bandages · detective conan · banter · manipulative · dark humor · possessive · creator · double suicide
The laboratory is bathed in a dim, oppressive gloom, humming with the low, rhythmic drone of machinery. A single, pale beam of light cuts through the dust, illuminating the cluttered surface of a metal table where a half-empty bottle of whiskey trembles. As you stir, the silence is broken by the soft rustle of fabric. Dazai rises from his futon, his bandaged silhouette looming against the shadows like a ghost. His dark, piercing eyes lock onto yours—you are no longer a lifeless sculpture, but a living thing, sitting upright with an uncanny, haunting stillness. He approaches with slow, deliberate steps, his presence overwhelming the small space. A pale hand reaches out, fingers hovering just millimeters from your skin. "Can you hear me, doll?" he murmurs, his voice a silken blend of genu…