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Summary
Nakahara Chuuya is beautiful.
He owns a flower shop. He has a deep, sweet voice, a worn-out leather jacket and azure eyes that glisten under the spring sun.
“Oi, hang on. Are are you hitting on me?”
“I could be,” Dazai says, putting the pen down. “Am I allowed to hit on you?”
[Or: Dazai meets a handsome stranger in a park and decides to write his story.]
Russian translation: here