Even if Kira hadn't known his best friend for three-four (or is it five?) years he could have told that he was nervous with his eyes closed. Katou doesn't have much dignity to spare. Knowing what all those merciless cut-throat bitches (that all dream about fucking him but don't have the looks for it) back in school would have to say about this is most definitely something both of them can do without. Kira just doesn't care. He has screwed up severely already and, to be honest, his classmates are the last people he is worried about right now. Time is running out, he can smell it. When he cuts himself it takes time to heal. Sometimes he dreams about things that are so familiar they must be significant yet he doesn't understand them. Katou doesn't deserve to be a part of all this mess
( ... )
"Sixteen," Kira lights a cigarette while studying the vending machines without any real interest except knowing the shortest route to the next available cup of coffee. "Third door to the left."
He has always been better at numbers than girls' hair colours. It's been three months since he last visited this place but he still remembers the room, the number of vending machines, everything except her. That's how he lives his life, no emotional attachment. Hah. Reality is ironic. He smirks again, blowing out a stream of smoke before offering Katou the cigarette and heading for the right door
( ... )
Comments 13
(The comment has been removed)
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He has always been better at numbers than girls' hair colours. It's been three months since he last visited this place but he still remembers the room, the number of vending machines, everything except her. That's how he lives his life, no emotional attachment. Hah. Reality is ironic. He smirks again, blowing out a stream of smoke before offering Katou the cigarette and heading for the right door ( ... )
Reply
Leave a comment