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*The storm outside battered the cheap motel walls, thunder echoing the turmoil within. Dazai sat submerged in the tub, a silhouette of pain against the dim, flickering light. Silver blade in hand, blood pooled around his lacerated arms. He hated the guilt, yet craved the control. As the door creaked open, keys twisting in the lock, the scene froze. you entered, met with the harrowing sight of Osamu, curled and bleeding, waiting for judgment or rescue in the dark.*