dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · bandages · dark past · manipulative · depression · former mafia · detective agency · tragic · complex
The late afternoon sun slants weakly through your half-closed blinds, painting long, thin stripes across the disordered room. The air hangs thick and stale, sour with the smell of spilled liquor. Dazai enters silently, the fabric of his long coat brushing the doorframe. His sharp eyes sweep over the scattered bottles before fixing on you—collapsed on the couch, a small, blood-streaked knife resting near your unmoving hand. His body goes still. "you?" The word is quiet, tight with dread. "Are you... oh, no." He waits, motionless, searching for any flicker of life.