Chapter Text
“Osamu, it’s fine.”
“It isn’t fine,” Dazai replies, petulant. “I’ve never missed one of your concerts. Ever. This entire thing is ridiculous.”
“The world won’t end if ya miss a concert,” Chuuya says. He shuffles something around on the other end of the line. “Besides, we’re together, dipshit. I can give you a private show any time ya want.”
Dazai feels blood rush to his cheeks but continues to sulk, folding his lips into a proper pout. “It’s still ridiculous. Thousands of people get to see you in person tomorrow and I’m stuck on the other side of the country. I hate it.”
“You’ll be okay, you drama queen. You have a phone, I have a phone. We’re still in the same damn time zone.” Chuuya chuckles. “It’s not like I’m gone to war.”
“Yet I still feel like a military wife.”
“You’re stupid.”
“You’re short.”
“Okay.” Chuuya gives an exaggerated eye roll, going as far as to hold the phone closer to his face to ensure Dazai doesn’t miss the expression. It’s petty. It’s also horribly Chuuya. “How’s the case coming along?” Chuuya asks after a few beats of silence. “Any progress?”
Dazai sighs. “It’ll probably be solved by tomorrow evening.” He waves a dismissive hand. “It’s all reliant on a bust going down in the morning.”
Chuuya nods. “The one they need all hands on deck for, yeah?”
“Unfortunately. No one knows how long it’ll take, it might even become a stakeout.” Dazai groans. “It shouldn’t but it might. Not to mention all the paperwork that comes after.”
“Poor baby,” Chuuya teases. Dazai shoots him a glare through the camera, which is answered with a soft laugh. “Really, though, that’s good stuff. I know it’s been eatin’ ya.”
“It’s been ‘eating me’ because I wanted to get it done before your concert,” Dazai says, scowling. “Not that it matters, anymore.”
“We both know that’s a lie, Dazai.” The smile Chuuya gives him is skewed, just missing the margin of pity. It’s more melancholic and knowing. “Sure, ya wanted to come. But if that was the only reason, then you would’ve dropped the entire case on poor Kunikida, by now.” Dazai slides his gaze away from the camera as Chuuya talks, focusing it on the painting on the wall. It’s a beautiful capture of a sakura tree, a work of art gifted to him by Chuuya’s older sister as a wedding gift. The lack of eye contact must be telling because Chuuya huffs. “Don’t be sellin’ yourself short. You’re workin’ this case ‘til the end ‘cause you care about the victim, don’t ya? The young woman.”
“Hatsuyo.”
“Yeah, her.” Chuuya’s smile is audible in his voice. “You told her you’d help, so you’re helpin’ in every way you can. You’re a softie.”
“Family heirlooms are important,” Dazai says, turning towards his window as the evening’s sunlight saturates the room. His eyes follow the shadow Chuuya’s plant casts from the windowsill. He licks his lips. “She seemed…very distraught over losing them.”
“Only she didn’t lose them, they were stolen,” Chuuya corrects, “and you’ve found them for her in record time. It’s sweet of you.”
Dazai clicks his tongue. “I don’t know if I’ve found them, yet. We will find out tomorrow.”
“Nah, they’ll be there.” Dazai’s gaze finally returns to the phone, finding Chuuya beaming. “C’mon, babe, you’re the best detective I know. If ya say they’re there, then they are.”
“Naive,” Dazai replies. Still, his lips twitch into a smile and his chest fills with warmth. “But you always are.”
“Ha-ha.” Chuuya deadpans, flipping the camera off. “See if I ever try to console you again, prick.”
Dazai snickers, ready to tease his husband further. Before he can, though, there’s a noise of soft distress from the other side of the line. “Wait, what time is it?” Chuuya’s voice is laced with panic and there’s a quiet beat as he squints at the digital clock at the top of his screen. His eyes widen, then, and Dazai can tell he almost drops his phone with how suddenly he bursts into movement. “Shit! Shit, wait, I gotta go,” he says, the camera no longer focused. Dazai catches glimpses of every corner of Chuuya’s hotel room as the other shuffles around. To his great amusement, Chuuya curses at least thrice his usual amount. “Fuck. I have rehearsal in seven. Fuck.”
“It’s fine, Chuuya,” Dazai says, “just call me after.”
“Yeah, yeah—shit, yeah.” Chuuya’s face comes back into frame and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s walking, now, along a corridor that Dazai assumes to be the hotel’s. His breath comes a little quicker in his haste but he still smiles at the camera. “I’ll call ya later. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Dazai replies, affection swirling within him. The call disconnects with a quiet click, Chuuya’s face fading into a black screen. With a sigh, Dazai falls back in the bed, his head hitting the pillow. He lets his phone rest on his stomach. The other side of the bed is empty and the unusual silence persists, Chuuya’s absence as impactful as ever. Yet all Dazai feels is warm, Chuuya’s voice echoing in his mind and his love encompassing his heart.
Not even two minutes later, his phone dings, and he lifts it to see a message from Chuuya.
Your dumb gorgeous face will get me in trouble one day, dickhead.
Dazai can’t help but laugh.
Thankfully, the bust is a massive success. It doesn’t end up leading into a stakeout, all the heirlooms are recovered in once piece and there’s no outstanding injuries. It all goes just a little too smoothly for Dazai’s liking, but he can’t complain about the results. By the time it hits 11 A.M, the whole operation is wrapped up and they’re cleared to return to the office. Dazai has never been more willing to sit at his desk and type up a report in his life. With his noise cancelling headphones on and Chuuya as a motivator, he has the basic report filled out and read over within an hour and a half.
He drops it off at his work partner’s desk as soon as it’s finished printing. He’s even gone as far as to staple the pages together neatly, if only to shave off some time from Kunikida’s nagging. “All done,” he says as Kunikida looks up at him. With a surprised yet cautious expression, his partner picks up the report, adjusting his glasses as he scans the front page. His face then shifts into something more positive but still surprised.
“Don’t get used to it,” Dazai tells him, smirking. Before Kunikida can reply, Dazai schools his expression and solemnly says, “Take care of Hatsuyo for me, will you? Tell her that everything is handled and that all the heirlooms have been successfully retrieved once she comes in. Please.”
Kunikida blinks at him, then clears his throat. “Very well,” he says, setting Dazai’s report aside. “Are you leaving early? Is this approved?”
Dazai waves him off. “The President knows. And yes, I have a train to catch.” Kunikida nods and Dazai’s shoulders drop in relief. He meets Kunikida’s eyes with sincerity. “Thank you. Text me if you need anything.” His lip quirks up. “Although I can’t promise I’ll answer promptly.”
With that, he departs, making his way out the door and towards Shin-Yokohama Station. He double-checks his ticket on his phone, and boards the 2 P.M. Nozomi. On such short notice, the ticket was absurdly expensive—but there’s hardly a price Dazai won’t pay if it gets him to Chuuya the quickest. Once he’s seated and comfortable, he checks his phone. The concert begins in five hours, more or less. The bullet train takes about four to get to Hiroshima. It’s plenty of time to make it to the concert and surprise Chuuya. Dazai can’t help but melt into his seat with a long sigh. A small smile graces his face, his gaze drifting out the window. If all goes well, he’ll be seeing Chuuya in five hours.
It’s only once he arrives at his destination that he comes face-to-face with a critical issue: in order to meet Chuuya, he has to enter the venue. More specifically, he has to get backstage. Unfortunately, given that his plan was entirely last minute, he has no VIP pass, let alone a regular ticket for the concert. Even more unfortunately, the concert is most definitely sold out, so acquiring a regular ticket on time would be practically impossible. Staring at the massive venue ahead of him and the rapidly growing crowd around it, Dazai grimaces as he thinks.
Naturally, simply being Chuuya’s husband should be enough to get him a VIP pass. They’re for friends and family, after all, and Dazai’s fairly positive he fits into the latter category. The only issue is that his and Chuuya’s relationship status is largely private: the public isn’t aware that Chuuya is married, let alone of who he’s married to. He and Chuuya have talked about going public but are yet to do it, leading to this regrettable timing. Without Chuuya’s own confirmation, his word is worth essentially nothing and he remains a regular citizen with no concert ticket. He mentally discards that plan.
His next train of thought leads him to his profession. He could pull the authority card, flash his badge and claim he’s a detective doing an investigation. If he played it off as enough of a time-sensitive emergency, it might just get him in, even without a warrant. He discards this plan almost immediately, though, upon making an unfortunate realisation: he does not have his badge with him. He can picture its actual location, sitting on his desk in the Agency’s office.
Cursing, he decides he might just have to break in. It isn’t that daunting of an idea, in truth: he’s dealt with much worse. Still, it’s far from an ideal plan, with everything that could go wrong.
Reaching for his phone, he checks the time. He still has about half an hour until Chuuya comes on stage. Very doable. He briefly considers texting Chuuya: his husband would no doubt be ecstatic that Dazai could make it and would come down to collect him. He decides against it. It would ruin the surprise and…well, it wouldn’t be much fun. He pockets his phone. A last resort, perhaps.
Mind made up, he heads straight for the back door. He doesn’t bother with the concert hall’s main doors, where the security will be the tightest and ticket inspection will be unavoidable. The back door is a safer option and it leads directly backstage. Two birds with one stone.
Dazai squares his shoulders and approaches the security guard, overflowing with faux-confidence. The man holds out a hand to stop him as soon as he nears the door. “Identification,” he booms, authority leaking from the singular word. Dazai gives his best shocked look, making a show out of looking down at his attire and patting himself down. He heaves a theatrical sigh. “U-um…I seem to have forgotten it,” he says, meeting the guard’s eyes with the most pleading look he can muster. “But you have to believe me! I work here, have for years! I’m expected.”
The guard doesn’t budge, just staring down at him. “No can do,” he tells Dazai, crossing his arms. “If you forgot your ID, you can contact venue personnel and request an escort. No identification, no entry.”
Dazai flinches back as if hit, if only as a last-ditch attempt to sell it. “W-what? But I—”
“No.”
Huffing, Dazai drops the act, posture straightening. He childishly sticks his tongue out at the guard before walking off. He waits until he’s a safe distance away before turning around, eyeing the door. For a few minutes, nothing happens. Dazai brainstorms ways to get the guard to leave his post—perhaps a well-timed distraction will do the trick. He considers throwing his phone to make a loud noise. There isn’t much more he can throw, and facing the guard head-on again won’t work unless he wants to physically fight. He isn’t a fan of resorting to any kind of combat, non-lethal nerve strikes be damned.
He ends up not having to do anything. It takes the guard not even five minutes to leave his post. In a move that’s overwhelmingly suspicious, he simply abandons the door. Dazai thinks he’s talking on the phone, but once he’s out of earshot, Dazai returns his focus to the now un-guarded door. Everything in Dazai screams it’s a trap, his years of detective experience honing his instincts to recognise a set-up when he sees one.
Still, Dazai’s getting desperate. He needs to get in there and he has barely half an hour to do it. Trap or not, it’s his chance. Dashing for the door, he grabs its handle only to find it locked. He curses under his breath and pulls out one of his pins, crouching to begin picking at the lock. Sloppy, he berates himself, of course, it’d be locked.
With his skills the lock clicks within seconds, the door swinging open. Still, the few seconds he wasted catch up to him and he hears someone clear his throat from behind him. Heaving a deep sigh, Dazai turns around, coming face-to-face with the security guard. Accepting his fate, he tries for a grin. “Hey, come here often?”
The guard grunts. Then everything goes black.
Dazai awakes in a small room. He’s been moved onto a chair, but a quick flick of his wrists shows that he’s not restrained in any way. Blinking to get his eyes used to the light, he spots the security guard across the room, blocking the door and watching Dazai’s every move.
“Hi,” Dazai greets, giving a cheeky smile. “Any chance I could leave?”
The guard glares at him. “No. You’re a trespasser. I’m under orders to watch you until the event is over.” He gives Dazai a once-over. In a better situation, Dazai might’ve made a frisky remark. “Then you’ll be handed over to the proper authorities.”
Dazai frowns. “Why haven’t I been?”
“No weapons on your person,” the guard says, “so you are not a high-priority threat. Security personnel will escort you once the event is over.”
Internally, Dazai resents that label. He is very much a threat, weapon or not. Wisely, he doesn’t voice that thought. Instead, he crosses his arms in a petty gesture and pouts. There goes his plan about surprising Chuuya with his presence. The way things are going, the biggest surprise his husband will get is Dazai’s bail fee. It takes a few moments of silence but eventually an idea comes to him. It’ll still ruin the surprise he has planned for Chuuya, to his chagrin, but at least it won’t be jail time.
Taking a deep breath, he releases a weary sigh, doing his best to sound disappointed. Playing up his whiny voice, he tells the guard, “Fine, fine. You got me.” He huffs. “I’m Chuuya’s husband. I want to surprise him.”
It’s the truth, of course, but the guard just glares at him harder than before. It does nothing to deter Dazai. “No, really,” he says, “I am. If I had my phone…” He dramatically pats his now-empty pockets. “I could even call Chuuya to prove it. Alas…” He grins.
The guard raises an eyebrow, which is the most emotion Dazai has seen out of him so far. His entire frame screams sceptical. “You’re delusional,” the guard says.
“Maybe I am,” Dazai replies. Then his grin shifts, stretching in a way that’s too wide to be comfortable, yet doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s an expression Chuuya in particular doesn’t like. “But are you willing to gamble that with me?”
There’s a beat of silence before the guard grunts. “Gamble?”
Hook, line, and sinker. Dazai nods. “Yep. If I really am Chuuya’s husband and he finds out that you didn’t let me in, even when I’ve been so kind and honest? If I tell him you knocked me out?” He whistles. “Your future with this job won’t look pretty, I’ll tell you that much.” He sees the guard shift on his feet. Crossing one leg over the other, Dazai continues, “It’s a win-win for you and me. You call Chuuya down, he thanks you for collecting his husband for him, and we all get to walk away scot-free, isn’t that right?”
“And if you’re lying?”
Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Then Chuuya comes down here, you get off with a warning for wasting his time, and I go to jail after the show. On the contrary, if you don’t call him at all, and I’m not lying…” He gestures with his hand to avoid repeating himself.
The guard scoffs. “You’re bluffing.”
Dazai clicks his tongue. “Am I?”
The silence that follows is telling. Despite the consequent stare down, Dazai can already tell he’s won. It takes everything in him not to snicker when the guard lifts a hand to his earpiece, switching it on. Dazai watches as the guard argues with what he assumes to be other security personnel, giving them the same arguments Dazai just gave him. Clearly, they work, because there’s a pause and suddenly the guard’s tone changes into something more formal. More respectful.
“I apologise to interrupt, Mr. Nakahara, but this is urgent. There’s a trespasser here that is claiming to be…” He meets Dazai’s eyes. Dazai grins, all teeth. The guard clears his throat. “…To be your husband.”
Dazai can’t hear what Chuuya’s saying on the other end, but by the guard’s immediate wince, it’s definitely something angry and full of cursing. Once the information is relayed, the guard turns to Dazai with a sour expression. “He’s on his way. But it’s not looking good for you.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He sounded very disbelieving. And very angry.”
Dazai chuckles and waves a hand. “Ah, he’s disbelieving because I’m not supposed to be here. He’s probably under the impression that someone’s impersonating me.” He snorts. “Really now, if Chuuya knew I was here, then we would not be in this situation because I would already be inside.”
About a minute later, the door slams open to reveal a very angry-looking Chuuya flanked by two more security guards. “Who the fuck is—!” he starts, only for his mouth to snap shut upon seeing Dazai. His eyes instantly soften, all fury in them extinguished. Still, he frowns in confusion. “Dazai? The fuck?”
“Hi, Chuuya!” Dazai says, relishing in the baffled faces of all the security guards present.
Chuuya stares at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Dazai hums and shrugs. “I wanted to surprise you!” He rises from his seat, then, intending to latch onto his husband, but freezes when he sees all three of the guards tense. As much as he’d like to hug Chuuya, he also would prefer not to be tackled or tasered.
Chuuya sighs before taking a step forward himself and taking Dazai by the hand. He turns to the guard that’s been tormenting Dazai’s mental state for the past fifteen minutes and gives him a polite smile. “Thanks for callin’ me down. Yeah, he’s my husband. I can take him from here.” He shoots Dazai a glare. “Sorry for any inconvenience the bastard caused.”
He then proceeds to lead Dazai out the door. On the way out, Dazai looks back over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at all three of the guards. Just to rub salt in the wound, he also displays his left hand and flashes the ring that sits upon his finger. He commits their expressions of exasperation and bewilderment to memory before turning back around, happily following Chuuya along.
“Seriously, Osamu, what are you doin’ here?” Chuuya asks again as they walk.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Dazai repeats, falling in-step next to Chuuya. “Not everything went to plan, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Chuuya snorts. He raises an eyebrow in Dazai’s direction. “And the case?”
“Bust was successful. The whole operation was finished by eleven.”
Chuuya’s other eyebrow rises in shock and he grins. “Really? That’s good. Was everythin’ recovered? Everyone fine?”
Dazai nods. “I have never written a report quicker in my life. I dropped it off with Kunikida and left.”
“That poor guy,” Chuuya says. He waves off another member of security as they pass by. “Did you take the plane?”
“Nozomi at two.”
“Shit, so you really did just make it.” Chuuya snickers. Then his expression falls a bit and he sighs. “But seriously, you could’ve just texted. I would’ve let ya in.”
“I know,” Dazai says, “but that wouldn’t have been nearly as eventful or fun, would it?” His following grin melts into something more sheepish. He can feel the tips of his ears warm up in slight embarrassment. “Ah, but I did forget I needed a ticket. It was a genuine mistake on my part.”
“What, too good for one?” Chuuya teases.
“I’ve never needed one! I automatically had VIP just by arriving with you.”
“Yeah, like my passenger princess. Spoiled brat, you are.”
“You love me,” Dazai says as they reach their destination: the green room.
“Unfortunately.” Chuuya smiles at him, letting his hand go before reaching into two of the pockets of his black cargo trousers. From one, he pulls out a very familiar phone. From the other, a pass hanging from a light blue lanyard. “Here,” he says, handing Dazai his phone.
Blinking, Dazai takes it and pockets it himself. “Where…?”
“The guard handed it to me on the way out,” Chuuya explains. Then he gestures down with his hand and Dazai complies with the wordless request, bowing his head. Chuuya hangs the lanyard around his neck.
Curious, Dazai holds the pass up. Across the front, DAZAI OSAMU is stamped onto it in big, golden letters. He looks back up at Chuuya with a slight frown. “A pass…?”
“So ya don’t get kicked out again,” Chuuya says with a chuckle. Then he shakes his head. “Nah, I kinda prepared for this in advance.” He reaches up to pat Dazai’s cheek. “This wasn’t totally unexpected. It’s you, after all.”
Affection swells in Dazai’s chest as he’s once again winded by how well his husband knows him. He doesn’t get to give Chuuya a reply as a bell sound rings out and a worker rushes into the room, holding a clipboard. With a swift apology, he informs Chuuya that his performance begins in five minutes. He hands Chuuya his microphone—a glittering red one, the same as the tank top he’s currently wearing—and bows to excuse himself. To his credit, he doesn’t even spare Dazai a glance, largely ignoring his presence. Chuuya thanks him with a grin and the worker leaves.
Dazai hums, leaning down to press a kiss to Chuuya’s cheek. “That’s your cue, sweetheart. Have a good show.”
Chuuya’s dazzling grin turns to him. “Actually, I was thinkin’ you’d come with me, this time.”
“With you?” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t understand. I’m already here.”
Chuuya snorts. “Idiot. Join me on stage, I mean.”
Dazai swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He knows that they’ve already been exposed to a few people and that they had talked this through beforehand, but he still hadn’t been expecting Chuuya to make a move so big. “I’m…not sure that’s allowed.”
Chuuya says nothing and instead just points down at Dazai’s pass. Following his finger, Dazai looks down at it and picks it back up. Inspecting it, he notices something he didn’t upon first glance: directly under his name, in the smaller letters that would usually spell VIP, is written AAA.
Dazai’s eyes widen and he looks back up at his husband. “All access?” he chokes out.
Chuuya chuckles. “Damn right.” He flicks the plastic pass. “Now ya can go anywhere. Even the stage.”
Dazai melts, the burning affection in his chest starting to spread in a way that’s dangerous. Chuuya just beams at him, grabbing Dazai’s hand. He wastes no time pulling him along and out the door, straight in the direction of the stage. More specifically, Chuuya leads him under the stage.
Chuuya gestures to the small square in front of them. “This will lift us onto stage. Well, me first, then you when I say so. Once I’m up and the show starts, you just stand on top of it and wait. Got that?”
“Seems straightforward enough,” Dazai says.
“Great!” Chuuya stretches up to kiss Dazai’s cheek before stepping onto the square. He adjusts his ear piece and gives Dazai a wink. “See ya up there.”
With that, he clicks something on his microphone and lifts it to his lips. “Everyone out there ready?!” he yells into it, his voice echoing around the entire venue. The sound and the cheering that follows startles Dazai into fixing his posture. Chuuya grins at him…and then he’s gone, brought up by the mini-elevator.
The audience goes absolutely wild at Chuuya’s entrance, Dazai only watching in fascination through the monitor screens. He keeps his eyes on them as he steps onto the elevator himself, following Chuuya’s earlier instructions. The cheering becomes almost deafening as Chuuya begins to sing, and at least that’s something Dazai can relate to the audience on. Chuuya not only has the voice of an angel, but he looks divine when in his element.
Dazai watches with nothing short of fascination as Chuuya’s presence overpowers the stage, filling every inch of it with his passion. He’s seen it many times before, of course, but he can never get sick of it. The way Chuuya’s eyes light up and his hair bounces around—it’s all perfect. He’s perfect.
As his first song comes to a close, Chuuya chuckles and picks up a bottle of water. He takes a generous swig of it—and god, it should be illegal to look that hot while just drinking water—then sets it aside. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “This next song is one you’ll definitely know. It was written about someone very special to me.” Chuuya pauses, letting the audience cheer. He grins. “I hold it really close to my heart, ya know this. So I’m happy you’ve liked it so much, too.”
More cheering. Chuuya slowly walks backwards towards where the elevator had revealed him, originally. “Now, ‘course, I’ve never told you who the song’s written ‘bout.” He licks his lips. Dazai recognises the cheeky expression on his face. He knows what his words are doing to his audience, and he’s enjoying every second of it. “Which is my fault, honestly. I’ve let the…subject of my affections be hidden in the dark for too long, haven’t I?”
“I guess it’s time to bring them into the light,” he says, grinning like a kid on Christmas. With a sharp grin, he adds, “Literally.”
Dazai doesn’t get to see more, because as soon as that word leaves Chuuya’s lips, the elevator starts moving. Dazai braces himself as he’s lifted onto the stage, a massive spotlight highlighting his entrance. The crowd is so loud Dazai can barely hear himself think: thankfully, Chuuya’s instantly in front of him, making his personal space theirs. He grabs Dazai’s hand with his free one, rubbing a thumb over Dazai’s knuckles. He leaves his microphone down as he mouths, “You okay?”
Dazai looks into those bright eyes and nods, Chuuya’s face splitting into a grin all over again. He continues holding Dazai’s hand but moves over to stand at his right side. He lifts the microphone to his lips once more.
“This is Dazai Osamu,” Chuuya says, Dazai fighting the urge to visibly shiver at the way Chuuya says his name. “My partner of eleven years now and husband of five. No confusion about it, yeah?”
And, as if to prove his point even further, he tugs Dazai down by the collar of his shirt and presses a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips. He doesn’t even give Dazai a chance to respond, instead gesturing for the music to start up again. He begins to sing his next song, maintaining eye contact with his husband as he does so. Not once does he let go of Dazai’s hand, either.
Dazai can only smile like a lovesick fool and try his absolute best not to cry in front of thousands of people.
He does, however, hope that every security guard in the world is watching.
“By the way, that guard knocked me out.”
“He what?!”