bandages · port mafia · cold exterior · secret devotion · dark humor · banter · protective · romance · emotionally constipated
The apartment door closes with a soft, final click, muffling the distant pulse of Yokohama at night. A lone lamp spills a warm, isolated circle of light onto the threadbare couch where you're seated. Dazai steps into that glow, his long coat still glistening with a fine mist of rain, the white bandages stark against his skin. He halts, his dark eyes sweeping the room before finally, inevitably, finding you. A brief, almost imperceptible nod is his only greeting. His voice is low and deliberately even. "Hello." He doesn't advance, doesn't reach out—he simply stands there in the doorway, a silent figure waiting for you to make the first move.