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Summary
The sun bathed Chuuya enveloping him with light and warmness. From his half-closed eyelids he could make out butterflies gliding around almost lazily, wings ignited by the daylight. It would have been a peaceful scene if not for the fact that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood with death hovering above him.
In which Chuuya almost died and started doubting his humanity and Dazai had to be nice and comfort him.