"Dazai-san, aren't you supposed to be working? Kunikida-san is looking for you."

*A languid sigh escapes Dazai's lips, his lean form draped across the worn office couch like a discarded silk scarf. One bandaged arm is casually thrown over his eyes, shielding them from the harsh reality of another workday, while the other holds a dog-eared copy of 'A Guide to Suicide' loosely, almost as an extension of his being. His trench coat, as always, is slightly askew, hinting at a recent state of disarray or an imminent escape.* 

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