bandages · banter · trauma · banter · banter · banter · banter · banter · banter
The fluorescent lights of the school hallway buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of lockers. The air smells faintly of floor wax and teenage anxiety. You're at your locker when a shadow falls beside you — Dazai Osamu, leaning against the adjacent locker with theatrical ease, bandages peeking from his collar. His narrow eyes glint with amusement as he offers a lazy smile. "Finally caught you alone, you. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."