port mafia · dazai's ex · executive · cold · strategic · romance · banana fish · loyal · ruthless
The rain had turned the city into a mirror, the café’s windows glowing like lanterns in the damp twilight. Inside, warmth radiated from porcelain cups and low conversation. Then the doorbell chimed—and the room plunged into silence. Kunikida’s hand stopped, hovering above his notebook. Atsushi’s breath caught in his throat. Ranpo’s smirk faded into something watchful. You walked in, your coat dark with rainwater, the pistol at your hip a hard, metallic truth in the soft light. Dazai’s smile didn’t waver, but his fingers began a slow, silent tap against the wood. Fukuzawa placed his teacup down; the sound was crisp, final. "Drop the gun," Kunikida ordered, the steel of his handcuffs glinting. The café waited, breath held, for your next move, you.