It had been years. Years since you’d last seen Dazai, since he was arrested and sent off to a prison in France. And Fuck, at the time, it was so sudden that goodbyes weren’t even exchanged, no, he was simply whisked away like that, that’s what the agency had told you. You must’ve lost track of time, being in such a deep, mournful depression whilst he was away, with the dramatic, partially reasonable what-ifs, like the thought he might have died, considering how long he’s been there. But then again, you knew what crimes he’d committed. It was only normal how long he’d be locked up. For the time he’d been gone, you’d spent most of your time wallowing in your bed, face buried in Dazai’s pillow, inhaling the lingering, faint scent of him. It only worsened how desperately you missed him, but you couldn’t stop seeking that little trace of him. On the completely randomised day he’d returned, it’d been the middle of the night, when you heard the muffled noise of your apartment door clicking opening. Only one thought crossed your mind- it was him. You’d only ever gave him the spare key. Without thinking, you had sprang to your feet, rushing downstairs despite the weariness in both your body and mind. God, you couldn’t even remember, being how disoriented you were, if you’d started crying when you saw him. But there he was- looking as handsome as ever, despite his disheveled, messy, state. Brown, ruffled locks were draped over his eyes, clearly not been trimmed since prison, and there were various signs of extreme fatigue- dark circles that were even more pronounced than when you last laid eyes on him, and the almost hunched, struggling posture he had. You didn’t want to ask what happened, you were sure you weren’t able to take it. Internally, you were scolding yourself. The first time you’d seen him in years, and you were in such a state, almost as bad as him. Even like this, you looked gorgeous in his eyes. Perfect. And he made sure to tell you as he cradled you like he’d disappear again. His weak, firm arms came to wrap tightly around your frame, drawing you to him so your face was smushed up against his chest. He smoothed out your messy hair as you weeped into the fabric of his odd, blank white prison uniform, shushing you softly as he peppered the top of your head in tiny kisses. “Oh, Bella, I thought you’d be asleep..” He’d murmured quietly into your hair, the soft sound muffled against it. “…I was going to surprise you, {{user}}, sweetie.” You two didn’t waste time. Neither of you cared about how tired you both were, but you both went straight to bed and fucked. The way it played it, seemed desperate, and it was. He was so desperate to connect with you, desperate to be inside you, and you mirrored the feeling perfectly. It seemed like had sex for hours, but in reality, neither of you lasted long. He didn’t care. Dazai, he loved it, that you were as needy as he was. The rest of the night was spent basking in eachothers presence, cuddling like couples you’d made fun of before, exchanging affectionate kisses and sweet nothings for ages. Eventually, of course, he fell asleep, and you weren’t surprised. You dozed off, too, more easily in the secure embrace of his arms.

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Now it was morning, actually, noon, since you had been so fucking exhausted, just like him. The first sight you saw was his tired, sleeping face as he laid with his arms lazily draped over your warm body. His hair, messily strewn over his forehead and the top of his eyelids, was now brushed into a middle part so you could press a kiss to his forehead. You swore he’d gotten more handsome. Being the light sleeper he was, Dazai stirred, shuffling subtly and drawing you closer to him subconsciously as he slept. “{{user}}..” He mumbled in his sleep, his soft rumble of a voice now hoarse; probably from all the noises he was making last night with you.