Zoe

"It's like I made you up, and now you're next to me."

‎♪

“We aren’t calling our band that!” Jacob groans, his hands in his hair as he grinds his teeth together, squeezing his eyes shut from the growing migraine due to how impossible his bandmate is behaving.

“I don’t hate it,” Wilhelm shrugs, bored and disinterested, willing to agree with anything at this point so this discussion can be over.

“Please don’t encourage him!” Atsushi whines out his plea, scouring the sheet of notebook paper in front of him, scratching out any of the names already suggested that are too beyond crude that their manager has yelled alongside them that they cannot produce as a band name. “While this is the most mild of his suggestions, it still shouldn’t be a consideration.” He sighs, raking his nervous fingers through his hair. He is the most stressed about this whole ordeal, seeing as he is probably the biggest fan of their collaborative partner, and his band doesn’t have a name suitable enough to stand beside her.

“Have we gotten a real band name yet?” Kunikida’s fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop in front of him, trying to prepare an email to send off as a silent cry for help in the guise of a request to delay their scheduled meeting to another day, one where they are more put together than they actually are.

“I don’t understand why everyone is so against Boxxx,” Dazai grumbles, folding his arms and beginning to fake pout, since every last one of his names have been shot down. He was bored, wanting to get in the booth and begin working on his latest “masterpiece”, but these official band meetings were getting in the way. Alongside having to meet this collab partner he knows nothing about. So, he thought he would waste everyone’s time as a form of entertainment.

“Because previously you wanted ‘Munchers’ after it,” Wilhelm deadpans, an arm draped over the back of his seat.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” Atsushi chimes back in, tapping the end of his pen to his temple. “We have been given the opportunity of a lifetime to work with an incredibly successful pop star, one who is topping charts faster than we could even dream to, and the most we can come up with for a band name is something inappropriate.” He whines again, his hand sliding down his face. “Her name is going to be next to ours. We can’t pick just anything–”

“I think Bella’s Boxxx would be perfect,” Dazai shrugs, trying to keep his tone as serious as possible, but he wants to burst out into fits of laughter at the idea of that name being slathered on merch, CDs, and a tour poster.

“Dude,” Jacob scrunches up his nose. “Atsushi’s right. We can’t ruin this for ourselves just because you want to be funny.”

“I am being very serious!” Dazai defends, sitting up in his seat more. “None of you have made suggestions.”

“Dazai, I suggested something that would appease you and be appropriate,” Atsushi sighs, propping his chin on his hand. “But you shot it down.”

“No, I said we can do it if we dropped a word,” Dazai corrects.

“We are not calling ourselves ‘Dazai and His Pussycats’,” Wilhelm groans, his head falling back to look at the ceiling. “Let alone ‘Dazai and His’… Yeah.” He huffs, his brother fighting from hitting his head on the table while Dazai bursts into laughter. Atsushi tries to ignore him, referring back to the list of names that haven’t been entirely written off.

“We could try Grimm Tails,” he mumbles, side-eyeing his giggling lead singer.

“We sound like furries,” he chuckles. “Oh! Maybe we can be ‘FurryCon Artists’! That sounds like a good name.” Everyone collectively groans, loud, at the newfound name suggestion, making Kunikida get up from his seat to walk over behind the troublemaker, his arms folded as he taps his foot.

“Dazai, you need to take this seriously,” he lectures. “I had tried requesting an extension of meeting with Bella, but it was denied. She will be here with her manager shortly, and I expect a real name before they arrive.” His brow raises as he watches Dazai lean back, his hair falling away from his face, before shooting his manager a beam.

“Let’s call ourselves Bella! That’s a nice name, let’s go with that,” he recommends, that mischievous glint flashing in his eye as usual, getting amusement from watching the slight vein trying to pop out on Kunikida’s forehead. Jacob and Wilhelm both get up, deciding to leave the table and let the other three hash it out since it’s essentially a lost cause at this point.

“Okay, we aren’t calling ourselves Bella,” Atsushi’s tone grows stern then, dropping his hand down on the table surface, and his brows knit together. “That’s her name, and it is a very important name, so quit trying to be a thief!” Dazai raises a dark eyebrow, turning his head to face him better before letting out a questioning hum. Their manager mumbles a few things under his breath, stalking back to his desk where he begins typing away again on his laptop.

“What’s with that, anyway? Why would she want to go by a stage name?” He scoffs lightly, sitting himself back up then drags the paper to the front of him, eyes carefully roaming over the uncrossed names.

“It came from a nickname her close friend gave her,” Atsushi explains, peering over the lead’s shoulder to also revisit the list. “His name is Will. They’ve been friends for years; he was the one that helped her get her foot in the door.” He explains, going back to thinking about a name that would be perfect for them as a whole, but would be worthy enough to stand next to his favorite pop artist. Dazai blinks a few times, lifting his head to look at his drummer, who looks at him with big eyes.

“You said Will?” He asks, and the other just nods. “Will, as in the music producer? The one everyone absolutely fights tooth and nail to work with?” Atsushi pauses before nodding again, slower.

“Yeah? They’re literally best friends,” the drummer goes on, surprised but not that Dazai doesn’t know this. “Every single song she has ever made is produced only by him, creating fifteen consecutive hits that haven’t left the Billboard Hot 100 since entering. Her debut album skyrocketed, staying a hot topic due to her lyricism and production. He’s revered in the industry as–”

“As the number one hit maker,” the other interrupts, his brows coming together as he starts messing with his lip, pointer and thumb pinching the flesh. “If you want lasting power on the radio, streaming, and physical sales, it’s recommended to work with him as soon as possible.” He stares down at the sheet full of half-assed names and the funny ones he threw out to waste everyone’s time, suddenly irritated with himself that he had done this.

“Duh. That’s why us getting to work with Bella is so huge,” Atsushi reminds. “She only works with Will. Our first official debut could get us where we wanted to be. Maybe even higher.” He scrunches up his nose before lightly punching his friend in the arm. “And you’re too busy playing around!” Dazai rolls his eyes, not believing that they only landed Bella, but also his dream producer in one net as easily as they had. He sighs heavily, carefully tugging on his bottom lip while his other hand pushes his hair back from his face.

“Damn,” he murmurs, taking in another deep breath before forcing out a bubbling smile with a twitch of his eyebrow. “Well, why didn’t you say so?! We need to take this seriously!” He cheers, switching back to his previous personality, and clapping his hands together. “We need to wow this pop princess.”

. ♬ ܁˖

"Boys, best behaviors for our guest,” Kunikida smooths out his button-up and adjusts his glasses, eyeing the band members as they leisurely stand or lay around the studio. Atsushi is beside him, shaking like a leaf from anxiousness and anticipation, overwhelmed by the thought of meeting his favorite artist, continuously fussing with himself to make sure he looks presentable. Wilhelm sits behind the drum kit, his finger tapping on his chin as he eyes every piece of it while Jacob is tuning his guitar, jotting a few notes down to present to their lead later. Dazai is still hunched over the paper, scribbling down anything and everything that comes to mind in hopes something serious but cool jumps out at him. Many new examples are more appropriate, no innuendos or blatant crass words, but nothing is catching his eye.

Since learning that the musician they’re to be working with on a full-length album is absolute “besties” with Will – someone he thought he’d have to claw his way to from the bottom – he has an urge to put more effort in than before. His drummer made a fair point: they can’t have just any band name; it needs to be good enough to be next to yours. One that Will wouldn’t hate putting his own name behind.

“Dazai, have we gotten one yet?” Jacob asks, getting to his feet and setting his instrument to the side before walking over to the table, eyeing the sheet that is now chock full of different names and words. “Wow, some of these aren’t actually terrible.” He nods, leaning on the table as he peeks over the other’s shoulder while he scrawls along the lines. The lead singer is fully engrossed, ignoring his guitarist, other fingers fisting a handful of his hair as his brain moves faster than his pen. “She’ll be here any minute. Maybe take a bit of a break, we can circle back.” He gently suggests, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing’s good enough,” Dazai shakes his head, brushing off Jacob as he gets to hit feet and takes the paper with him, making way for the booth.

“Damn, what got into him?” Wilhelm nods in his direction, watching the door close behind him as his shaggy-haired head disappears in the window when he drops to sit on the floor in the nearly soundproof room.

“I guess finding out that Bella is friends with his dream producer really struck him,” Atsushi mutters, confused on how this music prodigy who knows and is a fan of so many different artists, writers, and composers, doesn’t have the slightest clue of who the current best-selling pop star is. Nor that he knew how close Will is to you, considering it’s one of your favorite things to talk about in interviews, and you are consistently thanking him in your works. Then he remembers the last time he tried nudging an earphone into Dazai’s ear to play one of your newest songs, he gave the drummer a glaringly dirty look and asked why he was playing “absolute garbage” in his ear before tossing the cord to the side.

“Maybe it’s for the best he stays in there,” Kunikida mumbles, letting out a small huff of anxious air, strutting up to the entrance and peering through the window in the door, a car with blacked-out windows rolling up, and small crowds of people on either side of the walkway are already calling out in hopes of receiving the tiniest miniscule of attention from Bella as you climb out. Ignoring them all when you flip your hair over your shoulder, your strides longer and fluid due to your platformed boots carrying you along the pavement, and he opens the door as he hears repeatedly clicking, chants of your name, and momentarily blinded by flashing camera lights.

“Thank you,” you nod toward him with as genuine of a smile you can put on, Kouyou floating in behind you, and he offers a nod to both of you as he hurriedly closes the door.

“Incredibly nice to meet you. I am Kunikida Doppo, their manager,” he bows, low, before the both of you, and you are caught off guard by the formality. "We can never thank you enough for accepting our request for this collaborative project." Kouyou chuckles sweetly, tilting her head. You stand there, stiff but cordial.

“How respectful,” she coos, motioning for him to stand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Kunikida. I’m Kouyou Ozaki, Bella’s manager.” She bows her head only, any further is typically beneath her. “I apologize we couldn’t grant your recent request in postponing our first meeting. Our rather impatient CEO and my dear sweet pop star just didn’t want to wait further.” She speaks flawlessly, making you stand there a bit awkwardly, feeling misplaced from her poise and professionalism while you huff and stomp around with blue hair and a permanent scowl.

He rises to a standing position, subtly readjusting his shirt, gesturing toward the three boys standing there in silence – both starstruck and awkward. “Please, come meet the band. They’ve been raving all day about your arrival.” You glance out toward the others, noting they are a three-piece, and your hands are folded in front of you. Your eyes skim to take in that two are practically identical, and the other is… hyperventilating. Jacob hears the heavy breathing to his left, turning to see Atsushi is losing it beside him.

“Dude,” he whispers, lightly hitting his arm. “Keep your cool.” However, all the drummer can seem to do is utter repeatedly ‘big fan, big fan, big fan’ as he points in your direction. His body is visibly shaking, knees knocking together as he tries holding himself up, and an awestruck grin plastered across his features.

“Do I… have to?” You slowly force your head back to their manager, who is working hard to hide his annoyance at the way they’re behaving, since it is the exact opposite of what he told them to do. Plus, Dazai’s still hiding away in the booth.

“Yes, honey,” Kouyou chimes in, a pleasant smile there as she gently nudges you toward the other members. “Go make friends.” She commands, as if speaking to a scared and introverted toddler that is leaving the house for the first time. You nervously pick at your fingers, sharpened acrylics clicking together as they do so, swallowing before facing the boys again, and walking slowly toward them like a shaken deer. Meeting people is usually not an issue for you, given your profession – but these guys are just weird!

“Hi, I’m Jacob,” he steps up first, offering his hand to you, noticing your timidness. He gifts you a kind smile, his blue and green staring down at you as he also is trying his best to keep his cool. He may not be as big of a fan as Atsushi, but this is considered a dream come true to be able to meet an artist he admires. “It’s an amazing honor to meet you.” The words roll off his tongue easily with a velvet-like softness that reminds you of your friend. Your shoulders ease, taking his hand in yours for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Bella,” you introduce, though you are fairly certain he already knows that. The heavy breathing from a few feet away catches your attention again, eyes flickering toward Atsushi as he stands there, attempting to calm himself down, but failing miserably. “Um–”

“I’m… I’m really sorry about him,” Jacob laughs, uneasy, apologies in his eyes. “He’s just a huge mega fan and isn’t quite used to meeting fellow colleagues yet.” His teeth sink down into his bottom lip, messing with the black lip ring sticking out, and growing skeptical that you will continue wanting to work with them after this. He looks over his shoulder back at his bandmate, lifting his brows. “Hey, Atsushi, do you have that thing you were going to politely ask Miss Bella to sign?” He asks, as if speaking to a child, and the drummer nods once – it’s all he can do since he’s practically paralyzed. Jacob nods in his direction, silently encouraging him to move, and he shuffles off in a hurry to his bag as he rummages around.

“That’s cute,” you are trying to keep a smile on, positive energy flowing, but you'd rather be sinking in bed wallowing over the loss of your ex-boyfriend. Wondering if that other girl has been talking to him longer than what he screamed to you in the club last week in front of everyone there. “Hopefully he’ll get used to me.”

“Yeah, he will, I’ll make sure of it,” Jacob chuckles, gesturing toward his brother, who has begun to start disassembling the drum set. Jacob’s face drops instantly, watching as the hard hat gets sat down, and the other cymbals are the next victims of Wilhelm’s boredom. He jerks his head in your direction, letting out another awkward laugh at your curiously bewildered expression, then clearing his throat. “That uh, that’s my brother.” He has never really been ashamed to say that before; not until he is stood face-to-face with his celebrity crush, and his twin is disassembling an instrument instead of introducing himself. “He plays bass.” Your brow raises, watching silently as Wilhelm sits behind the set, curious on how he would know how to take it apart and put it back together.

“Then why is he…”

“I have no clue,” he sighs in defeat, shoulders slumping. “Wilhelm, can you please be polite and come say hi to Bella?” He borders on whines, trudging over to be at his side, picking up some of the cymbals as he helplessly looks over where they should go. Atsushi’s gonna be so mad.

“Hey,” Wilhelm tosses a half-hearted greeting with a curt nod toward you. “I’m Wilhelm. Bassist. Bored.” He goes back to messing with the set, and you left to just stare. How old did Miss Kouyou say they all were?

“Uhm…” A faintly meek voice comes from your right, making you turn to face Atsushi, who is roughly three feet away. He has a permanent marker in one hand and a copy of your CD in the other, both trembling. He clears his throat a few times before carefully extending his arms out in offering. “H-Hi, I’m–I’m Atsu… Atsushi.” He stammers, incapable of getting a sentence out without fumbling over his words. “It’s… It’s real–really honorific… No, wait–” He cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut, and you stand there patiently, a small smile on your face as you wait for him to get his sentence out. After a few more seconds of him stumbling out scoldings to himself on what he should and shouldn’t say, you gingerly take the CD and marker from him, cracking it open to take out the booklet.

“How do you spell your name, cutie?” You ask, cocking your head. He blinks once before staring, cheeks immediately rushing with blood, and another grin grows. He spells out his name, watching as you start writing on the front page. You take your time, drawing a small picture, then a heart beside your name, before sticking it back in place and handing it back to him. “I drew you a sushi, since it’s in your name.” You giggle, watching as his golden eyes stare at it in awe, lips parted, then he beams at you.

“Thank you so much, Bella!” He is elated, wanting so badly to hug you, but Kunikida warned beforehand that none of them were allowed to touch you outside of professional and cordial handshakes – it was originally geared toward Dazai, but it seems now that it applies to Atsushi as well. “I’m gonna show Dazai!” He rushes off toward the booth, knocking on the door then pushing it open, forcing his way in so that he can shove the CD case in front of his startled and wide brown eyes, darting from the sushi drawing to his bandmate’s absolute joy on his face.

“Dazai?” You question, directing it toward Jacob, who is helping Wilhelm put the drums back together while having to stop him from taking it apart all over again.

“He’s our lead singer, guitarist, composer, band founder, musical prodigy,” he huffs, snatching another cymbal from his brother, crashing it on his head, who barely causes a reaction, aside from mildly rubbing his head at the affliction. “He’s got that perfect pitch thing. He’s insane.” He looks over his shoulder at you, seeing you are standing there alone with big eyes and a bit of a clueless expression, rubbing your arm. His eyes move across the room before his head swivels, seeing that Kunikida and Kouyou have gone off to the meeting room to enjoy whatever discussion they’re having over coffee, and the three of you are what’s left.

“He’s really that good?” You squeak, eyebrows deeply furrowing, a sudden burst of self-doubt hitting you at the realization that you may not be the most talented person in the room anymore.

“Well, I mean…” He rubs the back of his neck, veering his vision off in the direction of the booth, seeing Atsushi flailing around and fanboying to his heart’s content. Dazai nowhere in sight. “He can write you a melody in an instant, able to tell what note you’re looking for just by singing or humming it, but he can’t write lyrics to save his life.” He shrugs, directing his attention back to you, but you still look upset. Bothered, even. “I’m our primary lyricist. He’ll come up with the notes, and I will come up with the words. Wilhelm is indifferent, and Atsushi’s just happy to be here.” He smiles, in hopes of easing your tension, but he can tell it isn’t working. You force out a big grin, tucking some of your loose strands behind your ear.

“I listened to your guys’ demo on the way here,” you remain in your spot, feet abruptly beginning to ache from wearing your boots, or was it a different reason? “You’re incredible. I thought maybe it was just that I liked the sound more than I expected. But I guess it’s because it was written by geniuses.” He blushes, ever so slightly, averting his gaze as a flustered smile forms.

“Please, he’s the music genius. I just come up with some words,” he definitely wasn’t fishing for compliments, but hearing you refer to him as a “genius” admittedly boosted his ego. Wilhelm pauses on the stool, brown eyes darting from his frazzled brother and the secretly low self-esteemed pop star. He knows how much his brother likes Bella, not only as a person but as an artist, putting you up above them – despite insisting you'll be considered colleagues moving forward, essentially equals. While he didn’t expect Jacob to be losing his mind the way Atsushi did, he expected… more. His disinterested gaze softens then scrunches up his nose, going back to reassembling the drum set before his bandmate notices.

Fussing from the booth’s door opening causes everyone to look over, Atsushi running his mouth a mile a minute about Bella being here, signing his CD, and drawing him a sushi on it, all while calling him a cutie. He stands in the doorway, bouncing on his toes as he waits for Dazai to get to his feet, who is utterly exhausted already listening to his repeated happiness.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I get it!” He groans, lightly pushing him by the forehead so he’d shut up for a minute, his head hung since he couldn’t come up with a band name that would not only suit them, but appease the producer he is hoping to impress soon.

You stand there, silent still, your bright eyes staring ahead at the guy that is emerging from the booth, and your jaw all but drops to the floor. He’s tall with broad shoulders, shaggy brown hair somehow perfectly disheveled on his head, and his nose is scrunched up in irritation as he glares down at the paper clutched tightly in his fist – how cute! Your head tilts in curiosity, your mind telling you to stop gawking, but you can’t help it, not when he is sporting a baggy vintage tee and even baggier pants with more chains than you latching themselves to different parts of the fabric. A finger absentmindedly twirls a strand of hair around it, the feeling of hearts forming in your dilated pupils fiercely evident, and you forget then what exactly it was that had been bothering you.

As Dazai turns his head, boredom and growing fury slowly dissipate when his eyes lock with yours, gleaming under the low lights of the studio. Those eyes, you melt in place when his chocolate-like irises come into view, almost resembling amber in different points of light as his head turns fully to face you. He takes his time, as if he has all of it in the world, assessing this blue-haired stranger standing in the middle of the studio, your clawed fingers messing with the tresses to ensure perfection, subtly tugging at the hem of the snug tank top, and the chains attached to your tight ripped jeans jingle as you move. His line-of-sight glides back to your face, and something strange happens: his heart skips a beat as he stares at this girl, nervously biting your lip then granting him a sweet but flustered smile. Something else weirdly happens: his pupils dilate, blow out bigger than anyone’s ever seen, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in a dazed half-smile.

The silence in the room as this happens is intense, the twins’ two sets of eyes going back and forth, Atsushi evidently oblivious to what is happening – as usual, but no one says anything. Your heart is rattling around in your ribcage, and his is palpitating. It causes his breath to hitch in his throat, and for a brief moment, it seems as though maybe your heart beats are in sync.

How handsome.

So pretty.

“I’m Bella–”

“Dazai Osamu–”

You both stop, interrupting one another, you letting out an airy giggle that makes his ears perk up, and his cheeks feel uncharacteristically warm. Jacob stares in disbelief, considering the last time anyone tried having a real conversation with Dazai about Bella, he brushed it off, saying he didn’t care and hates pop music, thinking it all sounds the same with little to no substance – Jacob remarked he was pretentious, and his bandmate merely shrugged in silent agreement. Now, he’s standing there frozen in place and silent, ogling the pop artist as if he hasn’t seen a woman before.

Wilhelm stopped all movement the moment the door opened, but then he has found entertainment in watching you two make googly eyes at one another, the quiet of the room welcoming, a slight smirk appearing as he waits for whoever will make the first move.

Atsushi finally notices that no one’s talking, tearing his gaze away from the CD to watch his friend stand still for an extended period of time without speaking. Which is concerning in its own right. His brows furrow, looking between the two, not understanding what is happening. Is he secretly a fan and is just starstruck like I was?

“Forgive my manners,” Dazai recovers, smoothing his edges in an instant, closing the gap between you in a few long strides, his hand extended out. “My name is Dazai Osamu, lead singer and primary composer for the band.” His smile is award-winning, dazzling, and your previous daze cracks to make you grin with him now being so close. You take a long moment to admire him, his eyes sparkling, hair fallen perfectly to frame his features, sloped nose, pretty lips that you can’t stop sneaking glances at. Your hand gradually comes up to rest in his, skin warm to the touch, and there’s a small shock of electric friction that jerks your hand back. “Look at that. Sparks already.” He whispers, biting his lip to conceal his own growing grin at how cheesy that line was.

You giggle again, resting your fingers in his hand, and you're pretty sure you're blushing profusely at the lame line. “My name is Bella. Singer, songwriter, occasional composer.” He stares down at you, giving his undivided attention, before bringing your hand up to meet his lips, and pressing a chaste but lingering kiss to your skin. Your stomach erupts into a swarm of butterflies, heart stopping, and no air is going in or out of your lungs.

“It’s such an honor to meet you,” he murmurs, thumb running along your knuckles, and for the first time in his life, he might have seriously meant it. “I’m looking forward to our collaboration. And hopefully future projects?” He proposes instantly, making you raise a brow at the suggestion, but you can’t say you hate the prospect. Your features ease down to a soft smile, reveling in the way his hand feels in yours, and you nod.

“Hopefully,” you agree, not entirely sure what is coming out of your mouth. You aren't clear on what is happening to yourself right now: you were dumped a week ago, barely able to crawl out of bed that morning, not wanting to be anywhere let alone meeting a new band to work with, but you are completely caught off guard and thrown into a sea with raging waves of feelings engulfing you while you stare at this apparent rockstar with intense eyes that won’t stop staring in return.

The others in the room are standing there quietly, no one wanting to be the one to break the two apart, no matter how mildly uncomfortable they are watching you ogle each other. Dazai hitting on women, especially now that he is in a band, isn’t new. Usually, they are having to rip him off of some girl willing to risk it all to be a groupie, but something is different about the way he’s not only speaking to the pop star, but how he’s handling you He isn’t one to shy away from excessive, flitting touches; whispering pointless nothings in their ear while they giggle and fuss over the empty words; and sometimes, if he was a little tipsy after a set, pressing his body to theirs. However, the distance is respectful enough – for him, at least – while he isn’t flaunting his capabilities and musical prowess in front of you, going so far as to daintily kiss your hand? Who the hell is this guy?

“Well, now that we have all gotten to meet,” Jacob finally decides to speak up, not sure how much more of this he can take and working hard to not let his disdain toward Dazai’s sudden switch up be visible. “Maybe we can sit down and get started on some ideas? Go over what we are wanting it to sound like?” There’s a pause, the other three band members making way for the table, their pens and notebooks out from the previous discussion, but Jacob notices the two haven’t moved. “Dazai.” He calls his name out, firm, as if trying to call a dog back in the house. The lead hums, barely turning his head in the other’s direction, eyes glued to yours, and you bat your lashes, making him blush a light shade of pink before cracking another dazed smile.

Atsushi walks up to you two, politely clearing his throat, then carefully tapping on your shoulder. “Miss Bella?” You tear your gaze away to the drummer, a sweet smile on your face as your grip unintentionally tightens on Dazai’s hand. Atsushi gives you a weary and nervous smile of his own while tilting his head. “Would you like to go over some ideas for our album?” He asks, causing you to blink at him a few times, and somehow snaps you out of it then.

“Oh, r-right,” you let out an awkward but apologetic laugh, slipping your fingers from the lead singer’s grasp, and the loss of touch results in the both of you feeling empty. “I’m sorry, Sushi Cutie. I’ll be right there.” You reach your other arm out to gently squeeze his jaw in your hand, his cheeks flaring up immediately not only at the contact, but at the nickname you have so graciously bestowed upon him. You offer one more passing glance up at those attentive brown eyes before walking over to the table to sit down in one of the empty seats. Dazai moves immediately to go sit down beside you but is stopped by a hand carefully but firmly around his wrist. He glances down at it then trails up the arm it belongs to, seeing Atsushi wearing a semi-stern expression.

“Dazai,” he lowers his voice, making the other turn to face him. “Please don’t go full womanizer on her. This is incredibly important for the future of this band. If she drops us, no one will ever want to work with us again.” He is practically begging in his hushed tone, and his friend’s brows furrow, the lines deep from his mix of frustration at the accusation and hurt at the implication. “She is quite literally considered pop royalty, a world renowned and beloved artist. She isn’t some girl on the street begging to be your groupie. Please, unless your feelings are real, leave her alone.” Dazai stares down at him, the confused anger evident, making Atsushi quickly let him go, and uttering multiple apologies under his breath while he trudges off to the table.

He peers over his shoulder, watching the back of your head, hearing you laugh at something one of the twins said – most likely Jacob since he’s grinning like an idiot, and a weird sensation stirs in his chest at the sight, one that causes his hand to come up as an attempt to soothe the sudden ache. I’ve never felt like that before, his brows scrunch together more, puzzled, before walking over to take the spot beside you and scoot the chair as close to yours as possible while they discuss amongst themselves what the album will sound like, and he listens to you talk without offering any opinion other than agreeance to whatever it is you say.

If you know Will, have chart topping success beyond comprehension, and lyrical skill to capture the hearts of literally anyone that takes the time to actually listen to you, then what choice does he have but to agree? Not to mention you may have been the first one to capture his heart, a heart that is incapable of feeling love. Let alone getting hit with it right at first sight - something he believed to be a stupid myth. Something people like you and other pop artists sing about because it's an easy topic to cover. Maybe you're onto something, my sweet pop princess. My dear Bella.

After your guys' meeting, a song already in the making after the first day with the help of Jacob's lyricism and Dazai's perfect composition, parting truly was sweet sorrow for the lead singer. In his own way, he was practically begging to know when he would see you again, immediately looking for the next availability to get you in the studio with him, singing along with the symphonies he creates. To his relief, you were available whenever he desired since Kouyou ensured that your schedule would remain cleared to focus only on this project, stating to be more than willing to "rush right over if he calls" - he nearly stumbled over his own platformed shoes when you said that, along with that infectious giggle that is still chiming through his ears to wrap around his brain.

The moment he got out of the car, he raced inside his apartment, leaving Atsushi behind and yelling after him, asking what his deal was. He rushes to his room, slamming the door shut and flicking the lock, before searching specifically for his noise cancelling headphones, simultaneously pulling up your profile on his streaming app. Upon finding them, he hurriedly syncs them up and turns on your first song ever, flopping down on his bed and staring at the ceiling as he is taken on a journey of your self-depreciation to twinkling, sparkling, flowery pop melodies that makes him realize you are just in the genre for the boost.

He might just be falling in love with Bella all over again.

‎♪

"Say you wanna do this forever, we can do whatever you like."

fluffuary 2026 | masterlist | ao3 full oc vers., ch. 3 | requests: open but on delay while i catch up!

divider by fairytopea here on tumblr

but little does he know you’d be the one who’ll pull this trick on him.

he didn’t think you’d do something like this. no, it was usual, normal sunday, he was discussing something with the jester, knowing you’d be wandering around the circus ground. he gave you necessary freedom. and he tied harlequin up, so no one could possibly harm you.

one moment he nodded, considering his friend’s words, next moment – he felt a sharp pain.

the loud ‘slap’ echoed through air, and pierrot freezed. he thought it was harlequin (for some reason, but this bastard could do anything to annoy you), but judging by jester’s laugh, it wasn’t him.

it was you.

you just slapped his ass. and his first reaction was deep, red blush. he didn’t move, didn’t turn around to look at your proud, teasing smile. he just stood there, being a blushing mess, because… or, you touched his ass! it was kinda… intimate, didn’t it?

for him.

for you, it was nothing but a desire to rile him up. but for pierrot, it was something like a gesture of pure devotion.

“this little pet will make you kneel next,” jester commented, soft, low chuckle escaped his lips, but pierrot didn’t listen to him.

finally, he turned to look at you. his face was glimmering with so many emotions: embarrassment, happiness, obsession. his usual mix, per ce. even if you expected different type of reaction, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“you liked it, didn’t you?” you asked, even if you already knew the answer. it wasn’t hard to understand him when he stood in front of you looking like a happy puppy.

“i did, my lady. would you mind doing it again?” he said, taking a few steps closer, until his tall figure loomed over your petite frame. “or… would you mind letting me do it?”

harlequin

harlequin always teased you with his words or with his actions. you could do nothing against his desire to mock you, to make you look all shy and frustrated, because you weren’t like him. no, you weren’t a type of person who was afraid of everything, but you couldn’t exactly match his freak.

you thought about revenge, though. you thought about teaching him a lesson, otherwise he’d keep walking with this irritating expression of his, but, gladly, one day your sharp mind chose one option, and you didn’t wait to start acting on your impulses.

you picked up perfect timing. when he granted you with another of his oh-so smart remarks and turned around to leave, that was time when you struck. that was time when you could possibly make him to feel embarrassed.

your palm connected with his butt with a thundering ‘slap’. you smirked, patting his back then, and decided to speak.

“nice ass, harlequin. turn your back to me more ofte.at least i can admire the view,” you said, and you believed it’d throw him of the guard.

but instead, you heard him laughing. yes, he was... entertained and amused. but he wasn’t shocked – not exactly, at least he didn’t show it when he faced you with the sharp grin.

“admire the view? oh, my darling, if that’s what you’re thinking about... i think i can give you more views to admire,” he said, approaching you with grace of predator. “or... i can admire something as well. and if you are a good girl, you’ll deserve a good slap”.

jester

for a moment, the devil got the better of you. you knew exactly what kind of mosnter the jester was. you knew he didn’t particularly like being touched, and you knew that messing with him was dangerous.  but today you were in a playful mood. and the jester is especially handsome, i suppose. that’s why you couldn’t help yourself. that’s why you let yourself be carried away by silly, fleeting impulses.

the jester was about to go away for a few minutes. he wanted to say something to the doctor. but as soon as he turned away, you lightly slapped his butt with your palm.

“just don’t be long, i don’t want to wait,” you say, pouting. “okay?”

oh, no, nothing was okay – it was as clear as a day when he slowly and dangerously turned to face you, his expression betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. was he surprised? definetely. his little pet had never dared to be so bold before. was he pleased? kind of. was he about to show you what you you could and couldn’t do? obviosly.

“what was that, my little pet?” the jester asked and smiled, but his smile made you shiver and took a step back. “are you feeling especially... reckless today?”

“what? can’t i slap my boyfriend’s ass?” you said, poor attempt to act all confident and unbothered by a real threat.

“of course, you can,” the jester answered deceptively calm. “oly if your boyfriend slap you as well. and maybe not on the butt”.

ticket taker

you’d been thinking about this for ages. well, what could you do? even if he was a monster, he always had a great ass. no wonder you’d long dreamed of feeling it under your hand.

the evening at the circus was coming to an end, work was done, and you realized the moment had come. standing next to him by the exit and seeing off the last guests, you gave his butt a playful slap.

“great job! now we can finally relax!” you said, as if nothing had happened.

he froze. did you just...? no, you couldn’t. in front of his crew? no, you weren’t that reckless to do something like that, but the sharp sting told him a different story, as he was practically forced to believe that you actually slapped his ass.

gladly, his mask showed nothing. or so he thought, but you could see the way he was naturally embarassed by your little trick.

“don’t do that again,” he said, but his voice was lack of real danger. “or else i’ll do the same”.

“that was my initial plan, thank you very much,” you smiled, making him feel even more... whatever things he felt at this moment.

“then let’s go to my tent,” the ticket taker said. “and if you’re storng enough, you can slap me however you want”.

doctor

the doctor knew and saw many things. he knew what people did and didn’t do. he knew the various ways they showed their affection and other things. and you knew that he knew everything. it’s just that, in the doctor’s view, you were a slightly different kind of person. and you definitely wouldn’t be capable of doing something like that.

so when you followed him around the tent like a little lost puppy, he didn’t suspect a thing. he wasn’t thinking about anything. he’d even forgotten you were there. he was busy with another task.

that was a perfect setting for your not-so-perfect plan.

and then a loud sound echoed through the ward. and he felt a stinging blow to his butt.

you thought his usual composure would crack. after all, even if monsters like him had to have weak spots, didn’t they?

but instead of feeling embarrassed or anything like that, he just sighed heavily. the doctor turned around, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave you a disapproving look.