Work Text:
Traffic on Friday evenings is killer.
Dazai swears he’s spent at least two hours on the freeway, rooted to the same place, with the same mountains and spotted houses amongst the hills. He’d left his workplace around four earlier and checking the time now—
He swears violently. It’s six, almost seven. Though he’d mostly left his depression days behind him, he’s got half a mind to throw himself off the highway because fuck, it’s been a long day, and he really just wants to go home. Though, Dazai’s probably not alone in that sentiment — he recognizes a lot of the business-wearing drivers amongst the lines and lines of cars. He sighs for the umpteenth time as he turns up the radio in his car, rolling down the window to let the music stream out and into the glow of the setting sun.
On a typical day, he’d be happy to watch the sunset, to stare at the endless reds and golds spiralling into indigos and blues, but work is draining and all he really wants is to go home, crash on the couch, and watch Toradora until his eyes fall out of his head.
Dazai drums his fingers against the armrest to the beat of the song playing, and his eye catches on a red convertible, slinking up next to him.
It’s extravagantly bright, luxurious to the max, and he finds himself admiring the sleekness of the exterior and the purr of the engine. Clearly, the owner took great care of the car. He flicks his gaze to the driver’s seat, expecting to see an elderly man, when—
Holy shit.
A young man, around Dazai’s age, sits in the driver’s seat. He’s got lean shoulders, relaxed into the plush leather seat, and sunglasses sit atop his crown of red hair, which tumbles down his back in shining red-gold waves and—
Shit. Shit.
He’s so, so fucking gorgeous. And god bless the traffic jam, because Dazai is stuck in one place and he can spend all day staring at this man. He’s blatantly aware of how creepy it probably is, but at this moment?
He doesn’t care. This is a stranger he’ll never see again, so he might as well take all his chances.
Dazai’s breath catches as the stranger turns his head slowly, watching as the red hair shimmers in the dying sunlight. His heart stops when the man looks directly at him.
Being evening and the sun setting in the back, dark pink light sprays over his face, coloring his pale cheeks in a flush, and the red light of the car in front of him emphasizes the vividness of his hair.
Dazai can’t look away.
—
Chuuya notices his staring (he’s bored as hell and has nowhere else to look), and he just giggles and grins at the stranger in the old Prius next to him.
Fine, the guy is a stranger, but he’s hot. Fucking sue him.
The stranger’s jaw only drops lower and the light turns green in front of him. He doesn’t even move, his gaze locked into Chuuya’s face as if desperately trying to memorize him in their limited time.
The car honks behind him and Chuuya outright laughs as the stranger’s cheeks color and he hits the gas so hard he’s thrown back in his seat.
It was fun while it lasted, falling in love for a moment in time, and they both know the awful odds of seeing each other again.
Besides, they don’t know each other, what’s the point in pining? Fate doesn’t exactly agree.
—
Two weeks later, Dazai’s stuck in a traffic jam on the freeway in an attempt to take a shortcut home from the supermarket and in the din of the evening, he spots a familiar convertible, burning red in the ending daylight.
His stomach does a flip as he signals out of his lane and pulls into the one next to the convertible, crawling up slowly until he stops at the window and—
Red hair in the fading sun and pink cheeks the color of dusty primroses.
Dazai stares.
This can’t be a coincidence...right? The head in the convertible turns and Dazai’s stomach clenches as he rolls down his window and meets blue eyes, blue as summer and electric as the adrenaline of a first love.
His mouth is dry.
The redhead seems equally stunned, lips parted slightly as he stares at Dazai. Dazai wonders if it would be too insane to ask for his name.
He’s still a stranger he’s seen a grand total of two times, in a goddamn evening traffic jam.
Insane doesn’t even cover it.
But then again, how often do you meet the same gorgeous stranger twice? He just about to call out to the redhead, when another loud honk blasts the heated tension away, and the redhead’s smile is apologetic as he guns his engines and takes off, leaving Dazai behind.
Dazai wants nothing more than to cuss out that goddamn driver who ruined a perfectly romantic (okay, fine, maybe that’s moving too quick) moment between him and the beautiful redhead.
The line begins to move and Dazai sighs as he hits the gas and takes the next exit home.
Maybe there’ll be a next time. Or that’s just too much wistful thinking. Either way—
Dazai rolls up his window and watches the sun disappear beneath the horizon. The pink light dissipates into midnight blues, and the red lights of the street fade behind him as he drives into his neighborhood.
— it would be hopeless to linger. But what they both fail to remember: t he third time is always a charm.
—
Dazai’s in the car with his brother Oda after a night out for Oda’s birthday, and lo and behold: another traffic jam on the way home.
“You think there’d be no traffic on a Tuesday evening,” Oda mutters, staring off into the distant glow of the traffic jam. “Nothing happens on Tuesdays.”
“Traffic jams all day, every day, every hour, every minute. You can never escape the torture,” Dazai says dryly.
Oda sighs as he switches on his signal and changes lanes. “Maybe we can get off at the—“
Dazai tunes him out as he rolls down the window, staring at the endless lines of cars. There’s really no way out of them, no matter how hard one tries. He’s probably gonna miss the Nisekoi rerun—
He pauses, eyes catching on a red convertible up ahead.
Could it be?
The top is rolled down, but the light is quickly fading, and he can barely make out the hair color of the driver.
But—
If it is him, there’s no way he’s going to pass it up now.
“—don’t think the inside street should be too busy, we just need to make it to—“
“Odasaku.”
His brother cuts off his ramble, looking over at Dazai. “Yeah—Osamu? Why do you look so serious?”
“Can you get us next to that red convertible ahead?”
Oda squints into the distance and his eyes bug. “Osamu, people are not going to be happy—“
“Odasaku, please.“
Oda’s seen his younger brother make a variety of expressions, but he’s never looked so serious and desperate as he did now. Like getting to the convertible was a matter of life or death.
“Fine,” he mutters, beginning to look for a way over to the next lane. “Tell me why.”
Dazai stares out the window, watching as the convertible inches away. “If we make it there and it’s who I’m looking for, I’ll tell you.”
Oda mumbles a comment about little brothers as he quickly cuts into the next line, resulting a line of swearing and honking from behind. “Osamu, we are going to get a ticket,” he deadpans as he swerves in front of another car and cuts across another lane.
More honking ensues, but Oda’s mildly concerned because Osamu doesn’t even look that stressed.
“I’ll pay for it,” he grits out. The convertible is still in sight, just a few cars more, and Oda slips into the next line, cursing as he almost rear-ends the car in front of him. “You owe me.”
“Yeah, yeah it’s fine.”
After several rude strings of cuss words and a mess of honking, they’re right next to the convertible and—
Dazai’s heart stops. It is him.
Red hair tied in a high ponytail with the cutest black and red hat scrunchie, a white t-shirt, and he’s leaning against his black leather seats, looking adamantly bored as he stares at the traffic.
The evening sky burns in the distance, and his cheeks are lit with a red-pink glow. Dazai can barely make out a spray of freckles across his face and his heart hammers as he rolls down the window.
“Hey! Chibi!” he shouts.
The driver jumps and looks around before their eyes meet and Dazai feels like he’s been sucker punched. He knew his eyes were blue, but not that blue. Not that brilliant burning, like the roar of a tsunami crushing over the shore, like blue fire in the centermost of a flame.
Dazai’s heart is in his throat as the redhead stares back at him. “You—what are you doing here?!”
“Osamu, why are you talking to a stranger—“
Dazai waves his brother off as he calls back, “Stuck in a traffic jams, same as you! We really have to stop meeting like this, chibi!”
The redhead’s eyebrows scrunch and god—
He’s so fucking cute. “How else are we supposed to meet?” the redhead shouts back. “I don’t even know you and what’s up with that shitty nickname?!”
Dazai grins sheepishly. “I don’t know your name!”
“You could ask!” But the redhead doesn’t even look that annoyed, just fond and exasperated. “Well...” Dazai’s smiling so broadly now, he doesn’t think he can stop. “What’s your name, chibi?”
“Call me Chuuya. And you?”
“It’s Dazai. Dazai Osamu.”
Now, there’s that ever-old lesson of “don’t tell a stranger your real name”, but at this point, Dazai doesn’t care. He offers anything he can, just for the chibi to know.
Chuuya’s face stretches in a wide smile and his eyes soften. “Okay. Dazai it is.”
Dazai’s name has never sounded better in someone else’s mouth and he briefly wonders how his given name would sound on Chuuya’s tongue. Wait—no. Baby steps Dazai. He’s got a name and a face. Next, he needs a number.
“Chibi Chuuya!”
Chuuya makes a face. “You know my name! Try using it! But what?!”
“Wanna go on a date?”
Chuuya’s jaw drops and Dazai almost rolls up the window and begs Oda to drive away. Wrong fucking question.
Oda’s grabbing his arm now, hissing, “Are you insane?“
Dazai shakes him off again and stares at Chuuya, begging, pleading with his eyes. If he’s going to make a mistake, he might as well follow through.
“I—“ Chuuya is floored.
Meeting a stranger three times in a traffic jam is one thing, but going on a date? That’s something completely different.
But...
Chuuya searches Dazai’s face, finding nothing but genuine hope in his earnest dark eyes.
It wouldn’t hurt, right? He smirks at Dazai and is pleased to see a blush bloom on his cheeks. “Sure. But give me your number first, alright?”
Dazai goes from absolutely flustered to the cutest puppy dog excitement. “It’s—“
He rattles off numbers that Chuuya one handedly types back into his phone. He repeats it back and Dazai beams. Chuuya sends a message to Dazai’s phone (a quick “hey baby ;)” and it’s so worth it because Dazai turns bright red).
“I’ll text you when I get home!” Chuuya shouts as the line begins to move (damn, and here he was hoping it’d last longer). Dazai’s eyes practically sparkle as he waves Chuuya off. “I’ll look forward to it, darling!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes at the pet name — really, who calls someone ‘darling’ before a first date? Nonetheless, he feels warm all over as he drives into the sunset. Dazai rolls up his window, feeling like a lovesick fool as he stares at the short text on his phone screen.
He saves the number as “Darling Chibi ❤” and he sighs as he settles back into his seat and watches the sun slip beneath the curtains of night.
“Osamu, what the hell?”
Oda’s staring at him, jaw on the floor. “Who was that?!”
“His name’s Chuuya, apparently.”
“You’re telling me I risked our lives and my license so you can hit on a stranger?!”
Dazai sighs dreamily as he sends a text back (“hey babe, any date ideas?”).
“It’s a long story.”
There’s no response (he’s probably on his way back home), and Dazai puts his phone away, chest light as a feather.
“Then tell me?!” Oda half shouts.
Dazai rests his head against the window as the traffic picks up and the red lights race into the distance. “It’s not much to tell really,” Dazai hums.
The sun on his hair, a hazy pink flush splashed across his freckles, and blue eyes that’s like drowning for the first time.
“Just another strange coincidence in this wide world.”