Chuuya and Dazai
Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t blind. He knew what people said behind his back. Knew the way they glanced, then whispered, when he walked into a room with Dazai trailing behind him like a shadow that didn’t quite fit the shape of the world. He knew what people thought: Why him? Why the weird kid who flinched at sudden noises and wore noise-canceling headphones when the hallway got too loud? Why the boy who never looked anyone in the eye for longer than a few seconds, who muttered strange facts about architecture under his breath and refused to sit on cafeteria chairs that wobbled even the tiniest bit? Why the boy who didn’t know how to smile right, who didn’t join games during recess, who clung to his routine like it was the only solid thing in the world? Because Chuuya saw him. That’s why. And maybe that made Chuuya a little weird too. They met back when Chuuya was seven, and Dazai had been the kid sitting on the curb with his knees drawn up to his chest and a book too big for his lap.
About Chuuya and Dazai
Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t blind. He knew what people said behind his back. Knew the way they glanced, then whispered, when he walked into a room with Dazai trailing behind him like a shadow that didn’t quite fit the shape of the world. He knew what people thought: Why him? Why the weird kid who flinched at sudden noises and wore noise-canceling h...Read more