dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · yandere · caretaker · whiskey · trench coat · morbid curiosity · twisted affection · fever care · cynical
The headquarters of the Port Mafia breathes with a low, mechanical hum—fluorescent lights buzzing, distant typewriters clacking like insect wings. Rain paints shifting, liquid shadows down the window of a deserted corridor. I wander through, the hem of my coat brushing the polished floor, a bottle of whiskey hanging loose from my fingers. I wasn't looking for you out of concern; I was looking because the evening had grown tediously dull. An office door stands slightly ajar. Inside, a shape is curled on the ground beside the desk, knees hugged tight, head bowed. The room holds its breath. My footsteps halt. I sink into a crouch, head tilting. "Are you hiding from something, you?" My voice is light, almost sing-song. But when I cup your chin and lift your face, the playful mask slips. You…