- NOTE: Just for kicks, I recommend listening to Tchaikovsky's "Waltz of the Flowers" while reading this chapter (but like maybe skip the harp part at the beginning lol) -
"What are your names?"
A huge man in a dark suit stood at the door of the hotel's ballroom, staring down at Chuuya and Dazai. He held a clipboard in one giant hand and a pen in the other.
Dazai stepped forward with a self-righteous air. "I am Hisoka Kuroi. This-"
He gestured to Chuuya beside him.
"-is my…wife, Himiko."
Chuuya forced a smile.
The man in the suit glanced at the clipboard and back at Dazai, raising an eyebrow. "You look a little young to be married. How old are you?"
Dazai laughed in a cavalier fashion. "I pride myself greatly on my youthful features. And you really should know better than to ask a man his age."
The man paused, considering this, and then bowed his head slightly in assent. He made a few marks on his clipboard, and then opened the door to the ballroom.
As Chuuya entered the enormous room, he was almost knocked back as all of his senses were immediately overwhelmed. A wave of music hit him like a wall, streaming from a small chamber orchestra performing on a stage to the side of the room. The sounds of violins, cellos, flutes, and a piano blended together in a harmonious tune that filled the room and resonated in Chuuya's very core. His eyes quickly swept the room, taking in the hundreds of people milling around with drinks in their hands and deprecating remarks on their tongues. They all looked to be well-to-do individuals, sporting expensive jewelry and intricate hairstyles. The discordant sounds of their sharp laughs and loud conversations mingled with the music, creating a cacophony of noise that drilled through Chuuya's ears into his brain. He picked up the faint scent of food, and his eyes finally landed on the catering table at the other end of the room. He then turned his eyes to Dazai, who stood next to him.
"I don't see him yet," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music and conversations that seemed to completely surround them.
Dazai nodded, then responded, "He's probably still upstairs. He lives right above here, in the penthouse suite."
Chuuya frowned, shifting his feet. He felt unsteady in his high heels, like he could be knocked over at any moment. "Upon the Tainted Sorrow," he whispered to himself, preparing to activate his ability just enough to make himself feel slightly lighter and more maneuverable. Dazai, however, immediately reached over and touched his arm before the red aura could envelop him.
"You're going to get spotted if you activate your ability, you idiot," he hissed.
Chuuya glared at him. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I feel like I'm going to fall over if someone even breathes in my direction."
As if to prove his point, Chuuya suddenly felt someone push him from behind. He wobbled as the perpetrator–a clearly intoxicated man–continued forward without even offering an apology. Staggering forward, Chuuya grasped wildly for anything that would stop him from falling. He latched onto Dazai's arm, which the latter stuck out reflexively.
Dazai winced as Chuuya's fingers dug into his bandaged arm. Chuuya, suddenly remembering the lines of scars running down Dazai's arms, was chagrined. He quickly let go as soon as he regained his footing.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Dazai took a moment to recover from the pain, but cocked his head as cradled his arm in his hand. He suddenly grinned. Chuuya narrowed his eyes immediately, certain that whatever the brunette was about to say was not going to make him happy.
"Do you recognize this song?"
Chuuya's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "I…think so?" he replied cautiously.
"It's called 'Waltz of the Flowers.' From The Nutcracker. Composed by Peter Tchaikovsky in 1892."
Chuuya nodded, still confused, and now slightly annoyed. "This is all very interesting, but why are you giving me a music history lesson now?" he demanded.
Dazai's eyes flicked toward the musicians on stage, and then back at Chuuya. The latter tensed at the smug look in his eyes. "This also happens to be one of the songs that we practiced with yesterday," he finished, the smile still on his face.
Chuuya clenched his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows, his expression immediately shifting into one of irritation and disgust.
"It's simple. Just step back, then to the side, and then bring your feet together."
Dazai was leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk. His head was tilted so far back that he almost faced the wall behind him.
Chuuya squinted at the computer screen in front of him, his lip curled in disgust. He had rewatched an online video entitled "Simple Ballroom Dances For Beginners" at least three times. Even after watching the people on the screen perform waltzes with perfect ease, he still did not have the slightest motivation to do it himself. It had the opposite effect, actually: now, he utterly abhorred the idea of even stepping onto a dance floor.
"There is no way in hell that I am going to dance at that stupid party."
Dazai sighed heavily, not moving from his chair. "Whatever, pipsqueak. Just learn the moves. It's easy enough."
Chuuya grit his teeth. "If it's so easy, why don't you give a demonstration? I'd love to learn from a real ballroom-dancing master."
Dazai jumped up, suddenly enthusiastic. "If you insist," he replied mockingly.
He reached over and turned Chuuya's laptop toward him, typed furiously for a few seconds, and then clicked. Classical music poured out of the computer's speakers. With gusto, Dazai glided across the carpeted floor, his arms extended around an invisible partner.
Chuuya's annoyance melted into amusement and then grudging admiration as he watched the brunette's graceful movements. He took in his careful steps and perfect form. He wondered all of a sudden why Dazai knew how to do the waltz.
Dazai turned back to Chuuya, his eyebrow raised in expectancy. "Well?"
Chuuya scowled back at him. "Well what?"
"Aren't you going to practice?"
Chuuya shuddered as he recalled the hours that it had taken for him to become familiar with just the footwork. He narrowed his eyes at Dazai, who was still grinning at him.
"I'm not going to dance with you."
Dazai rolled his eyes. "Come on. It's the best way to get close to Takahashi, who, by the way, now happens to be sitting at the other end of the room."
Chuuya darted a glance across the room, and, sure enough, he caught a glimpse of the man sitting in the corner, surrounded by laughing socialites. He looked slightly older than he did in the picture that Dazai had shown him earlier, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
"Plus, it wouldn't hurt for you to loosen up."
Chuuya glared at Dazai. "If that's your reasoning, then you should know that forcing me to dance is going to do exactly the opposite."
Dazai was opening his mouth to say something more when Chuuya was suddenly shoved forward again. The same drunk man staggered behind him, this time coming from the other direction. Chuuya reached out to steady himself, but Dazai was prepared this time. He smoothly caught one of Chuuya's gloved hands in his own and placed the redhead's other hand on his shoulder.
"Well," he said, a mischievous light in his eye. "Looks like you don't have a choice now."
Before Chuuya had a chance to protest, Dazai pulled him to the center of the room where several other couples were already dancing.
The music enveloped Chuuya, filling his ears and resonating in every part of his body. He felt as though his entire being was swept about by the lilting of the flute and the rise and fall of the violin. His movements, however, felt clumsy; though his feet moved along paths established by memory, they still lacked precision. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his feet, trying to gauge where to place them as he and Dazai moved with the music.
It felt like his efforts worsened his performance. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for Dazai. He tightly gripped Chuuya's hand in one of his. With his other hand, he gently but firmly pushed on Chuuya's back. Chuuya found that Dazai had pulled him right up against himself.
"Don't look at the floor," Dazai murmured.
Chuuya raised his eyes to look directly into Dazai's. The two of them were now moving as one, smoothly gliding along the floor. With Dazai helping to support him, Chuuya found that he no longer struggled with the steps of the dance. Dazai quietly counted off the steps to keep them in time with the music, his low voice barely audible.
Gazing into Dazai's face, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony, Chuuya suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be angry. After all, Dazai had physically dragged him to the dance floor and forced him to dance, even when he had explicitly expressed that he hated the idea. His disregard for Chuuya's desires would usually have prompted an enraged outburst.
However, Chuuya felt strangely devoid of any such compulsions. Gone was his typical urge to beat the living daylights out of the brunette in front of him. He simply felt…light. Free. Content. And very much surprised at those sentiments.
He noticed a softness in Dazai's eye which almost startled him. It never occurred to him that the man could feel anything other than boredom, sadness, or malicious glee. The lights from the hanging crystal chandeliers reflected softly in his eye. Chuuya blinked. Underneath the mop of thick brown hair, Dazai's eyes were not the color of mud, as he had previously believed. They were, in fact, a much deeper shade of brown, with undertones of warm caramel and coffee. And had there always been flecks of gold hidden in those irises?
Chuuya was suddenly very much aware of his proximity to his partner. He felt his cool hand on his back, his fingers gently holding his own. He noticed that their faces were only inches apart, and how his chest was pressed up against Dazai's. The latter's dark brown hair lightly brushed his forehead. He smelled faintly like musty pine and burnt toast.
And suddenly, he could barely hear the music over the thumping of his own heart.
He desperately hoped that Dazai couldn't hear it too.
Dazai removed his hand from his back. Chuuya's heart jumped into his throat when the brunette gently tucked his bangs behind his ear and leaned forward.
"Chuuya-chan, are you sure you're okay?" he murmured, his breath tingling the redhead's ear. "You're all red, even your ears. It's okay to take a break when you need one."
Chuuya jerked back, extricating his hand from Dazai's. "I'm fine," he retorted, casting his eyes toward the floor, the walls, the faces of the people swirling around them. Anywhere but Dazai's questioning gaze. "I-I'm going to use the bathroom."
He then fled the dance floor as best as he could, wobbling slightly in his heels as he pushed through the crowd toward the men's lavatory. He burst into the bathroom, panting. He kicked off the heels and yanked off his gloves. He went to a sink and ran some water into his shaking hands, splashing it up to his face. He looked in the mirror and was slightly horrified to see Kouyou's handiwork melting off of his face.
"Upon the Tainted Sorrow," he whispered, and with his ability quickly formed a basketball-sized bubble of warm water from the running faucet. He plunged his face into the bubble and scrubbed it vigorously. A few minutes later, he wiped his face dry with paper towels and stared into the mirror.
Dazai was right. His face was bright red.
It's because I just scrubbed it, he stubbornly thought to himself. The stupid piece of crap was lying to get a reaction out of me.
But even just the thought of the brunette in his burgundy suit out on the dance floor ignited an unfamiliar and very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.
He frantically clutched at the neckline of his dress, suddenly feeling as though it was suffocating him.
What is happening to me?
He clenched his fist and slammed it on the counter in frustration. His loose, waterlogged hair dripped onto his hands.
He suddenly heard a shuffling behind him, in one of the stalls. He turned to the stall, his mind racing at an equal pace to that of his heart.
After a moment, he lifted his bare foot and slammed it into the door of the stall, leaving a sizable dent. A startled whimper sounded from the other side.
"Give me your clothes, right now," Chuuya growled, "or else."
***Let's take a minute to give a round of applause for our wingman of the year, random drunk man. Kudos to you, my guy.
This was one of the first scenes that I thought up when writing this fic was still just an idea. It's definitely one of my favorites. It kinda gives me period-drama vibes. And honestly, who doesn't love a good old-fashioned dance scene?