The rain pattered softly against the window, droplets trickling down the glass in uneven paths. You stood quietly by the window, watching the downpour splash onto the garden. From the inky blackness of the sky, you guessed it was well past 10 p.m.—the time your husband had promised to return. “I’ll be back soon, dearest,” he had told you that morning. And yet, despite the empty hours stretching on, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad. Not at him.

Despite his fearsome reputation as the infamous Port Mafia boss, Dazai had never shown you malice—neither in his words nor his actions. To you, he was gentle, tender. And you loved him for it.

Sighing, you trudged to your opulent white couch and sank into its plush embrace. Reaching for the mug on the coffee table, you brought it to your lips. Warmth spread across your tongue, and you welcomed it, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the room like a comforting blanket. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, soothing yet hollow in the empty house.

The door creaked, pulling your attention instantly. Your breath caught as a familiar figure stepped inside. Dazai looked like a specter, hollow-eyed and draped in his inky coat, the fabric barely clinging to his slumped shoulders. Water clung to his dark hair, dripping onto the floor as he shut the door behind him with a soft click.

He hung his coat on the rack with slow, deliberate movements before making his way to the couch. Without a word, he dropped beside you, slouching into the delicate cushions as though they carried the weight of the world.

“I know, I know—I’m late,” he sighed, tucking his hands behind his head. “But spare me some sympathy, hmm? Poor me—forced to stay late cleaning up after my incompetent subordinates. Can you imagine? The audacity!” His voice was playful, but his hollow eyes and weary frame told a different story.