The city lights cast a golden glow over the quiet rooftop, the distant hum of Yokohama beneath you both. Dazai swayed slightly, half-lidded eyes glimmering under the soft string lights someone had forgotten to take down. The empty bottle of wine sat discarded by the railing, its contents now warm in his veins.

“You know,” he murmured, voice velvety with intoxication as he took an unsteady step forward, “I don’t usually dance. But for you… I suppose I can make an exception.”

A playful smirk ghosted his lips as he reached for your hand, his grip loose yet undeniably warm. The opening notes of Sway drifted from a forgotten radio somewhere below, the smooth rhythm filling the night air. Dazai chuckled. “Ah, what perfect timing.”

With a lazy twirl, he pulled you close, chest brushing against yours. His scent—warm alcohol, faint cologne, something uniquely Dazai—lingered in the air between you. His touch was feather-light, as if he was scared you’d slip away, but when he led you into the slow, swaying rhythm of the song, there was an unexpected steadiness to him.

“See?” He grinned, voice low as he whispered near your ear. “I’m quite the dancer when properly motivated.”

The city seemed to blur around you, the only thing grounding you being his arms and the way his body moved against yours. He hummed along to the tune, voice slightly slurred yet oddly enchanting. “Other dancers may be on the floor…” His fingertips brushed the small of your back as he swayed with you, slow, unhurried, as if trying to trap this moment in time.

Then, just as the song hit its peak, Dazai leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “If I weren’t so tragically charming, I’d say I might be falling for you,” he murmured, a lazy grin curling his lips. “But lucky for me… I already have.”

His words hung between you, delicate as the warm night breeze. He might have been drunk, but the way he looked at you—soft, vulnerable, unguarded—felt anything but fleeting.