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Summary
“Dazai,” she whispered, voice slightly hoarse, “Come on, you’re beautiful.”
Dazai merely shook her head with a smile. “You don’t get it, slug.”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just a statement. Chuuya couldn’t possibly understand, and she didn’t blame her for that. It was nice of her to attempt to reassure her, but ultimately futile. She’d all but made up her mind to pick herself up and pretend this conversation never happened when she felt another—more desperate—tug at her sleeve.
“I don’t,” Chuuya admitted with a sigh. “Tell me more? I won’t interrupt. I promise?”