He’d been fine, really. He’d made sure of it - double checked himself in the mirror, even. His was the face of someone who was totally and absolutely fine. He’d done his paper work like the dedicated employee he was, even cracked a mild joke or two at his own expense. So when Amon told him to go home before the sun even set, just because the rest could be done tomorrow, it surely had nothing to do with him.
But it had left him with nothing to do. He wasn’t use to this concept of free time, not to this extent. He wasn’t use to not having plans stacked within plans. He had no pressing tasks what so ever. And he was bored. That was all. He was bored.
If he had wanted to leave early, he would have asked. He hadn’t. He’d wanted to numb his brain with useless paper work until as late as possible and then pretend it was enough to put him to sleep at night. That was the idea. Had been for the past few days. It’d even worked a little yesterday.
Really, why did Amon even care? People caring just complicated things. You’d think someone like him would know that.
Rather than go back to his room, he’d decided he might as well wander. Nothing interesting was going to happen in his room, and there was at least a possibility out here.Â
But of course today would be the day for even this city to let him down, and here he was, walking through the shopping district of all places, probably the least interesting part of the entire city. How had he even ended up here. Whatever.
He was just passing a book store when he figured he might as well see if he even cared for reading anymore, after several days of purposefully doing nothing but staring at paper work. Even if he didn’t, this one seemed to have a cafe, so he could at least get a cup of coffee. It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep, anyway.
That had been the plan at least, at least until he made it several shelves into the fiction section. Well. Maybe he should have specified what type of interesting he wanted to find, because this? This was not it. He could smell her even from the next row. Even over the smell of the books, new ones and used ones. Even over the smell of coffee. After that night he was pretty sure he would have been able to pick out her scent through a thousand rotting corpses. But this wasn’t his imagination or his memory. Not this time.Â
What had Uta said that first time they met here? We can’t always get everything we want, can we?
@gluttonx​
