#requiemcount

There’s fresh tea on the table.

As well as snacks, the sort of small, homely kinds you find in the old-fashioned shops hidden in the corners of Little Tokyo, laid neatly on simple, unadorned plates. This is still his office, but made accessible; the leather armchair is resting idly at his desk, while Yagen himself is sitting in a low and comfortable chair. Next to him is a window looking out to the cityscape below, slightly ajar to let in a warm breeze.

Across from him sits a boy with raucous purple hair and a high-collar jacket. Compared to Yagen’s simple dark browns and whites, he seems much louder even when he hasn’t spoken a word.

'Chamomile,’ Yagen says as he pours a cup and pushes it to Gaito’s side. Today, (as on all other days with this particular patient), he isn’t wearing his labcoat.

‘I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard it has soothing properties. Try a taste?’

He really wanted to dig his hands in it and fluff it up.....!! It looked so soft and well-kept. Just how long would it be if it wasn’t all styled up?

It was rather surprising to see a child around. He doesn’t think they were rare so to speak but he wonders what value they have to be brought to a place like this. They were not forgiving to children, he believed.

“I know what you’re going to ask and I’m just gonna cut you right off and say no okay? I told the last guy no and I’ll tell the same thing to every other boy band looking guy that need an awesome lead singer. I know, I know I would be great at it but that’s just not what I want to start up right now. Maybe ask again later.”

A kindred spirit in the art of purple hair!

What a small world this city was!

Kyouka would be a lot more expressive about that excitement and flood this person with an array of questions if her own memory loss wasn’t... on and off riling up her anxiety problems.

“Hey. How does your hair do that?”

Apparently anxiety was no filter for her asking stupid bullshit.