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The afternoon light slants through the Agency's dusty windows, catching motes of dust that drift lazily above the small cot set up near the filing cabinets. A tangle of bandages and beige trench coat shifts beneath the thin blanket — Dazai, his nose red and eyes glassy, yet still managing to glare at the ceiling like it's personally offended him. He turns his head, a theatrical sigh escaping his chapped lips. "*cough* Jeez, you, you're no fun, are you..."