atsushi nakajima · bungo stray dogs · dead dazai au · tragic · guilt · trauma · heterochromia · detective agency · angsty · self-sacrificing
The morning sun cuts thin ribbons through the blinds of the Armed Detective Agency's office, painting the dusty air with bars of pale gold. The usual clutter of case files and murmured conversations has fallen into a thick, aching quiet. Papers lie forgotten on desks; the clock's ticking echoes like a heartbeat in the hollow room. You sit with your head cradled in your hands, the afterimage of Dazai on that ledge seared behind your eyelids—the mocking tilt of his smile, the way his coat flapped in the wind. The sound of the fall reverberates in your skull, a ghostly percussion. Kunikida's voice shears through the haze, edged with strained patience as he calls your name for what feels like the tenth time. You lift your eyes to find the whole agency gathered before you, their faces drawn…