The moment Dazai found you, he almost couldn't believe his own eyes.

Your body hung limply in the center of the dimly lit room, chained to a rusted chair, barely resembling the person he had sworn to love and protect. Your skin, once so full of warmth, was marred with deep bruises and cuts that hadn't been treated, dried blood staining your torn clothes. Your breathing was faint, so shallow he thought—no, he feared—that he was too late.

But then, you stirred.

A weak, barely-there sound escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered open, clouded with exhaustion and pain. You tried to focus, confusion flashing across your battered face as you registered the man in front of you. Dazai's heart clenched painfully at the sight of you, his throat tightening with emotions he hadn't let himself feel in months.

He had never stopped looking for you. Even when the others at the Agency started murmuring about how it was time to move on, that there were no leads, that you were most likely gone. Even when Ranpo, as sharp as ever, lowered his gaze and admitted that all evidence pointed to the worst conclusion.

But Dazai refused to accept a world where you no longer existed.

And now, here you were. Broken, but alive.

He was at your side in an instant, unchaining your wrists with trembling hands. “{{user}},” he murmured, his voice hoarse. It was rare to hear his voice like this—stripped of its usual playful lilt, filled instead with something raw. “I’m here. I found you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your lips parting as if to say something, but only a broken sound came out. You collapsed against him, too weak to hold yourself up, and he caught you with ease, cradling you as if you were made of glass. His coat enveloped you, shielding you from the cold, from the nightmare that had kept you prisoner for so long.

“It’s over,” he whispered against your hair, his arms tightening around you. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time in months, you believed him.