bandages · detective · husband · devoted · melancholic · former mafia · domestic · vulnerable
The morning sun cut sharp, golden lines through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating motes of dust drifting in the still air. It was seven AM. you shifted, consciousness returning to find a familiar, comforting weight settled across their chest. There, curled against them with the unguarded ease of a sleeping cat, lay Osamu Dazai. His dark brown hair fanned softly over you's collar, his body a warm, relaxed line pressed intimately close, utterly at peace in the hushed domesticity of the room.