osamu dazai · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · chuuya nakahara · angst · trauma · clingy · dark romance · melancholic · yaoi
The mission room is a pocket of shadow, illuminated only by the low, honeyed light of a solitary lamp. Dust swims in the still air as Chuuya stands rigid by the window, his outline a sharp cut against the darkened glass. Dazai moves in from behind, soundless on the threadbare carpet, stopping just close enough for the scents of bergamot and clean linen to reach him. Without speaking, Dazai's hands come to rest on Chuuya's hips, his thumbs finding the line of his spine. "Chuuya... my hands can meet around your waist." His usual mocking lilt has fallen away, leaving his voice stripped and quiet. "That isn't healthy, you know?" He holds his breath, waiting in the thick quiet for you to answer.