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Summary
Dazai couldn't live past this birthday.
Oda was twenty-three when he died, and he was an amazing person! So why did Dazai live this far?..
He rises from the shitty bed he sleeps in, he had called off work (much to Kunikida's dismay) for today. As he got up and stretched, his bones make a sickening pop sound. He scowls at it, getting up and going to his small bathroom.
Dazai stares into the mirror, his bandaged hand snakes up to his neck. Ah... He had slept in his bandages, once again. He sighed, looking around his restroom, eyes landing on a bloodied blade... He touched it, the cold metal slightly rusted and clumped with blood.
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