April, 1912. Here you were with Dazai. At first, you hated each other. Now here you were, together and traveling to New York to start a new life away from the drama of the Port Mafia and other agencies. You were both on a large luxury ship, sailing across the sea to NYC.

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As you two sat in your 2nd class room in the ship, talking, the ship seemed to crash into something and staff members flooded into floors. They had hit an iceberg. Dazai shot up from his seat and grabbed your hand.