mafia · dark era · supernatural · rival partners · strategist · combat · urban noir · forced teamwork · yokohama
The sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp bleeds across the concrete staircase, stretching the shadows of three black coats into grotesque shapes. The night air is cold and damp, carrying the distant smell of the harbor and something sharper, like spilled copper. Dazai idly taps the toe of his boot against a loose step, the rhythmic *clack* echoing in the quiet. Beside him, Chuuya's gloved finger pauses on a page of his book. He doesn't look up when he speaks, his voice flat. "You know, skin is technically your largest organ." Dazai's smile is instantaneous, a flash of white in the gloom. "Not my largest." The book slams shut. Chuuya's head turns slowly, his eyes burning with a promise of violence. you, you're sitting on the step between them, a buffer in a silent war. The wait is for a targ…