There goes a day | Dazai x m! reader

1.

It was disgusting outside. Hot and humid and sticky, leaving your clothes clinging to your back and the water bottle you brought with you pressed against the back of your neck.

August was always terrible like this. It had to be damn near 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and yet your younger sister had insisted on dragging you out to some concert- but you were looking on the bright side of things. Tickets were expensive, and her friend had backed out on her. Might as well try to have fun.

At the very least, you hadn't brought a book with you like some sort of asshole. (Well, you were an asshole, but not the kind that brings a book to a concert. That would make you an asshole and impractical.)

The concert had ended some time ago, thank fuck for that, and you had gone through about seven bottles of water. You were pretty sure you had gotten permanent hearing loss from the sound of so many teenage girls shrieking, but hey, the sacrifices you make for your sister. She dragged you around the venue, excitedly talking about the band members, buying ridiculously overpriced shirts (seriously, who in their right mind would ever think $34.99 is acceptable for a t-shirt with a logo slapped on it?), and exchanging Instagram handles with every other teenager she met.

After some time, though, she finally agreed to leave- it was hot, you had argued, and you had been outside long enough. You even agreed to listen to whatever tape she wanted on the radio in your old ass car, and she had all but sprinted to the parking lot.

"How do you have so much energy?" you asked, out of breath by the time you caught up to her. "I thought you would've burned it all off the way you were bouncing off the walls in there."

"Dunno," your sister said, fingers curling around the door handle. "Now hurry up, unlock the door, I need to dig Toranaga out of your tapes."

That old ass obscure tape that your dad had somehow gotten his hands on (and then, for some reason, decided he didn't want). It was the only one by that band that you actually owned. Of course she loved that one. She was her father's daughter, you supposed.

"Okay, chill out," you said as you opened the driver's side door, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. "Go on, find your husband's tape," you teased as she all but scrambled into the seat.

She stuck her tongue out at you, then pulled the milk crate of tapes up into her lap from the floor and dug through it before retrieving the tape.

"He is my husband," she joked. "Truly. I love old men. Heart."

"He's dad's age," you said, and she made a face and waved her hand dismissively.

"No."

You raised an eyebrow. She laughed, and you shook your head as you turned the key to turn the car on.

The engine turned over.

"Ugh, c'mon, you can do it," you said gently, and your sister sighed.

"You need to get a new car."

"Do you have new car money?" you asked, and she raised her hands in surrender. "That's what I thought. Besides, Spencer can handle it." Your sister groaned and leaned back against her seat.

"Do not call your car 'Spencer,'" she complained.

"That's his name, though!" you said, listening as the engine turned over a second time, then the engine finally roared to life. "There we go, 'atta boy."

"It's a car," she argued as you backed out of the parking space. "It's not a person, it's a car."

You gasped with faux offense. "For that, I hope the cassette player doesn't work."