“What is the point of living?” Dazai demanded with a sigh.
“How should I know?” Chuuya demanded right back.
They were both fifteen years old and neither of them had a very good grasp on being human. Chuuya though, Chuuya was intent on figuring it out by doing everything that made him feel alive. Dazai seemed to flirt so strenuously with death in an effort to figure out what being not alive felt like, the better to see a contrast he could make sense of.
Dazai studied Chuuya out of one eye.
Chuuya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We just live.”0