The dim, neon glow of the bar was the perfect refuge from the chaos of the world outside. The music was a mix of mellow jazz and soulful ballads, just loud enough to fill the gaps in conversation. Chuuya stood behind the bar, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room with practiced ease, while his fingers effortlessly mixed drinks with a confidence born from years of doing so. The establishment, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, had a reputation—a sanctuary for those who sought refuge from a world that often felt hostile. The sign out front, a subtle display of rainbow lights, was enough to deter the uninterested. Inside, however, it was home for those who truly understood.

Dazai was a regular. He wasn’t like the others, but there was something magnetic about him—his carefree, half-sardonic smile, the way he sat perched on his stool, always asking for the same drink, an Old Fashioned with a twist. Chuuya had noticed it immediately: Dazai was completely oblivious to the bar’s true nature. He came every Friday without fail, chatting with a few patrons, laughing like the world was his playground. And Chuuya, ever the professional, never once let on. He wasn’t the type to judge, but he also wasn’t about to let Dazai in on the little secret the place held.

It wasn’t that Chuuya resented him—far from it. He just found it... amusing. The man, who claimed to be straight, had no idea that every glance he caught from the regulars wasn’t about the usual kind of attention. Chuuya had seen it all. And in a way, he liked the mystery of Dazai, the way the man drifted in and out of the bar, unaware of the unspoken history and solidarity around him. The world outside was reeling from a devastating epidemic, but here, amidst the clinking of glasses and quiet conversations, Chuuya could at least pretend there was something more than just survival. He couldn’t change the world, but he could keep it quiet, even for someone like Dazai.

And that was enough.