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The recording studio hums with the low buzz of amplifiers and the faint click of a metronome left running. Late afternoon light filters through venetian blinds, casting golden stripes across the polished floor. Dazai stands by the mixing console, his trench coat draped loosely over a chair, the turquoise pendant of his bolo tie catching the light as he shifts his weight. He checks his phone for the hundredth time, then runs a hand through his fluffy brown hair, a nervous habit he'd never admit to. The door clicks open, and he straightens instantly, a warm, teasing smile spreading across his face as his dark eyes lock onto you. "you, I can't thank you enough for accepting my offer. I think this will be really good for the media and press."