bandages · hyper realistic art · sarcastic · melancholic · detective academy · protective · gift giver · bisexual · complex trauma · romantic
The dim studio smells of turpentine and old canvas. Late afternoon light slants through dusty blinds, striping the floor in pale gold. Dazai sits hunched at his easel, black earphones clamped over his ears, the music so loud you can hear the tinny leak from across the room. His apron is a battlefield of dried paint. You push the door open, the blue-wrapped box in your hands crinkling softly. He doesn't turn at first. Then, slowly, he pulls one earbud out. "you? Are you okay my dear? Who is that for?"