[It isn't the first time and, as Masaomi dreads, may not be the last that Ryuugamine Mikado appears and subsequently disappears from Haven. He should feel happy about this. Mikado's suffering in Haven is over for the moment. But after everything he's seen, after witnessing Mikado colluding with Blue Square... He doesn't know what to think. Except maybe that even home isn't safe.
He never even got to see Mikado after that. He can't explain it to anyone. No one else would understand. No one except maybe Anri, but Anri... Right. Anri and he aren't speaking.
No one has many personal possessions in Haven, but Masaomi folds up a shirt Mikado had picked out with him. He'd held it up with that embarrassed smile he always wore and asked if it looked okay. It's not like it was anything special, or something that should have been burned into his memory, but maybe that's why he remembers it so clearly amid the insanity. He sets the shirt down in front of a very familiar door, checking the number one more time just to be sure.
There's no point in leaving a note, not when the writing will just vanish, so he leaves it without an explanation, walking the rest of the way to the lobby and out of the apartment building.
He has a lot of thinking to do. He just doesn't know what about.]
[ It’s a few hours before Anri finds the shirt. Although it had been neatly folded at one point, the coming and going of people with less than exacting amounts of care through the cramped hall has left it crumpled, a messy facsimile of its former tidy corners. It’s familiar, an understated shade of blue; the colour is enough to hit her like a stricture of blood to the heart, the memory of air and a shy, embarrassed smile and a kind voice, kinder than she had deserved.
She’s almost afraid to touch it. He had always been a good thing, gentle and nice. He had undercut the intensity in the back of her mind with a smile, with a soft word. He had helped her believe in ordinary, kind people when she was sure none existed at all.
When Anri finally does pick it up, it’s with a ginger touch, fingers only curling in enough to keep the shirt from slipping to the ground. It dangles loosely, held at one shoulder and one sleeve, until she can’t look at it anymore and brings her hands together. It will wrinkle, she thinks, followed by, let it.
When she goes back inside, the shirt is stuffed into the lowest compartment of her meager bedside drawers. ]
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He never even got to see Mikado after that. He can't explain it to anyone. No one else would understand. No one except maybe Anri, but Anri... Right. Anri and he aren't speaking.
No one has many personal possessions in Haven, but Masaomi folds up a shirt Mikado had picked out with him. He'd held it up with that embarrassed smile he always wore and asked if it looked okay. It's not like it was anything special, or something that should have been burned into his memory, but maybe that's why he remembers it so clearly amid the insanity. He sets the shirt down in front of a very familiar door, checking the number one more time just to be sure.
There's no point in leaving a note, not when the writing will just vanish, so he leaves it without an explanation, walking the rest of the way to the lobby and out of the apartment building.
He has a lot of thinking to do. He just doesn't know what about.]
no subject
She’s almost afraid to touch it. He had always been a good thing, gentle and nice. He had undercut the intensity in the back of her mind with a smile, with a soft word. He had helped her believe in ordinary, kind people when she was sure none existed at all.
When Anri finally does pick it up, it’s with a ginger touch, fingers only curling in enough to keep the shirt from slipping to the ground. It dangles loosely, held at one shoulder and one sleeve, until she can’t look at it anymore and brings her hands together. It will wrinkle, she thinks, followed by, let it.
When she goes back inside, the shirt is stuffed into the lowest compartment of her meager bedside drawers. ]