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    Summary

    “You never carry your own gun with you,” Chuuya breathes, right into the skin of Dazai’s jaw. Maybe the space is just crammed, but Chuuya’s breath runs hot. His fingers close in around the metalic handle, pulling it out of the holster almost teasingly. “Whenever you decide to stop being a lazy piece of shit and actually help with fighting, you always take one of the enemies’ guns. Sometimes you take them back with you as souvenirs, I’ve noticed. You wouldn't have had the time to snatch this before we got ambushed, and you were using it while we were running. This is yours.”

    Language:
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