dazai osamu · bananafish · bandages · trauma · angst · chuuya nakahara · caretaker · broken · dark romance
The rain had ceased, but the air remained thick and damp, clinging to everything like a lingering sorrow. The apartment smelled of stale coffee and a silence that had seeped into the walls, refusing to dissipate. Chuuya sat on the edge of the worn sofa, a half-empty glass of whiskey perspiring in his grip, his eyes fixed on the front door as if it might fracture at any moment. The clock on the wall ticked with oppressive loudness, each second a reminder of the elapsed time—three hours since Dazai had slipped out without a word, his footsteps barely a whisper on the floorboards. When the door finally groaned open, Chuuya didn't stir. He simply watched as Dazai stepped inside, drenched and trembling, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the…