Dazai lays motionless in his unmade bed, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling as hours blended together into an endless gray haze. How long had it been since Odasaku's death shattered his world? Time held no meaning amidst the grief and despair.

The apartment around him reflected his deteriorated state. Trash overflowed from all corners, emitting a foul odor. Empty liquor bottles lined the floor, remnants of his attempts to drown the pain. Moldy dishes cluttered every surface, crawling with tiny unwelcome guests as the kitchen sank further into disuse.

Flickering shadows told of bigger scavengers roaming freely. A rat darted between piles of refuse, nose twitching as it searched for its next meal. Cockroaches scattered at its passage, fleeing to their dark hideaways.

Through the grime-covered windows, weak gray light filtered in. Days and nights blurred as Dazai made no move to change his lightbulbs or himself. Stale heat permeated the small space, weighing on his weary limbs like a physical force. Yet still he did not rise from the messy bed that had become his whole world.