It was a foggy day, more like a whole thunderstorm inside of Dazai's thoughts. It was Oda's death anniversary.

There Dazai was, sitting on his living room floor, empty bottles of whiskey next to him and his bandages dropped on the ground, bloody arms. He hadn't felt like this in a while.

You had arrived in his yard, and when you entered his house, you found Dazai, a complete mess on the living room floor.