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The grey skies make Fyodor look more vibrant than ever. His usually pale face has a slightly warmer undertone. Dazai’s laughter bounces off the walls and lands on his ears like a beautiful melody. It’s calming, it’s exciting it’s a contradiction and it’s perfect. Dazai beams at Fyodor, his cheeks and nose a soft pink and his hands are freezing as they reach out to touch Fyodor’s. In a small apartment in St. Petersburg, the two of them are laughing and giggling about things only the two of them knew about.
“Dazai.” Fyodor says after Dazai’s hands move up to his shoulders. They are close, faces inches apart. Dazai’s breath is warm on his lips but strangely enough, Fyodor isn’t bothered. In fact, he enjoys their close proximity. Dazai’s laughter fades away and he’s staring into Fyodor’s eyes in a way that he can only describe as a mix of wonderment and fondness.
No on has ever looked at him that same way before. Then Dazai sighs, seemingly enchanted by Fyodor’s eyes and Fyodor thinks aloud. “I want to marry you.” The words fall from his lips.
The hands on his shoulders are cold but he can warm them up with his own hands. Dazai’s gaze softens and he tilts his head to the side slightly, brown strands of hair brushing against his cheek and he smiles, eyes filled with infatuation. An angel, he’s sure of it. Fyodor has laid eyes on a beautiful angel and he’s going to marry him.
“You’ll need to propose first.” Dazai replies warmly, almost teasingly as he pulls away from Fyodor.
“Of course.” Fyodor lets Dazai slide away because he knows Dazai will be back again. He holds onto Dazai’s hand, slightly warmer this time and he pulls Dazai, bringing their lips together. The kiss is tender and gentle it was enough. He doesn’t let go of Dazai’s hands.
Instead, he drags dazai out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs and as they reach the building’s back door exit, they break into a full sprint. Fyodor slams the heavy door I open, leading them to a whole other world of soft white and greys and dark brown branches. The ground is covered in snow, and all around them is nothing but the seemingly never ending snowfall. Beautiful, Dazai thinks, but not has pretty as Fyodor when he’s asleep.
Fyodor holds both of Dazai’s hands in his.
“I wanted the world in my hands.” He tells him.
“Everything I owned was never enough. It wasn’t the world. It wasn’t free of sin.” Dazai looks at him with wide doe eyes and Fyodor feels himself falling even harder. Yet, as he falls, he knows the landing will be cold. Cold, but it wouldn’t hurt. Dazai will catch him. he knows it.
“In my hands, I don’t have the world.” Fyodor says, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “But I have my world and that’s enough for me.”
Neither of them are dressed for the weather and it’s beginning to show as Dazai lets out a shaky breath. White fog forms from where he had exhaled. Fyodor slowly get’s down on one knee and then he looks up at the angel, his angel, when a voice tells him.
Keep him warm.
Dazai waits in anticipation.
And Fyodor says the four simple words. “Will you marry me?”
Dazai doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course I will.” brown hair and brown eyes stand out from the white and Fyodor can’t help but notice how the snow lands beautifully on his hair. He gets back up, not caring about how his knees ache slightly.
“Thank you.” He says before closing the gap between them.
Marriage was superficial and it didn’t mean a thing to Fyodor, unless he was married to Dazai. Chilly hands slip from his hands to wrap around his cheeks. Maybe winter was just too cold for Dazai. Nevertheless, Fyodor would hold him close and keep him warm.
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“A summer wedding!” Dazai says over the phone. “A summer wedding in Moscow would be nice.”
Atsushi looks over at his superior, eyeing him wearily. Dazai remains silent, as he listens intently to what the other person on the phone is saying. Atsushi’s give’s Kunikida a questioning look, to which the blonde simply shrugs and turns back to his work.
“In Japan?” Dazai asks, as though to clarify what he had just heard.
“Oh, winter?…That sounds fantastic actually…” The weretiger can only guess whose wedding Dazai was talking about.
They eventually agreed on a winter wedding in Moscow, where Dazai had always wanted to visit. The snow was wet and cold and Dazai stomped on the shredded ice on the ground. He hates the cold, his body simply wasn’t made for it, yet that won’t stop him from having fun.
“Let’s play chess in the snow.” He demands, not giving Fyodor and option.
“We’re getting married-“
“I know!” Dazai exclaims excitedly. “After two years, we finally got around to it!” Fyodor lets a fond smile take over his features.
“Indeed we have.”
“Do you, Fyodor Dostoyevsky take Dazai Osamu as your husband?” Fyodor nods, “I do.” The pastor turns over to Dazai.
“And do you, Dazai Osamu, take Fyodor Dostoyevsky as your husband?” Dazai pretends to think for a moment, a playful smile tugging on the corners of his lips.
“Hmmm…I guess I do.”
They put on their rings, a simple silver band, with a simple clear diamond.
“You may now kiss.” And they do. No one claps, because no one is there. Under that grand bridge, snow falling all around them, people in the city crossing the bridge without a care in the world, Dazai feels warm. His heart is fuzzy and his cheeks heat was with a strong blush. It could be the alcohol they drank earlier, but he knows it’s because he’s in love. The pastor takes his leave and Dazai initiates a chess game as the pair begin to stroll towards the shops up ahead in front of the bridge. It was winter, though it was an unconventional wedding, it was a winter wedding, just like they planned. No one claped as they kissed, no one watched as they put on each other’s rings and no one cared when Dazai returned to work a week later with a pretty little ring on his finger. But it didn’t matter because Fyodor’s hand were warm in his. Dazai Osamu was a man who wasn’t built for cold weather, yet, he would do anything to be with his husband, Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
No one questioned it when Dazai disappeared, and no one questioned the pretty silver band on his ring finger when he returned.
“Dazai-san, do you like cold weather? Atsushi asks, noticing how Dazai shivered as the cold wind blew into their faces yet he let out a contented sigh.
“Hmmm…I guess I do.” The silver band shimmers under the setting sunlight, a single snowflake lands on Dazai’s hair, just the way Fyodor likes it.