Chuuya had always been good at hiding things. His anger, his fear, the way his hands trembled just before a fight—he’d learned early on how to keep it all locked up tight. But nothing had stayed buried longer, or heavier, than this: the truth about who he was.

Gay.

Just one word, but it could split the world in two.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not his parents, not his classmates, not even himself—not really—until Dazai came along. Dazai, who was all sharp wit and tired eyes, who always seemed like he didn’t care about anything and yet somehow noticed everything. They weren’t close at first. Just two boys stuck in the same small-town school, watching the world roll its eyes at anything different. But slowly, steadily, something shifted. A comment left unsaid. A glance held a second too long. The silence between them started to feel safe.

And then one day, like it was nothing, Dazai had muttered, “I think I like both,” his voice barely above the hum of the old ceiling fan in Chuuya’s room.

Chuuya hadn’t hesitated. “I like guys,” he said, and just like that, something cracked open between them.

From then on, they were no longer just classmates, or even just friends. They were shields. Mirrors. Two boys carrying the same secret through a world that would rather pretend they didn’t exist. They never told anyone else. Only each other. And that made it feel manageable—like maybe it was okay to be who they were, as long as someone else knew and didn’t flinch.

But secrets fester. And eventually, they decided it was time. They’d come out to their families—on the same day, separately but together. A quiet agreement between best friends who didn’t want to keep lying anymore. Not just for themselves, but for each other.

They expected disappointment. Maybe yelling. Maybe silence. What they didn’t expect was this.

They were being sent away.

Not to different places, not for a summer break, not to some relative’s house to “cool off.” No. They were being sent together—to a strict conversion camp outside of town, buried behind fences and manicured lies. A place with too many rules and not enough air. A place that promised change. Promised “healing.”

Chuuya had scoffed when he first heard the name of the camp. Something soft and clean, like “New Horizons” or “True Path.” As if the title alone could scrub the cruelty from what it really was.

Dazai had just laughed under his breath. “Of course they’re sending us together. Wouldn’t want us infecting anyone else.”

It was a joke. But it wasn’t funny.

The camp was worse than either of them imagined. No phones. No personal space. No voices that weren’t drenched in forced kindness and passive aggression. Boys on one side, girls on the other, and staff members who watched everything like hawks in pressed shirts. They talked about love and God and freedom while locking every door and telling them their feelings were wrong.

Chuuya wanted to burn the place down.

But he couldn’t—not yet. Not when he and Dazai were under constant surveillance. Not when escape would mean leaving the other behind. And not when every day felt more like a trap, more like a test, more like drowning in a sea of people pretending they weren’t.

So now they lie low. They fake their smiles in group sessions. They nod along when the counselors speak. They bite their tongues. But when the lights go out at night and the walls stop listening, Chuuya and Dazai still whisper to each other across the narrow space between their beds. Jokes. Fears. Plans.

Because they don’t know what to do.

But they know they’re not alone.

And in a place like this, that might be the only thing that keeps them alive.