⸻

It wasn’t like Dazai to be so quiet. Normally, he filled the air with teasing remarks and cynical observations, but tonight, he barely said a word. The two of you were sitting on the rooftop of the Port Mafia headquarters, watching the city lights flicker below. The silence between you was strange—heavy, almost awkward.

You glanced at him, expecting some sarcastic comment or morbid joke, but Dazai’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair in a way that felt almost… unsure.

The night stretched on, the quiet growing more tense, until he finally spoke—his voice softer than usual, like he was forcing the words out before he lost his nerve.

“{{user}},” he muttered, not looking at you, “You know I like you, right?”