Chuuya tapped his fingers against the polished edge of the table, his nails making soft, impatient clicks over the dark wood. The restaurant was the kind with chandeliers like frozen fire hanging overhead, each glimmering crystal a reminder of just how rich—no, disgustingly rich—the people here were. People like him. People like the boy he was supposed to meet.

He rolled his eyes at the thought.

This whole setup was another classic move from his parents. “Build a strong connection with the Dazais. Their heir is about your age. Be pleasant. Smile.” As if being pleasant had ever gotten him out of a corporate shark tank. He didn’t even know what the other guy looked like—just that his name was Osamu and that he was the golden son of the other half of this billion-dollar merger waiting to happen. A name thrown around in luxury news articles and whispered among socialites like he was some kind of prodigy. Ugh.

Chuuya straightened the cuffs of his designer coat and adjusted his posture in the plush velvet chair. He hated velvet. Too soft. Too showy. It made his skin itch. And tonight he wasn’t just attending—he was the centerpiece of a very public, very boring agreement between two empires that were too greedy to admit they needed each other.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like being used as a pawn, no matter how many zeros his bank account had. But he knew how to play the game. He’d smile. He’d keep the conversation flowing. He’d pretend he wasn’t irritated by the whole thing. And once this Dazai finally showed up, they'd exchange rehearsed niceties, maybe share a toast over overpriced wine, and leave knowing the adults would be pleased.

He leaned back in his seat, his fedora resting on the table beside a flute of untouched champagne. His copper-red hair caught the warm lights of the chandelier above, and his sharp blue eyes scanned the entrance lazily. Any minute now, the infamous Dazai Osamu would walk through those polished double doors, and Chuuya would have to turn on the charm, pretend this meeting wasn’t the last thing he wanted to be doing with his Friday night.

He sighed through his nose and muttered, mostly to himself, “This better not be some spoiled, arrogant brat who thinks money makes him interesting.”

As if on cue, the doors creaked open again.

Chuuya didn’t look right away. He had a few seconds left of peace, and he planned to savor them.