I HATE OVERTIME.

[SMS] Yeah. I can't move. You forget I'm old. [SMS] I don't. I was just curious. I get a better grip in my boots when I'm in my catsuit. [SMS] ... Do any of them have cats?

[TXT] Yes, Mr. Bucky. [TXT] There are cats.

Nanami is nothing if not thoughtful, and he acknowledges Japan's status as the origin of all things "kawaii".

Shōko had always known that  grief  would be as much of a companion to them as sorcerers as they were to each other. Like a classmate that lingers at the back of the classroom, keeps to themselves until...

Well, until something sudden like this.  Like Haibara's truly, undeniably, untimely death. Her eyes still burned, hot tears stubbornly clinging to her lashes, wetting her fresh dark circles. She's stopped crying a little over an hour ago. Her breathing has finally caught back up with itself, shed the hiccups of her sobs a few minutes after that. Now all she can do is stare at the corpse laid on the table in front of her, covered with the thinnest white sheet. There was nothing to keep warm. She's touched his face, his hand. She knows. A part of her wants to reach for him again, stopped only by the weakness she feels in her limbs. What strength she had left after all the sadness sapped most of it from her was used to light another cigarette instead.

Maybe he'll go to the grave smelling a little like her still. Maybe she'll keep smoking to pretend that thought will comfort her with time.

⸻ °｡ @corporatio.

If only he’d gotten skillful sooner.

After taking Haibara to the morgue (he’d refused to let anyone else touch him, convinced that no-one would carry his body with the amount of care required to keep him intact), Nanami had wept. Truly, honestly wept. Even Geto-san’s presence failed to stop the flow of his tears, and normally he hates it when anyone sees him feel anything.

When he’d left to get some rest (but what was there to recoup for, knowing that he was so incapable when it really mattered?), the guilt of leaving Haibara somewhere so cold had made it difficult for him to fall asleep. So, sleepless at 2 AM, he’d made his way back to his colleague’s… no, his best friend’s body, because Haibara always hated being alone.

The sight of Shouko-san sitting in silence stuns him, but only for a moment. Dimly Nanami wonders if Haibara’s heart would flutter, knowing that his favourite senpai had sat by him as he laid in eternal slumber.

“Can you smoke in a morgue?” he asks in place of any formal greeting. Nanami doesn’t cross the threshold, as if respecting his best friend’s alone time with the girl he likes.

“Something about an open flame…”

a woman's silhouette passes the stockade of enameled glass panes. no, not his target. his mouth hooks down, rifle adjusted.

[TXT] Your capacity to multitask extends only to texting, I understand. The point stands. [TXT] And no, the socks aren't split-toed. I didn't think you would need that. [TXT] The patterns are exquisite, however. And they will keep you warm.

[TXT] Tokyo Banana. Anpan. [TXT] And novelty socks from Asakusa.

And, because it deserves to be said--