. Her usually uptight demeanor had vanished; her familiar bun was seconds away from falling out, and dark circles had started to form under her eyes, hinting at her exhaustion.

Kouyou took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking.

“It was fine,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just fine?” Chuuya pressed, sensing something was off.

She responded with a noncommittal hum. Chuuya knew there was more to the story.

“What was he like?” Chuuya asked, acting as if he barely knew the man. He didn’t. Although it felt like he may have known Dazai for ages, he had only known him for only about a month. He constantly had to keep that in mind.

“Pleasant. He’s a lovely gentleman, really. Held the door open for me, paid the bill, took me home, and…” Kouyou’s voice trailed off, and she hesitated.

“Oh my god, you fucked on the first date” Chuuya nearly laughed.

“No, no!” Kouyou quickly protested, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I just… he’s so nice. I’m starstruck. That’s it.” She shut down Chuuya’s lewd accusation with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

Chuuya smirked but decided not to push further. He got up to continue preparing their dinner. As he was almost done, his phone dinged with a notification.

“Hey, you mind checking that for me?” Chuuya asked, not wanting to interrupt his progress in the kitchen.

Kouyou let out a soft hum and picked up his phone. “It’s Dazai. He asked if you could grab some food for him and run it by the theater,” she said, a bit of surprise in her voice. “Are you guys really this close?”

“Ew. Tell him no. And also we’ve talked like once. He must not have many friends. Sucks for him.”

“If you won’t get him food I will. Will you really let this semi-famous celebrity go hungry before his performance”

“Yes.”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Much to his own dismay, Chuuya did not. After a bit more bickering, he finally relented. He packed a portion of what he was making into a small bento box and grabbed his keys.

“I’ll be back soon,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he headed out the door, feeling a strange mix of irritation and anticipation.

Navigating the evening traffic, Chuuya found parking and stepped out of his car, the theater looming ahead of him. It was becoming too familiar a place. He approached the entrance, telling the security guard he was there for Shuuji, as Dazai had instructed

He strode down a dark, narrow hallways full of art all in a crimson tone, matching the wine-colored, worn carpet. Getting closer to the dressing rooms there were posters ranging in size with autographs from the cast. Some were elaborately framed, while smaller ones were just pasted onto the wall. He wondered if Dazai’s production would earn a spot on this wall and if Dazai’s signature would join the others.

It would boost his ego even more somehow.

His musings were interrupted as he reached the door bearing Dazai's name. With a determined knock, he announced his presence in his usual irreverent manner.

“Delivery for Mr. Cocksucker-samu,” Chuuya huffed, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. The door swung open, revealing Dazai standing before him, a picture of casual elegance despite his street clothes and the elaborate makeup adorning his features.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Dazai remarked, his expression tinged with curiosity as he glanced down at the bento box in Chuuya's hands. “For me?” he inquired, meeting Chuuya's gaze with a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

“Yeah. Kouyou forced me. You can thank her,” Chuuya replied with a wry smile, following Dazai into the dressing room without hesitation. He paused for a moment, a fleeting impulse to retreat tugging at the edges of his mind, but he quickly brushed it aside. Chuuya hesitated but eventually stepped in, setting the bento box on Dazai’s vanity. Dazai eagerly opened it.

“There’s salmon, rice, cucumber, and avocado in there. You owe me,” Chuuya said, watching as Dazai dug in, taking a large forkful and practically inhaling it.

“Holy shit, dude, you need to be my personal chef,” Dazai said after swallowing the first bite, clearly impressed.

Chuuya watched, half in disgust and half impressed with his own cooking. “Woah, chill out.”

“My bad. I should have offered you some. You want a bite?” Dazai asked, though half of the meal was already gone.

“Gross. Your saliva has been on that fork,” Chuuya responded, now fully disgusted.

“You act as if we haven’t kissed before” 

This sent Chuuya into complete silence. Dazai said that oh so ever nonchalantly. Like the kiss was nothing more than a small blink in his life. To Chuuya however-

“I should go” Chuuya interrupted his own thoughts, his voice tinged with a hint of panic as he sought to regain his composure.

“Don’t,” Dazai pleaded

Chuuya scoffed.

“Let’s be real. You’re going to go back to your stuffy apartment, watch some trashy TV show, drink cheap beer, and then sleep. Why not stay here, watch quality live theatre, and indulge in some fine wine?” the brunette’s offer hung in the air, tantalizing in its allure.

“I’ve seen this show two times. No need to watch it again,” Chuuya protested, though his resolve wavered in the face of Dazai's infectious enthusiasm.

“Oh, I didn’t mean from the audience. It’s a sold-out show tonight. I meant watch it from the wings,” Dazai clarified, “Follow me.”

With that, Dazai took Chuuya’s arm and guided him through a labyrinth of hallways, each one a maze of shadows and echoes. The dim light cast long, eerie shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of mystery and intrigue.

As they navigated their way through the backstage area, Chuuya couldn't help but marvel at the intricate workings of the theater, the behind-the-scenes work that brought the performance to life.

Finally, they arrived at the wings of the stage. Dazai directed Chuuya to a spot and instructed him to stand there, his voice a whisper against the backdrop of bustling activity. From this vantage point, Chuuya could see a majority of the stage, yet remain invisible to the audience. 

But Dazai wasn't finished yet. With a mischievous grin, he led Chuuya through more hallways and up some stairs until they reached the lighting booth, perched high above the stage like a throne overlooking its kingdom. Dazai made brief introductions of Chuuya to the stage manager and lighting crew, who all seemed genuinely pleased to see Dazai.

The pair found themselves once again in Dazai’s dressing room as Chuuya pretended not to be entranced by every swish of Dazai’s brushes as he applied his stage makeup. The once unfamiliar dressing room now felt oddly intimate, filled with the quiet hum of preparation and anticipation.

"So, you gonna tell me why you're really here?" Dazai broke the silence, glancing at Chuuya through the mirror.

Chuuya shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Kouyou wouldn't let it go. Plus, someone has to make sure you don't choke on your food."

Dazai chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Makes the pre-show jitters a little easier."

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. "You get nervous?"

"Every time," Dazai admitted, turning to face him. "But that's part of the thrill, right? The unknown, the possibility of something going wrong. It keeps things exciting."

Chuuya nodded, feeling a strange kinship in Dazai's words. "I get that."

As the minutes ticked by, the bustling energy of the theater began to seep through the walls. The distant murmur of the audience, the hurried footsteps of the crew, the final sound checks—all converged into a symphony of organized chaos.

"It's almost time," Dazai said, standing up and straightening his costume. He turned to Chuuya, a playful glint in his eye. "Stay with me until I go on?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a small smile. "Fine. But only because I don't want you to trip on your way out."

Dazai laughed, a sound that lingered in the air even as the call for places echoed through the dressing room. He took a deep breath, his demeanor shifting to one of focus and determination.

"Break a leg," Chuuya said, surprising himself with the sincerity in his voice.

Dazai grinned, a mix of gratitude and amusement. "Thanks. Enjoy the show."

The two stood there. Two bodies unsure of what to do. Dazai’s breath hitched before he slightly leaned in. Chuuya’s eyes were locked on his lips. He nearly grabbed onto Dazai’s waist and then remembered himself.

“I’m sure I will” Chuuya gave a nod. With that, Dazai walked towards the stage, leaving Chuuya alone in the now-quiet dressing room. Chuuya took a moment to gather his thoughts before making his way to the wings, where he found a discreet spot to watch the performance.

Watching from this angle was a completely different experience compared to sitting in the audience. From here, he could see the actors' final moments of preparation, the subtle shifts in their expressions as they readied themselves to step into character. The energy was palpable, a living, breathing entity that pulsed through the narrow, dimly lit corridors.

Chuuya's eyes tracked Dazai as he made his entrance as Christian, captivated by the seamless transformation. The view from the wings offered a new perspective; he could see the minutiae of every gesture, the meticulous precision in Dazai's movements, and the quick exchanges between cast members as they whispered last-second reminders or encouragements. The performance felt raw and immediate, the fourth wall nonexistent from this angle.

After a few scenes Chuuya decided to head up to the lighting booth. Entering the booth, he was greeted by an array of consoles and monitors, each displaying a different facet of the production. The lighting designer, a blonde woman with a headset and an intense focus, gave him a quick nod as he settled in.

Chuuya's eyes lit up as he took in the setup. As a pilot, he was no stranger to complex systems and controls, but the intricate workings of the lighting and sound equipment fascinated him. The board was a complex array of sliders, buttons, and screens, all orchestrating the ambiance and mood of the show with pinpoint accuracy

It reminded him of piloting, with each button having a small yet impactful effect, and each button being pressed at a precise time to make sure everything runs smoothly. He kept his eye on the blonde girl and how aware she was, how she adjusted to changing conditions, making sure that everything was in harmony.

This is basically a non-life threatening version of my job. 

The view from the lighting booth offered a bird's-eye perspective of the entire stage, allowing Chuuya to see the full scope of the production. The choreography of the lights, the timing of the sound cues, and the fluid movements of the cast all came together in a symphony of technical prowess and artistic expression. He noted how the lighting enhanced Dazai's performance, casting shadows and highlights that emphasized his dramatic songs and subtle gestures.

During a brief intermission, Dazai joined Chuuya in the booth, a bottle of water in hand and a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Pretty cool, huh?" he said, leaning over the console.

Chuuya nodded, his mind still processing the intricacies of what he had witnessed. "It's incredible. I mean, I've seen this show from the audience, but from here... It's like seeing the gears inside a watch. Every piece has a role, and together they make something beautiful."

Dazai grinned. "Glad you like it. Most people don't get to see this side of the theater." 

“It’s so…” Chuuya thought for a second about how much he avoided theatre kids in high school and no way he was going to go near that. “Thanks for letting me see it. It’s neat or whatever”

“Act like you don’t love it. I know you do. Even secretly.” Dazai gazed into Chuuya’s eyes, “Well I have to go. I’ve got to be on stage in five.” He slipped away.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

After the performance, Chuuya and Dazai once again found themselves on the roof of the theater, the city's lights stretching out below them. The air was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair as they leaned against the railing, the night sky a canvas of stars above. The distant hum of the city created a serene backdrop, allowing them a rare moment of quiet introspection.

Chuuya broke the comfortable silence, his voice soft and uncertain. "Why do you keep me around, Dazai?"

Dazai turned to look at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Chuuya said, his gaze fixed on the skyline. "You could have anyone here, friends, admirers... Why me?"

Dazai's expression softened, and he moved a little closer, the proximity sending a shiver down Chuuya's spine. "You really want to know?"

Chuuya nodded, his heart pounding.

Dazai took a deep breath, his eyes searching Chuuya's face. "Because you see me," he began, his voice earnest. "Not just the actor or the persona, but me. Most people see me and love the small fanfare I get from random people on the street, or the amount of followers I have. But you don’t care for much for that. And I see you too, Chuuya. The person behind the tough exterior. I keep you around because, with you, I can be myself."

Chuuya's breath caught in his throat. He turned to meet Dazai's eyes, finding an unspoken emotion mirrored there. "I feel the same way," he admitted quietly. "With you, I can be myself too."

Dazai smiled a rare, genuine smile that made Chuuya's heart ache. "You know," Dazai said, his tone reflective, "we've only known each other a couple of months, but it feels like we've known each other for a lifetime. There's this... connection."

Chuuya nodded, his own emotions swirling within him. "Yeah, it does feel like that. It's strange, but in a good way."

“And also because you have a hot sister.”

“Quit it with that.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of their mutual feelings hanging in the air. The city lights below twinkled like a million tiny stars, and Chuuya felt a sense of peace he hadn't known he was missing.

Chapter Text

"How do you do it?" Kouyou asked, nibbling on a croissant during a more-than-awkward lunch with Chuuya and Dazai.

"Do what? All he does up there is sing songs and play pretend. Nothing special," Chuuya replied, his expression sour. Both Dazai and Kouyou gave him looks of clear disapproval. Chuuya had been dragged here against his will; Kouyou and Dazai were supposed to have a date alone, but Chuuya's canceled flight left him unexpectedly available. Much to Dazai's delight and Chuuya's annoyance.

"Actually, I sing songs, play pretend, and do high kicks at the end of the show. Therefore making me a triple threat," Dazai corrected.

"The only threat you are is the threat of me breaking this dish over your head, you show-off," Chuuya stammered.

"Do it, my hair is insured for nine thousand dollars," Dazai said nonchalantly.

"Why the hell is your hair insured? Who even does that?" Chuuya nearly yelled. Kouyou watched them bicker, almost used to it by now, yet still shocked by the things they said. She wondered if she would ever understand them—their quick bond, their rivalry over practically nothing, and their inability to spend more than two days without each other.

She fidgeted, pretending not to notice the two men about to go for each other's throats over lunch. They had now moved on to arguing about which was harder to control—a performance or a plane. The heated debate lasted seven minutes before they realized they were attracting attention from onlooking café guests.

"How about we go back to our place? We’ve finished our lunch, after all," Kouyou offered, trying to remain peaceful.

"You're letting this piece of shit back in our apartment? One time was more than enough," Chuuya rejected, still clearly pissed.

"Oh please, keep acting like you don't love having a star like me in your household," Dazai flaunted.

"You don't even have one hundred thousand followers—"

"I have ninety-seven thousand more than you—"

"How do you even know that, you self-absorbed fu—"

"In my car. Now." Kouyou interrupted, her head in her hands. The two paused, suddenly remembering her presence. They obeyed.

The car ride was silent, but the glares between Chuuya and Dazai were loud enough.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Back at the apartment, Chuuya stormed into the kitchen, muttering under his breath about the absurdity of the situation. Dazai, ever the provocateur, sauntered in behind him, his smug grin firmly in place.

"You know, Chuuya," Dazai began, leaning against the counter, "you really should try to relax. You might actually enjoy my company if you did."

Chuuya shot him a withering glare. "Enjoy your company? The only thing I enjoy less than your company is a turbulence-filled flight."

Dazai chuckled, unfazed. "Yet you keep coming back for more. Interesting, isn't it?"

Kouyou, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and exasperation, decided to intervene. "Alright, enough. Both of you. How about we make some tea and try to have a civil conversation for once?"

Chuuya huffed but set about boiling water for the tea. Dazai, ever the opportunist, took the chance to sidle up next to him, peering over his shoulder.

"Need any help?" Dazai asked, his voice annoyingly cheerful.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Just stay out of the way, Dazai. I don't need you ruining my tea."

Dazai raised his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As the water boiled and the tea was prepared, an uneasy silence settled over the room. Kouyou, determined to steer the conversation towards safer waters, decided to bring up a neutral topic.

So, Dazai," she began, "how did you get into acting?"

Dazai's eyes lit up, grateful for the distraction. "Ah, that's a story. It all started when I was a kid. I was always the center of attention, you see. My parents thought acting classes might help channel my energy."

"And did it?" Chuuya asked, genuinely curious despite himself.

"Somewhat," Dazai admitted with a grin. "But it also gave me a platform to annoy people on a grander scale."

Kouyou laughed softly. "Well, you're certainly memorable on stage. I suppose it was a natural fit."

As they continued to chat, Chuuya found himself begrudgingly enjoying the conversation. Despite his irritation, he had to admit that Dazai had a certain charm when he wasn't being insufferable.

After a while, the tension in the room eased, and the three of them found themselves discussing everything from favorite films to bizarre flight stories. Chuuya recounted a particularly harrowing landing during a storm, which had Dazai hanging on every word.

"Sounds intense," Dazai said, genuine admiration in his voice. "I don't know how you do it."

Chuuya shrugged. "It's part of the job. You get used to it."

"Still," Dazai persisted, "it takes guts. More than I have, probably."

Kouyou watched the exchange with a knowing smile. The more time they spent together, the more she saw the potential for something deeper between them. They just needed to get past their stubbornness and see it for themselves.

“So, you admit that piloting is much scarier than being an actor?” Chuuya’s gaze met with Dazai’s.

Dazai took a breath before answering, “I think what we experience are two different types of fear. You have a fear of crashing and ruining a plane- and y’know killing everyone on board. My fear is to give a lackluster performance and have people pay top dollar for some cheap acting. While yours is much more dire, mine could result in bad reviews and being ostrasized for a simple slip up. And if that happens, I could be out of a job until god knows when.”

As the evening wore on, Kouyou excused herself, leaving Chuuya and Dazai alone in the living room. The atmosphere was more relaxed now, the earlier animosity replaced by a tentative camaraderie.

"Thanks for the tea," Dazai said, breaking the silence. "And for not breaking that dish over my head."

Chuuya snorted. "Don't thank me yet. The day's not over."

Dazai chuckled, leaning back on the couch. "You know, Chuuya, I think there's more to you than meets the eye."

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

Dazai shrugged, his expression surprisingly sincere. "Just a feeling. And I'm usually right about these things."

Chuuya felt a strange warmth at Dazai's words but quickly brushed it off. "Well, don't get used to it. I still think you're an insufferable show-off."

Dazai laughed. "Fair enough. But maybe, just maybe, you'll come to see my charm eventually."

Chuuya rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Don't hold your breath."

As the evening transitioned into night, the city lights outside the apartment cast a warm glow through the windows. Chuuya and Dazai found themselves in a surprisingly comfortable silence, the earlier tension dissipating into something resembling camaraderie.

"Well," Dazai said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning theatrically, "I suppose I should head home. Thanks for the tea, Chuuya."

Chuuya nodded, feeling an inexplicable reluctance to see him go. "Yeah, sure. Safe trip back."

Dazai stood up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I never did get a proper tour of your apartment. How about a quick one before I leave?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "You're just trying to prolong your stay, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Dazai admitted with a grin. "But I'm genuinely curious."

"Fine," Chuuya sighed, leading him through the apartment. "This is the living room, obviously. Kitchen's over there, bathroom down the hall, and these are the bedrooms."

As they passed Chuuya's bedroom, Dazai peeked inside. "Nice place. Very...minimalist."

Chuuya shrugged. "I’m going to travel a lot for work, so I don't need much."

Dazai nodded thoughtfully. "Must be nice, flying all over the place. See anything interesting recently?"

"Depends on what you mean by interesting," Chuuya replied, leaning against the doorframe. "I've seen a lot of cities, a lot of skies. It's different every time."

Dazai smiled a hint of wistfulness in his eyes. "Sounds like an adventure. I've always wanted to see the world from up there. Whenever I travel it's usually just on a tour bus"

"Maybe one day you'll get the chance," Chuuya said, surprising himself with the softness in his voice.

Dazai looked at him, something unspoken passing between them. "Maybe."

Before the moment could grow too heavy, Chuuya cleared his throat. "Alright, tour's over. You can go home now."

Dazai chuckled, but there was a warmth in his eyes. "Thanks, Chuuya. I appreciate it."

They returned to the living room, where Dazai gathered his things. Kouyou, sensing the change in the atmosphere, reappeared from her room with a gentle smile.

"Leaving already?" she asked, though she seemed to know the answer.

"Yeah," Dazai replied, giving her a quick hug. "Thanks for the invite, Kouyou. And for putting up with us."

Kouyou laughed softly. "Anytime, Dazai. Take care."

As Dazai made his way to the door, he turned back one last time. "See you around, Chuuya?"

Chuuya nodded, a small, genuine smile on his face. "Yeah. If we must.”

With that, Dazai left, the door clicking softly behind him. Chuuya stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, lost in thought.

Kouyou approached him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You two are something else, you know that?"

Chuuya shrugged, trying to play it cool. "He's annoying, but...I guess he's not all bad."

Kouyou laughed, patting his shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now, how about we finish that wine?"

Chuuya nodded, following her back to the kitchen. As they poured their drinks, he couldn't help but think about Dazai. Despite the bickering and the teasing, there was something about him that Chuuya couldn't quite put into words.

And maybe, just maybe, that was worth exploring.

"Chuuya," Kouyou began, breaking the silence, her tone gentle yet serious.

"Hmm?" Chuuya looked up, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor.

"I've been thinking a lot lately," she continued, setting her glass down. "About Dazai. About us."

Chuuya felt a pang of anxiety, but he kept his expression neutral. "What about him?"

Kouyou took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his. "I think I'm going to ask Dazai to be my boyfriend."

Chuuya's heart skipped a beat. He stared at her, a mix of emotions swirling within him. "You... what?"

"I know it might seem sudden," Kouyou said quickly, sensing his shock. "But I really like him, Chuuya. He's different from anyone I've ever met. He’s a gentleman. Do you know how hard it is to find a man who is chivalrous nowadays? I think we could be good together."

Chuuya took a long sip of his wine, trying to gather his thoughts. The idea of Dazai being with Kouyou felt like a punch to the gut, but he couldn't deny that they seemed to have a connection.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

Kouyou nodded, her eyes earnest. "I am. I really think there's something special between us. Plus it will be our third date soon. I would like to make things official. "

Chuuya sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If that's what you want, Kouyou, then I support you. I just... I want you to be happy."

A soft smile touched Kouyou's lips. "Thank you, Chuuya. That means a lot to me. It’s funny, at first I was scared that you were going to like him as well. That always used to happen when we were younger. But after today it was clear that there was no way you could like him"

They clinked their glasses together again, this time in a quieter, more reflective toast. As they sipped their wine, Chuuya couldn't help but feel a bittersweet ache in his heart. He wanted Kouyou to find happiness, but the thought of Dazai being a part of her life—so close yet so distant from him—was hard to bear.

Later that night, as Chuuya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He knew things were about to change, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. But one thing was certain: whatever happened next, he would be there for Kouyou, and maybe, just maybe, he would find his own path to happiness along the way.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The following week was a blur of activity. Chuuya tried to immerse himself in his work, but thoughts of Kouyou's impending decision nagged at the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the image of Dazai and Kouyou together, their chemistry undeniable, their connection growing stronger with each passing day. 

It was a difficult realization to accept, and Chuuya found himself grappling with emotions he couldn't quite name.

Chuuya found himself navigating the busy streets of the city, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and unease. He wandered aimlessly, hoping the fresh air might help clear his head. As he walked, he found himself back at the theater, its grand facade a stark contrast to the turmoil within him.

He stood there for a moment, contemplating whether to go inside or not. Finally, he made up his mind and walked through the doors. The familiar scent of the theater greeted him, a blend of old wood, paint, and the faint hint of lingering perfumes. He made his way to Dazai's dressing room, each step feeling heavier than the last.

When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before knocking. The door opened almost immediately, and Dazai's face lit up with a smile.

Once the door clicked shut, Chuuya turned to Dazai, his expression a mix of suspicion and challenge. “So, now that we’re alone, what’s your plan, Dazai?”

Dazai, who had been lounging comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow in feigned innocence. “Plan? I don’t have a plan. I just want to have a good time with Kouyou.”

“Cut the crap,” Chuuya snapped, his tone sharp. “You know as well as I do that you’re not just here for the fun of it. What’s your angle?”

Dazai’s face shifted slightly, the playful facade fading to reveal a more guarded expression. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Chuuya retorted, stepping closer. “You’re here, making a show of getting along with Kouyou, but I see through it. You’re trying to push me out of the picture.”

Dazai’s eyes narrowed, but he maintained his composure. “You think I’m here to sabotage you? That’s quite the accusation.”

“I think you’re here to make things complicated,” Chuuya replied, his voice filled with frustration. His gaze bore into him, searching for the truth behind Dazai’s mask. “Maybe you’re not doing it on purpose, but you’re still causing problems. Kouyou’s into you, and I don’t want to see her get hurt because of your games.”

Dazai’s gaze softened slightly, though he maintained his smirk. “I’m not playing games. I’m interested in Kouyou. But if you’re so concerned about her, maybe you should take a step back and let her make her own choices.”

Chuuya’s frustration flared. “I’m not going to just sit back and watch someone mess with her. Not when I know there’s something more going on.”

Dazai’s eyes flickered with something—annoyance, guilt, or perhaps both—but he quickly masked it with a casual shrug. “Look, if you think I’m some sort of threat, maybe that says more about your own insecurities than about me.”

Chuuya’s jaw clenched. “So you’re just going to play it off like it’s nothing?”

Dazai leaned forward, his tone growing more serious. “Maybe it’s not nothing. Maybe it’s complicated. But if you’re so sure of what’s happening, then you should trust Kouyou’s judgment. She’s not a child.”

“Dazai, she really likes you, she thinks you’re this amazing gentleman and perfect for her. I don’t know what you are doing but it is more than obvious that you don't have romantic feelings for her. You give her the same look that you give that goddamn actress every single night for your job. You’re not being authentic. She always falls for guys like you. Please, just don’t let this go any further” Chuuya pleaded.

Dazai scoffed. “May I actually like her. Have you ever thought about that? She’s pretty-”

“And what else about her?”

Dazai was silent.

“You don’t know a thing about her. You don’t know that she’s the type of girl to fall in love within just weeks of dating. You don’t know any of her aspirations. I doubt you even know her last name.” Chuuya was practically yelling.

Dazai’s silence was heavy, and his gaze shifted to the floor as if searching for the right words among the scattered patterns on the carpet. The weight of Chuuya’s accusations hung in the air between them, palpable and suffocating.

Alright,” Dazai said quietly, his voice losing its usual flippancy. “Maybe I don’t know all those details. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

Chuuya’s frustration surged. “Trying isn’t enough. You’re risking her feelings—her heart. She’s not just some passing fling or a role in your next performance. She’s real, and she’s invested. You need to understand that.”

Dazai looked up, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s with a depth that was rarely seen. “And what if I am trying to understand? What if I’m trying to figure out what I want, just like you are?”

The words hit Chuuya like a jolt, and for a moment, he was thrown off balance. He wasn’t expecting Dazai to throw the conversation back at him, but it was clear that the unspoken tension between them was more than just about Kouyou.

Chuuya’s voice wavered slightly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Dazai took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking. “I’m getting at the fact that we’re both trying to navigate feelings we haven’t fully admitted to ourselves. And maybe I’m not the only one who’s confused about what’s going on.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched, and his heart pounded. The room seemed to close in around them, leaving only the space between their bodies and the intensity of their unspoken emotions. He wanted to protest, to push Dazai away, but the truth of his feelings was too overwhelming to ignore.

“Dazai—” Chuuya started, but the words caught in his throat. He felt a surge of emotion, raw and unfiltered, that he could no longer keep at bay.

The door to the dressing room suddenly burst open, and Kyoko stepped in, her eyes wide with concern. “Dazai—what’s going on?”

The interruption snapped Chuuya and Dazai out of their intense confrontation. Chuuya quickly took a step back, trying to compose himself. Dazai’s expression shifted back to his usual nonchalant mask, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper.

Kyoko’s gaze bounced between the two, clearly sensing the charged atmosphere. “I heard raised voices from the hall. Is there something I should know?”

Dazai straightened up, adopting his typical casual demeanor. “Just a bit of a disagreement. Nothing to worry about.”

Chuuya shot him a pointed look but chose not to press further in front of Kyoko. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh. “I was just leaving.”

“Chuuya—” Dazai started, but Chuuya cut him off.

“Save it,” Chuuya said, his voice clipped. “I need some air.”

With that, Chuuya brushed past Kyoko and left the dressing room, his emotions a chaotic storm. He barely registered the concerned look Kyoko shot him as he walked out into the theater’s dimly lit hallway.

Kyoko turned back to Dazai, her expression stern. “What was that about?”

Dazai ran a hand through his hair, his usual carefree facade cracking. “It’s complicated.”

Chapter Text

Kouyou had approached Chuuya with a question that had been weighing on her mind. "Chuuya, do you think Dazai would have time for another date soon? I want to talk to him about something important."

Chuuya's heart raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface. He forced a casual smile. "Kouyou, Dazai's been really busy lately. Between the rehearsals and other commitments, he barely has time for himself. Maybe it's not the best time to ask him out."

Kouyou frowned slightly, considering Chuuya's words. "I see. I just... I really need to talk to him."

Chuuya's stomach twisted with guilt, but he nodded firmly. "I get it, but trust me, Dazai's plate is full right now. Maybe give it some time."

Kouyou sighed, looking disappointed but resigned. "Alright. Thanks, Chuuya,” She hesitated, “Is there something you aren’t telling me?

“About what” Chuuya huffed, his gaze fixed on the kitchen counter.

“I can't help but sense you have some sort of animosity towards Dazai and I being together” Kouyou mentioned, her long fingernails tapping the counter

Chuuya wanted nothing in the world than to avoid this conversation. He hated the fact that he couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for why Kouyou shouldn’t date Dazai.

“No. Seriously. It's nothing” Chuuya responded, faking a smile. 

“Chuuya…”

He took a breath, trying to make it seem as genuine as possible, “I don’t like the guy. That’s it.” 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

osamudazai

i have a ton of food here left from a fan. help me eat it? at the theatre now. try not to be so loud this time

c.nakahara

Coming. Just for the food though. 

osamudazai

come for me next? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

c.nakahara

ur actually done, gayass

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Chuuya found himself in the theatre once again. The sound of laughter drew his attention, and he turned to see Yosano and Kyoko chatting animatedly nearby. Their presence was a welcome distraction from his turmoil.

"Hey, Chuuya," Yosano called out, waving him over. "Join us for a bit?"

Chuuya smiled, grateful for the interruption. “You know my name?”

Kyoko smirks, brushing her hair over her shoulder, “We remember you from the party, plus Dazai loves to talk about you”

Chuuya paused

He talks about me to other people

Chuuya composed himself quickly, "Sure, what's going on?"

Kyoko grinned. "We were just talking about the upcoming Starlight gala. Everyone’s so excited about it."

"Yeah," Yosano added, "it’s going to be a big night for the theater. Lots of important people, lots of opportunities."

Chuuya nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He was about to say something when the door to Dazai’s dressing room opened, and the man himself stepped out, looking unusually serious.

“Dazai,” Yosano greeted him with a smile. “Join us! We’re talking about the gala.”

Dazai’s gaze flickered to Chuuya before he responded. “Oh really? I was just about to ask my date if they could come”

The two girls looked over at Chuuya, who hoped no one saw the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Chuuya..” Dazai started,

“...Would you…”

Holy shit.

“...Like to come with me..”

What the hell do I say

“To finish this food in my dressing room?” Dazai turned away to go to his room. Yosano and Kyoko stopped beaming, both giving Dazai looks of confusion. Chuuya followed Dazai into the dressing room promptly. 

In the dressing room, there were two full trays of sushi, which Chuuya stared at like he hadn't eaten in years. Dazai gave him a motion signaling that he could eat as much as he pleased. He took a plate and various rolls and started eating.

“So the gala…” Chuuya trailed

Dazai started setting up for the night’s performance, “It’s next Saturday. I’ve been to it several times before. It’s nice I won’t have to travel too far for it this time, it's just down the street from here”

Chuuya wasn’t satisfied, “The girls were talking about a date. You know who you’re bringing?”

Dazai breathed in, his mind clearly elsewhere, “Yeah.”

Chuuya waited in silence hoping for an answer of who it might be, yet Dazai wouldn’t budge.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The night’s performance went off without a hitch. Dazai was his usual charismatic self on stage, captivating the audience with every word and gesture. Chuuya watched from the lighting booth, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The tension between them had been palpable, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would bring some sort of resolution.

As the final curtain fell and the applause echoed through the theater, Chuuya made his way back to Dazai’s dressing room. He sat down in one of the plush chairs, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. The minutes stretched on, feeling like hours, until finally, the door swung open and Dazai entered, looking both exhausted and exhilarated. 

“Quite the show tonight, huh?” Dazai said, tossing his coat onto a nearby chair and flashing Chuuya a tired smile.

“Yeah,” Chuuya replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “You were great out there.”

Dazai’s smile faded as he took a seat across from Chuuya. “Thanks. Wanna go up top again? There has to be a couple of planes flying tonight for you and it’s the perfect place to smoke.”

“If you insist. Just as a thank you for the food tonight.” Chuuya acted like spending another hour with Dazai was the last thing he wanted to do. Dazai in return gave him a nod and then proceeded to take off his costume which Chuuya tried his hardest to stay distracted by his blank phone screen.

Once Dazai had changed into his street clothes, the two made their way through the winding hallways of the theater, their footsteps echoing softly against the walls. They climbed a narrow staircase that led to the rooftop, the night air cool against their faces as they stepped outside. The city sprawled out below them, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sounds.

Chuuya leaned against the railing, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Dazai, who took it with a grateful nod. They lit up, the glow of the embers casting a warm light on their faces.

“So,” Chuuya began, exhaling a plume of smoke. “What’s been on your mind lately?”

Dazai looked out over the city, his expression contemplative. “A lot of things. The theater, the gala, the future… everything feels so uncertain.”

Chuuya nodded, understanding all too well. “Yeah, I get that. It feels like we’re always balancing on the edge of something, never quite sure what’s going to happen next.”

Dazai glanced at Chuuya, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You know, despite all the uncertainty, I’m glad we’ve had moments like this. It’s grounding, in a way.”

Chuuya chuckled softly. “You’re getting sentimental on me, Dazai.”

Dazai laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Maybe I am. But it’s true. Sometimes, in the chaos of everything, it’s these quiet moments that matter the most.”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The next day, Chuuya was prepping a simple lunch in the kitchen when he felt a presence behind him. He turned to see Kouyou, her expression calm but her eyes betraying a hint of disappointment.

"Kouyou," Chuuya greeted, a bit surprised to see her. "What’s up?"

Kouyou crossed her arms, her gaze steady. "So- you and Dazai were out together last night."

Chuuya's heart skipped a beat. He had hoped she wouldn’t find out, at least not so soon. "Yeah, we were just... catching up. He had some food from a fan and asked if I wanted to help him eat it."

Kouyou raised an eyebrow. "Catching up? Chuuya, you told me Dazai was too busy for another date. And now I find out you two were hanging out instead?"

Chuuya felt a wave of guilt wash over him. "Kouyou, I—"

She interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "I just want to know why you lied to me."

Chuuya ran a hand through his ginger hair, searching for the right words. "I didn’t lie, Kouyou. Dazai really has been busy, but... I guess he made some time for me last night. It wasn’t planned."

Kouyou's eyes narrowed slightly, but she remained composed. "I see. It’s just... frustrating, Chuuya. I needed to talk to him about something important, and you made it seem like he had no time for anyone."

Chuuya sighed, feeling the weight of his actions. "I’m sorry, Kouyou. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you. I just... didn’t want you to get hurt."

Kouyou studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "I know you’re trying to protect me, Chuuya. But you need to trust that I can handle things on my own."

Chuuya nodded, his voice quiet. "You’re right. I should’ve been more honest with you."

Kouyou sighed, her demeanor relaxing. "Just... next time, don’t keep things from me. I value our friendship, Chuuya, but I need you to trust me too."

"I will," Chuuya promised, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt. "I’m sorry, Kouyou. Really."

“I think we need some time apart," Kouyou said, her gaze shifting downward to her nails, which she examined as if they held the answers to her sudden resolution. "You need to get over the fact that I’m going to be with Dazai if he says yes. Your resentment for him is getting in the way of my own relationship with him. I couldn’t even enjoy a day out without you two fighting. I know it may be a bit hard to do when we’re in the same cramped apartment, but I think we should be less invested in each other's lives.”

Chuuya's heart sank at her words, the reality of what she was saying hitting him hard. "Kouyou, I..."

She held up a hand, stopping him. "No, Chuuya. I need this. We both do. It's not healthy for us to be so entangled in each other's personal lives."

He looked at her, feeling a mix of sadness and understanding. "If that's what you need, then I'll respect it. I want you to be happy, Kouyou."

Kouyou offered a small, sad smile. "I want you to be happy too, Chuuya. Maybe some space will help us both find that."

Chuuya nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Yeah, maybe it will."

With that, Kouyou turned and walked back to her room, leaving Chuuya alone in the kitchen. He stared at the half-prepared lunch, his appetite gone.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

A few days had passed since Chuuya and Kouyou's conversation, and the apartment had taken on an air of uneasy quiet. They had both made efforts to keep to themselves, respecting the space Kouyou had asked for. Tonight, Kouyou had invited Dazai over for dinner, and Chuuya found himself retreating to his room, trying to give them privacy.

Chuuya lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had a book open in his lap, but his mind kept drifting to the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting from the kitchen. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, even though he knew he had no right to.

The murmur of voices grew clearer as Chuuya shifted closer to the door, unable to resist the urge to eavesdrop. He heard the clinking of dishes and the soft cadence of Kouyou's voice mixed with Dazai's deeper tones.

"So, Kouyou," Dazai's voice carried through the thin walls, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Chuuya's heart rate quickened, his ears straining to catch every word.

"Oh?" Kouyou's voice was light, curious. "What is it?"

Dazai hesitated, then continued, "Would you be my date to the Starlight Gala? It’s this Saturday at 8."

There was a brief silence, and Chuuya could almost picture Kouyou's puzzled expression. But before he could hear her response, a loud crash from his side table startled him. He had knocked over a glass of water, and it shattered on the floor, the sound echoing in the small room.

"Chuuya?" Kouyou's concerned voice came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't face them right now, not after what he had just overheard and not with the raw emotions coursing through him. He grabbed his jacket and made a beeline for the front door, ignoring the broken glass.

"Chuuya, wait!" Kouyou called after him, but he was already out the door, the cool night air hitting his face as he stepped into the street.

He needed to get away, to clear his mind and drown out the turmoil inside him. The nearest bar was just a few blocks away, and he found himself walking there almost on autopilot. The familiar neon sign welcomed him like an old friend, and he pushed through the door, seeking light in the dim room.

Chuuya slid onto a barstool and ordered a drink, trying to shake off the image of Dazai and Kouyou together. He took a deep sip, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest. He knew he needed to find a way to move forward, but he only wanted to forget right now.

Back at the apartment, Kouyou stood in the hallway, staring at the door Chuuya had just slammed shut. She sighed, turning back to Dazai, who looked concerned.

"Is he alright?" Dazai asked genuine worry in his eyes.

Kouyou shook her head. "I don't know. He’s been on edge lately."

Dazai nodded, then hesitated before speaking again. "About the gala... If you're not comfortable—"

Kouyou interrupted him gently. "I appreciate the offer, Dazai, but I can't make it. As much as I would love to, I have other commitments that night. I’m very sorry."

Dazai nodded, "I understand. Maybe another time."

Back at the bar, Chuuya's phone buzzed with messages from Kouyou, but he ignored them. He couldn't face her right now, not after everything. He downed another drink, feeling the alcohol take hold, and decided to switch to something stronger.

"Another round," he told the bartender, who nodded and poured him a whiskey.

As he sipped his drink, Chuuya's thoughts turned to Dazai. He couldn't understand why he felt so threatened by him. Was it because of Kouyou? Or was there something more? The questions gnawed at him, but he had no answers.

Hours passed, and the bar began to empty out. Chuuya remained, lost in his thoughts and the haze of alcohol. He finally decided he had had enough and paid his tab, stumbling out into the night. 

Chuuya staggered down the quiet street, his mind a tangled mess of confusion and regret. The whiskey had left him feeling both numb and raw, and he was struggling to keep his thoughts clear. The night air was cool, but it did little to clear the fog in his head.

As he rounded a corner, he spotted a familiar figure leaning casually against a street lamp. Dazai. He was dressed in the same attire from earlier, the crisp lines of his slacks and button-down slightly rumpled from the evening’s events.

“Chuuya?” Dazai’s voice cut through the night air, a hint of surprise and concern in his tone. He pushed off the streetlamp and approached Chuuya, his expression shifting to one of genuine worry. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

Chuuya blinked, his vision swaying slightly as he focused on Dazai. “What are you doing here?” he muttered, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Dazai’s gaze softened. “I was just walking home from Kouyou’s place. I didn’t expect to see you out here. You seem... a bit worse for wear. Worse than how you usually look.”

Chuuya shrugged, trying to brush off Dazai’s concern. “Just had a rough night. Nothing to worry about.”

Dazai didn’t buy it. “You’re clearly not okay. Come on, let’s get you home.” He reached out, offering his arm for support.

Chuuya hesitated but then accepted the help, leaning slightly on Dazai as they began walking back. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken tension and the lingering effects of Chuuya’s drinks.

As they walked, Dazai kept glancing at Chuuya, his expression unreadable. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s got you in such a state?”

Chuuya looked away, not trusting himself to speak honestly. “Just... things didn’t go as planned tonight. It’s nothing.”

Dazai’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press further. “Well, it’s clear you’re dealing with something. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

They arrived at Chuuya’s apartment building, and Dazai helped him inside. “Thanks,” Chuuya said quietly as they reached the door to his apartment, trying to sound as nice as possible while wasted. “I appreciate it. Really you’re like…s’cool”

Dazai gave him a reassuring smile. “No problem. Just make sure you take care of yourself. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Chuuya nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. He opened the door and stepped inside, his movements heavy with exhaustion. He glanced back at Dazai, who was still standing in the hallway, watching him with a concerned expression.

As the door closed behind him, Chuuya leaned against it, closing his eyes for a moment. He appreciated Dazai’s kindness, but it did little to alleviate the storm of emotions inside him. He knew he had a lot to sort out, and tonight had only added to the complexity of his feelings.

He collapsed onto his bed, the events of the evening replaying in his mind. Despite his best efforts to forget, the image of Dazai asking Kouyou to the gala and Kouyou’s unknown response haunted him. The thought of spending the night alone in this state was unbearable.

He tried to focus on something—anything—to distract himself, but his thoughts kept circling back to the situation.

After a few minutes of restlessness, he heard a soft knock on his door. Groaning inwardly, Chuuya reluctantly got up to answer it. To his surprise, Dazai was standing in the hallway, his expression a mix of concern and something else—something Chuuya couldn’t quite place.

Dazai stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Don’t mean to be a stalker.”

Chuuya nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could feel the alcohol still lingering in his system, amplifying every emotion. “I’m fine. Really.”

Dazai studied him for a moment before taking a tentative step closer. “You don’t look fine. I’m worried about you, Chuuya.”

His resolve to keep things under control wavered, and he found himself inching closer to Dazai. The proximity only heightened the tension channeling between them.

“Chuuya? What’s wrong?” Dazai stood, staring down at the man who barely looked like he could speak, wondering how they let him be in charge of aircraft.

Chuuya hesitated, his pride warring with his fear. Finally, he spoke, his voice small and vulnerable. “I... I can’t sleep. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Dazai paused. This was certainly not on his agenda tonight.

The room was warm, the faint scent of Dazai’s cologne lingering in the air. Dazai motioned to the bed, and Chuuya sat down, feeling the tension in his body start to ease.

Dazai sat beside him, their shoulders touching. He tried to be as supportive as possible, even if it meant being a bit cliche, “You don’t have to be alone,” he said softly. “I’m here.” The words sounded awkward coming out of him.

Chuuya looked at him, his eyes searching Dazai’s face. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I... I just didn’t know who else to turn to. Please don’t call me pathetic. I’m just scared something will happen tonight. I can’t control myself when I’m like this and it makes me feel petrified.”

Dazai felt a new combination of emotions, some confused, some happy that Chuuya felt safe enough to be this open about this and some felt close to-

“You aren’t pathetic.” Dazai smiling gently, “You mind if I help you into something more comfy?” 

“Yeah- I. I’m sorry I’m a goddamn mess right now. My sleepwear is on the bottom drawer.” Chuuya responded, trying to get out every word correctly. Without a word, Dazai got a shirt and pants. He faced Chuuya and started taking off his jacket.

And then his undershirt. Dazai tried to keep his breathing at a normal pace and avoid looking at his tattoos. 

“Where is my shirt?” Chuuya patted around, frantic due to the liquor. Dazai got his sleep shirt and assisted Chuuya in putting it on. It was some old band T-shirt. The logo worn out, and loose seams.

“You are on your own for taking your pants off. Thats just…” Dazai trailed off when he saw Chuuya already lazily putting on his sleeppants. The ginger stared at the brunette, like he was observing every inch of him.

“Your inna…business outfit,” Chuuya cocked his head, “No good. Wear my clothes.” 

Dazai laughed it off. “Do you need anything else?” he asked softly.

Chuuya shook his head. “No, this is... this is good. Thanks.”

Dazai smiled and led Chuuya to the bed, pulling back the covers. “Alright, let’s get you settled.”

Chuuya slipped under the covers, feeling the warmth of the bed envelop him. Dazai adjusted the pillows, making sure Chuuya was comfortable. Then he moved to the other side of the bed and lay down, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that Chuuya could feel his presence.

The room was quiet, the only sound was the soft rhythm of their breathing. Chuuya felt the fear that had gripped him start to melt away, replaced by a sense of peace.

Just as he was about to drift off, he felt Dazai’s hand gently brush against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Chuuya turned his hand slightly, their fingers intertwining. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

But all that faded in the morning when Chuuya woke up alone, with no trace of Dazai even being there. 

Just a faint memory, and a horrible hangover.

Chapter Text

Chuuya woke before dawn, his alarm cutting through the silence of his bedroom. He had an early morning flight to catch, and the fog of his lingering hangover made the task seem even more daunting. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and went through his morning routine with robotic efficiency.

As a pilot, Chuuya had grown accustomed to early mornings and the hustle of airport life, but today felt different. The memory of that night with Dazai and the words they had shared lingered in his mind. 

Despite the awkwardness, there had been a strange comfort in Dazai’s presence. As he stepped into his uniform and grabbed his flight bag, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest.

Navigating through security and pre-flight checks, Chuuya forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The sky was just beginning to lighten as he and his co-pilot ran through the pre-flight checklist. By the time they were cleared for takeoff, the first rays of dawn were breaking over the horizon.

The flight was routine, a short hop to another nearby city and back, but the steady drone of the engines did little to soothe Chuuya's restless mind. He couldn't help but think of that stupid gala happening tonight, an event he had not been invited to. 

The thought of Kouyou attending in his place sent a pang of jealousy through him.

He knew he shouldn’t feel jealous of her. She was happy, and that should be enough. But the nagging feeling in his chest refused to go away. It had been almost a week since they last talked, and the silence between them only fueled his uncertainty. 

Were they dating now? 

The thought gnawed at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t want to know. The answer, whatever it was, could shatter the fragile hope he clung to.

He wrestled with his own emotions, the confusion of his feelings towards Dazai. When had it started? When had his irritation turned into something more? 

He replayed their interactions in his mind, searching for a moment when his heart had betrayed him. Every sarcastic comment, every shared look, every time Dazai had pushed his buttons—it had all meant something different, something more.

But admitting that he liked Dazai, even to himself, felt like stepping off a cliff into an unknown abyss. 

What if it was all a misunderstanding? 

What if Dazai didn’t feel the same way? 

Or worse, what if he did? 

The potential complications were endless and terrifying. And then there was her. She was happy with Dazai, and he didn’t want to disrupt that. He told himself it was better this way, that he should let it be.

Yet, every time he saw them together, laughing and sharing a moment, the jealousy twisted inside him, a constant reminder of what he had lost or could never have. It was a battle he fought in silence, each day more exhausting than the last. 

Usually, when he was piloting, he could push all personal thoughts aside. The concentration, and the precision required in the cockpit, demanded his full attention. Flying was his escape, his refuge from the chaos of his mind. 

But today, even the serenity of the sky couldn’t quiet his thoughts. As he navigated the plane through the clear blue expanse, his mind kept drifting back to Dazai, to the tangled mess of emotions he could no longer ignore. 

It was unsettling, this intrusion of his personal life into the one area he had always been able to keep it out of. He tightened his grip on the controls, silently willing himself to focus, to find the solace he so desperately needed in the clouds.

The return flight was uneventful, and as the plane touched down, Chuuya was already looking forward to getting home and collapsing into bed.

By the time Chuuya stumbled back into his apartment, the only thing on his mind was sleep. He stripped off his uniform, letting it fall in a heap on the floor, and collapsed into bed. The cool sheets were a welcome relief, and within minutes, he was out cold.

When Chuuya woke, the light filtering through his blinds had shifted to a warm orange. He groaned, squinting at the clock. 8:31 PM. He had slept through most of the day, but the rest had done him good.

He was reminded that the gala had already started.

Not like it matters at all.

The past couple of days he felt awful. How he treated Kouyou for his own selfishness made him truly regret the things he had said. These thoughts weighed on his mind. 

Then he realized he needed to apologize.

Now. 

Chuuya searched for anything that could be formal enough to go to a gala. He barely even knew how people dressed for these kinds of things. He went through drawers, only to find jeans and sweatpants.

There has to be some nice slacks somewhere.

He then looked at his pilot's uniform, still in a pile on the floor, and grabbed the pants from there. He then went into his closet to find some shirts that would do. He settled on a burgundy button-down, he had gotten for a wedding a couple of months ago. 

Chuuya paired it with a black tie to match the pants. As well as a couple of piercings. And a hat for some flair.

And he was out by 9:02 pm and decided running there would be easier than taking a car in this traffic. He navigated his way, running through the lights, his mind only focused on Kouyou.

And Dazai.

But he shook the idea of Dazai out of his head as he passed the local movie theater, a couple of shops, and a cafe. Finally, he was there.

It seemed like a spectacle. There were still cars out front dropping off people who seemed to be big names. 

Chuuya quickly realized he didn’t fit in here. He hesitated wondering if he should just turn back now. 

Chuuya stood at the edge of the grand entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. The elegant facade of the gala venue loomed before him, a stark contrast to his makeshift formal attire. Doubt gnawed at him, urging him to retreat, but the need to apologize to Kouyou pushed him forward.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his hat and walked briskly towards the entrance. As he approached, he saw the doorman eyeing him suspiciously. Chuuya tried to muster a confident smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Invitation, please,” the doorman requested, his voice polite but firm.

Chuuya reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He knew he had no invitation, but he hoped the doorman might be swayed. “Listen, I know I’m not on the list, but I really need to get in. It’s important.”

The doorman’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry, sir. No invitation, no entry.”

Frustration surged through Chuuya. He fished out a few large bills and discreetly offered them to the doorman. “Please, just this once. I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

The doorman hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. After a moment, he nodded subtly and stepped aside. 

“Thank you,” Chuuya said with relief, thanking the universe for how quick and easy that was.

The ballroom was a dazzling spectacle of glittering gowns and sharp suits, the air filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Chuuya’s eyes darted around the room, searching for Kouyou. He weaved through the crowd, his heart pounding with urgency.

Minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of her. His anxiety grew with each passing second. Had she already left? Was she even here?

As he maneuvered through the throng of elegantly dressed guests, he felt someone bump into him hard. He stumbled slightly and turned to see Dazai, his eyes wide with surprise before a familiar smirk settled on his lips. He was dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit that had been tailored to fit him just right.

“Well, if it isn’t Chuuya. Crashed the party, did you?” Dazai quipped, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Chuuya ignored the jibe, his expression serious. “We need to talk. Now.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow but nodded, excusing himself from the group he had been entertaining. As they moved to a quieter corner of the ballroom, Dazai turned to face Chuuya, his expression more serious. “What’s so urgent that you had to sneak in here?”

Chuuya took a deep breath, meeting Dazai’s gaze head-on. “I need to apologize to Kouyou. I’ve been a shit person to her.”

Dazai’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a more contemplative look. “She’s not here, Chuuya.”

Chuuya blinked in surprise. “What? Where is she?”

“I asked her to come but she said she had prior commitments. I don’t know where she is,” Dazai explained.

“So you have not even an idea?” Chuuya asked

Dazai shook his head in response, taking a sip of his drink, “I mean you are here, you might as well enjoy the night”

Chuuya looked up at Dazai, eyes full of sorrow, “I can’t. It would be wrong and I can’t-”

“I’m sure that can wait until the morning, okay? Just enjoy the night with me,” Dazai leaned and spoke in his ear, “Plus I know of an afterparty”

“Just one hour,” Chuuya told him.

“Just one hour,” Dazai affirmed, giving him a soft smile along with a glass of champagne from the table.

Chuuya accepted with a sigh, his eyes lingering on Dazai’s for a moment longer than necessary. He couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt toward Dazai, but the weight of his unresolved guilt over Kouyou kept him from fully relaxing.

Dazai’s smile widened, “That’s the spirit, Chuuya. Let’s make the most of it.”

They navigated through the crowd together, Dazai leading the way with an easy grace that contrasted sharply with Chuuya’s tense demeanor. Despite his earlier apprehension, Chuuya couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer extravagance of the event.

Dazai seemed to know everyone, effortlessly slipping into conversations and drawing laughter from those around him. Chuuya observed from the sidelines, feeling like an outsider in this world of glittering socialites. But whenever Dazai’s gaze found his, there was a warmth that made him feel less out of place.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

From glass to glass to conversation to conversation, time moved at a quickening pace. Chuuya soon loosened up, feeling at peace here in this place so far from his reality, but so familiar to those around him.

Chuuya clung to Dazai throughout the night until he told him that he needed to leave for a second. He left him with Kyoko, Yosano, and a blonde man that Chuuya didn’t recognize.

“Chuuya! What a surprise!” Yosano exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, I, uh, managed to get in last minute,” Chuuya replied, glancing around. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” Kyoko said with a warm smile. “This is Kunikida, our stage manager. Kunikida, this is Chuuya, a friend of ours. He’s Dazai’s date”

Dazai’s date?

Kunikida gave a polite nod, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Chuuya.”

Chuuya shook his hand firmly. “Likewise. So, how’s the show going? I heard Moulin Rouge is a hit.”

Kyoko beamed. “It’s been fantastic. It’s all been so exhilarating. I’ve played many roles but I’ve never done anything like this.”

“For me it's exhausting. I love it don’t get me wrong,” Yosano looks around quickly, “, but Mori, our director, works us like crazy. I barely get a break.”

Kunikida nodded in agreement, “Keeping everything running smoothly backstage is a challenge, but it’s rewarding. Every performance feels like a new accomplishment.”

As Chuuya relaxed into the conversation, Kunikida turned to him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, this week marks our final performances in Yokohama."

Chuuya blinked, the statement catching him off guard. "Final performances? What do you mean?"

Kyoko nodded, a hint of sadness in her smile. "Yeah, after this week, we're packing up and heading to Osaka for the next leg of the tour."

Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat. The news hit him harder than he expected. "I didn't realize it was already time to move." He faked a smile.

Yosano sighed. "It's been a whirlwind here, but all good things must come to an end, right? Osaka's next on the list, and we're hoping for an even bigger turnout."

Chuuya’s thoughts raced. If the show was moving, that meant Dazai would be leaving too. The idea of Dazai being gone, possibly out of reach, twisted something deep inside him. Osaka was seven hours away. He also questioned the fact that Dazai didn’t tell him that he would be leaving in a week. 

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar figure. Dazai was standing near the bar, his easy smile and effortless charm drawing people toward him like moths to a flame.

Without thinking, Chuuya excused himself from the conversation with Yosano, Kyoko, and Kunikida and made his way over to Dazai. His pulse quickened with every step, a mix of anger and desperation fueling his movements.

“Dazai,” he called out, his voice low but firm.

Dazai turned, his smile fading slightly when he saw the look on Chuuya’s face. 

“Is it true? Is the show really leaving Yokohama in a week?” Chuuya said, his gaze intense

Dazai’s expression shifted, a flicker of something—surprise, regret, or maybe guilt—crossing his features. He nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s right. We’re moving on to Osaka next.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “And you were just going to leave without saying anything?”

Dazai sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Chuuya, it’s not that simple. There are things I can’t discuss right now.”

Chuuya crossed his arms, his frustration mounting. “What do you mean ‘things you can’t discuss’? You’re leaving, Dazai. You owe me more than vague excuses.”

Dazai looked at him, mouth open, unknowing of what to say.

Chuuya felt a wave of emotions crash over him—anger, sadness, betrayal. “So you were just going to disappear? Do you do this shit in every town you visit? You meet some random people, give them friendship or whatever the fuck we have going on and you just leave?”

Dazai paused, “I’ll explain everything later. I promise. I have to go now.”

Chuuya watched him leave. His hands started to shake. He looked around at these people who paid no attention to him. He then heard a booming voice coming from a small platform at the beginning of the ballroom.

“Hello all, thank you so much for coming out tonight. Directors like me appreciate it very much.” the announcer said. Chuuya paid no mind to it as there had been multiple of these that night. Each is a different director of a play or musical thanking everyone for coming in their own words. This man was just like the rest, however it seemed like his presence hushed the crowd more than the others.

He continued, “As you may know my show, Moulin Rouge is playing right down the street from here. As well as that, we only have a week left in that theatre before we head off to Osaka.”

This got many cheers. Chuuya simply made his way to the bar for something stronger than champagne.

So everyone knows but me.

“We actually have an announcement tonight regarding that. I am very proud to announce that our very own Christian and Satine, played by Osamu Dazai and Kyoko Minotozaki will be moving to New York City to perform for a six week run, while we are in Osaka. We are very proud of them for these accomplishments and will continue to cheer on Osamu Dazai as he makes his Broadway debut.”

New York City.

In fucking America.

Across the world.

Chuuya stood frozen at the bar, the noise of the celebration around him fading into a dull roar. The room felt suddenly claustrophobic, the glittering lights and laughter grating on his nerves.

His grip on the glass tightened as he watched Dazai return to the group of admirers, his smile as charming as ever. How could he just go and leave everything behind without a second thought? How could he not tell Chuuya? The feeling of abandonment gnawed at him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly alone. 

Why did he care so much? When had Dazai become such an integral part of his life? The questions kept coming, each one more unsettling than the last. He had thought their connection was special, something beyond the ordinary. But maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he was just another stop on Dazai’s journey, a fleeting moment soon to be forgotten.

The thought was too painful to bear. He stood up abruptly, needing to move, to do something. He couldn’t just sit here and wallow in self-pity. He needed answers.

Chuuya marched over, the anger propelling him forward. “Dazai,” he called out, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Dazai turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Chuuya. “Chuuya, what are you—”

“What the actual hell is going on,” Chuuya demanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Dazai excused himself from the group and followed Chuuya to a quieter corner. 

Chuuya took a deep breath, his emotions threatening to spill over. “You’re going to New York. And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Dazai sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Chuuya, I wanted to tell you, but listen I was under oath not to tell anyone because it was going to be announced tonight. It didn’t matter who you were, I couldn’t tell a soul.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened in surprise, his anger melting into confusion. “A contract? So, you couldn’t say anything?”

Dazai nodded, his eyes pleading for understanding. “Exactly. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but my hands were tied. I hate that it had to be this way.”

Chuuya sat back, processing this new information. “So, you’ve been keeping this from everyone?”

Dazai nodded again. “Yes. It’s been incredibly frustrating, but I had no choice. I couldn’t even tell the cast. Please understand, Chuuya, I never wanted to keep you in the dark.”

Chuuya sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I get it. I just wish you could’ve found a way to let me know without breaking any rules. I hate to say this now and even say this in general but I suppose I may be the slightest bit proud of you for making it to New York City.”

Dazai beamed, it was genuine. Not one of those smiles he gave when Mori announced the news or the smile he gives girls after he gives them a superficial compliment.

“Thank you for saying that. I’m excited though. It will open up other opportunities for me” Dazai explained, getting up from his seat. Chuuya followed him, as he made it back to his usual group of friends, who were all getting ready to leave. 

“Afterparty?” Dazai asked

“Afterparty.” The two girls said in unison as Kunikida gave them a look that only meant disapproval. 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

It was a short walk away from the club where the afterparty was being held. It was a change of pace from the gala. The afterparty was a stark contrast to the elegance of the gala, with its pulsating lights, booming music, and vibrant crowd.

The four walked in together. Yosano and Kyoko quickly adjusted, almost immediately going to the center to dance. It wasn’t long before they motioned Dazai and Chuuya over.

And it wasn’t long after that that they all took shots.

And two more shots after that.

Dazai raised an eyebrow at Chuuya, “Well, Chuuya, ready to dance?”

Chuuya shook his head, a genuine laugh escaping him. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

Dazai’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to let loose some time.”

Chuuya hesitated but then nodded. “Alright, fine. Just this once, you asshole”

Dazai grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor. The music throbbed around them, the bass vibrating through their bodies. Dazai’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Chuuya found himself moving to the beat, laughing despite himself.

As the night wore on, Chuuya felt a strange sense of liberation. The club’s energy, combined with Dazai’s unwavering presence, and possibly the alcohol consumed, made him forget his worries, if only for a little while. He realized that in this moment, surrounded by friends he barely knew, and the pulsing rhythm of the music, he was truly happy.

Chuuya and Dazai found themselves at the bar again, ordering another round of drinks. Dazai handed Chuuya a whiskey, their fingers brushing momentarily. The brief contact sent a jolt through Chuuya, and he quickly looked away, hoping Dazai hadn’t noticed the effect it had on him.

They leaned against the bar, sipping their drinks in companionable silence. The alcohol was beginning to take its toll on Chuuya, making him bolder, and more willing to confront the feelings he had been trying to suppress all night.

“Dazai,” Chuuya whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I hate to confess this but, I don’t want you to go.”

Dazai’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked as if he might say something profound. But instead, he pulled Chuuya into a tight embrace, holding him close. Chuuya buried his face in Dazai’s shoulder, feeling the warmth and solidity of his presence.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dazai murmured into Chuuya’s ear. “Not tonight. Let’s just enjoy this moment.”

Chuuya nodded, his grip on Dazai tightening. The tension between them and unresolved feelings hung in the air, but for now, they could just be two random people hugging at the bar of a club. The music, the lights, and the world around them faded into the background as they stood together, finding a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

They finished their drinks, and Dazai took Chuuya’s hand and led him to the backyard area- a small nook meant for smokers but was perfect for getting fresh air. It was just the two of them.

“Dazai,” Chuuya began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I need to ask you something.”

Dazai’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in Chuuya’s tone. “What is it, Chuuya?”

Chuuya looked down, gathering his thoughts before meeting Dazai’s eyes again. “Why didn’t you invite me to the gala if you didn’t have a date?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged with the underlying tension that had simmered between them all night. Dazai’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened with a hint of regret.

“Chuuya, I…” Dazai started, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. He took a step closer, his expression earnest. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want you there. Believe me, I did.”

Dazai paused, trying to find the right words in his brain.

“You were my first choice. I know that's awful to say because you’re friends with Kouyou. You were though. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I guess I would be scared of claims of be being gay. I can’t let something like that ruin my reputation that I finally got. I’m sorry Chuuya, I am. I can sing and be vulnerable in front of thousands of people, yet I couldn’t have had the courage to ask you to be my date for one night.” Dazai confessed.

“I understand and if you-” Chuuya began, his voice filled with a mix of understanding and hurt.

“Come to New York City with me.” Dazai stopped him, his voice being dead serious.

Chuuya blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Come to New York City with me,” Dazai repeated, his eyes never leaving Chuuya’s. “Let’s get away from all this. ”

Chuuya stared at Dazai, searching his face for any sign of a joke, but all he saw was earnestness and a glimmer of hope. “Dazai, that’s… that’s a huge step. What about everything here? My work…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dazai said, his voice filled with determination, “It’s just six weeks, transportation, housing, and food is provided by the company. There’s an airport in Queens, which is around a half hour from where we are staying. I researched it all last night.”

Chuuya was in utter shock. He loved Yokohama but had never been outside of Japan, except on quick flights to neighboring countries. And the apartment was just so stuffy. And he was sick of seeing the same thing every day like his life was on repeat.

And he researched.

He had thought about this while sober.

Chuuya took some deep breaths, in heavy contemplation. The idea of leaving everything behind was daunting. His whole life was in Yokohama.

Dazai noticed the lack of response, “Chuuya, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up. Like who am I to think you would want to go with me? We barely know each other. I just thought it would be fun.”

He took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on him. But then, a sense of calm washed over him.

“Okay,” Chuuya said softly, a small smile forming on his lips. “Let’s do it. Let’s go to New York.”

Not a second later, Dazai presses his lips against Chuuya’s. Surprising them both, but not enough for them to pull away instantly.

They detached, both of their faces in a harsh blush, but they’ll blame it on the alcohol. Their pupils were dilated but they’ll blame it on secondhand smoke.

“We should uhm go back…” Dazai started

“Oh, totally,” Chuuya stood there, the shock still not setting in.

They gazed at each other for a second before Chuuya took Dazai’s hand and dragged him in for another kiss.

This kiss was different—deeper, more deliberate. It was as if they were both pouring all their emotions into it. The world around them ceased to exist, and it was just the two of them, lost in each other.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Chuuya’s eyes searched Dazai’s, finding the same mixture of surprise and desire reflected back at him.

As they rejoined the crowd, they had a newfound comfortability. They danced together, no longer in fear of what the other person would think. Every glance, every touch, felt charged with the promise of what was to come.

After what felt like an eternity, but was likely just a few minutes, Dazai leaned close to Chuuya, his breath warm against his ear. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

They ran through the streets, it being far after midnight. There were barely any cars on the road, leaving the two free of judgment.

“You’re so…tiny” Dazai mentioned through laughing. Chuuya stopped in his tracks, obviously upset by this comment.

“No it’s a good thing…get on my back, I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” Dazai responded, crouching so Chuuya could get on his back, which he eventually did after a few crude comments. 

Dazai was able to carry his weight like it was nothing and for Chuuya, it felt like he was flying even though he was only a few feet on the ground. Chuuya kept complaining about his hat nearly falling off, pretending like he wasn’t having the time of his life. Dazai let him down for a moment to ‘regain strength.’ 

Both were already out of breath from laughing so hard out of pure joy. Filled with adrenaline, they locked lips again, not caring about the world around them. At the same time kissing him felt so soon, yet so overdue.

They returned to their previous antics as Dazai arrived at his temporary apartment, with Chuuya on his back. Chuuya got down to inspect the place- it was surprisingly empty. 

Chuuya thought Dazai would be the guy to decorate every inch of space, even if he was in the space for a short while. He imagined books upon books everywhere, posters of old Broadway shows, and at least a couple of plants.

Yet it was bare.

“You can thank me, the interior designer for this place,” Dazai joked, taking a bow.

“I would love to see the before and after photos of this absolute transformation,” Chuuya said facing him, forcing himself back from kissing every square inch of his body.

Chill the fuck out.

Dazai chuckled at Chuuya's sarcasm, the soft sound echoing in the sparsely furnished room. "Well, I didn't want to get too comfortable," he replied, moving closer to Chuuya. "After all, I'm always on the move."

Chuuya nodded, his eyes taking in the minimalist surroundings. "I get it. No point in putting down roots if you're just going to uproot again."

Dazai's gaze softened as he looked at Chuuya. "But sometimes, you find reasons to stay," he murmured, reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from Chuuya's face. He treated Chuuya as if he were prized porcelain that was too delicate to touch. The touch was almost reverent as if Dazai feared that one wrong move might shatter the moment.

And Chuuya deposed how Dazai kept himself so composed when he, himself was experiencing a hunger he never knew he had.

Chuuya tried to focus on Dazai’s brown eyes- 

No, not brown.

They were hazel, soft, and deep, like those of a doe lost in the forest.

These feelings are terrifying, really. A whole new entity that Chuuya thought he didn’t have the capacity for. He already had love, and that was found through flying miles off the ground. He didn’t need anything else. 

Yet, here he was, standing in Dazai’s barely furnished apartment, feeling like the ground had been pulled from under him. The sheer intensity of his emotions caught him off guard, like being flung into the air without warning, with no sense of where he might land.

The air between them grew thick, almost tangible as if the weight of their unspoken words could collapse the sparse walls of the apartment. Chuuya’s heart pounded against his chest, each beat a reminder of how vulnerable he felt under Dazai’s gaze. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but words felt inadequate, too small to capture the enormity of what he was feeling.

Chuuya swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice. “What are you doing to me, Dazai?” he asked, his tone betraying the confusion and longing he struggled to keep hidden.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dazai replied, his voice soft but steady. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them until Chuuya could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “You’ve always had this effect on me, Chuuya. It’s like you’re a force of nature, impossible to ignore.”

The words hit Chuuya like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in their sincerity. He had always prided himself on being in control, on knowing exactly where he stood in any situation. But with Dazai, that control was slipping, eroding like sand beneath the relentless pressure of the tide.

Chuuya reached up and rested his own lips against Dazai’s once more. Neither of them pulled away. Chuuya’s hands went to Dazai’s hair like it was an instinct. 

Of course, Dazai’s hair feels like silk, it's like this man can’t have a single imperfection. 

In between various kisses, Dazai picked Chuuya up and hoisted him so Chuuya had his legs around his waist. The two tried to manage pecks but kept screwing up, causing embarrassed giggles and the occasional soft clashing of teeth. 

Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh into the kisses, the sound muffled against Dazai’s lips. The awkwardness, the clumsy attempts to maintain the connection between them, only made the moment feel more genuine, more real. For once, there was no pretense, no masks to wear or roles to play. It was just the two of them, tangled together, their emotions laid bare in every shared breath, every lingering touch.

He barely noticed that the two of them had moved until Dazai was fumbling with a doorknob, leading them into a bedroom. Similarly to the rest of the apartment, it was bare, but something about the two of them made even the dullest room feel so full of life.

Chuuya’s heart raced as Dazai carried him effortlessly, pressing him against the nearest wall with a gentle thud. Chuuya felt a shiver run down his spine. 

“Be more gentle on me? God knows what would have happened if you did that just a bit more rough” Chuuya teased, his voice husky as he leaned in to kiss the corner of Dazai’s mouth.

“You love it,” he shot back. Chuuya smirked, the familiar banter slipping back between them, though it was now underlined with something much deeper, much more real

“I do,” Chuuya admitted, his hands threaded through Dazai’s hair, tugging gently.

He tightened his legs around Dazai’s waist, his hands gripping the back of Dazai’s neck as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up emotion into it.

Dazai responded in kind, his hands roaming over Chuuya’s back, drawing him closer until there was no space left between them. Each kiss felt like it was pulling them further into each other, a tangled mess of desire and affection that neither of them had the words to express.

Dazai quickly undid Chuuya, taking him off oh his own self and letting him land on the bed. Dazai quickly joined him, their foreheads still resting against each other as they tried to steady themselves.

Chuuya saw the same hunger that he had in Dazai’s eyes when he started unbuttoning Chuuya’s shirt. He takes his time with each button, making sure not a single thread will be out of place. 

Chuuya grows impatient, wishing that Dazai would just rip the shirt instead of treating the shirt like it was hand-crafted by Christian Dior himself.

“You done yet?” Chuuya poked his tongue at the bottom of his cheek, observing Dazai as he undid the third to last button.

Dazai smirked, glancing up at Chuuya through his lashes, his fingers still meticulously working on the buttons. "Patience, Chuuya," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. 

Chuuya huffed, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the shiver of anticipation that ran through him. "You're such a tease," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Dazai finally reached the last button, and with a gentle flick of his wrist, Chuuya’s shirt was undone, the fabric parting to reveal his bare chest. Dazai’s gaze lingered on the newly exposed skin, his expression softening as he took in the sight before him. 

He studied his torse like it was a new script, trying to figure out what exactly to do with it. The material was completely new and something he couldn’t wait to work on.

He leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to Chuuya’s collarbone, then another to the center of his chest. Dazai’s eyes flashed up before removing the fabric over his chest and then pressing his lips on his nipple, letting his tongue glide over it. 

What the fuck have I done to be in this position where I am about five seconds away to letting a soon-to-be Broadway actor suck me off.  

Dazai remained to be careful, and not applying too much pressure on Chuuya. He had always seen himself as something fierce, untouchable, but Dazai made him feel like something precious, something worth holding on to. It was a feeling that both thrilled and scared him, but he found himself wanting more of it—more of Dazai, more of whatever this was between them.

Dazai worked his way up to Chuuya’s neck, leaving two bruised marks alongside his collarbone. He then got on top of Chuuya, straddling him. Chuuya’s upper half sat up, slipping off Dazai’s jacket that had been on for far too long. 

And then his vest. 

And then his shirt.

He didn’t waste any time doing this.

Pulling his shirt off his shoulders, he nearly gasped seeing the bandages covering his arms as well as creeping up his neck. 

Dazai quickly notices this change of behavior. “Fuck. I’m sorry. They’re just such a common thing for me that I forget sometimes. It’s okay if you want to stop,” Dazai tried pulling the shirt back on to cover a majority of the bandages. 

Chuuya didn’t allow this, however. He slid his shirt off and glided his hand softly over his arms.

“Seriously, it’s okay if you are freaked out. I’ll call an Uber and we can just pretend that nothing-”

“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice was calm yet firm, “I don’t mind them at all. On or off, I don’t care. You know I won’t judge.”

Dazai seemed shocked of the words coming out of Chuuya. His eyes were a mix of understanding yet confusion at the same time. 

Dazai’s breath hitched as he searched Chuuya’s eyes, trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words. The gentle touch of Chuuya’s hand on his bandaged arms was almost too much, a tenderness that Dazai wasn’t sure he deserved but craved all the same. For a moment, he just sat there, straddling Chuuya, feeling the warmth of his skin against his own and the steady rhythm of Chuuya’s breathing beneath him.

Chuuya’s fingers traced the edges of the bandages, exploring them with a light touch that made Dazai’s heart race. There was no fear in Chuuya’s gaze, no revulsion—only concern and a depth of understanding that Dazai hadn’t expected. It was as if Chuuya could see straight through the layers of bandages and into the heart of who Dazai truly was, and instead of pulling away, he was moving closer.

Before he could stop himself, Dazai leaned in, capturing Chuuya’s lips in a kiss that was far more tender than the ones before. It was a kiss filled with all the emotions he couldn’t articulate, all the gratitude and longing and fear that he had kept hidden for so long. Chuuya responded immediately, his hands moving to cradle Dazai’s face, holding him steady as if to say, ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

When they finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together once more. Dazai’s hands trembled slightly as they found their way to Chuuya’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

“I’m not used to this,” Dazai admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Letting someone in like this. It scares the hell out of me.”

Dazai took a shaky breath, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. He wasn’t used to this—being vulnerable, being seen, and being accepted despite it all. But with Chuuya there, holding him, it didn’t feel quite as terrifying.

Or so he thought.

“What am I doing?” Chuuya pulled back slightly, his breathing still heavy, but his mind now clouded with guilt. His hands, which had been so eager to explore Dazai’s body, now felt heavy with the weight of his conscience. He looked up at Dazai.

Dazai noticed the change in Chuuya’s demeanor, the way his body stiffened, and the hesitation in his eyes. He paused, his hands hovering over Chuuya’s skin, concern etching into his features. 

“Chuuya, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, yet tinged with worry.

“Dazai, you know whats wrong. You’re with Kouyou. God, you’re probably her boyfriend”

Dazai's eyes widened slightly at Chuuya's words, the weight of the accusation hanging in the air between them. He could see the turmoil in Chuuya's expression, the guilt and confusion warring with the desire that had just moments ago pulled them together.

“Chuuya, it’s not like that,” Dazai started, his voice low and earnest, trying to cut through the storm of emotions swirling around them. “Kouyou and I aren’t dating.”

“But you’re flirting with her. And she’s like my older sister. I can’t do that to her. It’s wrong,” Chuuya looked up at Dazai then, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and something else, something deeper. He knew that walking away from Dazai was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any less painful. “And don’t pretend that-”

“I broke it off with Kouyou. It was wrong to flirt with her and keep her going when I…” Dazai trailed off.

“Dazai, I feel in my gut that whatever this is- it's wrong. I’m sorry, walking away feels like the only choice I can make.”

“I’m sorry,” Chuuya whispered, his voice barely audible as he turned away, heading towards the door. “I just… I need some time to think.”

Dazai watched him go, a hollow ache settling in his chest as the door closed behind Chuuya, leaving him alone with the echoes of what could have been.

But those echoes weren’t just of loss—they were of doubt. They were screaming at him, pulling at the corners of his mind with a thousand possible reasons why Chuuya had left so abruptly.

His mind raced with a mixture of fear and anger, at himself more than anything else. How could he have let himself believe, even for a second, that he deserved this? Deserved Chuuya?

Dazai sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t help but replay the last few moments over and over again in his mind, searching for the exact point where it all went wrong.

Was it the alcohol? Had he been too intoxicated, too careless in the way he let his feelings spill out? Or maybe he had been too rough, too eager, and overwhelmed Chuuya, pushing him away in the process.

But the thought that gnawed at him the most, the one that refused to let go, was the bandages. The way Chuuya’s expression had changed when he saw them, the fleeting moment of shock and hesitation that Dazai couldn’t ignore.

He felt a surge of panic, the old insecurities clawing their way to the surface. The bandages had always been a part of him, a shield and a scar all at once, but now they felt like chains, holding him back, pushing Chuuya away.

Chapter Text

“I can’t…” Chuuya said under his breath while running away from the apartment. Running away from Dazai. Running away from feelings that would only get worse if he had gone through. His breath came in uneven bursts, his mind racing with everything that had just happened.

Lust. It was just a moment of lust for the two of them. Two lonely souls who needed comfort in each other for one night.

He didn’t want to admit that it was more than that—so much more.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He’d come so close, too close. Not just to sleeping with Dazai, but to crossing a line that he knew, deep down, would change everything.

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to admit that the thought had even crossed his mind. But the truth was staring him right in the face, and it was terrifying. Sleeping with Dazai wouldn’t just be a meaningless fling. It wouldn’t just be another night of passion he could forget in the morning. Not with him.

Because Dazai wasn’t just anyone. He had never been.

Chuuya felt a knot form in his stomach as he started walking down the street, trying to create more distance between himself and the apartment. The further he got, the more he hoped he could escape those feelings.

But no matter how far he walked, the weight of it all stayed with him.

“What the hell was I thinking?” Chuuya muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. He kept his eyes forward, though his mind was spinning in circles.

He loathed Dazai. 

He didn’t actually loathe Dazai.

But he loathed the way that he made him feel. 

There’s a name for guys like Dazai.

Fuckboys.

Motherfucker probably has one-night stands every night. It inflates his ego or something.

To Dazai, this would be something that meant nothing, yet to Chuuya this would be something that would confirm his feelings.

And that was exactly why he’d left.

Because if he hadn’t… Chuuya knew what would’ve happened. He would’ve let himself fall, completely and utterly, for someone who could ruin him in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Dazai wasn’t just another casual fling. He was a force of nature, one that could rip Chuuya apart from the inside out if he let him.

But that’s exactly what scared him the most: he could feel himself wanting to let Dazai in.

Chuuya swallowed hard as he thought back to the moment in Dazai’s room—the way their bodies had fit together so perfectly, the way Dazai had looked at him with something almost… vulnerable. That should’ve been a red flag, but instead, it only made Chuuya want him more. Made him want to strip away Dazai’s layers, the walls he kept up, and find out what lay underneath all that mystery and pain.

But that would mean letting Dazai in, too. And Chuuya didn’t know if he could afford that. Not when the stakes were this high.

About his own fear of falling too hard, too fast, for someone who could slip through his fingers just as quickly as he’d come into his life.

He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to lose himself to Dazai.

Kouyou.

How the hell is he going to explain the fact that he’s going on a six-week trip with the same man that she tried to date? 

Should he tell her that he nearly slept with him?

No that’s too much, even when they tell each other everything.

“Dammit, Dazai,” he whispered to the empty street. He stopped walking, glancing up at the stars as if they held some kind of answer to the mess he’d found himself in.

But they were just as silent and distant as always.

Chuuya exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of his own decision pressing down on him. He had done the right thing by leaving. He had to believe that. But the lingering warmth of Dazai’s touch still haunted him, the ghost of his lips still burning against his skin.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya quietly slipped into the apartment, careful not to let the door creak as it closed behind him. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to push away the memories of Dazai’s touch, his voice, the taste of his mouth.

But it was no use. It all lingered like a bad perfume.

As he moved further into the dimly lit living room, the soft rustle of fabric made him freeze. Kouyou stood in the doorway to her room, her silhouette bathed in the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the blinds. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but her eyes were sharp and awake, watching him intently.

"Chuuya," she said softly, her voice filled with that unmistakable warmth that had always been a safe harbor for him. “You’re back late.”

Guilt tightened in Chuuya’s chest, knotting itself around his lungs. He straightened up, hoping the shadows hid the exhaustion written across his face. "Yeah," he said, his voice quiet, not quite able to meet her gaze. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to wake you."

She stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his face. “I wasn’t really asleep.” She gave him a small, knowing smile, but her eyes held a deeper concern. “I was waiting for you. You nearly scared me half to death. You didn’t pick up any of my calls. If I didn’t know any better I thought you had a late night flight that didn’t go so well.”

She gestured for him to sit, and Chuuya obliged, sinking into the cushions of the couch. Kouyou joined him, sitting gracefully across from him, her eyes still gentle but probing.

“Chuuya,” she said softly, “you don’t have to tell me everything. But if something’s troubling you, I hope you know I’m here.”

Chuuya bit his lip, trying to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t tell her. Not all of it. Not about Dazai. Not about how close he had come to betraying her, as someone who had always respected and cared for her.

“Kouyou…” Chuuya began, his voice strained as he forced the words out. “I... I messed up. I don’t even know where to begin, but I feel like I crossed a line tonight. One I shouldn’t have.”

Her eyes softened, and she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, the touch as light as a breeze. "We all make mistakes," she said gently, her voice calm and soothing. "You’re allowed to be human, Chuuya."

Chuuya flinched slightly at that, guilt gnawing at him again. "Yeah, but... this feels different." He hesitated, his fingers curling into fists against his knees as he tried to steady his breath. "I can’t—won’t—tell you everything, but just know... I never wanted to hurt you."

A flicker of confusion passed over Kouyou’s face, and for a moment, she looked like she might ask him more. But then she smiled a sad yet understanding smile that seemed to pierce right through him.

“Chuuya,” she said softly, “I trust you. Whatever you did, I believe it wasn’t done with the intention of hurting me.”

Chuuya felt his chest tighten again, though this time it wasn’t just from guilt. It was the weight of her trust—something he didn’t feel he deserved right now.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The days following that night felt like a haze for Chuuya. His apartment had never seemed so quiet, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of the silence that now existed between him and Dazai.

Not a single word had been exchanged between them. It was better this way. At least Chuuya kept telling himself that. But the sinking feeling in his chest only grew heavier as the silence dragged on.

The upcoming flight to New York City loomed over him like a storm cloud. Chuuya sat in his living room, staring blankly at the half-packed suitcase on the floor. He hadn't made much progress; every time he tried to focus on packing, his mind wandered back to that night at Dazai's apartment. The heat of their skin against each other, the way Dazai's lips had felt on his own, the hesitation he had seen in Dazai's eyes when he pulled away. It was maddening.

"Fuck," Chuuya muttered, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t used to feeling this unmoored. Normally, he was the one in control, the one who kept his emotions in check. But with Dazai, everything felt messy, unpredictable.

He hadn’t even told Kouyou about him leaving for New York. He barely could look her in the eye after what had happened.  How does he even begin to tell her that he is leaving for six weeks with her ex-fling? 

He could cancel.

Canceling the trip seemed like the only way to avoid the emotional minefield he found himself in.

And things would go back to normal. 

He would just live his life, and forget about Dazai. 

"Cancel," he muttered again under his breath, as if repeating the word would make the decision easier. "Just cancel and move on."

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. Even if he stayed behind, the memories wouldn’t just vanish. The what-ifs would continue to haunt him, no matter how far he ran. 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Dazai stood in front of the large mirror backstage, staring at his reflection in full costume. The costume felt heavy on his shoulders tonight, heavier than it ever had before. His hair was perfectly styled, and the makeup around his eyes gave him that romantic, tragic air his character demanded. Yet no matter how he looked on the outside, he felt utterly disconnected inside.

The final show in Yokohama was supposed to be something to celebrate. It was the last night he'd step onto this stage as Christian before taking on the same role in New York City. It should have been exciting—a new chapter in his career, an opportunity to shine in one of the most vibrant cities in the world. But all Dazai could think about was that night with Chuuya.

The memory of it was seared into his mind, replaying over and over like a scene he couldn't escape. The past couple of days have been torture for him. He felt like he scared Chuuya off. He came on too strong and this was his punishment. Maybe the sight of his bandages, the pieces of himself he kept hidden from everyone, had been too much. Reaching out to him just felt wrong as Chuuya probably didn’t want anything to do with him.

Dazai exhaled slowly, leaning forward against the vanity, his palms pressing into the cold surface as he tried to steady himself. Chuuya had left that night because of him. It was his fault. He’d pushed too far, let his own feelings get in the way, and now... he wasn’t sure if Chuuya would even want to go to New York with him.

“Idiot,” Dazai muttered to himself, his reflection staring back at him with a hollow gaze. He had always prided himself on keeping his emotions at a distance, on never letting anyone get too close. And yet, somehow, Chuuya had slipped past all his defenses. He had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had, and now, Dazai felt like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t control.

The knock on his dressing room door snapped him out of his thoughts. “Ten minutes until curtain,” a voice called from the other side. Dazai nodded absently, though he knew the stage manager couldn’t see him.

It wasn’t the time to dwell on what could have been. Not now. Not when he had to step onto that stage one last time. But no matter how hard he tried, the nagging doubt persisted in the back of his mind: Would Chuuya still come to New York with him? Or had he ruined everything with that night?

“God, you’re such a fool, Dazai,” he whispered under his breath.

For the last week, he imagined New York City. Sure, thinking about the lights and performing in front of an audience that is half-way around the world excited him, but the thought that brought him the most amount of joy was Chuuya being there alongside him. He imagined Chuuya being in a crowd of faces, cheering him on. He imagined bringing Chuuya to all the places Kyoko has talked about. He imagined art museums, bakeries, and sightseeing- all with Chuuya there. He pictured Chuuya giving him flowers-

No.

Chuuya giving him after-show kisses-

Fuck.

Chuuya in the same bed wearing-

Get a fucking grip. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes now. Five minutes until the curtain rose and he would have to put on a mask of charisma and charm, singing his heart out to an audience that had no idea what was really going on beneath the surface.

Dazai stood up straight, shaking out his limbs in an attempt to loosen the tension that had coiled in his body. He would get through this show. He always did. He could bury his emotions deep enough to perform, to be the character everyone expected him to be. But when the lights went down, when the applause faded, he would still be left with the same gnawing emptiness.

Who knows what things will occur from this show to when he performs it next in just a little over a week? Things could be completely different by that time. 

Dazai took one last look at himself in the mirror, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “One more show,” he whispered as if saying it aloud would give him the strength to get through it. "And then... we'll see."

He glanced down at his phone, only to see that he was tagged in a video on Twitter.

Lily @bunn1ex251 - 5m

i’ve held back on sharing this but,, is this Osamu Dazai ? I don't know who the guy is-or possibly girl,, it’s blurry haha. 

[IMG.mov]

No.

No. No. No.

Dazai's heart stopped as he stared at the notification on his phone, dread creeping through his veins like ice. He felt a pit forming in his stomach as his thumb hovered over the notification. Everything seemed to slow down—the hum of the backstage crew, the distant sounds of the audience filing in, even the pulse in his chest.

It was dark and shaky like someone had recorded it in secret, but he immediately recognized his own silhouette, and there, unmistakably, was Chuuya. Thankfully it was only five seconds- only catching the end of a kiss along with some laughter.

Dazai swore under his breath, panic flooding him. He’d been so careful—always keeping things private, ensuring that nothing like this could ever be captured. But now, here it was. A glimpse into a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. And while the video was ambiguous enough to keep things unclear, anyone with half a brain could connect the dots.

Would this be the final straw? Would Chuuya completely cut him off, refuse to go to New York, and avoid him forever? His chest felt tight at the thought of never seeing Chuuya again, of losing that chance to make things right between them. Everything felt like it was slipping out of his control.

A knock came again at the door, which was more urgent this time. “Dazai, we need you on stage,” the Kunikida called.

He barely heard the words, his mind spinning with the consequences of what could happen next.

“Fuck,” Dazai muttered again, shoving his phone into his pocket and pushing away from the vanity. There was nothing he could do about the video right now. He had to focus on the show—just get through this last performance in Yokohama. Then, after, he’d deal with the fallout. 

He took a deep breath and headed out. 

Because what else can you do.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The bright lights of the stage blinded Dazai as he stepped into view, the familiar sounds of applause greeting him. But tonight, it felt different. Hollow. He could feel the weight of that video pressing down on him like a boulder, suffocating his every breath.

He tried to slip into character as he had done countless times before, to bury himself in the role. But tonight, it felt like he was dragging his body through wet sand. Each line he delivered felt flat, each movement stiff, like he was fighting against the chains of his own thoughts. All the audience saw was the glitz and glamor, the dazzling lights, and the illusion of perfection. But Dazai knew. He knew he was falling apart, and there was no way to stop it.

Would he see the video? What would he think? Chuuya had left that night because he was already afraid of getting too close, too entangled. Dazai could practically hear him now: This is exactly why I left. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus, to stay in character.

But the more he tried, the worse it got.

Halfway through a duet, Dazai missed a cue, his voice faltering. Kyoko shot him a glance, trying to cover for him, but the damage was done. He saw the confused looks from the audience, and heard the murmurs. It was like a slow spiral, the world closing in around him, suffocating him in its grip.

Everything was going fast and slow all at once. Dazai was finally at “El Tango de Roxanne,” meaning the end was somewhat near. 

In a majority of shows Dazai would sing it normally. At some occasional shows, where his voice felt comfortable he would do the option to sing higher than the usual notes, which was impressive in itself.

And then there was something he has yet to try- going two octaves higher.

This audience got a lackluster performance, the audience could feel it too. But now, with the climax of the performance in front of him, he had to do something to reclaim the night, even if it meant pushing himself beyond his limits.

As he approached the part where he usually sang with precision and controlled passion, a dangerous idea began to form in his mind: to attempt the high octave, the one he had never done in front of an audience.

Dazai’s heart pounded in his chest. His voice, already strained from the emotional weight of the night, felt like a precarious thread, ready to snap at any moment. But he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, pulling off this impressive vocal feat would salvage something—his pride, his reputation, or perhaps even make ticket sales rise.

As the tension in the music built, Dazai made the decision. He would go for it.

When the moment came, he took a deep breath, pushing every ounce of emotion he had left into the note. His voice climbed higher and higher, the audience holding its breath in stunned silence. For a split second, it seemed like he was going to pull it off, his voice soaring above the orchestra.

But then, at the peak of the note, his voice cracked—sharp and unmistakable. It wasn’t a small slip; it was the kind of break that echoed across the theater. The illusion shattered.

Dazai winced inwardly as he forced himself to keep going, his voice trembling. The audience, who had been mesmerized moments ago, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The murmur of whispers became louder, a reminder that he had failed to deliver the performance they had expected.

By the time the final note of the song rang out, Dazai was barely holding on. His mind was fogged with exhaustion, shame, and the image of Chuuya walking out of his apartment. The crowd’s applause was half-hearted, polite at best. They knew something was off, even if they couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Dazai barely made it through the curtain call. When it was finally over, he rushed offstage, his chest heaving, body trembling with adrenaline and frustration. He could hear the chatter of the cast and crew behind him, hushed voices discussing what had just happened, but he couldn’t focus on any of it.

He felt exposed—stripped bare not just in front of an audience, but in front of himself. He’d tried so hard to hide, to bury his emotions beneath the performance, but they had all bubbled to the surface, raw and unforgiving.

Back in his dressing room, Dazai collapsed into a chair, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His phone buzzed again, likely more notifications, more comments about the video or his performance tonight. But he couldn’t bring himself to check it.

What if Chuuya had seen it? What would he think now?

There was a party after the show. Dazai went straight to his apartment. What's the point of being at a party when all he wanted was Chuuya and to forget?

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya stared at his phone, the flight confirmation email open on the screen. The cursor blinked over the bold "Cancel Reservation" button. His thumb hovered above it, hesitating. He had been sitting there for almost an hour, unable to make a decision.

Cancel the trip, and everything could go back to normal. Stay in Yokohama, remain safe, away from Dazai. Away from all the mess his life had become after that night.

But the idea of never seeing Dazai again gnawed at him. He hated himself for it. Hated that, despite the guilt and the fear of getting hurt, he couldn’t stop thinking about Dazai.

Would he even want him there after Chuuya had stormed out that night? They hadn’t spoken since. Not a single word. Part of him wondered if Dazai had already written him off, deciding Chuuya wasn’t worth the trouble.

The thought made his stomach twist.

But maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to avoid Dazai completely, to not risk getting hurt again. Dazai could have anyone he wanted; why would he wait around for someone like Chuuya?

Chuuya exhaled slowly, moving his thumb away from the button. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.

He had something more important to do anyway- speak to Kouyou finally. He met her in the kitchen. 

He hated this—being vulnerable, being cornered by the truth he’d been avoiding. But Kouyou wasn’t someone he could hide from, not for long.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Chuuya said slowly, his voice low, the weight of his confession pressing down on him. He stared at the coffee cup, unable to meet her eyes. “I… I’m supposed to leave for New York City in two days.”

Kouyou blinked, surprised. “New York?” she repeated, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s a big trip.”

Chuuya swallowed hard, finally setting his cup down on the counter. “I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he admitted. “It was a last-minute thing... Dazai invited me to go with him for six weeks while he performs there. But…” His voice trailed off, the guilt clawing at him. “I’m not going.”

Kouyou’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Why not?”

Chuuya hesitated, his mind racing to find the right words. How could he explain everything without revealing too much? Without admitting the mess he had gotten himself into with Dazai? Without confessing the guilt that weighed him down every time he thought about going?

“I just... It doesn’t feel right,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I should go. It’s too complicated.”

Kouyou narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him. “Is this about Dazai?”

Chuuya flinched inwardly but tried to keep his expression neutral. “Partly,” he admitted, not wanting to lie outright. “But it’s not just that. I don’t think I should be there... with him. It’s a mistake. I can’t do that to you. You liked him almost enough to be his boyfriend.”

“Chuuya,” she began gently, her voice steady but kind, “you’re not responsible for protecting me from whatever it is you think is happening between you and Dazai. My... connection with him is in the past. And believe me, it wasn’t nearly as serious as you might think.”

Chuuya blinked in surprise, his brow knitting as he glanced up at Kouyou. Her calmness unsettled him. “But… you two—”

“I liked him, sure,” interjected smoothly, cutting him off before he could dig deeper into the past, “We had something, but it wasn’t love. If anything I was starstruck. It wasn’t what you were thinking. And plus I’m okay with you two still being friends. I don’t have any resentment towards him at all.”

Chuuya looked away, his fists clenching at his sides. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t fit the narrative he’d convinced himself of, the guilt that had gnawed at him. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to believe that he wasn’t betraying her somehow, that he wasn’t wrong to be pulled into Dazai’s orbit again.

“What do you fear about going with him?” Kouyou tried to get an answer out of him.

“Being on a plane.” Chuuya shot back sarcastically, his lips twisting into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. Deflection came too easily.

“I’ll let the nearby airports know that their pilot is scared of planes,” Kouyou teased, “But seriously—are you scared you’ll hate him by the end of this trip? I can’t remember going five minutes without a quarrel from you two.”

Chuuya sighed, “The opposite actually.”

Oh shit.  

Kouyou’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “The opposite? Do you mean that you-”

“No.” Chuuya’s response was immediate, sharp. Too sharp. “It’s not… it’s nothing like that. I didn’t mean—”

“If you have feelings for him I completely understand but-”

“I don’t.” 

Kouyou shot him a sharp glance. 

“Go to New York City with him. I insist,” She finally got out.

Chuuya blinked, her words pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. He glanced at her, a mixture of surprise and confusion crossing his face. He expected anger, or at least reluctance, but not this calm acceptance. “You… really think I should?”

“I do, but I have one request from you,” she said, her voice soft but firm

“And what would that be?”

“One last dinner together. I’ll be too busy tomorrow, let plan for tonight.”

Chuuya gave her a nod of approval.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Later that evening, Chuuya found himself sitting across from Kouyou at a quiet, dimly lit restaurant. It wasn’t extravagant—just one of their usual spots, somewhere comfortable, somewhere familiar. The clinking of silverware and the low murmur of other diners filled the air, but it all felt distant, like white noise to Chuuya.

He pushed his food around on his plate, barely touching it. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the conversation from earlier, then jumping to thoughts of New York City, and then—inevitably—back to Dazai.

Kouyou sipped her tea, watching him closely. She didn’t say anything for a long time, simply observing him with that quiet, steady gaze of hers. It made Chuuya squirm.

“You’re not eating,” she finally said, breaking the silence.

Chuuya shrugged, glancing up at her briefly. “Not really hungry.”

Kouyou raised an eyebrow. “You? Not hungry? Now I know something’s wrong.”

Chuuya scowled, though the corner of his mouth twitched in something that almost resembled a smile. “You’re not funny.”

Before Kouyou could come up with a response a waitress holding an empty tray came up to their table.

“Sorry if this is a weird question to ask but do you by any chance know Osamu Dazai?” She asked Chuuya, who was immediately taken aback by the name.

“What’s the reason?” Chuuya responded shortly

“I just…you look familiar,” She paused, just until the conversation got too awkward, Chuuya interjected.

"What?" His voice was low and cautious, not liking where this was going.

“Okay I lied, your hair just looks like the person who Dazai was caught with in this one video. Probably not you. Oh my gosh this is getting awkward, I have some orders to do, have a nice night,” The waitress tried to swerve away.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he growled, leaning forward, his fists clenching on the table. He had no idea what the waiter was referring to, but the idea of a video, of something like that leaking out, sent a wave of panic through him.

The waitress, sensing the sudden shift in Chuuya’s mood, immediately backed up, holding up her hands in a gesture of defense. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you, I just… Everyone’s been talking about this video of two people kissing on the street, and one of them looks a lot like you, and the other one is definitely Dazai. People haven’t figured out who you are yet, but, um, yeah…”

Kouyou’s eyes widened slightly as she glanced at Chuuya, but she remained silent, waiting to see how he would respond.

Chuuya’s head was spinning. His face felt hot, and he was sure the color had drained from it, replaced by a flush of embarrassment and anger. How the hell had a video of him and Dazai kissing gotten out? 

“You must be mistaken,” Chuuya ground out, his voice tight. “There’s no video like that.”

The waitress’s nervous smile faltered, and she shifted on her feet. “Uh… yeah, no, I’m pretty sure. I just watched it earlier. Sorry again, I didn’t mean to make things awkward.” She fumbled with the tray, mumbling something about the check before scurrying off toward the kitchen.

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Chuuya slumped back in his chair, staring blankly at the table in front of him. His mind raced with the implications of what he'd just heard. 

A video. 

Of him and Dazai. 

Kissing.

No one knows it’s me , he repeated to himself, as if that would somehow make this easier to process. But that didn’t make the situation any less volatile. It was only a matter of time before someone pieced it together.

“Chuuya.” Kouyou’s calm voice cut through the haze in his mind. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Chuuya flinched, his fingers still gripping the edge of the table. He hadn’t even noticed how tense he’d become. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice too sharp to be convincing.

Kouyou’s gaze was piercing, unwavering. “If you’re involved in something with Dazai, I need to know about it.”

Chuuya shook his head quickly, trying to find his footing in the conversation, but he was still reeling from the revelation. “There’s nothing. It’s just… It was one moment, and it wasn’t supposed to—” He stopped himself, realizing how much he was giving away with every word.

Kouyou raised an eyebrow. “A moment that was caught on video, apparently.”

Chuuya felt a surge of frustration, both with the situation and with himself. "It wasn’t supposed to be anything. It was a mistake." He rubbed his face, trying to gather his thoughts, but the weight of everything pressed down on him.

“A mistake,” Kouyou repeated, her tone unreadable. “Do you really believe that?”

Chuuya’s thoughts were racing too quickly to even respond.

Kouyou, sensing his hesitation, sighed in exasperation. She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her sleeve. “Chuuya,” she began, her voice softer but still laced with frustration. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Chuuya’s voice came out harsher than he intended, his temper flaring despite the guilt gnawing at him. He looked up at Kouyou, eyes blazing with a mixture of defiance and regret. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Imagine how I feel,” Kouyou shot back, her voice rising to match his. Her expression, usually so composed, was now tinged with genuine hurt. “If I’m adding things up correctly, you thought I still had feelings for Dazai, and you acted on your own selfish feelings anyway. Is that it?”

“I didn’t think it was like that,” he muttered, unable to meet her gaze.

“Then what is it?” Kouyou demanded, her voice sharper now, her patience thinning.

“I don’t even know what it is, okay?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the uncertainty he was trying so hard to mask. “I just… I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t think. It just happened. I was drunk. I only went to the gala to try and find you to apologize”

“You told me Dazai was too busy for me. You kept us apart. I thought it was because of his indifference, or because you were trying to protect me. But now I see it, Chuuya. You didn’t keep us apart because of him.” She paused, her gaze narrowing in accusation. “It was because of you.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you, I told you that I was going the gala to apologize. I just didn’t want to make things worse by telling you that I had feelings for him,” he muttered, his voice low, but Kouyou’s silence stung worse than any words she could have thrown at him.

“Chuuya,” she said after a moment, her voice softer now but still firm. “I trusted you. I trusted that you were looking out for me. But now? I feel like you just manipulated the whole situation. You never even gave me a chance to make my own decisions, and now you’re standing here, trying to tell me it was a ‘mistake’?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I messed up. It was selfish of me. I know I screwed up,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But you have to understand—this wasn’t just about you and Dazai. It was about me. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I thought keeping you apart would make it easier. For both of us.”

Kouyou's expression softened for a brief moment, but the anger quickly returned. “Easier? For you, maybe. But what about me, Chuuya? Did you ever stop to think about how I’d feel? About how you kept me in the dark for your own sake?”

“I never wanted to hurt you, Kouyou,” Chuuya said, his voice trembling slightly. “I thought… I thought I could handle it. That if I just pushed it all down, it would go away. But it didn’t. It only got worse. And now there’s supposedly a video of it.”

“Does Dazai know about the video?” Kouyou asked, her voice softening.

“I actually havent talked to him since that night,” Chuuya’s gaze remained down, as he pulled out his phone. His fingers moved almost mechanically as he opened Twitter, searching for Dazai’s name. The video appeared almost immediately.

The screen was flooded with likes, well into the thousands, and the video had been reposted on multiple accounts. Chuuya’s hands trembled as he scrolled through the endless stream of comments, each one adding to his mounting anxiety.

He replayed the video several times, unable to reconcile the image on the screen with the blurred memory of that night. Each replay felt like a fresh stab of reality, a brutal reminder of the chaos he’d let spiral out of control. The faces of strangers, the invasive scrutiny, and the undeniable proof of his actions filled him with a mix of shame and desperation.

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t him, that somehow, this was all a terrible mistake. But the more he watched, the more the harsh truth sank in—there was no escaping it. This was real. And it was out there for everyone to see.

“I’m so sorry, but I need to call Dazai right now.”

Kouyou’s expression softened with understanding, but her eyes still carried a hint of disappointment. “I think that’s a good idea,” she said quietly. He pushed his chair back and walked briskly to the restaurant’s entrance, slipping through the door and into the windy night air.

The restaurant’s ambient noise faded as Chuuya stepped onto the sidewalk, his heart pounding. He took a moment to compose himself before dialing Dazai’s number. It rang and rang until it eventually went to voicemail.

He cursed and then called again. It rang for a couple of beats and then eventually the familiar voice was heard. 

“Hello?”

“Dazai, it’s Chuuya,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. 

There was a pause on the other end, and Chuuya could almost hear Dazai’s processing thoughts. 

Chuuya’s grip on his phone tightened, his pulse quickening as Dazai's nonchalant tone reached his ears. “I know what you’re calling about. I’m getting it taken care of, to keep your identity safe and my reputation intact.”

The casual dismissal in Dazai’s voice sent a surge of anger through Chuuya. His entire body stiffened, and without thinking, he barked into the phone, “That’s all you care about? Your reputation?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, Dazai was caught off guard. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Chuuya hissed, pacing on the sidewalk, his worn-out docs striking the pavement harder with each step. “There’s a video of us, Dazai. The whole damn world is seeing it, and your first thought is about keeping things quiet? About protecting yourself?”

“You think I don’t know how bad this looks?” Dazai shot back, his tone still calm but with an edge now. “I can’t be seen in that way.”

“Are you not getting it?” Chuuya’s voice rose, attracting the curious glances of passersby. He gritted his teeth and lowered his voice, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Dazai. I didn’t ask for you to drag me into your mess.”

“Our mess,” Dazai corrected smoothly. “You kissed me too, remember?”

Chuuya’s chest tightened. “You don’t think I know that?” he spat. “But I didn’t ask for it to be plastered all over the internet! You could’ve stopped it. You could’ve done something to prevent this.”

“What do you expect me to do? Control every camera in the city?” Dazai’s voice dropped, the coolness cracking slightly. “Things happen, Chuuya. People saw. I’m handling it.”

Chuuya clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “I can’t keep pretending this is just some mistake we’ll laugh off later. I’m stuck dealing with the fallout while you—” he broke off, struggling to find the words. “You act like none of it even touches you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Chuuya.” Dazai’s voice was calm again, but with a tinge of anxiety “I’m touched by it more than you think. But I’ve learned to deal with it in my own way.”

“Then maybe stop acting like you don’t give a fuck about anything going on for once,” Chuuya’s voice cracked with vexation.

“I’m trying to remain calm about the circumstances. There is nothing I personally can do at the moment, and I’m sorry about that, okay?” Dazai’s voice stayed unfaltering.

Chuuya huffed, “I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. I’m just entirely stressed about the situation as well as the trip.”

“What trip?” Dazai asked without a single hesitation.

“New York City you dumbass.” Chuuya responded

Dazai’s voice was so soft, it came off muffled over the phone, “Even after all that you want to go with me?” 

“You could kill a guy and I would still want to go with you.”

Chapter Text

Kouyou insisted on driving Chuuya to the airport, but Dazai had other plans. Instead, he sent a sleek black limo to Chuuya’s apartment, the vehicle standing out against the gray morning sky.

The night before, Chuuya and Kouyou had finally made amends, tears shared between them. Chuuya had opened up about his feelings, his regrets, admitting more than he ever thought he would. Kouyou, still nursing her own hurt, had come to understand the tangled web of his emotions. Yet, despite her gentle prodding, Chuuya had refused to say the one thing she was waiting to hear: his feelings for Dazai. That truth, it seemed, was too raw to voice.

Now, as Chuuya stood outside his apartment building, his bags packed and ready, he was filled with a mixture of relief and unease. He was excited to see the world, to take this risk. But the fear lingered—how would this trip change things between him and Dazai? Their dynamic was already a complex mess. Was he ready to untangle His emotions were complicated. It was too complicated to confront before going on a six-week trip with him.

Kouyou waited alongside Chuuya, shivering from the morning cold. Neither of them was expecting a limo.

The driver stepped out and approached them, his demeanor courteous but professional. Kouyou’s eyebrows arched in surprise as she looked from the driver to Chuuya, her breath forming small clouds in the chilly air.

“This is quite the send-off,” Kouyou remarked, trying to mask her surprise with a touch of humor.

“You aren’t sending me off right now, you are getting in,” Chuuya motioned for her to come inside the limo. Kouyou rolled her eyes but complied, climbing into the limo’s lavish interior. It was every bit as over-the-top as she expected. The leather seats, the tinted windows—it all screamed Dazai.

As the limo glided away from the curb, Chuuya settled into the seat, feeling a wave of too many mixed emotions. The cityscape outside the window began to blur, the familiar landmarks merging into a haze. It was bittersweet watching his hometown recede into the distance. He knew that things would change while he was away, even if they were only subtle shifts—fewer blooms on the roadside, new billboards with fresh advertisements. The city would keep moving, but he felt as though he was standing still, trapped between the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future.

Kouyou watched him quietly, her gaze reflecting a mixture of sympathy and understanding. She remained silent, allowing Chuuya the space to process his thoughts.

Everything was setting in at once. It was ironic how much Chuuya didn’t travel being that his job was to do exactly that. He’d always found excuses not to travel—money, work, or simply the comfort of routine.

Kouyou finally broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. "Chuuya, you know I’m not one to pry, but... are you sure about this?"

Chuuya turned to her, meeting her gaze for a brief second before his eyes dropped to his lap, where his hands nervously twisted together. The truth was, he wasn’t sure. Not completely. How could he be? But he had already set things in motion. He gave a small nod, more to convince himself than her.

“I think I need this,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the car's smooth movement.

Kouyou regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, accepting his answer without further questioning. “Do what your heart wants. I insist.”

Chuuya laughed.

“I won’t” He responded, giving her a smirk.

When the limo finally pulled up to the airport, Chuuya felt a mix of anticipation and dread settling deep in his gut. This was it—the point of no return. He grabbed his bags and stepped out into the cool morning air, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Kouyou joined him on the curb, her gaze gentle as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, you’ve got a home to come back to.”

Chuuya smiled—small, but genuine. “Thanks, Kouyou.”

With one last hug, she stepped back, watching as he made his way toward the terminal.

He seamlessly made his way through check-in and security, anxiety getting worse with every second.He figured Dazai was probably waiting near their gate, and part of him wished they had more time to process everything before this journey. But time, as usual, wasn’t on his side.

Just as he stepped away from the security checkpoint, a gentle tap on his shoulder sent a jolt through him. Chuuya froze, a familiar presence unmistakable even before he turned around.

Dazai.

Slowly, Chuuya spun to face him. And there he was—standing as casually as ever, a smirk tugging at his lips, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. But there was something else in his eyes, a glimmer that caught Chuuya off guard, a brief moment of… relief?

And with that, memories of a couple nights ago rushed over Chuuya.

He was so goddamn good in bed and he didn’t even get to that point.

They stood there for a couple moments as Chuuya tried to get his mind off of that night. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected to see him, but somehow, seeing Dazai in the flesh made it all feel real.

“Speechless, Chuuya? That’s a first.”

Chuuya snapped back to himself, his expression quickly morphing into a scowl as he folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t get cocky, idiot. I just wasn’t expecting you to sneak up on me like that.”

“You know me well enough, you should be expecting it by now,” Dazai teased.

With an exaggerated sigh, Chuuya started walking toward their gate, Dazai falling into step beside him.

“Hey,” Dazai’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “You okay?”

Chuuya hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was enough for now.

Dazai didn’t push, and Chuuya was grateful for that. Instead, they walked in a kind of comfortable silence, their usual banter put on pause.

As they sat by the gate waiting for their flight to board, Chuuya found himself glancing at the runway outside the window. The planes lined up for takeoff, engines roaring, brought a sense of familiarity—one of the few things that made him feel grounded. Flying was something he knew inside and out, a control he understood in a world full of chaos.

Dazai, sitting beside him, had settled into a comfortable slouch, his eyes lazily following Chuuya’s gaze. "You know, you keep looking at those planes like you’re mentally critiquing them," Dazai teased with a smirk.

Chuuya leaned back, crossing his arms with a small huff. “It’s called knowing your craft. Unlike some people who just mess around all the time.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? So, enlighten me. What's running through your head right now, ace pilot?"

Chuuya shot him a sidelong glance but decided to humor him. "Well, for starters, I bet that 737 over there is pushing a CFM56-7B engine. The thing’s efficient as hell—uses up to fifteen percent less fuel than its older variants. But I can already tell it’s an older model from the way it’s lining up for takeoff. Newer planes have better avionics systems that smooth out the process.”

Dazai blinked, his smirk fading as he stared at Chuuya with a mixture of genuine surprise and curiosity. "I understood… maybe ten percent of that. Go on."

Chuuya couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his lips, finding it amusing to see Dazai at a loss. “Alright, here’s another one. See the way that plane’s taxiing?" Chuuya pointed out a distant aircraft. "The pilot’s probably compensating for wind speed. Looks like they’ve got crosswinds up to 20 knots. A good pilot can feel it and make those slight adjustments without even thinking about it. It’s all muscle memory.”

Dazai’s eyes widened a little, his usual nonchalance giving way to something like awe. “Muscle memory? You mean you just… sense the wind and know how to adjust? Like instinct?”

Chuuya shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal, but the hint of pride in his voice was unmistakable. "Yeah. It’s second nature after a while. You learn to read the instruments, but after a few thousand hours in the cockpit, you start to trust your gut just as much."

For once, Dazai was speechless. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at Chuuya with open admiration. “You’re like some king of gravity, huh?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, though the compliment wasn’t lost on him. “It’s just experience, idiot.”

“Nah, don’t downplay it.” Dazai’s gaze softened, impressed in a way he rarely showed. "Flying is complicated—there’s physics, mechanics, and instincts all working at once. And you… make it sound easy."

Chuuya didn’t respond right away, a bit caught off guard by Dazai’s sincerity. He cleared his throat, brushing it off with a casual wave. “Well, I didn’t get my license just to sit around and talk about it. It’s just what I do.”

Dazai’s grin returned, but it was warmer this time. “I’ve got to admit, Chuuya, I never pictured you in the cockpit, but now I’m kind of… impressed. Even more than usual.”

The boarding announcement echoed over the speakers, and they both stood, heading toward the gate. As they walked, Dazai couldn’t help but shoot another look at the planes outside, as if seeing them with new eyes. 

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The thirteen-hour flight stretched on, and with every passing hour, Dazai seemed to grow more curious, his energy unfazed by the time or altitude. Meanwhile, Chuuya, who had been ready to sleep the moment they hit cruising altitude, found himself trapped in an endless interrogation about planes. Dazai’s favorite trick was asking the broadest, most simplistic questions, just to watch Chuuya give the most detailed, precise, and sometimes exasperated explanations.

“So, what would happen if the engine suddenly just stopped working?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, fighting back a yawn. “Depends. Which engine? How high are we? Are we talking mid-flight or during takeoff? Because if it’s mid-flight and we’re cruising, we’d probably just divert to the nearest airport. If it’s takeoff, that’s a different protocol. We’d abort if we haven’t hit rotating speed, but if we’ve passed rotating speed, we’d have to commit to the takeoff and handle it in the air.”

Dazai leaned back, grinning. “Fascinating. And how often does that actually happen?”

“Rarely,” Chuuya muttered, his voice filled with exhaustion. “Planes are built with redundancy in mind. Even if one engine fails, there are backups, and procedures for everything.”

Dazai let out a satisfied hum, clearly enjoying the game of poking at Chuuya’s technical knowledge. But before Chuuya could finally close his eyes, another question shot out from Dazai’s mouth. “So… how did you get your start in flying?”

Chuuya’s eyes snapped open, and he turned to glare at Dazai. His patience had finally worn thin, and the last thing he wanted to do was dive into personal stories. “You’re never going to get that information out of me.”

Dazai’s grin widened, as though the challenge had just made things more interesting. “Oh, come on. You love talking about planes. How did Chuuya decide he wanted to take to the skies? Was it the thrill of speed? The allure of adventure? Or did you just want to be as far away from people like me as possible?”

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his temper in check. He was so close to snapping, but Dazai’s enthusiasm was relentless. "I’ve been up since before sunrise. You keep asking questions. I’m tired, Dazai."

Chuuya stared ahead, jaw tightening as he bit back his frustration. He knew Dazai wouldn’t stop pushing, wouldn’t stop prying, but this was a story Chuuya wasn’t ready to share. Not now, not when he was sleep-deprived and vulnerable.

“Dazai,” Chuuya said, his voice low and firm, “I’m not telling you.”

Dazai watched him, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something more serious as he noticed the layers of thoughts and emotions flickering behind Chuuya’s tired gaze. The silence that followed felt heavier than the usual banter between them, as if Chuuya was holding something back, something deeper.

But Dazai, in an unusual moment of restraint, didn’t push further. He merely leaned back in his seat, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Fine, Chuuya.”

Chuuya didn’t respond, choosing instead to close his eyes and try, once again, to catch some sleep. But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t fully shut out the weight of Dazai’s curiosity, or the truth he was too tired to confront.

Dazai had gone unusually quiet. Maybe he’d sensed Chuuya’s weariness, or maybe—for once—he decided not to push his luck. Chuuya opened his eyes briefly, glancing over. Dazai was still leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as if he were lost in thought. But Chuuya knew better than to assume Dazai wasn’t paying attention. He was always watching, always calculating.

Chuuya tried to sleep, and block out everything. He just wanted to ignore everything for a little bit. Everyone that he has gotten close to has asked that question.

How did you get into flying?

He usually lied, it was easier that way. For some reason, it felt weird to lie to Dazai. Not just weird, but wrong to do so. 

Chuuya sighed softly, shifting again, trying to block it out.

Next to him, Dazai shifted slightly, and Chuuya opened his eyes again, just in time to see Dazai watching him. It was a quiet, contemplative gaze, lacking the usual mischief. It unnerved Chuuya more than the teasing.

“You’re thinking too much,” Dazai said quietly, his voice soft but clear over the ambient hum of the plane.

Chuuya scoffed, his knee-jerk reaction to brush off any of Dazai’s attempts at understanding. “I’m just trying to sleep. You should try it sometime, instead of asking a thousand questions.”

Dazai’s smirk returned, though it was gentler this time. “I don’t sleep well on planes. Too many things to think about.”

Chuuya shot him a sideways glance. “Like what? More of your ridiculous schemes?”

Dazai chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe. But right now, I’m more curious about you.”

Chuuya groaned. “You never stop, do you?”

“Can’t help it. You’re fascinating, Chuuya.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy to engage in one of their usual back-and-forths, not when his mind was so preoccupied. He stared out the window, watching the clouds drift by as they soared over the ocean.

Chuuya finally let his exhaustion take over. His body slumped slightly against the seat, and without another word, he drifted off into a much-needed sleep. His breathing became steady, the tension in his muscles slowly easing as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Dazai glanced over at him, his gaze softening. There was something almost vulnerable about Chuuya when he slept, a stark contrast to the sharp edges he carried when he was awake. It was a rare sight—to see him so unguarded. Dazai allowed himself a small smile before turning his attention back to the window.

The hours ticked by, and Dazai kept himself occupied with idle thoughts, occasionally glancing at the in-flight map that tracked their progress. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise, casting a soft orange glow over the horizon, that something caught his attention outside the window. The jagged skyline of New York City began to emerge from the misty distance, the iconic skyscrapers piercing the sky as the city below slowly came into view.

Dazai wasn’t the type to get sentimental about places, but there was something electric about seeing New York from above, its sprawling, glittering expanse stretching out beneath them.

He leaned over, nudging Chuuya gently. "Hey, wake up."

Chuuya stirred, groaning as he blinked himself awake. He rubbed his eyes, clearly disoriented, and muttered something incoherent under his breath. Dazai smirked, nudging him again, this time with a bit more insistence.

"Come on, you’re going to want to see this."

Chuuya shot him a bleary, annoyed glance but turned toward the window nonetheless. As his eyes focused, the irritation in his expression slowly melted away, replaced by awe. The sprawling metropolis of New York City lay beneath them, the morning sun glinting off the windows of its towering buildings. The city looked alive, buzzing with energy even from this height.

Chuuya sat up straighter, fully awake now as he took in the sight. "Wow," he muttered under his breath, his voice still rough from sleep.

Dazai grinned. "Not bad, huh?"

Chuuya didn’t respond right away, too absorbed in the view to bother with a snarky retort. The city below was unlike anything he had ever seen. He had flown over countless places in his career, but something about New York was different. Maybe it was the sheer scale of it, or the way the morning light made it shimmer, but it felt significant.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything. They simply watched as the plane began its slow descent, the city growing larger and more detailed with every passing second.

The plane touched down smoothly, and Chuuya narrated to Dazai every thought that the pilot probably had. The two entered into the bustle of JFK airport, the chaos coming as a shock to Dazai, but Chuuya was more focused on getting the hell out of it. Dazai followed Chuuya who beelined towards the exit and onto a street flooded with cars. 

"Shouldn’t we grab a taxi?" Chuuya muttered as they stepped outside, the brisk New York air hitting them like a shock.

Dazai flashed him a knowing grin. "You really think I’d settle for a taxi?"

Moments later, a sleek black car pulled up, the driver stepping out to load their bags into the trunk. Chuuya raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It was typical Dazai—always with extravagant gestures.

The energy of the city was infectious.

Dazai, lounging comfortably next to him, tilted his head. "So? What do you think?"

"It’s... big," Chuuya admitted, his eyes never leaving the window. "And loud. But I kind of like it."

Dazai chuckled. "You’ll fit right in, then."

Before long, they arrived at their hotel—an upscale building right in the middle of Manhattan. The lobby was sleek and modern, bustling with tourists and business travelers. Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, but Dazai seemed perfectly at ease, strolling up to the check-in desk as if he owned the place.

After receiving their keys, the two got in the elevator. 

“So, when is Kyoko supposed to get here?” Chuuya asked

“She arrived last night. She used to live here actually, so she said that she’ll be staying with friends most of the time here. If you want, you can use her room. She actually offered it to me when I said that you were coming,” Dazai responded cooly, hoping he wouldn’t take up the offer.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. "Why would I need her room? I’ve got my own, don’t I?"

Dazai let out a low sigh, “No. Unfortunately, we will be living together.” 

“Just please tell me that-”

“There will be two beds.” Dazai was focused on the elevator buttons.

They made their way down the hall, stopping at their room—a lavish suite with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline. Chuuya dropped his bags by the door, walking over to the window with his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t help but be drawn to the sight—the city stretching out before him, glittering under the early afternoon light. There was something both overwhelming and thrilling about being in the heart of it all.

Dazai’s energy, which had seemed boundless up until now, suddenly gave way. He sprawled out on the couch, not even bothering to kick off his shoes.

"Chuuya," Dazai mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in, "I’ve been awake for over nineteen hours."

Chuuya, still standing by the window, shot him an unimpressed look. "What, the brilliant Dazai can’t handle a little jet lag?"

A half-hearted groan was all Dazai managed in response. "I’m out. You do... whatever."

Without waiting for another comment, Dazai shut his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep. His breathing evened out, and Chuuya could hardly believe it—Dazai had fallen asleep within seconds like someone had flipped a switch.

Chuuya sighed, rolling his eyes. "Unbelievable."

Chuuya explored the hotel. It was a suite-style, complete with a living room (now occupied with a sleeping Dazai) and kitchen space. On the kitchen counter, there were two champagne bottles, one with an overly decorated red and gold heart tied to it saying “The Rouge welcomes you to New York City.”

How cute.

Chuuya set the bottle down and glanced at Dazai, still dead to the world on the couch. Typical Dazai—pushing himself past his limits, acting like nothing fazed him, and then crashing the second he had a chance. Chuuya shook his head again, this time more fondly.

Then he strolled over to the door, assumingly the bedroom door. He creaked the door open and almost hoped that there would be-

Just like Dazai said.

Two beds.

Which is completely fine.

And completely safe.

He grabbed his bags from the living area, being careful not to wake Snow White who was less-than-gracefully sleeping on the couch that looked far too uncomfortable.

He started unpacking his clothes, biting on the side of his cheek as he did so. His anxieties were slowly going away, yet a familiar feeling of uncertainty hung with him. Chuuya liked normalcy. He liked having a usual schedule and being prepared. He liked knowing exactly what was going to come next. This was a total curveball.

He finished up getting settled and then looked at Dazai’s stuff. Without thinking too much about it, started unpacking Dazai’s things. It was mostly a jumble of clothes—half of them wrinkled, as if they’d been stuffed in there at the last minute. Typical.

As he hung up a couple of shirts, Chuuya frowned, feeling the familiar tension creep back into his chest. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t usually bother with this kind of stuff, especially not for Dazai. But here he was, putting away the other man's clothes like some kind of maid.

Once Chuuya finished unpacking, he stepped back to survey the room. It was neat, and organized—just the way he liked it. Dazai’s things, now tidily put away, sat on the opposite side of the room. The sight gave him a strange sense of satisfaction, even though he wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to take care of Dazai’s belongings, but something about having everything in order made him feel more at ease.

"Completely fine. And safe," Chuuya murmured to himself, repeating the words like a mantra.

Chuuya paced around the suite, the hum of New York City filtering faintly through the windows. He glanced at Dazai again, who was still out cold, sprawled out in a way that looked both uncomfortable and peaceful. It amazed Chuuya how quickly Dazai could just shut down, like he had some internal switch that flipped when he was done playing his games.

The suite was nice—too nice, really. It screamed luxury and drama. Chuuya wandered over to the kitchen, idly running his fingers along the countertop. The champagne bottles sat there, practically mocking him with their gaudy labels and red-and-gold hearts. He considered opening one, just to feel the pop of the cork and the slight burn of the bubbles. But then he thought better of it. Drinking alone while Dazai napped felt a little too pathetic.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

“Chuuya…turn off that alarm…” Dazai said through sleep. Chuuya had been on the other side of the couch, reading for the last couple of hours while Dazai slept. Chuuya instinctively reached for Dazai’s phone, only to see a selfie of Dazai alongside a guy with white hair with a cat ears filter on him. Accompanying it was bold letters at the top spelling ATSUSHI with a couple of emojis along with some annoying ringtone. 

“It’s actually not an alarm, smartass. It’s a call from…Atsushi?” Chuuya glanced over right as Dazai perked his head up. His hair was a mess, and there were faint lines on his cheek from where he'd been pressed against the cushions, but his eyes were wide and alert.

“Hand it over” Dazai stretched his hand out, and Chuuya obliged. Dazai picked up the phone and walked over to a corner of the hotel. Chuuya could only hear Dazai’s voice on the call.

“Hey Atsushi!”

…

“Tell me more, what’s wrong?”

…

“You’ve done this show before, I promise you’ll be okay. The worst thing that can happen is a slip-up but even then, people will love you.”

…

“Don’t say that. You were cast for a reason. They trust you. He’s tough on you because he wants you to be great.”

…

“You have nothing to be scared about. I have so much faith in you. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

…

“Sorry for being too stereotypical, kid.”

…

“It’s really nice here, thank you for asking. I’m sure Osaka is stunning.”

…

“Oh really?”

…

“Have a good show, they’re all going to love you.”

…

“Alright bye.”

Dazai hung up with a huff. Chuuya was rereading the same sentence over and over again to make it look like he wasn’t paying any attention to the phone call.

Chuuya peeked his head out of his book, “Oh, are you done? Who was that?”

“Atsushi. He’s this amazing kid. Anyway, he’s my understudy for the show and will be filling in for the next two months. He just got a bit scared about the show, because the director was being tough on him. He really has nothing to worry about though, I’ve seen him and the things that he brings to that role are nothing short of phenomenal.” Dazai said tenderly.

Chuuya watched him for a moment, noticing the rare sincerity in Dazai’s expression. It wasn’t often that Dazai spoke about anyone else with this much care, especially not so openly. He could tell this Atsushi kid really meant something to him.

"Well, sounds like he's lucky to have you," Chuuya said, closing his book and setting it down on the coffee table. "If he listens to half the nonsense you tell him, anyway."

Dazai chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. "I like to think my nonsense has a way of working out in the end."

Chuuya looked down at his watch, “Wait this kid is calling you at 3:23 in the morning? God, you’re the last person I would wanna hear from at that time.”

“He probably just got out of the theater. That director makes us rehearse late. Not good to have right before an opening night.” Dazai remarked.

“Understandable. Speaking of, when do you make your big debut?” Chuuya questioned.

Dazai explained, “This next week will be all rehearsal. Even though I know the show I have to get used to the different theater, different actors as well as perfect the songs in English.” 

Chuuya paused, “I guess that makes sense. I mean- the singing in English part. Is it a weird adjustment?”

Dazai stretched his arms above his head, letting out a content sigh. "It’s not too bad. I’ve been practicing ever since I found out about the transfer. The tricky part is syncing everything with the new cast and getting a feel for the stage. But the English? That’s the easy part. Been fluent for years."

Chuuya arched an eyebrow, leaning back. "Fluent, huh? Then I’m guessing you won’t be butchering the language and embarrassing yourself on stage?"

Dazai shot him a playful grin. "I know, shocking, right? A man of many talents." He paused for dramatic effect, "Not that you’d know anything about that."

Chuuya tilted his head, his tone shifting into something more serious. "That’s a lot of pressure, though. You sure you’re not overdoing it? Between flying out here, adjusting to the new theater, new cast, and performing in a different language, it sounds like a hell of a load."

Dazai waved a dismissive hand, "I’ve done worse, trust me. Besides, I always pull through in the end. It's just how I am."

“Do you even get any days off?” Chuuya asked, tilting his head slightly to the side, watching Dazai with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Dazai let out a dry chuckle, "Yeah, actually. I’m not under Mori’s thumb anymore, so I get a couple of performance days off each week. Paid, too." His smile wavered, and the laugh that followed was awkward, almost bitter. "It’s... strange, working for someone who actually cares about their actors' mental and physical health. Why? You worried you’re not going to spend that much time with me?"

Yes.

Chuuya didn’t miss a beat. “You wish.” Chuuya responded flatly. 

Just then, Dazai’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then back at Chuuya. “Do you mind if we meet up with Kyoko for dinner tonight?” he asked, fingers hovering over the keys, ready to type his response.

Chuuya gave a casual shrug. “I’m in.”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

The two hailed a cab to a cozy Indian restaurant called Panna II Garden to meet with Kyoko. As soon as they arrived, she was already waiting outside, her face lighting up when she spotted them. She ran over, pulling both Dazai and Chuuya into warm hugs.

"Oh my gosh! How was the flight?" Kyoko asked, her excitement bubbling over as she turned to Dazai.

“Ask the pilot,” Dazai said, glancing slyly at Chuuya.

Chuuya smirked, shooting Dazai a playful glare. "It was fine. No complaints—except for Dazai bothering me the whole way, and how long it felt." Dazai shrugged dramatically, feigning innocence as he looked away.

The trio walked up to the restaurant door and were immediately greeted by an explosion of color. Flags, Christmas lights, and exotic flowers hung from the ceiling in what could have easily been chaotic, but somehow came together as a stunning, eclectic atmosphere. It was like stepping into another world—one that was vibrant, quirky, and oddly charming. They took their seats, taking in the decor.

"How did you find this place? It’s... stunning," Chuuya asked, reaching for a menu, still somewhat in awe of the unexpected beauty.

Kyoko grinned. "I’ve lived here or in neighboring states most of my life. This place—everyone talks about it. It’s one of those hidden gems you pass by a hundred times and never realize how special it is until you walk inside. And the food’s pretty decent too. When I found out Dazai and I would both be in New York, I knew I had to bring him here."

“Cool... but how’d you end up in Japan? That’s pretty far from home," Chuuya asked, intrigued.

Kyoko leaned back, her smile softening into something more reflective. “Well, I’m part Japanese, and I’ve always known the language. I ended up studying abroad in Japan, and one day I saw an audition notice for Moulin Rouge . It was a long shot, but I went for it—and somehow, I got my dream role. I dropped everything—my university theatre program, a crappy part-time job—and now here I am, on Broadway. It’s crazy how life works out sometimes.”

She glanced at Chuuya with a knowing look. “You probably know something about that, don’t you?”

Chuuya chuckled, shaking his head. “A few months ago, I never would’ve imagined myself sitting in a New York City restaurant with two ridiculously talented people. And I definitely couldn’t picture myself actually admiring theater. I’m not even into this kind of thing. Or... I wasn’t. But now, I’ll admit it—what you guys do is incredible. I hate that I find myself liking it.”

Kyoko smiled at Chuuya's reluctant confession. "Theater has a way of surprising people, especially those who think they're too cool for it."

Dazai shot Chuuya a teasing glance. "Yeah, Chuuya. Keep hanging around us, and you might even start singing in your sleep."

Chuuya clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Not happening. I’ll leave the dramatic outbursts to you two.”

The waiter arrived, interrupting their banter to take their orders. Once the dishes were chosen, the conversation picked up again. This time, it drifted into stories from their respective careers. Kyoko shared anecdotes about theatre—rushed costume changes, missed cues, flubbed lines and the adrenaline of a live audience. Dazai, of course, threw in his own theatrical tales, painting a picture of a carefree artist who always seemed to land on his feet, no matter the mess around him.

Chuuya couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water. Dazai and Kyoko were deep into their conversation about the ins and outs of theater, throwing around terms like blocking, cues, and tech runs—things that meant nothing to him.

Yet, something in the intensity of their conversation resonated with him. He wasn’t an actor, but the way they talked about performing, the meticulous timing, the constant pressure, reminded him of something all too familiar.

"You know," Chuuya said, his voice cutting through the chatter, "it’s not that different from flying."

Dazai glanced at him, intrigued, while Kyoko paused mid-sentence, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Flying?” she echoed.

“Yeah,” Chuuya nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “When you're up there, piloting a plane, you're responsible for everything. Just like in a performance, nothing can go wrong. Or if it does, you’ve got to cover it so seamlessly that no one notices.”

Kyoko leaned forward, interested. “That sounds... intense.”

Chuuya shrugged, but there was a weight to his words. “You’ve got lives in your hands, and every decision you make, no matter how small, counts. The pressure never lets up. You’re constantly thinking two steps ahead. Every move has to be calculated, smooth—because if it’s not, you’re screwed. And you have no room to panic.”

Dazai smiled faintly, recognizing something in Chuuya’s tone. “So, you’re saying being a pilot is close to a performance?”

Chuuya considered the analogy for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah. In a way. You’re performing for your crew, your passengers... hell, even for yourself. There’s a plan, a structure, sure, but there’s always something that can go wrong. And when it does, you’ve got to act like it hasn’t. You stay calm, stay in control, and make sure no one ever knows how close things came to falling apart.”

“I’m sure you’re very familiar with things falling apart,” Dazai quipped, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Let’s get back to Yokohama and I’ll take you up in one of the rustiest planes I can find. We’ll see how well you handle it when things are actually falling apart around you.”

Dazai’s face lit up, as if Chuuya had just offered him the best deal in the world. “So what I’m hearing is… you want to commit a double suicide with me?”

Chuuya’s smirk dropped, replaced by a flat look. “You’re weird for that, you know that?”

Dazai laughed, a light sound that danced in the air between them. “Maybe, but at least I’m not boring.”

Kyoko, who had been listening to their back-and-forth with a bemused expression, finally interjected. “You two really are something else. I almost feel like I’m intruding on your... whatever this is.”

Chuuya’s face flushed slightly, his eyes darting to Kyoko. “It’s nothing. He just has a way of getting under my skin.”

“And yet, you’re still sitting here,” Dazai teased, leaning back with a smug grin.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

The banter settled into a comfortable silence as the food finally arrived. Vibrant colors and rich aromas filled the table, distracting Chuuya from Dazai’s taunts. As they ate, the conversation shifted back to more casual topics—Kyoko sharing stories about her time in New York, Dazai talking about his upcoming rehearsals, and Chuuya contributing bits and pieces about his piloting adventures.

After finishing their meal, Kyoko stood up. “I’m glad you guys came out tonight. I’m so glad I got to get to know more about you, Chuuya.”

“Same here,” Chuuya admitted, though he tried not to make it sound like too big of a deal.

Dazai stood up, stretching dramatically. “Well, with me around, you’re never too far from good company.”

Chuuya scoffed. “Someone’s being cocky”

Kyoko laughed softly, shaking her head as she headed towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dazai. Don’t kill each other before then.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Dazai called after her.

Dazai then turned to Chuuya. He stared at him for a bit, attempting to make it look like he was looking at a billboard. 

“So,” Dazai started, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked, “you think you could ever live in a place like this?”

Chuuya frowned thoughtfully, looking up at the towering skyscrapers, the constant hum surrounding them. “I don’t know... It’s different. Big, chaotic. But I kinda like it.”

Dazai hummed in agreement. “Yeah, chaos suits you.”

Chuuya shot him a sidelong glare. “Careful, or I’ll make that rusty plane ride a reality.”

Chapter Text

“Dazai… Dazai, wake up already.” Chuuya shoved at Dazai, who was sprawled across his bed, dead to the world. His eyes were tightly shut, mouth slightly parted, and he clung to a pillow like his life depended on it.

“Dazai, get up! You’ve got rehearsal. Time to be a cringy theatre kid,” Chuuya grumbled, now practically shaking the sleeping mess of a brunette.

Without opening his eyes, Dazai mumbled, voice slurred and half-buried in his pillow. “It’s like… 4 a.m., Chuuya. Rehearsal’s at 10. Go get out of my room.”

Chuuya sighed in exasperation, standing back with his hands on his hips. "It's not 4 a.m., dumbass, it’s 9 a.m and you’ve got rehearsal in an hour. Also- this room is both of ours, and I will not be leaving.”

Silence.

Then Chuuya, with a smirk forming, added, “I’ll call that Atsushi kid and tell him his shining idol is too tired to get up for rehearsal. Maybe he’ll decide to do the same.”

That got a reaction. Dazai shot up, hair tousled and eyes half-lidded, blinking blearily at Chuuya. "Fine, fine. I’m up. You’re the worst alarm clock, you know that?”

“God forbid I let you sleep through your first day of rehearsals as the lead in a Broadway show,” Chuuya quipped.

“And a photoshoot,” Dazai added, stretching lazily.

“Yeah, thanks for proving my point. Just get up already.” Chuuya tossed some clothes at Dazai, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m not letting you blow this.”

Dazai caught the clothes and raised an eyebrow as he inspected them. “A nice button-down and slacks?” he asked, bemused.

Chuuya crossed his arms. “What’s wrong with it? Doesn’t match your perfect standards?”

Dazai let out a lazy chuckle. “No, no, it's not that. But, you know... acting for the stage is pretty physical. I’m gonna need, like, sweatpants and a t-shirt. Something I can move in.” He watched as Chuuya’s glare intensified, sensing the annoyance building.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Get it yourself. I’m not your maid.”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Dazai left, leaving Chuuya in the silence he thought he’d be craving after thirty-two hours spent with the constant stream of nonsense that came out of Dazai’s mouth.

Yet the silence brought something that Chuuya couldn’t quite figure out. 

It was too quiet. He felt too alone.  It didn’t help that the suite was so bare. 

The hotel, as sleek and luxurious as it was, felt more like a showpiece than a place someone could actually live. It lacked the warmth and comfort of Chuuya’s small apartment back home with Kouyou. There were no scuffed corners or mismatched picture frames, no souvenirs from trips or cheap trinkets from too many Christmases. No signs of life. No personality.

It felt... sterile. And now, with Dazai gone until eight, Chuuya had ten long hours alone in this pristine box.

Ten hours to either go mad in the silence.

Or change it.

Chuuya stood up, looking around. His fingers twitched, and an idea began to form. Maybe he couldn’t turn the suite into a home, but he could at least make it feel like something. Something that didn’t scream ‘hotel’ or ‘temporary.’ 

Chuuya threw on some clothes, not bothering much with what they were, and headed for the door. He didn’t have a plan, but he figured if he wandered around long enough, he’d stumble across something useful. New York was huge—there had to be somewhere nearby that could help him transform that lifeless hotel room into something bearable.

After just a few minutes of walking, his instincts proved right. He spotted a small thrift store tucked between a café and a laundromat. It wasn’t flashy, but it had character—the kind of place that caught his eye.

Curious, Chuuya pushed the door open. The scent of old wood and fabric filled the air, and the shelves and racks were crammed.

This was exactly what he needed. He wandered deeper into the store, fingers tracing the edges of shelves, his mind already working on how he could breathe some life into the soulless suite.

Chuuya started wandering the aisles, hands brushing over everything as he walked. 

A stack of old vinyl records caught his eye, their covers faded but still holding onto the charm of a different era. There were ornate candle holders, quirky pillows, and even an old leather-bound journal with yellowed pages. Every item seemed to have its own story, its own character.

He picked up a small ceramic statue, a gaudy little thing of a cat. It was ridiculous, and yet he couldn’t help but smirk. Perfect for Dazai’s side of the room. He placed it in his basket.

Moving further down the store, Chuuya’s eyes landed on a set of antique frames. They weren’t pristine—some had scratches and nicks, but they had a charm that drew him in. He grabbed a couple, already imagining them hanging in the suite, maybe with some photos tucked inside.

He found a soft throw blanket, something warm and textured, in a deep red. It reminded him of the cozy nights back in Yokohama, bundled up in his own place.

He found a stack of old postcards, each one worn around the edges, with faded images of different places—Paris, Rome, Tokyo, even New York from decades ago. He thumbed through them, feeling the age in the paper, the ink scrawls on the back from strangers long gone. Chuuya grabbed a few, already imagining them framed and hanging by the window.

There was something therapeutic about it. As if by giving the room a bit of personality, he could tether himself to something. Make it feel like home, even if just for a short while.

As Chuuya made his way toward the back of the thrift store, something else caught his eye—a small wooden crate half-buried beneath a pile of old newspapers. Curiosity piqued, he knelt down and began to sift through the dusty collection. Inside, he found a stack of old playbills, some dating back decades. They were clearly from ages ago, but their vibrant covers still held onto the glitz and glamour of shows long past.

They were from iconic productions— Cabaret, West Side Story, Phantom of the Opera- and a couple that weren’t as famous. He laughed to himself when he saw a playbill for a show called In Trousers and knew he would make a joke about that later. Chuuya wasn’t exactly a Broadway connoisseur, but something about these relics fascinated him. 

He picked up a particularly old one, the cover boasting an extravagant design from a 1970s production of A Chorus Line . The pages inside were delicate, filled with cast bios, and advertisements for restaurants and shops that had probably been closed for years. Chuuya couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Dazai seeing these. 

If Chuuya found charm in these, there was no doubt Dazai would be all over them.

“Guess these wouldn’t hurt,” Chuuya muttered, tossing a few of the more interesting ones into his basket. They’d make good conversation starters, at the very least, and maybe a reminder to Dazai of why he was in New York in the first place. Plus, they’d add a little character to that barren hotel room.

Chuuya approached the cashier, trying hard not to beam at the thought of Dazai returning to all of this. Up by the front, he found some posters that looked interesting and threw them along with everything else he had picked up.

“Hi! How is your day?” She said enthusiastically like he was the first customer to ever walk into this store.

“Good,” He gave her a smile, as she started ringing up the items, stopping at the playbills.

“Are you a theatre fan?” She asked.

Chuuya paused, he was caught off guard.

“Debit,” He responded firmly, assuming that was the answer to her question. He could speak some English, enough to get by, but anything out of that he was not prepared for.

The cashier awkwardly laughed as she gave him the items.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya headed back to the suite after his little thrift store adventure, arms full of the items he’d found. The walk back had given him time to think, and the quiet had started to feel more like an opportunity than a burden. He glanced at his watch—Dazai wouldn’t be back from rehearsal until much later, which gave him a solid few hours to make some changes to the hotel room.

The suite was still just as bare and impersonal as when he’d left. The clean, modern lines and polished surfaces lacked any sort of charm. Chuuya set the bags down, eyeing the walls. He started unpacking, carefully arranging everything he’d bought.

He got to work immediately, starting with the red blanket he’d picked up. Tossing it into the washer, he turned his attention to the pile of frames. 

Chuuya unpacked the postcardsnd arranged them in the frames, spacing them out carefully along the walls. The stark white now had splashes of color.

Next were the posters. He unfurled the vintage prints of famous musicians from when they toured New York City—David Bowie at Carnegie Hall, The Doors at the Felt Forum, a more recent Arctic Monkeys poster from their Kings Theatre show. Chuuya pinned them up with care, making sure the alignment was just right.

Once the blanket had finished in the dryer, Chuuya retrieved it and threw it over the couch, stepping back to admire the warmth it added to the space. The rich red stood out against the sleek, cold leather of the couch, and for a moment, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

He turned to the stack of old playbills next, and fanned them out on the coffee table, he couldn’t help but feel like they added a touch of history to the room. Even if he didn’t know much about theater, there was something special about having those pieces of the past here—an acknowledgment of why they were both here.

He fussed a little with a lamp, trying to figure it out so they wouldn’t have to deal with the fluorescent overhead lighting. Eventually he was able to, and it lit a warm glow.

Finally, he put the playbills on the coffee table, lit a lavender scented candle and called a nearby pizza shop.

The finishing touch was the lavender-scented candle he’d picked up on a whim. Chuuya lit it, and the gentle fragrance slowly filled the room, making it feel less like a hotel suite and more like an actual living space. Something cozy. 

He stood back, surveying the room. The changes weren’t drastic, but they were enough. The suite felt lived-in now. It had more personality.

After taking one last look around, Chuuya reached for his phone and called a nearby pizza shop. As much as he would have loved to cook Dazai dinner, he did not have the time and he knew Dazai would be hungry after a long day of rehearsal.

Chuuya scrolled on his phone and texted his friends to update them on the city. Part of him missed Yokohama dearly, but the adjustments he had made to the apartment made it feel more livable.

The sound of the door unlocking broke the stillness, and Chuuya glanced up just as Dazai walked in, looking equal parts exhausted and amused, his hair still a mess from rehearsal. He stopped in his tracks the moment he noticed the changes to the suite. His eyes flicked from the framed postcards to the posters on the walls, lingering on the red blanket draped over the couch, before finally landing on Chuuya.

“Oh... you decorated," Dazai remarked, still taking in the transformed room. Even though he was dressed in sweats, the remnants of his photoshoot—makeup still visible, hair perfectly styled—made him look like he could step onto a movie set any second. His eyes flicked from the posters on the wall to the red blanket Chuuya had thrown over the couch.

Chuuya nodded, a bit awkwardly. "I did."

Dazai’s gaze was teasing but soft. “So, do I have to move out now that you’ve claimed this place as your own?”

Chuuya almost laughed, but the words that came next slipped out too quickly. “Well, I did this for y—” 

No, the hell I did not. 

He stopped himself mid-sentence and cleared his throat, the heat rising to his face,“I did it for us," he corrected, forcing the words to come out steady. "Just so we have a nice place to stay. Your apartment was so barren, and I know it’s temporary, but we can’t live somewhere that doesn’t feel…” He trailed off, the speed of his speech catching up to him. His eyes met Dazai’s for a second.

“Like home,” Dazai finished for him, his voice surprisingly gentle. His attention panned down, falling onto the stack of Playbills carefully laid out on the coffee table. He picked one up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Holy shit, where did you find these?”

“At a thrift store,” Chuuya answered, watching Dazai’s reaction. “Figured it’d be something you’d appreciate. They had a whole stack of old ones, so I thought why not?”

Dazai thumbed through the worn pages of one, his smile growing softer with each turn. “You really went all out, huh?”

“It’s the least I can do. You took me out for an all-expenses paid trip. I feel like I should have done something in return” Chuuya said softly. There was a sense of satisfaction settling in as he watched Dazai genuinely enjoy the small touches he’d added to the place.

Dazai, still flipping through the Playbill, glanced down at Chuuya, “I’m flattered, really.”

Chuuya darted his eyes up at him,“Don’t read too much into it. Just thought you could use a place that didn’t feel like a mental ward. Pizza is here by the way” He arose from the sofa and walked over to the doorway to grab the box.

He put the pizza on the counter, and served a piece to Dazai and then himself.

“So how was rehearsal?” Chuuya asked between bites, his voice casual but his eyes flicking toward Dazai with curiosity.

Dazai let out a sigh. “Exhausting. Exciting, but so so exhausting. The new cast is great, but it’s all so different from what I’m used to. And then there’s was the photoshoot. Which was fine. Just not the most fun thing to do after hours of rehearsing.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, noticing something beneath the surface. "Anything else? You seem... tense."

Dazai blinked, caught off guard by the observation. He hadn’t even realized the tension coiled in his body until Chuuya pointed it out. 

His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his shoulders sagged, his whole body deflating. He stayed quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"It’s the same thing you’ve been on about," he finally admitted, his voice quieter. “The whole ‘don’t hold back’ thing... It’s harder than I thought. I’ve gotten so used to keeping everything in check that I’m starting to forget how to let go. Even on stage, I’m... I’m pulling back too much. It’s like I don’t know how to let myself feel things fully anymore.”

Chuuya chewed on that for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. “You mean you’re trying too hard to be in control? Even when you’re performing?”

Dazai nodded, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Yeah. You’d think acting would be the one place I could let go, but it’s like there’s this wall I can’t get past. Like I’m afraid if I do, something might... I don’t know, crack." 

Chuuya stayed quiet for a moment, processing Dazai’s words. "Well, Broadway is for the best of the best. Not many people get to this level. Maybe it’s just the pressure getting to you? It’s a lot to handle, even for you."

Dazai smiled faintly at the indirect compliment but shook his head. “It’s not just the pressure. It’s... everything. The role, the expectations, the fact that I’m supposed to dig into emotions I’ve spent so long keeping buried. It’s hard to turn that off.”

Chuuya set his slice down, leaning forward slightly. "You’re overthinking it. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself. You're supposed to lose yourself in the role, right? Maybe it’s time you stop thinking of it as something you have to control. Maybe it’s something you just need to feel.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dazai admitted, though his tone was more thoughtful than lighthearted. “It’s just... harder than it sounds.”

Chuuya shrugged. “So? Hard doesn’t mean impossible. You’re not exactly known for taking the easy way out.”

Dazai chuckled softly. “True enough.” He leaned back into the couch, a touch more relaxed than he’d been all night. “I’ll try. Maybe I just need to stop thinking for once.”

“Or, you know,” Chuuya added with a smirk, “you could take your own advice for a change and stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Dazai laughed, shaking his head. “When did you become so wise?”

Chuuya grinned, leaning back as well. “I’ve always been wise. You’re just too dense to notice.” He paused before saying, “You’re talented, man. Everyone who has seen you knows it.”

Dazai took a deep breath in. “That’s not true.” His voice cracked slightly. “The last show in Yokohama- the last show I had to prove my worth in that location- it was godawful. I was just under so much stress about the media, and going so far away and well…you.”

The silence was stiff.

Chuuya’s lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. He was about to speak when Dazai beat him to it.

“Me?” Chuuya asked, just as Dazai blurted, “Avoiding you was unbearable.”

Dazai’s shoulders slumped, the tension slowly draining from his frame as he continued, almost as if a dam had broken. “I grew up in this industry, you know? I’ve been surrounded by actors, directors, designers—my whole life has been theater. And that’s all I’ve ever really understood. Until… you.”

His eyes flicked to the side, like he was gathering his thoughts, or maybe just avoiding Chuuya’s gaze. His next words were quieter, more vulnerable. “I don’t even know what it was about you that got to me at first. You had this fire behind your eyes, this unshakable drive, and I’ve never seen it burn out, not once. And then, as I got to know you, it just… it made even less sense but in the best way.”

Dazai chuckled, the sound more of a soft exhale, as if he was trying to downplay the weight of what he was saying. “I mean, think about it. You’re a pilot. I’m an actor. We couldn’t be more different if we tried. But somehow... you make sense to me. More sense than almost anyone I’ve ever met.”

The weight of Dazai’s words pressed against his chest, making his heart pound faster than it had all day- even through heavy dance numbers.

Dazai’s voice softened even further, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to Chuuya. “There’s only one other person in my life who’s ever made this much sense to me.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched, a strange tension building between them. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Dazai to drop his usual banter and dive into something real. Something personal.

He shifted on the couch, suddenly feeling the weight of Dazai’s gaze on him. “So… who’s the other person?” Chuuya asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Dazai hesitated, his eyes flicking down to his hands, which were now resting in his lap, fingers playing nervously with the edge of his shirt. “Odasaku,” he said, barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to talk much about that, though.”

The way Dazai said Odasaku’s name now—like it was a scar and a lifeline all at once—told Chuuya everything he needed to know.

“And now… there’s you,” Dazai continued, his voice firmer this time. “You do that. Somehow, even though we come from completely different worlds, you just… get it. Get me.”

Chuuya swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Dazai...” Chuuya started, unsure where to go with this, how to navigate the sudden vulnerability between them. He wasn’t good at this—at feelings, at talking. His world was all structure, all control, and yet with Dazai, none of that seemed to apply.

“I’m not good with words,” Chuuya finally admitted, pushing away a piece of hair that found its way between his eyes. “But... I get what you’re saying. And for what it’s worth, you don’t make sense to me either. Not in a bad way, just... I don’t know how we ended up here, but... it feels right.”

Dazai smiled at that, a real, unguarded smile. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”

“So,” Chuuya said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as he reached for another slice of pizza. “Are you done with your existential crisis, or do I need to order more pizza?”

Dazai laughed, the sound genuine this time. “I think I’ll be fine. For now.” He leaned back into the couch again, his earlier tension replaced by a sense of calm. “Thanks. For… you know. This. Everything- decorating, getting dinner, listening to me… It’s all very thoughtful of you”

Chuuya gave him a small smirk, his usual bravado returning. “You don’t have to make a big fuss over it.”

Dazai threw up his hands like he was some convict and Chuuya was the police, “My bad. I’ll never thank you again if that is what makes you the happiest!”

“Since when do you care about what makes me happy,” Chuuya gave Dazai a playful glare, his lips tugging into a soft smile.

“Oh please,” Dazai scoffed. “Sorry, I don’t treat you like the prince you are.”

Chuuya shook his head as he set his pizza down. "You wouldn’t know how to treat a prince if one hit you in the face," he shot back

Dazai gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his forehead. "How rude!” He turned his focus to the playbills on the coffee table.

He picked one up- The cover was black and white and had a girl’s face on it.

Dazai scanned the playbill. “Les Mis? And how did you know I performed in this?” 

 “You did?” Chuuya inched closer to get a better look at the cover.

Dazai grinned knowing he could be a show-off right now. “Just a small, small production of it. I played Marius obviously.” He paused waiting for Chuuya to react.

“You act like I’m supposed to know who that is.” Chuuya remarked

Dazai’s grin dropped. “He’s like the main character or whatever. I forget that common people like you don’t know this stuff.”

Chuuya’s jaw dropped, “Common people? So suddenly I’m below you because I don’t participate in singing and dancing on stage?” 

Dazai waved a hand, still focused on the playbill. “I think you secretly love it, Chuuya. Why else would you have gone through all this trouble to make this place feel... theatrical? And why would you go through the trouble of coming here with me?”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at Dazai, his lips twitching upward. “Theatrical? I bought a few old posters and hung up some art. Just didn’t want this place to look as empty as you are”

“Empty?!” Dazai scoffed dramatically, clutching at his chest as if mortally wounded. “If there's one thing I am not, it's empty. I'm overflowing with personality!”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, overflowing with something, that’s for sure.”

And they bantered.

And talked.

Watched shitty TV.

They let a couple hours go by, just talking about life.

Crying from laughing over jokes.

Bonding over music.

Fighting over the last slice.

Eventually, the laughter softened into a comfortable silence. They were both worn out, the day’s exhaustion finally catching up. Without a word, they both got up, heading to the bedroom.

Dazai fell asleep almost immediately, his breaths evening out as soon as his head hit the pillow, an arm thrown carelessly over his face. Chuuya, on the other hand, found himself staring at the ceiling, restless despite how tired he was.

He watched the shadows from the city lights play across the walls, flickering and shifting like they were telling stories he couldn't quite understand.

Chuuya turned his head slightly, glancing over at Dazai. He was sprawled out, utterly relaxed, a small frown creasing his brow even in sleep. Chuuya didn’t know why he felt that tug in his chest- he just wanted to do something. 

To reach out and slide away the stray strands of hair on Dazai’s forehead.

To pull up the comforter over Dazai’s chest.

To share Dazai’s bed.

Instead, he shoved down those thoughts. He stayed still, lying in the dark, caught between thoughts he couldn’t quite put into words. He let out a quiet sigh, finally rolling onto his side, away from Dazai.

He convinced himself that rolling to the other side was more comfortable.

And nothing else.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing mind.

Eventually, Chuuya drifted off, the sound of Dazai’s soft breathing the last thing he heard before sleep claimed him.

Chapter Text

After a couple of days in New York, Chuuya and Dazai found themselves falling into a rhythm. Mornings started with Chuuya waking up first, almost by habit. He’d make breakfast—nothing fancy. 

Dazai would stumble into the kitchen, hair still a mess from sleep, muttering something dramatic about his impending “torture” of rehearsals. Chuuya would roll his eyes, tell him to shut up, and send him off to rehearsal with some quick remark about being a “cringy theater kid.”

Then there’d be the quiet. The few hours in between Dazai’s morning and afternoon rehearsals when Chuuya would have the suite to himself. It wasn’t as unsettling as it had been that first day. He’d gotten used to the stillness, filling the silence with the hum of the oversized television or the sound of his own footsteps as he wandered around the city. 

When Dazai returned for lunch, they’d talk—mundane stuff, mostly. Chuuya would ask what scenes or songs Dazai had worked on that morning, while Dazai would half-heartedly try to explain, eyes glazing over like even he was bored by the technical details.

Chuuya would listen, occasionally throwing in a snarky comment. 

In the afternoons, Dazai would head back to rehearsals, leaving Chuuya to his own devices again. These hours weren’t exactly his favorite part of the day, but it gave him a chance to explore the city on his own terms. 

He’d run through Central Park, or wander through the quieter streets, discovering small shops tucked away between towering buildings. Sometimes, he’d sit at a cafe with a coffee or tea in hand, watching the people of New York rush by, feeling oddly at peace in the midst of the city’s chaos. It was a routine that felt oddly normal.

Just as the sun began to dip behind the skyscrapers, Dazai would return. They’d order takeout most nights, and occasionally try and make dinner together which usually ended up in an argument about seasonings and who was the better cook. 

After dinner is when their conversations would shift. The light banter of the day would give way to deeper topics. They’d talk about life, their pasts, and the strange paths that had brought them to this point—two people who, by all logic, had no business being in the same room together, let alone living side by side.

It was during these dinners that Chuuya realized just how much Dazai hid behind that charming exterior. There was always something a little more vulnerable in his eyes during those late-night talks, a hint of the real Dazai beneath all the showmanship. 

It wasn’t all deep, of course. They still bickered like they always had, still poked fun at each other’s quirks. But somewhere in between all the teasing, there was an understanding forming between them.

And so the days passed like that—smooth, easy, and routine. But there was a strange tension in the air too, something neither of them was quite willing to address. A part of Chuuya was waiting, knowing that this calm couldn’t last forever. Not with them.

The two of them were lounging on the couch after lunch. Chuuya had his head tilted back against the cushions, one leg crossed over the other as he idly scrolled through his phone. Dazai, on the other hand, was stretched out, one arm draped over his eyes in exhaustion from that morning’s rehearsal.

The quiet had settled between them, a part of it was comfortable but then another part of it was still uneasy. It was something altogether became almost too familiar.

Chuuya had been talking about finding something else to do, maybe even hitting up one of those overpriced tourist spots while Dazai was stuck in rehearsals.

"Hey, Chuuya," Dazai's voice broke the silence, “Why don’t you come to rehearsal tomorrow?”

Chuuya turned his head slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Why? I’ve seen so much of you- onstage and off.”

Dazai grinned, lowering his arm to meet Chuuya’s skeptical gaze. “It’s more than just a regular rehearsal. We’re having an open run-through tomorrow. Some of the press will be there to get a preview. It’ll be fun.”

"Press?" Chuuya sat up straighter, the idea of being around reporters making him instinctively wary. “Sounds a bit crazy”

Dazai’s grin widened. “Exactly. You love crazy.”

Chuuya shot him a look. “You’re not selling it.”

"Okay, fine. It's not just the press. The crew will be there, some producers, and probably a few over-eager fans who managed to sneak in through someone’s cousin’s friend or whatever. It’ll be a scene," Dazai said, “You’ve been stuck here all week. Don’t tell me you’re not the slightest bit curious.”

Chuuya leaned back, pretending to mull it over. The idea wasn’t the worst—he’d been getting restless, and maybe seeing Dazai in his rehearsing would be somewhat interesting. Still, it was hard to let Dazai see him be too eager about it.

“I don’t know,” he drawled, eyes narrowing. “Sounds like I’d have to endure a bunch of Broadway theater people talk about nonsense. I fear I’d rather die.”

“Oh no! How will you ever survive the horrors of people… doing their jobs?” He paused, dropping the act for just a moment. “C’mon, Chuuya. It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You’re seriously pushing this, huh?”

Dazai sat up, scooting closer to him on the couch, his tone dropping just a little. “Well… yeah. I’d like you to be there.”

Chuuya felt something tighten in his chest, a quiet hum of tension that had been building between them these past few days.

“Alright,” Chuuya said after a long moment, his voice a bit gruff. “I’ll go. But if it’s boring, I’m leaving.”

Dazai beamed, leaning back in victory. “Deal.”

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya had expected the rehearsal to be in a grand theater. Instead, when they arrived, he was led into a large, bare rehearsal room. The walls were white and sterile, the floor a polished hardwood, and the only sign of life were a few folding chairs scattered around the edges of the space.

Dazai, seemingly unfazed by the lack of fanfare, set his bag down by one of the walls and immediately began stretching. He made it look casual, like this was all so simple. But Chuuya, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, couldn’t help but feel the strangeness of it all.

“This is it?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room again. “I thought you said it was some big open rehearsal. I expected, I don’t know, an actual stage.”

Dazai grinned, not bothering to look up from where he was bending over to touch his toes. “No no, not until later. I haven’t even been in the theater yet.”

Chuuya replied, shifting his weight. “This is boring. I’m leaving.”

“Oh please, it hasn’t even started yet. Plus I’m…” Dazai started to plead.

Chuuya shot him a glance. “You’re what?”

“Well today is press day. Meaning I’ll get reviews. Meaning that people will judge me. It’s a lot of pressure having so many eyes on you ” Dazai explained.

Chuuya studied him for a moment, suddenly understanding that beneath all of Dazai's theatrics, there was something more—something real. The pressure of being on a stage like this, in a city like New York, with the world watching—it wasn’t a joke to him. This whole thing wasn’t some fun trip to the city and to have fun. It was serious,

For a second, Chuuya considered mocking him, throwing out a sarcastic remark to lighten the tension, but he held back. 

Dazai glanced at him, eyes softening in gratitude for him being there. “It’s not just about being good. It’s about being perfect. And I don’t know if I can pull that off every time.”

Before Chuuya could respond, the door swung open and a few other actors and crew members started to trickle in, filling the room with movement and chatter. The energy shifted, and Chuuya could feel the anticipation buzzing in the air. It was subtle, but there was a tension, an undercurrent of excitement and nerves that seemed to ripple through the space as more people arrived.

The press followed soon after, cameras and notebooks in hand, chatting with each other as they set up in the back of the room. Chuuya eyed them warily, looking around for Dazai.

Dazai, though, had already slipped into performance mode. He greeted the other actors, exchanged a few words with the director, as if the earlier conversation had never happened. It was a strange transformation—one moment, Dazai was cracking jokes and being his usual smug self, and the next, he was serious, focused, and every bit the professional.

It’s crazy how he can shift just like that.

Chuuya settled down in a seat at the table, remaining very still. He sat beside a younger woman, maybe in her late twenties, with her light brown hair in a loose bun and thick black-rimmed glasses. She gave Chuuya a polite nod, her demeanor calm but professional. 

Next to her sat a man who held authority even without speaking.

Chuuya watched as he scribbled down some numbers, passing them off to the girl beside him. His hair was a sandy blonde, neatly combed, and his every movement seemed calculated, purposeful. Chuuya didn’t know who he was, but it was clear that this man was someone with authority.

The actors began to move, some tentative at first, then more confident as they found their places. The dialogue started, filling the otherwise quiet room, and Chuuya found himself drawn into the scene. It was strange watching Dazai act like this—without the full spectacle of theater. There were no lights, no costumes, no extravagant sets—just people in an empty room, using nothing but their words and presence to bring the story to life.

The man leaned towards the girl, “We’ll need to focus on Dazai’s range today. His performance has been strong, but I want to make sure he’s hitting the right emotional beats. No more holding back, Louisa.”

The girl nodded, her fingers dancing over her tablet’s screen. “I’m on it, Fitzgerald. I’ve marked a few moments we need to go over after this. Especially during the second act. His transitions from comedy to drama need more fluidity.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow at their conversation, catching bits of what they were discussing about Dazai. He wasn’t exactly sure what they meant by "transitions," but he felt a twinge of irritation on Dazai’s behalf. Dazai had always been a performer, someone who seemed to slip in and out of personas with ease—did he really need more criticism?

Still, this was their world. Chuuya was just a visitor.

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, watching closely. Even in this stripped-down form, it was clear Dazai was good at what he did. There was a magnetism to him that drew the eye, even when he was just rehearsing lines in casual clothes.

Fitzgerald, however, seemed less impressed. As the scene progressed, Chuuya noticed the producer jotting down more notes, his brow furrowing. Occasionally, he would glance toward Lousia, who would either nod or scribble her own comments, both of them deep in their observations.

After a particularly intense scene between Dazai’s character and another actor, Fitzgerald leaned toward Alcott again. “His timing was off. Did you catch that? He rushed it.”

Lousia nodded in agreement. “Yes, and he’s pulling back again. Dazai needs to let that moment breathe more, give the audience time to sink into it.”

Chuuya’s grip on his armrest tightened a little. Although he wasn’t near fluent, be could tell by the words he recognzied and the tone of voice that they were being negative on Dazai’s performance. He wasn’t sure if he liked hearing them talk about Dazai like that. Dazai wasn’t perfect—far from it—but watching him now, Chuuya could see the effort he was putting in. Maybe it wasn’t as easy as Dazai made it seem, carrying the weight of a performance like this.

Fitzgerald’s gaze shifted slightly, landing on Chuuya for a brief moment. Chuuya met his eyes, unflinching, and for a second, the older man seemed to regard him with a mild curiosity before returning his focus to the actors.

As act one came to an end, Kunikida called for a brief break, and Dazai immediately strolled over to the table where Chuuya was seated. He threw a lazy grin Chuuya’s way. “So, what do you think? Am I doing amazing even not in Japanese?”

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, he switched to English, a little clumsy but perfectly understandable. “You’re... pretty good. I guess. Could’ve fooled me.”

Chuuya discreetly pulled out his phone. He shot a quick text to Dazai under the table:

The guy next to me is terrifying. 

Dazai’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. The moment he read the message, his lips twitched, holding back laughter. Without looking up from his phone, he replied:

Which one? Fitzgerald or Alcott? They’re both scary in their own ways.

Chuuya glanced over at Fitzgerald, who was currently engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with Alcott. The man hadn’t said much during the rehearsal, but his presence was hard to ignore. There was something sharp about him, like he didn’t miss a single detail, even when he wasn’t looking. Alcott, on the other hand, was still typing away on her laptop, her eyes occasionally darting between the screen and Fitzgerald.

Chuuya’s phone buzzed again:

Should I come save you? I could dramatically throw myself at Fitzgerald’s feet and beg for your life to be spared.

Chuuya snorted under his breath, typing back quickly:

No need. You might make things worse.

Dazai finally looked up from his phone, “You know,” he said, switching back to Japanese, “you don’t have to look so tense. Fitzgerald’s not going to bite.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You’re used to being around these types.”

“Fitzgerald’s harmless. A bit intense, sure, but he’s all business. Alcott, though... she’s the real mastermind. Be careful around her.” Dazai ran his fingers through his hair.

“Great,” Chuuya muttered sarcastically. “That’s really comforting.”

Dazai chuckled and leaned against the edge of the table, glancing back at Fitzgerald and Alcott, who were still deep in discussion. “You know, you don’t have to stay for the whole thing. It’s just a rehearsal.”

Chuuya waved him off. “I’m fine.”

Dazai teased, his voice soft but dripping with mischief. “I knew you would say that, I just wanted to offer..”

“Don’t push it,” Chuuya warned, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed him. Despite the occasional banter and theatrics, Dazai was serious about his craft, and it showed. And Chuuya loved every second of watching it.

The director’s voice rang out, calling the actors back to the floor. Dazai sighed dramatically, pushing off the table with exaggerated reluctance.

There was no background music to hide the actor’s exhaustion, no makeup or costumes to distract from the rawness of the work.

Chuuya watched more intensely at how things worked. How actors moved with precision and purpose, their breath heavy after a particularly demanding, dance-heavy number. How intricate, every step was, yet it flowed as though it were second nature to the dancers. How their voices rose and fell, blending seamlessly together, harmonies intertwining with melodies in ways that seemed effortless but, Chuuya knew, were anything but.

How charming Dazai is.

Chuuya didn’t push this thought down. He simply couldn’t help it. Anyone watching him could see that the man had natural charisma, which was only enhanced by this role. 

Every now and then, Dazai would lock eyes with Chuuya from across the room, a fleeting glance, but enough to stir up something within him. It reminded Chuuya of that night months ago. He’d been sitting in the audience, just another face in a sea of strangers, but Dazai had found him even then. That one actor who had drawn his gaze, held it, and hadn’t let go since.

And now here they were again, except this time it felt different. The rehearsals, the performances, the way Dazai threw himself into his work—it wasn’t just about the show anymore. There was a layer of intimacy that made Chuuya’s chest tighten, a silent connection in the way their eyes met across the room, like they were the only two people there.

The way Dazai moved, the way he smiled even when he was exhausted, the way he could make a room gravitate around him like the rest of the cast didn’t matter—it made Chuuya’s pulse quicken. He noticed things now, little details he hadn’t paid attention to before. The way Dazai’s hair stuck to his forehead when he was sweating, the faint crease in his brow when he concentrated, how his eyes lit up after nailing a difficult scene. All of it was so… Dazai. And it was starting to mean more to Chuuya than he cared to admit.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya slipped out before the second act ended, weaving through the studio's quieter hallways to avoid the inevitable crowd that would flood the streets afterward. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he stepped into the open air, exhaling deeply. 

His gaze wandered over the people bustling by, each caught up in their own lives, not knowing what is going on behind those doors. Chuuya almost smirked, as though he were in on some secret no one else could possibly understand. The thought warmed him briefly, but the moment didn’t last.

A broad-shouldered man barreled past him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Chuuya let out a groan and just started walking with no direction of where to go.

The apartment was too quiet to be there.

He already had his morning coffee so no need to go to a cafe.

No shopping needed to be done.

So, he just started on, pretending like he knew where he was going. His hands found his jacket pockets as he started walking, the rhythmic click of his boots on the pavement grounding him. It wasn’t unusual for Chuuya to feel like an outsider in all of this. The glamour, the artistry—it was Dazai’s world, not his. 

Chuuya threw on his headphones and shuffled through his music- settling on Everlong by the Foo Fighters.

He passed a small park, its benches dotted with couples and individuals lost in their books or phones. For a while, he walked aimlessly, letting the sounds of the city wash over him. It was a strange sort of solitude, the kind that felt heavy but not entirely unwelcome.

Then, as he emerged from a side street into a busier intersection, he stopped in his tracks.

There it was.

A towering billboard loomed above him, impossible to miss. Against the vibrant reds and deep blacks of the Moulin Rouge logo, Dazai’s face, looking at Kyoko’s. 

Chuuya blinked, his brain taking a moment to process what he was seeing.

“No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the massive display.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Dazai.”

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. The billboard felt like a declaration, a reminder of just how far Dazai’s reach extended. For a moment, Chuuya thought back to the rehearsal, to the way Dazai had performed like the world depended on it. This was the result of all that effort.

Chuuya’s fingers itched to pull out his phone, to snap a picture and send it to Dazai with some sarcastic comment. But he hesitated. There was something about this moment, standing here in the middle of the city, staring up at that billboard, that felt oddly personal. 

The image lingered in his mind as he finally turned away, his footsteps carrying him forward.

꧁༒☬༒꧂

Chuuya stepped into the apartment, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his boots. He took everything in for a second. He looked around at the place that was becoming more like a home. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was becoming theirs. Bit by bit, they’d added touches. A mismatched collection of throw blankets adorned the couch, one vibrant and patterned, the other muted and soft to the touch. A thrifted lamp with a slightly wobbly base sat in the corner, casting a warm glow over the room. Scattered among the shelves and walls were small reminders of their lives outside this space: printed-out photos of people they’d left behind, moments frozen in time.

Chuuya’s eyes lingered on one of the photos tacked to the wall. It showed him and four other young men, all in crisp piloting uniforms. He looked at the way they leaned into each other as though sharing a private joke even at the moment the picture was taken. He felt a tug of ache, not able to keep staring at the photo any longer.

His gaze shifted to another frame nearby—one Dazai had added. In the photo, Dazai stood with a different group of people, all dressed in various costumes, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and triumph. The cast of a play, no doubt. Dazai stood in the center, his arm slung casually over the shoulders of someone to his left. Even in the stillness of the photograph, his presence seemed to dominate.

We both left so much behind in Japan.

Chuuya rolled up his sleeves, heading into the kitchen with a plan. Chicken katsu. Simple, comforting, and undeniably Japanese—a break from the burgers, pizza and overly rich meals that seemed to dominate Dazai’s current diet.

Flour. Panko breadcrumbs. Chicken thighs.

The oil in the pan began to shimmer, and Chuuya carefully placed the first piece of chicken in, the satisfying sizzle filling the kitchen. The smell of it was enough to make Chuuya start to crave his own cooking.

Once the chicken was perfectly golden and crispy, Chuuya set it on a rack to drain the excess oil. He worked quickly to slice up some cabbage, dressing it lightly with a tangy sesame vinaigrette. A pot of rice was already steaming away. The scents reminded Chuuya all too much of home and making this dish for his friends.

The final touch was the sauce—he whisked together Worcestershire, ketchup, and a touch of soy sauce, tasting it to make sure it was just right.

As he plated the meal—sliced chicken katsu on one side, shredded cabbage on the other, rice neatly scooped into a bowl—he felt satisfied. He told himself that this wasn’t to impress Dazai and that he just wanted to make a meal that reminded him of home. That was it.

If there is anything Dazai doesn’t miss, it's a cue. Chuuya was just placing down the meals as Dazai’s footsteps filled the silence. His eyes seemed to droop until he saw the food.

“My god, I smelt it down the hall. You made this?” Dazai questioned, his face now glowing.

Chuuya leaned into his right hip, “You act as if I have never cooked for you before. Shut up and sit down,” he shot back, but there was no heat in his voice.

Dazai was slightly taken aback by Chuuya telling him to shut up. He tilted his head, his voice dropping just enough to add a teasing edge. “I liked that, say it again, but slower this time.”

Chuuya’s jaw clenched, heat rising to his face as he grabbed a dish towel and whipped it toward Dazai’s shoulder. 

“Just. Fucking. Eat. Your. Food” Chuuya shouted, cracking the towel at a cackling Dazai at each word. 

The victim was a breathless mess, not expecting to spark this side of Chuuya with his words. “But maybe I want to eat something else tonight…something more-”

“If you don't shut up right now and start eating, I’m going to trash your plate,” Chuuya said with not even a slight joking tone in his voice. Dazai gave a mock salute before retreating to the table, but not before brushing his hand lightly against Chuuya’s back as he passed.

Chuuya shook his head, biting back a grin.

Dazai took a couple of bites before saying, “Dude. You need to stop being a pilot and become a chef.”

“Not happening. Do you know how long it took to get my certifications? All the things I’ve sacrificed. Plus, it’s chicken katsu. Easiest dish to make. You would know if you actually let me cook instead of adding absurd ingredients to our dinners.” Chuuya snapped back, trying to not take too much offense at Dazai’s comment.

“God forbid a man experiments,” Dazai replied, in his too-smooth-to-be-real tone, leaving Chuuya to desperately change the conversation. 

He was just talking about seasonings…get your shit together.

Chuuya regained composure quickly, trying to find the words, “Well, once you are done we should…I have something to show you. Nothing crazy but I think you should see it.”

They ate in comfortable silence, though Dazai tore through his meal with impressive speed, finishing long before Chuuya. Noticing this, Chuuya shot him a pointed look.

“Did you even taste it, or did you inhale it?” Chuuya muttered, stabbing another piece of chicken with deliberate precision.

Dazai leaned his chin on his hand, watching Chuuya with thinly veiled impatience. “I just want to know what this surprise is.”

Chuuya smirked but didn’t rush, cutting each bite carefully and chewing at a leisurely pace.

Dazai groaned dramatically. “Are you doing this just to torture me?”

“Maybe,” Chuuya said nonchalantly, taking another slow bite. “Patience builds character, Dazai.”

Dazai huffed, slumping against the back of his chair like he was on the verge of collapse. “You’re cruel, Chuuya. Utterly heartless.”

Chuuya chuckled, unfazed. “If you’re that desperate for entertainment, why don’t you clean up while I finish?”

Dazai perked up instantly. “Anything to escape this agonizing wait.”

Chuuya eventually finished up, with Dazai’s impatience growing at every minute. The two slipped on their coats and shoes and practically ran out the revolving door of the hotel. 

The sun was just setting, painting the sky with purples and pinks and a hint of orange. The duo looked up, and then were swept away by the busy streets. Chuuya led the way, trailing Dazai behind him.

Dazai’s head kept turning, trying to see where Chuuyai was leading him.

It couldn’t be a restaurant because they just ate.

The only museums near this area were closed.

If it was a broadway show, they would have needed to be at security thirty minutes ago.

Dazai was all out of ideas. He refrained from asking too many questions, content to let Chuuya have his moment.

Finally, Chuuya came to a stop at a busy intersection. He tilted his head upward, signaling for Dazai to do the same.

Dazai’s eyes followed his gesture—and then widened in surprise.

“My god…they got my good angles,” Dazai laughed, looking at Chuuya who remained looking up.

“Sometimes you need to shut up,” Chuuya said shortly, not taking his eyes off the Moulin Rouge billboard, that had Dazai’s face plastered on it, “Get in front of it. I should take your picture with it.”

No questions asked, Dazai stood in front of Chuuya, throwing up two peace signs. Chuuya smiled softly, raising his phone to snap a few photos. Most came out blurry—not because of Dazai’s antics, but because Chuuya kept finding himself looking at Dazai instead of the screen.

He paused for a moment, noticing the passing strangers glancing between Dazai and the billboard, doing double takes as they registered the familiar face. 

Before he could overthink it, Dazai waved him over. “What, no selfies? You can’t waste such a perfect backdrop.”

Rolling his eyes but secretly pleased, Chuuya joined him, slipping in close as Dazai wrapped an arm around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The camera clicked, capturing Dazai’s playful grin and Chuuya’s half-smile—softened at the edges despite himself. 

They took some more time looking at it, truly taking it in. Dazai nearly let out a tear.

“I uhm…” Dazai was letting the mask fall, ever so slightly, “I really do lo- appreciate this. You. All of what you have done for me.”

Chuuya squeezed his hand—when had they started holding hands?—pulling Dazai back to reality.

“Thought you should see it,” Chuuya said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. 

Dazai blinked, still processing, before a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. 

He then looked at the sky and said, “I’ll make you proud.”