It feels a little like the world is crumbling away beneath her feet, until really all the remains of the world is the patch of ground they stand on and Dazai. Dazai and his voice that caresses her as surely as his hands are, gentle, coaxing. Guiding. She’ll step right off that ledge if it means he’ll meep going, if she can have his gaze focused that intently on her.

She’s stepped off the ledge for less.

Mikan leans into him, her eyes watery and her fingers curling desperately into his clothes like she might fall away should she let go. She wants to stay here and worship at his feet. She wants to dig her nails and teeth in until the imprints left behind are too deep to ever heal, deep enough to carve into his very bones and never shake her off, never forget. The desire is strong enough to stop her breath for just a second.

Instinctively she glances away before hastily bringing her gaze back on him, once there hadn’t been any permission to look away, her body trembling against him with pent-up desires both similar and distinct (violence and sexual so often went hand-in-hand, after all).

“O-okay.” Her voice sounds small and uncertain, but she swallows hard and nods again. “B-because it’s you... I’ll do whatever you say. O-only for you...” Because she can’t possibly dream of displeasing him, even if the praise and compliments make her feel strange.