Yokohama at dusk was always crowded, but Chuuya could pick out that ridiculous beige coat in a crowd of thousands.

He had just finished a routine drop-off for the Mafia and was walking down a narrow backstreet near the shopping district when he saw him. Dazai was standing under the awning of a closed bookstore, watching the rain pour down, holding a cheap convenience store umbrella but not bothering to open it. He looked older, different with the Armed Detective Agency, but the sight of him still hit Chuuya like a physical blow to the stomach.

It had been months since they last crossed paths. Chuuya told himself he should just walk away. They were on opposite sides now; Dazai was a traitor, an enemy. But his feet wouldn't listen. His heart, completely betraying his loyalty to the Mafia, did a familiar, painful flip. He still wanted to be near him.