Don't you know how this is supposed to work—? He's spent so long trying to get time alone with you, trying to hint at the way he feels. He refuses to say the words out loud.

Dazai's face is tinged red, and he's clutching a bouquet of weeds and wilted leaves, his sharp mouth pulled into a pout. "Aren't you gonna say anything?" He huffs, embarrassed. He's given you flowers— that should be a clear enough confession, right?