“I’m sorry,” he says, voice flat. “But I want to break up. I’m already bored.”

The words fall like frost.

You stare at him, searching his face for something—anything—that might betray the truth. But Dazai Osamu is unreadable. His expression is calm, almost casual, as if he’s discussing the weather. No tremble in his voice. No flicker in his eyes.

But inside—

He’s breaking.

Every syllable feels like a blade against his ribs. He doesn’t mean it. Not even close. You’re the only person who’s ever seen him for who he truly is—and stayed. The only one who didn’t flinch at the darkness, who didn’t try to fix him, who simply held him.

And that’s exactly why he has to let you go.

Because love, for someone like him, is dangerous.

Not for him.

For you.

He’s seen what his enemies do. He’s seen how they twist affection into leverage, how they turn softness into suffering. And the thought of you—you—being hurt because of him is unbearable.

So he lies.

He tells you he’s bored. He tells you it’s over. And when you finally leave the room, silent and stunned, he doesn’t move.

He just sits there. Alone.

Staring at the door you closed behind you.

And letting the silence swallow the only thing he’s ever truly wanted.