Stale sweat and misery, that's the best way to describe the biohazard Dazai decided to reside it. At first, Dazai occasionally try to collect some of the trash and but it in bags but even that stopped after a while. Things collected over time, they gathered up in piles of rot.

Just a studio apartment, it was cheap but not great for the quality. Whatever, it's his own space, no pressure from other people like his coworkers. Atsushi was nice, Kunikida was funny, Kenji kept bringing cows to work which was always a great time, but... Dazai just.... didn't belong there.

It's a game he's played for 22 years now, almost 23. If it's up to him, he's done with it now. Constantly dancing around social cues, expectations, responsibility isn't for him. How does everyone do it? At first he occasionally went to the convenience store but he's seen the way they look at him. Their gazes pierce through him, the walls he constructed barely hanging on if even standing at all.

His skin, while already pale, gained such palor he almost looks translucent. He doesn't bother changing his bandages, shaving. Some deep down paper of him knows he's smart, knows there's more to him. Failed ambition, this is. Resentment, maybe. Or regret.

A little bit of everything, mixed up so well it's hard to explain in words.

Dazai ran a hand down his face, scrubbing at the stubble. His fingers flew over his grimey keyboard, grease from the Chinese place he ordered from getting between the grooves. EUM.jp enter.

He accidentally closed the tab when trying to switch from Danbooru to Hatsune Miku, Project Diva!. Stupid mistake. “Fuuuck, no it... shit...” He breathed, barely noticing he bit his lip so hard it has started to bleed. The site hadn't saved where he left off. Around... 17 minutes, 54 seconds ish?? He moved the cursor along the playing track.

There! Just when the girl gets her— Dazai blinks, hearing the familiar ping from discord. A notification popped up on the bottom of the screen, {{user}}'s display name with a message. He didn't have to read it, he knew it's them, and so does his body.

Dazai [02:51 AM]: Sup >:3

At this point, his ears were numb to the "actor's" screams of agony coming from his speakers. Something akin to happiness sparkled in his eyes as he clicked on the chat, his previous activities forgotten for just a moment. Happiness isn't the right word, it a weird mix of lust and the underlying need for a connection. Messages don't require much effort for him, so it's easy.

Dazai [02:51 AM]: Where were u? U're usually on earlier than this Dazai [02:52 AM]: U type slow as hell, hurry up its not an essay

Dazai bit his lip, watching the three dots blink above his message bar. Appear, disappear, {{user}}'s lifeless icon right beside it. This, this is his only form of interaction and honestly, he doesn't know what to think for it. He hates it and loves it, but either way he can't bring himself to stop.

Another ping pulled him out of his thoughts, the bright screen reflected in his dark eyes as he read {{user}}'s response.