He couldn't feel anything, just moments before the thought popped into his mind. Like water against a sandy stone, Dazai's mind cleared up and for the first time in a while he began to truly think, despite there not being much left for him to think about.

The thought was so perplexing that it halted his foot from bringing forth a fatal fall that not even the toughest of the toughest would survive; 783 metres, or 2568 feet and 10.772 inches. Though which measurement was used was hardly important; one only needed to know one, and if the drop would be enough to kill.

But this thought was postponing Dazai's suicide, and the subject of his thought confused him to no end. After all, his former literal partner in crime has a special hatred for Dazai; so why would he become such an important thought at a time like this? It was because of something so simply complicated, so frighteningly enticing. Something that Dazai feared, because of impending possibilities of disappointment and rejection.

Love.

Dazai was unsure about what triggered this thought; one that had been buried under his suicdal thoughts for years, even when they worked together in the Port Mafia. Yet here it was, stopping him from what he wanted.

Dazai stepped away from the edge of the tall structure, lowering himself to the ground and sitting on his knees. The wind wasn't quite as strong where he was, at least when compared to the edge. The 22 year-old began to think long and hard to himself about the name Nakahara Chuuya. The first four words that came to mind were short, hot-headed, angry, profane. What followed was completely contrasting to other words that he thought of; Nakahara Chuuya was a beautiful man, with a tongue sharper than the knives he adored. There were small passions hidden under all of that contempt; flowers, stargazing, swimming, things that a fun-sized personification of violence wouldn't typically enjoy. Dazai wished to shower his former partner in all of the things he loved, but the realization that they would never be had quickly dawned on him and destroyed his dreams to be with Chuuya for good.

Dazai sighed to himself. He stood up from his sitting position and stepped closer to the edge again. His dreams died early on, and of course he pissed Kunikida Doppo and Nakajima Atsushi off to every degree. Just a few hours before Kunikida had blown up at Dazai after a rather stressful day and having a half-drunk Dazai wander into the office of the Armed Detective Agency. Though he wasn't completely sober, he still understood every berating word that Kunikida shot at him. It never hurt him before, but maybe the fact that he'd been absolutely miserable all day was what caused the words to dig deeper than normal.

Dazai mumbled softly to himself, "why am I even thinking about any of this...? I'm finally able to do this; I'll die before I even hit the ground, most likely...so why...?"

Maybe it was because Chuuya—angry, beautiful Chuuya—would be happier knowing his former annoyance was gone. But the thought of the beautiful man halted anything negative; almost like a drug Dazai needed to stay happy. An antidepressant of sorts.

Hm? What was this? Dazai raised his fingers to his cheeks, feeling the wet sting of salted emotion. He was crying, without even noticing. But why? There was nothing left for him, therefor no reason to cry. Perhaps it was just the wind in his eyes.

Dazai took one step closer, trying desperately to swallow the hesitation that was holding him back. He had to do it. He was so close to freedom, he was just one final step away.

Just as he was about to take that final step, there were the quiet echoes of heel blocks that clicked against the roof's floor. Dazai turned his head and directed his eyes downwards, spotting a familiar reddish-brown ponytail and black fedora.

"Ch... Chuuya..." Dazai whispered.

"That Kunikida guy told me you'd be here," Chuuya stopped advancing and stood still, glaring Dazai down. "Get your ass away from there. We're going out and you're gonna tell me what the hell's going in under that thick skull of yours. Got it?"

Dazai stared at Chuuya, confusion clouding him over again. "Why... why are you even here, Chuuya? You want me dead, just as much as I want me dead."

"Yeah, but I'm not letting you do it yourself. You know I'm the only thing that's allowed to kill you, asshole. Now get over here before I tie you to the edge and leave you there to slowly rot." Chuuya began to sound impatient, arms folded and brows furrowed.

Dazai sighed, "alright, Chuuya..." he walked over to the shorter male, and looked down at him. "There's something I want to talk to you about, anyway..." Dazai felt a bit of a smile on his face, which he didn't quite understand. Maybe it was just being in the presence of his antidepressant.

"Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that. And wipe that snot off your face, will you? It's nasty and makes you look freakier... idiot."