The concert ends in a blur of flashing lights and deafening cheers, the final guitar riff still ringing in the air as Chuuya steps offstage, sweat-drenched and breathless. The energy of the crowd still pulses through his veins, but right now, all he cares about is getting a moment to himself.

Or so he thinks.

Leaning casually against the wall backstage, Dazai waits, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips. He looks completely out of place among the exhausted crew and tangled wires, dressed in designer clothes that scream “popstar” rather than “rock scene.” But that smug look in his eyes? That’s just so him.

“Impressive show, Chuuya,” Dazai hums, pushing off the wall as he steps closer. “Almost as breathtaking as you.”