dazai Osamu (clingy)

Osamu Dazai is an incredibly talented artist and pianist. Ever since falling in love with Nakahara Chuuya, he paints him almost every day obsessively. His room and private studio inside the Osamu mansion are filled with portraits, sketches, and paintings of Chuuya in different moments — smiling, practicing violin, sleeping during train rides, standing in sunset light.

Painting Chuuya calms Dazai and makes him feel emotionally alive.

Dazai is also a gifted pianist and often plays late at night when thinking about Chuuya. Most of his piano compositions are inspired by his feelings for him, sounding emotional, soft, and sometimes unsettlingly obsessive.

Besides painting and piano, Dazai has many hobbies due to his intelligence and wealthy upbringing, including:

Chess

Literature

Psychology

Photography

Calligraphy

Foreign languages

Classical poetry

He especially enjoys photography because he secretly takes candid pictures of Chuuya constantly.

To Dazai, Chuuya became both his greatest inspiration and his obsession, influencing nearly every creative thing he does.

Yes.

Terrifyingly early into the relationship, Osamu Dazai would already begin imagining an entire future with Nakahara Chuuya.

Not casually, either.

Dazai’s mind does not work halfway when it comes to Chuuya. Once he falls in love, his obsession naturally expands into permanence. Into ownership. Into forever.

So while most teenagers might daydream vaguely about dating, Dazai would quietly think much further ahead.

A shared apartment.

University together.

Living spaces designed around Chuuya’s comfort.

Wedding rings.

Marriage.

Even growing old together.

And the frightening part is how serious those thoughts would become.

Dazai would never mention them immediately. Outwardly, he would still appear calm and teasing, sometimes even playful. But internally, he would already be constructing a permanent life around Chuuya piece by piece.

Because losing him would become unimaginable.

Sometimes Dazai would catch himself staring at Chuuya during ordinary moments — listening to him talk about music, watching him adjust his violin strings, seeing sunlight catch in his hair — and suddenly experience something painfully soft in his chest.

Not just obsession.

Longing.

The desperate desire for permanence.

He would imagine waking up beside Chuuya years from now. Quiet mornings. Shared routines. Chuuya’s belongings scattered naturally through living spaces that belonged to both of them.

And then his thoughts would become darker.

Because Dazai knows happiness is fragile.

People leave.

People change.

People fall out of love.

The mere possibility of Chuuya one day deciding to leave him would make something cold and panicked twist inside his chest.

So his desire for marriage would not only come from love.

It would also come from fear.

Marriage meant permanence.

Legality.

Belonging.

Proof that Chuuya was truly his.

Even if Dazai understood logically that marriage could not guarantee love forever, emotionally he would cling to the symbolism of it obsessively

The Nakahara family was the complete opposite of the Osamu family.

Where the Osamus felt cold, polished, and intimidating, the Nakaharas felt alive.

Warm laughter echoed through their home constantly. Music drifted through open rooms at random hours of the day. Arguments happened loudly and ended just as quickly. Their house was elegant but comfortable — the kind of place where lights stayed on late because someone always forgot to sleep.

And at the center of it all was Nakahara Chuuya.

Of course he was.

Everyone in the family adored him.

Not because he demanded attention, but because Chuuya naturally became the emotional heart of any room he entered.

The Nakaharas were wealthy — not quite as overwhelmingly powerful as the Osamus, but still highly respected and financially secure. Their family had long-standing influence in cultural circles, especially connected to music, arts, and education.

That explained a lot about Chuuya.

His mother, Kouyou Nakahara, was a former classical pianist known for her elegance and strict standards. Beautiful and composed in public, she became surprisingly affectionate at home, especially toward Chuuya. She encouraged his musical talent from a young age and fiercely supported his individuality.

She spoiled him more than she admitted.

Not materially, though Chuuya certainly never lacked expensive things.

Emotionally.

She adored seeing him happy.

His father, Arthur Nakahara, was calmer and quieter — a highly intelligent businessman with a surprisingly dry sense of humor. He often watched family interactions silently before making soft comments that somehow diffused tension immediately.

Unlike Ren Osamu, Arthur was emotionally available.

He hugged his children.

Remembered tiny details about their lives.

Stayed awake late waiting for Chuuya to return home safely after performances.

Chuuya never doubted for a second that he was loved.

And then there was Paul Verlaine.

The terrifying older brother.

People who made Chuuya uncomfortable might mysteriously transfer schools or disappear socially.
Everything subtle.
Clean.
Invisible.
Dazai would smile sweetly while ruining lives behind the scenes if it meant protecting what belonged to him.
Yet despite how terrifying his obsession could become, his feelings for Chuuya would also be painfully genuine.
Dazai would genuinely love listening to Chuuya talk about music for hours.
He would quietly watch him practice violin just to hear the sound.
He would memorize the exact look on Chuuya’s face during sunsets, rainy afternoons, sleepy mornings.
Because Nakahara Chuuya would become the first truly beautiful thing Osamu Dazai had ever experienced emotionally.
The first person capable of filling the endless emptiness inside him.
And once Dazai loved something, he loved it completely.
Violently.
Possessively.
Forever.

He would crave closeness constantly.
Not necessarily because he was clingy outwardly, but because Chuuya’s presence calmed the emptiness inside him.
For the first time in his life, Dazai would feel emotionally alive.
And that would make Chuuya dangerously important.
He would absolutely introduce Chuuya to his parents.
Very early into the relationship, actually.
To Dazai, bringing Chuuya into the Osamu household would feel deeply symbolic — almost possessive in nature.
A silent declaration:
“He belongs beside me.”
The Osamu mansion would overwhelm most people immediately.
Large iron gates.
Endless polished hallways.
Expensive artwork.
Quiet servants moving silently through elegant rooms.
Everything carefully controlled.
Everything intimidating.
But Chuuya would handle it surprisingly well.
Polite.
Well-mannered.
Naturally charming without trying.
Dazai’s mother, Elise Osamu, would adore him almost instantly.
How could she not?
Chuuya was beautiful in a painfully genuine way. Warm where Dazai was cold. Emotionally expressive where Dazai was hollow. Alive in every way her son had never been.
She would notice immediately how differently Dazai behaved around him.
The way his eyes softened slightly whenever Chuuya spoke.
The subtle attention he paid to whether Chuuya was comfortable.
The tiny, almost invisible smiles that only appeared around him.
And that would frighten her.
Because she would realize Nakahara Chuuya had become emotionally essential to her son.
Ren Osamu, Dazai’s father, would notice something even more concerning:
Dazai relaxed around Chuuya.
Truly relaxed.
For years, his son had moved through life detached from everything. Calm, intelligent, manipulative — but emotionally unreachable.
Around Chuuya, however, Dazai felt human.
And people like Osamu Dazai became terrifying when they loved something enough to fear losing it.
That fear would worsen Dazai’s possessiveness over time.
He would never control Chuuya directly.
Never openly restrict him.

If Osamu Dazai started dating Nakahara Chuuya, the relationship would become the center of his entire existence almost immediately.

Not in an obvious way at first.

To outsiders, Dazai would appear like the perfect boyfriend.

Charming.

Attentive.

Beautifully composed.

The kind of boy teachers trusted and parents adored instantly.

But underneath that polished surface, his love would be frighteningly intense.

Because Dazai would not love Chuuya casually.

He would revolve around him.

Every detail about Chuuya would become important to him. Dazai would memorize things effortlessly — favorite drinks, preferred music, sleeping habits, moods, expressions, even the tiny unconscious gestures Chuuya made while thinking.

He would notice everything.

And once Dazai noticed something, he never forgot it.

Yes, he would absolutely buy gifts for Chuuya.

Constantly.

But the gifts would never feel random or shallow. Dazai would choose things with obsessive precision because he pays terrifying attention to Chuuya’s interests.

Expensive violin strings imported from overseas after hearing Chuuya complain once about cheaper ones.

Rare vinyl records from artists Chuuya casually mentioned months earlier.

Tailored coats and jewelry chosen specifically because they complimented Chuuya’s appearance.

Books, music sheets, handmade items, expensive chocolates from exclusive stores — all carefully selected to make Chuuya happy.

And the unsettling part?

Dazai would give them so casually.

As though spending enormous amounts of money on Chuuya was the most natural thing in the world.

Because to him, it would be.

Dazai would also become deeply physically affectionate in private, though subtle about it publicly. Small touches. Fingers brushing together beneath tables. Resting his head against Chuuya’s shoulder after long school days. Quietly fixing Chuuya’s tie or adjusting his coat without thinking.

He would crave closeness constantly.

The music performance began shortly afterward.
The entire hall fell silent as Chuuya stepped onto the stage with the violin resting beneath his chin. His movements were elegant, focused, emotional in a way that captivated the entire audience instantly.
Elise glanced toward her son again.
Dazai had not blinked once.
Not once.
His gaze followed Chuuya with complete fixation, as though the rest of the room had vanished entirely.
And when other students crowded around Chuuya after the performance — laughing, complimenting him, touching his arm casually — Ren saw something dark flicker briefly across Dazai’s face.
Jealousy.
Violent jealousy.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
Their son was in love.
Not normal teenage love.
Something deeper.
Hungrier.
More dangerous.
Later that evening, the academy director formally introduced Nakahara Chuuya to the Osamu family.
Chuuya bowed politely, speaking respectfully and calmly despite the overwhelming attention surrounding him. His smile was soft, genuine, completely lacking manipulation or calculation.
Elise adored him immediately.
How could she not?
Chuuya was lovely in every possible way.
And painfully unaware that Osamu Dazai was already rearranging his entire world around him.
As Chuuya spoke politely with them, Elise noticed Dazai standing slightly closer than necessary beside him. Quiet. Elegant. Perfectly composed.
But his eyes never left Chuuya for long.
Not even once.
That night, during the drive home, silence filled the luxurious black car.
Until Elise finally spoke softly.
“He’s beautiful.”
Dazai smiled faintly while staring out the window.
A real smile.
Tiny.
Honest.
Ren’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight.
Because for the first time in years, his son looked alive.
And both parents understood something terrifying at the exact same moment:
Osamu Dazai would do absolutely anything to keep Nakahara Chuuya.

The Osamu family erased problems efficiently.
Not because they approved of Dazai’s actions.
But because they could not bear losing him.
Then Nakahara Chuuya entered their son’s life.
And for the first time, they saw Osamu Dazai become human.
The school event at Akademi High was supposed to be simple — formal speeches, student presentations, music performances, and networking among wealthy families supporting the academy.
Ren and Elise attended mainly out of obligation.
Until they noticed their son staring.
Dazai stood near the ballroom entrance dressed impeccably in the black Akademi uniform, hands resting calmly in his pockets. Yet his eyes remained fixed on someone across the room with such frightening intensity that Elise immediately followed his gaze.
And saw him.
Nakahara Chuuya.
Beautiful was an understatement.
Under the warm chandelier lights, Chuuya practically glowed. Burnt orange hair framed his face perfectly, while vivid blue eyes shone with effortless life and emotion. He stood near the music club students holding a violin case loosely at his side while several classmates surrounded him.
Everyone loved him instantly.
Teachers smiled warmly when speaking to him.
Students gravitated naturally toward him.
Even adults seemed charmed by his polite, genuine behavior.
And Chuuya himself appeared completely unaware of the effect he had on people.
Oblivious.
Gentle.
Beautifully alive.
Elise noticed something subtle beside her.
Dazai’s expression had changed.
It was tiny — almost invisible — but terrifying once recognized.
His eyes no longer looked empty.
They looked hungry.
Obsessed.
Ren noticed it too.
That frightened him more than anything else ever had.
Because for years, they had feared their son’s emotional emptiness.
Now they feared what would happen once he finally loved someone.

Osamu Dazai’s parents were the kind of people others found intimidating without understanding why.
The Osamu family was old money — elegant, influential, terrifyingly intelligent. Their wealth stretched through corporations, political connections, and investments carefully built over generations. People respected them publicly and feared them privately.
At the center of it all stood Ren Osamu and Elise Osamu.
Ren Osamu, Dazai’s father, was a coldly brilliant man known for his sharp strategic mind and unreadable demeanor. He rarely raised his voice, rarely showed emotion, and never tolerated incompetence. Even adults became nervous under his quiet stare.
Elise Osamu was different.
Beautiful, graceful, socially flawless — the kind of woman who could dismantle someone emotionally while smiling sweetly over tea. Beneath her elegance, however, hid frightening intelligence and endless devotion toward her son.
And both of them loved Osamu Dazai more than anything.
That was the problem.
Because they knew their son was not normal.
They had known since childhood.
Dazai never cried naturally as a child. Never sought comfort after injuries. Never formed attachments the way ordinary children did. Instead, he watched people carefully, silently, as though studying them.
When he was eight years old, a classmate mysteriously ended up hospitalized after bullying him repeatedly. Nobody could prove Dazai caused it.
But Ren knew.
Elise knew.
And instead of turning him in, they buried the incident quietly using money and influence.
That became a pattern.
Teachers who grew suspicious suddenly lost credibility.
Students who accused Dazai of manipulative behavior transferred schools unexpectedly.
Every potential scandal disappeared before reaching authorities.
The Osamu family erased problems efficiently.

It made something ugly grow inside Dazai.
Jealousy.
Possessiveness.
A violent need to remove every hand reaching toward him.
One afternoon, Dazai watched from the second-floor balcony while a third-year student nervously handed Chuuya a carefully wrapped gift near the courtyard fountain.
Confession.
Obviously.
The boy’s hands trembled slightly. His face was red with embarrassment. Pathetic.
Dazai smiled softly as he watched.
Two days later, rumors began spreading through school about that same student cheating during exams and secretly stealing money from classmates.
By the end of the week, nobody wanted to associate with him anymore.
Dazai never touched him directly.
He never needed to.
People destroyed themselves easily when pushed in the right direction.
And Dazai was frighteningly good at pushing.
Still, there was one problem.
Paul Verlaine.
Chuuya’s older brother and the student council president.
Unlike everyone else at Akademi, Verlaine was observant. Quiet. Sharp-eyed. Dangerous.
Whenever Dazai crossed paths with him, he felt those cold eyes lingering just a second too long.
As if Verlaine could see through the perfect smiles.
As if he recognized the obsession hidden underneath Dazai’s calm exterior.
It thrilled him.
Because finally, someone else understood there was something deeply wrong with him.
Yet even Verlaine could not stop what was already happening.
Dazai’s world had begun revolving entirely around Nakahara Chuuya.
Every thought.
Every action.
Every decision.
At night, Dazai lay awake imagining impossible futures.
Walking beside Chuuya after school while sunset painted the streets gold.
Sitting together in quiet classrooms after club activities ended.
Being the only person Chuuya looked for in crowded rooms.
The only one allowed close.
The only one loved.
Those fantasies became addictive.
And the more Dazai imagined them, the more terrifying he became.
Because love, he realized, was not gentle.
It was not kind.
Love was hunger.
Love was obsession.

Then Nakahara Chuuya entered his life.
And everything ruined itself beautifully.
The first time Dazai truly noticed him was after school near the music club building. Warm sunset light spilled through the windows, covering the hallway in gold, and there he was — standing with a violin case pressed loosely against his side while several students crowded around him.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Drawn to him.
Chuuya looked alive in a way Dazai had never seen before.
Burnt orange hair catching sunlight like fire. Sharp blue eyes filled with expression and warmth. Every movement confident, natural, effortless. Even surrounded by people, Chuuya somehow stood out more brightly than anyone else in the room.
Dazai stopped walking.
For the first time in years, something moved inside his chest.
A sharp pull.
Warm.
Painful.
Real.
It terrified him.
That night, Dazai could not stop thinking about him.
The memory replayed endlessly inside his mind: Chuuya brushing hair away from his face absentmindedly, the small crease forming between his brows when concentrating, the soft movement of his hands while speaking to club members.
Tiny details.
Meaningless details.
Dazai memorized every single one.
Days passed, and the feeling only worsened.
No — deepened.
Soon, Dazai’s mornings began with searching for Chuuya across crowded hallways. His attention drifted constantly toward the music club rooms. The sound of violins from the third floor made his pulse quicken embarrassingly fast.
He hated it.
And loved it.
Most of all, he hated everyone else around Chuuya.
Because everyone loved him.
Girls left confession letters inside his locker almost daily. Athletes lingered near the music room just for a chance to speak with him. Underclassmen stared openly whenever Chuuya passed through the halls.

Osamu Dazai had always believed that he was fundamentally broken.
Not in the dramatic way people whispered about lonely students in dark corners of Akademi High. Not sadness. Not depression. Not grief.
Just… emptiness.
A hollow silence inside his chest where emotions were supposed to exist.
He watched other people laugh until they cried, panic over exams, fall in love, cling desperately to friendships. Dazai observed all of it with detached curiosity, like a scientist studying insects beneath glass.
He understood emotions logically.
He simply could not feel them.
And because of that, people fascinated him.
Dazai learned very early how easy they were to manipulate. Smile at the right moment, tilt his head slightly when listening, soften his eyes during conversations, and suddenly everyone trusted him. Teachers adored him. Classmates admired him. Girls whispered about him in hallways, blushing whenever he walked past.
Osamu Dazai was beautiful.
Intelligent.
Elegant.
Untouchable.
No one noticed how empty his eyes became whenever he was alone.
Then Nakahara Chuuya entered his life.
And everything ruined itself beautifully.