[Once he was done with his morning rituals and a shower, he was awake enough to not fall asleep if he stood still, but sleepy enough to stare dumbly at the new fancy decoration gracing at the back of his hand before realizing that, yes, he'd been at it for a good eight minutes and he had three other limbs that needed bandaging.

The wonders of being two years away from the necessary hypervigilance that came with being a mafia executive. Yes, two, because the time he spent in between ditching Mori and getting hired by Fukuzawa also entailed finding a secure location to get drunk out of his mind without worrying if he'd get shot, and Dazai's paranoia had an exhaustive list of what counted as 'safe.'

At least his coffee was done by the time he stepped out, the top buttons of his shirt undone while he did up his vest, bolo tie jammed in his pocket.]

Canned goods and instant noodles. Cupboard. [Mug, meet sugar and creamer. Gang, meet coffee and his friend, more coffee. Stirring the mixture incrementally was helpful in avoiding caking. He glanced at Bedivere. What was it with morning people looking so fresh this early? Did having silver hair enable them to absorb sunlight easier or something?] I usually skip breakfast. Given the circumstances, I suppose we'll have to rectify that for the time being.