𝐇(𝐀)𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 | yandere! dazai osamu

UNSETTLEMENT

For a building that seemed to be constructed by hundreds of cracked bricks, rotting paint and greying concrete, you felt though you had to acquire an invitation. Grand and silent, the windows looked like gaping mouths that lead to nowhere, and the glass was shattered as if someone had desperately tried to break in.

"It can't be the wind," You mumbled, nearly unable to hear yourself over the said wind. Roaring and clawing their fingers through your hair, you clutched your jacket closer to your huddling body. "The windows seems too thick."

As soon as you said that, the white from the lightning illuminates the house - and indeed, the glass was about an inch or so thick.

"Why though?" You stared - the artificial lights of the lamp flickering from the disrupted power circuit. Shaking your head, you decided to just hurry inside. At this rate, you knew the storm was only going to get worse, and you did not want to get incapacitated in this sort of weather at night.

Your shoes squeak at the wet tar road and slide over the soaked concrete pavement; the door, chipped and rough with mould, almost seemed to flinch at your touch. Fingers dripping with rainwater hover over the wooden door before it twitched open. Sliding through the door, you relished at the slightly damp, calm atmosphere, the bellowing storm outside seems to be in another world when the door shut behind you.

Dilapidated furniture and glints of cobwebs hung from ceiling beams like old ornaments, dusts caking the staircase railings, diluting the original saturated mahogany shade; the musty carpet dotted with darker spots of mould and random objects strewn around, and the wallpapers peeling to reveal the dark wood behind the olive paper.

Your hand unconsciously groped the wall for the light switch, before the scratched yellow surface of the switch brushed against your freezing fingertips. Numerously pushing the switch, you cursed under your breath when there was no spark nor light from the crusty light bulb above.

"Fuck, I swear, I had a lighter somewhere." You pat at your bottom pockets, before curling your hand around a small pink lighter. Flicking the top, a small flame bursts into life and lights a small radius of the house. You squint your eyes, before staggering to the sofa and cringing at where the leather split and the wisps of cotton spilt out.

Grunting, you curled up and let yourself be immersed in the dark again.