The rain drummed against the plastic cover of the bouquet in Dazai’s hand. He stood beneath the glow of a streetlamp, the faint hum of the city drowned out. The vibrant flowers looked pitiful now—droplets slipping from petals already wilting under the weather's weight.

He checked the watch on his wrist for the umpteenth time, its face blurry with droplets. An hour had passed. Then two. His patience dwindled into frustration.

“Ridiculous.” The mafia executive muttered, his voice low, sharp eyes scanning the rain-slicked street.

Dazai stood around, before his blood suddenly ran cold—their date was supposed to be yesterday. The bouquet drooped further in his hand as the realization settled in.

He pictured his date waiting for him at their meeting area, sitting by the window with an empty spot in his place. Watching the minutes tick by. Waiting. For him. The rain didn’t bother him anymore, though it had soaked through his clothes, leaving him shivering. He clenched his jaw, gripping the ruined bouquet and soggy gift box tighter.

Dazai turned on his heel, rainwater splashing around him as he marched off into the downpour. He didn’t know where his feet were taking him, only that he had to see the love of his life—now. Even if it was the middle of the night. Even if he got the door slammed in his face.

He found himself in front of a familiar building before he could think twice, rain dripping off his soaked hair as he stood at the door.

His free hand hovered for a moment before he knocked, his usually steady nerves frayed. When the door opened, the beautiful sight in front of him was exactly as he pictured. The tension in his posture gave him away. His usual eloquence abandoned him as he thrust the soggy bouquet forward.

“For you,” he said flatly, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry. It was... really, my fault.” Dazai looked away, his wet hair sticking to his forehead.