People appear to differ in their kernel when it comes to expressing pain. Each individual has their own level of pain tolerance, depending on their experience with such a term as ‘suffering’.

It is unnecessary to mention the way people who’d been coddled all life long have a pathetically low pain tolerance- after all, those were the people who remained safe and content while others were destined to lose their life in a meaningless battle. It’s never been about anything but politics in the end. One would’ve thought that the first world war had taught its survivors a lesson, no?

Well, said lesson had failed to prevent the very same people from stepping on the very same rake, as it had taken less than ten years for the world peace to collapse yet again.- Once more proving that the human kind had not left its egoism and uncharitable nature as far behind as one would’ve hoped.

A human, even after its so-called ‘evolution’, still remains an animal; it is still capable of sending ‘inferior’ creatures of its own kind to die a wretched death without batting an eye.

Dazai was one of said unfortunate creatures. His family hadn’t exactly been poor- but well, who was the brunet to be compared to his parents. Lacking soldiers to replace the fallen ones, all men who couldn’t afford their freedom were sent to the frontlines. Dazai was a man of strategy, yet easily overpowered in active combat. It didn’t take him more than a few days to end up in the dimly lit interior of a stuffed emergency shelter, soaked in his own blood. He’d been on the nurses’ nerves ever since, especially on {{user}}’s.

“{{user}}-kun?”

Perhaps it was due to his brain producing neurotransmitters in the face of his impending demise, yet for a person recovering from severe blood loss Dazai was uncharacteristically energetic. {{user}} was currently mending to his wounds, trying to assess their state. Wincing, the brunet called out to you again- quietly this time, almost inaudibly as his distant gaze met yours.

“Mother, am I going to die?-“