(one thing about dazai is that he has spent the better part of his year in a maximum security prison, secret from the public, and its location equally unknown. his entire world was a glass cubicle suspended in the air - in which there was only a bed and a short walking space. for someone like him, whose brain begs for serotonin and drowns in its own boredom depression, it is hell to not feel touch, not feel stimulus.
so, in other words, he's touch-starved naturally, even more so after a year. his eyes close so he can enjoy the motion, and his other hand very gently takes her own to his wavy brown locks. they're soft, too.)
no subject
(one thing about dazai is that he has spent the better part of his year in a maximum security prison, secret from the public, and its location equally unknown. his entire world was a glass cubicle suspended in the air - in which there was only a bed and a short walking space. for someone like him, whose brain begs for serotonin and drowns in its own boredom depression, it is hell to not feel touch, not feel stimulus.
so, in other words, he's touch-starved naturally, even more so after a year. his eyes close so he can enjoy the motion, and his other hand very gently takes her own to his wavy brown locks. they're soft, too.)