A bottle of apple seeds.
"It tastes like almond," Osamu Dazai smiled heartily.
Behind are large clouds of clouds, the color is as sweet as maple syrup poured on apple pie.
Nakahara Zhongya stood opposite, watching his lover swallow the apple called [Death].
At sunset in Bremen, he suddenly thought, "Dazai, turn around and look back." The burning world was filled with secret joy, and the air was filled with impatient ashes.
"Don't say goodbye, Chuuya, you have to keep walking west, past the sunset and the coastline, back to the day we first met."
Intention: The Central Plains buried his warmest spring in the brightest spring light. From now on, every sleepless night is my celebration for you.