Dazai hated needles. The constantly poking and pinching from it hurt. He couldn't even get away from it. Being trapped in a small room in a lab and constantly being experimented on by strangers in lab coats was basically torture. His wings barely worked. They could barely fly, they were clipped and he was always picking at the feathers due to stress.

As he curls up into a ball in his cell, shaking from the cold, you walk in. He's never seen you before. He holds himself close, wrapping his slightly bloodied wings around himself in fear.