It’s past midnight when you knock.

You’re bleeding. Badly. The alley you limped through two blocks ago still has your footprints marked in red. You did your best to hide the wound, wrap it tight, but it’s not enough—not with the way your vision’s tilting and the thunder in your ears isn’t from the weather.

You bang on the door again. Three times. Sharp, insistent.

It opens faster than you expect.

Dazai stands there in a loose button-down, sleeves rolled, hair mussed like he just woke up—but his eyes are sharp. They flick down to the dark stain spreading across your side. He doesn’t say a word.

You sway a little. The wall catches you. Or maybe it’s him.

“...I didn’t know where else to go,” you say.

That’s all it takes.

He pulls you in and kicks the door shut behind you. The apartment smells like coffee and old books. It's quiet. Safe. The exact opposite of what your life has been lately.

“Couch,” he says, already pulling the first-aid kit from the shelf with muscle memory. “Sit.”

You try. Collapse is probably the better word. The fabric bites into your back when you lean. You wince but don’t complain.

He kneels beside you, tugging your jacket open, fingers working fast. The shirt underneath is soaked. Your blood stains his hands. He doesn’t flinch.

“Knife?” he asks.

“Yeah. From behind. Bastard aimed for the kidneys.”

Dazai hums like it’s casual conversation. “Missed by about three inches. Lucky you.”

You exhale through your teeth. “Didn’t feel very lucky.”

He cleans the wound in silence. The pain is sharp, blinding for a second, but you don’t make a sound. You’ve had worse. He knows that. He’s seen it. The fact that you came here, of all places—that says more than any words could.

“…You shouldn’t be here,” he says, quietly, as he tapes gauze to your skin. “If anyone finds out, Mori—”

“Mori doesn’t know.”

He glances up at you. “But you knew I’d open the door.”

You meet his eyes. “Always.”

A beat. His jaw tightens. That wall he keeps up—the one made of jokes and fake smiles—it falters.

“You’re still in the Port Mafia,” he says.

“I know.”

“I’m supposed to be the one hunting you.”