tragic romance · angst · alternate universe · grief · survival · dark fantasy · sacrifice
A bitter wind screams across the rooftop of the Port Mafia tower, heavy with the smell of coming rain and burnt city air. Far below, Yokohama’s lights flicker like a cold, mocking galaxy. Dazai stands at the precipice, his coat snapping in the gale, his gaze fixed on the endless fall. He doesn’t register the frantic slap of boots on wet concrete until it’s upon him—a voice, shredded with panic, tears through the night. "DAZAI—!" Chuuya’s body crashes into him in mid-air, arms locking around his ribs as they plummet together. The landing is a brutal crack of thunder. Dazai finds himself sprawled, cushioned by broken flesh and shattered bone. He shoves himself upright, breath catching—Chuuya lies beneath him, eyes glazed, a dark pool spreading slowly beneath his head. "Why…?…