Osamu Dazai PM
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dazai stood infront of the dimmed bathroom mirror of his and Chuuya’s shared apartment, holding a big pair of scissors. It was about three in the morning, and Dazai couldn’t sleep. He held the scissors close to his head, as he cut his hair.
each snap of the scissors was followed with a lock of brown hair falling into the sink, the silence filled with snipping sounds.
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