Figments of Beauty

IV

Early September, 2012

When Mori told Dazai that he'd have a shadow for the next month or so, he wasn't thrilled. When Mori told Dazai that said shadow was going to be one Nakahara Chuuya, his dread only thickened.

When he was recruited by PMM, Dazai made a point to very clearly express his intolerance for incompetent people. Anyone who he deemed incapable of keeping up with him wasn't granted his attentions, and today was no different. There was no doubt that Chuuya looked the part of a model, but he didn't have a single clue how to be one. And Dazai being used to further his knowledge and help build a platform for the slug to stand on (a very tall one, most likely), was incredibly irritating. He was the Demon Prodigy, newest face of PMM and rising star in the world of fashion. He didn't have time to give to a nobody like Nakahara Chuuya.

But it didn't matter, because now he was sitting on a stool in front of Oda's camera while Chuuya stared at him from his place against the wall, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest like he had been for the past few weeks. It took much more energy than Dazai anticipated to ignore him.

"Try tilting your head up just a bit and see if that helps."

Right.

Dazai did just that, looking to his left just slightly more and letting his eyes fall on some indistinct nothing ahead of him. He tried to swallow his sigh and kept himself perfectly still; while he would never say he was shy or uncomfortable in front of a camera, he would certainly say he was feeling dull.

"Oh chibi," Dazai crooned, all sing-song and deceptive cheeriness as he dragged his gaze to the very angry redhead still leaning against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets. Gloved hands, most likely. "Are you taking notes? It'll take you a long time to achieve my level of artistry, so you'd better get started now."

"Oh shut up, bastard," Chuuya scowled, but he didn't move from his place and Dazai stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

"So stingy. I didn't realize the slug was so easily offended."

"You're just a dick," was the snappy reply.

That was how most of the morning went by. Dazai sat in front of the red paper backdrop, cycling between various outfits and poses while he teased Chuuya to his heart's content. Chuuya, of course, teased him right back, but with more anger and less creativity than Dazai. Calling him a mackerel bastard was only going to last for so long before it got old.

But then Chuuya was summoned by Kouyou, and the room felt smaller without the weight of his gaze on Dazai's every move.

"Now might be a good time to take a break," Oda was saying. "Do you wanna go grab some food and come back in an hour or so?"

"No." Food was the last thing Dazai wanted—he knew Oda knew that. "We only have a few more outfits, right?" A silent nod. Dazai settled himself on the floor, propping one knee up and letting the other rest on the crisp red paper. This shoot was just like the last six he'd done—why Oda thought he needed a break, Dazai had no idea. "Let's keep going, then."

That was how most of his day proceeded. Dazai sat in front of the camera, moved around a bit, changed his clothes now and then, and looked just as pretty as he always did. A pretty skin, draped over hollow bones.

Dazai didn't mind it so much when Oda was there, and while Chuuya was generally distasteful, at least he kept Dazai entertained. The silence didn't buzz in his ears to fuel the thousand voices in his head, clambering over each other to be heard. Chuuya's noise was loud enough to override them, at least for a little while. Oda was a listener, which was so rare in places like these, and Dazai cherished that dearly. But it also let his thoughts run free-reign around his skull, and the headaches were tiring.