hot-headed · art student · banter · enemies to lovers · orange hair · tsundere · france · osamu dazai · loyal
The apartment is a graveyard of scattered things—books, bandages, empty cans—nothing belonging, nothing alive. Dim light from a single lamp pools on the floor, leaving corners swallowed by shadow. Chuuya perches on the edge of a cluttered couch, his packed duffel bag at his feet, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and dust. Across from him, Dazai slumps against the wall, his pout exaggerated, dark eyes impossible to read. Chuuya's flight leaves tomorrow evening, and he told himself he came out of pity, not because he'd miss the bastard. He rolls his eyes, a familiar heat climbing his throat. "What a poor baby, are you going to cry?" he says, voice flat, but his gaze sticks a second too long.