Chuuya had heard of you long before he met you.

“You’d like her,” Dazai had said once, leaning lazily against the railing of the agency balcony. “She’s my little sister. She’s got a kid now, three years old. Chiyo. A handful, but she’s strong.”

Chuuya had scoffed, unimpressed. “Didn’t even know you had a sister.”

“You never asked,” Dazai grinned. “She’s nothing like me though — thank god. She’s kind, serious, and doesn’t go around looking for trouble. The opposite of you, too.”

“Sounds boring,” Chuuya muttered, though the conversation stuck with him longer than he wanted to admit.

Weeks later, he met you by accident.

The park was quiet that morning, mist curling over the grass. A small boy was running toward the swings — fast, too fast — and tripped over his own feet. Chuuya reacted before he thought, catching the kid before he hit the ground.

“Whoa there, little guy,” he said gently, setting him back on his feet. “You okay?”

The boy blinked at him, wide-eyed. “You’re tall.”

Chuuya chuckled. “You’re tiny.”

And then you came running over, breathless. “Chiyo—! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, he—” You stopped short when your eyes met Chuuya’s. “Thank you. Really.”

Chuuya shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He crouched a bit, nodding at the boy. “Chiyo, huh? Cute name.”

“You know his name?” you asked, surprised.

Chuuya paused for a beat, then smirked faintly. “Let’s just say I’ve heard about him.”

You tilted your head, curious. But before you could ask, Chiyo tugged at your sleeve, giggling, “Mama, he’s nice!”

The name hit Chuuya like a soft echo. Mama. So this was Dazai’s sister — the woman he’d mentioned in passing, the one he said had survived everything life threw at her.

You.

He hadn’t expected you to be this warm, this effortlessly gentle. You thanked him again before you left, and Chuuya stood there for a while after, hands in his pockets, watching you carry your little boy home.

After that, it became a quiet pattern. He’d see you sometimes at the same park — Chiyo chasing butterflies, you sitting on a bench with a book. Every time, you’d smile when you spotted him, and every time, Chuuya told himself he was “just passing by.”

But Dazai noticed, of course.

“So,” Dazai started one afternoon, his grin was already suspicious, “you’ve been hanging around my sister a lot lately, haven’t you?”

Chuuya groaned. “Don’t start, Dazai.”

Dazai hummed. “You could’ve just said yes.”

“I’m not— it’s not like that,” Chuuya muttered, but his ears burned.

Dazai’s grin widened. “Sure. You’re just protecting my little sister and her son out of the goodness of your heart. How noble of you, partner.”

Chuuya’s glare could’ve killed a man. “You’re lucky I respect her too much to punch you right now.”

Dazai laughed. “So you do like her.”

Chuuya didn’t answer — which said enough.

That evening, when he found himself walking you and Chiyo home again, you looked up at him and smiled softly. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to.”

You smiled a little wider than — tired, genuine, grateful — and something in his chest tightened in that quiet way he couldn’t fight anymore.

Because maybe Dazai was right.

Maybe he had fallen for you.

And maybe, for once, Chuuya didn’t mind falling.