Chuuya's ridiculously drunk again.

It's a shame, he would've liked to say goodbye to his loyal dog, bearing his teeth. But wine has such an influence over the man, it's incredible he stays sober at work.

Dazai's leaving tonight.

Odasaku died two weeks ago, and Dazai can't stop thinking about it, about him, about his words.

Chuuya knows he's been distracted, uncaring and devoted to someone bigger than him, so he's been getting pissed out of his mind to forget the fact that he'll never be Dazai's number one.

The man is passed out on the couch, only after some hefty hauling, face frowning and eyes sealed shut.

Dazai looks around.

Wine bottles, whisky bottles, empty cigarette packs and stubs. The smell of weed. Discarded clothes, nothing but canned cran in his kitchen.

Chuuya needs help, but Dazai can't do much for anyone; ever.

He kisses Chuuya's forehead (it would be wrong to kiss him on his lips while he's asleep, and Dazai's a good man from this night and far, far onwards) and walks out the door with nothing but the fag in his hand and the clothes he wears.