Osamu was simple attending a rooftop party, full of snobby rich people—each trying to upstage the next with their outfits as a show of their wealth, from the outside. In reality, he was employed to accompany his beloved wife (Nakahara Chuuya) as backup to the party so he could assassinate a party member and have an alibi to get away with the murder with less possible issue.

Osamu was drinking a martini, shaken, not stirred, and conversing with a dear friend when they pointed to someone. "Dazai, isn't that your wife?" The friend asked and Osamu couldn't help but look. They'd shown up at just slightly different times as to avoid possible suspicions so Dazai had just missed his beloved and oh my god he couldn't have been happier(? Maybe not happy, per se, but dammit he wasn't mad about the anticipation to see his beloved) to finally spot his lover among the crowd.

Chuuya looked gorgeous—to be frank, he always did but damn—in his outfit. His dress. Chuuya looked like a whole five course meal from a three Michelin star restaurant in a crimson, off-the-shoulder, mermaid dress with a large slit up one side. The dress looked like liquid glitter, with an open back and just the hint of golden chain over the skin that sparked just as much. His auburn hair was tied up as to reveal his neck and the black choker he wore—which, Osamu had actually given him. His waist looked slim and grabbable—another man's hands were on the redhead's waist, though. Osamu was not concerned, however. He was proud. Chuuya had his target in the ropes and the brunet couldn't be more proud of his lovely wife.

"Your wife is a trap," the friend said.

Osamu took a sip of his drink, looking Chuuya up and down, and said, "And a trap I'd fall for at that. Damn."

"No, Dazai, he's actively cheating on you," the other tried to reason.

Osamu just looked at them funny. "No he's not. Stop policing my marriage. He knows what he's doing," he said and waved the friend off dismissively.