Chuuya Nakahara had grown used to the way people looked at him—like he was glass: transparent and easy to shatter if they weren’t careful. That was what came with being the principal’s son. From the first day of high school, he’d felt the weight of invisible walls rise around him, quiet but suffocating. No one ever really wanted to sit next to him unless they needed homework answers or a hall pass excuse. His presence wasn’t threatening—he never tattled, never scolded anyone, never acted like he was above them—but the fear stuck anyway. They whispered behind his back, smiled too widely to his face, and left him out of everything that mattered.

Still, Chuuya never caused problems. He was polite, quiet, punctual. He got top grades, followed every rule without complaint, and kept to himself. A good kid—boring, maybe, but dependable. The kind of student teachers praised and classmates avoided. It didn’t help that his father ran the school like a tightly wound machine. Strict. Unforgiving. The kind of man who scared most of the staff, let alone the students. Chuuya didn’t blame them for keeping their distance, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. He walked the halls alone, ate lunch with his earbuds in, and let the world pass around him like he was some ghost no one wanted to admit was there.

And then there was Dazai Osamu.

If Chuuya was a shadow, Dazai was a spotlight. Everyone knew him—loud, charming, reckless. The kind of boy who could skip half a class and still end up top of the rankings. Teachers didn’t know whether to scold him or admire him. Girls liked him, boys envied him, and rules never seemed to stick. He wasn’t cruel, exactly, but he had a wicked way of pushing buttons just to see what happened. And for some reason, Chuuya always seemed to catch his attention.

Dazai teased him. Not constantly, but often enough to leave a mark. Sometimes it was a passing comment in the hallway, other times a snide remark during class when Chuuya answered a question too quickly. He’d call him “teacher’s pet,” or “perfect Nakahara,” always with a smirk, always loud enough for people to hear. But strangely, Dazai didn’t treat him the way the others did. He didn’t fake smiles or beg for favors. He didn’t care that Chuuya was the principal’s son, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of him.

But he didn’t hang out with him, either.

Dazai had his crowd, a messy constellation of friends, jokes, and after-school chaos. Chuuya wasn’t part of it. He wasn’t part of anything, really. Most days, he didn’t mind. He had his books, his goals, the knowledge that eventually, high school would be over. He just had to keep his head down and get through it.

Still, every time Dazai looked his way, eyes gleaming with something unreadable, Chuuya felt it—like being seen for the first time in a room full of people pretending he wasn’t there.

He hated it. And maybe, secretly, he didn’t.