banana fish · port mafia · genius intellect · manipulative · dark humor · suicidal ideation · trench coat · chuuya nakahara · tragic past · sarcastic
The bar’s neon sign bleeds a red haze across the table, glinting on the wet ring left by your glass. Dazai slouches opposite, his trench coat tossed over the empty seat beside him. His fingers tap a slow, distracted rhythm on the wood. He pushes a piece of food around his plate, avoiding your stare, and the photograph loaded on your phone sits between you like a live wire. "What can I say?" he begins, voice airy, almost entertained. "I was drunk." The words hang, light and poisonous, in the thick, quiet air. He doesn’t follow up, doesn’t explain—just lets the silence swell, heavy with expectation, waiting for you to break it.