Chapter Text
Osamu Dazai had gone through five bodyguards in eleven months.
- The first was fired after attempting to physically restrain him from leaning over a balcony on the twentieth floor “to feel the wind better.”
- The second quit after three days, citing “psychological warfare” and an “unsafe work environment.”
- The third lasted a respectable six weeks before being caught on camera chasing Dazai down a Tokyo street while shouting threats that did not align with the agency’s “clean idol image.”
- The fourth transferred departments after Dazai convinced him they were being followed by ghosts.
- The fifth simply vanished mid-shift, leaving behind a resignation letter that contained nothing but a single sentence: I refuse to be paid to babysit a disaster.
So when Chuuya Nakahara was called in, the agency made a point of underselling the assignment.
“He’s… eccentric,” the manager said carefully, hands folded on the desk. “But he’s our top idol. Brilliant with fans. Media darling. You won’t have trouble if you stay firm.”
Chuuya, decorated, disciplined, and widely regarded as the best in the field, nodded once.
He had guarded politicians during riots. He had escorted executives through hostile territory. He had taken bullets meant for men whose names never reached the news.
How bad could an idol be?
He learned the answer in the first ten minutes.
Dazai Osamu was sprawled across a studio couch like a fallen prince, long limbs draped with theatrical negligence, hair artfully messy in a way that was absolutely deliberate. He was mid-interview when Chuuya entered, and his eyes flicked over immediately—sharp, curious, assessing.
“Oh,” Dazai said, lips curling. “You’re new.”
Chuuya stopped beside the wall, posture straight, expression neutral. “Nakahara Chuuya. Your new bodyguard.”
Dazai hummed. “You look sturdier than the last one.”
The interviewer laughed, assuming it was a joke.
Chuuya did not.
From the beginning, Dazai tested him. Small things at first—wandering off-script, disappearing between takes, leaning too close to fans, flirting recklessly with staff just to watch reactions ripple. He tried charm. He tried helplessness. He tried irritation.
None of it worked.
Chuuya stayed exactly three steps behind him, always watching, always intervening with calm efficiency. He redirected without touching. He blocked without force. He spoke rarely, but when he did, Dazai listened—if only because he was intrigued.
“You’re boring,” Dazai declared one afternoon, sprawled across a makeup chair while Chuuya stood guard by the door.
“Good,” Chuuya replied. “Boring means you’re alive.”
Dazai laughed, bright and sharp, and for a moment there was something unreadable in his eyes.
The scandal broke on a Tuesday.
It started with blurry photos: Dazai leaving a bar late at night, coat slung over his shoulders, laughing too freely. Then came speculation—anonymous sources, whispers of reckless behavior, insinuations of substances and secret meetings. By morning, the headlines were no longer subtle.
Idol Osamu Dazai: Cracks in the Perfect Image?
The agency panicked.
Dazai, meanwhile, seemed almost amused.
“They’re bored,” he said lightly as Chuuya escorted him into a private conference room. “This will blow over.”
“It won’t,” Chuuya replied. “They want blood.”
Inside, the managers argued in hushed but frantic tones. Damage control strategies were thrown around—statements, apologies, hiatuses. None of it felt clean enough. None of it felt convincing.
Finally, someone suggested it.
“A relationship,” the director said slowly. “A stable one. Something wholesome. Something that reframes the narrative.”
Chuuya stiffened immediately.
Dazai tilted his head. “Oh?”
“We announce that you’ve been quietly seeing someone,” the director continued. “Someone reliable. Someone who’s always with you. Someone the public already recognises.”
Silence fell.
Dazai’s gaze slid sideways.
Straight to Chuuya.
“No,” Chuuya said flatly.
“It would only be temporary,” the manager rushed. “Just until the story shifts. A few appearances. Some photos. Nothing explicit.”
“I’m not an actor,” Chuuya snapped.
Dazai smiled.
“I am.”
Contracts were signed within hours.
Chuuya protested every step of the way, but the logic was airtight. He was already always with Dazai. The public had already noticed him. He was professional, clean-cut, dependable—everything the narrative needed.
And Dazai?
Dazai leaned into it with terrifying ease.
The first staged appearance was a nightmare.
Cameras flashed as they exited a restaurant together, Dazai’s hand resting casually on Chuuya’s arm. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent heat up Chuuya’s spine like a spark.
“Relax,” Dazai murmured under his breath, smiling for the cameras. “You look like you’re about to arrest me.”
“I might,” Chuuya muttered back.
Fans swooned. Headlines shifted overnight.
Dazai’s Mystery Partner Revealed?
Idol Finds Stability in Unexpected Romance
They rehearsed after that. Late nights in empty studios, practicing smiles, touches, closeness. Chuuya learned how to stand just a little closer, how to let Dazai lean into him without flinching. Dazai learned where Chuuya’s boundaries were—and how gently he could push them.
Somewhere along the way, the act blurred.
Dazai stopped wandering off so recklessly. He ate more. Slept more. He laughed less sharply, his humor losing its edge when they were alone.
Chuuya noticed. He hated that he noticed.
One night, after a particularly long rehearsal, Dazai didn’t pull away when the cameras were gone. His hand lingered, fingers warm against Chuuya’s wrist.
“You don’t hate me as much anymore,” Dazai said softly.
Chuuya swallowed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Dazai smiled—but this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.
The scandal faded. The public adored them. The agency relaxed.
And Chuuya realised, with a quiet, sinking certainty, that the hardest part wasn’t pretending to love Osamu Dazai.
It was knowing that when the act ended—when the cameras turned away and the contract dissolved—he might have to go back to being just a bodyguard.
And Dazai might go back to being alone.
And neither of them was quite ready for that.