Adult Content Warning
This work could have adult content. If you continue, you have agreed that you are willing to see such content.
-
Tags
Summary
Fyodor wants to write scripture about the way Dazai’s hair falls into his eyes. Compose a sonata inspired by the hue of Dazai’s eyes under the streetlights. He wants to rip away Dazai’s mask of false purity with his teeth and feast on the sickness inside the wretched man’s soul.
He is snapped out of his reverie by laughter. The streetlights paint Dazai’s features sweetly, like honey drizzled over freshly-baked shortcake. He’s still leaning into Fyodor’s personal bubble as though it is nothing, as if the walls that have stood for over two thousand years were simply never built. The man tilts his head, amused. “Fyodor, are you feeling well? You can’t stop staring, this isn’t like you. You look a little more flushed than usual. This is odd, even for a freak like you.”
Fyodor blinks, runs sixteen simulations of the most feasibly possible outcomes for his next question in his mind, tilts his head, smiles, and—
“Osamu, would you like to come home with me tonight?”
—takes a leap of faith, for once.