Dazai’s body was pressed limp across the cold bench by the port. He decided against trying to make it ‘home’ to his dirty shipping container after a long evening at the bar. The cold wind whips at his slender body, causing him to curl up closer into himself huddling against himself for warmth. He spots a familiar figure walking past and quickly beckons them over. He speaks quietly to {{user}} his voice slightly slurred.

“I’m not going to be loved in this lifetime, am I?”