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The crowd cheers and the stage lights starts to dim, a song fades to silence to leave space for the audience’s own encore of praise. This is his favourite part, not because he wants to be showered with praise (it’s nice, but not why he does it), but because it’s proof that he has it in him to stand here, straight up and proud.
The songs he sings are thinly veiled love-songs, hidden beneath the riff of a rock guitar and the gruff tones of his bandmates. The crowds loves them, but the songs’ meanings and audience has changed over the years.
What started as a simple wish to entertain grew to a wish for connection with anyone who would listen. And once he had an entire world hanging at his words he learned the meaning of singing for only one.
“You know, Atsushi-kun, you could also simply, go up to him and ask him out?” his friend, lumbering over his with his lanky stature that makes him look far taller than he actually is, claps on his shoulder with more force than is perhaps needed.
Atsushi doesn’t let it show, throwing him a small and subtle smile instead, “Dazai-san if I had the nerves to do that I would’ve done so long ago.”
Dazai wipes a hand through his mess of brown hair, staring at him with annoyance through those dark reddish-brown hues. “Really? For him? You do know he’s an idiot who will never get the message this way right?”
Atsushi chuckles in response, “Maybe, but if I was brave enough to walk up to him and tell him to his face, I assure you I would’ve done it.”
“I’m sure you have it in you, he’s such a loser there’s no way he’d reject you.” There’s that glint in Dazai’s eyes whenever he has something up his sleeve, unwilling to unveil whatever it is his mind has cooked up, or whatever theory he’d crafted about the events surrounding them.
The songs he sings only have one purpose at this moment, and he’s very grateful to his bandmates for indulging him in his quest to confess as subtly yet publicly as possible. Because the object of his desires is none other than the lead singer of a rival band that had risen up around the same time as theirs had.
‘Tainted Sorrow’ led by Nakahara Chuuya. A man whose voice and looks had Atsushi tightly gripped in a chokehold from the moment he’d first watched him perform live. Chuuya quickly became popular with fans and for good reason, though he never seemed to entertain flirtations the way Dazai does.
Chuuya always seems to ward off people who try to shower him with affection, yet He’d always entertained Atsushi to his utmost despite the fact Atsushi is absolutely assured that he’s not capable of subtlety, Chuuya must have noticed, right?
They gratefully thank the people in the crowd for coming today before heading off backstage. Concerts on their home turf are always the best because it means they can easily make it to their favourite hangout spots after a performance. Dazai, with all his inherited wealth, had purchased a plot of land and had constructed a cabin of sorts where they could easily unwind and relax. A pool table, mini-stage with all the audio equipment needed to tune and test new sounds. Comfortable couches and a large TV.
It just so happens Atsushi knows Tainted Sorrow are performing as well tonight, a little too far away for him to have been able to go in person, but still a show he’d like to watch through the screen.
“Mine!” he yells the moment the door to the cabin opens and he rushes for the remote. Kyouka looks at him with her trade-mark blank stare, something he’d learned to read as approval of sorts. Jun’ichiro rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what reason Atsushi has for laying claim to the TV. Dazai had already bothered to set up a second one for gaming just to keep the redhead entertained thoroughly. Helps deal with the incessant whining he’d gotten so good at.
While flipping through the channels trying to find the right one Atsushi feels a freezing cold shoved against his left cheek. Dazai stares at him with a smirk on his face and a can of Chu-hi in his hands. “Thanks, I guess.” Atsushi rolls his eyes and takes the drink from his friend before returning his focus back to the TV.
“Every time I see you like this it hits me that you’re more motivated to see that slug perform than about any of the homework you’ve ever been given at school.”
“Yeah but I hated school. And I still passed?”
Dazai chuckles, “Many people would probably envy you for that alone. Oh to be a genius, graduating without studying.”
“That was you, I still studied my ass off for the exams I just hated homework. Why this, anyway?”
The brunet hums before letting himself fall back onto the large bean bag situated next to the couch. The screen springs on the correct channel as Atsushi gleefully watches as the band he’d been hoping to catch only just makes it onto the stage. “It’s just strange to see how you’re willing to do pretty much anything except tell him how you feel. You have his number don’t you?”
“I do, I’ve also met up with him pretty regularly before we both got saddled with too much work- but…” he bites down on his bottom lip. Even if they’re undeniably friends, and even if Chuuya is always pleasant to him, it’s different. He’s not so sure if he’s ready to hear a rejection, and he’s expecting one for sure.
The urge to dye his hair still gets back to him sometimes, when he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming from the memories that had wormed their way into his nightmares. Dazai knows him because he’s the one whose been by his side the longest from anyone here, the only one who knows.
That’s why Dazai knows what to do, and what to say, “Atsushi-kun, nothing’s wrong with you.”
“I-I know- I’m just-“
“No.” Dazai states fervently, “Look at me, you’re fine as you are. If you don’t want to believe me then maybe I’ll have to get Chuuya to say it next time, want me to arrange that?”
“No need to go that far Dazai-san!” he quickly snaps and settles his gaze back to the screen. Chuuya’s wearing his usual most iconic outfit, a white leopard print sleeveless shirt layered over a red one. With a black leather jacket that only reaches to his middle unevenly balanced over his shoulders. Ripped jeans and a simple pair of sneakers. The fingerless gloves and studded choker are hard to see from the current camera’s distance, but Atsushi knows he never goes on stage without them. The absence of his usual hat is notable, but it’s not like it matters much. Chuuya performs without it far more often than without the other accessories.
The songs in the beginning are all ones he’s heard so far, but they’re as good as ever and it seems like no matter what, Chuuya always brings his best to any performance. His voice worms its way into Atsushi’s mind from the moment he starts singing and it doesn’t let go until far after he’s done.
“Uh oh, he’s gone again. Earth to Atsushi?” Jun’ichiro waves a hand in front of his face and Atsushi swats it away without losing focus. Only stopping to take a big swig of the chu-hi.
The distant noises of the cabin’s happenings form a backdrop to everything happening on that TV screen, and though he wishes he could’ve been there in person, this is what he’ll have to settle for.
Notably, ever since a few years ago Chuuya seems to have dipped his toes into more saccharine melodies rather than his usual hardened rock and metal aesthetic. He still does that more than anything else, but now it’s a combination. Some sweet and unique love songs with the backdrop of an electric guitar the man plays with an incredible amount of proficiency, despite the fact Atsushi knows the guitar was never Chuuya’s main instrument.
Had this been a sound recording only he would’ve closed his eyes and let his mind wander free at Chuuya’s own imagination, trying to grasp at the core of the songs he writes and sings. It isn’t though, and he wants to see him as much as he can, because Chuuya makes for a mesmerising presence.
“Want another one?” Dazai offers him another chu-hi, strawberry cream flavoured this time, and Atsushi gratefully takes it.
He’s usually not the one to indulge the most in the alcohol after a job well done, but who’s to say he can also never be the one to get shit-faced when there’s no responsibilities to bear in the morning. Dazai laughs when he sees Atsushi’s apparent readiness and takes a drink for himself, following suit.
Kyouka looks at the two men with another blank look in her eyes, then silently averts her gaze towards Jun’ichiro currently in the process of opening his own can of Asahi.
“What? I’m not giving you this, you’re still too young to drink.” The redhead lifts the can up, out of her reach. She puffs up her cheeks, “It’s only one more year anyway.”
For the first time since coming to the cabin, Ranpo opens his mouth again as he lies lazily atop a mattress on the floor across the room. “They’ll get in trouble if they do that, besides, not like getting drunk is that much fun.”
“I disagree, it’s extremely fun and Kyouka-chan should be jealous of us!” Dazai yells across the room, garnering a middle finger from Ranpo.
“You two are, charming as ever.” Jun’ichiro exclaims tiredly, “No wonder Atsushi refused to room with either of you in college.”
The brunet strikes a hand over his heart in faux dramatics. “Atsushi-kun say it isn’t so!”
Atsushi rolls his eyes and hold the now empty can out to him, “No point sharing with a guy who’d only got one year of college left.”
“You dropped out though!”
“Yeah no shit, the band blew up out of nowhere, can hardly focus on my advanced physics homework when I have to spend every day of my life gearing up on stages in front of thousands!” it’s mock offense, but he gratefully takes the third drink and downs it a bit slower than the others this time.
They’re at the final song for the night. It’s a new one Atsushi hasn’t heard yet, surprisingly gentle and calm for Chuuya’s standards.
It’s nice, though. Even when the redhead had claimed his voice isn’t suited to this kind of warm and gentle sound, Atsushi thinks this is the proof that it is. It’s a soft song speaking of a long-reaching love. Someone who feels close yet far to their special person trying to convey it in subtle ways.
Dazai snickers next to him, but for once Atsushi doesn’t listen. Too enraptured by the music.
*
The moment they’re headed off backstage Mori hands him a bottle of water, “Don’t forget to-“ Chuuya waves him off quickly.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says with a small smile. Behind him he can hear the gruff and silent complaints of his friend, Ryuunosuke.
“This has got to stop.” Ryuunosuke whines while looking directly at him, then throws a pleading look Mori’s way.
“Oh, but why would it? I think it’s quite lovely.”
“Gross as fuck is what it is.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes setting his hands on his hips “And yet you go along with it, how sweet.” He mocks. Watching as Ryuunosuke’s irritation grows with that statement alone.
“You have all the opportunity in the world to tell him directly and yet you force us to listen to you drone on vaguely about it, on stage.”
Mori hides a laugh behind his hands, chuckling at the dispute that will no doubt get buried as soon as the morning comes. “Now, now, no need to be so dismissive of our dear Chuuya-kun’s sentiments.”
This causes the redhead to fluster, “If I could fuckin’ tell him I would’ve.”
“No, you can, you’re just a coward.”
“Say that again and we’ll see how great of a weapon a guitar really makes.”
Higuchi steps in between them, quickly turning her attention to Chuuya directly in hopes to throw off the argument. “You were on fire today though. You just keep getting better. They loved that new song.”
A few blinks before Chuuya averts his gaze, definitely blushing from the unnecessary praise, “‘s not like I did it alone. Without you all it wouldn’t have been good.”
Higuchi, ever the force of positivity within the group. Chuuya can never ben quite sure if she means everything she says or if she’s on a never-ending quest to keep the peace between them. While his and Ryuunosuke’s bickering may feel like animosity to any outsider, they’ve known each other long enough by now. It’s just what their friendship has evolved into.
Then there’s Gin, the usually most quiet pianist in the group. And Tachihara, a rowdy guy with a rowdy attitude who fits the drums better than anyone here.
Gin giggles at the display, then in their softest voice mutters, “You think he saw it?”
Chuuya purses his lips in slight embarrassment. Having to actually admit out loud he wishes the recipient of his words heard them is… a whole different matter entirely.
Nakajima Atsushi, a usually quiet and reserved guy when out and about in public, but as rowdy and wild as they can get the moment the spotlights turn on him and there’s an audience to boost his confidence. Some of the bandmates he has have known the guy longer than Chuuya. Not all of them as enthusiastic about it.
“Still have no idea what on earth you see in that guy.” Ryuunosuke scoffs, “He’s a coward through and through. Stupid, too. You’d sooner get through to a beaver with the way you’re going about it.”
He really can’t take those words to heart because Chuuya knows he’s not exactly capable of being objective in this. Yet when he hears two conflicting stories and one of them comes from Dazai, it’s strange for him to have to go with Dazai’s word. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
“If I recall correctly, his grades were always on top when we went to school together.” Higuchi mutters under her breath, seemingly talking to nobody in particular. “Always nice, too.”
“Being book-smart because the only skill you have is reading isn’t being intelligent.”
“Oh I’m sure he’s good at a lot more than that. Seems to be good with his hands.” Tachihara loudly proclaims from the back with a mischievous snicker, “I do hope so for Chuuya’s sake.”
“Tachihara!!” Higuchi yells back, “Seriously?” which only makes the man’s snickering turn to loud and boisterous laughter.
Chuuya just wants to go home, assured of the fact his face is beet red at that comment, not that he hasn’t thought about it.
He grabs the guitar case standing in the back and carefully lowers the instrument down into it. The case itself is decorated with all sorts of emblems, icons, and things he generally likes. Metallica, Nirvana, Within Temptation and as many other rock and metal bands he could think of.
Tachihara drapes an arm over his shoulders “We’re hittin’ the bar tonight. You comin’ with?” Chuuya briefly considers it, but tomorrow is a rare day off and he’d already thought of other ways to spend it besides battling a nasty hangover.
“Nah, I’m headin’ home.” He says with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Have fun though.”
“Boo, boring!” the taller man yells before spinning on his heels. His arms held above him with his hands at the back of his head. “Chuuya’s no fun tonight.” He dramatically sighs. Ryuunosuke looks disapprovingly and even Higuchi seems a little lost at the refusal.
“You’re usually pretty gung-ho about this stuff, why-“
“Because tomorrow’s his day off and he hasn’t seen Nakajima in a while.” Gin pipes up, silencing the room. Too stunned at their blatant callout to really fight it.
Great, thanks Gin. He sarcastically remarks to himself before the others burst into hysterics. “Oh, oh he’s so gone.” / “That’s what the kids call being ‘down bad’ these days.”
“Shut up Tachihara you’re a kid yourself.”
“Am not!”
The door slams shut behind him, letting the cold air rush past him to allow for some sobering peace of mind. Silently still cursing Gin for saying what he was thinking, even if he’s sure everyone already knew it didn’t need to be said aloud.
His car stands at the back of the parking lot and as he makes his way towards it he can hear the entrance to the backstage area open with a loud screech (someone ought to really fix those hinges).
Pausing and turning to face them, he’s met with the always stern, but familiar face of Ryuunosuke. “What is it?” Chuuya asks because he knows there’s no reason for the other to exert himself catching up if he didn’t need anything.
Wordlessly, the other pushes past him, then stops a few steps ahead of him and hesitantly says, “Need a ride home.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, “Y’can just ask dude.” Followed by a snicker. He knows Ryuunosuke is never particularly fond of asking for anything. Always wanting to do everything himself because help is for weaklings and he isn’t weak.
“I genuinely don’t get it, but if you want to ask him out so bad then what’s stopping you from just, walking up to him and doing that. I don’t recall you ever having had issues with that before.”
He’s right in that regard, and they’ve known each other long enough where Chuuya can confidently say they’ve gotten a good read on each other too. The issue stems from the fact that nothing to do with Atsushi in his life has ever quite been, conventional to the way Chuuya has his lived experiences.
Chuuya never stumbled over his words, never got stuck on what to say, until Atsushi. He never feared rejection, until Atsushi. And he’d never felt jealous of anyone around him until Atsushi. The effortless ways in which Dazai can sling his arms around the other’s shoulders. How he can slump against him with all the shameless bravado the brunet possesses.
Because Chuuya freezes at the mere thought of going as far as to hold his hand, and that’s never happened before.
“It’s different.” Is all the answer he gives. Ryuunosuke scoffs with knowing, because he always reads Chuuya’s inner turmoil so well, but he also knows when to give him space. Unlike some.
“This is an awful lot of effort for a pathetic whelp like him. Especially because I do not understand why you are so afraid of rejection.”
“Afraid? Who the hell said I was afraid.” Fake bravado only gets him so far, as evidenced by the fact Ryuunosuke stares at him with the most blank expression he’s capable of wearing. A big but unspoken ‘liar’, written across it.
Ouch.
The car ride mainly consists of silence where Ryuunosuke seems more than willing to keep his judgement on Chuuya’s life decisions in check for as long as the music choice is his. Chuuya is all too happy to let him considering the constant callouts to his pathetic crush aren’t doing his confidence any favours (He knows, guys. You can stop calling it out).
Ryuunosuke lives close by, a reason why he mainly hitches rides with the redhead. When asked why he didn’t get his own driver’s license the answer to that question always remained a stark but simple, “Don’t feel like it.” But Chuuya suspects there’s more to it.
One day he’ll get to figure it out.
At his friend’s front porch the man gets out. As stiff and silently as usual, before pivoting his head away so Chuuya is forced to stare at the back of it and the faintest muttering of “Thanks.” Can be heard vanishing into the night sky.
Just as he always is. “Don’t mention it.” Before the car door slams shut and Chuuya gets to drive home with his own music. When he’s alone in the car the music changes drastically, to the jazz tunes he’d grown up with instead of the rough and tumble rock music everyone associates him with.
Back home he’s enthusiastically welcomed by a small white and grey striped kitten he’d picked up on the side of the road. She’d grown very attached in the months of living here and went from the stick thin thing to being a well-fed and surprisingly spry kitten. Not very trusting of most humans that enter his home, with the exception of Atsushi who’d been the only one to come off of every encounter with her unscathed. She lets him pick her up and cuddle. Almost as if she knows.
She mewls lightly, bumping her head against his leg, “Needy little thing, you hungry?” Chuuya chuckles, taking an already opened bag of cat food and filling Byakko’s food bowl almost to full. She gratefully scarfs down while trying to make for conversation, resulting in the kitten making some funny noises while trying to eat and meow at the same time.
He gentle brushes his fingers over her head, “Yeah yeah, calm down the food ain’t goin’ anywhere, and neither am I.”
A quick shower later, standing in front of the mirror while drying his hair and thinking of what to do tomorrow. Gin wasn’t entirely wrong in that he’d want to spend the time with Atsushi, but it’s not like they had plans either.
Maybe he should just ask, nervousness be damned. With one hand on the towel and typing a text away with his other.
He’d missed Atsushi’s own show today, sadly.
[Want to meet up at the usual tomorrow?]
Not even a second later he gets his response.
[yes!]
Sending a time and pocketing the phone. Chuuya goes back to the living room and drops on the couch. Byakko happily scratching away the the edge of the seat cushion because she can’t jump that high yet, so Chuuya picks her up. The kitten curls on top of his chest, falling asleep while his fingertips stroke her fur softly.
Little content noises. He’d never been much of a cat person in his childhood, always preferring dogs for being loyal and a lot easier to train. Cats are unpredictable, and a little more focused on themselves.
Then he met Atsushi and his fondness for everything to do with cats and cat-likes. The boy has two Cornish Rex cats that had attached themselves to him the first time he’d entered Atsushi’s home even if just briefly. Atsushi explained the breed is generally very human-friendly. Seeking a lot of affection and attention from people. Soft and curly fur. One of them had jumped on his shoulders almost as soon as he entered the living room and admittedly, Chuuya did not hate that at all.
Okay, so maybe his crush on Atsushi had been there a lot longer than he’d be fully willing to admit to, but regardless, even if he hadn’t been a cat person now he still would’ve taken Byakko in and taken care of her. Anyone who would leave a small kitten abandoned like that is no person worth anything to him. And so he’d definitely never want to become less than a person for it.
The exhaustion catches up with him, falling asleep like that with his hand curled over the little cat on his chest.
*
The moment Atsushi leaves his car he drapes the hood of his hoodie over his head, pulling it down to obscure his face as much as possible. A pair of tinted sunglasses keeping his unique eye-colour hidden from view.
The one drawback to the life he chose with looks as unique as his is that he’s easily recognised in public, and the band is not obscure enough anymore where he can just hope to go out and not get seen by anyone who’ll recognise him. The last time he tried was a disaster, so he’ll have to make it work somehow.
The street is a little barren and devoid of life with a few people hurrying from place to place, doing shopping in their breaks no doubt, but what he came here from is all the way at the end of the street. A jazz club, the same one he’d actually first met Chuuya at.
He’ chuckles to himself at the memory of his nervous stuttering the moment he walked inside the place, only to be face to face with Nakahara Chuuya, the guy he might’ve been not-so-subtly swooning over to Dazai because his music is just that good.
Dazai had always complained about Chuuya, told him the redhead is nothing but fake bravado and annoying loudness. Atsushi thinks that he couldn’t be further from the truth in that statement if he tried, but maybe Dazai doesn’t know this Chuuya, the one occupying the small stage of a jazz club, rhythmically beating the drums in tandem to the piano and saxophone it accompanies. Chuuya had told Atsushi he’d always been a jazz musician at heart, but jazz doesn’t get you on stage and he loves Rock and Metal all the same.
That’s his little secret, the one thing Atsushi knows about Chuuya that even Dazai doesn’t. The gentle and soothing playing, Chuuya might not be singing like this but he looks at peace and like he’s truly having fun even more than he already does at a concert. Like he fits right in here, with this small group of equally talented musicians that might not ever get the recognition Atsushi thinks they deserve.
He’s there, as always, enjoying himself and showing off his impeccable rhythm, drumming away on a modern rendition of Duke Ellington’s ‘caravan’. He’s sure this version comes from a movie Chuuya had recommended Atsushi to watch “It ain’t fully accurate, but I like the vibes a lot.” He’d said, and he had been right. Though he hopes Chuuya never practised so far as to make his hands bleed like the main character of that movie did.
He sits himself at the front, eyes a little too laser-focused on the redhead, who is too caught up in his playing to notice (Atsushi gets it, it’s just that moment of being in the zone.) Absorbed by the music itself and unconcerned with everything happening around it.
That’s how he likes Chuuya most, how he is at his best. Atsushi loves his stage presence, but this is him where he feels most at home and it shows.
After that one song ends and Chuuya notices him there, he excuses himself to the others. Exchanging some handshake he’d become familiar with between them before nonchalantly jumping down right at the front of the small elevated stage, taking the seat from across Atsushi.
Of course, the first thing he notices is just how good Chuuya looks in a white shirt and a waistcoat. Accentuating the man’s thin physique without distracting from how fit he still is. “Hey, you.” He smiles before quickly calling one of the waiters and telling him they can start on the order he’d made before.
“Ever prepared.”
“Figured it’d save us time. We don’t got a lot of that these days.”
Atsushi nods, taking a glance past the redhead towards the stage as one of the more regular drummers takes their place where Chuuya sat before. “You’re right at home here, as always. It’s nice watching you play.”
“Oh?” Chuuya leans his chin on the palm of his hand, watching through a smirk and a hint of an expression that Atsushi can’t decipher the meaning of.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Atsushi says “How’s Byakko- is she eating well?”
“Yeah, more than well, damn thing won’t stop begging me for food every second of the day. Even when she still has food left.”
That makes him laugh, of the joys of owning a cat, Atsushi knows all too well. He knows it from his own critters too, meowing and nagging at him the second the bowl is empty. Cornish Rexes tend to eat whatever they have, rather than stopping once they’re full. So he has to space out the feeding over the day to stave off the risk of overfeeding them. Because his idiots won’t do it themselves for sure.
“Good, that means she’s got a healthy appetite at least. I’m glad to know you’re taking such good care of her, I know you’re not that much of a cat person-“
“I sure am now.” Chuuya interrupts him, lightly with that piercing gaze before reaching over the table and taking Atsushi’s sunglasses off of his face.
“H-hey-“
“Nobody’s gonna hound you here, n’ if they do I’ll put a stop to it. I just wanna see yer face while I have the chance.”
Atsushi doesn’t need a mirror to tell him how flushed red his cheeks are from that comment. Nor does he need to acknowledge the way his heart leaps at the almost- flirtatious, way Chuuya had said that.
“A-alright.” He stammers a little nervously. The waiter comes by with their drinks, a cup of black coffee and a latte. The staff here knows them both by now, so he’s not too worried about it, but it till feels oddly- bare, to be out in public without his sunglasses on. He finds himself drifting off, staring at the cute way Chuuya’s face scrunches up while sipping from his drink. So focused on his coffee that he isn’t noticing Atsushi’s staring, or if he is, then he isn’t saying anything.
Boy is he glad he’d stopped drinking yesterday when Chuuya’s text came in, or else he might’ve been suffering from a massive hangover now.
“Something goin’ on?” Chuuya’s voice shakes him from his thoughts. Finding those sapphire eyes staring into his own does something for his already fluttering heart.
Could I get away with calling him pretty? Could I say that and then wave it off as something different?
Atsushi thinks, falling quiet.
“You just- you know, you look really good in that.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen in surprise and even Atsushi himself is caught off-guard by the sudden display of boldness. He isn’t sure whether or not the intention to say it aloud had been there, but even if it wasn’t it’s far too late now when the words have already escaped past his lips.
The way Chuuya looks at him is… incomprehensible, it’s a look he’d seen countless times before, but never directly to him.
On stage, while he sings. His saccharine songs specifically.
“Thank you.” Chuuya manages to catch a stammer but Atsushi can hear the little stutter that still sifts underneath that tone. “Should dress this way more often then.”
“You should- if, if you want to.”
He might’ve just imagined the blush spreading lightly across the redhead’s face while he pivots his head to look anywhere except in Atsushi’s direction.
“…Too.”
Atsushi blinks, “Sorry, did you-“
“You, too.” Chuuya almost whispers, covering his mouth with his hand as if ashamed. “You’ve been experimenting with your style, I can tell. It suits you.”
“Oh- you noticed?” that makes him laugh a little sheepishly, to have it noticed by someone as fashionable as Chuuya- and approved by him no less. Chuuya always dresses his best, always impeccable, something Atsushi never really thought himself capable of in the same way. “Thank you.” He adds to it with a genuine smile. Chuuya hesitantly looks at him again, the faint red still decorating his cheeks but much subtler now. He is the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve after all, which makes him so likeable and easy to get along with.
He could try asking for real. To get a little brave and experience what it’s like to live in Chuuya’s confident shoes for a moment and do what he wants to do most.
Chuuya absentmindedly plays with the small teaspoon they’d given him with his coffee, eyes focused downwards, “Hey, after the upcoming shows- you got some more time right?” Atsushi nods,
“I do. Plenty.”
“Good. Keep that time free-“ a phone’s ringtone interrupts his sentence. With all the annoyance he can muster Chuuya stares at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Sorry, gotta take this for a sec. I’ll be back okay.” and Atsushi nods, left alone with his thoughts.
How he’d come to feel this way about Chuuya is still a little bit of a mystery to him, not because he couldn’t name reasons as to why he does, there’s an endless sea of them he’s got yet to finish exploring.
It sometimes feels like it was too sudden, that he just woke up one day realising Chuuya wasn’t just a pretty face with a hell of a voice, hiding an immense amount of musical talent, but someone he’d like to go on dates with, someone he’d want to kiss if he’d ever be bold enough to ask for such a thing.
“Drifting again?” The waiter, an older man named Hirotsu stands by their table with a tray, wordlessly asking if he can take the empty cups. He’s been here for as long as Atsushi can remember, makes for a comforting presence.
“You can say that.”
The man takes one look over at the empty seat across from Atsushi and snickers. “Dear boy, can I give you some advice?”
With a blank stare, pressing his lips together tightly, Atsushi nods.
“Seize the moment, don’t wait for good things to come, do something about them.”
With a heart beating loudly in his chest, so much so it’s a miracle he’s still functioning as well as he is. “I want to, I really do, but every time I convince myself something happens and I- lose my confidence…” shame covers him when he averts his gaze in remembrance of his past. Never one to have had it easy, and never one to acknowledge that fact.
He can’t exactly ignore the pleas of Dazai and the others to recognise that what he experienced wasn’t okay, that he is justified in it still affecting him more than he’d like. He can’t really help it though, when every time he manages to gear himself up, the flash of a memory worms its way to the forefront again, violently shaking him back to reality.
Sure, Moonlight got popular, it started doing so much better than he ever thought he would be capable of, he quit college because he couldn’t keep up with the band and it at the same time. Sure, people tell him often that he’s gifted, talented. He plays multiple instruments, sings well (according to others) and everyone attributes that to him.
But none of it means anything to him. Because those aren’t accomplishments he can acknowledge as being deserving of. Dazai’s family funded their start-up. Jun’ichiro spent months up to their first show going around and advertising. Kyouka and Ranpo have always been more approachable than him in those early days.
It’s not Atsushi, he’s just the guy who woke up one day and said “hey, let’s start a band.” That doesn’t make him irreplaceable, that doesn’t make him important, and it doesn’t mean he’s the reason they succeeded.
That’s what he’s scared of. That Chuuya will say yes. That he does find interest within this image of Atsushi that has been put on the forefront. That successful, talented person everyone seems to see in the empty place Atsushi isn’tstanding in. It’s a mirage, a pitiful wish to be more than he is.
Chuuya will see just how worthless he really is, and then he’ll lose something he’d been so desperate to keep tightly locked close to his heart. The friendship he can treasure, the subtle love-songs he can sing, because they can be easily explained away. Atsushi can make excuses for them if Chuuya is uncomfortable with the idea, if he ever finds out anyway.
“…Nakajima?” Hirotsu’s voice lulls through, and only now does he realise how awfully blurry his vision had gotten.
Did he really get so pathetic as to burst out in tears?
“S-sorry. Just- I need to-” He quickly pulls the hood back over his head, tightly gripping at the edges and hiding his eyes beneath it because Chuuya still has Atsushi’s sunglasses with him. A comforting hand lightly pats his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Nakajima. Whatever it is that’s on your mind, get it out. I’ll cover for you.” Then he points to the door behind the bar and Atsushi gratefully follows the direction. Ending up inside the hallway with a stairway. No doubt leading towards the apartments above the café. Hirotsu lives in one of them, so by his guess this would be connected.
This is a lot more private already though, slumping down against the wall and burying his face in his knees. Now’s not the time for this, get it out of your system.
Words swimming around in his mind, wishing he could forget them. His mother screaming at him after his father had left, blaming him for ruining her family. It’s his fault his dad abandoned them, it’s his fault mother started drinking, it’s his fault her life is ruined.
The day he turned eighteen she threw him onto the curb, an lucky for him he had anticipated that, lucky for him he had already talked to Dazai about it and moved most of his things to Dazai’s place. Frustrating it is though, that it still affects him this much.
By the time he manages to dry his tears and wipe his eyes clean it’s ten minutes past. Washing his face and getting shocked by his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Atsushi hopes Chuuya will still be there when he’s done.
When he looks at least somewhat presentable he slips back out again, thanking the older man. Chuuya is back at their table, engrossed with something on his phone until noticing Atsushi.
One look is all it takes him to eye concerned, to see Atsushi’s inner turmoil like he always does. Wordlessly, he gets up from his seat and takes Atsushi’s wrist.
Hirotsu refuses the money Chuuya offers and sends them a knowing smile before Chuuya is off and dragging Atsushi behind him.
“C-Chuuya-san?” Stammered out. He must look like a lost puppy now, pathetic and sad, but Chuuya is incapable of ignore it.
There’s a little park nearby, close enough they can walk, far enough to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city atmosphere. Surrounded by greenery and centring around a small pond.
“I’m fine, Chuuya-san- I’m really sorry I-“
“It’s okay.” Chuuya whispers, looking back at Atsushi with a wistful gaze. “You don’t gotta hide it if you’re not feeling well.”
“I don’t want to- bother anyone.”
“Then at least let me take care of you a little.”
The pond, filled with all sorts of wildlife, little ducks, carp, frogs and whatnot. Chuuya grows a small smile, setting Atsushi down at the edge and joining him with an arm around his shoulder. “You don’t gotta talk if you really don’t want to, y’know. I’m not judgemental though.” The smile feels like a lure, to lull him into a sense of security. Not a false one, because he really trusts Chuuya, but it’s an expression meant for Atsushi to drop his walls even if just for a small moment.
There’s a song he’s heard before, an english one, that he can relate to a painful amount. Talking has never been his strong suit, but music is the outlet he has that turns even his biggest fears and insecurities into strengths.
It starts with a hum, and Chuuya hangs at every melody coming past his lips and over his throat, tightening his hold. He’s quiet when he sings. The lyrics resounding more inside his head than occupying that space around them. He’d never dared to write that song himself. Even with the calls of his mother to congratulate him after a show. Wanting so badly to shout at her to stop pretending he means something now only when he’s somewhat famous.
“Oh, Father
Please, Father
Put the Bottle down
For the love of a daughter.”
Chuuya listens quietly, but when Atsushi stills, unable to sing more than that “I know that one, pretty well known song, right?”
Atsushi hums in confirmation. Feeling cold and empty with the emotions that conjures up, the face of his mother as she chucks an empty bottle of wine at his head, scraping along his face. The small scar on his temple is the permanent marker of that. She never did acknowledge it even later in life. Simply pretending it never happened. Stick your head in the sand, so deep your world becomes an echo chamber of one.
“Fuck…” Then with Chuuya’s fingers raking through his hair, softly and with comfort. “I never knew-“
“It’s fine, I never told. Dazai knows and that’s about it.” Because Dazai knows everything. Because Dazai is the only one who caught him when he fell.
That question always remained, what would you do when people who were supposed to care, supposed to protect, stand by and watch as you crawl helplessly along the path. Laughing and pointing in the assured idea that you’ll never make it.
And then when you do, when you cross the finish line and their faces become a blank canvas upon which they think they can paint anything as long as you just believe them. “We were always there for you.”
And Atsushi had enough of that, he had enough of hoping for more. His music is escapism at its finest, because he doesn’t believe the songs he sings. They’re too nice for him to think he deserves to hear them. Only the words meant for Chuuya are ones he stands behind. Because why would he write songs that rip open his chest and expose his weakest and ugliest parts to an audience of thousands waiting to devour him whole the second the opportunity presents itself.
“Yer a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for, y’know.” Chuuya interrupts his barrage of self-hatred.
“Not really, but I’m glad you think so regardless.”
Chuuya scoffs, moving his hand up atop Atsushi’s head and ruffling harshly. “H-Hey!” Atsushi doesn’t manage not to giggle at that ridiculous distraction, effective as it may be.
“C’mon. Let’s go back and you can show me those sick guitar skills of yours.”
“I don’t usually play that in front of an audience- woah, Chuuya-san!”
Without listening to his protests Atsushi finds himself being dragged all the way back, no energy to fight it either way. Secretly he might even admit to liking this side of the redhead more than most others do. Because it’s Chuuya’s sympathy in his own way.
“Yo, old man!” Chuuya shouts at Hirotsu, looking more than pleased with himself when the older gentleman shakes his head with an endeared smile.
“Youngsters these days, no respect I tell you.” Said with so little bite to it that even Atsushi can tell not a word of it is meant to be taken seriously. The Jazz band goes on break, Chuuya takes his guitar from the back of the stage and opens the case.
“You’re not-“
“Yeah, I am.”
Once again, for the umpteenth time today Atsushi is left speechless. Even more when Chuuya lifts the instrument from the case. It’s not the one he performs his shows with, not an electric one.
Atsushi has never been great with electric guitars, acoustic is his style. He regrets not bringing his own now and essentially putting Chuuya in a position of sharing the cherished instrument. Knowing how protective the redhead is over it especially. His own is a Takamine EF250TK, but if he had the space and means for it then his wall would be lined entirely with guitars from every brand known to mankind.
Chuuya’s is a vermillion burst Gibson Slash J-45. It’s different but feels so good in his hands, held like a precious and fragile treasure. Chuuya’s treasure.
“Are you sure-“
The other waved him off again, settling down on the stool behind the drums but keeping his focus entirely on Atsushi. “You love playing don’t you? I want to hear it more, but I want it to be you.”
“Me?”
“Anything, as long as it’s something you really believe. None of those crowd-pleaser songs. Got it?”
He thinks for a second. There’s plenty of songs he could try, none that are his own. What he really likes, where his heart lies.
Yet today it’s not about that. Atsushi can tell as much even if not why. Chuuya’s smile only grows while looking at Atsushi’s inner turmoil form and take shape.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be meaningful, or deep. Nothing so deeply etched into his skin with pain or misery, instead something light and soft. Something that just brings joy.
So he does, strumming lightly to get used to the instrument, tuning it to suit his needs, all while observing Chuuya’s expressions for the subtle hints of discontentment. Just to make sure he doesn’t overstep what he’s allowed to do.
When all that is out of the way he sits down and just starts. No thoughts, no long buildup to some story in a song.
Chuuya listens while Atsushi’s fingers dextrously glide across the strings, plucking with haste yet control. It takes a few seconds, but when that realisation flashes across Chuuya’s eyes and he bursts into such a genuine fit of laughter that even Atsushi can tell it’s pure joy, he knows he chose well.
“You’re such a nerd.” Chuuya breathes out, almost having to wipe a tear from his eyes. “That’s the thing you go with?”
Now it’s Atsushi’s turn to laugh in response, “What can I say, a nerd and a comedian.”
The redhead rolls his eyes “So are you singing with that too, then?”
“Not in a million years.”
“Boo, commit, coward.”
By the time he finishes they’re both doubled over. Then Chuuya takes the instrument back and pulls a similar stunt. They’re silly covers from songs that people in their industry wouldn’t probably recognise as music.
Who cares? Not them.
“You call me a nerd yet every time we hang out you have to find some way to integrate ‘demon slayer’ into the conversation.”
“As I fucking should. Watch it?”
“And just for that I’m going to not do that.”
“It’s not a suggestion, one way or another I will make sure of it.”
Atsushi sticks his tongue out. They pass the Gibson over each song, choosing one of their lovely juvenile interests to translate onto simple notes and melody. It works wonders, the jazz club has been turned into a bona-fide nerd centre by now but by the cheers, enthusiastic and rhythmic clapping, and even the sing-alongs they realise nobody really seems to mind.
They’re known here after all. Sometimes Chuuya adds to Atsushi’s play with drums, sometimes vocals, and Atsushi adds to Chuuya’s with a voice of his own. Til the moon has risen into the sky and both of them reluctantly have to say their goodbyes for the night.
Maybe it doesn’t bother him so much that he still failed to tell Chuuya how he feels, if he can have this much fun just being around him.
*
“”You did what?!””
The situation as it currently stands, Chuuya and Atsushi across from their respective bandmates and a more-than-enthusiastic Mori Ougai in the middle with a dangerously sweet smile on his face that is nothing if not deceptive. Atsushi had received a call from Dazai this morning asking him to meet up somewhere, it was important. When he arrived, Chuuya was there too looking confused. And then,
“We figured it’d be good opportunity for both of us, collaboration is the backbone of a good rivalry after all.”
When Chuuya seems to have gotten over the initial shock his face turns to thunder, “Yeah, but you didn’t ask me? You just decided without us?” with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
Atsushi is speechless all in all. Not like he doesn’t want to, of course working together with Chuuya directly is the opportunity of a lifetime and if there’s anything he can do to make it happen then he will, but…
“You’re springing this on us awfully sudden, next week, a new song?” Atsushi bites down on his bottom lip, “That’s a really big ask, and the fact you already booked the venue and advertised this show- not giving us a choice?”
Of course Atsushi is excited to have any excuse to stand besides Chuuya on that stage, it’s only natural that he would be, but his anxiety isn’t helped by the short timeframe. It’s a mess inside, that little voice telling him again that there’s no way he’d be able to satisfy Chuuya, he can’t be part of writing a song worthy of him, he-
Chuuya sighs, slinging an arm around Atsushi’s shoulder and giving Atsushi a subtle wink, “We’ll do it, but the condition is that we get full creative control. It’s our song, so we’ll decide everything, including wether or not we’ll need anyone besides ourselves.”
Dazai’s eyes flit between the two of them and Atsushi hates how they’re capable of seeing so much that lies unseen. A wide grin plastered on his face, singing a short, but sickly sweet “The two love-birds want some privacy. How cute!”
“Dazai you fucking bastard-“ Chuuya starts to shout but stills, instead holding himself back and outing his frustrations more calmly. “If that’s all, guess we’ll have to get to work now. Don’t bother us unless it’s really important. Got it?”
It’s not relevant at all, and Atsushi knows it doesn’t mean as much to Chuuya as it does him, but the moment the redhead had so nonchalantly waved off the ‘ lovebirds’ comment without denying it did something to him, ever so slightly.
That’s nothing to say of the forceful yank on the back of his shirt collar, Chuuya dragging him off. “My place.” Is all he grumbles, though his sour attitude doesn’t feel like it’s Atsushi’s fault, for once.
“Good luck~” Dazai calls after him with a sickly sweet smile that sends a shiver down Atsushi’s spine. Knowing full well what kind of mixture the water and oil that Chuuya and Dazai’s relationship represents will end in.
*
Being cooped up indoors for two days is about the worst way anyone can spend the time, but being stuck indoors for two days while not making any progress is infinitely worse, Atsushi could say.
“What the fuck is this.” Chuuya whines, miraculously without Atsushi’s protest in their current positions. The redhead dropped down onto Atsushi’s lap in a moment of frustrated intensity. Atsushi can’t help but stare down at that face looking far past anything tangible now, Chuuya’s mind is somewhere else entirely.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
As much as he’d like to point out that maybe they’re just going about it the wrong way, it’s not like he has any better ideas either.
He has his ideas, ideas he won’t mention out of fear of being exposed. Those clear blue eyes are so easy to see from this angle, wide open while Chuuya seemingly tries to brute-force his own brain into compliance, Atsushi can’t help but chuckle at it.
That’s when Chuuya’s stare softens a bit, sighing and closing his eyes entirely before limply letting his arms drop on his chest.
He can’t help but ask, “Is there any reason you’re struggling on your end?” And Chuuya tries to wave it off without opening is eyes again. Comfortable with using Atsushi’s thighs as his personal pillow.
“No- yes? Maybe.”
“Pick one, please.”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, not like I’ve ever actually sang a duet or written a song meant for more than just my own voice.”
Ah, so that’s his issue. “You’re afraid our voices won’t harmonise well?”
That snaps the redhead back awake, quickly getting up from his position and hiding his face from view. Yet Atsushi could tell in that split second his cheeks had flushed red. “N-No? Why would I be afraid of that. Of fucking course I’m not bothered by that prospect, not at all. Fuckin’ stupid.” He seems to try and laugh it off, a fake laughter that can be told apart from a genuine one by even the most naïve of fools.
Like Atsushi.
He remembers the comment Chuuya had made about his voice before too. He seems entirely focused on all the things he believes it isn’t fit for, so much so that he hasn’t ever entertained the possibilities that they might be lies.
It’s familiar, learnt behaviour.
“Chuuya-san.”
“What.” The redhead sounds annoyed, but Atsushi doesn’t feel bothered by it at this time. Especially not knowing he might be about to prod at something a little personal. He’d never been fond of Dazai’s brand method of infiltrating walls, preferring to tear them down by force. Chuuya isn’t the kind of person to respond to subtle, it seems.
“Your voice is perfect as is. I can’t imagine there’s something it’s not suited for.”
The silence that follows is almost comfortable and Chuuya seems to freeze the instant the comment is released out in the open. Chuuya looks smaller than usually the way he seems to shut down. In any other situation, he’d leave it be and apologise, but perhaps this is worth being stubborn over.
He’d always wished people reach out to him this way, so that’s what he’ll offer for someone who means so much to him, friend or otherwise. “Talk to me.”
“Nothin’ to fucking talk about.”
The tremble to his voice, shakiness at its finest. Atsushi can’t force him, but the way this escalated seems too much to let be. When he gets up from the couch Chuuya doesn’t move, but he does state a clear boundary, “Do not come to this side of the room right now, don’t dare to look at my face.”
“Naturally.” Atsushi responds gently. It’s the most Chuuya has reminded him of himself. For a small moment looking like he’s just a child in desperate need of something to grasp tightly onto. To hold something, to scream his lungs until they burn.
None of which are things Atsushi can really provide him with, but what he can do-
“Mew?” a little kitten stares up at him with curiosity in her big eyes with widened pupils. Soft and small enough to fit into his hands cupped together. She sits calmly, carried around like a tiny princess while mewling approvals. Until they re-enter the room they were just in. Byakko’s intuition second to none, because the moment Atsushi takes his place on the couch again she wiggles herself out from his grasp, jumping against Chuuya’s back with claws that are far too weak and small to really get her anywhere.
At least that seems to get Chuuya sighing, reacting again. Like his time had unfrozen with the soft tap of that cat’s nose and paws. When he turns to pick her up properly with his hands underneath her armpits. She squeaks and mewls, licking her tongue at the air and causing a soft chuckle to escape the redhead.
“It’s ridiculous.” He eventually admits, snuggling Byakko close to his chest while still struggling to look Atsushi in his eyes. “I’ve been busying myself with music since I was a goddamn child, but this never got any easier somehow.”
“Do you- want to talk about it?”
Chuuya scoffs, “I owe it to you, I guess.”
“No you don’t.”
“Then, let me because I want to.”
He’d like to know what changed, or maybe it’s just that Chuuya always did but had to gear himself up for it. “I had this- stupid fuckin’ uncle. Y’know, he was the one who always got me to join him in the music room at their house. Playing his jazz vinyls and teachin’ me about it. He made me want to do music, and he taught me the basis of all I knew…
And I was good at it, I’ve got no shame admitting that. I did well, but I wanted more. I liked singin’ too, seems like he didn’t. Started with him, kept telling me my voice wasn’t suited for Jazz or anythin’ for that matter. Then when puberty hit it was ‘devil music only’. He called my voice unnatural.
If it was just him I wouldda scoffed and just kept goin’, but it ain’t just about him. I’ve had people say this shit about it for so long I kinda- I don’t know, started believin’ it a little.”
His face is a mix of frustration, anger, and some sadness in there. Atsushi can tell how much is annoys him that this affects him. That he wishes they were just words to be filed away in a trashcan and left behind forever.
They’re not, though, because Chuuya did give up things he liked doing under the belief that there was a truth to it. He hates his voice in any context that isn’t the one thing people approved it for.
“I like it when you sing, doesn’t matter what it is or how you do it.” Atsushi admits. “It’s nice haring you talk, I don’t know how much it means to hear this from just me but Chuuya-san I could listen to you for hours, music or not.”
His face turns flushes redder than his hair, but this time Chuuya doesn’t hide it. Instead opting to sputter “You- that’s not, idiot!” Through Atsushi’s giggles and laughter, until he lands a hit with a pillow thrown at Atsushi’s face and the impact launches him off of the couch, clutching the fluffy piece of fabric while retaining that smile because he meant it.
“I’m not taking it back.”
“I bet you ain’t.”
Atsushi stays there on the ground, hugging the pillow to his chest until Chuuya’s impatience catches up with him and he drops himself down on top of him. “Aaah, this is your fucking fault. You’re too goddamn sweet. Shit’s illegal in my house.”
“Then why am I still here?”
Their eyes meet, something shifts about Chuuya’s gaze but Atsushi isn’t entirely sure what it means. “Hey,” Chuuya starts, clears his throat, and then almost seemingly loses his nerves before shaking his hesitation away, “You ever caught- any of my recent shows?”
“Of course.” Atsushi blinks in surprise, why wouldn’t he after all? He’s loved Chuuya’s music since the day he first heard it. It looks like there’s more he wants to say to that, but even someone like Chuuya doesn’t have an endless reserve of confidence and nerves. “Chuuya-san, your voice is really pretty when you sing softer songs. If that’s what you’re worried about, I can guarantee that you’re fine.”
Now it’s the redhead’s turn to look almost shocked, “Oh…” a realisation Atsushi isn’t privy to, followed by a smirk that unsettles him.
“I think I got it, then.”
Atsushi doesn’t need to ask what it means, he has an idea.
It becomes smooth sailing from there, surprisingly. The kind of song suited for the both of them to sing, the kind of song they can put their whole heart in sincerity in.
A love song.
Atsushi’s heart fluttered at the suggestion, singing something like that on stage, next to Chuuya? It’s like the most opportune moment presented itself, the perfect chance.
Atsushi spends almost all of that time leading up to the show on this, at Chuuya’s house (only going home in the night to sleep and feed his cats).
His mind is a nervous mess, growing ever more intense every time Chuuya so much as looks at him, whispering those small reassurances that they’ll be fine.
The song turned out one of his most prided work too, and not only with Chuuya’s touch elevating it to a higher standard, but because it’s genuine, it’s him. When Chuuya slaps him on the back with a confident but powerful motion and silently asks him “Are you ready.” Atsushi is being truthful when he responds.
“Yes.”
Say nothing of that proud smile Chuuya sends his way, sweet like always. For once the treacherous voice in the back of his mind is quiet, letting him stew in the small victories his life had otherwise tried robbing him of each time.
The backstage area is large and vast, overwhelmingly so for once. He’d performed at big stages before, this isn’t new, but the circumstances are so wildly different that it all seems to fit as well together as a bunch of puzzle pieces with random cuts.The curtain is long and dark, leading all the way down and draping along the floor, the only shield between him and an audience of thousands willing and able to devour him whole for every mistake he’s bound to make. The distant chattering, the voices that will cheer and boo all the same. Just be perfect, just do it well, just perform like you practised.
“Woah, earth to you, Atsushi.” Chuuya’s voice cuts through the fog inside his mind, clearing his head and vision in time for him to notice there are no steps leading up to the elevated platform, he’d almost walked into it. Chuuya already stands above him, extending a hand Atsushi gratefully takes.
It’s nice to be supported this way, Chuuya does it so effortlessly he almost wants to ask if it was practised.
The backstage presence is emtpier than usual, instead of the shattering voices of his bandmates, chuckling and giggling away at something foolish Dazai said or a funny picture of Tanizaki’s, it’s silent for once, comforting, but silent nonetheless.
Tonight it’ll be him and Chuuya, two guitars, two microphones, and an audience to watch this experimental dance of theirs.
To Atsushi it’s more than that, though, because it’s his opportunity to get through to the redhead, once and for all.
The lyrics he wrote are for Chuuya, subtly so , but still undeniable.
Chuuya and his vermillion Gibson, Atsushi with his Takamine.
The signs count down, calling for him to get ready. Eyes adjusting to that bright light of the spotlights that seem like stars, tonight trained on the only people that matter. The curtain opens to a roaring crowd and Chuuya’s charisma kicks in the second his frame enters that centre light spot. A natural at riling up any person, but today he’s gentle, today he’s quiet. Asking for a little bit of leniency.
“We’re doin’ something a little different. I dunno what you were told, but my manager gave me a pretty tough deadline to meet.” He admits to a crowd of cheers, looking and pointing at them “Them, together?” / “I’ve always wanted this!” / “Their styles are so different, I wonder what they did for today?”
And he wants to chuckle at it all, the way people speculate their circumstances. It’s fine by him, his twitter account already had been glowing red with notifications. Chuuya’s fans encouraging him, Chuuya’s fans chastising him, some even telling him not to think he’s hot shit because he’s friends with Chuuya.
People that admire him and come for him, doing the same to Chuuya of course, but the redhead always had a bigger reach.
Atsushi positions himself the moment the background music starts, it’s a little melody to accompany them, nothing too elaborate, but it’s enough. Soft tones, soft words, and an even softer voice when Chuuya sings. Because if it hadn’t been clear to people yet, the man can sing like no other. It almost entrances him, focus is hard to come by when you’re in the presence of someone capable of throwing their entire heart out onto the open with the most beautiful voice shaped by the gods themselves. No such beings might exist, but Atsushi doesn’t believe that Chuuya’s beauty is natural, if that were the case, then he might as well give up right now.
The people respond well, they’re loving the atmosphere, loving Chuuya, loving him. They take turns singing the verses each had written, Atsushi subtly sending looks to his left whenever he sang his. Though he may have imagined it when he thought Chuuya had done the same thing too.
Those solo parts do well enough in earning them roaring cheers, but the moment their voices blend together in a perfect harmony as the words start to melt into each other and Atsushi becomes unable to focus anywhere except the redhead to his side. Pouring their hearts out in words more genuine than any song Atsushi had ever written before.
He loves this sound, them together, slotting together like a puzzle of only two pieces, made for each other and without any replacement parts to spare. Whether the pieces will stay together is the only question, but his heart races and his mind screams. ‘You’re not crazy, it’s not just you.’ When looking at those soft blue hues that fixate strongly on his own frame while his fingers nimbly strum the guitar’s strings.
The moment his hands still and the music fades, silence falls across the entire arena, the stage a centre for the entire crowd, and the world who wants to see. Where Atsushi and Chuuya regain their breath after that intensity of emotions. It’s almost like time ceases to be a thing with how gently and slow Chuuya returns the Gibson to its stand, depositing the microphone somewhere it definitely doesn’t belong, though Atsushi doesn’t care. Their panting still heavy to catch some air.
The redhead doesn’t even ask when he takes the microphone out of Atsushi’s hands with a knowing smile on his lips, putting it back on the stand before taking a step closer that gets him into his partner’s space.
The realisation comes swinging like a bat with the ‘ooh’s’ and ‘aah’s of the people around them, some even whistling at them. Chuuya ignores it like he’s perfected the art of pretending someone doesn’t exist for years now, Atsushi is still frozen in time in the hopes it’s not his imagination playing tricks on him.
“I think, we’ve both been a little foolish.” Chuuya laughs when he’d gotten so close even Atsushi can hear him so clearly over everything. Close enough to-
“And I’ve ran all out of god-damn patience.” He adds before grabbing Atsushi’s shirt and yanking him down, their lips connecting to a gentle kiss that becomes far more intense with the wild screams and cheers around them. What they’re saying is lost on him though, too absorbed in the laste of honey on Chuuya’s tongue to notice.
“I thought you hated sweet things.” Atsushi purrs when they part and Chuuya rolls his eyes,
“You like them though.” With that cheeky smile on his face, framed by the lighting of the stage, purple, blue and a tinge of magenta. In his heart he knows this is going to have messy ramifications, two men, kissing on a live stage? That’s bound to be a PR nightmare.
Mori can deal with it though, it’s not Atsushi’s responsibility.
“Chuuya-san’s voice is as beautiful as the rest of him.” Atsushi says, snickering when the intended effect is reached as Chuuya’s face lights up and flushes a deep shade of a pretty red that suits him so well. They lean in again and right before another kiss is shared Chuuya whispers against his lips.
What he says is lost to time, and Atsushi won’t tell. Their second kiss speaks enough for itself that he doesn’t even think he’ll have to.