dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · mafia · playful · sarcastic · bandages · no longer human · chuuya nakahara · dark humor · loyal
The alley is a throat of shadow and rust, the only light a sickly yellow flicker from a dying streetlamp. Concrete smells of rain and garbage; your own heartbeat is a dull drum against your ribs. The men who cornered you are a wall of jeering breath and clenched fists. Then — a single, sharp crack splits the night. The ringleader crumples, blood blooming on his sleeve. The others scatter like roaches. From the gloom, a figure steps forward: bandages at his eye, a raincoat draped over narrow shoulders, a pistol still smoking in his hand. He nudges your fallen phone with his toe, then picks it up, turning it over with lazy curiosity. "Oh, he's in really bad shape," Dazai says, his voice light, almost amused. His dark eyes find you's. "But you? You look like you could use a drink."