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mantoucchi · 9 months ago

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idk abt others but yes i do eat up every single one of ur hs au bc it's so silly and yes i am looking at you with a chuuya plushie in my hand to ask for a dazai x reader hs au fanfic

✧ "YOU ARE THE CITY OF MY HEART"

☆ synopsis ↺: skipping class with your classmate, dazai yet again. but this time, you explore the ocean of your feelings together.

☆ content ↺: HIGHSCHOOL AU 15ZAI, musical prodigy! dazai, photographer! dazai, introvert! dazai, slightly ooc, fluff

☆ NOW PLAYING ↺: UNDERSTAND — keshi

☆ w/c ↺: 2k

you don't think you have ever lived without noise,

ever since you were a kid, you were talked your ear off by your parents, lectured by several adults, and screamed plentifully with friends. when there was silence, there was music to mask it. good or bad noise, it existed, survived, and was a huge part of your life.

but you,

Dazai Osamu, are probably the quietest person you've ever known.

the only sound you could associate with him was the shutter of a camera taking a picture—the same sound you've been continually hearing.

It was a regular school day, both dressed in full uniform, baking under the bright rays of the morning sun. There wasn't anything particularly wrong about this day. you could pick off the reddening leaves from bark-ridden tree branches and soak in the imprint of tree stumps, looking ever so similar to that of a fingerprint. it was a pretty autumn day; you just so happened to get to see that. you think, taking a withering leaf into the palm of your hand.

shutter.

"osamu, stop taking photos of me." —you chide, gently swatting the pointed camera out of view. the brunette in front of you, currently crouching, laughs boyishly as he removes his face pressed against the camera, gaze now overseeing the autumn sight before him. "sorry," dazai whispers, tinkering with a few buttons to review the photos he took. "you don't have to skip class with me, y'know." he murmurs, eyes glued to his camera.

he was a photographer, a pretty one at that. quiet and mysterious, you were rather surprised to learn that a boy reads fine literature and other classical means. sometimes, he picked up a violin or combined delicate fingers to gracefully waltz with a grand piano. his most prized possession was a camera, freezing the most beautiful of the intricacies of nature and people. but who was he? the boy who read books instead of taking notes in lectures, wavy chocolate brown hair that sun rays adored to find a home in, and a tall and slim build fitted in a school uniform and bandages. to capture the slope of his cheek, the deep hazel in hollow irises, and his olive skin. he was Dazai Osamu, a walking mystery.

so, you'd like to know where you stood with him in terms of relationship and if he even likes you at all. skipping class together, sneaking in your window at night, pretending to hang out with friends if it meant seeing him—it didn’t feel like something close friends did, like he was a secret you wanted to keep for yourself. but you couldn’t tell if that greed was reciprocated, if he was bored, or even considered you a close friend, a best friend. but instead of worrying too much, you only watch how his fingers work with a bulky camera, capturing nature's highs and lows.

“i know,” you twiddle with your fingers, grumbling, “class is boring anyway.” the brunette furrows his brows at the photos, brushing your excuse off, “this is shit. i think i’ve taken enough photos around the school.” he groans softly; you could practically hear his creative mind burning in the process. “did you delete the picture of me?” you question, standing over the lanky boy’s crouched form. “no, that one is good. i mean, the actual background, it's all repetitive.”

you tap a finger on your chim, “ahh,” you hum, pretending to understand his perspective. “winter should be here already.” the teenager grumbles under his breath before letting go of the camera to let it hang off his neck. you pace around slowly, feeling the surface of leaves crushing under your heels. “I mean, you don’t have to stay in school if you’re already skipping class.” you mutter, watching as a boyish grin lights up on his face. “you’re right, [y/n]! let’s go!”

a cold hand wraps his fingers around yours before dragging you to the nearest exit—"dazai!” you whine as the brunette drags you, “it’s cooooolllddddd!” you complain, your scarf nearly falling off as you run and run. hand in hand. this rather rushing feeling brings you a taste of memories you barely remember you had.

no one understood Dazai Osamu,

because he was a prodigy, he was something. something big, something great, something that made other geniuses seethe in envy. the boy had extraordinary intellect but a weak mind. no, dazai wasn't weak. he was just always unwell to a certain degree, and to most, it didn't take much to figure out—wearing long sleeves in summer, loving bandages for the comforting feelings even if he didn't need them, and reading books guiding the suicidal. dazai never hid it—that he was unwell, almost like a cry for help.

but for the genius that he was, nobody understood that.

but you did, in seventh grade. you were sniffling, pacing in remnants of snow as tears blurred your vision. though in your hazy field of sight, you outline the figure of one of your classmates approaching you, his tall frame catching the snowflakes from hitting your face. slowly, a boyish voice calls out.

"...are you okay?"

it was dazai, the stone-faced boy and talented prodigy. he wore a black trenchcoat, a little too big for his figure, and covered one of his chocolate brown eyes with bandages. you shook your head, a throbbing pain added from the tinge of snowflakes collecting in your hair. his stoic gaze never left you, standing there in the middle of a snowstorm, crying. the boy himself couldn't muster a feasible reason for walking outside in a snowstorm at this hour, so out of courtesy and a slight tinge of nervousness, he whispered, "let's go for a walk."

suddenly, nimble fingers reach out to grab yours; your fingers are used to originally wipe snot and cover your face. but dazai had no reaction to anything gross like that—like snot and tears. instead, he took shaky fingers into the cold ones of his own, pulling you gently along the sidewalk. you could barely make out his face or your feelings at the moment, only focused on his broad shoulders covered by that raven trench coat, soaking up snowflakes and the well of your tears.

from there, you walked and walked. hand in hand. soon running together with no particular destination—only feeling your body starting to warm up, sore feet clashing against snow, and his hand that never let go of yours.

Dazai Osamu never knew why you were crying, nor did you know what ever went through his head that day.

but from that moment forward,

you understood him.

soon, you were led by that same hand past pretty autumn leaves and into a foresty meadow, closed off from the rest of the world. several forms of wildlife scrapped by, followed by a murky pond under the sun's wake, surrounded by trees of reds and oranges. it perfectly provided what the school's campus couldn't—a sense of divergence reeling in the soft convolutions of your brain. "pretty, isn't it?"—the brunette chimes, panting from the long distance you two ran. "why'd you do that?" you grumble, rubbing your abdomen from an incoming sharp pain, "don't you have asthma?"

he immediately backtracks, shooting you an unamused glare, "that's.. enough." dazai huffs, before removing the strapped camera around his neck, "here, maybe you can take better pictures than i can." the boy chuckles shyly, a very drastic verbal response than his usual arrogance.

"hmm," a gentle hum slips past your lips, squinting one of your eyes in order to press the machine against your face. "i can try." after scouting the area with his camera for a few seconds, you began to snap a few shots at the darkening lake, carrying several leaves in its wake.

and as you paid full attention to the awaiting winter, dazai's gaze stayed on you, his autumn. his gaze softened and his slightly chapped lips parted in a momentary surprise, taking you in with every breath he took. Dazai himself loved photography; he loved capturing moments that would soon get lost in time. the brunette, with a talent for many things, found solace in photos. he loved to take photos of resting cats, dark sceneries you'd only find in an alleyway of a fantasy novel, and candid pictures of random couples on dates. dazai loved taking photos but detested that he didn't have a camera on hand at the moment—for he wanted to freeze this divine sight of you in the confines of his brain. your face, fingers, the dip and curve of every facial feature, and how the lighting kisses your skin and hair.

"how's it like? being a total genius?"

you were rather familiar with all your classmates, just curiously getting to know the mysterious musical prodigy, dazai osamu. it was a work period, and everyone in class already begun to slack off, especially since there was a supply.

and you knew that the lanky boy was eerily quiet when the school's athletic hotshot, Chuuya Nakahara, wasn't around. so, asking stupid questions won't exactly result in stupid answers, or so you thought.

"why? wanna be like me?" — he smiles teasingly, tilting his sharp jaw in your direction. "don't think someone who cries in the snow can do it, sorry." you freeze up and scoff, slightly embarrassed from the former interaction you had with him. "dick." a peaceful but awkward silence fills the air between both of you before the boy clears his throat awkwardly. "But i'd be willing to talk about it if you let me bother you at lunch.?"

the question itself caught you off guard. looking around at the chattering students, "i—" the brunette backtracked, hiding his face slightly with gauzed fingers. "Actually!—I am going to bother you. you're friends with chuuya, aren't you?" you shrug, eyes fluttering to the ground, "..i guess so, but i don't eat with him or his friends."

A breathless chuckle slips past the prodigy's lips before covering his mouth softly, completely ignoring you, "alright then, see you anyway, crybaby."

he hates himself for not knowing what to do with you, but he loved you more to let hate consume him, like usual. dazai wanted you; he didn't know what yearning was until he saw pieces of you in sunsets, rain and snow. he's felt destiny with his childhood friend, chuuya nakahara. but he's never felt something so desiring, pining — like he wanted to be with you every day. and maybe one of those days he'll feel you without the stupid gauze wrapped around his fingers. maybe one day he can hold your hand without the excuse of dragging you somewhere new. maybe one day, dazai will figure out how to ask you to be his, how to love you, because he's sure you're the one he wants to love.

"ahh, wait.."

you cock a brow at his shocked face, grabbing onto your sleeve as if the prodigy were reaching for the stars.

"I wish I were a painter, instead." the boy pouts, holding your sleeve childishly, pulling a chuckle from your throat, "why is that, huh?"

dazai's eyes, ever so empty and unfilled, now gleam, pretty and gentle. Softly reaching out to part a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, gazing up at you feverishly. "usually, I'm so prideful about these things, photography.."

The prodigy clears his throat, his fingers threading through soft strands of hair tucked behind your ear. "But your eyes, they are really pretty." Your lips part bashfully surprised, overcoming your ability to move.

The boy continues as if his mouth was switched on autopilot: " So I wish I could paint them instead. I guess just looking works, too, though."

He smiles cheekily.

all you ever knew was noise,

but you, Dazai Osamu, had that kind of silence to keep you awake at night. Whether that'd be holding hands in a snowstorm, or the few moments he'd stare into your eyes.

Little did you know, that was the moment he fell in love. Or rather, the time it took him to realise you don't fall.

That love has grown before you can even realise it.

✧ chocsra™

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