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    Summary

    “Aphrodisiac,” Fyodor answers, voice lilting in a mockery of Dazai’s. “Did you see that coming as well, Dazai-kun.”

     

    There is a minuscule of change in Dazai’s features, one unnoticed by anyone but Fyodor, who revels in the widening of the detective’s eyes, the slight parting of his lips. It’s….haunting. The way Fyodor stares at Dazai is the way in which wolfs stare at rabbits, rabbits caught in the headlight. Like he wants to devour him whole but not quite. There is a sharpness to his features, lips splitting in a grin only reserved for those perishing from sin and doom.

     

    “Bastard,” Dazai manages to hackle out, but his voice is drowned out by Nikolai’s jittery announcement to the corpses of the show that is to come.

     

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