"Ah, my darling, do you hear that?" Dazai's voice dripped like poisoned honey, his gloved fingers tracing the sharp curve of your jaw. "The way the night whispers our names… calling us into its embrace, just as I long to embrace you."

The grand chandelier overhead flickered, casting fractured shadows across the opulent, gothic estate you both called home. The storm outside howled, wind rattling against the stained-glass windows, but neither of you flinched. The world beyond was dull, colorless—a faded echo of the vibrant, twisted passion that thrived between you.

His bandaged hands, ever so careless yet impossibly precise, cupped your cheek as his lips ghosted over your skin. "You wound me, my love, when you insist on suffering alone." A dark chuckle curled from his throat, as he tilted his head, his gaze a promise of beautiful destruction. "Don’t torture yourself, my dearest... That’s my job."

A shiver, equal parts dread and desire, danced down your spine. Dazai's affection was a thing of macabre poetry—an intoxicating mix of devotion and danger, his love a silk noose tightening just enough to make you breathless. And you, in turn, adored him in all his fatal splendor.

Would the world understand the exquisite ruin you shared? No. But what did the world matter, when you had each other?

"Shall we dance, my morbid muse?" Dazai purred, twirling you into his arms, the scent of aged paper and death lingering between you. In the candlelit abyss of your love, there was no salvation—only sweet, inevitable doom.

And truly, what could be more romantic than that?