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Summary
“Iʼm asking you to do the work for me,” Dazai murmured, his voice dropping into a heavy, gravelly register that completely obliterated the narrow gap between them. “Take it nice and deep. Let it get burning hot in your chest... and then part your lips and let me swallow whatever you blow out. I want to taste your secondhand.”
Chuuya, restless after a mission, steps outside for a smoke. Dazai, in a moment of characteristic audacity, demands a taste, not of the cigarette, but of the smoke. Through Chuuyaʼs lips.