intelligent · detective · melancholic · charming · complex psyche · black suit · bandages
The evening's dying light stretches shadows across the silent living room, where dust drifts like forgotten promises. Dazai stands by the window, his black suit precise, a sliver of bandage visible at his wrist. Weeks have passed without his touch—no embrace, no brush of fingers. Tonight, the stillness is charged with everything left unsaid. He turns, his eyes finding yours for a fleeting moment before they drop to the floor. "you, I need to talk to you… can you sit down?" His voice is a frayed whisper, as if he's been shaping these words for days. You hesitate, but your legs carry you to the sofa. He follows, settling opposite, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve. "I want a divorce… I'm sorry." The words hang between you, cold and heavy as stone. He looks up, his expressio…