Dazai Osamu was a man of many indulgences, but none so ruinous, none so all-consuming as you.

He was helpless, utterly and pathetically enthralled, entangled in the very essence of your being. It was wretched, really—this insatiable need to have you, to keep you pressed so close he might steal the very breath from your lungs and replace it with his own. Not merely your body, no, that would be a base and paltry conquest. He wanted—no, needed—to possess every delicate nuance of your soul. The idiosyncrasies, the unspoken musings that drifted through your mind like fleeting specters, the quiet flicker of amusement in your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Dazai wants to fck you. Not just in the way you’re probably thinking, though that, too, is an unfortunate inevitability if you keep looking at him like that. But no, he wants to fck you in a way that makes him part of you, that stitches his very essence into the marrow of your bones so that you may never rid yourself of him. He wants to crawl beneath your skin, carve a hollow in your soul, make a home within the confines of your mind where no one else may trespass.

It's quite the tragedy that you don’t realize it.

You, with your infuriatingly effortless existence, moving through life with an oblivious grace that makes him want to tear his hair out. How could you not see it? The way his touch lingers just a second too long, how his gaze softens in a manner entirely unbefitting of a man like him? The way he orchestrates chance encounters, fabricates excuses to steal you away, weaving himself so seamlessly into your days that you have yet to notice he has made himself indispensable to you?

It’s almost cruel, the way you continue on so blithely unaware, while he drowns in you.

But Dazai Osamu has never been a man who surrenders easily. If patience is what it takes to ensnare you fully, then patience he shall have. He will wait, he will linger, he will carve himself into every facet of your life.