❝ odasaku, odasaku, odasaku! ~ ❞ dazai skips towards the writer through the curtains of pale morning sun surging from an open window into their alcove of the world, casting his arms over his shoulders with the dazzling, careless abandon of new lovers in a simple romance. ❝ your first book signing is today! are you ready? excited? nervous? oooh, am i dating someone famous now? — ❞
the way dazai chirps his name is akin to birdsong in the morning – light and sweet, dewdrops on the plants sitting outside on their patio that oda stared at with vacant interest until dazai’s arms find their way around his shoulders and the writer is snapped out of his daze. moments ago, both of his hands wrung the warmth of his coffee cup in an anxiety he didn’t want to address, one of them now resting on the small of the brunet’s back when he leans in so candidly.
“… yeah,” is all oda answers with. ( to what part he’s actually confirming is a mystery even to him, of course. )
it’s one word, but it says all its need to when combined with the subtle quirks present in his face and body. nervous was an understatement, but he had long since mastered the art of putting a lid on all outward reactions for his own safety… or, in most cases nowadays, to convince him he could do something far beyond what he felt he deserved as a man of such low standing, and less than noteworthy achievements.
“are you going to be coming with me?”
oda presses his fingers into dazai’s back, just enough for it to be felt. a silent request of ‘i hope you will’ .