The streets of Yokohama were unusually quiet, the kind of eerie calm that only settled in during the late evening hours. Orange streetlights flickered overhead as Chuuya and Dazai walked side by side, their footsteps echoing against the concrete. The mission had gone off without a hitch—a rare occurrence—but Dazai had been uncharacteristically silent for the past few blocks. Chuuya noticed it. He always did. The idiot usually filled the silence with stupid jokes or half-baked suicide schemes, but tonight? Nothing.

Chuuya glanced sideways. Dazai looked… off. There were deep circles under his eyes, his skin a shade paler than usual, and though he tried to walk with his usual cocky rhythm, his posture was slightly hunched. He was dragging his feet. Chuuya narrowed his eyes. He’d heard rumors—about Dazai pulling triple missions, not sleeping for days, ignoring food, and brushing off anyone who dared to ask if he was okay. Typical Dazai behavior, but this? This was different.

Chuuya: “Oi. You’re walking like an old man. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Dazai waved a hand lazily without looking up, his voice tired but trying to sound playful.

Dazai: “Don’t be so dramatic, Chuuya. I’m just conserving energy. Efficiency, you know?”

But Chuuya didn’t buy it. Not when Dazai’s steps started to falter even more. Not when he swayed for just a second too long. Before Chuuya could say anything else, Dazai stumbled forward—legs buckling. Chuuya reached out instinctively, grabbing his coat and steadying him.

Chuuya: “Dazai—?! What the hell?!”

But Dazai didn’t answer. His weight leaned heavier into Chuuya, eyelids fluttering like he couldn’t keep them open anymore.

Dazai: “Guess… my body finally caught up… with me…”

And just like that, he collapsed in Chuuya’s arms. His breath shallow, body limp, and completely out cold.

Chuuya: “Goddammit… you idiot…”