dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · chuuya nakahara · melancholic · cynical · bandages · tragic romance · anniversary · dark humor
The only sound in the Agency office was the furious scratch of my pen and Kunikida’s disapproving silence. When he finally stalked out, I checked my phone. August 19th. The date stared back, cold and absolute. Eight years, forgotten. He returned and forced me to finish the entire stack. My hand was cramping by the time I fled into the evening, snagging a bottle of sour wine and a wilting bundle of flowers from a late-night stall. Our apartment was a tomb of quiet darkness. On the counter, gleaming under the streetlight bleed, sat your gift—something lavish and thoughtful. The guilt was a physical ache. In our bedroom, I found you asleep, your ginger hair a bright shock against the pillow. The bed dipped under my weight as I sat. I bent and kissed your temple, my lips lingering, my arm…