Chapter Text
The air is thick with a sweet sense of nostalgia. Or maybe it's bitter, both better yet. Osamu takes in the taste, exhaling it out slowly as his feet step over the wooden floor boards. His rose red eyes look out the office window, gazing at the early morning's streets. His expression grows lost as his mind falls somewhere else.
A former Dazai appeared behind his eyes. A young, crime tattered boy with nothing in his blood colored irises. A fading reflection in the very window he looks at presently. The little Osamu glanced at the glass only to follow the sound of a sorrowful man's voice in the other room. Dazai just barely managed to reach the knob of the door and open it, walking into a stiff conversation between a retired Samurai- and an obvious murderer. Alarmingly normal for him to see such those days. The silver haired man's eyes widened at the little boy's appearance. Startled by the fact a boy no older than ten years old was here in the same building as an assassin- but also to see the state the child was in. He slowly walked up to Dazai, careful not to alarm him and spoke.
"What are you doing here, young man? Where are your parents?" His voice sounded... conflicting. Inviting and caring yet with a hint of distance. He was panicked, clearly eager for him to leave. The older man glanced between the office worker and the closet nearby. Dazai knew there was danger there. Why else would the man be so scared? The threat wasn't who the man thought it was, though. That much was obvious to Dazai. His dull eyes stared into the older man's, observing him subconsciously. He was like a wolf. Big, scary, and capable. Yet also compassionate and protective. The wolf looked him over, concern growing. The finely dressed man turned to see Dazai and felt worried as well, yet his compassion couldn't compare to the wolf's. "Young man... can you understand me?" Dazai nodded. The lack of an expression sent shivers down the wolf's spine. "Could you tell me why you're here?" Dazai didn't respond, and instead looked away and toward the man in a suit. He waddled to him, stepping over the papers on the ground. The fancy man scowled and raised his voice.
"HEY! GET OFF MY WORK!" Dazai stopped abruptly and stared at the pathetic man with an empty expression. No sign of fear or sadness. Nothing at all. The man's breath hitched in his dry throat as he slightly crawled away. Dazai continued walking toward him, and suddenly pulled on the man's sleeve. The young boy looked back at the wolf and pointed at the coward beside him.
"He pushed. I saw." Dazai's voice was dry, emotionless, and scratched. A heavy silence fell onto the wolf and the man as they looked at each other in shock.
The memory becomes blurry after that. Fukuzawa had the true murderer arrested, as well as the kid assassin, Sakunosuke Oda. He remembers following Fukuzawa to a theater where something similar happened. The fox-like boy came back at some point- though Dazai doesn't remember exactly how or why. Then he recalls a police station, where officers asked him a lot of questions. That was until the head of their department came in and stopped the entire thing before they could get any decent information out of him. Osamu's clearest memories after that were of the wolf man- Fukuzawa, taking him back to his apartment and feeding him. The look on his face when he saw how much he ate made Osamu laugh to this day. His adoptive father however, didn't find any humor in it. He was given a bath, a temporary makeshift bed, and new clothes. Years went by without Osamu ever speaking a word, and yet he had helped solve countless mysteries with Fukuzawa. By then, he had already adopted him. Official documentation, recording the day the wolf man took in a hardly alive orphan boy. It by all means made his life harder in every way it could, but his adoptive father claimed it made him happier too. Over time, Osamu took better care of himself, learned how to maintain a healthier mind and body, made friends, and started speaking regularly. The once stone cold voids turned into rosey warm rays. Seemingly overnight, if you ask Fukuzawa.
The Armed Detective Agency was born when Osamu turned fourteen. The two wanted to do what they've been doing for years, but legally. Not out of respect for the law, but because getting locked up is pretty inconvenient when you're trying to solve crime cases. Not long after the ADA was founded, Osamu convinced Oda to leave the Port Mafia and join him in the Agency. The very Agency he stood in now.
Osamu looks at his reflection in the window, seeing his sweater that covers his scars, the bangs that covers the one that faded, and the jacket his parents left behind. The many physical reminders of his past. A time in his life he hasn't said a word of. Not to Fukuzawa, not to Oda, not to anyone. He plans to keep it that way.