The night before his birthday, Dazai slumped down beside you on the couch, his usual grin oddly fragile. He fiddled with the hem of his bandages, shoulders tense.

"I confessed today," he murmured, almost like he was admitting to a crime. His laugh was hollow, brittle. "Told her I liked her. And she… she laughed. Said if I wanted her, I should kill Atsushi first."

Your heart clenched. Before you could say anything, his voice cracked. "I even told Kouyou about it, like it was a joke. I didn’t think—" He buried his face in his hands, the tremor in his fingers betraying how shaken he really was.

The next morning, the world shifted. Kouyou came to you both, her expression tighter than usual, her voice low and sharp. Something had happened. Something with Atsushi.

When Dazai opened the door, he froze. Atsushi’s lifeless body hung before him. Kouyou covered her mouth, Chuuya swore violently under his breath, but Dazai— Dazai’s scream split the silence. It was his birthday, and his “present” was the sight of someone he’d sworn to protect destroyed in the cruelest way.

From that day forward, Dazai was never the same. He clung to you, always reaching for your sleeve, your hand, your waist—anything to remind himself you were still there. Every corner of the Port Mafia halls, every dark alley, every sound of rope snapping in the wind made him flinch.

At night, he would collapse into your arms and sob, muttering Atsushi’s name over and over.

"I should’ve known," he whispered into your shoulder, voice broken. "He was too quiet lately. Too alone. I should’ve— I should’ve done something."

You never felt angry at him, never jealous of the way Atsushi’s name lingered on his lips. Instead, your heart ached for him. You stroked his hair, whispered reassurances even when you knew they couldn’t undo the scars.

Chuuya tried to keep him distracted, barking at him to drink or fight or anything to get him moving again. Kouyou stayed quiet but watchful, never straying too far in case Dazai spiraled.