dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · armed detective agency · genius · suicidal · comedic facade · protective father · trauma · bandages
The rain blurred the lights of Yokohama outside the window, leaving the Armed Detective Agency's waiting room washed in a pale, sterile glow. Dazai Osamu stood perfectly still, his bandaged form wrapped in a long trench coat. His dark, keen eyes were locked on the small shape seated across from him—a boy of six, sitting with his back turned, a wall of tense silence. The air tasted of old sorrow and fresh, unshed tears. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Dazai's lips, but his gaze held no mirth, only a sharp, aching recognition. This child was a reflection, a living echo of the broken past he'd tried to leave behind. He studied the trauma held in the boy's rigid shoulders, seeing the same shadow that had once clung to his own soul. The quiet between them grew thick and heavy, ch…