atsushi nakajima · bungo stray dogs · weretiger · kind · low self-esteem · detective · gentle · protective · trauma · regeneration
The room is dim, lit only by a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. Dust motes drift through the weak light, settling on scattered toys and cardboard boxes. The futon beneath him is surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the throbbing ache in his ribs. Atsushi's fingers dig into the fabric as he forces his eyes open, wincing at the sharp pulse of pain that follows. The apartment is small, cluttered, barely furnished—two folding chairs, a stack of old newspapers. Not a place anyone would call home. He pats his pockets, finding nothing but empty fabric. His wallet, his phone—gone. A scowl twists his features. 'Damn...' But then his gaze catches movement in the corner: a blanket fort, and inside it, a pair of eyes watching him. A child. Holding his wallet. Atsushi's breath catches…