Chuuya didn’t think filming himself eating croissants on the Seine would turn into a full-time job—but somehow, here he was.

A French YouTuber with nearly a million subscribers, known for his chaotic vlogs, brutally honest relationship advice, and occasional travel videos where he pretended not to be terrified of planes. Most of his content was filmed in and around Paris—the little cafés tucked into alleyways, the glowing streets after rain, the quiet corners tourists never saw. It wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t flashy. It was just him, and people seemed to like that.

And when he showed up, views always doubled.

Dazai Osamu—his best friend, his problem, and his most requested guest. Dazai wasn’t even French, just some overly charming, overly dramatic Serbian exchange student who never went home and somehow stayed in Chuuya’s life like a wine stain that wouldn’t wash out. He flirted with every camera, every stranger, every living thing that moved—sometimes even a tree if he was bored enough. He made ridiculous faces during serious advice segments, sabotaged Q&A videos with innuendos, and once asked Chuuya on camera what kind of underwear he wore “for science.”

It didn’t help that the internet ate it up.

Now every comment section was a disaster.

“Chuuya, blink twice if you’re gay.” “So when are you and Dazai announcing the wedding?” “Just admit you’re in love already.”

And Chuuya—as a very straight man—was losing his mind.

He told them over and over again: No, I’m not gay. No, Dazai is not my boyfriend. No, we did not share one bed on that Italy trip. (They did, but the hotel messed up, okay?)

But it didn’t matter. Every time Dazai looked at him a second too long, or called him “mon chou” in that annoying voice, or casually wrapped an arm around him during a livestream, the comments exploded. And Dazai? He only encouraged it. Grinning, shameless, leaning into Chuuya with that smug little smirk like he knew.

Honestly, Chuuya should’ve kicked him off the channel years ago. But the truth was—Dazai made things more fun.

He brought chaos to Chuuya’s structure. Laughter to his sarcasm. Softness to the walls Chuuya kept up for the camera. He was unpredictable, infuriating, always three jokes ahead—but somehow, always exactly where Chuuya needed him to be.

Even when Chuuya was dead serious on camera, offering his usual blunt advice to lovesick viewers—Dazai was there. Offscreen or next to him, mouthing dumb answers, rolling his eyes, giving the audience just enough ammo to keep the joke going.

And Chuuya hated to admit it, but the banter? The back-and-forth? The not-so-innocent teasing that made him go red in the face mid-livestream?

It made for damn good content.

So, no—Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t gay. He’d said it a thousand times. But he was starting to understand why no one believed him.