31 Days Of Dazai

gunpoint

The feeling of a gun against his head is atrociously familiar. It's common to have cold steel make contact with his chin, forehead or temple, all prime places to blow a person's brains out.

Usually, when someone puts a gun to his face, he understands their motives for doing so, whether logical or ruled by fear, he knows why they're doing it, why they chose that course of action above all others.

However, laid across the couch, side of his face sat upon Mori's lap, arms pulled to his chest and knees fetal, he can't find it in himself to understand why the bitingly cold steel makes contact with the crown of his head.

The mans other hand is rested upon his neck, rubbing deeply before changing to tug lightly at the shorter hairs just at the bottom of his head, rotating between tugging softly and scratching soothingly. The contact is tender and comforting, bringing the buzz of sleep knock upon his fuzzy brain, body preparing to allow to fall into the abyss of rest, to hopefully get a proper sleep for the first time in ages.

When the muzzle first makes contact, his eyes fly open, staring at the mans knee, surprised but remaining silent, listening to the elder hum and lavish affection upon him whilst simultaneously holding a deadly weapon against him.

Mori often acted so bizarrely, as he lay, blearily attempting to come up with a reason why he'd so suddenly pulled the weapon, he found he  couldn't come up with any answer.

The fingers kneaded into his nape, and despite the kiss of death so near, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut once more, relaxing against the man just as he previously had.

Breathing deeply, he sighed, nuzzling against the body that provided warmth, earning an amused chuckle from above.

The fingers traveled upwards, massaging his scalp in circular motions, briefly stopping to tub the soft brown locks between the mans fingers before resuming his actions.

Dazai stretched out beneath him, involuntarily sighing as his limbs that had remained in a scrunched up position for a hefty amount of time, body shacking as he did so.

Lazily, he threw his arm over the mans lap as well, rolling over to be laying down face first, readjusting his position to be more comfortable as he settled to hopefully fall asleep.

Mori chuckled at the teen, watching him rearrange himself in a way comparative to that of discontented cat.

The gun retracted, and Dazai was unsure whether or not he felt more at ease for that fact, after all he still had no clue as to why the man pulled it out to begin with.

Mori doesn't do unnecessary things, his very being and every action the doctor makes is ruled by logic, so there must be a reason for what he'd just done however Dazai doesn't know  he can't figure it out, he's mulling over what his done recently, what would have annoyed Mori so deeply as to pull a weapon on him, but in the end he comes up empty handed.

Sure, he's made plenty of snide remarks, hissed unpleasant words at the man and perhaps neglected his work a tad too much, however these are things he does frequently, so surely they wouldn't cause the man to lash out this one time, yes?

Mori is patient, he waits and never reaches a boiling point, so it can't be a case of Dazai's snippiness finally being too much for the man, leading to his brash actions, since the man had never taken too much issue with Dazai's back talking.

In fact, he was sure the man found it endearing, that he fawned over that side of him, that he drew conclusions between Dazai's loud insults and declining of advances and his Elise-chan, whose defiant petulance was he calling card, her most defining feature instilled within a doll, something completely lifeless and inhuman and false, so similar to Dazai.

Maybe Mori thinks of Dazai as being similar to an extension of his ability, like a second Vita Sexualis, another life sized doll that held no honest personality, that sat upon a shelf until called upon to do whatever his owner asked of him.

Yeah... that was a good possibility, that the man thought Dazai to be an extension of himself, of his ability who felt neither pain nor fear, no matter the actions enacted upon them.

(Did Dazai feel fear? Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but he thinks he does. He thinks that's all he truly feels.)

So was the gun a show of dominance? Or was it simply because he could? Because his doll, tool and weapon would not truly oppose to poor treatment? After all, violence was the best incentive, and after all this time, the boy craved it with a fervor unmatched, after all he felt little else, pain was something, as unpleasant as it is.

Breathing in deeply, sleep began to envelope him once more, a soft, soothing blanket as his mind began to calm, relax and relent from how rapid his thinking had become in the face of attempting to understand his mentor.

Fingers grasping lightly at the prim fabric of the mans dress pants, sleep slowly over came him, its arms sweet and a rare sight to behold, he could nearly feel it, just in the distance, within arms reach, kind rest to allow his body and mind some sort of reprieve, to escape into hopefully nothingness, to go somewhere where he could settle himself deep within a silent a pit a stay, to lay in weight and pray he'd never wake, because heaven or hell, either was better than the bitterness of existence, the meaninglessness of it all, how nothing mattered and no one truly cared.

It felt good, to finally be sinking into the embrace.

His sleep was interrupted violently as the pistol made viscious contact with the back of his head, pain ricocheting through him as the man pistol whipped him in the back of the head.

It was unexpected, however the unconsciousness he slipped into afterwards, laid upon the mans lap, blood oozing from the back of his head, Dazai decided that being knocked unconscious, whether he understood the reason for such an action to be taken against him, washed enough and the closest thing to sleep he would be allowed.

Oblivion welcomed him.