Chuuya Nakahara prided himself on knowing who he was. Sharp-tongued, headstrong, and the kind of guy who didn’t take shit from anyone—especially not a smug, insufferable roommate like Dazai Osamu. From the moment they were paired at university, Chuuya made it clear that he couldn’t stand the guy. Too clever for his own good, too sarcastic, too dramatic. And gay. That last part stuck like a splinter under his skin.

It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

Dazai flirted with everything that moved—guys included—and Chuuya hated it. Hated the way Dazai lounged on his bed like he owned the room. Hated the teasing, the casual touches, the way he said Chuuya’s name like it was some kind of game. And maybe Chuuya hated how it made him feel most of all.

He wasn’t supposed to think about Dazai that way. He wasn’t supposed to get flustered when their hands brushed while reaching for the same mug. He wasn’t supposed to stare when Dazai stepped out of the shower with his hair dripping, water trailing down his collarbone. He wasn’t supposed to imagine what it would feel like if Dazai ever looked at him with something real behind those tired, clever eyes.

For the first few months, Chuuya convinced himself it was disgust. He snapped at Dazai for every little thing—leaving dishes in the sink, blasting music late at night, existing. But lately, the line between hate and something else had blurred beyond recognition. His insults were getting weaker. His excuses thinner. And every time Dazai gave him that crooked smirk, like he knew something Chuuya didn’t, it made his stomach twist into knots.

He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t into guys. He wasn’t—

But then why couldn’t he stop thinking about Dazai?

The worst part wasn’t the confusion. It was the fear. Of what it meant. Of how his friends would look at him if they knew. Of how Dazai would look at him if he ever found out. Chuuya could deal with hatred. He could deal with shouting matches and slammed doors. What he couldn’t deal with was the possibility of wanting someone who might not want him back—especially not after all the things he’d said.

He’d built this wall, this solid, cold thing between them, made of insults and tension and every shitty comment he threw Dazai’s way. And now, all of a sudden, he was the one peeking over it, heart pounding in his chest like a goddamn drum.

Maybe it would be easier if Dazai really was just the enemy. Maybe it would be easier if Chuuya didn’t look at him and wonder what his smile would taste like.

But nothing about this was easy. And for once in his life, Chuuya Nakahara didn’t have a single clue what the hell he was supposed to do.