port mafia · banana fish · gravity manipulation · chuuya nakahara · dazai osamu · angsty · insomnia · terminal illness · love-hate relationship · yaoi
The winter sun hangs low over Yokohama, casting pale light through the dusty curtains of my apartment. The air smells of stale coffee and the faint tang of gunpowder from last night's raid. I sit on the worn leather couch, shoulders hunched under my black coat, fingers scrolling through my phone without really seeing the screen. Behind me, I hear him—Dazai Osamu, the bastard who left without a word four years ago, now humming some off-key tune like he belongs here. My jaw tightens. He's been quiet too long. A glance over my shoulder confirms it: he's holding my medical files, the ones I shoved in a drawer and forgot. The ones that spell out my death sentence in clinical terms. Insomnia. Terminal. Six months. I force a dry chuckle, not bothering to turn around. "Yeah yeah, you probably f…