nullied.
a question not quite understood yet taken in - stride so elegantly. perhaps unfortunately for Dazai, nearly EVERY micro expression is done elegantly. DARE he say that it’s not fair??? rust - colored eyes had never wandered to another man before, more often than not casting his gaze upon pretty and delicate features or perhaps some skirts that ride up a little higher than is regulation in schools. his attention is TRAPPED in the delicate white eyelashes that flutter over BRILLIANT hues of a sunset.
curiosity stalks into Dazai’s gaze without his knowledge like a thief in the night looking for something precious, and that PRECIOUS thing is this very curiosity. just when he thought he’d seen everything in this life to the point his mind would never be made up, his eyes are able to take in the sight of elongated and SHARP claws that connect with pale hands and sharp teeth that peek out at him like a child playing hide - and - seek as he speaks purposeful words. he has a gentle glow about him, and Dazai is SURE it isn’t a trick of the eye. DANGEROUS claws skitter over the deep scrapes on his skin that tore even his uniform as he mentions healing???
❝ believe in you as a GOD??? but there’s NOTHING after this pathetic excuse of a life, ❞ Dazai says with a quirked eyebrow as his body continues to THROB from the fall from more than a story.
he says this and yet… his body SCREAMS to take the words back ╼╼ that he’s WRONG.
Dazai Osamu is a nonbeliever. It’s not surprising — surely a man who wished to take his own life would be akin to think that death is the end, that there’s a happily ever to be found within the cold kiss of wet soil, flesh decomposed. For a fleeting moment, Atsushi pities him. He pities the fact that someone like this particular human can move through the vast and mysterious world without considering anything or anyone beyond it. As if all there was to see on Earth / the briefest glimpse of the cosmos mankind’s science has granted — was it, the end. Upon the utterance, the tiger god’s lips thin and his clawed hands curl inward, away from the human’s injury, as if he had touched the surface of something scalding.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,” he says, voice quiet but firm, as the wind gently picks up around them. His godly powers may have waned, but his blood was had some worth, held some magic. Carefully, the tiger god uses the tip of a blackened claw to cut a deep, straight line down an opposing finger. The shade of red exposed is bewitching as it is vivid. Without explanation or warning, he then smears the blood onto the other’s wounds. The human flesh there warms — and in an instant, said wounds close, revealing skin that appeared as if it had never been sullied to begin with. Fully healed with the tiger’s blood.
“I am a god,” Atsushi then murmurs. “But not many still believe in me. So all I can do is this much, until I disappear.”
Perhaps he and Dazai Osamu both have that in common, being twin stars hurling toward oblivion.
