Almost there. Almost there.

Dazai's vision blurs as he slips the key into the lock, twisting the knob quietly as he steps inside the apartment. His whole body aches; he knows even the padding of his gauze hadn't protected him entirely, new bruises blossoming under the fabric. He's sure he's tracking mud through the house as he kicks off his shoes— that's a problem for tomorrow.

Dazai has to pause and rest his sore body as he stumbles through the living room. The couch almost seems like a good option right now; he's heavily tempted to just collapse here and fall asleep. But that's not what he's looking for. A few more steps and he's fumbling with the knob of your bedroom door.

The door swings open quietly, and he shuts it softly behind him. You're asleep at this hour, obviously, but it looks like you'd fallen asleep waiting for him— your nightstand lamp is still on, a book clutched in your sleepy grasp even as you doze. Dazai's chest squeezes tight.

Another few steps to the side and he's turning your lamp off, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your forehead before collapsing onto the mattress next to you. His injuries can wait. Home with you is where he needs to be.