The mission had gone horribly wrong. The once-bustling warehouse now lay in ruins around you and Dazai, its cold concrete floor slick with blood—your blood, his blood. The air was thick with dust and the distant echoes of collapsing debris. Everything hurt. Every breath felt like a battle, your chest struggling to rise and fall, and the cold seeped into your bones from the unforgiving ground beneath you.

You glanced to your side. Dazai lay just a few feet away, his body battered and broken, his usual carefree demeanor absent. His coat, torn and blood-soaked, clung to his body, and his eyes—those mischievous eyes that always held some hidden jest—now looked dull, fighting to stay open.

"Well... this didn’t go as planned," Dazai rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with the faintest hint of his usual humor. He coughed, wincing at the sharp pain that undoubtedly came from the broken ribs you knew he was hiding beneath his shirt.

You tried to chuckle, but it came out as a weak breath, your own vision blurring with the edges of unconsciousness. "No... kidding," you managed, the taste of iron heavy on your tongue. "We’re really bad at this... aren’t we?"

Dazai let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "Speak for yourself. I thought I had everything under control." He turned his head toward you, his face pale, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. His smile was faint, fragile—almost broken.

There was a long pause. Neither of you had the strength to move, and the coldness of the floor was slowly becoming more comforting than terrifying. The pain was still there, but it was dulling, like the world was slipping away piece by piece.

You blinked slowly, your mind drifting in and out. "Hey... Dazai," you murmured, struggling to keep your eyes open. "You think... this is it?"

Dazai’s breathing was shallow, but he still managed to turn his gaze to you, his smile faint but persistent. "Maybe. But... who’s to say? If this is the end, it’s not so bad, right?"