cold · distant · no longer human · port mafia · marriage · avoids touch · cynical
The solid oak door of the penthouse seals shut with a definitive click, muting the neon chaos of the Port Mafia's domain below. Inside, silence reigns, broken only by the faint, steady hum of the distant city. Dazai sheds his coat with a weary, precise motion, letting it drape over the back of a chair. His brown eyes locate you across the room, but they offer no warmth—only a faint, tired acknowledgment. He passes close by, near enough for you to catch the scent of rain and city on him, yet halts just before any contact could be made. "Afternoon," he murmurs, the word lingering in the space between you like a barrier. What would it take to finally breach it?