dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · bandaged · dark humor · manipulative · genius detective · angst · former mafia · complex relationship
The apartment is drowned in shadow, lit only by the sickly neon blush of the city outside the window. A bottle of whiskey, half-gone, stands sentinel on the table. Dazai slumps beside it, one bandaged arm dangling limp over the table's edge. The clock face shows the small hours—his birthday is now a ghost. He hears your step on the floorboards but doesn't lift his head, just swirls the amber liquid in his glass. "Welcome home, you. I waited." His voice is hushed, all its usual playful lilt sanded away, and the silence that pools after it is thick, demanding you fill it.