Chuuya lit a cigarette with fingers that still trembled when he thought no one was watching. His back was to Dazai. He hadn’t said a word since they stepped onto the rooftop.

Not silent, of course. Yokohama never really sleeps. But in a small rooftop garden atop a sleek, renovated building nestled in the quieter parts of the city, the chaos faded to a distant hum. A place where time felt slower. Calmer.

Tonight, lanterns floated in the air like fireflies. Chuuya leaned against the railing, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark, eyes cast toward the stars.

"You're quiet," Dazai said from behind him, voice unusually soft.

"You dragged me up here at midnight on a weekday, and I haven’t slept," Chuuya grumbled, but his voice lacked bite. "What's your excuse?"

Dazai stepped closer, and Chuuya could smell his cologne—warm, faintly like cedarwood, mixed with something sweet.

"You remember this date?" Dazai asked, hands casually tucked in his pockets.

Chuuya snorted. "June 8? Should I?"

Dazai tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Three years ago, today. You punched me in the face and told me I was a manipulative bastard with a death wish."

Chuuya blinked. "Tch. Sounds about right."

"And then you kissed me."

That made Chuuya pause. He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. Dazai wasn’t smirking anymore. His gaze was steady, warm in that way that made Chuuya feel both comforted and calm.

"Yeah," Chuuya said, almost quietly. "I remember."

There was a beat of silence. Then Dazai stepped beside him, held out something in his hand—small, dark velvet.

Chuuya's heart skipped.

"Dazai—"

"I won’t make it dramatic," Dazai cut in, for once serious. "No going around it. No games. Just this."

He opened the box.

Inside, on dark satin, was a ring. Simple. Gold band. A small brown gem on top.

Chuuya stared.

Dazai’s voice dropped to a whisper, raw and unguarded. "You’re the one who stayed. Through everything. My character. The hospital visits, the nights I disappeared from the mafia. You called me out on every lie. You never let me go."

Chuuya swallowed hard. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Dazai took a breath. "So, Nakahara Chuuya… will you marry me?"

There was silence. The wind tugged gently at Chuuya's hair. Below them, the world continued spinning.

And then—

"You bastard," Chuuya murmured, eyes glassy. "You couldn’t even wait until I got a haircut or dressed up properly?"

Dazai chuckled. "You always look perfect."

Chuuya looked at the ring again. Then at Dazai.

"...Of course I’ll marry you."