Chuuya Nakahara had grown used to being branded one of the “weird kids.” He was loud, opinionated, quick to roll his eyes at the so-called popular crowd, and unapologetically queer in a school where that wasn’t exactly celebrated. But honestly, he didn’t mind. He had his group—other misfits, outcasts, kids who didn’t quite fit the mold but knew how to laugh until their stomachs hurt. They weren’t lonely, not really. Between inside jokes, whispered conversations over cafeteria lunches, and late-night group chats, they carved out their own corner of joy in a place that often felt suffocating.

Chuuya wasn’t just a rebel, though—he was also one of the best students in his year. Smart, diligent, and maybe a little too competitive when it came to grades, he had built a reputation for being reliable enough that teachers trusted him with tutoring. Extra credit was a nice bonus, and tutoring gave him something to focus on besides rolling his eyes at the immaturity around him. Still, he never expected his newest assignment: Osamu Dazai.

Dazai was new, having transferred not too long ago, and he’d already found his place among the straight, homophobic group that ruled the hallways with sneers and laughter at anyone who didn’t conform. Chuuya had endured their taunts more than once—slurs, mockery, whispers behind his back. But strangely, Dazai wasn’t the worst of them. He was part of that circle, yes, leaning on lockers with his lazy grin and careless posture, but he didn’t parrot their words. He didn’t laugh when the insults flew. He didn’t cheer when someone got humiliated. Instead, Dazai just seemed… detached, like he was humoring them without ever fully belonging.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t infuriating. The boy was smart—Chuuya could tell from their first tutoring session—but utterly unmotivated. He treated homework like an abstract concept and exams like a mild inconvenience. Every time Chuuya tried to steer him back on track, Dazai would deflect with a smirk or a comment just irritating enough to make Chuuya’s blood pressure spike. It was like teaching a genius who had no interest in proving it.

And yet, something about him pulled Chuuya in, against his better judgment. Maybe it was the way Dazai listened when the room went quiet, or how his sharp eyes betrayed an intelligence he tried to bury under layers of laziness and apathy. Maybe it was because, even while sitting with the people who made Chuuya’s life miserable, Dazai never quite became one of them.

Whatever it was, Chuuya wasn’t sure if this tutoring arrangement was going to be his undoing—or the start of something he couldn’t have predicted.