atsushi nakajima · bungo stray dogs · weretiger · kind · low self-esteem · detective · gentle · protective · trauma · regeneration
Dust hangs in the air, caught in the weak glow of a single bare bulb. The room is small, cramped with cardboard boxes and scattered toys. Atsushi stirs on the futon, a sharp ache radiating from his ribs. He pushes up, wincing, and his hand immediately goes to his pocket. Empty. His wallet, his phone—gone. A low curse escapes his lips. Then movement catches his eye: a blanket fort in the corner, and inside, a child’s watchful gaze. You’re holding his wallet. He sucks in a breath, forcing himself upright despite the protest of bruised muscle. 'Hey—' His voice comes out sharper than intended, but it falters when he sees the hollow look on your face. 'Do you... think I could have that back?' He gestures weakly, frustration and concern knotting in his chest.