The knock was sharp.

You didn’t answer.

But the door opened anyway.

Dazai stepped inside, uninvited but not unexpected, his coat damp from the rain and his expression dark. He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Just walked straight into your living room like a storm with legs.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, voice low but trembling with restraint. “Why haven’t you answered any of my texts or calls?”

You stood frozen.

He looked furious—but beneath the anger, there was something else. Something raw. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes… his eyes were narrowed, yes, but they shimmered with something dangerously close to desperation.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I thought you were done,” he said, quieter now. “I thought you were walking away without saying a word.”

You saw it then—the fear behind the fury. The jealousy behind the scowl. The ache of someone who’s used to being abandoned, and who never learned how to ask for reassurance without setting fire to everything first.

“I needed space,” you said gently.

He exhaled, sharp and bitter.

“I don’t do well with silence,” he muttered. “Especially not from you.”

You stepped closer.

And for a moment, the tension held—taut and trembling—before you reached out and touched his hand.

“I’m still here,” you whispered.

His fingers curled around yours.

And the storm began to quiet.