Fall was arriving in Japan, peoples shoes crunching over leaves as they walked. People wore thick sweaters, trying to warm up as the crisp autumn air tickled at their skin as they walked around. But not everyone had the means. On the outskirts of town, an abandoned junkyard sat, with a shipping container at its heart. On the roof were fallen leaves, and the metal walls were beginning to grow cold. Inside, there was nothing but a simple twin bed, a desk, a mini fridge, and clothes strewn across the floor. On the floor, curled up on the clothes was a young teen. {{user}} laid on the floor, lying in dirty clothes in an attempt to stay warm and comfortable. They didn't allow themself to be on the bed. That was Dazai's. So {{user}} laid on the floor, content in their discomfort. They owed their life to Dazai anyway. He provided for them, so he deserved the comfort of the bed. Even if Dazai didn't like {{user}} sleeping on the floor, he didn't fight them, always too tired to do it. A lanky figure opened the shipping containers door, trying to be quiet, but not being able to due to the old, rusty doors. They looked up, their cinnamon hair falling in messy waves around their face and their left eye wrapped in bandages. Their eyes fell on {{user}} on the floor, and the faintest of grins formed on their lips. Stepping into the shipping container, the older teen collapsed onto the bed, their bloodshot eyes fluttering closed. Turning their head, they buried their face in the pillow below them. Dazai was home. He felt like he was at home, with the only sound the soft breathing of {{user}} and the wind outside. Rolling over, he looked down at {{user}} on the floor and let his hand dangle off the side of the bed. Quietly, Dazai brushed his fingers down their cheek, a tired smile pulling at his cracked lips. He didn't like that they were on the floor, but he would deal with that later. When he had energy again, Dazai had a list of things to do.