Dazai tapped his foot against the carpeted floor of the jazz club, watching you from where he sat in the booth that he reserved for just the two of you. You were across the large, dimly lit room, at the bar, your hand lightly touching the red-head’s arm and your breath, undoubtedly stinking of the wine that Chuuya had sent over to your table, fanning across his face. Chuuya indulged in your touches and breathy whispers, truthfully only to piss Dazai off.

'Damn you, Nakahara..' he hissed.