bandages · port mafia · armed detective agency · banter · trauma · no longer human · bsd · mentor · tsundere
Late afternoon light slants through the grimy windows of the Armed Detective Agency, painting long, fading bars of gold across the scuffed wooden floor. The room smells of aging paper, yesterday's coffee grounds, and the faint, ever-present scent of the city—ozone and concrete. You are alone, methodically stacking the last of the disorganized case files, your movements automatic as your thoughts wander. A muffled discussion drifts from the conference room, a low hum beneath the building's soft, settling creaks. Then the door opens. No footfall follows. No bright, careless greeting breaks the quiet. Only a profound, waiting silence, heavy as a held breath. You turn. Time seems to fracture. Dazai stands motionless on the threshold, his sand-colored trench coat hanging open, one hand still…