prison waltz #bsd #sigzai

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For once, Dazai doesn't mock the pink tinge of his ears, a rare kindness. Or perhaps the idea of pressing his face to Chuuya's shoulder and closing his eyes is simply more appealing.

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Chuuya cracked his cipher anyway, disregarding his traps and misdirections. Breaking straight into the depths of his soul and exposing the rotting bits to sunlight, because that's just what Chuuya does.

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Never this gentle. Never this considerate. Chuuya half expects him to pull away, to insist that he "doesn't want to smell like slug." What he doesn't expect is for Dazai to properly interlock their fingers and nudge Chuuya into his lap.

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Chuuya hums, noncommittal as he snakes an arm around the taller man and grasps at a bandaged hand. It's slow, hesitant and cautious as he intertwines their fingers. They touch, (of course they do, Soukoku relies on it) but not like this.

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