Warning - child neglect, alcohol, and parents dying.
Au - Atsushi mom
Atsushi Nakajima never talked much about his past—not to the Armed Detective Agency, not to his friends, not even to himself. But there were moments, like tonight, when the memories found their way through the cracks in his carefully built walls.
---
It started with a simple question.
"Atsushi," Yosano asked one evening at the office, "what was your family like? Did you have siblings?"
The room had quieted at her words. Dazai paused mid-prank, Kunikida's pen stopped scratching, and Ranpo actually looked up from his snacks.
Atsushi froze. His hands trembled slightly as he pretended to sift through files.
"I... didn't really have much of a family," he said softly. "Not in the traditional sense."
The team exchanged glances but didn’t press further, sensing the weight behind his words.
---
Later that night, Atsushi sat alone in his small apartment, staring at the single photo he had left of his mother. The edges were frayed, and the colors had faded over the years, but her smile was still there—a smile he hadn’t seen often.
His mother, Hana Nakajima, was a complicated woman. She had been beautiful, clever, and fiercely independent, but she had also carried a burden that Atsushi never fully understood as a child.
---
Hana had loved Atsushi deeply, but life hadn’t been kind to her. His father had left when Atsushi was only a baby, and Hana had worked tirelessly to keep them afloat. But the stress had worn her down, and slowly, she turned to alcohol to numb the pain.
Some nights, she would cradle Atsushi in her arms, singing him lullabies with a slur in her voice. Other nights, the bottles would shatter against the walls, her frustration spilling out in broken glass and muffled sobs.
"You're my little tiger, Atsushi," she’d whisper when she was sober, her fingers brushing through his silver hair. "You’re going to grow up and be so much better than me."
But her moments of clarity were fleeting.
---
As Atsushi grew older, he became the caretaker. He learned to cook, clean, and even cover for her when the landlord came around demanding rent. The weight of responsibility crushed him, but he bore it silently, knowing no one else would.
One night, when he was about ten, he found her passed out on the floor, a broken bottle of whiskey beside her. He shook her awake, tears streaming down his face.
"Mom, please," he begged. "You promised you'd stop."
Hana opened her eyes, glassy and unfocused. "I’m sorry, baby," she whispered. "I’m so, so sorry."
That was the last memory he had of her alive. A week later, she didn’t wake up.
---
Atsushi rubbed his eyes, the photo still clutched in his hands. He hated himself for the anger he still felt toward her. He hated himself for the guilt, too.
She’d been trying her best, hadn’t she? But her best hadn’t been enough.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He quickly shoved the photo into a drawer and opened the door to find Dazai standing there, a bottle of sake in one hand and an annoyingly smug grin on his face.
"Dazai? What are you doing here?" Atsushi asked, bewildered.
"Thought you might need some company," Dazai said, pushing past him into the apartment.
Atsushi sighed but didn’t protest.
---
They sat in silence for a while, Dazai nursing his drink while Atsushi stared at the empty tea cup in front of him.
"You know," Dazai began, his tone unusually soft, "you don’t have to carry everything alone."
Atsushi stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
Dazai shrugged, swirling the sake in his cup. "Just saying. Sometimes it helps to talk about the things that haunt you."
Atsushi hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"My mom," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She... she was an alcoholic."
Dazai didn’t react, giving him the space to continue.
"She tried her best, but it wasn’t enough. And I hated her for it. But I also loved her. And now..." His voice broke. "Now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to feel about it."
Dazai set his cup down and looked at Atsushi with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "You’re allowed to feel both, Atsushi. Love and anger. Grief and relief. They’re not contradictions—they’re just human."
Atsushi blinked, his chest tightening.
"You think so?"
"I know so," Dazai said, a faint smile on his lips.
For the first time in years, Atsushi felt the weight on his shoulders lighten, if only slightly.
The next day, Atsushi brought the photo of his mother to the agency.
“She was beautiful,” Yosano remarked, handing it back to him.
“She was,” Atsushi said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever fully make peace with his past, but for now, it was enough to know he didn’t have to face it alone. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
And THAT'S ALL FOR THIS CHAPTER THANK YOU FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE CHRISTMAS EVE BYE AND ILY GUYS AND SEE YOU TOMORROW!
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