Dazai Osamu is being unbearable today.

Not in his usual way—no dramatic monologues, no theatrics involving bandages or wine. Nope This is worse. This is… avoidance.

He hasn’t looked at you once.

...Which is impressive, really, considering you’re sitting barely three desks away, quietly sorting through files, sleeves rolled up, hair tucked behind your ear with that absentminded little motion you do when you’re focused. The office hums with routine, paper rustling, keyboards clacking, Kunikida muttering about schedules.

And Dazai is loud.

“—and then I told him, Kunikida-kun, that true efficiency is found not in rigid structure, but in the freedom of the human spirit!” Dazai declares, voice ringing far louder than necessary as he drapes himself dramatically over the back of Kunikida’s chair.

Kunikida doesn’t look up. “You told him that after you missed three meetings and submitted your report upside down.”

“Perspective is subjective.”

Dazai laughs brightly, which was too practiced, and flicks his gaze sideways.

Just for half a second. Just enough to see you blink, pen pausing, lips twitching like you’re fighting a smile.

His heart betrays him immediately.

He hates how his chest tightens every time you’re nearby. Hates how his mouth goes dry when you speak. Hates how if he looks at you too long, he’ll do something stupid, like smile too softly or forget how words work or, worse—let you see him.

So instead, he turns away and leans closer to Kunikida, getting louder.

“Honestly, Kunikida-kun, don’t you think some people just light up a room when they walk in?” he says, exaggerated, casual, eyes absolutely not on you. “It’s almost distracting. Terribly unprofessional.”

Kunikida finally looks up. “…Who are you talking about.”

“Oh, no one in particular,” Dazai replies quickly, waving a hand. Too quickly. “Just....hypothetically.”

He lifted his lashes to spare another subtle glance at you.