Chapter Text
Despite his lifelong obsession with music, now that Dazai was actually in the industry, he found it to be incredibly boring. It was everything that he had expected it to be, and that was a problem.
Dazai didn’t want the flashing lights of paparazzi, or drunken parties full of celebrities. He didn’t want the scheming money-grabbers or the overly selfish artists. He wanted music. And he wanted it to be pure. But of course that’s not what he got, because the world isn't so perfect. He knew that going into this, but that didn’t mean it didn’t disappoint him.
He sat at his computer, idly watching random Youtube videos during his “break” that had just reached its fourth hour. He took a bite out of his can of crab, looking over a list of popular singers that his stupid boss wanted him to collaborate with when a video in the queue automatically played.
It was a video of a performance at a club. A lone teenager stood on the stage as he played guitar along to a track. The ginger-haired boy began to sing along. It was clearly an original song, incredibly low production quality, but still well written.
He dropped the list of celebrities to the floor, standing as he paused the video. He knew who it was he wanted to collaborate with. And he would get his way, even if he had to exercise his reputation as the boss’s favourite to get it.
He made his way to the boss’s office with confidence, head held high as he passed by other workers of all sorts, none of whom he cared to learn the names of. He’ll learn their names when they become important.
“Mori,” he called his boss by name as he burst into his office without a knock. “I figured out my collab.”
“Dazai-kun,” Mori sighed, a hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration as he closed his book. “How many times is it now that I’ve told you to knock first?”
Dazai ignores the statement, repeating himself. “I figured out my collab.”
Mori nodded. “Excellent. Who do you have in mind?”
Dazai doesn’t answer, simply playing the video on his phone for the boss to hear.
Mori nodded again. Dazai wondered if it was some kind of tick. It was a funny thought, Mori sitting there all day, nodding along as he read his books or whatever it was he did.
“And how do you expect to get a random kind from a Youtube video to collaborate with you?” Mori asked him, smiling.
“Why, boss,” Dazai emphasized the title with sarcasm, matching Mori’s smile. “I’ll simply use all the amazing tricks you’ve taught me!”
—-
“Kashimura Chuuya if you don’t get your dumb little butt down here right now, I swear to the almighty Christ, I will return you to your devil brethren!”
Chuuya sat in his room, packing up his old electric guitar as he ignored his father’s yelling. He could hear the laughs of his younger half-siblings from outside his door as his father yelled over his failed exam, but he just went through the door and shot them the finger as he went to leave through the back exit.
He narrowly avoided running into his father as he ducked through the various halls of their huge house to leave. As always, Shirase and his other friends were waiting outside the door, each one horsing off in their own way.
“‘Sup,” he called to them, his guitar case slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, dude.” Shirase gave him a light punch in the arm as the group of five began to move along, heading to their favourite club. “Playing again today?”
“Yep, alone as always.” He chuckled nervously, avoiding their broken promise that they would all play together. They had all promised it so long ago, but he was the only one to actually learn an instrument.
“We’ll be up there with you one day, Chuuya! Don’t you worry about it,” Yuan encouraged him. She tied her short pink hair back into a bun as they walked in the evening heat.
“Duh. You better.” Chuuya smiled, slapping her on the back. She responded in kind, yet with much more force.
“Ouch!” He laughed, speeding up his walking pace as they kept going.
They finally reached the club. The loud music blasted in his ears, strobing lights meeting his eyes as they entered. It really was his favourite place in the world.
He and his friends went their various ways, with Chuuya scheduled to be the next to perform that night. Just as he was about to start setting up, he felt a tap on his back. He turned to see an older man in a fancy suit and long coat and a boy around his age in a solid black suit. His arms and neck were covered in bandages, but somehow that’s not what stood out to Chuuya.
The first thing Chuuya noticed about him was the plethora of things he had on his face. A solid black cloth mask covering his mouth and nose; large, round gold framed wire-rimmed glasses; fluffy bangs that reached past his eyebrows and covered his whole forehead; and finally, a set of wireless earbuds that he wore even though there was already music playing in the club.
The earbuds were what bothered him most of all. It was just disrespectful to the band that was playing on the stage.
“What’s up?” he asked the older man, deciding to ignore the freak of a teen that was behind him.
The man held out a hand for a shake, which Chuuya took. “My name is Hirotsu Ryuurou. I’m a manager at Port Records, and this here is Dazai Osamu-kun, one of our esteemed producers.”
The boy smiled at him, at least he assumed from the way his cheeks rose from under his mask. “Hii!” he said with pep as he waved.
All Chuuya gave him was a nod as he turned back to Hirotsu. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nakahara Chuuya.”
Just as Hirotsu got ready to continue, Dazai cut him off. “Wanna collaborate with me?”
Chuuya had no clue how, but everything this “Dazai” did managed to piss him off. He replied, “It’s rude to cut off your elders.”
“And like you respect yours? Are kids even allowed in this club?” Dazai asked, his voice annoyingly cheerful.
“That’s-” Chuuya groaned. This kid was giving him a damn headache. “How old even are you?”
“I’m fifteen, good sir.”
“Dammit,” Chuuya sighed. They were the same age. Luckily for him, before Dazai could open his god-awful mouth again, Hirotsu stepped in.
“As Dazai-kun said, we at Port Records want to work with you as an artist. If you choose to sign with us, your first song will be a collaboration with Dazai-kun.”
Chuuya thought for a moment. As much as he hated the guy, he could manage one song. And all leading up to the career of his dreams? Port Records was a huge company, and it produced basically every big artist in the country. He’d be an absolute fool to not take it.
His buddies would support him, right?
Yeah. Totally.
“I’m up for it.”
Hirotsu nodded, taking out his phone. “We will have to get permission from your guardian, but once that’s through, we’re ready to sign you.”
Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh at that. Dazai piped up, “Is something funny?”
Chuuya shook his head at him. “My dad’s a real character. It’d be hard to convince him.”
“We can guarantee that won’t be a problem,” Hirotsu responded. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he stepped aside to take a phone call.
Dazai made one more glance at Chuuya before following Hirotsu to the corner of the club. Chuuya sighed, but for once with joy. Though he knew it was probably a scam, he’d finally get his dream.
—-
All it took was a day, and he had already made it from his home state of Texas to California. Somehow his father agreed to let him go, and it wasn’t even the professional Hirotsu who convinced him– it was that slime they called Dazai.
Now he sat next to the earlier mentioned slime in a recording studio that stank of crab after getting a rundown of the company’s rules and stuff from the boss, Mori. Right now, he was supposed to be writing out what he wanted for their collab song as Dazai did whatever it was he was doing on the computer.
“Does it always smell like shellfish in here?” Chuuya asked, trying to get Dazai to look away from his computer. Even here, he wore the mask and headphones. It was absurd.
As expected, Dazai didn’t hear him. Chuuya called to him again, louder. “Hey crab boy. Crab fish dude bro. Idiot fish guy. Butthole full of seafood. Dumb shrecking mackerel.”
Finally, he got a response from Dazai. “Now that doesn’t even make sense.”
“It got you to listen though,” he smirked. “The mask I can kind of understand, but do you ever take off the stupid earbuds?”
Dazai looked him dead in the eyes, a snarky grin (he assumed) breaking out on his face. “No.”
That really rubbed Chuuya the wrong way. “Why not? Your brain can’t handle a little silence?”
“Not anymore then your body can handle a growth spurt,” Dazai shot back without any hesitation.
Chuuya shot out of his seat, yelling. “I’m fifteen, I’m still growing!”
“Are you sure about that?” Dazai laughed, once again with the stupid mask-covered grin.
“You shut up, you waste of bandages!” He shouts, sitting down. “At least I’m not a stupid mackerel.”
Dazai played off of his anger with ease, “I’d rather a mackerel than a slug any day.”
“Slug!” Chuuya exclaimed. “Now you’re the one making no sense!”
“True enough. You’re more of a dog. A little chihuahua that likes to bark really loud. Like this, ‘yap yapyap yap yap yap-’”
Just as Chuuya was about to respond with another shout, Hirotsu knocked on their door. “Watch the noise, boys.”
The two stopped, staring at each other before groaning and returning to their respective tasks.
—-
Dazai knew he was strange. He knew because it’s what he’s been told his whole life.
He knew that normal kids didn’t need earplugs every time they went outside. He knew that normal kids didn’t feel sick at every smell they encountered. He knew that normal kids didn’t have to chew gum after every meal to get the tastes of whatever they ate out of their mouth, lest they rip out their own tongue in disgust.
He knew he wasn’t normal.
On top of that, he always knew that the concept of a musician with sensory issues was redundant. But everything else about him also was, so why not add a cherry on top? He knew he was an oxymoron in nature- an enigma to those around him. But in his eyes, he was simply normal. He was Dazai.
To him, everyone else were the weird ones. How could they tolerate the sickening scents of perfumes and colognes? How could they manage to live without the taste of mint blocking off everything else? How could they manage without something to protect their ears from the piercing screeches of everything around them?
But any time he asked, he would just be told to not be so overdramatic about it. As if that was possible.
Music was all he had growing up. It raised him, in a way. Now all he wanted was to pay back all the songs that saved him with songs of equal caliber.
He had sensory issues. That was a fact.
He cursed fate for giving him music as his only safe haven.
The same thing he relied on could so easily be weaponized against him.
And he hated it.
He hated it all.
He hated himself.
But he still had a job to do. So he picked himself up off of his bathroom floor and covered his hate with bandages.