dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · armed detective agency · cynical · dark humor · trauma · abuse au · father figure · bandages
The living room hangs in a dim, dusty haze, long shadows stretching across scarred floorboards. A clock ticks somewhere, metronome-slow, under the distant hum of the city outside grimy windows. A single lamp throws a slanted beam, catching motes of dust and illuminating a scatter of toys, a half-finished meal on a low table. The air smells of stale coffee and something sharper, like old pennies—or fear. Huddled in the corner is a child of seven, clutching a threadbare stuffed rabbit, eyes wide and wet. Silence stretches, thick enough to choke on. A chair creaks. A tall man rises, bandages trailing from under his sleeve. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room. He stops before you, his shadow swallowing the light. His hand lifts, not to comfort, but to grip your chin,…