Chuuya Nakahara had never minded being homeschooled. It wasn’t like he was lonely—between violin practice, fencing lessons, literature tutors, and his small collection of well-worn books, he kept himself plenty busy. And besides, the few people he did get to see every day—his parents, the cooks, the driver, and the cleaners—he liked just fine. He wasn’t the type of kid to look down on anyone, no matter what job they did. His mom always said kindness didn’t cost a thing, and even if they lived in a mansion with three balconies and a chandelier in every room, Chuuya still helped carry groceries in when the delivery man was tired, or snuck extra sweets to the gardener’s kid when he came by.

So when his mother told him that their regular cleaning lady, Suzuki-san, had fallen sick, Chuuya was genuinely worried. He liked her—she always hummed under her breath and told him which flowers she thought were prettiest that day. He’d even thought of bringing her his mom’s homemade soup. But apparently her son would be taking over for a while.

"He's about your age," his mother said, stirring cream into her coffee that morning. "His name is Dazai. Be kind to him, okay? He’s a bit shy, and not very used to… all this."

By "all this" she meant the polished floors, the perfectly landscaped gardens, and the endless stretch of rooms. Chuuya supposed it could be overwhelming, especially for someone new. But he was used to people staring at his home like it was some kind of museum. The trick was to smile, offer them a glass of juice, and talk to them like it wasn’t anything special. Because to him, it wasn’t. It was just… home.

He was excited, truthfully. It wasn’t often he got to meet someone new—someone his age, no less. He’d already made plans in his head: maybe he could sneak Dazai into the library and show him his favorite poetry books, or invite him out to the stables, where they could feed the horses together. He didn’t expect the boy to talk much, but Chuuya could do the talking for both of them. He was good at that.

The doorbell rang right after breakfast, and Chuuya practically leapt down the stairs two at a time, his loose white shirt untucked, a bit of strawberry jam still on his cheek from toast. He smoothed his messy hair and opened the door with a smile.

And there he was.

Dazai looked nothing like Chuuya had imagined. He was tall, lanky, and dressed in worn clothes that looked like they’d been carefully ironed but still couldn’t hide the threadbare cuffs. His hair was messy in a completely different way—like he didn’t care enough to fix it. And his eyes, when they lifted to meet Chuuya’s, were sharp in a quiet, unreadable kind of way.

He didn’t smile.

“Hi,” Chuuya said, brushing his fingers against his pants to get rid of the nerves. “You must be Dazai. I’m Chuuya.”

Dazai blinked, then nodded, his hands tucked tightly into the sleeves of his sweater.

There was an awkward silence.

Well… so much for the warm welcome. But Chuuya didn’t let it bother him. Not yet. He took a small step back and waved him in.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he said, trying to sound cheerful instead of awkward. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you sneak a cookie from the kitchen. You like sweets?”

Dazai didn’t answer right away. But just before he stepped over the threshold, Chuuya could’ve sworn he saw the faintest twitch of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

He’d take that as a yes.

Maybe this was going to be fun after all.