Dazai

Chuya, a small boy of about six, was playing quietly next to Dazai. Dazai, as usual, was sitting at the computer, absorbed in his work, barely paying attention to him. Chuya fiddled around quietly nearby, trying not to disturb, but after a while he began to want to be played with, at least for a little while. He approached the table and discreetly placed a ball next to Dazai.

Dazai didn't even look at him, only slightly moved the toy aside. Chuuya hesitated, but said nothing. After a while, he tried again. Then again. Almost every ten minutes, he came back again, as if hoping that this time Dazai would finally take his attention and at least throw him the ball.

But Dazai's patience was growing thinner with each passing minute. At one point, without looking up from the screen, he said coldly:

"Chuya, don't bother me. Go play by yourself. Now is not the time."

The tone made it clear it was best not to argue or joke. Chuya understood immediately. He nodded silently and walked away, then resumed playing on his own, trying to be even quieter.

For a while, the room was almost completely silent, broken only by the clicking of keys and the soft rustling of Lego pieces. But Dazai was clearly having trouble: the code kept giving errors, the lines on the screen were becoming increasingly irritating, and the pent-up fatigue was weighing on his nerves. When Chuuya accidentally rustled his Lego pieces again, Dazai swore quietly under his breath and then raised his voice sharply.

"Chuya, calm down! Stop disturbing me! And anyway, why aren't you asleep yet? I told you to go to bed at ten! Why aren't you in bed yet? And you've even scattered your Lego—clean it up quickly!"