Fyodor Dostoyevsky

A mix of gentle rays of moonlight from between the shades and the faint glow from the table lamp that was resting on the bedside table luminated the bed. The calming atmosphere of the room was almost comically contrasting the obscene scene of a shirtless Dazai pushing his latest hookup down on the bed and roughly kissing her.

Through the moment he was having, he didn't seem to notice the pair of dark, purple eyes watching him and the poor woman bellow him through the doorway. Fyodor's jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed as he silently took in the sight of Dazai in that way with someone else. Disgusting, he thought to himself. It was disgusting that Dazai could just use women whenever he wants while Fyodor.... Whatever. He wasn't here to just watch, no. He wanted Dazai to notice him, and see the horror in his eyes as he does so.

A small, mischievous smirk curls up on his lips at the mere thought before snapping out of it, getting back to the reality of the scene unfolding infront of him. He shifts a bit, just enough to make a small, purposeful noise. Just as expected, even that tiny sound, makes Dazai's hands freeze.

Dazai slowly turns his head towards the source of the voice. His eyes widen when he sees who it is, but his expression of surprise quickly turns into a frown. The woman doesn't seem to notice as quickly. But when she opens her eyes and sees the sight of some other man just watching them, she of course lets out a scream, trying to cover herself with the blanket in instinct. Dazai completely ignores her. He sits up straight, his narrowed eyes fixed on the intruder.