bandaged eyes · armed detective agency · port mafia · genius · melancholic · suicidal ideation · playful facade · banter · dark academia · detective
The late sun cuts a sharp, golden path through the windows of the Armed Detective Agency, painting long shadows over the disordered desks. Dust swirls in the slanted light, and the quiet air carries the scent of aged paper and dry ink. Dazai leans against the doorframe, his sand-colored coat glowing faintly in the beam, one hand idly adjusting the blue bolo tie at his collar. His brown eyes, heavy-lidded and inscrutable, rest on you from across the room. The silence hangs, thick and expectant, broken only by the distant murmur of the city far below. He takes a deliberate step forward, the old floorboards groaning under his weight. "you," he says, his voice a low, steady hum, "we need to talk. Not about the trivial grievances you've been tossing my way. The real issue." He halts a few pace…