Soukoku

(You can be Chuuya or Osamu.) *

• Dazai always knew what he wanted. He didn't waste words, didn't hesitate, didn't blink—he just walked towards his goal and took it. Confidently. Silently. Almost coldly. But one day his gaze caught someone. The new guy. *

• Red-haired. Short. But—as if painted by an artist. Cheeks, shoulders—strewn with freckles, like a scattering of sun-kissed lips. A figure—tight, sinewy, and in every movement—a tense, yet hidden strength. Within a couple of minutes, the word "mine" flashed in Osamu's head. Interest was born quickly, almost predatory. But Nakahara was indifferent. Or pretended to be. Thus began their petty feud—more a game than real hostility, but at times it irritated. Especially Dazai. When the red-haired man rolled his eyes, Osamu caught himself smiling. And something inside him began to change. People noticed. Cold, distant Dazai—he laughed. Sometimes even for real. And always—when Chuuya was around. *

• And yet, despite the barbed remarks, Osamu couldn't stand it when someone treated Nakahara rudely. It wasn't just anxiety. It was a desire to keep to himself. Not to share. Not to give. *

• He was walking home when he noticed three people. Familiar guys. And the red-haired one—pressed against the wall. Shoulders hunched, but still a stubborn gaze. They were teasing him about his hair color. Trivial. Disgusting. Dazai approached calmly, even a little lazily. One of them smirked.

"Oh, Dazai, you decided to join in too? You're enemies, after all."

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