Chapter Text
Dreaming of stardom and working toward being famous is one thing. Being born into it is another.
Chuuya Nakahara did not know his parents. Well, he knew they were famous actors, but that was about it. He hadn't been raised by them. Instead, he, by means he was not aware of to this day, had been placed into the hands of Kouyou Ozaki. She wasn't considerably older than him, yet because they were in the same industry, they lived together.
Chuuya had been a grumpy child. Being forced into acting as a child made him bitter, angry, hateful. It was the kind if upbringing that left one without much of a childhood. Chuuya had never had the chance to go to a normal school or make normal friends.
He had been introduced to the feeling of stress all too soon. Everything and everyone put him under stress. Chuuya had never been scared of starting an argument with the adults or snapping at people.
The other child actors he worked with throughout the years were too afraid to approach him. He was often described as volatile. It wasn't just the kids; quite a few crew members walked on eggshells around him.
There had been one exception to this. He remembered a particular show he had to film in which he was the star. If he had to be honest, it was a rare show that he actually liked being in. Chuuya played the role of this lost, irritated delinquent. Really, he hardly had to act.
It was his costar that had made his whole experience special.
There was a second kid that stated in this show, playing the part of an edgy loner. This character met Chuuya and clashed with him at first, but the two eventually bonded and became friends.
The actor was a kid named Osamu Dazai. He was also the perfect fit for his role. Outside of filming, he didn't speak much. He had the eyes of a severely traumatized and grownup child. Most days, if the words weren't scripted and staged, you would not hear so much as a peep from Dazai. Not that Chuuya necessarily minded. Thus, he tolerated him.
At some point in the course of filming this show, Chuuya's costar had the idea to try to push his buttons. Dazai would begin to pay him personal visits in the night, but he still refused to utter a word.
"Alright, what are you doing here, mackerel statue?" Chuuya snapped one time.
As expected, he received no response. Dazai had come in through a window once more and remained perched there as he stares blankly at Chuuya. If was unsettling; Dazai had the most disturbed eyes Chuuya had ever seen. He was uneasy just being looked at.
"Answer me!" Chuuya demanded.
Dazai shook his head firmly. "Statues don't talk."
His voice was quiet, not necessarily all that gentle, but it was quiet. If it hadn't sent a chill down Chuuya's back, it would have had a soothing effect on him.
"But you just did. And for the record, you should talk more. I can actually stand your voice."
Dazai tilted his head. "You... like my voice?"
"Tsk, idiot. I never said I liked it, I said I could stand it. There's a difference. Are mackerels the only fish who don't go to school?"
His costar frowned and proceeded, out of resentment for Chuuya, to be rather a pain to get anything out of. What else was new, honestly? This was far from unusual, coming from Dazai.
"Hey, I didn't say I even dislike your voice, so stop moping," Chuuya grumbled. "It's bumming me out."
Dazai turned his head away as he spoke. "You still called me stupid."
*Eh?! No, I didn't!"
His costar raised his index finger. "To pick apart your exact words, I don't go to school, therefore insinuating I have no education. Without an education, I am, essentially, stupid."
Chuuya threw up his hands. "Your words, not mind. You're calling yourself stupid in this case."
"You still called me an idiot."
"You shut your mackerel lips already."
The frequent intruder climbed backwards out the window. He leaned against the windowsill and stared in where Chuuya was. Still, he did not run away just yet. This was odd, considering how quickly Dazai left every other time he had broken in.
"You're still here," Chuuya observed. "Why tonight?"
"My legal guardian was murdered, and I ran out to avoid police," Dazai said, the same dead look in his eyes, except more intense and bone chilling.
"Your... guardian?"
Dazai nodded, resting his head sideways on his folded arms. "Odasaku. Someone was after him, but I'm not sure who. I left as soon as the culprit broke in, and I didn't catch any glimpses."
Upon hearing this story, Chuuya was far more horrified than he would like to admit. Dazai had come here after just witnessing a murder, and he acted like it hadn't happened.
"Why did you come here after that happened?" Chuuya demanded.
His costar had a distant look in his dark brown eyes. "I thought it would make me feel better."
In the sliver of moonlight the night provided, Chuuya finally noticed that there were streaks on Dazai's chokes as well as a slight redness in his dark brown eyes. He must have cared a lot to have cried over his guardian's death.
Before he could think more clearly and stop himself from doing so, Chuuya found himself offering help.
"You can stay here, just for tonight, if you want. If you're going to do that, climb back in and shut the window."
"This feels scripted and staged."
"A man once said that all the world's a stage."
Dazai lowered his head to his chest and grumbled, "I hope you fall off the face of the earth."
"What did you say?!"
"Nothing!"
This was the last time Chuuya ever saw or heard from Dazai.