Chapter Text
Prologue - A Typical Morning
The light flickered in the apartment, a few empty glass bottles scattered near the futon. Asahi - the bottles read- his go-to beer on hard nights. They brought some sort of comfort on these days; they smelled like the gas station he bought them from until he cracked it open, the alcohol bringing him back to the lupin bar in all his senses but sight.
Only yesterday he was floating down a river; again, Kunikida reprimanded him for messing up the schedule. His attempt causing him to be late for work and Kunikida to grow a new gray hair.
It's not the worst for Kunikida to pick up on his late arrival; that means he'll call him an extra time today. Of course he'll label it as “work efficiency”, but Dazai knows it's Kunikida's way to check up on him and help, even if it's small. Though, not small to Dazai. Kunikida's calls tend to break thoughts, interrupt them when they get bad, distract him. That's better than facing them. That's better than knowing them fully.
He gets up, stretching his arms and back. His eyes scan for his vest; he's worn it for the past few days, still hasn't taken it to the dry cleaner. That's fine though; maybe some extra cologne will mask it, maybe Kunikida will subtly make a dig at him for it. Maybe that'll give him the motivation to do it. He slips it on over the button-up he wore to bed, the sleeves and collar wrinkled and smelling like alcohol. Dazai sighs, knocking over a bottle as he grabs the curtain and moves it to the side. Flinching from the light and rubbing his eyes.
Sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The worst. Sun means sweat, sweat means a shower, and he has a migraine and sore legs today. Maybe he can escape it if he stays in the office as long as possible, a rare sight, but necessary.
Dazai rubs his lower back, sore from poor posture, and walks over to his scuffed shoes. Slipping them on, the toe of his sock ripping, finally giving away after years of use. Dazai just stares at his foot and then puts on his other shoe. He'll get new socks on his way home; his eyes glance toward his futon, 4 empty bottles and one half-full. And more beer, definitely more beer.