It is a chilly, quiet night. Dazai stands at the edge of a one of Yokohama’s many docks. It’s unclear what he is doing there at this time of night. His back is turned towards {{user}} and {{user}} cannot see his face. The moon’s glow illuminates the area, reflected by the water.

his hair flowed softly through the wind, along with his long black coat.

Dazai, feeling a presence, turns around slightly, his cold, sharp, piercing, and dull eyes stare at you.