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One thing Dazai Osamu was good at was attending parties.
Fitting into the crowd.
Putting on a mask for no one to see.
Not that anyone noticed; particularly at least.
Just to piss her mom off, she cut off her unruly brown hair which was getting hard to maintain ever since she got into university.
She usually preferred pants and floral tees paired up with brown coats, her hair tied up in a bun but she decided to cut it short so that she didn’t have to spend a long time braiding her hair and running late for her classes.
Nothing as embarrassing as the first day in that private institution, although.
She preferred pants because the first day she attended classes in the campus, she tripped over and fell face first on the floor before being met with the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes crouched down facing her.
A gorgeous redhead with the most obnoxious clothes she has ever seen in her life.
It took a while for her to recognize she was offering her hands, with her hair tied up in a bun with a punk-street style T-shirt which was cropped and a loosely fitted jeans hanging off her hips.
“You new here?”
Dazai didn’t know what to say, the clothing was obviously not her style, but it suited the girl, the slightly disheveled hair with auburn curls down to her shoulders.
The girl raised an eyebrow eying at her, urging for a response, almost.
Right.
She was basically a PhD scholar to work under a literature professor, but she can’t admit that to a hot stranger, eying at her for a response, as she struggled to formulate a sentence.
“Kinda. I’m here for the philosophy classes, where do I find the professors?”
“Ah, its on the left side, the last cornered classroom. The upper floor. Mostly cabin rooms. Also, stop staring at me, it gives me the jitters”, she murmured and shifted the grip on her guitar case, the auburn curls flowing and stopping right next to her shoulder.
“Sorry, I was just….Your clothing is……unique I must say.”
The girl seemed to be munching or swallowing on…..something? Before she blew a bubble, which popped right in her face, the mint flavor overwhelmingly fading away after a few moments, before Dazai realized how close they were.
Too close, that she could smell the acrid woody smoke that emanated from her lips which was intoxicating to say the least.
She immediately moved aside picking up the stacked sheets and picked it up as the girl sniggered at her, the sound a tad annoying.
Okay, it pissed her off.
Her first day and she had to meet a punk of all people.
And fall face flat, which was even more embarrassing.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Looks cool, don’t you think? Anyways I have to go, show my face at my physics lecture unfortunately, I’ll see you around.”
Not at all. It is definitely not her style.
It looked stupid. Morbid and dark.
Hideous.
“It suits you. What’s your name?”
“Nakahara Chuuya. Guitarist of the Flags.”
“And did I ask?.” Dazai smirked, leaning against the corner.
“No, but ‘Tross told me that’s the way a person of a reputed band must introduce themselves. With humble politeness.”
“That really wasn’t polite at all.” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at her.
“Whatever.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Hmph, I get that a lot.”
“The…flags? Like as in The…Flags who perform here every Saturday evening?”
Chuuya winked, smiling, with a hint of smugness that made her wanna roll her eyes “You got it, see you around, Dazai Osamu.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dazai didn’t really question how she had come to know her name, it was easy. She was a famous celebrity couple’s daughter and they were one of the richest business companies in Japan.
Although she got here by simple academic merit, the tagline of being part of the household never left her. She was easily exposed to the media and the paparazzi at a very young age so every time it is no surprise, the moment she steps out of the campus, there are cameras pointing at her.
She got used to the flicker of cameras, that sent her senses into an overdrive as she hit the bed at nights.
She barely listened to what her supervisor as she wrote her paper in silence, her mind working on autopilot as she mindlessly let the laptop fill with words.
It did, and she submitted her first article, and she didn’t know how five hours pass by. And then it hit her.
Today was Saturday night.
She made her way carefully to the auditorium which was filled with students cheering The Flags on.
And they were the loudest cheers around.
And she stood by the side, watching the energy they brought to the campus. The serotonin, the music, the adrenaline that seared in her veins and the glint in Chuuya’s eyes when her eyes closed.
No wonder, the Flags were so loved by the campus.
She stood by the corner, awestruck by the redhead she just met that day, brimming with life, the synergy with the rest of the bandmates, the sweat that dripped from her nostrils as she soaked in the atmosphere.
Nakahara Chuuya belonged on the stage.
She sat by the corner, with her books in her hand, her overstimulation making it difficult to stand there, but she couldn’t help but relish in the surroundings filled with so much raw emotion and life.
Alive.
Effortless gorgeous even.
Nope, nope, let’s not go there.
Maybe, she haven’t seen that much of life, either, filled with the coldness and negligence of a glamor and popularity even if she tried to shed it away. It stuck to her like a ghost, but atleast she had her papers that showed who she was.
Since then, she decided to change up her appearances a little bit and began to look a little bit presentable, her hair cut, formal wear when she passed by the redhead in the hallway.
It was a comforting routine that when they passed by each other by the hallways offering polite smiles while they got to work, although Chuuya’s smirk was leaning more onto borderline suggestive.
Dazai never questioned it.
Before it turned into an odd sort of companionship.
Dazai was amazed to know that Chuuya didn’t just learn electric guitar but also wrote lyrics and occasionally switched positions with ‘Tross.
Then, out of the blue, Chuuya asked, “Would it be weird if I play acoustic and practice my notes while you come and study at my dorm.”
Normally Dazai would have declined, but this was just another excuse.
Another routine she can take in to spend time with Chuuya, so she said yes.
The library quiet was a divine space where she could mindlessly stare into her laptop, read books on philosophy that made absolute zero sense.
When the gentle strumming of Chuuya’s chip hit the guitar, it was felt with a familiar melancholy that echoed in her sister’s novels, the grief and pain that was all too recognizable, she knew it all too well.
“What kind of lyrics do you write? Those sound good, for concentrating, especially the melody.”
“Heartbreak and melancholy, mostly. It’s the acceptance of the people we lost, who wouldn’t come back, but memories that etched in our hearts, grief as art, music, writing, painting, anything. It’s not just about how we cope but to turn something that shattered your heart into something beautiful and meaningful. Memories that could never fade. That was the Flags motto when we joined when I lost my mom and dad. So I write. Translate the pain into a melody. Make those memories something that still keeps them alive. It makes me alive”
Dazai held and entwined their fingers, “That’s fucking beautiful, Chuuya.”
It was on a random Thursday that she found the girl again but, in a cafeteria, rather than the hallway as usual, she had her guitar case open and was writing something.
“Hey.”
“Oh, almost didn’t recognize you there, you cut your hair?”,Chuuya questioned, eyeing her, her odd brown eyes staring into hers, before she turned back to the notes on her paper.
She almost blushed but sat down coolly, looking at the notes that Chuuya was writing, a stack of papers that oddly reminded her of the research papers she had handwritten before she decided to write it in digital form.
“Hmm personal comfort first. You’re starting to fit in. Why didn’t you question that I had known you?”
“Isn’t it apparent whose daughter I am?” Dazai laughed.
“No? Who are your parents?”
The genuine confusion on Chuuya’s eyes were priceless. She looked clueless as Dazai laughed even more, “Don’t you know the top business company in Japan?”
“The what? Enlighten me please.”
“So you really don’t know.”
“I don’t know, which is exactly why I’m asking you, Osamu.”
“Oh first name basis.”
“Tch, stop being annoying and tell me.”
“I want you to answer mine then.”
“Hm?”
“How did you know about me then? If….you didn’t know about my parents?”
“Aren’t you the top novel writer under the pen name of Sakunosuke Oda? I heard some other author took after her death, and your research articles seemed painfully similar when I read one, I thought I connected the dots - but I write songs, I know how grief feels like.”
“How…?”
“It was a mere guess, but seems to me I was right.”
“That’s…yeah, you are right.”
A weird flutter of warmth erupted in Dazai’s stomach. She has never been known as the author who had taken right after her elder sister had died. The random snippets of grief that she had poured countlessly on paper and submitted them to publishers to continue her sister’s legacy, even if their writing styles varied.
She matched it. To perfection.
Odasaku was too young to die, but she needed someone to keep going. Who will, if not her little sister?
“You are way too perceptive for someone your size.” Dazai smiled,
“Hah! Of course, you are using that to deviate the conversation.”
“I never knew someone would even know about it. This is insane.”
“Pretty obvious. ‘Tross taught me to read when I was young, and I write song lyrics, why do I think you keep writing research articles on grief, I know it all too well.”
Dazai was about to speak but she was interrupted by a phone call from her mother and she stepped away to take a call, her eyes paling as her mom’s voice cut in through the bliss that she wrapped herself moments in, while talking with Chuuya.
They are having a lavish party in a month or so.
She dropped the phone into her bag and stepped out of the cafeteria.
Remember when she said she would fit into any parties. Shapeshifter at her parents party? She was more of a show-off. A lie that she was the product of her parents love and care.
Plastered smiles. And the odd flicker of cameras.
She hated it.
Then the familiar graze of leather and heat brought her back to where she was standing.
“If I may peer in and ask, which I always certainly did, you don’t seem..good I take it.”
“Not really good. My parents have an event this weekend. And it seems like it’s a big one, so you know the one where I have to smile for pictures, fake pretend that I’m in a “loving family”, and the fucking paparazzi, and I have to wear-“
“Dazai you-“
“No I have to be perfect. I can’t For once. Be myself. You don’t get it. Its-
Chuuya looked at her and cupped her cheeks, “Dazai, slow down.”
“I hate it, Chuuya. I cannot be there without my parents driving me insane and telling me how I wasn’t on my appropriate behavior today.”
“Dazai.Shh. Slow down. Breathe in.”
Dazai melted when Chuuya held her in position, the tension in her shoulders fading away in an instant and she smiled at the shift.
“I’m sorry i-“
“Woah there, may I accompany you?”
Dazai’s eyes widened.
“I mean they wouldn’t really mind me bringing a friend. They don’t really care-“
“Then so be it. I’ll play at your event and give em a whole damn show.:
Dazai’s hands grazed over Chuuya’s thumbs, the scent of the familiar smoke, the understanding that stormed in her eyes.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss that was soft that she barely felt at first, then Chuuya’s fingers slid against her neck, the gentle brush of the thumb that sent shivers down her spine, the gentle whisper into her ears
“I’ll be right there with you. Long story short : Let’s keep this our secret. There, you are not priority, neither are you. Just friends, am I right?”
“Yeah, just friends.Our secret.”, Dazai’s eyes widened and smiled, the suggestive smile on Chuuya’s, the familiar warmth descending her from the panic.
It would be okay, then.
If Chuuya says so.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
One thing Dazai Osamu was good at was attending parties.
Fitting into the crowd.
Putting on a mask for no one to see.
Not that anyone noticed; particularly atleast.
Dazai’s mom wasn’t really impressed with her bringing her friend over.
The black dress was too flowy and too tight for her anyway, it was sparkly and her mom who was the heir to some famous business company insisted on her to wear it.
Much to her delight, Chuuya wore a grey suit to the party, the guitar in her case slinging off her shoulders.
She casually slipped her hands against Dazai’s as they sat in the corner after the speech, even when her mother expected her to interact with other important guests who came in.
Dazai couldn’t care less, with Chuuya’s brown eyes swirling with her’s, her hair styled in a tiny bun, a little less disheveled.
In a moment, the girl she didn’t know would change his entire life in just a month’s time, pulled her to her feet, away from the sight of the flickering cameras, the heightened fear that crept back onto her, away from the judging eyes of celebrities that corroborated with that of her parents.
Chuuya urged her to take a seat in her car and put on the bow to keep her frayed hair in place, surviving a party where for once she didn’t feel conscious, where she didn’t feel like being watched, where she felt….
Alive.
Which was all that ever mattered anyway.
“I assume the princess loves acoustic.”
“Yours, especially. Wait Chuuya, why are we here anyway?”
Chuuya leaned in, the woody smoke filtering her sense with a sort of comfort that she has grown used to, a haven she longed to be in. The languid lazy kisses bringing her dizzy to her knees, lingering on the bandages longer.
“So let this be our little secret hmm?”, Chuuya sniggered.
The sound that used to annoy her is now a delight she relishes in.
The slow strumming of the guitar sent her into a lull of peace, a stark contrast to the rush and sparkles in the party, the melancholy and grief that had got them together, staring into each other’s eyes like the night wouldn’t end without hearing the voice of the girl she was so grateful.
“So when you said you’ll put on a whole show you meant….”
“For you. Special regards, Dazai.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Tross might disagree. I’m the best.”
The cigarette in her hand mixed with Chuuya’s voice with the lyrics composed for her sent her to blissful oblivion, her head snug against the redhead’s shoulder as she sang.
She didn’t miss Chuuya’s lips lingering on her forehead for a minute or so either.
Lazy kisses, high on driveway, a road to nowhere.
Best. Party. Ever.
Dazai wasn’t Mori Corporation’s daughter.
Not the Paparazzi’s doll or model.
For the day she is Chuuya’s,
Little sister of Sakunosuke Oda and her own person.
An author. A lover.
That was all that mattered.
Memories made in carefree moments.