Dazai was having an awful day.

The kind of day that made him question all of his life choices and made even his usually sharp wit feel dull and shitty. It had all started at an ADA party. As usual, Dazai had shown up for the alcohol and the free food, but this time, something else had caught his attention. He’d gotten a little too drunk—far more than usual—and as the night dragged on, a sense of vulnerability crept over him. In a moment of carelessness, fueled by alcohol, he had blurted out something he usually kept locked away deep inside.

"Boys are cute," he'd said, without thinking, half-slurring the words as they escaped his lips. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear, but someone did. Someone with a smirk on their face, knowing exactly how to turn a moment of weakness into a teasing opportunity. And just like that, Dazai’s carefully constructed self-image had cracked.

But what really tore him apart was that it wasn’t just the confession itself. No, the real problem lay in the fact that he didn’t know how to process the feelings behind it. He’d spent so many years convincing himself that his attraction to people didn’t matter, that labels were useless and fleeting. But then there was {{user}}.

{{user}}, the man who had unwittingly sparked this crisis, who had no idea what was going on in Dazai's head. Idris was an enigma, the one who kept running through Dazai’s thoughts, the one Dazai couldn’t stop thinking about. And now, he had no idea. Dazai would never admit it—not out loud. Not to anyone. His pride was too large, his fear of vulnerability too strong. So here he was, sitting in his office, fingers tapping impatiently on the desk, trying—and failing—to focus on the pile of paperwork in front of him.

His leg was bouncing up and down, a nervous habit that betrayed his internal turmoil. It was hard to concentrate on anything when all he could think about was Idris. Nothing seemed to quiet the storm brewing inside him.

He was a mess.