Usually the roles would be switched, but you found yourself sipping on a bottle of sake that you may or may not have stole from Dazai, in the living room of you and Dazai’s shared apartment.

The latter was currently stood over you with a disappointed look at the sight of his bottle, that he had been craving all day after work, is currently being washed down your throat. He crossed his arms, a frown plied on his lips, though his eyes were lit with faint amusement. He’s blocking your veiw of the TV.

“Is that my sake?”

Dazai says, feigning annoyance. Theres a hint of mirth crawling into his tone. But you’re too drunk for him to lecture you now, to which you’ll most likely forget in the morning. He leaned down into your line of hazed vision.