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Chuuya doesn’t do this.
He doesn’t chase after objects of desire; people usually chase him .
Both literally and figuratively.
See, he’s a track-and-field athlete who spends the majority of his time on a gravel track or in a dingy weight room. On top of that, he’s a straight A student, because how else is he going to afford college without scholarships for both track and academics? His parents will never make enough to cover the school he hopes to enroll in, so he’s taken it upon himself to put in the real effort before it gets to the heartbreaking decision between a community based education or the university that’s been plaguing his dreams for years.
Chuuya is a punctual, hard working kid who never takes ‘no’ for an answer and refuses to settle on anything other than excellence. Whether he’s competing for another school record in pole vaulting, or spending hours editing an essay in the hopes that he’ll get a near perfect score.
Having said that, this is foreign territory. Uncharted waters that threaten to erupt into a tsunami of painful emotions that could turn his life upside down until he graduates. If he’s rejected now, his friends will never let him hear the end of it. Worst of all, the plans that he’s carefully formulated for prom will become obsolete in a matter of seconds. Going by himself isn’t an option (how lame would that look?), but the guy he’s had his eye on for months is an enigma.
Nothing but a fleeting shadow on hallway edges, always with earbuds blocking out the world around him. His pensive brown eyes constantly trace the ground before him, as though calculating each minuscule step before it’s taken, never daring to stray out of line. He spends his lunches in the library or music building, eyes closed as fingers tap some imaginary tune onto the nearest flat surface. This young man is… intriguing to say the least.
Hypothetically speaking, Chuuya could simply go to prom with a large group of friends, but the issue remains; he’s the only person who hasn’t secured a date. Meaning that in every photo, he’d be the odd man out. The loser standing alone without an equal. What’s the fun in being left in the dust while his buddies execute every romantic gesture in the book and sweep their dates off their feet on the dance floor all night long?
Hence why he finds himself sitting in a gradually filling auditorium of people dressed in elevated apparel, some holding bouquets flowers. Chuuya didn’t realize that it would be such a common gift for performers… the blue and white roses in his hand start to feel like a poor judgment choice after all. But his mom had assured him: flowers are a classic gift for performers that will never get old. Plus, the added gift sitting heavily in his jacket pocket should give him an edge…
The auditorium at their school is larger than previously anticipated. The crowd itself doesn’t fill every single seat like they would at a track meet, but it’s a large enough number that he can’t sit in the front row. Not that he wants to, anyway. The goal isn’t to be as obvious as humanly possible, it’s to learn about the cellist that’s been the talk of the arts department since the beginning of the year when he ranked among the best high school musicians in the country. Chuuya needs to blend in with the rest of these concert goers so that he can work up the courage to make a move after the show is over.
He knows two definitive things about this mysterious guy: that his name is Osamu Dazai, and he competed in a national competition at the age of eight and won . That’s about all Chuuya could uncover with a basic internet search. No social media pages, no news articles aside from the ones published around the competition, nothing concrete. For the sake of not feeling like a horrific creep digging into some random student’s past, he decided to do some hands-on reconnaissance instead.
Yet now that he’s here, waiting patiently for the guy who catches his eye every single time they cross paths in the hallway, Chuuya’s stomach is starting to twist and turn like a pretzel. What is he supposed to say when he’s never spoken a word to him?
‘Hey, I know you have no clue who I am, but do you want to go to prom with me?’
How odd is that? Dazai will surely laugh in his face if he goes with such a blunt approach.
This plan overall is incredibly flawed. Typically, when you ask someone to a dance, it isn’t a complete stranger that you’ve never had a conversation with. You usually ask a friend, or romantic partner, but Chuuya is fast-tracking the entire process. Skip the ‘friends’ and ‘romantic interest’ stage and jump right into the deep end labeled ‘exclusive date material’.
God . He’s a fool.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight for our presentation of Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 1.” A voice announces through the intercom as the crowd goes silent. Chuuya shifts nervously in his seat. “Please, no flash photography or recordings of any kind for the duration of the performance. If you need to get up from your seat, do so quietly.
“The orchestra is conducted by one Ougai Mori, with featured cellist Osamu Dazai. Thank you, and enjoy the show.”
The lights over their heads dim as performers holding various string instruments make their way onto the stage to fill the semicircle of sleek empty seats. There’s a singular chair in front of them all that faces directly towards the audience with a cello laying on its side at the foot of it.
Once everyone is seated with instruments in hand, someone right next to the stand in the middle rises and plays a long, single note. Then, the rest of the orchestra plays a variety of notes that don’t seem to have any rhyme or reason. Chuuya’s interest piques. Once they quiet down again, the conductor walks out and bows, then gestures to the side where finally Dazai enters.
His usually messy hair is well-kept and clipped to one side with a very simple pin. A sleek black suit dawns his body, and he himself carries a sophisticated, mature air. A cacophony of applause fills the cool, stagnant air as the junior bows, takes position in the singular chair, and picks up the cello. Suddenly all eyes are on him, but Dazai appears to be caught up in his mind with eyes closed, hand suspended above the strings of his instrument.
Like suspended in thick resin, he slowly lowers his bow to the strings and begins to play. Immediately, sharp notes kick off the entire song, all from Dazai’s cello.
Chuuya didn’t know a whole lot about classical music or proper concert etiquette, so he did a good deal of research before coming tonight so that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. Concertos are performed as one big song, but they have different movements or miniscule sections. The deeper meaning behind wordless music is lost on Chuuya, but he can appreciate a skilled musician nonetheless.
That’s what he does now: the music is pretty, but the way Dazai moves with the notes is even prettier. Gentle sways, eyes closed like the music is taking him to an entirely different realm where all that matters is the friction of his bow against strings. He doesn’t have a music stand, which is even more impressive considering the lack of hesitation as he glides from note to note. Chuuya has to wonder how many hours he spent memorizing this piece to get to the point where sheets of music are an afterthought, more of a hindrance than a safety net.
In a single word, he’s captivating.
Sports are entirely different. You work solo to improve your body in whatever sport you choose, but that’s just it. At the end of the day, you are the one who decides how far you make it based on how much you’re willing to push. Some sports are team efforts, sure, but even in those environments you still control the rate of your own progress.
Here, it’s a completely new formula. An orchestra is composed of countless moving pieces that all have to shift seamlessly for the song to flow properly. If even one person is off their game, they have the potential to turn the whole performance into a tumbling ball of fire. The teamwork they employ… It's inspiring.
Chuuya has a feeling that the next hour is going to change his entire outlook on the arts.
An hour and a half later, Chuuya finds himself standing in the main lobby of the auditorium, brain buzzing with coppery tones and echoes of beautiful chimes. He was shocked to discover that the concerto captured his attention more than he anticipated. Maybe it had something to do with the brunette playing his cello front and center, demanding that the audience partake in the journey with him, but Chuuya can’t tell for sure.
Dazai is the kind of performer who single-handedly controls the entire room, and Chuuya understands that perfectly now.
Standing alone in the lobby makes Chuuya feel small. Not for the first time that night, he wonders if this was a horrible idea. There were so many other options: he could have asked in the hallway, or found him in the library at lunch for a more intimate first meeting. But no, Chuuya’s mom had convinced him that this was a more ‘romantic’ show of interest.
Maybe it would be if he weren’t shaking in his boots like a pathetic chihuahua.
“Dazai!” A high pitched female voice squeals, catching Chuuya’s attention. She’s small with golden locks, wearing a bright purple dress. Accompanying her is an older girl, probably Chuuya’s age with sleek black hair and a modest, blue dress on. They flock to the boy in question, who’s holding a plethora of flowers already.
Smooth. Of course you wouldn’t be the only person giving him flowers tonight. Should have been more original than that.
Chuuya hovers as the three make conversation, unsure of himself.
You can do this. It’s easy. Just walk up to him and compliment the performance. Then introduce yourself and carry a simple conversation that ends in you handing him the card you made that asks him to prom. Who knows, maybe he’s the adventurous type who’s willing to go on a date with a complete stranger-
“Chuuya Nakahara?”
His head snaps to attention. It’s Dazai, standing directly in front of him with a quirked eyebrow.
“I… yeah, how did you..?”
“I know your name from track and field. My best friend is on the women’s team so I’ve seen you compete plenty of times,” the idea of Dazai having seen him perform without his knowledge makes for an unpleasant cocktail of disappointment and confusion. If he knew, he would have surely put on a better show than some random encounter. “Not to mention your group of friends tend to be particularly loud in the lunchroom.”
Chuuya cringes, flashbacks of his obnoxious buddies throwing food at each other flashing behind his eyes. Damn them.
“Right, yeah. Makes sense.”
“I didn’t think you were interested in the arts.” Dazai comments offhandedly, eyes sharp and calculating as though he’s trying to figure out Chuuya’s angle. His appearance is random.
“I’m not. Usually,” Chuuya concedes, the cellophane sheet around his bouquet of flowers crinkling under his fingertips. “But I heard that you were leading this one and wanted to come watch.”
Dazai looks him up and down. Chuuya may as well be standing behind an X-ray machine with how quickly Dazai sees right through him. “You came to your first orchestra concert because I was featured?”
“Well, I-“ his throat is tightening, anxiety closing him in an iron grip from below. Without thinking, he thrusts the bouquet into Dazai’s full hands, jostling the flowers he was already holding. Immediately, he can feel his face betray him as blush creeps up his neck and cheeks. “Here. I wanted to… I did come just to see you.”
A bandage wrapped hand takes the flowers gently, adding them to the growing collection in his arms. “Really? Even though you’ve never spared me a glance before?”
“But I have,” The redhead insists stubbornly. “I just never knew how to approach you until now.”
“Hm.” Dazai’s eyes are brown. But not dark brown, per se. No, they have sparks of gold that lighten his eyes even in the dull fluorescent lighting of the lobby. They’re mischievous and secretive, perfectly masking whatever is running through Dazai’s mind at the moment.
Chuuya shifts his weight back and forth and reaches into his jacket pocket, fingers toying with the card stock envelope of his prom invitation.
“Why?”
“I wanted to… meet you.”
“For what?”
“I have to have a reason?”
“It’s likely that you do.”
Dammit. Chuuya curses internally, withdrawing the envelope before his brain can convince him that he’s about to get insults spat right into his face.
“I wanted to give you this.”
Dazai takes possession of the envelope and studies it before asking simply, “do you want me to open it now?”
“Um,” The junior hadn’t really thought this far ahead. It would be awkward for Dazai to open it here and think that Chuuya needed an immediate answer, but he also didn’t want to wait any longer to know whether or not he needs to admit defeat. “Later is fine. After you get home, maybe.”
“Okay,” Dazai agrees nonchalantly and pockets the small envelope. “Well, thank you for coming, Chuuya.”
Oh , the way his name falls off of Dazai’s tongue is dangerous: borderline addictive. He wants to hear it more, wants Dazai to mumble his name as they kiss under the bleachers, shout his name from a spectator spot as Chuuya attempts a vault, mock him fondly when Chuuya makes a fool of himself in public.
“You’re welcome.” His voice is small, foreign to even his own ears as Dazai walks away to thank the next group of people eagerly awaiting his attention.
Now, the tortuous wait begins.
By some stroke of mercy, Chuuya doesn’t have to wait long for an answer.
He’s in the driveway sliding the parking brake into place when his phone chimes on the passenger seat beside him. The invitation had his number on it so Dazai could text him at his own convenience, hopefully with a kind hearted answer.
From Unknown number:
A note asking me to prom?
Chuuya wants to facepalm. Here comes the teasing.
To Unknown number:
the more I think about it, the lamer it becomes
From Unknown number:
Actually, I find it quite endearing. Even though we barely had a single conversation. What urged you to ask a stranger to prom? I could be a psychopath.
To Unknown number:
I have good intuition. And I think you’re cute.
From Unknown number:
Well, color me surprised. I GUESS I wouldn’t mind going to prom with a slug like you.
To Unknown number:
Slug??
From Unknown number:
Like I said, I’ve seen the way you run. A slug for sure.
Chuuya’s heart absolutely soars. He can’t believe Dazai accepted his lackluster invitation. As he saves his contact to his phone, another chime rings out that leaves him more than a little confused.
From Dazai:
There is just one little thing…
The next two months fly by in the blink of an eye. Track season is in full swing, which means meets every week, practice almost every day, and gym trips on the weekends. Chuuya has been enjoying the season so far, and even broke a personal record in his sprints. That scholarship feels more and more attainable every single day. If he keeps improving at these rates, there’s no way colleges will be able to turn him down.
There isn’t a lot of free time between the two of them, so Dazai and Chuuya make do by eating lunch together a few times a week and sharing car rides home after their respective practices are complete. It’s easy getting to know Dazai, natural as breathing. Not long after they meet, Chuuya can’t imagine going a day without talking to him.
Dazai is infuriating. Teases mercilessly, comes up with new nicknames every week to take a dig at Chuuya’s height, but they’re always said with fond gins and playful glints to his eyes. Such a lively presentation makes Dazai all the more alluring to him. Chuuya catches himself falling quicker than he thought humanly possible. Embarrassing, isn’t it? His first major crush and it’s this bandaged moron who starts pointless squabbles and insists on being more difficult than any other person Chuuya knows.
As for the “little thing” that Dazai had mentioned before…
”Our chariot has arrived!”
Chuuya hears as he exits his beat up car in front of Dazai’s house. There are two figures on the doorstep, each dressed in a suit of their own. The evening will begin with a meal at a high end restaurant in town that Dazai’s adoptive father Mori was able to score for them, paid for entirely by their parents. From there, they’ll be on their way to the venue for a night of dancing until they’re about ready to drop. Somewhere along the way, they’ll find time to take pictures with the photographer that the student council at their school hired.
“Wow, so the slug can clean up!”
“That’s rich coming from you Mr I-wear-hoodies-everyday.”
Dazai gasps loudly, holding a hand over his heart like some scorned maiden. Chuuya opens the passenger and back doors for them as the two make their way down the sidewalk. Mori is standing with Elise (Dazai’s younger sister), but has a knowing grin on his face. Many aspects of this night only became possible because of Mori’s connections. Their suits, the dinner, the money for sweets after the fact. He’ll need to find a way to repay him sometime.
“Well, I think you always look great, Chuuya.”
Sigma is such a kind, gentle person that Chuuya finds it difficult to imagine him and Dazai being involved with each other at all. A reserved boy on the outside who flourished when he steps on stage in a role other than himself. When Dazai first told him about his ‘friend’ (the term is used loosely considering that Dazai thinks them to be an unofficial item), Chuuya had been… a little shocked.
Not against the idea of going to prom as a ‘throuple’ instead of an exclusive couple, but shocked that people so young were interested in an open arrangement. Previously, he never saw himself in the same position, but once he met Sigma, Chuuya understood how Dazai would bend over backwards for him. His attraction for the brunette never faltered, but Chuuya also felt butterflies flutter aggressively against his ribcage when Sigma looked at him a certain way or complemented his performance (yes, they’ve come to more than one of Chuuya’s meets over recent months).
“Thanks, Sigma.”
The sophomore is wearing an off white, shimmery suit with thick heels, and his hair done up in loose hanging curls. There is some pastel makeup enhancing his God-given beauty and highlighting all the things that make Sigma so unique. Chuuya holds his hand for balance as the younger sits down in the backseat, then closes the door behind him.
“No special treatment for me?” Dazai asks with a petulant pout, crossing both arms over his chest. He is wearing a navy blue suit with pastel accents that perfectly matches the tiny details on Sigma’s outfit. Thankfully, Dazai and Chuuya’s lack of style was blocked out during the planning process by Sigma, who made it crystal clear that he refused to be seen at prom with ‘vagabonds’. In truth, the sophomore is the reason the two juniors look remotely presentable tonight.
Chuuya wears a maroon suit, with delicate accents that tie the entire outfit together. Blue and off-white colors connect the trio and make it clear that they’ve gone together . Does Chuuya worry about what others will infer about their relationship? Not really. He’s never been affected by the opinions of others, and he’s more than willing to put anybody who bothers Dazai or Sigma over the arrangement in their place. It’s nobody's business except the three of them, and right now this is more than enough.
“What happens if I trip and fall? If I lose my balance and end up in the grass? Do you want my suit to get ruined when Sigma worked so hard on making us match?”
Chuuya deadpans, “Get in the car, Dazai. Don’t be a pain in my ass.”
“Chuuya is such a mean little thing!” In a show of defiance, Dazai stomps his foot and refuses to budge an inch. The two of them stare each other down, like predators waiting to see who will lower their guard first so the other can strike. After close to thirty seconds, Chuuya finally caves with a loud, drawn out sigh and offers a hand for Dazai to take so that he can sit daintily in the passenger seat.
He does so with a smug grin that Chuuya wants to wipe off his stupid face with his lips. Not now, though. That’s an activity for later.
The redhead shuts the passenger door and quickly gets back in the driver’s seat, glancing over his shoulder with a bright smile “You guys ready?”
“More than ready, I’m starving .” Dazai drawls, drawing small circles over his ‘empty stomach’ through his shirt. Sigma giggles from the backseat.
“We better not let this bag of bones disintegrate, hm?”
Chuuya flicks Dazai’s forehead gently before starting the drive to the restaurant. Hours of memories lay before them, untold but ready to be crafted. Two months ago Chuuya would never have thought this possible, but he can’t stop smiling right now. With Dazai’s obnoxiously off-key singing and Sigma squealing for him to ‘spare his ears’, Chuuya is fairly certain that there’s nothing that could taint his mood.
Gods. He is so lucky.