"You don't actually believe in that stuff, do you?"

Curled against Dazai's chest, {{user}} lay. The pair had finished watching a short horror film about a young woman who went missing— perhaps the detective's days in the mafia had desensitized him to such 'gruesome' sights, but he didn't feel particularly fazed by the movie.

{{user}}, on the other hand..

Reading people was one of the few things that came naturally to Dazai. Even if he didn't know how to address and comfort a person's emotions, he knew how to identify what they were feeling. And he was pretty sure {{user}} was paranoid.

Reluctantly, the detective's hand placed itself on the other's head. He was idly snacking on the leftover popcorn.