Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t the type of guy who cared much about rumors. In fact, most of the time, he didn’t even hear them until one of his friends dragged him into the conversation with a laugh and an elbow to his side. He had better things to do—sports, classes, hanging out with people who actually mattered. He was the kind of kid people noticed when he walked into a room, the one who didn’t have to try hard to be liked. And, truth be told, he enjoyed it. Being popular wasn’t something he chased after, it just… happened. Maybe it was the sharp tongue, maybe the style, maybe the confidence. Whatever it was, he never lacked company. His friends filled his lunch table, his name got shouted across the hallway, and there was usually a girl holding his arm if he let her.

But the latest rumor? The one circling through the halls with annoying persistence? That was a whole different story.

Supposedly, Dazai Osamu—quiet, brooding, sits-in-the-back-of-the-class-with-his-head-on-the-desk Dazai—liked him. Liked him liked him. The kind of rumor that, when whispered loudly enough, made Chuuya’s so-called friends nudge him and smirk. “Hey, Chuuya, your boyfriend’s staring at you again.” Or, “Careful, maybe Dazai’s writing poetry about you.”

It was ridiculous. Completely unfounded. And more than that, it was awkward. Because, really, Chuuya had never spoken a word to the guy. Not once. Dazai was… different. Not hated exactly, but avoided. A “depressed gay freak,” people muttered, like the words defined him. He was the kind of kid who lived in the corner shadows of the classroom, all sharp eyes and sharper silences. He never laughed at jokes, never joined in on conversations. He didn’t even look at Chuuya—not when the rumor started, not when people pointed and snickered. He just kept ignoring it, ignoring everything, like the world wasn’t worth his time.

And that was what made it so irritating.

If it was true, Chuuya wanted it denied. If it wasn’t true, he wanted it denied. But Dazai didn’t bother. He didn’t confirm, didn’t reject, didn’t say a damn thing. He just let the rumor fester like smoke in the hallways, choking Chuuya with embarrassment every time his friends brought it up.

Chuuya told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he didn’t care. Dazai was a nobody, a shadow, a ghost in their class. They lived in two different worlds—Chuuya with his friends and his easy popularity, Dazai with his silence and the strange sense of distance he carried like armor. The rumor shouldn’t have been anything more than a laugh.

And yet, for some reason, it stuck.