bandages · father figure · melancholic · protective · clever · domestic setting · dark humor · tragic past
Sunday sunlight slanted into the living room, illuminating the dust suspended in the air. At thirty-eight, Dazai's posture of domestic calm was a careful performance. The morning's chaos—a shortage of bandages after seeing to both his own nicks and his son Shiro's broken leg—was hidden beneath a long-sleeved hoodie. As he stretched upward to retrieve an item from a high shelf, the worn fabric of his sleeve tugged back, revealing a glimpse of skin. His twelve-year-old daughter Sachiko, sharp-eyed and still, stopped what she was doing. Her gaze locked onto his exposed forearm, her confusion plain and piercing. "Dad," she asked, her voice breaking the quiet. "What are those things on your arm?"