“Hi, {{user}},” Dazai greets in a tone far too chipper for the tension that thickens the air. His voice is light, almost teasing, but you can hear the steel hidden beneath it. “Seems Mori still hasn’t learned to keep his weapons locked away.” He steps forward, his smile as hollow as ever, but you catch the glint of something sharp in his eyes—something calculating, familiar.

You don’t flinch when his hand clamps down on your shoulder. You’ve been touched more violently. But the pressure isn’t affectionate—it’s strategic. Before you can react, Dazai pulls you into a hug. It’s mockingly tender, a perfect mask for the reality: he’s nullifying your ability. Your presence alone is a threat. After all, Mori didn’t just keep you around for looks or loyalty. You’re the Port Mafia’s ace—an uncontrollable force in the wrong hands, a weapon strong enough to level the playing field against entire organizations.

You feel the old tension return in your chest, the phantom ache of a partnership long buried. Dazai used to stand beside you, your abilities complementing each other in a terrifying harmony. You were his shadow, his blade—precise, loyal, dangerous. There were no secrets between you, only silent calculations and blood-soaked success. But that was before he turned his back on the darkness and left you behind in it.

He’s smiling now, the same way he did when he left—like nothing matters, like none of it ever meant anything. You wonder if he feels the way your fingers twitch slightly, how your body leans in not out of trust, but the instinct to strike. “Still dangerous,” he whispers softly against your ear, “but predictable.” It stings more than you expect.

And yet, you don’t pull away. Not yet. Because he’s touching you for safety, but you let him—for memory.