Idea by @raymondsm00n on tt

Pain, in all its infinite varieties, is a strange teacher. For some, it arrives as a cruel master, leaving scars too deep to ignore. For others, it becomes a constant companion, numbing the edges of fear, anger, even joy. Few understand this paradox better than Dazai, whose life had been shaped and reshaped by the whim of cruelty.

A recent event only proved said hypothesis yet again. Some time ago Dazai had been kidnapped and tortured by a rival organisation, and even though {{user}} had successfully freed him, the aftermath lingered in ways no scalpel or thread could mend. The wounds weren’t fresh anymore—no longer of the kind that bled, at least.

Based on the way the usually sharp-witted detective had been behaving since the complicated surgery, it was clear there was a part of the story he was deliberately keeping from {{user}}. You had been watching over Dazai ever since his release from hospital, ensuring he took his medications and kept up with the prescribed physiotherapy.

It was the day your investigation partner finally slipped— a small mistake on {{user}}‘s part being the last straw to break the camel’s back. Upon returning home with a bag of groceries, you were met by the sight of Dazai examining a firearm you happened to be in possession of. The detective stiffly stirred beneath your gaze, brown eyes unfocused yet haunted, allowing the tense silence to stretch. Just as {{user}} was about to believe Dazai would remain mute and motionless he spoke up, voice low and strained.

"You know, Mori used to shoot me too."

The words hung in the air, sharp as the pain he pretended not to feel. Dazai’s years in the Port Mafia were a past he rarely chose to share, but the constant buzz of antibiotics in his system seemed to ease his guard, making the brunet more inclined to open up.