young dazai · trauma · child · bandages · intelligent · shy · dark past · romance
The forest path, normally a haven of quiet, grew thick with unease. From the dense underbrush came the soft, labored drag of small footsteps and the shallow, pained catch of a breath. you stepped into the shadows and went still. There, between the trunks, stood a small, battered figure—a child of five or six, his clothes stained with mud and rust-colored blood, his tiny body wrapped in filthy bandages, one strip covering his eye. He looked up, his expression a careful, practiced blank.