[ They're not supposed to get this close, or rather Odasaku isn't.
There was always an unspoken agreement between Dazai and others. He could enter their space, but were to stay out of his. Odasaku and Ango both understood that. They could stay close to him because they understood how to maintain the correct distance. In that way, they could share their warmth without doing harm.
There's a sense of dread that sends shiver down his spine, a shortness of breath, and his face feels hot. He should push away. He should have pulled away before, but it's like all the strength has been sapped from him. He leans forward instead, helpless, and listens to the steady beat of his friend's heart.
He's warm, and he's away of each breath that companies the rise and fall of his chest, and Odasaku smells faintly of smoke.
It's too painful. It really will be what kills him. Maybe that's why this happened. That sensation that's been building over months, over years, had finally become too much.
Dazai doesn't want to be human, because everything about being human is painful. But he does too, and it's only with Odasaku that he struggles so much.
It's less practiced, but in the end there's less hesitation, less awkwardness when he decides to reciprocate the gesture. He wraps his arms around the other with some trepidation. His grip is light at first, but he convinces himself to tighten it just a bit.
It feels different than it has the times before. It's still a greater weight than he can bear, but it's lighter; less sickening, less desperate, because all the things that should be there have been wiped away - four years of emotions which had only recently found an outlet. ]
... Sorry for worrying you. I don't think I can stay this way forever, but it is fine for now. This is how it should be.
[ He has no concrete proof for that, but Dazai trusts his own judgment. ]
no subject
There was always an unspoken agreement between Dazai and others. He could enter their space, but were to stay out of his. Odasaku and Ango both understood that. They could stay close to him because they understood how to maintain the correct distance. In that way, they could share their warmth without doing harm.
There's a sense of dread that sends shiver down his spine, a shortness of breath, and his face feels hot. He should push away. He should have pulled away before, but it's like all the strength has been sapped from him. He leans forward instead, helpless, and listens to the steady beat of his friend's heart.
He's warm, and he's away of each breath that companies the rise and fall of his chest, and Odasaku smells faintly of smoke.
It's too painful. It really will be what kills him. Maybe that's why this happened. That sensation that's been building over months, over years, had finally become too much.
Dazai doesn't want to be human, because everything about being human is painful. But he does too, and it's only with Odasaku that he struggles so much.
It's less practiced, but in the end there's less hesitation, less awkwardness when he decides to reciprocate the gesture. He wraps his arms around the other with some trepidation. His grip is light at first, but he convinces himself to tighten it just a bit.
It feels different than it has the times before. It's still a greater weight than he can bear, but it's lighter; less sickening, less desperate, because all the things that should be there have been wiped away - four years of emotions which had only recently found an outlet. ]
... Sorry for worrying you. I don't think I can stay this way forever, but it is fine for now. This is how it should be.
[ He has no concrete proof for that, but Dazai trusts his own judgment. ]