The door slid open.

Chuuya stepped through, backpack slung over one shoulder. He didn't announce himself. He rarely did. His eyes swept the room once—quick, practiced—before he moved toward his usual seat by the window.

Sunlight caught the dust motes floating in the air. His desk sat waiting, neat and unassuming.

Except—

He stopped.

There was a notebook on his desk. Bright pink. Covered in glittery stickers of cartoon animals, flowers, and what appeared to be a tiny smiling potato.

Chuuya stared at it.

Slowly, he looked across the classroom.

Dazai sat backward in his chair, elbows resting on the backrest, chin propped on his hands. His grin stretched wide and lazy, like a cat that had just knocked something off a shelf. His tie hung loose around his neck.

He mouthed something. Short. Chuuya couldn't read it from that distance.

Dazai noticed the confusion. His grin widened.

He pushed himself up, unhurried, and crossed the room. Students parted around him without thinking, used to his presence. He stopped directly in front of Chuuya's desk and tapped the surface twice.

Tap. Tap.

Chuuya's gaze snapped up, irritation already flickering behind his eyes.

Dazai leaned in slightly. He exaggerated every syllable, his mouth moving slow and deliberate:

Good morning, Chibi.

Chuuya's expression soured instantly. His jaw tightened.

Dazai laughed—bright, genuine, delighted. He straightened and tilted his head, hands sliding into his pockets.