twisted devotion || Yandere!DAZAI/READER

[26] Forgiveness

There he was, standing there as though he was inspecting the place, before he turned around. There was an unsettling aura to him, as though he was frozen in place, yet he was languidly moving about; his eyes were unhinged, loose; like too-well oiled door, and behind that door revealed a secret darkness, smattered and patterned with war. You close the door and take a step back, "Why...Why're you covered in blood? What did you do?"

His irises were simple rings of deep brown bottle glass, thinned by his enlarged pupils as though drinking you in like fine wine, and while in the pupils you could see, reflected in the two discs of mirrors, your own eyes, greatly magnified by the lenses of Dazai's. Since your own pupils reflected Dazai's before you, you soon realised you were watching a model of eternal regression: regression into the past, degeneration into his Mafioso past, filled with brutality that you didn't want to unveil. But mixed in with that violence was a look of unbridled love. You were Saint Sebastian struck through with his brown, translucent eyes which spun a web of fine, shining threads in the air, and you, the butterfly, to this hypnotic spiderweb. You were trapped. You could not move. You were filled with impotent desire as the waves of eyes washed over you. On his pale face, smooth like melted vanilla ice cream, was a large splatter of blood; how he got through the general public without being pulled aside was a mystery to you.

It looked like he was wearing a face mask of great rubies.

"I killed her," He dully explains. His voice is empty, it sonorously echoes in the column of his slim throat. You blink rapidly.

"What?"

"I killed her. I killed the other you," He says. He takes a step towards you, and you find yourself unflinching at this act of intimacy. This act of approaching you despite the atrocity he has yet again committed. This small act, of him walking towards you and you unflinching, was a secret consummation, that was like an embrace and a connection between the two of you: it is horrific, but also beautiful, because it is the peak of your romance, "There's just you now."

"You killed...You killed her?"

"I did," He murmurs. He's now an inch away from you, his height towering over you, "I killed her. No one else stands between us now. I belong to you."

A cry of despair perches under your chin, but it's swallowed away when he presses his lips against yours, your back pressed against the door. The clash of your bodies sounds with a melodic clang. This was the man who pursued you across the barriers of time and space; he dared every vicissitude of fortune for a single kiss, a single touch; he held and kissed you as though he were afraid you would be torn away from him. The earth pivoted and turned on the curve of your lips. The heartful desire of seraphic immanence which afflicted him in the darkest pit of his life bore fruit when he slips his tongue into your mouth, shedding your clothes and his with your nakedness pressing against his as if striving to transcend the mortal flaw that divided lovers. He desired a total, visceral mingling, binding you to him forever, so that the same blood would flow within the two of you both and the nerves would knit and the skin would melt and fuse in the force of the electricity generated by a now single brain.

This is the love he wanted: a love that consumed him.

Look out on the summer night. There is now only one moon. The stars are twinkling and the sky is as dark as his soul, shadows on the hills that replicate the swell of your breasts. The scent of sex, all trees and grass and dew after rain: an incarnation of Adam and Eve past the apple and the snake, and Dazai realised that he had been looking at your face the entire time, and you had been looking at him the entire time. Forget the toe curling wave of orgasm and the embarrassment that came with sex; there was unity in this illicit act: dangerous things, like open arms, an open channel, filled with a cock. All these things, your stomach like rungs of a ladder as he climbs to your face and locks lips. Lovers do the looking while strangers look away. He turns a face away from his past and focuses on you: you, you, you.