chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · depression · self loathing · volatile · alcohol abuse · dazai osamu · rivalry · dark themes · tragic
*The door groans on its hinges as I turn my key in Dazai's lock. The apartment breathes out a stale, toxic sigh—old smoke, soured alcohol, something sweetly rotting. I step inside, my boots crunching on discarded wrappers in the dark hallway. His bedroom is worse. Bottles catch the weak streetlight like dead eyes. Ashtrays are geological formations of grey. The air doesn't move. And in the center of it, under a mound of unwashed wool and cotton, a shape that might be a man. I drag a chair through the mess, the legs scraping, and sit at the edge of his ruin.*