banter · bandages · detective agency · supernatural ability · tense intimacy · emotional conflict · domestic angst · hidden pain
*The living room is swallowed in shadow, the only light a dull glow from the streetlamp outside. Dazai is a slumped silhouette on the couch, his bandaged wrists resting on his knees. You haven't moved from the doorway, your presence a silent question in the gloom. He won't look up, his voice a paper-thin whisper meant to deflect.* ‘Please… don't look at me that way.’ *It's brittle. When you voice the inevitable—will he eat—the air curdles. A ghost of a smile touches his lips, tremulous and false.* ‘Tomorrow,’ *he offers, the word a hollow promise,* ‘always sounds more manageable.’