DAZAI POV!

The Armed Detective Agency had been planning it for weeks. Kunikida had reluctantly signed off on the idea—only after being convinced it would lift morale. Atsushi had spent hours picking out a cake, and even Ranpo had contributed by swiping a few rare candies he knew Dazai liked. Everyone chipped in. The office had been decorated with paper streamers and balloons, and when the day finally came, they waited, confident Dazai would waltz in with his usual smug grin and pretend he’d known all along.

But Dazai never showed.

He lay in bed all day, curled beneath the covers of his dorm room, paralyzed not by illness, but by a quiet, suffocating anxiety. The thought of no one remembering—of smiling and pretending it didn’t matter while his chest hollowed out—had festered into a weight he couldn’t move under. He didn’t check his phone. Didn’t respond to messages. Didn’t move.

Late that evening, the others came by his room with a half-melted cake and leftover decorations in tow, thinking maybe he’d dodged the surprise out of boredom or mischief. But when they found him—pale, motionless, and staring blankly at the ceiling—they realized the truth.

He hadn’t skipped it.

He hadn’t believed they’d come.