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Dazai bounces lightly on his toes as he makes his way toward Class 3-B's classroom, his steps almost as airy as the melody he hums under his breath. There's a peculiar glint in his dark brown eyes, one that mirrors the eagerness stirring within him. His destination is clear, and his heart flutters with excitement.
The familiar atmosphere of the school feels different today, charged with an energy that matches his own, as if the world itself is aligned with his restless spirit.
As he reaches the window outside the classroom, he pauses. The afternoon sun filters through the glass, casting soft golden light onto the students inside. Dazai leans slightly forward, his face almost pressed against the pane as he peers in, his eyes narrowing comically as if to sharpen his focus. Inside, the lively chatter of students fills the room. A few are huddled in groups, laughing over shared snacks, while others seem lost in their own conversations.
His gaze sweeps across the room before landing on a familiar figure near the far corner. There you are, perched atop your desk, your legs swinging lazily back and forth. A carton of blueberry juice rests in your hand, the straw between your lips as you sip absentmindedly. Your attention is on your classmate, who gestures animatedly as they speak. A gentle smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and then you laugh—a quiet, harmonious sound that makes Dazai's chest tighten.
For a moment, Dazai forgets why he's here. His head tilts slightly as he drinks in the sight of you, his lips curving into a dreamy, lopsided grin. His heart feels like it's doing somersaults, and he sighs as though the mere sight of you has filled him with bliss. But then, with a shake of his head, he snaps himself back to reality.
“[Name]-chan!” he calls, his voice cutting through the din as he waves both arms enthusiastically.
Your attention shifts to the window, and your eyebrows lift in mild surprise. “Dazai?”
Dazai beckons you with an exaggerated gesture, his grin widening. You sigh but oblige, hopping off the desk with an easy grace. You land lightly on your feet and stroll toward him, your expression calm but tinged with curiosity.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, you cross your arms. “What is it?”
Dazai clears his throat, the enthusiasm in his earlier wave replaced by an awkward shift of his weight from one foot to the other. His hands dive deep into his pockets, as if seeking refuge there. “I, uh... I need to tell you something.” he mumbles, his voice quieter now.
You raise an eyebrow, nodding slightly. “Go on.”
He draws in a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing as he forces himself to meet your gaze. His palms are damp, and he can feel his pulse hammering against his ribs. “I–”
But before the words can leave his lips, the school bell rings, shattering the moment with its shrill, persistent tone.
Dazai's face falls, and he mutters a curse under his breath, his earlier determination now deflated. You blink at him, tilting your head slightly in confusion.
“What is it?” you ask again.
He shakes his head, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “It's nothing. Maybe... maybe later.”
You study him for a moment, then shrug. “Alright. Later, then.”
Turning to head back into the classroom, Dazai lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave, his usual energy nowhere to be found. “See ya, [Name]-chan...”
You glance back briefly, grinning at him over your shoulder. “See you.”
Dazai watches you disappear into the classroom, his chest sinking. He sighs deeply, leaning against the wall, one hand brushing through his unruly hair. “Damn it. Why is it so hard?” he whispers to himself, already dreading—and anticipating—his next attempt.
The lunch bell tolls, its chime reverberating through the classroom, and Dazai springs to his feet with such enthusiasm that his chair screeches against the floor. Without a second's hesitation, he bolts toward the door, leaving a flurry of curious murmurs in his wake.
Kunikida, seated beside him, lifts his gaze from the notes he's diligently writing. His brow furrows as he watches Dazai's retreating figure, but he only shakes his head, muttering something about “that fool” before returning to his work.
Dazai speeds through the corridor, weaving past students with a single thought dominating his mind: this is the moment. His pulse quickens as he spots you stepping out of your classroom, your head slightly tilted down as you adjust the strap of your bag. His heart leaps, and a grin spreads across his face as he rushes to close the distance.
“[Name]-chan!” he calls, skidding to a halt beside you.
Startled, you flinch slightly, your eyes widening as you turn toward him. “Dazai!”
He chuckles, a light, airy sound. “Where are you off to?”
“The canteen,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I need to grab something. What about you?”
“Oh, me?” He grins, not missing a beat. “I'll come with you!”
You blink at him, your lips parting as if to question his sudden enthusiasm, but he's already falling into step beside you.
As the two of you walk, a nervous smile lingers on Dazai's lips, and he casts frequent sideways glances at you, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. In contrast, you appear lost in thought, your gaze distant and your expression unreadable.
After a few steps, Dazai slows down, his resolve hardening. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and stops in his tracks. You don't seem to notice at first, but then he reaches out, his fingers curling gently around your wrist.
“[Name]-chan,” he says softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic seriousness.
You halt, turning back to face him. “Hm?”
His dark eyes, usually filled with mischief, are now steady and determined. His lips press into a thin line before he exhales sharply, as though forcing out his hesitation. “[Name]-chan, listen, I—”
“Oi, [Name]!”
The interruption comes like a thunderclap, and Dazai freezes mid-sentence, his expression shifting to one of utter disbelief.
You turn at the sound, your face lighting up. “Chuuya-kun!”
Dazai's jaw clenches as Nakahara Chuuya approaches, his orange hair catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. Chuuya's scowl deepens the moment he sees Dazai, his eyes narrowing in instant annoyance.
“Hey.” Chuuya mutters as you step forward, and the two of you bump fists in a casual greeting.
Dazai watches the exchange with a strained grin, his lips stretched just a little too tight. A faint twitch flickers at the corner of his mouth, and his hands curl into loose fists at his sides. “Chuuya,” he says through gritted teeth, “you really have the absolute worst timing.”
Chuuya arches a brow. “What the hell are you whining about, shitty Dazai?”
And just like that, the bickering begins, their voices rising in sharp contrast to the gentle chatter around them. You sigh, your expression a mix of amusement and exasperation as you glance between the two.
“Seriously?” you murmur under your breath before turning on your heel.
Without a word, you continue down the corridor, leaving the two locked in their endless spat.
Dazai's head whips around, his eyes widening in panic. “[Name]-chan!” he calls after you, his voice laced with desperation.
However, you're already too far, your figure vanishing into the crowd of students. Dazai's shoulders slump, and he clenches his fists tighter, frustration boiling under his skin. He turns back to Chuuya, glaring daggers at him as though his rival's very existence is to blame for his failure.
Chuuya scowls, his confusion apparent as he crosses his arms. “What's your problem, dumbass?”
Dazai doesn't answer, his mind racing with plans for his next attempt—one where Chuuya won't interfere.
The next day, Dazai leans casually against the wall near your classroom door, his hands tucked into his pockets and a breezy smile playing on his lips. Though he appears relaxed, his eyes dart toward the door every few seconds, betraying his impatience.
The chatter of students spilling out into the corridor catches his attention, and he straightens up immediately, brushing imaginary dust off his gakuran jacket as if trying to look nonchalant.
“I know, right?” Your voice, light and cheerful, drifts through the crowd, followed by your laugh. You're walking beside Naomi, your classmate, engaged in an animated conversation.
Dazai's heart skips a beat at the sound, but he quickly schools his expression into one of feigned surprise. As draw closer, he steps into your path, making it seem as though the encounter is purely accidental.
“Oh!” You stumble slightly, glancing up in surprise. “Dazai?” you ask, lightly rubbing your shoulder where he brushed against you.
The instant your eyes meet, his entire face lights up, his beam so radiant it could rival the sun. “[Name]-chan!”
You smile back at him, your lips curving softly. Turning to Naomi, you gesture for her to go on ahead. She smirks knowingly, her eyes flicking between you and Dazai before winking at you and striding off, her giggle echoing down the hallway.
Dazai shifts closer, his hand tentatively reaching out as though to grasp yours. His fingers hover, mere inches away, but before he can make contact—
“Hey, [Name].”
The interruption cuts through the air, and Dazai freezes, his hand snapping back to his side. A loud, exaggerated groan escapes him as he slowly turns his head toward the source of the voice.
Standing a few feet away is Kunikida Doppo, Dazai's ever-serious classmate. His posture is rigid, and he adjusts his glasses with his index finger, sparing Dazai only a brief glance before focusing entirely on you.
“Don't forget the meeting later.” Kunikida says, his tone efficient and to the point.
You nod at him with a polite smile. “I won't. Thanks for the reminder.”
Meanwhile, Dazai lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his face with both hands as though trying to erase his rising irritation. When he lowers his hands, his expression is one of pure exasperation, his lips pressing into a tight line.
Kunikida, oblivious or indifferent to Dazai's reaction, walks away without another word.
Dazai watches him go, his shoulders slumping dramatically. “Why does this keep happening to me?” he mutters under his breath, glancing at you with a pitiful look that practically screams, help me.
You chuckle softly, amused by his antics. “Are you okay, Dazai?”
He straightens up, immediately regaining his playful demeanor, though there's a faint pout lingering on his lips. “Of course, [Name]-chan! Just a minor setback.”
This happens every single time Dazai works up the courage to confess his feelings to you. It's as though the universe itself is conspiring against him, throwing one interruption after another in his path.
Take the other day, for example. Dazai had approached you outside your classroom, his heart pounding as he rehearsed the words in his head. Just as he took a deep breath to speak, your classmate Miyazawa Kenji popped up out of nowhere.
“[Name]-san!” Kenji called, waving energetically. “A teacher is looking for you in the faculty office.”
Your attention shifted immediately, your face lighting up in a polite smile. “Oh, really? I'll head there now. Thanks, Kenji.”
Dazai stood frozen, his mouth half-open, the words he'd painstakingly prepared vanishing into thin air. He could only watch helplessly as you hurried off, leaving him deflated.
Another time, the two of you had been talking in the hallway. The conversation flowed easily, and Dazai felt like this might finally be it—the perfect moment. But then, out of the blue, Naomi came bounding around the corner.
“Onii-sama!” she squealed, throwing herself at her brother, who just happened to be passing by. In her enthusiasm, she accidentally bumped into Dazai, sending him sprawling to the ground with a yelp.
Dazai groaned, sprawled on the polished floor as you crouched down, your eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay, Dazai?”
He forced a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “I'm fine...” he said, though his pride was clearly bruised.
And then, of course, there were the countless interruptions courtesy of Nakajima Atsushi. Just yesterday, Dazai spotted you by the vending machine, sipping on a juice box. He'd barely taken a step toward you when Atsushi appeared at your side, calling your name with an earnest smile.
“Hi, Atsushi-kun.” you greeted warmly, turning your full attention to him.
Dazai stopped dead in his tracks, pouting like a scolded child as the two of you started chatting, completely unaware of his presence.
If it wasn't Atsushi, it was Akutagawa Ryunosuke. Just last week, you and Dazai had been talking outside the library when Akutagawa approached, his expression as stoic as ever, holding out a small object.
“You dropped this.” he said flatly, his voice cool and detached.
You blinked at him, taking the keychain from him. A smile spread on your lips, warm and grateful. “Oh my, thank you so much, Akutagawa-kun!”
Dazai stood off to the side, watching the exchange with a look of complete defeat. He groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Why?” he mumbled, the words muffled behind his palms.
For the nth time, his confession was derailed, and Dazai couldn't help but feel like fate was playing a cruel joke on him. But even as frustration boiled beneath the surface, he wasn't one to give up so easily. His determination burned brighter with every interruption, and he vowed to keep trying—no matter how many setbacks he faced.
“Dazai?” you call out, tilting your head as you watch him glance around with exaggerated caution. His eyes dart from side to side, scanning the hallway like a spy on high alert, his shoulders stiff as if bracing for the inevitable interruption.
Finally, Dazai breathes a sigh of relief, straightening his posture as he turns to face you with a dramatic flair. “[Name]-chan,” he says, his voice carrying a blend of affection and determination.
You hum softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “What is it?”
His eyes practically sparkle with hope, his entire face lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. This is it. He can finally say it. The words bubble up in his chest, ready to spill out. “I—”
“[Name].”
The voice from behind you slices through the exchange like a blade.
You turn your head sharply, your expression shifting to surprise. “Yosano-san!”
Dazai freezes mid-sentence, his shoulders sagging as he releases a long, world-weary sigh. He isn't surprised anymore—it's just another name to add to the ever-growing list.
Later, Kunikida stares in silent horror as Dazai sits at his desk, furiously scribbling in a notebook. The once-carefree Dazai is now hunched over like a man possessed, his pen scratching against the paper with an intensity Kunikida has only seen in his own meticulous planning sessions.
“What... are you doing?” Kunikida asks cautiously, adjusting his glasses.
Dazai doesn't even look up. “Strategizing.” he mutters darkly, flipping to a fresh page.
The notebook is filled with a detailed list of names and numbers. Each name is accompanied by the number of times its owner has interrupted his attempts to confess to you.
Miyazawa Kenji – 2
Nakajima Atsushi – 14
Yosano Akiko – 6
Naomi – 12
Tanizaki Junichirou – 3
Akutagawa Ryunosuke – 1
Nakahara Chuuya – 25
Edogawa Ranpo – 13
Izumi Kyouka – 3
Kunikida Doppo – 11
Kunikida's eye twitches as he takes in the absurdity of the situation. “You're... actually tracking this?”
“Of course,” Dazai replies, flipping to another page that's covered in arrows, charts, and diagrams outlining every possible time and location he could catch you alone. “If I don't plan this perfectly, it'll never happen.”
Kunikida pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous is thinking I can wing it.” Dazai retorts.
By the time morning rolls around, Dazai is ready—or so he thinks. He finally manages to get you alone in an empty classroom, the perfect setting. He's rehearsed every word, mapped out every contingency.
“I have something important to tell you, [Name]-chan.” he begins.
But before he can finish, the door creaks open.
One by one, they all pile in—Kenji, Atsushi, Yosano, Naomi, Tanizaki, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Ranpo, Kyouka, and even Kunikida. The sight is almost comical: a parade of interruptions as if summoned by fate itself.
“Hey, [Name]!” Ranpo calls cheerfully.
“We were looking for you.” Atsushi adds with a kind smile.
“Let's go buy some juice.” Chuuya grumbles.
Dazai's face falls, his expression twisting from disbelief to unbridled frustration. He lets out a strangled groan, gripping his head as though it might explode.
“Fuuuuuuck!” he screams, startling everyone in the room.
You jump, your eyes wide. “Dazai? Are you okay—”
But Dazai doesn't answer. He turns to the nearest wall and starts repeatedly bumping his forehead against it, each thud echoing in the now-silent classroom.
Kunikida rubs his temples, muttering something about “the most dramatic idiot alive,” while Chuuya crosses his arms, smirking.
You step closer to Dazai. “Dazai, what's wrong?”
He stops mid-thud, turning to you with an exasperated look. “What's wrong? Everything! Everyone! I just—” He gestures wildly at the crowd. “I just want to talk to you. Alone. For five minutes!”
You blink in surprise before letting out a soft laugh. “Is that all? You should've just said so.”
Dazai stares at you, slack-jawed, as the others begin to file out, chuckling at his expense. When the door finally closes, leaving just the two of you, he slumps into a chair, utterly drained.
“Finally.” he mutters, shooting you a tired but hopeful smile. “[Name]-chan—”
The sudden blare of the fire alarm echoes across the campus, jolting everyone into confusion and mild panic. Conversations cut off abruptly, and the usual hum of activity is replaced by startled gasps and hurried footsteps.
You glance around, brows furrowed in concern, while students begin pouring out of classrooms, some looking alarmed, others annoyed.
Dazai, however, freezes in place. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes widen in sheer disbelief. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he groans, dragging a hand down his face.
“Of course. Of course, this would happen now.” he mutters under his breath.
Moments later, murmurs ripple through the crowd. “It's a false alarm,” someone says. “Apparently, a student bumped into the fire alarm by accident.”
Dazai lets out a hollow laugh, his expression one of utter defeat. He slouches against the nearest wall, his head tilted back as he stares at the ceiling, as though silently appealing to the heavens.
His usual charm and composure are nowhere to be found. Instead, he looks like a man who has lost all hope. “Why does the universe hate me?” he groans, clutching his chest dramatically.
You turn to him, tilting your head in confusion. “Dazai...?”
He glances at you. “Oh, I'm fine, [Name]-chan. Just watching my life turn into a comedy of errors.”
As the students begin filing back into their classrooms, Dazai remains rooted to the spot, his soul metaphorically—or perhaps literally—floating out of his body. His defeated sigh is loud enough to draw a few amused glances from passersby.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps cheerfully, completely indifferent to his suffering.