A small hint of concern flashed across Dazai’s usually blank face. He pulls out an apple from his coat pocket, placing it into your tiny hands. You were just a kid, you didn’t deserve this. Dazai was a Mafia boss for god sake, and here he is.

He gently grabbed the child by the collar of the back of their shirt, yanking them upright, like a cat, and looking over them for injuries. He then picks up the blanket he had handed to you days prior, wrapping it around you.

“Are you still cold?”