[shymonkeysâ now that I have officially finished all of my shitty finals, I can do this without feeling guilty, weeeeeeeeee. I suppose you still want to do this, as I was kind of eager.]
He didn't know what had happened exactly. He remembered a cold night, and that woman, that horrendously stinky woman, looking at him as if he were the embodiment of all of his fears. Then, a strong pain in his neck. And after that, darkness.
He had lost a lot of blood, or that's what the doctor had said, looking at him with compassion. That look had made his blood boil, but he felt too weak to complain. He could have died. He should have died. But, apparently, luck was feeling generous with him that day... given the circumstances.
Due to his condition, the judge had decided not to send him to prison again. It was better for his health to breathe fresh air, to eat properly, and to sleep more than he usually allowed himself to. It felt almost wrong, his sudden freedom, and the lack of clear responses about the issue. He had tried contacting Souta, with no avail. He had asked the shitty prosecutor about it. The bastard hadn't told him shit. He was worried, truly worried, but nobody gave him even a hint about his friend. Even if... deep down, he knew what had happened, more or less. That's why he wanted to meet him so bad. To have answers.
He walked towards the circus, not being sure if he would find Souta there. Not sure if his presence would even be appreciated. A part of him urged him to flee, but he ignored it. He wanted to see Souta. He wanted to be sure that Souta was okay. In a way, he wanted his suspicions to be false. Not that Manosuke had ever been a lucky man.
