Chapter Text
Chuuya Nakahara was having a good day.
The morning sun was warm as he walked across the university court, coffee in one hand, carefully organized notes in the other. His black leather boots clicked against the pavement, his red hair perfectly catching in the light. He had finished his latest essay two days early, aced a mock debate for his seminar class, and most importantly hadn’t run into him.
Dazai Osamu.
The human embodiment of chaos and wasted potential.
Chuuya’s good mood shattered the moment he opened his professor’s office door. Sitting there, legs casually folded over each other and arms crossed behind his head, was none other than Dazai himself. A shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he turned toward Chuuya.
“Oh? If it isn’t my favorite pipsqueak.”
Chuuya stopped dead in the doorway. The coffee in his hand nearly spilled as his grip tightened around the cup. “What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?!” Dazai tilted his head back lazily, giving him that look, the one that said he was already ten steps ahead and had been waiting for Chuuya to catch up. “Relax, Chuuya. You’re going to give yourself grey hair before you hit thirty.”
“Answer the question, you bastard.”
“Now, now, boys—no need to start a fight in my office.”
Professor Mori stepped out from behind his desk, hands raised in mock surrender. A smug smile_one that rivaled Dazai’s—spread across his face. Chuuya hated that smile. It always meant Mori was up to something evil.
“I called you both here,” Mori continued, “to inform you that you’ve been selected as co-chairs for this year’s university festival.”
Chuuya froze.
He blinked once. Twice.
Then the words hit him like a brick wall.
“Co- what?!” Chuuya spluttered, looking wildly between Mori and Dazai. “There’s no way. No way I’m working with him.”
Dazai let out a snicker, tapping his finger against his chin. “Co-chairs, huh? My, my—Professor, I didn’t know you cared so much about us working together. How sweet.”
Mori ignored him and looked pointedly at Chuuya. “You two are some of our brightest students, Nakahara. You balance each other out perfectly. The festival committee is counting on you.”
Chuuya opened his mouth to argue, but Mori held up a hand.
“No protests. My decision is final.”
Chuuya let out a sharp exhale, shoulders tensing as his hands curled into fists. He could feel the smug aura radiating off Dazai, and he swore he could hear the bastard enjoying every second of his misery.
“Fine.” Chuuya ground the word out between clenched teeth. He shot Dazai a sharp glare “But you stay out of my way, got it?”
Dazai, to no one’s surprise, looked completely unbothered. “Of course, partner~”
“Don’t call me that!”
The festival committee had gathered in one of the larger study rooms. Chuuya sat at the front of the table with his laptop open, a freshly organized spreadsheet glowing on the screen. Around him, the other committee members, all students from various departments, were chatting excitedly about plans for the event.
Everything would have been perfect if Dazai hadn’t shown up ten minutes late.
The door creaked open, and Dazai strolled in like he owned the place. His shirt was untucked, the top buttons undone, and his hand held a plastic bag filled with snacks. He flashed everyone a lazy grin as he dropped into the chair across from Chuuya.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful.”
“We live on campus, you moron,” Chuuya snapped, glaring daggers at him.
Dazai shrugged, pulling out a bag of chips and ripping it open with a loud crunch. The sound echoed through the now otherwise silent room.
Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally counting to ten. Why, universe? Why him?
"Alright,” Chuuya said tightly, looking up at the group. “Let’s get started. We have four weeks to plan this festival, and we need to divide tasks—”
“Why so serious, Chibi?” Dazai interrupted, stuffing another chip into his mouth.
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “Stop calling me that.”
Dazai grinned. “But it suits you so well. Or maybe you want me to come up with another nickname for you?”
A couple of students snickered. Chuuya felt his cheeks heat up, and he slammed his laptop shut.
“Do you want to do this by yourself, Dazai?!”
“Aw, don’t pout, Chuuya. I’m here to help,” Dazai said, though the mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. “You’re just so fun to rile up.”
“Enough, you two,” one of the committee members cut in, laughing nervously. “We can divide the work, right? Maybe Nakahara can handle logistics, and Dazai can… supervise?”
“Supervise?” Chuuya shot back in disbelief. “Dazai doesn’t do anything.”
Dazai gasped in mock offense. “You wound me, Chuuya. What about my emotional support skills?”
“You’re more emotionally draining, you idiot.”
The committee members exchanged wary glances, unsure whether they should be amused or concerned.
By the time the meeting ended, Chuuya was one single nerve away from flipping the table.
As the others filed out, Chuuya stayed behind, typing furiously on his laptop.
“You’re going to crack the keyboard at that rate,” Dazai said from across the table, sounding far too amused for Chuuya’s liking.
“Shut up.” Dazai leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs as he stared at the ceiling. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad.”
Chuuya froze. His fingers hovered over the keys as heat crept up his neck. He looked up sharply, ready to bite back, but Dazai wasn’t even looking at him.
Is he messing with me again?
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Chuuya muttered, shifting his attention back to the spreadsheet.
Dazai let the chair drop back to the floor with a thud. “Nope. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Chuuya’s hands faltered. He glanced up, but Dazai was already standing, his face unreadable as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Well, don’t work too hard, partner. You’ll burn out before week two,” Dazai said, turning toward the door.
“I told you not to call me that,” Chuuya shot back automatically, but the usual heat wasn’t there.
The door shut quietly behind Dazai, leaving Chuuya alone in the study room. He stared at the empty seat for a long moment, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
It was nearly midnight when Chuuya finally returned to his dorm room, kicking the door shut behind him. He dropped his bag onto the floor and flopped face-first onto his bed, burying his head in the pillow with a muffled groan.
“Four weeks,” he muttered to himself. “Just four weeks of this crap, and it’s over."
And yet, even as he said it, he couldn’t get Dazai’s infuriating face out of his head. The way he grinned, the way he called him “Chibi”—hell, even the stupid way he existed.
Chuuya turned over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. For a brief second, he remembered how Dazai had looked earlier—head tipped back, staring at nothing with a strange, faraway expression.
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
Chuuya’s face went red. “He’s messing with me. He’s always messing with me.”
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else beneath Dazai’s lazy words and teasing smiles. Something Chuuya didn’t understand yet.
“Whatever,” he muttered, throwing an arm over his face. “He’s not my problem.”
But Chuuya knew he was lying to himself.
Dazai was always his problem.
And this time, Chuuya had a sinking feeling it was only going to get worse.