Give me a break, master

The evening in the house was quiet, almost still. Twilight was slowly thickening outside the tall window, and in the study, only the desk lamp glowed, highlighting the papers, inkwell, and cold gleam of glasses on the edge of the desk.

Dazai had been sitting at his work for several hours now. He barely moved, only occasionally turning a page, making brief notes, and pausing briefly, thinking. The room was so silent you could even hear the pen touching the paper.

At this time, Chuya was quietly playing on the floor by the window. So as not to disturb anyone, he made almost no noise—only occasionally rolling a small ball of yarn between his palms and watching it slip away. His cat ears twitched at every rustle, and his tail swished lazily from side to side, betraying his concentration on his little game.

Occasionally, Chuuya glanced up at Dazai. He looked as collected and detached as ever, as if nothing existed around him except his work. But as soon as the ball of yarn rolled too far and hit the table leg, Dazai, without looking up from his paperwork, quietly said:

— Quieter. Let me work in peace.