Work Text:
How melancholy incarnate he looks, a man who was lost, lost in the midst of a storm. As if everything around him was falling, a great and enormous destruction, he was destruction, he was melancholy and he was the awakening of feelings, and this, the last title, the only one that maybe was minimally positive, that's because he was able, to bring back life, emotion, a frozen heart, and cold as winter in the coldest parts of the world.
"You are like the lightness of snowflakes, like the most sensitive porcelain, if you are ice, who am I?"
"You are the pain, the pain that loves me as much as it loves the melancholy, loves as much as it loves being in the bottom, because you know and it has already become part of you, this pain, that's what you are. And because you are pain, you love ice, because ice hurts you."
"Maybe you're right, maybe wrong, I won't tell you that, but something that moves me deeply, Dostoevsky, is on the ice, freezing like winter, even full of heat, you still depend on me, and only me, to unfreeze you."
"Do you feel good knowing you have me, at the sheer mercy of my feelings for you?"
“I don't like to confess things like that, so I won't lie, I feel as good as ever before.
"Even though you're melancholy in person, can you feel so good? Should I doubt your words?"
"If I doubt them, how could I prove the truth to you?"
"Would you be able to prove it using your clever fetching ideas, or do you just know how to use words?"
"If you don't trust me, how could I do something like that to you? I'm being honest, can't you see?"
"Actually, yes, I can see it, but I'm curious, what would you do to prove me not in words?"
"I'd give you a kiss," he confessed with an almost affectionate smile, Fyodor looked away.
"What makes you think I'm not freezing?"
"Are we going back to an earlier subject?"
"We are."
"Well. You are always full of clothes."
“Oh, so it was really literal. I was expecting something more poetic.” He teased, arching his brow, Dazai chuckled and moved gracefully to wrap Fyodor’s shoulders in a tender hug. Reaching he waist, he pulled him closer and laughed when she heard a surprised gasp.
"I don't think so." His slurred voice, matching his slow, careful actions, squeezed the fabric of Fyodor's robes in a signal for him to remove them.
“We've been in love, but what will become of my frozen heart when I'm not here to warm it?
“You can use a bonfire."
"Are you trying to tell me to burn like a demon?"
“That's what you are, am I wrong?" His eyes met those of the pair, and that, that wasn't just desire, maybe it hadn't been for a long time. It was theirs, and theirs alone.
How could such a feeling be explained? Hate would never be able to come close to that, but love, love was a complex, complicated and incomprehensible word for both of them, how could they say that was love? Would it ever be love? The word love was often used when they were alone, but do they really know what it is? What is love? Or is it the way they title their feelings because they can't understand what it really is? Would it be correct to say that they loved that feeling?
Perhaps Fyodor wanted another ordeal, not because he didn't trust Dazai to feel for him, but because he didn't trust the word, it wasn't his knowledge to love him.