Chapter Text
“What even is that?” A skeptical question was voiced behind his back.
“This—!” Dazai exclaimed, spinning around on his stool, with his paintbrush pointing at the offender as if it was a medieval murder tool, rather than a fluffy stick dripping with red paint, “This, Atsushi-kun, is called art!”
Winking at his fellow club member in some sort of a gotcha moment, Dazai completely missed (or purposefully ignored) the sigh escaping his mouth. He also missed the way Atsushi’s eyes scanned over what Dazai would call a piece of art, almost as if judging every brush stroke that led to this result.
“I— okay.” The poor boy always gave up fast when it came to Dazai. There was no amount of afternoons spent coddled together in the art room that could desensitize anyone to him. It was something he silently prided himself with—always being able to surprise anyone in the room, bringing something new to the table each time (be it a legitimately good art project idea, or a suspicious looking powder he swiped out of Mori’s office for shits ‘n giggles).
Well, with an exception of the rat in the corner. The creep was never phased, silently digging away at his block of whatever he was working with that day. Dazai threw a dirty look into said corner, not bothering to wait and see if it was acknowledged.
Satisfied with Atsushi's dejected attitude, he plastered an innocent smile on his face, spinning back to face his masterpiece with a hum. Coming face to face with the painting, however, made his smile drop. The question earlier didn't come from nothing after all. Dazai's artwork had a certain ominous feeling clinging onto it, a seemingly random and chaotic flurry of colors and shaky strokes all over the canvas. Hesitantly lifting the paintbrush back up to the canvas, Dazai had to think—where was he going with this piece?
Usually it was whatever stray feeling that invaded his mind bleeding into his art. Annoyance, boredom, listlessness—whatever it was, he would banish it onto an empty canvas the moment his brain registered its presence. But this time? This frustrating pressure wouldn't drain from him no matter how many brush strokes he placed, no matter how many colors stained the white surface. The pure white which was still peeking out all over his painting.
With at least one concrete goal in mind, he dipped the paintbrush into the untouched red paint he squeezed out earlier. He wasn't a fan of the color; pure red was a rare sight in his works. But now? A color he couldn't stand felt like a perfect tool to fill in the cracks in this mess of blues and purples he created.
Dazai practically slammed the poor thing back on the canvas, pushing the soft brush against the empty spots with way more force than necessary. His eyebrows pulled together into a frown, as the white slowly gave in to the eye-sore red. It both looked and felt worse than before.
He glanced back to make sure Atsushi returned to his own station, before letting his face drop against the canvas with a quiet oomph. It was baffling how much trouble one dumb work gave him. Not a competition piece, not a graded one—just a stupid attempt of getting rid of that weird pressure haunting him since he woke up.
Once Dazai lifted his head back up, an odd texture left by his hair adorned the center of the painting, perfectly contained in one of the few areas filled with red paint. Below the staple of his hair, a rounder, flatter shape left by his forehead was visible. Great, now he was carrying the annoying piece of trash on himself.
His head slammed down at the canvas again.
The tension didn't ease up.
He brought it down again.
Still nothing.
The fourth time, he could hear the canvas strain under the weight.
Fuck.
The fifth time, he felt the material rip under the pressure.
He felt just like that.
Dazai groaned, glaring daggers at the mess in front of him as if it personally ruined his day. It didn't, but there was no one to blame in his nearest vicinity, so it had to do. Blues, purples and reds, smudged around by the biggest paintbrush those canvas have ever seen (his paint-soaked bangs), in no way reflecting the stupid pressure he was feeling. The only thing it reflected was the colors that were probably molding his face into quite an interesting sight.
Oh well. He could just start over from the beginning. The purple was probably the wrong choice…
“Can someone grab Gin from her rehearsal?”
“Me~!” Dazai volunteered, springing up from his stool and dropping the paintbrush from his hold without a care in the world. It probably wasn't as usable as he'd like it to be after the rough treatment either way.
The question came down on him like a blessing—an excuse to get out of that room, to get that failure of an artwork out of his face for at least a moment. Dazai hadn't even registered who asked the question (probably Akutagawa, he is her brother after all), he simply spotted an opportunity and took it, skipping out of their club room before anyone could get a word in.
Once he was outside, he was faced with a different problem.
What rehearsal did Gin have?
As far as Dazai was aware, there were no meetings on Fridays for the music club.
But as far as Dazai was aware, the music club could've changed over the school year—his avoidance of the damn place surely wasn't helpful when it came to being informed…
Destination music clubroom it was!
Now. Where was the clubroom?
Ten minutes of walking around the too big of a building was all it took for Dazai to locate the place. The time could've been cut in half if he decided to head downstairs for the school plan first, but he didn't really care about speed that day. Walking down the empty corridors felt oddly therapeutic, despite being left alone with his thoughts—which ended up being more of a torture than anything in most cases. Maybe it had something to do with the weird pressure that just wouldn't stop haunting the poor little him. Pressing against his skull, relentless, causing his stomach to drop in anticipation of something that never came. A weird phenomena that couldn't be drained onto an empty canvas—slipping out of Dazai’s grasp the second he tried to pull it down with a brush stroke.
The silence let the mysterious pressure even out, flooding all of the little corners of his body instead of trying to crush two of his important organs with every breath he took. Shoving his hands into the uniform sweater’s pockets, Dazai strolled down another empty halfway in the direction of the music clubroom.
Predictably, he found the rehearsal by following every loud sound his ears picked up on. Two corridors later, the noise was consistent enough to follow until he reached the room. The bass abused his eardrums from far away, and all the other instruments joining along certainly didn't make it better. Once a relaxing escape from the art room, now a torture walk accompanied by ear-piercing (not to call it ear-grating just yet) music.
Inviting himself in, Dazai slipped through the door just the moment the music cut off. He just had to grab Gin and leave, right? He could already feel the room would be too loud in a moment and the temperature wasn't doing it any favors. The bandages suddenly felt tight against his skin, the itchy feeling of sweat already present at the back of his mind.
The place was dimly lit, half of the lights above fighting for their lives to stay lit, one step away from whatever afterlife was there for inanimate objects. A chaotic display of music equipment strewn around, some of them looking worse off than the poor flickering lamp above. Old speakers, too many cables and guitar cases to count—and was that a dismembered drum set? Whatever. Those people probably thrive on mess and chaos, reflecting perfectly how their music sounds.
Dragging his gaze away from the unimportant corners, Dazai dragged himself up to the center of the room, a makeshift stage with actual working gear on it. The drums were empty, their player off to talk with the others leaving his instrument alone at the edge of their little platform (Dazai decided that calling it a stage would be too generous). The five of them were huddled around a keyboard, discussing something he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to.
The blonde girl—Higuchi, if he recalled correctly—was the first one to notice, directing a questioning look at him. A wave was the only response she got. Gin was standing behind the keyboard, focused on the matter at hand. The only other he recognized was the bowl cut guy. One gets famous around the school pretty easily after blowing up a chem lab during the first week of the year. The two remaining redheads however, never saw them before.
With a hum, he skipped towards the group, ready to grab the person he came for, and dip out as quickly as he slipped in.
The universe seemed to have different plans for his poor self, however.
The damned cables seemed to gain a mind of their own, wrapping themselves around his ankles the moment he looked up and stopped watching his feet. Suddenly gravity itself joined the Dazai-bullying club, sending him crashing down. Crashing down, but not onto the ground like he originally thought. No, no, that would have been way too easy. A short-lived embarrassment, something everyone would forget in a week. No, he had to make his little fuck up memorable.
And he did that by crashing right into one of the mystery redheads. To top it off, in a desperate attempt to save himself he managed to change the course of his fall enough to drag both himself and the other guy down to meet their demise.
His back slammed against the floor, right below the platform he managed to make them fall from. His head came soon after, hitting the ground in a way that let a nasty fog envelope his mind for a few moments. He could hear muffled voices, too many voices to keep up with at that moment.
It took Dazai a second or two before he cracked his eyes open again (when did he close them?), only to come face-to-face with two different eyes staring right back at him. Brows pulled together, something akin of concern mixed with annoyance swirling in those mismatched eyes of his. Vivid blue and the warm brown blending together as Dazai’s own vision still hasn't settled, blurring and focusing over and over without much success.
Ah.
Why was he so close? Dazai could feel the other’s breath hitting his face as he spoke, leaning even closer for unknown reasons. The fiery locks of hair framed that face in a way that seemed almost too perfect, in a way that felt more painted than real. The dim light of the room finally served some purpose, shining behind the boy, enveloping him in some sort of a soft glow that seemed more unreal than not.
Ah right. He was asking him something, wasn't he?
“...you okay?” It took some effort to tune back in, but it was worth it.
The sound of the redhead’s voice burst that heavenly bubble that was crafted around him. Low, rough from whatever nonsense he was yelling during their rehearsal earlier. Unbefitting of the work of art he seemed like before.
Though the intense gaze still had Dazai pinned, mind on a high and heart beating a little too fast for his liking.
“I—uhm, yeah…” He responded, his voice stepping out of line, stumbling out a response before his brain had the time to catch up. Dazai must have not been convincing enough, because those eyes only got rid of frustration, concern completely drowning out whatever other feelings they might have harbored before. Dazai felt something shift, just now registering the weight present on his body. Right, he dragged the boy down with him. It was only obvious they would end up like that. The logistics of the whole thing still didn't prevent the blood from rushing to his face. How embarrassing.
The new information distracted his brain enough not to notice the hand coming up to brush the bangs away from his forehead. Ah. His mind might have just overheat at that moment. Figuratively and literally—the actual heat Dazai was feeling at that moment was way too high anyway. Adding a figure who practically radiated warmth on top of him? That was just a tad too much. His bandages were definitely soaked with sweat at this point and for some reason that made him feel oddly self conscious.
Dazai decided to simply ignore that.
He tuned out whatever was said next, resigning to his fate as a pair of hands found itself on his shoulders, gently lifting him up, putting enough distance between the two of them to breathe.
He hadn't even noticed when the weird pressure disappeared.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The band was busy practicing their songs for the upcoming festival, which was the bane of their existence. Chuuya, naively, expected a normal(ish) practice for once. Yet that (and himself) crashed all down (literally) when a brunette guy randomly appeared and tripped on some wires taking Chuuya down with him.
Chuuya knew firsthand about how the cables were definitely a health hazard—though after the band spent so much time in here that they could walk around with their eyes closed and not fall it stopped being a problem—so he didn’t blame the guy for tripping, but it doesn’t mean he couldn’t be annoyed about it (really some people needed to watch where they were going).
After regaining awareness of his surroundings he rubbed his head and massaged his hip, fuck this was probably gonna earn him some bruises.
He looked down to check on the other. Only to be met with blood(?) coming from the guy’s head and soaking his shirt—what the fuck?!
Disregarding his own injuries, he immediately got up and crouched over the kid. Did he really fall hard enough to bleed?!
He slid his hands below the brunette's head to support it and get a better look at the damage, though he couldn’t really see between the clumps of red, fluffy hair and…was that bandages?
Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, the guy on the floor looked “What the hell? Are you okay?”
“I—uhm, yeah…” the boy responded, looking dazed and not moving to get up from the floor.
Chuuya stopped inspecting his head and instead looking at his face, the bandage that he found in his hair draped along his face and covered one of his eyes was also soaked with red. Maybe he could be concussed, he looked the part, and if he fell hard enough to bleed who said it wasn’t hard enough for a concussion?
Chuuya brushed the bangs out of his face so it wouldn’t add to the ever growing heat on the guy's face, but feeling his face again he realized it had only made him hotter. How does that even work?
Back to the main topic, from what Chuuya saw he didn’t fall on anything sharp—well the guy fell on top of him so definitely not a sharp corner—so maybe he reopened a old wound that was covered by the bandages?
As Chuuya was lost in his thoughts and theories, the guy was finally starting to become more coherent (a rosey red was still prominent on the other’s cheeks) making him snap out of it and use the opportunity, “what’s your name?” Chuuya decided on, just so he wouldn’t have to refer to him as "that guy” or “brunette” anymore.
Waiting for the guy to form a response, Chuuya lifted him up and sat him in a nearby chair so he could make sure the brunette doesn’t fall forward. Chuuya was pretty sure dizziness was a symptom of a concussion, and he doesn’t want it to affect the guy and cause him to fall face first twice in a row (he was sure it wouldn’t be very pleasant)
After a couple more seconds, the guy blinked, almost as if he hadn’t registered the question. It took another good second before he finally did something—he leaned forward in the chair, a dumb grin pulling on his lips.
“Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy?” He asked in a voice that sounded a bit too light to be taken seriously.
Chuuya was dumbfounded for one second
Processing for 2 seconds
And at three—
Chuuya burst out laughing, the uncontrollable kind. He clutched his stomach and was close to wheezing. The second he thought he calmed down he tried speaking and he laughed even harder than before, tears building in his eyes. After a bit more laughing and calming down he responded with, “it’s Chuuya, not whatever the hell that was. Now c’mon dude. Seriously, what’s your name?” Remnants of the previous laughing fit were still present on Chuuya's face, red cheeks and an amused smile.
His amused smile slowly evolved into a grin as he saw the other’s ’flirty’ smile turn into a disappointed pout.
The brunette was definitely sulking for a minute before he answered, “Dazai, Osamu Dazai” Dazai settled on, his tone still light but now with a pouty undertone, like he was a child who didn’t get what he wanted.
“Okay, Dazai, why’re you here?” Chuuya said like he was mocking him ever so slightly.
“Well, someone in the art club needs Gin over there, so…” he trailed off “came for her?” Almost like magic, the pout Dazai once harbored turned into a sly smirk (which in Chuuya’s professional opinion looked cute on him—wait what, who said that…?) as he directed his eyes to Gin.
Chuuya turned to her and nodded his head to Dazai, gesturing for her to come down from the makeshift stage. When she did, he put her hand on her shoulder to grab her attention and shot her a sideways smile “when you come back we’ll continue practice, try to be quick.”
As she went out the door Dazai tried getting up to follow her back to his club room, but Chuuya had other plans, he dragged Dazai back down to sit his ass back in the chair. “Nope, you’re not going anywhere. I don’t trust you to walk back to wherever the hell you came from, Mr. Concussed.” He ruffled his hair before yanking his hand back like it burned him, he almost forgot about Dazai’s injury.
“But Chuuya! I need to get back, everyone in there will miss me terribly!” Dazai protested, but with how dazai has been acting so far chuuya heavily doubts that. “Hm, I’ll let you go only if you go to the nurse.” He smirked, knowing the nurse that was currently there was Yosano, a girl who was practicing to be a nurse—her father just so happened to be in the industry. But he saw how Dazai tensed up, that was…odd, to say the least. Yosano wasn’t that bad, a little eccentric (if that was even the right word) about her job but not that bad. “But I don’t want to go.” Dazai said in a whiny tone, annoying and endearing at the same time (seriously someone has to be forcing him to think this way).
“You're quite literally bleeding.” Chuuya countered, his tone unimpressed as he gently pushed the guy deeper into the chair.
“Huh?” Dazai tilted his head, looking genuinely confused before his eye lit up, a badly contained giggle slipping out from between his lips, “Ah, that? That's red paint. Chuuya isn't the smartest, is he?”
“You—!” before he had the chance to blow up, Chuuya held himself back. Hitting an injured person wouldn't make anything better (despite how good it would've felt), “Blood or no, you still need to get some care.”
“I am not going to the nurse!” Dazai whined, giving Chuuya what seemed to be his best imitation of puppy eyes (eye, he corrected himself).
“Oh well that's too damn bad, that means you’ll stay here.” Chuuya leaned closer, crossed his arms and turned his chin up, “Chuuya, that’s so unfair.” Dazai continued complaining, throwing his hands up and slumping in the chair like a petulant child.
They continued bantering like that the next 10 minutes and only stopped when the door opened again to reveal Gin.
“Oh, you’re back, already? That was quite fast.” Chuuya said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Only for Gin to respond with, “It’s been 14 minutes.” The response made both Chuuya and Dazai’s mouths go slack, they just stared at each other.
Eventually Chuuya was the one to break the staring contest of sorts and turned his head away, “this doesn’t mean you’re free to leave, school’s about to end anyways so you may aswell stay for the rest of the time.” Chuuya declared, making Dazai slouch in the chair even more.
After forcing Dazai to sit up straight and behave like a functioning human. The band got back on stage, all quickly testing their respective instruments.
Kaji and Gin were cracking their fingers.
Chuuya was humming and doing voice exercises for a minute or two.
Tachihara was testing his guitar and messing around with the amp settings.
Higuchi was testing out her bass and making sure it was correctly tuned.
At last, they were all ready.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
God, they were loud.
It had been maybe ten minutes since the little band picked up their instruments, ready to cause Dazai even more suffering than he was already feeling. He might have not been concussed, or whatever the hell Chuuya had accused him of earlier. He should've denied it when he still had the chance, but the hand ruffling his hair left his brain on a temporary pause. It wasn't the first time someone did it to him, but it was the first time he didn’t necessary hate it. It was odd. Instead of actually thinking how to slip out of this situation, he let his mouth run on autopilot.
Which landed him right there. On the dumb chair in a corner away from the door, with the stupid ginger’s watchful gaze falling onto him every few moments. Dazai had honestly no idea how he ever thought the guy looked good. What was it that crossed his mind there? A work of art? Yeah, as if.
The closer he looked, the more imperfections he could spot. Especially when his little observation session was accompanied by the ear-grating sound of their music. Could someone please teach the bassist that turning down her amp is not a crime? Dazai lasted five minutes before he needed to cover his ears (not that it helped any).
Back to Chuuya though. Because the hideous little guy was the only thing on his mind at that moment.
First of all, he was short. Something Dazai would be sure to make fun of at a later time. It was honestly unsettling how much life and energy a person of such a small stature could radiate. Truly, too big of a presence for his body.
Not to mention the voice. So loud, it sounded like it belonged on those rock festivals Dazai had the displeasure of passing by a time or two. It would fit right in with the loud screams coming from there. The crowd would probably scream for Chuuya too.
His looks were far from a work of art as well. Ginger hair, really? That's what got his attention before? Stupid bright color that got the light bouncing off of it? He looked like some sort of a human shaped penlight. Hair shouldn’t be able to do that, therefore he was weird.
Weird boy with weird eyes that were easy to get lost in, with the dumb freckles all over his skin, making that expression…
Cue the unlucky timing, Chuuya's eyes fell onto him—a regular check up he had been doing to see if Dazais was still alive and kicking. Of course the shortie had to catch him staring with that dazed expression. Just great.
Feeling the blood rush into his face from embarrassment (blushing two times in one day had to be some sort of a record for Dazai), it only took a second or two to avert his gaze.
Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to go down that thought process. Thinking about someone so annoying had to be the reason for his weird behavior. The other’s presence was certainly eating away at his brain-cells. Surely it was because they talked for a good while.
He didn't really hate talking to Chuuya though.
Ugh, he shivered, was this the chibi-disease spreading? Corrupting his brain into enjoying a conversation with the guy? That had to be it. Definitely. The normal him wouldn't stoop so low as to talk with an annoyingly loud band member.
Right, the band. He almost managed to forget that they were there, the horrendous cacophony of sounds falling into the back of his mind when Kaji decided to rage quit, slamming the metal parts of his drums with enough force to leave Dazai's ears ringing. Him and his poor ears couldn't be bothered to figure out what the guy got pissed about, yelling something before jumping off the platform and exiting the room with a bang (a literal one, as he slammed the doors so hard even the lamp was too intimidated to flicker back on for a few seconds).
Well, that was interesting. His ears hadn't bothered to filter out Chuuya's curses the same way they tuned out whatever the drummer was going on about. Seeing how it was the same student who blew up a whole lab just for fun, it could've been everything.
With one last curse, Chuuya stepped off the stage (he somehow made the dumb construction look like one, Dazai wasn't going to question it). Such a foul mouth he had.
Dazai was perfectly content with staying in his chair and pretending like he didn't exist until this tense atmosphere cleared up enough to dip… but the universe had different plans. Like always. Chuuya, always the attentive one (in the half an hour they knew each other) couldn't have possibly forgotten Dazai. The poor concussed kid stuck at their practice.
So, to no one's surprise, the angry Chuuya matched straight in his direction. It was the kind of look that made alarm bells ring in your head—not in Dazai’s case though. He felt pinned in his seat, curiosity winning over any other thought that might have been present. So much raw emotions on display. It was intriguing, hard to look away from, even. Maybe he should've paid attention, so he could know what caused a reaction like this. When Chuuya reached him, the anger melted into mild annoyance. He felt a pang of disappointment in his chest.
Dazai wanted to see that expression again.
“You better now?” Chuuya's voice got his attention before it even had the time to drift away.
“Hm? Me? Of course~!” Dazai responded, his voice as light as usual. He could see Chuuya's brow twitch at the tone, which meant he was doing something right.
He wasn't dignified with a worded response, an unimpressed look being the only thing he got. An innocent smile was plastered on his face in an instant.
“I'm telling the truth. See?” Giving Chuuya no time to prepare, Dazai jumped up from his seat, throwing himself into a spin the moment he was standing upright.
Not his brightest idea that day—while he might not have been concussed like his overbearing company had assumed, he wasn't fine either. Slamming your head on the ground does that to you. So, the little spin might have spinned out of control. An annoying way to prove his well-being to Chuuya turned into an uncontrollable tumble to the ground.
And, of course, like the good person Chuuya was, he started laughing at his poor self (for the second time that day) instead of helping him off the ground. What a betrayal! Dazai made sure to show his utter disappointment by sticking his tongue out at the cackling Chuuya above.
He might have sulked for a few minutes longer, but seeing the shortie tower over him was… a bit too much at that moment. Dazai did not want to think about it.
So, he climbed back up to his feet (by using Chuuya as leverage to pull himself up—the shriek it evicted from the boy made the smack on his shoulder all worth it). Dusting himself off, because the floor in this room was a sanitary hazard and it was the least he could do, Dazai whined and pouted about how cruel Chuuya treated him.
“Truly, terrible. Short and mean, what a combo” He huffed, playing up into the dramatics—and just like he thought, calling out his height pushed some buttons. The annoyed expression flashed with surprise, before his brows pulled into an angry frown. Perfect.
“I'm not—wait, short?! I'm still growing, you asshole!” Here it was. That fire from earlier. Dazai's eyes practically lit up, as he leaned even closer, the pout stretching into a smirk.
“Maybe drinking some milk would help?” He kept up the tease, “Your growth seems to be stunted~”
“You—!” And the smirk turned into a grin, barely holding back a laugh as Dazai saw Chuuya fighting with himself not to smack him across the head. A deep breath later, he was ready to keep talking, “Anyways. The practice is over, c’mon, I'm walking you back to your little art hole—or wherever it was you crawled out of.”
Dazai snickered, not bothering to correct him, “Move along then~” he hummed, skipping along towards the exit “I hope those short legs of yours will be able to match my place…!”
And he was out of the door. Angry curses followed after him, alongside a pissed off Chuuya who seemed to be regretting all his life decisions that led to this point. Dazai almost wanted to give him a pat on the head. The image of Chuuya biting his hand flashed through his mind and he decided not to. It seemed like something the boy would do… Just like a dog.
The words he wanted to say died on his tongue, mouth opening and closing awkwardly without a sound.Dazai grimaced, speeding up and leaving a very confused Chuuya behind. Why must the art club be so far away?
Surprisingly enough, the rest of the walk back was quiet. He got one or two of those concerned glances Chuuya would throw at him during the practice, but that was it. No pushing, no prodding like people tended to do. He felt oddly… content. Matching the slug’s pace (either his legs were actually too short, or he just refused to rush), bumping shoulders whenever one of them took a wrong step.
It almost made him want to call out to Chuuya, ask him to stay, when he dropped him off at the club room. Dazai didn't do any of that though. He just stared after the boy as he walked away, offering no response to the ’Bye Dazai’ thrown his way.
He stood there, in front of the doors until Chuuya behind the corner and then some more. Dazai glanced at the doorknob. He only wanted to take a break earlier, get out for a few minutes, take a break without a dumb rat in his vicinity. And now he didn't even want to enter it.
With a deep breath, Dazai grasped the doorknob, twisting it with a sweaty palm (when did his hands get all sweaty?). Pushing it open was the hardest part. The sunlight hitting him straight in the face, having the privilege of a club room with windows. Faces staring at him, eyes observing. Not in the way he got used to, during the past half an hour though.
Like he was something to be picked apart.
Slipping into the familiar smile, he headed over to his station without a word. The painting stared back at him, untouched, exactly the way he left it. But it didn't frustrate him anymore. It didn't seem as hopeless as before—Dazai decided, dipping his paintbrush into the most vibrant orange he had.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It took a week for Dazai to catch any sights of the ginger. A week full of orange canvas, intertwined with blue, showing nothing in particular. A week of something missing.
The sunlight rested against his back as he laid on the club-couch. Background chatter accompanied his thoughts, almost like a white noise. Scraping of chairs, scribbling of pens, the wet sounds of paint. It all filled his ears, blurring itself together.
Dazai rolled around, ready to stare up at the ceiling and continue doing nothing.
“Hey, Dazai.”
What he wasn’t ready for, was to see the familiar red the second he opened his eyes.