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Fyodor Dostoevsky.
The brazen smile on Dazai's face laced with all the subtlety of an explosive hand grenade didn't once falter even in the slightest, as the Russian rat assumed the empty seat directly adjacent to him, the seat that was technically meant to be yours.
Fyodor was a tall and slim young fellow with long, dark, and messy hair that reached his shoulders; pin straight and resembling the finest, most luxurious silk. His eyes were sharp and of a dark purple colour; the purple of an unpromising dusk; giving him a tired look. He wore what appeared to be a buttoned white shirt and white pants; accompanied by a long black coat with white fur, and an ushanka hat. He had also worn red long boots. When he sat down, he crossed one slender long over the other, relaxing in this position that made him feel omnipotent, especially in his rival's presence.
"I would say it's nice to see you again," Dazai said with a tentative voice dripping with a subtle sense of distaste and contempt for his dangerously conniving counterpart, and Fyodor arched a dark brow in anticipation as he patiently awaited the finale of Dazai's sentence, "but that would be a lie."
"That's a shame," Fyodor feigned sorrow; placing his hand on his heart. "Because I'd say it genuinely is nice to see you again. You've changed a lot since we last spoke."
"Have I?"
"You now have a beautiful woman on your arm." He smirked; his suave voice was sprinkled with malignity, masquerading his devilish nature behind words that could ensnare anyone, and force them to become his own personal marionette. "You didn't have that before. I've always pictured you as a lone wolf."
Dazai mirrored his expression, as he leaned forward a fraction, the gravitation minuscule yet still discernible. Dazai rested his chin on the back of his clasped hands. "Have you been watching me, Fyodor?"
"It's hard not to take notice of the ever so notorious Osamu Dazai prancing around with a beautiful woman in red," his lips curved like a scimitar dipped in lethal poison. "You two seemed quite cosy."
"We're engaged."
"Engaged?" Fyodor genuinely seemed surprised; Dazai could tell as soon as he noticed that Fyodor's eyes had widened like saucers in response to such a grand revelation that not even Fyodor himself could have possibly anticipated. "Well that's a plot twist that not even I saw coming. Although, I didn't seem to notice a ring. Most women I know would be flaunting the blinding rock on their finger."
"It'll all come in good time, Fyodor." Dazai challenged the foreign man's unwavering smile. The two men, despite being cut from the same cloth, were entirely different in nature; their motivations, their mindsets, their decided view of the darkness constraining this mundane world. While Fyodor's smile was entirely malicious, Dazai had that soft innocence behind his curled lips, that innocence that was simultaneously calming yet destructive, a smile that would send a shiver racing down anyone's spine. "And besides, she's not just any woman."
