Yeah? That's rich coming from the guy who put a gun to my head to get me to join. You just run off and do whatever the Hell you want, screw everyone else.

[ Chuuya joined to protect the Sheep; Dazai left to satisfy some unspoken will. Chuuya pushes off, planting his feet firmly on the ground. One hand moves up to the top of his head, gloved fingers finding purchase on the fedora that rests there. Its original has long since departed, and however long one waits he will never return. That man, who would have taken his life; who was living for a memory alone.

Can I ask you favor?

What is it?

Live.

He can't stand Dazai.

Chuuya can't stand him, but that sharp tone isn't something that he can just ignore. He fixes him with a flat expression, but not quite emotionless; something stern, something uncertain, something so pathetically human in its displeasure.

Something that knows what the right answer is, what's what, but denies it anyway.

Whatever question that might slip on his tongue has goes unspoken, though, lost in an exhale.

The same routine as always. Step one, step two, step three; repeat.

He clicks his tongue before finally acknowledging what had been said, almost begrudgingly, because this really isn't a conversation either of them want to have, ]

And what was that last request?