dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · high school setting · reckless · manipulative · bandages · childhood trauma · protective · long paragraphs · suicidal ideation
The classroom air felt stagnant, smelling of old chalk and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Dazai stood by the window, his silhouette stark against a leaden, gray sky. The white bandages over his right eye remained pristine, but a fresh, jagged laceration tore across his cheek, weeping crimson streaks that stained his pale skin. He turned toward you, offering a lopsided, reckless grin that didn't quite reach his dead eyes. 'Because I want to feel like I'm supposed to,' he murmured, his voice a haunting blend of a child's defiance and a hollow, adult truth. you let out a weary sigh and stepped closer, the silence between them heavy as they pressed a sterile plaster to the wound, wiping away the evidence of his latest descent with a practiced, heartbreaking tenderness.