Chapter Text
The concert should have ended when the lights went out.
For everyone else, it had.
For Dazai, it had only just begun.
He remained seated long after the final note had faded, surrounded by the distant chatter of people leaving and the scattered glow of phones being switched back on. The stage was empty now, stripped of the brilliance that had made it seem almost unreal.
But Dazai could still see him.
Chuuya Nakahara.
He could still hear his voice.
Still remember the way Chuuya had tilted his head when he sang, the slight crease between his eyebrows when he became completely absorbed in the music, the way his fingers curled around the microphone. Dazai remembered the exact moment Chuuya had smiled at the audience.
Not the rehearsed smile.
The real one.
Dazai had noticed.
He had noticed everything.
And that was the problem.
He couldn't stop thinking about him.
On the journey home, Dazai replayed the concert over and over again. He remembered every song Chuuya had performed. Every movement. Every expression. Every interaction with the crowd.
He tried sleeping.
He couldn't.
He closed his eyes and saw Chuuya.
He opened them and reached for his phone.
Chuuya Nakahara.
The search was almost embarrassingly easy.
Dazai smiled.
One account became three.
Three became dozens.
Official photographs. Interviews. Fan accounts. Performance clips. Old posts. Magazine articles. Behind-the-scenes photographs.
He consumed all of it.
At first, it felt harmless.
Curiosity.
Admiration.
Then it became something else.
Dazai began noticing patterns.
Chuuya always ordered the same drink when he visited a particular café. He preferred certain brands. He hated being photographed from one particular angle. He tended to tug at the sleeve of his jacket when he was nervous. He laughed more loudly around certain people. He became quieter when conversations turned personal.
Dazai memorised these things without even trying.
Then he started trying.
He created folders.
Screenshots.
Photographs.
Interviews.
Schedules.
Quotes.
Videos.
Anything that contained Chuuya's face, voice, habits, or name.
His laptop gradually became a shrine disguised as research.
There were photographs covering his desktop.
Notes beside his bed.
Dates circled in red.
Dazai even began keeping track of Chuuya's expressions.
- Smile — genuine.
- Smile — for cameras.
- Annoyed — probably hungry.
- Touches necklace when uncomfortable.
- Looks away when embarrassed.
He knew it was strange.
That didn't make him stop.
If anything, recognising how strange it was made it more thrilling.
Because nobody else was paying attention like he was.
Fans loved Chuuya.
They knew his songs.
They knew his favourite colour.
They knew the version of him that Chuuya allowed the world to see.
Dazai wanted the rest.
The parts Chuuya didn't show.
The silences.
The insecurities.
The habits.
The moments between performances when the idol mask disappeared.
Dazai wanted to know Chuuya himself.
And eventually, wanting to know him wasn't enough.
Dazai wanted to be near him.
He wanted Chuuya to know his name.
Wanted Chuuya to recognise his face in a crowd.
Wanted to become the person Chuuya instinctively searched for.
The thought consumed him.
Weeks passed.
Dazai stopped thinking of Chuuya as someone he admired.
Chuuya became a constant.
A thought waiting at the back of his mind when he woke.
A name appearing in his thoughts while he ate.
A face appearing whenever he became bored.
Every decision somehow circled back to him.
And the strangest part?
Dazai wasn't even sure when it had happened.
There had been a line somewhere.
A perfectly ordinary boundary between admiration and obsession.
Dazai simply couldn't remember crossing it.
By then, he had already started researching Chuuya's security.
A celebrity like Chuuya needed protection.
That was obvious.
There was always someone standing nearby during public appearances—a professional bodyguard, vigilant and irritatingly competent.
By then, Dazai had already started researching Chuuya's security.
A celebrity like Chuuya needed protection.
That was obvious.
But Dazai quickly discovered that Chuuya's bodyguard wasn't some random professional hired for the job.
His name was Shirase.
Shirase.
Chuuya's childhood best friend.
The person who had known him long before the fame, the cameras, the screaming crowds and the carefully rehearsed smiles. Shirase had been there before Chuuya became an idol. He knew stories that Dazai could only dream of knowing. He had photographs Dazai couldn't find online. Memories Dazai could never access.
And worst of all—
Shirase loved him.
Secretly.
Dazai discovered it slowly.
The way Shirase watched Chuuya when he thought nobody was looking.
The way his expression softened whenever Chuuya laughed.
The way he remembered tiny things about him.
The way he always positioned himself between Chuuya and danger.
The way Chuuya trusted him without hesitation.
Dazai stared at the evidence on his screen for hours.
Then he laughed.
Quietly.
Almost disbelievingly.
Of course.
It all made sense now.
Shirase wasn't protecting Chuuya.
He was claiming him.
At least, that was how Dazai chose to see it.
Every act of kindness became manipulation.
Every protective gesture became control.
Every childhood memory became another chain wrapped around Chuuya.
Dazai began convincing himself that Shirase had been poisoning Chuuya's life for years.
He told himself that Shirase was keeping Chuuya dependent on him.
That he was exploiting Chuuya's trust.
That he didn't truly want Chuuya to be happy.
He wanted Chuuya to belong to him.
And Dazai—
Dazai couldn't allow that.
Because Dazai had already decided that Chuuya belonged somewhere else.
With him.
The thought became an obsession.
He started watching Shirase more closely.
Every time Shirase touched Chuuya's shoulder, Dazai noticed.
Every time Chuuya laughed at something Shirase said, Dazai noticed.
Every time Chuuya called his name, Dazai noticed.
He began memorising their interactions with the same devotion he had once reserved for Chuuya alone.
Except now there was something different in his eyes.
Jealousy.
Cold, vicious jealousy.
Dazai hated Shirase.
Not because Shirase had harmed Chuuya.
Not because Shirase had actually done anything wrong.
But because Shirase had something Dazai desperately wanted.
Chuuya's trust.
And Dazai couldn't stand it.
The more he watched them, the more convinced he became that he was seeing the truth.
Shirase was the threat.
Dazai was the solution.
He began referring to himself as Chuuya's protector long before Chuuya ever knew his name.
Sometimes, late at night, Dazai would sit alone in his room and imagine how much better Chuuya's life would be without Shirase.
No one manipulating him.
No one controlling him.
No one secretly loving him while pretending to be his friend.
Just Dazai.
Dazai would protect him.
Dazai would understand him.
Dazai would never leave him.
The fantasy became so vivid that Dazai eventually stopped questioning whether it was true.
He had created his own reality.
And in that reality, Shirase was the villain.
Dazai was the saviour.
Removing Shirase wasn't murder in Dazai's mind.
It was rescue.
He convinced himself that he was freeing Chuuya from someone who had been poisoning his life.
That one day Chuuya would understand.
Perhaps he would even thank him.
That thought made Dazai smile.
The night everything changed, Dazai approached Shirase with frightening calmness.
There was no dramatic confrontation.
No rage.
No shouting.
Just Dazai's quiet certainty that he was doing what had to be done.
Shirase never realised just how much Dazai already knew about him.
Never realised how long Dazai had been watching.
Never realised that, somewhere along the way, Dazai had stopped seeing him as a person and started seeing him as an obstacle.
And when Shirase was gone, Dazai felt no guilt.
Only relief.
The position beside Chuuya was finally empty.
The person who had stood between Dazai and Chuuya was gone.
Dazai looked at himself in the mirror that night and adjusted his tie.
He smiled.
A perfect, reassuring smile.
Protector.
That was what he would become.
Chuuya's protector.
His saviour.
His safest place.
Dazai had already destroyed the person who stood closest to Chuuya.
Now all he had to do was make sure Chuuya never realised why.
And, more importantly—
make sure Chuuya never realised that the person he had been saved from...
wasn't Shirase.
It was Dazai.
And Dazai stepped forward.
He appeared exactly as he needed to appear.
Perfect suit.
Perfect posture.
Perfect smile.
A clean résumé.
Professional references.
A carefully constructed history.
Nothing about him suggested the weeks of obsession hiding underneath.
Nobody needed to know that Dazai had already memorised the person he intended to protect.
He didn't simply know Chuuya's schedule.
He knew what Chuuya looked like when he was tired.
He knew which songs made him smile.
He knew which questions irritated him during interviews.
He knew which compliments made him blush.
He knew what Chuuya's voice sounded like when he was genuinely happy.
He knew far too much.
And Dazai loved every second of it.
Before the interview, he stood in front of his mirror and practised.
Not the answers.
Those were easy.
He practised his smile.
Too wide.
Too eager.
Too suspicious.
He adjusted it.
Again.
He practised lowering his gaze at precisely the right moment.
He practised appearing trustworthy.
Calm.
Reliable.
Safe.
The irony almost made him laugh.
Because underneath the carefully constructed expression, Dazai was practically trembling with anticipation.
He was finally going to meet Chuuya.
Not through a screen.
Not through photographs.
Not from the audience.
In person.
The thought sent electricity through him.
He imagined Chuuya looking directly at him.
Saying his name.
Perhaps smiling.
Perhaps asking him to stay.
Dazai's fingers curled against his palm.
He wanted that.
No.
He needed it.
The day arrived.
Dazai stood outside Chuuya's office.
For once, he wasn't bored.
He wasn't amused.
He wasn't pretending to be.
He was nervous.
Genuinely nervous.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the door.
Behind it was Chuuya.
His Chuuya.
The thought made Dazai's smile twitch.
He immediately corrected himself.
Not his.
Not yet.
The door opened.
And Dazai forgot how to breathe.
Chuuya stood there.
He was even more beautiful up close.
The photographs hadn't captured him properly.
They couldn't.
They hadn't captured the slight messiness of his hair.
The faint tiredness beneath his eyes.
The way the light caught his face.
The tiny movement of his lips when he looked Dazai over suspiciously.
Dazai stared.
One second.
Two.
Three.
He had spent weeks imagining this moment.
None of his fantasies had prepared him for the reality.
Chuuya was standing right in front of him.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to hear breathe.
Close enough that Dazai could finally see every tiny detail he'd spent countless nights memorising.
And suddenly, all those weeks of obsession crystallised into one terrifying certainty.
He didn't want to leave.
Ever.
“Who are you?”
Chuuya's voice snapped him back to reality.
Dazai smiled.
The perfect smile.
Professional.
Warm.
Harmless.
“My name is Dazai Osamu.”
His voice was calm.
His expression was flawless.
Inside, however, something was screaming.
Chuuya.
He had finally said his name.
He had finally heard Chuuya speak directly to him.
Dazai wanted to laugh.
Wanted to memorise the sound.
Wanted to hear it again.
And again.
And again.
Instead, he simply extended his hand.
“I've been told you're looking for a new bodyguard.”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
Dazai almost smiled wider.
That expression.
Suspicious.
Beautiful.
Exactly as he'd imagined.
Except now he was seeing it for real.
Dazai knew, with absolute certainty, that this was only the beginning.
He had spent weeks studying Chuuya from a distance.
Now he had something better.
Access.
Proximity.
Trust.
A reason to remain beside him.
And as Chuuya reluctantly stepped aside to let him into the office, Dazai crossed the threshold with a quiet smile.
He had spent weeks finding Chuuya.
He had spent weeks learning him.
He had spent weeks convincing himself that he only wanted to protect him.
But now that he was finally standing inside Chuuya's world, Dazai realised the truth.
Protection had never been the goal.
Possession was.