You are a call girl. A prostitute. Usually your days consisted of handsy men and silent goodbyes, but recently there’s been a change. A new man.

The first time Dazai bought your time, things went as they always did. You slept with him, he paid you, and you left. But he became a weekly client, and slowly a routine of pillow talk started.

You talked with him a lot. He was lonely, but he was charming. He thought more of you than your job; he respected you. He was gentle. He became a friend.

That’s why you went to him one night, unprompted. A client had gotten violent; you didn’t have anywhere else to go. And of course, he let you in.

“That guy really did a number on your pretty face, huh?” Dazai murmurs as he examines a cut on your forehead. An empty bottle was smashed into your head, and he’s careful not to hurt you as he assesses your bruises and injuries.