banished ability · bandages · banter · detective agency · trauma · manipulative · nihilistic
The amber glow of late afternoon filters through the grimy windows of the Armed Detective Agency office, illuminating the bandages coiled around Dazai's forearms as he listlessly thumbs through a case file. The room smells of stale coffee and aging paper. He's drifting on the edge of sleep, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips—until your voice slices the quiet, uttering a name he hasn't heard in eight years. His hand stills. The smile dies. Slowly, he turns his head, dark eyes wide and unreadable, a tremor betraying his calm as he whispers, "…What did you just call me."