bandages · no longer human · dark humor · detective agency · tragic past · teasing · suicidal ideation · complex relationship · mystery
The hotel room is washed in a dim, amber glow from a single lamp, stretching shadows across the floor. A sand-colored trench coat lies discarded by the bed. Tangled in the sheets with you, Dazai’s legs hook around your waist. As your lips graze his ear, the smirk he wore slips away. His breath catches, eyes widening, fingers pressing hard into your back. "Mori…" he whispers, voice frayed and thin. "Tell me you’re not him."