#kravitzland

...he was, awake?

his fingers twitched, and he stumbled, coughing still, but pushed himself. legs weak, he gripped onto the side of the ‘bed’ he had been laid on for all these.... how long had it been? months? he nearly collapsed, but as it was wont to do, his healing factor was already kicking into overdrive.

his head ached something awful. mamoru breathed out, glanced towards those stairs. not a few minutes ago, another man had been there. he had come here, seeking solace, and had told mamoru so very many things. yes, he remembered. despite not being physically conscious, he could recall everything these long months. mamoru’s gaze dimmed, head hurting worse.

“A friend... Hm...” That certainly gave Utsugi pause. He supposed in the loosest of terms, yes, he was affiliated with Kazama, certainly. Of course, he hadn’t exactly done much of anything to inspire affection within him either...

“No, I suppose we aren’t.” He answers, finally. “Perhaps in some other lifetime it was conceivable. But speaking more personally, I do not think it is an attainable position. There is too much bad blood between Kazama, Asahi and I to be reconciled. Too much that cannot be forgiven.”

The scenes unfold before him. All across different instances of time, at least relative to the current track they focused upon. Scrying from his particular demiplane was challenging, especially if the diviner factored the time in their calculations... Although it helped that he was particularly intimate with each of their targets.

“Everything is unfolding as I had hoped for.” He said, as he gazed into the sheer surfaces of the stone faces, each one polished to a mirror finish. Each one held a vision of the characters in play, the ripple effect of a realization long since coming. “How do feel about it?”

@archeracrosstime​

It was a curious question. Strictly speaking, Utsugi didn’t require sleep, not in the way that he used to. His demesne existed outside of time. Something sort of like time passed, but he couldn’t recreate it from nothing, such was the paradoxical nature of his power. His limits were in equal parts his strengths now.

In the absence of decay, Utsugi wasn’t immune to burnout or fatigue. But he didn’t necessarily have to remain in his own body either. He could enter a dream-like state, keeping tabs by other means.

@absolutionlacuna​

“Oh, Kazama-” Michiru was just about to greet the other, before he was crushed into a hug. “Oof!” He grunted, feeling some of the wind being knocked right out of him.

It was a little odd, Michiru thought. Kazama was a bit of an eccentric personality as far as he knew him, but this felt outside the scope of his behaviors. The urgency he approached Michiru or squeezed him enough to cause his ribs to creak telegraphed him that he was going through something intense. His arms reached to pat and stroke at Kazama’s back, awkwardly trying to soothe him.

He didn’t consider himself the kind of person one went to in a crisis... Although he felt a guilty sort of pleasure knowing that Kazama did. A flicker of shame in enjoying the attention he was receiving that he attempted to smother with his genuine concern.

"That's good." Utsugi replied. Because it was. He wouldn't deny he felt joy from the action, even if it came with a somewhat guilty conscience.

With the mention of the mask, he hummed. "A long time ago... I lost who I once was. I lost many things, too much to return to as things were. Instead, I decided I should focus on my goals, and the person I wanted to be as I pursued them."

He stands, immobilized for a time. Carefully, a hand comes up to stroke over the hair on the back of Sora's head.

He hadn’t seen Usagi in a couple of days, not since she had kissed him. Not since he had run away and started to avoid her like a coward. Kazama rarely left his ‘home’ unless it was to grab some sandwiches or other few items from nearby convenience stores. It was during one of these outings that, it had begun to snow. Kazama’s pace slowed to a crawl, then he just, stopped. Stared up at the snowfall. Felt compelled to just, sit on a nearby bench and watch that happen.

Maybe he hadn’t realised just how sad and pathetic he looked, because after a few minutes, Kazama heard someone take a seat beside him. Didn’t need to look, because Kazama sensed him. Knew that presence anywhere.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, we can just sit here.”

Right eye narrowed, Kazama fiddled with that plastic bag from Lawsons. Hearing Michiru’s voice, helped, somewhat. Kazama could hardly tell anymore what dulled that ache enough for it to go away. As though it ever would.

The ache for who, though: Usagi, or Michiru? Both? God, his feelings were so messed up. Why couldn’t his heart just choose one person and be done with it. Why the fuck did he have to keep falling for these people that would never feel a thing back for him---

“Sandwich?” he dug through that plastic bag, held out that pre-made, packaged sandwich towards Michiru. Kazama finally glanced over at him, tried to smile but it was thin, barely present before it loosened, “I look that bad, huh,” it’s murmured, whether Michiru takes the sandwich or not, Kazama glances away.

Considers eating one of the other sandwiches, but keeps it there in that plastic bag. He could have that food once he went ‘home’.

Michiru hummed, neutrally. He didn’t wish to confirm Kazama’s inquiry, but he was too honest to deny it either. Just as well, he didn’t appear to have any illusions about how he must have looked. Though they were only friends a short time, it ached in Michiru’s heart to see him so forlorn...

He took the offered sandwich. He was less hungry than he was fidgety, or just acting on etiquette. Having it in his hands, meticulously picking apart the package as to not tear it apart. It was tangible, something he could control. He could eat the sandwich, while sitting next to him.