It’s always like this with Dazai, you never knew where you stood with him.

Warm hands. Cool words. Soft kisses that feel like they mean something, but never quite settle.

You’re sitting on the edge of his desk, legs brushing his coat as he leans in closer, his smile lazy, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, always sharp.

“You know,” he says, fingers ghosting along your jaw, “I'm starting to like this.”

It’s almost nothing. Almost playful. But something in the way he says it feels like a crack in his perfectly built walls.

“Yeah?” you ask, watching him carefully, trying to read past the smirk. “Why now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he kisses you—slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of you against him. When he finally pulls back, his voice is softer, “Because… it almost makes me want to stay.”

Almost.

The word sits heavy between you, like he’s reminding you that he won’t. That maybe he can’t.

His words always danced just out of reach, teasing, floating somewhere between sincerity and mischief. It made you crazy sometimes—how easily he could tug you closer, only to let you slip through his fingers like you’d never mattered at all.

You grip his coat a little tighter, wondering if this is how it’ll always be—with Dazai giving you just enough to keep you wanting, but never enough to fully hold.

And still, you let him kiss you again.