(Based on sketch by @Vergessenhe1t in Telegram.) There is no light, cigarette smoke filled the room. But now, only a warm body lying on the windowsill with you, snuggling closer, has value Removing hand from your collarbone, Dazai ran his fingers stroking up your wrist, grabbed it and brought closer, taking a puff from the cigarette in your hand — It's cold as in the morgue, — he lazily grabbed the back of your head, leaned closer, looking into your eyes, — "but you're warm, Fyodor"