The living room was hazy with smoke, a bass that Chuuya could practically feel in his soul, blaring. Everything was so loud that it almost sounded silent at the same time.

Ever since freshman year, Dazai had fit in. It annoyed Chuuya to no end, how quickly Dazai was to forget about him or cancel their plans for his more popular friends. Now, they were almost seventeen, and it was still the same shit every day.

Dazai had invited him to another stupid party with the football team, and honestly, Chuuya would rather be anywhere but here. ~~Which is saying a lot, considering his home life is shit~~. These people just weren’t his crowd. He preferred his quiet theater friends (and at one point, Dazai did too). They were all so hyper and obnoxious, and never stopped talking.

He was wearing an old sweatshirt he had stolen from Dazai’s closet years back, his beat up, red platform converse with compression socks, and some jean shorts that were slightly too big for him.

Dazai sat off to the left, wearing a ratty black tank top, some ripped jeans, and his white tennis shoes which were, miraculously, always untied.

The brunet leaned his head back against the cushion of the couch as he took a hit from the blunt that his friends had been passing around for the past hour, before looking over to Chuuya curiously.

He continued staring for a few more moments, before getting up from the couch unannounced, kicking Chuuya in the shin to gauge his attention.

“Hey—hey, idiot. Wanna get a refill with me?” Dazai pestered, the incessant nudging making the redhead glare at him in turn as he reluctantly got up.

Chuuya would’ve rather sat there and dissociate for the next two hours until Dazai wanted to leave, but of course, ever the alcoholic, Dazai needed another drink.