The red strings of fate

A Game of Nerves

Chuuya wasn't annoyed.

No, he was pissed off.

The entire morning had been a disaster. First, he had to wake up at dawn to scrub the dining hall floors—thanks to his punishment from Miss Sasaki—and now, after barely getting a break, he had to deal with the most irritating, insufferable, smug bastard he had ever met in his life.

Dazai Osamu.

Chuuya didn't know what it was about that guy, but he had a talent for getting under his skin.

And right now? Right now, that talent was in full force.

They were sitting on the orphanage's front steps, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the worn-out pavement. Chuuya hadn't meant to end up here—he had planned to head to the back garden and avoid everyone, but somehow, Dazai had appeared out of nowhere and started following him.

"Oi," Chuuya snapped, glaring at him. "Are you following me?"

Dazai hummed, resting his chin in his hand as he lounged beside him. "Maybe~."

Chuuya clenched his jaw. "Cut that out."

"Cut what out?"

"That smug, annoying tone."

Dazai chuckled. "Oh? You think my tone is annoying?" He leaned in slightly, brown eyes glinting with amusement. "Or do you just hate the fact that I know how to get a reaction out of you?"

Chuuya stiffened, scowling. How the hell does he read people so well?

He turned away, muttering under his breath. "You're full of yourself."

"Maybe. But at least I'm interesting."

Chuuya groaned, rubbing his temples. "I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"You'll what?" Dazai interrupted, tilting his head. "Punch me?"

Chuuya hesitated. That's what he always did, wasn't it? That was how he got people to leave him alone. A few quick hits, and they'd back off. But Dazai...

Dazai wasn't afraid of him.

And for some reason, that made Chuuya feel completely unarmed.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're exhausting."

Dazai grinned. "I get that a lot."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the sounds of the orphanage fading into the background. Kids ran around the yard, their laughter echoing in the air. Somewhere inside, Miss Sasaki was probably lecturing another poor soul who had gotten into trouble. The scent of summer lingered in the breeze—warm pavement, faint traces of flowers from the garden, and the distant smell of something cooking in the kitchen.

It was... oddly peaceful.

Then Dazai spoke again. "So... why do you always fight?"

Chuuya's body tensed. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dazai didn't look at him, just kept staring out at the street beyond the orphanage gates. "I mean, you're strong. You don't need to prove that to anyone. And yet..." He turned to Chuuya then, his brown eyes sharper than before. "You always feel like you have to."

Chuuya felt his chest tighten. He hated that. The way Dazai could say something so casually and still hit the mark perfectly.

"Tch," Chuuya scoffed, looking away. "Like you'd understand."

Dazai shrugged. "Try me."

Chuuya frowned. He didn't want to talk about it. He never did. But something about Dazai's gaze made it hard to brush off. It wasn't pity. It wasn't judgment. It was just... curiosity.

After a long moment, Chuuya exhaled. "People see me as weak," he muttered. "Because I'm short, because I grew up in this place. If I don't fight back, they'll walk all over me."

Dazai hummed. "And you think throwing punches is the only way to stop them?"

Chuuya shot him a look. "It works."

"Does it?" Dazai mused, tapping a finger against his chin. "Because from what I've seen, they just keep coming back."

Chuuya stiffened. He hated that Dazai was right.

He clenched his fists, his voice lower now. "What do you want me to do? Just take it?"

"No," Dazai said simply. "I want you to win."

Chuuya blinked. "What?"

Dazai turned fully to him now, resting his arm on the step behind him. "You're strong, Chuuya. No one's arguing that. But real strength isn't just about fighting. It's about knowing when to fight."

Chuuya frowned, considering that. He had always thought strength was about proving himself, about making sure no one ever saw him as weak. But Dazai... Dazai was confident in a way Chuuya wasn't. Not because he was stronger, but because he never felt the need to prove anything.

That pissed Chuuya off.

But it also... intrigued him.

Chuuya let out a frustrated sigh. "You're annoying."

Dazai smirked. "You've said that already."

"And I'll keep saying it until it sticks."

Dazai chuckled. Then, after a pause, he leaned in just slightly. "You know... for someone who supposedly hates me, you sure do spend a lot of time around me."

Chuuya's face heated. "I do not—"

Dazai grinned, his voice dropping to something almost teasing. "Could it be that you like me, Chuuya?"

Chuuya nearly choked. His whole body tensed, his face burning. "What?!"

Dazai laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Your face is red~."

"I swear to god—" Chuuya lunged, aiming to grab him by the collar—

But Dazai was faster.

Before Chuuya could get a hold of him, Dazai poked his forehead again—just like he had the other day—before swiftly ducking out of reach.

Chuuya froze, his entire body locking up.

The second time. That was the second damn time this bastard had done that.

His forehead tingled.

Dazai smirked, hands in his coat pockets as he stepped backward down the stairs. "Well, this was fun~. Let's do it again sometime, yeah?"

Chuuya growled, standing up so fast he nearly tripped. "You bastard—!"

But Dazai was already walking away, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

Chuuya stood there, fists clenched, his heart pounding.

He hated him.

He hated the way he could get under his skin.

He hated that stupid forehead flick.

But most of all?

He hated that he didn't actually hate it at all.

(I hope you enjoyed this chapter!Please leave a vote or comment to support me!❤️)