[He is obedient, at least, now that Dazai has a hand on him. His free hand goes to tear off the covering apron he has on, bundling it up inside out and disposing of it in a bin on the way out. His pack was stowed somewhere in the infirmary, but it will be there when he comes back for it, he's sure. It's all he has left, really; all that is material. A few extra clothes, one of his sketchbooks and paints - as if there would be time for painting...
He feels a little numb as he follows Dazai out, almost drifting along behind the other man in silence until he finds him a place and the hubbub is shut out, behind Dazai's back. It's too quiet behind closed doors - the noise was more comfortable and helped draw his attention out rather than in at himself too much. It has always been easier for him to turn his attention outward than in, to reach out for others as if to distract from something inside.
Ah. He knows well the strange clothes the Orbiters provide them with.]
...I suppose I should.
[one hand rubs across his forehead, smearing a little grime]
Is there a place?
(([screams quietly] I saw this late, I'm sorry D8))
no subject
He feels a little numb as he follows Dazai out, almost drifting along behind the other man in silence until he finds him a place and the hubbub is shut out, behind Dazai's back. It's too quiet behind closed doors - the noise was more comfortable and helped draw his attention out rather than in at himself too much. It has always been easier for him to turn his attention outward than in, to reach out for others as if to distract from something inside.
Ah. He knows well the strange clothes the Orbiters provide them with.]
...I suppose I should.
[one hand rubs across his forehead, smearing a little grime]
Is there a place?
(([screams quietly] I saw this late, I'm sorry D8))