Family (Or Something)

A change of heart in the making?

The world rattled as Dazai slumped against the bed leg, bruised bandage covered knees pulling flush to his chest as he leant his shoulder up against the bed frame, head managing to find comfort against the side of the plush mattress, relaxing tiredly against it.

Dazai knew if he stood up, he could climb up into the proper comfort of the bed, but he couldn't bring himself to be in the bed with him. Not right now while he was still so sore all over.

Fists curling into the shoulders of his night shirt, over sized and draping over his pantsless legs, leaving the bandages that ran from the arch of his feet nearly to his pelvis, only a little space between where the cotton started and where it picked up once more a little below his navel.

Tugging at the fabric roughly, he buried his face in his knees which sat at an odd angle, properly rotating his body so his entire left side lay flush against the frame.

The room was chilly, his fingers a toes felt numb from the winter cold wafting in from the open window, something Mori always insisted upon whenever he stayed in Dazai's room, saying that beneath the blanket they both generated more then enough body heat between the two of them to get through the night just fine.

(Dazai never felt warm with him either way.)

Toes curling painfully against the wood floors, he breathed out and peeked out at the wisps of air connecting with the bitter cold of the room, spiraling and spinning in a white cloud that slowly dissipated into the dark rooms air.

Goose pimples forming across his tender flesh, he spied a glance out of the window. Normally he kept the blinds closed, blocking out any pesky light that filtered and disturbed him, however said blinds were drawing to reveal the night sky.

Shakily, Dazai braced his hands upon the floor, knees sliding down and beneath him, feet bending as his toes helped him stand upright, swaying as he limped forward, cast making his right side feel heavier then his left as he was nearly thrown off balance.

Carefully, he stepped around discarded clothes, clothes too large to be his own, and made his way to the large window.

His desk, still covered in an array of paperwork and files, was in the way of standing properly in front of the window.

Cautiously, glancing back towards the man in his bed, he quietly scooped up papers, leaving them in an awkwardly large stack furthers from him, hands sweeping gently across the wooden surface, brushing away stray razors and pills, adding them to the little pile he was creating out of his way.

Staring down as the moonlight reflected off of the polished surface of the mahogany desk, he braced his arms further onto the desk, pulling himself upon it, knees landing on it and helping him position himself on the furniture, ticking one knee beneath his rear and the other lay splayed beside him, keeping himself steady as he placed his hands lightly upon the window sill, feeling his finger tips come in contact with dust.

Craning his neck upwards, he watched the stars, the bright twinkles against the inky blackness of the night sky, he allowed his mind to wander. Wander to his previous caretaker, a man who Mori took that privilege of nearly constantly being st his side, though he hadn't forbade interaction between the two.

He spent sundays at Bar Lupin, sat on a barstool kicking his legs that couldn't quite reach the lowest rung, laying over the bar top poking at the side of Odasaku's cup, nattering on about whichever newest set of suicide methods he'd read about recently. Odasaku would always listening quietly, often putting in his own input, otherwise allowing Dazai to speak as much as he desired. It was always something he appreciated, yet never thanked the man for, never wanted to say those two words in fear of the reality of being in his presence truly being revealed to be more of a task rather then privilege, something Dazai always insisted to Odasaku.