Chapter Text
Outside the window, a gentle breeze is blowing. Nature is only just beginning to wake up. Sunbeams, like little “sun bunnies,” jump from the floor to the wall, from the wall to a desk, from one desk to another. And so it goes until the whole classroom is filled with light.
There, already early in the morning, students sit at their desks. Some try to catch the teacher’s words, some are still half-asleep, and some are lost in their own thoughts.
By the window at the back of the class sits a boy. The “sun bunnies” dance across his dark locks, making them seem lighter. He squints when the light hits his eyes, but he doesn’t turn away. Not out of whim. He loves looking out the window, where he can see the beautiful scenery around the school, the janitor cleaning the yard, and even students running late. It’s actually that last part that makes him keep watching. He simply can’t miss the sight of that little red head that seems to be rushing to class.
But the owner of that bright hair hates school. Not like many do, simply out of laziness. He has far more serious reasons.
The bell rings. The teacher says goodbye to the students, and they all head off together to another classroom to get ready for the next lesson—biology.
The dark-haired boy heads down to the first floor. There’s a note saying a couple of their classes have been canceled.
— “Gym is last.”
He isn’t fond of PE. He’s strong, resilient, determined, but with poor health. Always wrapped in bandages around his arms, chest, and neck. At first, classmates and teachers didn’t understand this “look” and were even wary of it. But by now, everyone’s gotten used to it and stopped asking. He wouldn’t have answered anyway.
Dazai Osamu—a second-year high school student. Not a delinquent, yet despite that, many—no, everyone—was afraid of him. With just a look, he could stop a fight. That cold, foreboding gaze that seemed to see right through you made people shudder. They even offered him the position of student council president, but he refused—or at least said he’d think about it for a while.
But let’s go back to the beginning.
Dazai was wandering around the school. It looked like he was searching for something. The clock on the wall said the bell would ring in about six minutes. So, not to be late, he finally started heading to class.
Passing by the locker room, he noticed it was blocked from the outside with a mop.
— “Not again…?”
Inside the locker room, he found another student. Red strands falling to his shoulders were matted with blood, sticking together slightly. He was sitting curled up in a corner, his face hidden. In the dim light it was hard to see that his clothes were dirty, covered in dust and blood.
— “Alive?”
He didn’t even flinch at the sound of Dazai’s voice. Like a little animal that’s simply tired of everything, just waiting for its fate. Dazai walked over and crouched down.
— “Did they rough you up badly?”
Still silence.
— “Chuu… ue-chan?”
— “Don’t call me that!”
— “So, you’re alive. You need the nurse’s office. Come on, I’ll help you.”
— “I can handle it without you!”
— “So rude… Even so, you still need the nurse.”
— “Why do you keep going on about this?! Why the hell are you always butting into my life?! It’s hard enough without you—on top of everything else! When will you finally leave me alone?!”
— “I won’t…” Dazai abruptly cut him off. “Why do you always bottle everything up? Why won’t you accept my help? Why are you so foolish…?”
With one swift motion, Dazai lifted his head and looked straight into those blue eyes.
Eyes… So much pain in them… But he doesn’t cry, never. He endures… But why?
Just as the redhead was about to snap back with a string of curses… in a split second, he felt someone else’s breath on his face. The warmth of lips—not his own, someone else’s. He saw Dazai’s half-closed eyes. He…
By the time he realized what had happened, Dazai had already pulled back, stood up, and was heading for the door. At the doorway, without turning around, he said:
— “Foolish, foolish Nakahara Chuuya… Don’t forget to go to the nurse. I’ll tell the teacher.”
Him—a boy the whole school hated just for the color of his hair and eyes—had been kissed, given no explanation, and left alone with his questions.
After thinking for a moment, Nakahara stood up and headed for the nurse’s office, deciding to take the advice. The school doctor—cheerful old Mori—was already used to Chuuya coming in battered or covered in blood. He was a regular. After treating all the wounds, the redhead lay down on the bed and, before he even realized it, fell asleep.