@phansitc liked for a Starter!
Winter has given way for summer, in his universe, and in others. This one seems to be no exception, itās lightly warm, warmer than Mementos, though the Metaverse was made up of the cognition of others, it always seemed to stay pleasantly cool, it made a good retreat in the summer, but for now, it was not so hot as to be wholly unpleasant outside of it, so heād given little thought when slipping from his iteration of Mementos to another, it comes so naturally.
Also naturally comes leaving, stepping from Mementosā halls into reality without so much as needing to lift his phone from his pocket.
Tokyo is as it always is, or at least, itās familiar to him, even in a universe not his own, heās always found it funny, how it can be so very much the same and yet likewise so inviting, moreso than his own world. It feels like a pressure has eased in his chest.
He feels the same way about the people. Like the one his eyes have settled upon now, the soft face and slightly wild hair. He tries to think of the last time he saw his own Mishima, that would have been a long time ago, after that fateful year at Shujin. A nostalgia crawls, slow, thick, like tar, into the back of his mind, and he ignores it.
Nostalgia is just another word for sorrow.
Heās by no means hidden, it isnāt crowded here in the red light district just yet, heās sure it will be once it gets a little later, but the sun is still just creeping below the horizon line. He canāt help but wonder why heās here, Mishima, that is, his own had been the same, hanging around the red light district or electric town long after most had decided it was too late in the evening to stay out.
And he had never asked, though he perhaps should have.
In any case, he makes no move to hide or stay out of sight or even to hide the fact that heās watching the other, he was tall even back in school but heās taller now, a good 5ā²10ā³, even if it were crowded, his height being above average means blending into a crowd isnāt as tactical any longer. What does the Joker of this world look like, he wonders, how old is he, what scars does he have, how tall. But those are questions that donāt need answering.
Instead he stands, and the moment he thinks Mishimaās eyes have crossed him, he lifts a hand from his pocket to wave a silent greeting. Curious to see whether heāll be acknowledged or ignored.















