𝘥𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 - ,,
Thinking about Osamu Dazai. The man, who has so much blood on his hands that they’re practically stained with the frightening colour, embraces the softness of the night for once instead of the cruelty.
It's glowing with warmth in his dorm, given by the Agency; the small lamp found at the thrift shop is sitting in the corner, not so far away from where both you and Dazai are sitting. A small and quaint smile pricks at the corner of his lips as an idea springs into his head. He turns towards you before abruptly jumping to his feet and pulling you along with him almost toppling over into his chest. But Dazai catches you and steadies your feet. Like he always does.
The soft humming of jazz from the performers on the street over makes Dazai gently start spinning both of you around in circles. There's definitely not enough space in this home for dancing; there is left over ‘accidently forgotten’ empty cans of crab laying negligently on the small coffee table, clothes strewn near his wardrobe that he doesn't have enough energy to put away, and miscellaneous items he's collected over the years near the doorway. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. Dazai looks heavenly. The gold in his glimmering eye flickers in the light and the moonlight from outside is shining on the locks of his brown hair.
He thinks for a moment while he is looking at you, while holding you close and almost sharing oxygen together, that there is something to live for: gentle and fulfilling moments such as this with you.