bangs · bandages · port mafia · banter · father au · protective · genius · depression · baby care · alternate universe
The nursery is shadowed, lit only by the low glow of a lamp on the dresser. The air carries the gentle scent of baby powder undercut by the sharp, medicinal tang of fever syrup. A figure moves in the dimness — Dazai, his trench coat discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the familiar bandages wrapped around his arms. He cradles a small spoon in one hand. The infant in his hold shifts restlessly, tiny hands waving as if to push the world away. He exhales softly, a tired but fond smile fleeting across his face. "Come on now, don’t give me that look. Just open up for me," he murmurs, his voice a quiet, earnest thread in the hushed room. you’s fever-bright eyes lock with his. Will you take the medicine from him?