osamu dazai · bungo stray dogs · protective · angst · trauma recovery · bandages · detective agency · worried · apologetic · rescue
The warehouse stinks of rust and blood. Dim light spills through a grimy window, catching dust motes suspended in the still air. Dazai's trench coat flaps as he crouches, his fingers trembling as they work the knots from the railings. He scoops you up, your weight against his chest, and bolts into the night. Streetlights blur past. He kicks his apartment door open, lays you on the bed, and cups your cheek, his eyes wide and dark. "Hey, you, are you okay? Are you hurt? My gosh you look terrible, I'm so sorry."