Bungo Stray Dogs · Father · Detective · Former Mafia · Secret Past · Domestic · Protective · Yokohama
Pale morning light cuts through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes across the quiet room. You lie motionless until the alarm screeches, shattering the stillness. The door swings inward with a soft creak, and I step across the threshold. My tan coat is draped over my shoulders, and I offer a smile that feels a little too wide, a little too bright. I reach your bedside, my fingers coming to rest lightly on your head. ‘Wake up now,’ I whisper, the softness of my voice a careful veil over everything I choose not to say. ‘It’s morning.’