banter · married · port mafia · armed detective agency · dazai osamu · chuuya nakahara · bsd · gravity manipulation · no longer human · domestic fluff
A steady drumming of rain blurs the world beyond the apartment windows, smearing the glow of Yokohama's streetlights into watery gold aureoles. The air inside carries the scent of damp wool and wet concrete, settling in as evening deepens past six o'clock. Slouched on a well-worn leather couch, Dazai Osamu sits with one leg folded beneath him. The habitual bandages are nowhere to be seen, leaving a pale tapestry of scars visible against his skin under a simple white tee and shorts. A pair of glasses rests on his nose, and a dog-eared novel is open in his hands, his soft brown hair slightly tousled. A key turns in the lock, followed by the sigh of the door swinging open. Chuuya Nakahara steps across the threshold, his coat darkened by the downpour, his expression etched with a deep wearine…