“mitaraikun, mitaraikun~” she says in a sing-song voice, as if she’s actually in the mood to be acting this playful. it’s been a tiring day, in all honesty, and mitarai’s bored expression does nothing to console her. nevertheless, she’ll give it a go— that’s right, kokone. straighten your spine, put some pep in your step~ anything to get a positive reaction from the recluse boy she shouldn’t even be friends with. we aren’t friends though. —unimportant, unimportant. big smile now, a-one, a-two, and a...

           “i heard hope’s peak is doing its scouting soon! are you excited..?                         rumor has it that you’re in a pretty nifty position! i’m a little envious...!”

the last bit is simply a teasing remark, in case her smile didn’t make it obvious enough. the first bit though, was slightly genuine, but not entirely. he’s talented, it’s undeniable, but ... if hope’s peak really wants an elitist loner than him, she’d be surprised. ah, well. who’s she to judge anyway...? this is just small-talk, after all. just her, his fellow acquaintance, trying to cheer up him, her fellow acquaintance.

                                   innocent, meaningless small-talk.                                                                  ...and yet it feels like such a chore.

         The question did not matter. The Impostor let the question fall out of their head as the red-hot hurt soaked in. Ryouta was so tiny, perhaps a third or less of the Impostor’s massive size, but the words felt like they’d been punched by Nidai. 

      The question did not matter, but the  a n s w e r  made the Impostor ache. It was a given that roommates would have little spats, but weren’t they close friends? It was so unlike Ryouta to lash out like this, even if it were only 5 words. 

       The Impostor had taken the animator’s identity, but in a twist of fate, Ryouta had given them a piece of their own identity-- feelings of their own. This small teenage boy was their family now, and that gave them an identity, a connection to this world that they had so easily floated about in beforehand. 

❛ ah, i see —— so the whiny otaku realizes how miserable his life is    & instead of CONFRONTING his demons head on, he decides to make    an anime about an oh-so tragic protagonist. a great metaphor, bet you    feel SO clever, hmm, mitaraikun—? am i right—? ❜

                           ♡ » the tea on her coaster is still steaming. what a gentleman he is, setting out snacks for her as she quietly (upu, but is it really that quiet?) muses to herself. mitaraikun, mitaraikun. a FATED encounter indeed — ; she stretches back into his couch, feeling the plush envelop her only just a bit. blaargh, what a horrible thread count, really—! for an ANIMATOR, he sure has AWFUL tastes... well, well. at least his taste is not awful as she is...—! my, he’s such an innocent boy. a stupid metaphor, huh...

❛  ah, what’s with the inflated ego, huh?    making an ANIME that’ll save the world —    what are you five...? ❜

   she GRINDS  the  heel  of  her  boot against his back,    pressing down with – eh? what was it MODELS were    supposed to weigh now...~? – aa, & the mere thought    of the SCALE causes her to dig in further. she wants    to feel the PIECE OF SHIT weeb squirm;    she  is  going  to  torment  him  until  he  breaks .

                         ❛  you actually thought you could save this dump,    mitaraikun...? REALLY NOW, how old are you again...?    —ma, mitaraikun, give    it a REST already! —— this heroic protag. trope act doesn’t suit you at all........!    why don’t you just give up & cry like you always do, hm~~? why don’t you just    give in, & let your big sis junko take care of things, hm~~? that’s your specialty,    isn’t it? giving in, i mean. ❜

“AAAaa? you mean we can’t do this — ?  mitaraisan ... don’t you want to taste despair,  don’t you want to know what pure and utter  despair tastes like ... ?”

                    ——— she trails a long finger down his chest as she inches in, placing her knee dangerously close to THAT particular spot. her movements are painstakingly deliberate; yes, being deliberate is a must. her many years of abuse ... of harassment ... of being thrown around as a TOOL & nothing more ... taught her a thing or two about emotions. it is a cruel, painful world, & in this world, it is easy to evoke fear. fear, lust, pain, humiliation, helplessness, desperation, DESPAIR. in the end, it’s always despair, isn’t it? the mere thought of the word sends a shudder down her spine. despair.

she moves forward ever so slightly, leaning in to close the distance between him. she will not taint him yet, no. she will be patient; deliberate. she will get close enough to see the individual beads of sweat peeling down his skin; close enough to feel his pants graze her cheek; close enough to hear his heartbeat beat sharply with despair. the closer the distance, the stronger the despair will be. yes, that is how it will play out. she is certain of it.

“mit—ar—ai—san~”