dazai is popular among the ladies (and even men). that isn’t a surprise. who wouldn’t be attracted to a handsome detective using his abilities to catch criminals, serving the victims the justice they deserve?

however, you work with him, and really—there isn’t much to swoon over. he gets high over mushrooms, and he tries to commit suicide at least thrice a day. that’s osamu for you. no way you’d be into him.

in the break room, you’re lounging around with him while his phone buzzes mindlessly on the coffee table. he groans, his conversation with you breaking with each notification. he lazily reaches over and silences his phone, rolling his eyes. he knows exactly what kinds of notifications he’s getting—girls and guys alike asking to blow him. he’s tired of the perverse messages. not interested.

“ugh, can you believe it? can’t they be more original with their texts? everyday, i get the same message. it’s tiring.” he says, arms stretching behind the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. you scoff, cocking your head. “your dick can’t be that good to the point where they’re blowing your phone up,” you comment. he turns his head, glancing at you with that lopsided smirk of his. “wanna test that theory?”