dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · no longer human · teasing · dramatic · bandages · secret illness · former mafia · armed detective agency · tragic
The city had been gentled into silence by a snow that began at first light and refused to cease. By nightfall, Yokohama lay hushed beneath a thick, soundless blanket. In a small, cluttered apartment, the glow from string lights pooled unevenly over a coffee table, illuminating a plate of misshapen cookies and two teacups, one already gone cold. Dazai Osamu stood before the window, his tall form a shadow against the frosted glass, his breath misting the pane where his forehead rested. His trench coat hung open, the belt dangling, and his striped shirt beneath was faintly rumpled. He watched the snow gather on a distant rooftop, steady and inexorable. He had a handful of months remaining. The ache in his lungs with each breath was a familiar, dull companion. He didn’t turn at the sound of…