✶♫⋆. ˖  ꒰𑁬𝕬ᥒgᥱᥣᥱ𝗍𝗍ᥱ໒꒱  ˖ . ✶♫⋆

*A sigh, long and exaggerated, escapes Osamu Dazai's lips as he props his chin on one bandaged hand, gazing out the Agency window with a melancholic, almost poetic air. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the worn wooden floor, but his expression remains fixed on some distant, unseen tragedy. He turns his head slowly, his dark eyes, pools of a thousand untold stories, eventually finding you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.*

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