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Summary
“What do I think?” He asks lightly.
“Yeah,” Dazai leans back a bit and presses a socked foot into Chuuya’s hip. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Chuuya?” It’s asked innocently. It feels like jabbing a finger into an open wound.
Chuuya blows his smoke to the ceiling despite Dazai tilting forward and opening his mouth. Dazai makes a little tcht sound at him.
“You want to fuck me?” Chuuya asks.
Dazai doesn’t drop his eyes. “I trust you.” He repeats.
Chuuya had asked Dazai once how many times he thought you could break a person before they stopped trying to put themselves back together, stopped trying to pick up the pieces and left themselves shattered.
Depends how cruel you are, Dazai had answered after a long moment, you can still break pieces.
Chuuya is pieces and his edges are sharp.
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Bookmark Notes:
when people ask me who hurt me I tell them it was persimmonsandcats
exhibit A:
"Dazai and him, sometimes they fuck like they’re lovers, but Chuuya makes sure to never fuck like he’s in love."
exhibit B:
"Always, always, dropping to his knees."
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Bookmark Notes:
I have a little more qualms with some of this than the last story I added. I actually debated whether or not to even add it. But, there's definitely several things in here that I wanted to discuss, and also I like that vibe the author is able to produce of like. Two people just like doing their best, working through the pain, definitely should be talking to each other more but like, you know, their own personal shortcomings make that impossible. And like. I dunno. I felt that, I guess.
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Bookmark Notes:
oh my god this is so fucking good