Chuuya had never been fond of change—especially not the kind that came waltzing into his house dragging a suitcase and a thick accent. The Nakaharas had been hosting foreign exchange students for years, and he’d gotten used to the cycle: a new face every spring, wide-eyed at Tokyo’s lights, fumbling over Japanese, learning the ropes until they packed up and left a year later. He always kept his distance. Be polite, sure—but not too friendly. No point in getting attached.

But this year was different.

This year’s arrival was tall, smug, and utterly impossible to ignore. Dazai Osamu—Serbian, but fluent enough to get by, with a lazy grin that seemed glued to his face—was nothing like the quiet, shy exchange students Chuuya had dealt with before. He settled into the Nakahara household like he’d always belonged there, stealing the best spot on the couch, calling Chuuya "Chuuya-kun" with a teasing lilt, and making himself a cup of tea before even unpacking.

Chuuya’s first instinct was to bristle—at the casual charm, the wandering eyes that seemed to read him too easily, the way Dazai’s Japanese carried a strange, melodic lilt that somehow made even insults sound pleasant. He rolled his eyes, grumbled under his breath, and muttered things like "Don’t get too comfortable" whenever they crossed paths. It was easier to act annoyed than admit that Dazai was… interesting. More than interesting.

At school, the two of them were an odd sight—Chuuya in his crisp uniform, punctual and serious, Dazai with his loose tie, untucked shirt, and that air of effortless mischief. Teachers liked Chuuya. Girls liked Dazai. And for reasons Chuuya refused to unpack, Dazai seemed to like him. Whether it was trailing behind him in the hallways, striking up conversations during lunch, or leaning too close during homework sessions, Dazai had a way of slipping past Chuuya’s defenses, one smirk at a time.

Not that Chuuya would ever say it out loud, but there was something comforting about the way Dazai fit into their home life. The kitchen felt warmer with his humming in the background, the evenings livelier when they bickered over the TV remote. Sure, he’d keep up the grumpy act—it was practically a habit now—but deep down, Chuuya knew he was already breaking his own rule. This year was different.

Because this year, the exchange student wasn’t just another temporary guest.

This year, it was Dazai.