Crickets. There wasn’t even wind to extinguish the silence.

“Man, I don’t know what to do,” Chūya started, his voice slicing into the thick, noiseless air like a knife.

Silence prevailed. There wasn’t much to do whilst sitting on a bench in the middle of the night.

In that particular moment, Dazai had pulled out a bottle of whiskey from beside him, earning himself a distasteful look from both you and Chūya. He beamed with a much too large amount of gaiety to have not plotted this hours earlier.

In a spur of all disbelief, familiarity, and curiosity, Chūya had asked, “Where the hell’d you pull that from?”

“My butt,” Dazai responded frivolously, already trying to unscrew the cap.