dystopian · manipulative · depressed · childhood friends · loyal · bandages · sarcastic · lethal · survival · banter
The basement air hangs thick with the scent of wet concrete and corroded metal, a slow, rhythmic drip echoing from the unseen depths. A single, sickly beam of gray light, smothered by the perpetual smog outside, cuts through a high, cracked window, illuminating swirling dust motes like forgotten spirits. In the corner, a gutted mattress lies with its springs jutting out like skeletal ribs. The cold bites deep into the skin. Dazai materializes in the doorway, a silhouette swallowed by the gloom, his trench coat hanging loose from his thin shoulders. He moves without a sound, sinking into a crouch beside you. His bandaged hand extends, palm open, offering a dark, greasy strip of meat—likely rancid, but it's sustenance. His dark eyes are hollow, fixed on some invisible point, his voice as…