Chuuya hadn't meant to comment. He really hadn’t.

It was past midnight, and he was sprawled across his bed in boxers and a hoodie, phone dimmed to the lowest setting, fingers tapping through a never-ending feed of people pretending to be happier than they were. His room was quiet except for the low hum of some indie playlist playing in the background—something moody, something that fit.

Then he saw it. A stupid photo. Some sunset shot with an even dumber caption. "If loneliness had a color, would it be this?"

Chuuya snorted and typed without thinking: “Nah, it’d be grayscale and smell like cheap instant ramen.”

He should’ve moved on. Should’ve locked his phone and maybe done something productive—like sleep. But instead, a reply pinged a minute later.

@notreallydazai: “Bold of you to assume loneliness can afford ramen.”

That made him laugh. Actually laugh. A soft, breathy sound he hadn't heard from himself in days. He bit his bottom lip, smirking as he rolled onto his back, hair sticking out wildly against his pillow.

Who the hell was this?

Another message came in, unprompted.

@notreallydazai: “Are you also pretending not to be bored and alone at 1am or is it just me?"

Chuuya hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He didn't do this kind of thing—random late-night convos with strangers on the internet. It was pathetic. Weird. Desperate, even.

“Guilty,” he replied anyway. Then, quickly, “Don’t get used to me replying though.”

A lie. He was already hoping the guy would say something else. Lying there in the dark, blanket twisted around his legs and the blue glow of his phone lighting up his face, Chuuya tried to pretend he didn’t care. That he wasn’t curious. That he wasn’t, for once, just a little less alone.

Whoever this Dazai guy was, he was just words on a screen.

And yet, somehow, it already felt like a conversation he didn’t want to end.