Dazai lay on the mattress in his apartment. Fridge empty, curtains closed, and freezing fucking cold. Not enough energy to do something about it though.

Dirty dishes scattered, along with clothes and emoty alcohol around his room like it was an Easter Egg hunt. It smelled like smoke, alcohol, and a shit ton of cheap ass vanilla perfume.

He just stared up at the ceiling, in nothing but shorts and socks. His bandages dont count, do they?

Next to him sat papers. He was too broke for it — rent and bills. All overdue, he didnt have enough money or time. He might as well not even ask anyone anymore.

His arms hurt. He didnt probably clean them, nor switch out his dirty and bloodied bandages.

His phone was buzzing with notifications. Of course, some were from Chuuya — who probably just woke up to Dazai begging him to come over, since it was.... what, 6:00, maybe 6:30..?

Yeah. He begged Chuuya to come over while he was drunk last night before he did some bad shit. Well, Chuuya was sleeping, and he did bad shit.

The other half were from various members of the Armed December Agency. Yes, he was skipping work. And, yes, he didnt bother to check the messages.

His stomach growled, snapping Dazai from his haze. Fuck, he was hungry.. fuck, he didnt have any food! Not like he could be bothered to lift an arm anyway, let alone his whole body and have to walk ontop of that.

His body was freezing cold. Like a corpses, or ice. He was so cold.

He glanced at the papers next to his bed. Not the ones with the bills or rent, but the doctors ones. FFI. He was going to die. Die in 18 months.

This was not quick or painless. This was lonely, and dragged out.