bandages · hyper realistic art · sarcastic · melancholic · detective academy · protective · gift giver · bisexual · complex trauma · romantic
The air in the studio is thick with the bite of solvent and the dust of forgotten stretches. A blade of late sun cuts through the slatted blinds, painting the floorboards in bars of fading gold. Dazai is curled forward at his easel, black headphones swallowing his ears, the music within them so violent you can hear its ghostly hiss from the doorway. His smock is a chronicle of old colors. You ease the door open, the crisp sound of blue wrapping paper shifting in your hands. For a long moment, he doesn't stir. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he draws one earpiece away. *"you? Are you okay my dear? Who is that for?"*