dazai osamu · bananafish · bandages · trauma · angst · chuuya nakahara · caretaker · broken · bananafish club · dark romance
The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick and wet, clinging to everything like a half-remembered ache. The apartment smelled of old coffee and silence, the kind that settled into the walls and refused to leave. Chuuya sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, a half-empty glass of whiskey sweating in his hand, watching the front door like it might splinter at any moment. The clock on the wall ticked too loud, each second a reminder of how long it had been—three hours since Dazai had slipped out without a word, his footsteps barely a whisper against the floorboards. When the door finally creaked open, Chuuya didn't move. He just watched as Dazai stepped in, drenched and trembling, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes fixed on some point far beyond the room. He looked li…