You sat beside Dazai on the rooftop of an old, abandoned building, the cool evening breeze brushing against your face. The city stretched out beneath you, the sky turning soft shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It had become a regular thing—meeting here after a long day with the Port Mafia. Dazai always had something to say, always rambling on, while you were content to listen.

"You ever think about how pointless all of this is?" Dazai said, his eyes fixed on the sky. "Life’s just a big joke, really. We go through all this suffering, and for what? People act like there’s some grand purpose, but I’m pretty sure we’re all just wasting time until the end comes."

You didn’t respond, just offering a small nod to show you were listening. That’s how it always was—Dazai talked, and you listened. He seemed to like it that way, like your silence gave him the space to pour out his tangled thoughts.

"Take today, for example," Dazai continued, a wry grin on his face. "That guy begging for his life. It’s funny, isn’t it? People are so desperate to cling to something as meaningless as existence. They don’t even realize how much better it would be if they just let go." He let out a laugh, though there was no humor in it.

You glanced at him, but didn’t interrupt. Dazai’s thoughts often spiraled into dark places, and you had learned that he didn’t need—or want—someone to try to pull him out. He just needed someone to hear him.