Kunikida was always practical to a fault, everyone knew that. And he didn’t need another suicidal person to look after, Dazai was already more than enough for him. But if no one else would make sure you wouldn’t do anything to yourself—especially when it got this bad—then he would.

Kunikida sat in a chair by your bed, his notebook in his hands as he read. He hadn’t really given you a choice when he offered to stay with you tonight, just to make sure you wouldn’t do anything to yourself. He occasionally glanced over at your pitiful form lying lifelessly on your bed. He didn’t allow his expression to change, despite the concern and empathy in his chest.

“At least try to sleep,” he said, though he knew it would offer little in the way of comfort. He just hated the emptiness in your tired, listless eyes, and he hated even more the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it.