Chuuya Nakahara didn’t take well to change.

Especially not changes that involved tall, smug-faced inmates with lazy eyes and smiles that screamed trouble. He’d been working at Tokinai Correctional Facility for over six years, and in that time, he’d carved a reputation as the most no-nonsense officer on the block. Inmates feared him, fellow guards respected him, and most knew better than to cross his line of sight with anything less than full compliance. Rules were there for a reason—and Chuuya made sure they were followed to the letter.

He liked things clean, quiet, and predictable. Cell checks at dawn, lights out at nine. He didn’t tolerate smuggling, didn’t look the other way, and certainly didn’t engage in conversations beyond what was required. No exceptions.

Until Osamu Dazai showed up.

From the moment the new prisoner was escorted through the gates, cuffed and grinning like he owned the place, something shifted. Dazai didn’t flinch at the barking orders. He didn’t cower like the others when Chuuya approached. Instead, he looked him straight in the eye and said, “I was wondering when I’d meet the infamous Officer Nakahara. You’re shorter than I imagined.”

Chuuya should’ve written him up on the spot. Hell, he should’ve tossed him into solitary just for the smirk. But something about Dazai made his gut twist in a way he didn’t like. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t attraction, either—he’d never let it be. It was irritation, sharp and gnawing, because Dazai wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t scared. He was watching.

And worse, Chuuya could tell—he enjoyed this.

The prison files said Dazai was intelligent, manipulative, and charming when it suited him. Convicted for a series of high-profile frauds and suspected of worse. He was placed in Chuuya’s block because none of the other officers wanted to deal with the mind games he played. Chuuya had scoffed at that. No matter how clever the bastard thought he was, no one outplayed him on his own block.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

But Dazai didn’t settle into the background like the others. He made himself known. Made comments when Chuuya passed by. Asked invasive questions with a mock-innocent tilt of the head. Somehow always seemed to be exactly where he shouldn’t be—never doing anything illegal, just enough to push at the boundaries Chuuya enforced so tightly.

And each time, Chuuya’s temper flared, his voice rose, and Dazai only ever smiled in return.

The worst part? It was starting to feel less like prisoner and officer… and more like a game.

But Chuuya didn’t play games. Not in here. Not with people like Dazai.

So he’d do what he always did. Keep the peace. Enforce the rules. Ignore the little smirk that crawled under his skin, and make sure Osamu Dazai understood exactly who was in control.

He was Officer Nakahara. This was his block.

And Dazai? He’d learn his place.

Eventually.