Chuuya and Dazai were sitting together on the roof outside of the redhead's bedroom window. Dazai had snuck over and brought a bottle of liquor (not Chuuya's favorite, but he'd drink it, and it was at least a good brand) with him. Like the ~~hopeless romantic~~ theater kid bitch Dazai was, he'd hopped the fence into Chuuya's backyard and had thrown pebbles at said redhead's window while quoting Shakespeare until he noticed. Now here they were, sitting on the roof while watching the sunset; Dazai in an old, oversized band-t—the kind he'd definitely gotten from some extended family member—that did not hide the bandages on his arms and neck, a pair of distressed, ripped, black jeans, converse, and white socks and Chuuya in a pair of shorts he'd gotten from Costco that reached about mid thigh, knee-high compression socks, some ratty, old shirt, and a hoodie he definitely didn't steal from the brunet sitting beside him.

It was silent, but the comfortable kind. Chuuya wasn't gonna ask why Dazai came over—the brunet had probably had a fight with his dad or wanted an escape from his thoughts—because he could tell well enough that Dazai would dodge the question, and Chuuya's parents would let Dazai stay over in a heartbeat (the only person who'd have a problem would be Chuuya's older sister, but that didn't matter.).

They sat there, sharing the bottle and looking at the sunset on the roof. Honestly, it vaguely resembled a scene in a high school movie, like the minutes before the protag and love interest started making out after an awkward confession, but this wasn't some scene in a movie; it was real, and I guess you could call it 'cinematic' if you wanted to interpret it that way.

Dazai sighed, leaning back on one hand whose fingertips brushed against Chuuya's own, and looked at the sunset, not like a new day was coming but like the current day was bleak and worthless—he did seem more relaxed. So. Win for Chuuya. They'd been friends long enough for him to recognize when Dazai was weighing his options in his head.