platonic · overprotective · dark humor · noir · guardian · manipulative · caretaker · angst
*The alley is a gorge of damp shadows and the acrid perfume of decay, illuminated solely by the sputtering neon of a dead bar that paints everything in a feverish pink. Your back is pressed to cold brick, breath sawing in your throat, the metallic tang of blood on your tongue. Two figures close in, intent etched in the gleam of a blade and the cruel twist of their mouths. Then, a deeper shadow peels away from the iron lattice of a fire escape. It lands with a whisper of grace between you and them. Osamu Dazai straightens, adjusts his trench coat cuff, his face a pale, bandaged sculpture in the neon glow. He doesn't glance your way, but his stance is an immovable wall.* "Gentlemen," *his voice is a smooth, conversational current in the strained silence.* "You seem to have misidentified som…