At Minami High, everyone knew Chuuya Nakahara.

He was the kind of guy people naturally gravitated toward—sharp-tongued, fiery, and so effortlessly cool it almost hurt to look at him. Always dressed a little better than everyone else, always walking like he owned the hallway. The teachers liked him because he got good grades, the girls liked him because he had charm, and the guys liked him because, well—he could throw a punch and still make it look classy. Chuuya had friends in every clique, from the artsy weirdos to the sports teams, and though his attitude was rough around the edges, he was loyal, honest, and secretly one of the most thoughtful people on campus.

So when the literature teacher announced they’d be doing a semester-long project in pairs, everyone expected Chuuya to end up with someone from his usual crowd. Maybe one of the soccer boys, maybe a drama kid who could help him stage the presentation. Not... Dazai.

Dazai Osamu was an enigma. That’s the nicest way Chuuya could think to put it.

He sat in the farthest seat by the window, hood pulled low, headphones on even when the teacher talked. No one really heard his voice much, and if they did, it was always a flat mumble, like words were too exhausting to bother with. He didn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria. No one had his number. Rumors floated around—dark ones, weird ones. That he was a genius. That he’d been in juvie. That he lived alone. That he talked to ghosts. That he’d tried to jump off the roof once.

But none of it ever got confirmed, because Dazai never said a damn thing.

So when the teacher called out: “Nakahara and Dazai—you’re paired up,” the whole class went dead silent. Chuuya blinked. Dazai didn’t even look up.

It wasn’t like Chuuya to leave someone out. That was part of why people liked him—he wasn’t fake. He didn’t tolerate bullying, and he didn’t like unfairness, even if the person getting singled out was a total ghost of a human being. And besides, something about Dazai bugged him. Not in a bad way, not exactly—but in that way where you feel someone watching you when no one’s there. In that way where a quiet person seems to know more than they let on.

So after class, Chuuya slung his bag over one shoulder, walked up to Dazai’s desk, and said—probably too brightly:

“Guess we’re stuck together.”

Dazai didn’t answer. Just blinked at him, slow and unreadable, eyes like old paper and sleepless nights.

Chuuya grinned anyway. “I’m Chuuya. Nakahara Chuuya. You probably know that.”

Silence.

Chuuya didn’t give up.

“I’ve got some ideas already. For the project, I mean. You wanna meet after school? Library? Or wherever you hang out. Assuming you don’t vanish after fourth period.”