Chapter Text
You get born in a family, but not necessarily understood and loved in one.
Dazai has always been a lonely child. Back in kindergarten, he was the definition of the oddly quiet and unbothered kid that other toddlers didn't want to play with. Even when some brave individuals would give him a chance and actually come up to him to interact, Dazai would either ignore them completely or make a rude comment in response.
Dazai didn't need their friendship. He didn't need anyone to pretend that they care about him.
Nobody ever truly did anyway.
He usually sat by the stairs, carefully doodling something in his sketchbook. It wasn't anything too specific, just a big black hole representing a variety of different emotions.
He's been called out for his skills and ideas before, but he didn't mind. Drawing was a way for him to express what he was not yet able to put into words in a proper way.
The teachers found such an attitude quite disturbing. They even thought of talking to Dazai's mother to find a solution on how to deal with him, but the principal stopped them. She asked the teachers to give Dazai time to adjust to his new surroundings, as his family had just moved to the city.
Days passed, however, and Dazai didn't react differently. He kept pushing everyone away, making his teachers in the school even more wary.
"Perhaps this little boy has some kind of issues," one young woman once whispered to the other during the nap time. "I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall whenever I try to ask him to do something."
"I think we can tell with certainty that this isn't a personality trait," the other lady continued. "It must be something that runs in the family."
The two teachers gossiped shamelessly about Dazai's family, as if he wasn't lying next to them and listening to every single word. He clenched his blanket in his small fist at each accusation, suppressing the urge to interrupt them.
"Can't be," she disagreed. "I remember taking care of his older brother in a different school a few years ago, and he was nothing like Osamu. Sakunosuke was a brilliant child, so it's definitely an individual problem."
Dazai cried that day. Not in an ugly, heartbreaking way. He never let anyone know about his feelings because he didn't want to bother, even as a little kid. His crying was nothing more than soft sobs and brief sniffles. He pressed the small palm of his hand to his lips out of habit, since he had learned that it could prevent him from being heard, and wondered why he was so damn worthless to everyone around him.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
That way, the first half of the school year has passed. Dazai still refused to get in touch with anyone from his kindergarten because he felt that it was unnecessary for him.
It's not like someone would ever willingly agree to play with such a weirdo.
That is, until one day a little boy decided to show his protective side.
Dazai sat in his favorite spot, as it was the most secluded one, and pulled out his sketchbook to draw another creation of his unspoken thoughts.
He hasn't even noticed the moment when a little girl approached him to take a look at his drawing.
"Why do you only use the colour black?" She asked. "Mommy told me that all the colours are beautiful and important. Like the colour pink because my hair-"
"I don't care," Dazai replied in a quiet tone. "Can you go away?"
The girl just pouted in response and leaned in closer over Dazai's shoulder, invading his personal space and making him feel even more uncomfortable.
"I want to draw as well!" Grabbing his sketchbook, she tried to pull it towards her. "Let me!"
Her high-pitched voice made Dazai grimace as he grabbed hold of his belongings and pushed her off of him with a slight shove.
"You are so rude!"
That was the last thing she shouted at him before she ran away in tears. All Dazai could do was blink a few times, wondering where the pink haired girl found the audacity.
When he was left alone, he looked down at his doodle, the page it was drawn on now completely crumpled. It must have been destroyed when the girl tried to grab the sketchbook out of his hands.
With a sigh, he tore off the page and placed it beside him. Turning to a new page, he grabbed his pencil to continue, but as the tip of his pencil touched the paper, he heard another voice calling to him.
"Hey, you!" Someone shouted. "The boy with the sketchbook!"
Dazai lazily turned to look in their direction, only to notice a completely unfamiliar boy.
Despite the fact that Dazai never spoke to any of the children of his own volition, he memorized all of their faces.
This time, he was greeted by a new, extremely adorable face, with chubby cheeks and the smallest nose that Dazai had ever seen, all covered in freckles that are just barely visible. As if all this doesn't make him look extraordinary enough, his appearance is completed with a beautiful shade of ginger hair. Not to mention the big, blue eyes that were staring right into his soul and making him nervous.
Dazai doesn't like to feel nervous.
"Quit looking at me like that, you know what you did!"
His voice is loud, but not the kind of loud that makes you want to cover your ears with your hands. His voice is assertive, the type that is clear and direct without being too aggressive.
When he noticed the same pink haired girl hiding behind Chuuya, he put two and two together effortlessly.
Dazai was intrigued.
"Being greedy isn't cool!" He said. "Yuan told me you pushed her away just because she wanted to draw with you!"
Ah, so that's how it was.
Turning to look at the girl, Dazai couldn't believe just how much of a liar she must have been. He had clearly asked her to leave him alone before she ignored him and tried to steal his sketchbook.
Dazai didn't show any bit of interest in spending time with her in the first place, so why was she acting like the victim?
"Your stupid friend tried to steal my things," Dazai replied, hating how funny he sounded whenever the letter 's' was used in his speech due to his teeth. "She shouldn't have touched me."
"Pushing and insulting girls isn't manly," the boy responded. "So you better apologize to Yuan."
Frowning, Dazai wondered if that boy was just as stupid as the little pink haired girl. Why wasn't he listening to what he was trying to say?
Though, who has ever listened to him to begin with?
"'S okay, Chuu," the girl mumbled. "I guess some boys are just born to be mean."
Giving Dazai one last glare, the boy grabbed her hand and left, realizing they wouldn't get any kind of apology.
Something stung in Dazai's chest at that comment, because he wasn't born to be a mean boy. He never wanted to be one, and that hurt. It hurt because he would rather be seen as a nobody than as someone who was cruel.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
It was just another uneventful afternoon when Dazai's mother picked him up from kindergarten and went home with him right after. Dazai, who had already memorized every part of their new neighbourhood, stared uninterestedly out the window, trying to ignore the worried looks she gave him.
The only thing that seemed to catch his attention was a new car parked right across the street from his own house. Dazai had never seen any signs of life in that building since he moved in with his family, as the house was in need of many repairs.
He noticed two adults and a girl taking large packages from their car and going in and out of the house. The father - Dazai guessed - is a blond, green-eyed man of average height. Despite the fact that he is not the muscular type, he seemed to be able to carry the packages with ease, his muscles flexing with every movement.
As he got out of the car and turned to the other side, Dazai looked at the mother. She is a tall woman, with a beautiful smile and the same fiery hair and blue eyes that Dazai had seen on a certain someone a few days ago.
He then decided that he hates these shades and combination of colours, even though they look absolutely gorgeous together.
The next person Dazai noticed was a girl, a little older than himself. She looks just like her mother, with the same long red hair and pretty facial features. She is the kind of beauty you can spend hours admiring and never get enough of.
Not long after that, a teenage boy came out of the house and went straight to the car to help. This one is the spitting image of his father, which Dazai found endearing. Two children - a boy and a girl - and each of them looks exactly like the parent of their gender.
'This new family is perfect,' Dazai thought. He could feel the affection they shared from miles away as they communicated with laughter and hugs that warmed his heart.
The way Dazai stared at the family caught his mother's eye. She turned to look at them and smiled in response.
"See, we're not the only ones who recently moved to a new neighbourhood," she said calmly. "Look how happy they are. You could take a lesson from them and stop being so grumpy, Osamu. Change can be great sometimes."
Dazai tried to ignore the way his chest tightened at his mother's comment. With one last look at the strangers, he turned and walked into his house in complete silence.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Dazai was lying on the couch in their living room, one leg dangling and barely touching the floor. He was holding a paper airplane that he flew from time to time.
As he got up to pick it up from the floor for the hundredth time, he heard his mother calling him from the kitchen. With small but quick steps, he went to her and stood at the door.
"What are you up to, Osamu?" She asked while washing her hands. "Something productive, I hope."
After hearing that, Dazai quickly hid the plane behind his back before she had a chance to look at it. He knew his mother would scold him if she caught him slacking off instead of learning a new task.
Dazai pursed his lips, trying to put on a nonchalant expression as he shrugged off her question. His mother sighed in response and put on a kind smile, which was usually followed by a request.
"I baked a cake for our new neighbours," she began. "Could you do me a favour and deliever it to them?"
Dazai blinked at that, unable to hide his surprize.
"Why me?" He asked quietly. "Why not anyone else?"
"Because Sakunosuke is at his basketball practice, your dad is at work and I got too tired," she said as she handed the plate with the cake to Dazai. "Come on, be a good son and help your mother."
With his mouth slightly open, Dazai looked at her silently, then at the cake and back to her.
"Can I have some too?" He asked in a soft tone. "This is my favorite cake, and you never bake it when I'm the one asking for it."
She crossed her arms over her chest with an expression that clearly showed she was offended by the question.
"That's a very selfish way to ask for something, Osamu," she said, her tone becoming a bit harsher. "I work so hard for this family every day, and you dare to say such things to me."
Dazai quickly shook his head to the side, trying to find the right words to explain himself. He never liked to see his mother get the slightest bit frustrated or upset by his stupid wishes, but he couldn't help but feel so small at that moment.
He gripped the plate tighter, ignoring the way his fingers ached from the force. He so desperately wanted to apologize and make it up to her, but it was as if he was frozen in place.
"Besides, this wasn't made for our family in the first place, so I don't understand the reason for your complaint."
When he heard that, he bent his head down a little, letting his bangs hide his expression. He bit his trembling lip, refusing to let out the embarrasing whine that was stuck in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'll bring it to them right now."
Dazai turned around and walked away at almost a run, carefully crossing the street as he approached the house.
He could easily tell that the family had already started to fix up the house, turning it into a cozy and cute place instead of the old and scary one it had been a few days ago.
A sudden wave of excitement washed over him as he climbed the few stairs and prepared to press the bell.
He had to make a good impression, his father always told him. With that in mind, he ran his hand through his hair and fixed it a little, the huge plate feeling heavy in his small hand. When he put both hands on it again, he made sure to keep his posture straight.
The moment the door finally opened, Dazai closed his eyes nervously, put on his most polite smile, and murmured:
"Happy...Uh, what do we say in this situation?" He asked awkwardly. "Happy birthday to your new house?"
When he didn't get any kind of answer, he peeked out with one of his eyes before he snapped both of them open in shock.
Before him stood the same boy who had accused him a few days earlier of deliberately making a girl cry. With the same adorable face, the same piercing blue eyes, the same attitude in his pose.
It was undoubtedly him.
That made no sense. If this protective boy really lived here, Dazai would have noticed him the day he saw the family move in. Except if he was somehow still wrong -
"Ah, the boy with the sketchbook!" He gasped loudly. "It's you!"
He, in fact, was not wrong.
"Mama!" He shouted. "Come here quickly!"
A few seconds passed before the tall woman approached the two of them and looked at Dazai with genuine surprise.
"Oh, hello, my dear!" She said with a smile. "You're the boy who lives across the street, aren't you?"
"Yes," Dazai whispered as he looked up at her. "My mom made a cake for you and asked me to bring it to your house."
Her face lit up immediately upon hearing that. Opening the door further, she gestured for Dazai to come in.
"Please, make yourself at home!" She said as
she patted Chuuya's head and turned to him. "Sweetheart, why don't you show our little friend where our dining room is?"
Chuuya moved away from her touch and made eye contact with her, visibly offended.
"Mom, no!" He said, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's the boy I told you about! The one who made Yuan cry!"
His mother smiled weakly as she knelt before him. She cupped his face in her hands, left a light kiss on his forehead and whispered.
"Baby, we already talked about this," she gently reminded him. "I understand why you were upset. But forgiveness is important, remember?"
With a pout, Chuuya looked away from her. He obviously didn't want to let Dazai in, but he also didn't want to disappoint his mother.
"He doesn't deserve forgiveness," he muttered. "He didn't say sorry to her."
When the woman heard this, she quickly pulled him into a tight embrace. She slowly ran her hand up and down his back, still with that gentle smile on her face.
"Everybody deserves a second chance," she said. "Besides, you don't know his side, so don't make assumptions. Maybe he was also hurt."
After noticing that her words didn't have much effect on her son, the woman whispered something in his ear, and the boy turned to Dazai and offered his hand.
He had a slight blush on his cheeks, as if he was doing this somehow against his will.
Dazai, who had been standing awkwardly in silence the whole time, looked at the boy in confusion.
He couldn't understand why this image of the boy suddenly made his own heart jump. He couldn't understand why holding his hand suddenly became his greatest wish.
"Let's all eat together, shall we?" The woman asked, smiling even wider. "Tell me, sweetie, is your mother free to come as well?"
Dazai blinked a few times and shrugged. Was she really free? His mother said she couldn't bring them the cake because she was too tired from baking it. So the answer should be no, right?
But before Dazai could answer, the woman was already quickly going down the stairs.
"Oh, I will invite her myself, don't worry!" She shouted. "You can go in, boys."
When she disappeared from Dazai's sight, he turned back to the boy. This time, he did not offer his hand.
Dazai tried to ignore the urge to bite his lip in disappointment as he followed him into the house.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
He couldn't help but observe their house out of curiosity. Turning his head from side to side, he noticed that it was just a little bigger than his own. It seemed that all the houses in this neighbourhood were about the same size, designed for large families like theirs.
As they entered, they were greeted by a short hallway that led them to a huge living room with several couches around a small table and a big TV in front of the furniture. There was also a piano in the corner of the room, which immediately made Dazai want to touch it. The end of the living room followed the beginning of the dining room the woman mentioned earlier, now with a larger table and several chairs around it.
On the other side of the house, Dazai noticed a staircase near the door, leading to another floor. Right after the staircase, two doors caught Dazai's attention: one of the kitchen and the other of a small bathroom.
The house was decorated in light colors, with a large number of paintings on the walls and a few plants in the corners.
Dazai wondered how the family had managed to turn the previously abandoned building into such a beautiful place in such a short time. Their determination and teamwork must have helped them with the renovation, as they seemed to be a family full of desire for a new beginning.
Well, except for the youngest son.
"Are you going to stare forever?" He asked, annoyed. "Let's go before you drop that cake."
They walked silently into the dining room, not exchanging another word. Complete silence fell between them as they placed the cake down and sat at the table, waiting for the boy's mother to return.
Dazai noticed that the table could seat ten people, which would be almost perfect for both of their families to sit together, except that one chair would be empty. But as soon as he thought of that, he shook his head and pushed the idea aside.
He will not return to this house.
His flow of thoughts was interrupted by two female laughs that suddenly filled the living room, and soon after, the two boys' mothers appeared.
"Chuuya, my dear, this is Dazai's mom!" She said cheerfully, pointing at the woman. "She's agreed to stay for a cup of tea and some dessert."
Chuuya didn't seem thrilled by the news, though he didn't want to ruin his mother's enthusiasm. He wore his most friendly smile and nodded at her, mumbling an uncertain "welcome" in response.
"I'm going to call my daughter to help me set the table," Chuuya's mother warned. "I'll be right back!"
"Oh, there's no need for that," the other woman said. "I'll help you myself."
Dazai followed them with his eyes until they disappeared again. When he turned to the little boy, he noticed that he was fidgeting in his seat. He kept kicking his feet or changing his sitting position, trying to keep himself moving.
Dazai thought that he probably wasn't the type to sit for long periods of time. This boy was either extremely energetic or unable to sit down without doing something.
Chuuya.
The name sounded pleasant. Dazai enjoyed whispering it to himself. It was a pretty name for a pretty boy-
"It's cake time!" Chuuya's mum exclaimed. "First pieces go to our guests, though."
As the two women set everything on the table, Chuuya's mother began to cut the cake. Smiling, she gave each of them a generous slice.
"The first piece should have gone to you," Dazai's mother said with a laugh. "Since I baked it for you."
"Oh, let me take care of you!"
Both Chuuya and Dazai watched their mothers interacting in silence, not without noticing how much they seemed to like each other already.
Unlike the two boys.
Dazai couldn't help but be surprised by how much his mother had grown fond of the other woman in just a few minutes. He bit his lower lip, wondering how nice that must feel.
It took Chuuya's mother only five minutes to achieve what Dazai had been trying to achieve for five years.
He tried his best not to think about it and took a small bite of his favorite cake. Out of pure curiosity, he watched the expressions on both the woman's and Chuuya's faces as they put the spoons in their mouths.
If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he had a bit more of an eye on Chuuya's face.
"Strawberry shortcake is such a classic," Chuuya's mother said with a smile. "Yet yours is the best I've ever tasted."
"Oh please, don't flatter me."
"I'm serious!"
Chuuya, on the other hand, didn't look too happy about it, but he didn't seem to hate it either. He probably didn't want to say it out loud so he wouldn't pass as an ungrateful boy, but he was too expressive not to show his true feelings.
This did not escape the eyes of his mother, who smiled at him a little.
"He's more of a caramel boy," she said. "Give him caramel-flavored sweets and he will love you forever."
Chuuya nodded, a little embarrassed. He whispered a "thank you" to Dazai's mum, just to make sure she didn't think he was rude.
"That's okay, little one," she answered. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time."
After hearing that, Dazai blinked a few times. Would his mother really be willing to bake a cake again for someone she barely knew, after she had refused to do the same for her own son?
As a result, a strange feeling was born in his chest, and it slowly began to suffocate him. Was his mother really so neglectful of him?
"Chuuya, baby," his mother called, noticing Dazai's face. "Why don't you show Dazai your room while I talk to his mom?"
Chuuya opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. He sighed loudly, probably too dramatically, but rose from his seat and turned to his guest.
"Follow me."
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
As they climbed the stairs, Dazai looked around the upper floor. There were three bedrooms for each of the family's children and another for Chuuya's parents, as well as a second bathroom.
When Chuuya opened the door to lead them into his room, Dazai quickly realized that this had to be one of the coolest places he had ever seen in his life.
His room is painted red, with black furniture all around. His shelves are filled with a wide variety of cars and board games, along with some famous superheroes, while his ceiling has several stars above the bed.
The bed - it is big enough for two people. Dazai questioned the reasoning behind it, but instead of asking politely, he spat out a teasing comment.
"Double bed?" He asked. "What for? Do you still sleep with your mommy, like a little boy?"
This seemed to embarrass Chuuya, who quickly crossed his arms and became defensive.
"So what if I sleep while hugging her sometimes?" He replied with a pout. "Don't act like that's weird. And don't call me little."
Huh. That was indeed weird for Dazai. He remembers his mother begging his father to renovate his own room so that she could finally sleep alone in peace.
Whenever Dazai had nightmares late at night, he was too afraid to get up and go to his mother's room in the dark, so he would just hide under the blankets and pray that the monsters wouldn't find him.
"So...You just call for her?" Dazai asked. "And she comes to you?"
"Always."
Every time Dazai tried to talk to either of his parents about this, they always responded the same way. They told him that he was already a big boy who should be able to handle himself and his fears without any additional help.
So he did. He learned not to seek for a person to lend him a hand. He learned that reaching out to other people meant bothering them.
Dazai didn't want to bother. He didn't want to be ashamed that he still longed for someone to hold him at night.
He tried to secretly ask Oda to sleep with him some nights. And he did. Until one day, his older brother was invited to a sleepover, and he was forced to refuse him.
The other day, he overheard his brother talking on the phone with his friend, who shamed Oda for still sleeping with a little kid next to him like its nanny. Since then, Dazai has refused to accept his brother's help for the sake of his reputation.
Sakunosuke didn't understand the reason why his brother suddenly changed his mind, but every time he asked, Dazai said that he didn't need him anymore because he had grown up.
Dazai lied. He lied so much that he began to believe that his lies were his new reality.
"My favorite thing in here are the game consoles," Chuuya said suddenly, interrupting Dazai's thoughts. Me and my siblings often play with them together."
"You have video games?"
Chuuya blinked at him a few times and tilted his head slightly to the side.
"Have you never played before?"
Dazai shook his head to the side and looked away.
"Not really," Dazai said. "My mother says they are useless and a waste of time."
"That sucks," Chuuya replied. "My mom plays with us when she's not too tired."
'That must be so much fun,' Dazai thought. He couldn't remember the last time his mother agreed to play with him.
"What do you do every day?" Chuuya asked. "Do you have any toys?"
Dazai shook his head as a no.
"I usually read a new book to prepare for school, clean the house, or help my parents."
Chuuya frowned, not quite understanding how that was possible for a boy of his age.
"Yeah, but..." he mumbled. "What do you do for... Fun?"
"Oh, I usually just draw," Dazai explained. "Or build something with my brick sets."
Chuuya still didn't understand, but he let it go. After all, everyone had different hobbies to keep them entertained throughout the day.
"Remind me to show you how to play a video game next time."
Next time.
Will there really be a "next time"?
Will Chuuya not only allow him to come again, but also show him one of his favorite games?
That caused his cheeks to suddenly heat up, even though it wasn't hot in the room. Dazai then thought that this boy made him feel absolutely sick.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
"It was a pleasure to meet you!" Chuuya's mom exclaimed with a beaming smile. "Hope to see you again soon."
The women chatted a bit more outside Chuuya's house, trying to find another day to meet for dinner. He and Dazai just stood awkwardly next to their mothers, both waiting for this random get-to-know-your-new-neighbors night to finally come to an end.
When the two of them had finally arranged the next meeting, Chuuya's mother looked down at him and ruffled his hair.
"Give your new friend a hug, sweetie."
Chuuya looked up at her with the expression of someone who had just been brutally betrayed. Again.
"Come on," she said. "He's waiting."
The little boy turned to look at Dazai, and the only thing he could say for sure was that Dazai was, in fact, not waiting for him.
"Go on, Osamu," his mom joined in. "You should give one back."
Unwillingly, the boys approached one another and slowly locked each other in an obviously forced embrace. While Chuuya was not yet ready to fully forgive the strange boy who had suddenly appeared in his house, Dazai's heart beat faster than it should have.
Dazai couldn't help but smell the slightly sweet strawberry scent of the other's shampoo, which made him want to give him a soft kiss on the head just to get a taste. But he knew better than to do that. He's grown up enough to know that hair isn't edible, even if Chuuya's is as shiny as a chocolate glazed cake and as soft as cotton candy.
Chuuya took a step back, waved uncertainly goodbye, and grabbed his mother's hand. As the door closed behind them, Dazai reached for his own mother's hand, but she was already walking down the stairs.
For a moment, Dazai felt ashamed of himself - he could not believe that such a thing had even crossed his mind.
He isn't a little boy. He is nothing like Chuuya.
With a sigh, he followed his mother back to their house without exchanging words.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The next day at kindergarten, Dazai sat in his usual spot, his beloved sketchbook in hand. This time, however, he stopped himself from drawing a big, meaningless shadow.
Dazai began by sketching a small house with two little boys standing next to it. He told himself that the fact that the people he drew on the paper looked exactly like him and Chuuya was pure coincidence.
Still, he made sure to draw Chuuya much smaller than himself.
He didn't miss Chuuya at all. Why would he miss such a shrimp? It's not like he needs his company. Chuuya is loud, energetic and grumpy. Chuuya thinks he is allowed to look so cute just because he is a little boy. Chuuya thinks he is cool because he has some game consoles.
Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya-
Why can't he get that name out of his head? That's annoying.
Just as he was about to tear the page, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.
"The boy with the sketchbook," he said with a grin. "Drawing again?"
Dazai tried to hide his drawing from the curious eyes of the boy in front of him, not wanting him to mock his doodle.
"I have a name, you know," he replied, irritated by the nickname. "It's Dazai Osamu."
That didn't seem to bother Chuuya, as he just shrugged his shoulders.
"Is it okay if I sit next to you?"
Dazai blinked a few times, appalled by the question. Why would Chuuya want to spend time with him?
Without answering his question, Dazai made room for him, silently indicating that he was fine by that.
Chuuya sat down next to him and leaned back, supporting himself with his arms on the ground behind his back. He let his legs dangle and kicked them back and forth from time to time.
Dazai looked at him and sighed dramatically.
"Can you sit normally for a minute?"
That seemed to offend Chuuya, who turned to Dazai with a pout.
"I can do whatever I want!" He said. "You're not my mom to tell me what to do."
Dazai raised his eyebrows in surprize, laughing.
"Like your mom ever tells you to do anything," he remarked. "She treats you like a spoiled little prince."
"You take that back!" He shouted. "She literally forced me to spend time with you last night, stupid."
Dazai took a second before answering, put his sketchbook aside and turned to face him.
"Then what are you doing here right now?" He asked. "I don't see your mom anywhere."
That made Chuuya's cheeks flash bright red as if he had been caught lying.
"Maybe she asked me to be friends with you once you left!" He shouted. "And that's why I'm with you now."
"Whatever."
They sat in silence for the next minute or two. It seemed as if these two would never stop bickering with each other. But even then, what is the thing that keeps them together? What is it called?
Dazai couldn't call Chuuya his friend, at least not yet. Was he an enemy then? No, it couldn't be that. Chuuya was too beautiful for Dazai to want to hate him. Was he a frenemy, then? Is there such a thing?
"I didn't make her cry on purpose, by the way," Dazai muttered suddenly. "Your pink haired friend."
"Her name's Yuan," Chuuya replied. "And she said you pushed her."
Dazai chewed his lip, wondering why he had even started this conversation. It wasn't as if he had to justify himself; he tried not to care what people thought about him anyway. Especially Chuuya. Or so Dazai forced himself to believe.
"She wanted to steal my sketchbook after I told her I didn't want to talk," he explained. "I warned her. And I didn't mean to push her, I just wanted to get my stuff back."
Chuuya seemed to consider his words before standing and offering his hand.
"Stand up," he ordered. "We're going to talk to her."
"Huh?" He asked, confused. "I don't want to."
The serious look Chuuya gave him at that moment almost sent shivers down his spine. But Dazai wasn't going to be intimidated by someone as small as Chuuya.
"Fine, jeez," he muttered annoyed. "You're such a peacemaker."
The actions of the two little boys were witnessed by the curious eyes of the teachers, who couldn't believe what was happening right in front of them. It was the first time they had seen Dazai willingly interact with another child during the entire school year.
They looked at each other in disbelief, not missing the opportunity to gossip about the boy's life once again.
Watching the small group of three toddlers from a distance, they gasped aloud as they saw them hugging each other in an I-forgive-you kind of way.
One of the teachers even put her palm over her heart in a dramatic gesture, as if what they had seen was the most shocking thing that had ever happened to her.
"Is that really him next to Yuan?" She wondered. "The I-don't-talk-to-anyone little guy?"
"Sure is," the other teacher replied. "And that's Chuuya beside them. Our most energetic one. He is a nice boy; the one you could say has the purest soul."
The woman nodded in agreement and sighed to herself.
"Maybe Chuuya will be able fix him."
Fix him.
Fix him, as if Dazai were just an object that was broken by someone who wasn't careful enough with it. As if he were a criminal who had done the unspeakable and was looking for forgiveness. As if he weren't just a child who lacked of affection.
"I hope so," she said. "Because I genuinely feel sorry for his mother."
For his mother. Not for him.
No one ever felt sorry for him.