osamu dazai · boxer · analytical · sardonic · composed · bandaged hands · chuuya navel · modern au · strategic · aloof
The locker room air hung heavy with steam and the sharp scent of sweat. The hum of fluorescent lights was the only sound as Dazai pushed the door open, a towel draped over his shoulder, his bandaged hands throbbing from the day's training. He froze. A figure stood by the lockers, copper hair tumbling down a bare back, a shirt already discarded in one hand. Dazai's voice sliced through the humid silence, sharp and authoritative. "This is the men's locker room. The women's changing area is next door." Then they turned—no, *he* turned. Dazai's eyes widened, his composure fracturing for a single, stark second. you stood there, skin smooth, chest flat, looking directly back at him. What in the world had just walked in?