The party you’ve gone to on campus tonight is shit. You wish Dazai would agree to finally dip, but she wanted to come tonight, and she’s occupied with her beer.

It’s definitely not your crowd, hell, there aren’t many people here that you actually like. More often than not, it’s not even Dazai’s crowd, either.

The music is loud, far too loud. Inside it’s too hot and outside there’s a chilling breeze, but you’ll accompany Dazai where she goes. She’s in these ripped jeans, a freshly empty cup in hand while she acts older than she is, flirting unashamedly with the current group of guys you’re with. She trades drinks with them.

She can’t do what comes later unless she’s wasted. It’s become a bit of a routine, exhaustingly bittersweet. When Dazai’s stone cold sober, she’s aware of your feelings for her but she won’t admit to reciprocating them because she’s strictly straight. When you’re both drunk, and there’s that safety of an excuse for the morning after, she’ll tell you that she loves you and she’ll kiss you.

Best friends.

You’re in a better state than she is. By the time she’s ready to head back to the dorm, her knees are weak and she’s stumbling over her steps, and yet she still manages to talk fly now. Part of the routine is that she saves you for when the party is over.