#bubonem

The boy in the black coat was lost in the rain. He looked like an ink stain on white paper, water might just cause him to run, and then wash away. Desipte the heavy coat he wore on his shoulders he found he was quite cold. So cold, his limbs were starting to get heavy. The amount he had drank earlier certainly didn’t help, because he felt sleepy too.

He took one step, and then another. On his thirst he stumbled. He hit the ground, rolled and finally fell on his back. When he looked up he saw someone was watching him. A pair of green eyes were watching him. They looked like precious jewels. For a moment he wanted to pluck them out of her head and steal them away like a magpie.

He thought she was just a street rat. She looked skinny and dirty enough for it, and she was wearing the strangest bandages - just like him. He decided she was just a stray dog instead. She was his age. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, still slurring his words slightly in his drunkenness. 

“Do you want to get married?” 

Bookstores were one of Kunikida’s favorite places to peruse, especially on his one self-allotted day off. He’d been searching for a bookstore that suited his tastes, and while there seemed to be a few different ones in the part of the city he’d explored, the one he had passed by this morning seemed different. Intriguing, even.

Figuring that he’d have been a fool if he passed it by, he wandered inside, instantly taking in the scent of both older and newer books. With a soft smile on his face, he headed over to the section that seemed to house the most poetry, and began to scan the spines of the books on the first shelf. 

A short amount of time passed before he found a book of classic romantic poetry that was very reasonably priced.

.... This is different, though. This person certainly won’t be cruel to you, so... You should just go talk to her...!

It was difficult, but eventually, Sayo managed to gather up the courage to say something.

“E-Excuse me?” The child timidly spoke up. “Are you writing something... Is it a story? Um... What is it about?”

he recognised the cover, a book he’d read on a whim some time ago but still somewhat memorable it seemed. “ it isn’t often i see someone reading that title these days, i’m glad it’s getting some attention. “ a friendly smile with a friendly tone. he even allowed his eyes to close in a soft expression of faux sweetness. it was a challenging book, a complex narrative and the literature itself was a manifestation of cryptic analogies and metaphors. and yet she had held it so casually, so naturally. there was much to discern from that alone, but as his eyes reopened he chose not to question it, not yet. 

It’s her voice that Karren recognizes, more than anything. She’s starting to feel better here, more whole... and also more able to fall into old habits, old ways of thinking. Perhaps stagnation is bad for her, but Karren cannot help but lose herself in who she used to be. Her weaknesses have always felt a bit like tools (sharp, near-identical, used for specific purposes), like needles sewing her-- nein, ich kann nicht--

                     ( She feels such foolish and terrified, a scared little girl, the fear                        woven  into her in a  way she cannot  see, what Eto did to her                        head was... was, ah,  the  word  hamartia, in the old myths,  if                        she’s  remembering  it  correctly;  does  her  God  know about                         those dusty old myths? Surely, yes. She knows so much. )

Of course he’s recognized her. Anyone who had ever crossed paths with Eto Yoshimura would remember her. The impact she left on everyone’s lives that she encountered, for better or for oftentimes worse, cut into them in such a way that made her impossible to forget.

Arima was no different, of course. The tale that they’d weaved about a One-Eyed King influenced his life and ultimately contributed to the end of it. It’s not as if Arima was going to hold that over her head; it was their combined scheming that led him to slitting his own throat. Arima had felt that the time was perfect for him to let go and pass the mantle onto Kaneki. He believed Eto would have felt the same.

Shuu still has not found the perfect place to get coffee. This is incredibly disappointing, considering it is one of the very few things that he can consume. All of the coffee had tasted so drab and dreary that he is of half a mind to go and find whoever brought him there and demand that they at the very least bring him a decent drink. 

But, ah, non! There is no way to get in contact with those who’d stolen him from his own world, and therefore no one to punish for their transgressions.

As he mopes around, feeling something akin to depression seeping into the back of his mind he notices someone in a small cafe. His eyes narrow, focusing on the figure until it clicked. It couldn’t be! Immediately, he half-runs into the cafe, slamming the door open and causing the little bell to rustle. “It cannot be!” he exclaims, hand to his chest as he approaches the woman. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

          Frustration lined his brow, creased into a valley of folds as yet another piece of paper was torn from his notepad and crumpled within a tight fist, damp ink bleeding dark lines into his palm. The setting was perfect, like he’d always envisioned; a quiet room in front of the ocean. Only the weather was still mild enough not to waste its remnants of summer warmth being cooped up, so Oda had settled with a deck chair onlooking the ebbing waves.

          The problem resided with him, as always. He hadn’t expected his first venture into novella writing to be something he picked up with ease, a murderer ( past tense irrelevant ) like him, didn’t deserve to write about life. Maybe that author had been wrong about him. Heaving another discouraged sigh, he tossed the paper over his shoulder, only realising after hearing a faint thudding sound that someone had been standing there.

❝I’m sorry! I didn’t realise there was someone--❞