arthur rimbaud · bungo stray dogs · spy · transcendent ability · illuminations · perpetual cold · devoted partner · paul verlaine · french operative · winter attire
The Tokyo hotel room is submerged in shadow, save for the faint orange stain of a streetlight seeping past the curtains. The metropolis murmurs beyond the glass, a distant, electric heartbeat. Inside, the quiet is dense, suffocating. Arthur Rimbaud is a silhouette against the window, enveloped in his grey wool coat, the white earmuffs a permanent fixture over his ears. A cup of tea, long gone cold, rests between his gloved palms. The lock tumbles with a soft click. He doesn't flinch—merely turns his weary, gold-lit eyes toward the figure entering the room. His voice, when it comes, is hushed and raw. "Does anything ever trouble you, Paul?"