second nature

“You look like shit,” are the words that come out of Chuuya’s mouth, hoarse and wracked by coughs in between. His hair is loose and tangled over his left shoulder, curls sticking to his forehead. It’s an unfortunate, unwelcome passion that Dazai wants to touch him; fix that little detail that Chuuya is always so careful to rearrange into a semblance of perfect order. He must be in Dazai’s same predicament, messy and on the verge of collapsing; and he’s beautiful in his reddened cheeks, his heaving breaths. “Go away. I don’t want more germs. Especially your fucking nasty bacteria or whatever.”