In Progress
Title: And I'm here to remind you that Yesterday is gone so say goodbye..
Characters: Allen Walker & Kanda Yu
Location: Library
Rating: PG-13, subject to change
Summary: Threats are something Allen takes into consideration only half-heartedly, now.
Day/Time: Day 56, Free Time
But he swears he doesn't really see it,
When she says that all of it was so unfair.''>
He had said he would come and find him, today.
Absently, the teen pried off his tightening fingers from the cover of the book, placing it aside as he let himself tip over to land heavily on the sofa. The cool material was welcoming to his tired body, and he gratefully sunk into the cushions with a quiet sigh as his ungloved hand wandered up, settling gently over his eyes as his reading glasses slipped off the bridge of his nose. He really, really didn't like wearing it--it was too much of a hassle, always ending up lost somehow one way or another--but it was prescription, probably from when he had started wearing contacts.
Speaking of said lenses, the teen tiredly rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes in an effort to sooth the slight pricking that was the product of extensive reading without rest. He knew wearing the contacts too often wasn't a good idea; over usage, even when the lenses were actually needed, deteriorated eyesight, and since he wasn't in any urgent need of it the resulting damage was probably worse. If he didn’t catch himself, his eyesight would actually worsen than how they would do naturally, and that was a prospective outcome he admitted he wasn’t very fond of. Yet, to go without them…
No, he wasn't quite willing to do that just yet, if only because he didn't want to catch sight of himself in a mirror or any reflective surface he might pass near. He wasn't ashamed of it, no, but recently it had started to make him wary when he caught anyone staring at him, at his crimson eye. The reason for it was as clear as fog to him, unfortunately--maybe if he knew what the problem was, he could fix it, but in this case it ended up that he didn’t, and therefore couldn't.
A small laugh trickled out of his parted lips as his eyes flickered unseeingly behind his eyelids, gloved fingers scrabbling against the back of the couch at his side and grabbing nothing but thin air as they sought out a blanket to latch onto and came up blank. His hand shifted momentarily, and a bright green eye cracked open to make an inquiring scan of his surroundings. A few seconds trickled by--he closed his eye again and let his hand slip back into place as the faint memory of picking the blanket customarily kept at the sofa up from the arm and bringing it with to him to another corner assaulted his mind after a brief pause.
It figured he'd forget to bring it back again.
Letting out a soft breath, he twisted in place to burrow closer into the cushions; he was tired, he was sleepy, and the couch felt like it was made of clouds and spun sugar at the moment and he didn't really care that he was probably going to roll off the edge, eventually, if he fell asleep just then. The weather wasn't helping him keep awake, either, dull and overcast and cloudy and altogether soothing enough to numb him to his nerves.
He probably would have been content to bury his head into the cushion and rest, if the corner of the book hadn't caught his eye.
Reaching up, Allen caught the edge of the slim volume and brought it down to him, careful despite his absentminded state. The book seemed to share his own sentiments, almost seeming haplessly battered in its miserable condition. Turning his upper body back a bit, so that he could read while he held the book in both hands without having the back of the sofa hit his elbow, he settled himself as comfortably as he could.
The fair haired librarian managed a lopsided smile as he flipped open the cover, skimming over faint, looping writing; it filled the volume from one side to another with frail, fluttering pages decorated in dark indigo ink, creased where previous handling had marred its content. It was a diary of a sort, or at least a relatively small manuscript--there were smooth pencil marks and quick sketches highlighting a section here and there throughout the pages, drawled over the ink with a loose sort of precision. Tumbling over each other with an air of rough, unrefined balance, they scrambled for his attention while keeping in line with the rest, though chaotic and messy they were in parts.
Then again, he had never been one to pay much attention to what he was writing.
Valiantly, he tried to stifle the yawn from escaping; his endeavor fell flat as tears prickled at the corner of his eyes from how hard his jaws were clenched together, teeth grating for a moment before he relented.
A quiet word of resignation on his lips, he let himself fall into a light doze. There would be no harm in it, taking a rest…
Characters: Allen Walker & Kanda Yu
Location: Library
Rating: PG-13, subject to change
Summary: Threats are something Allen takes into consideration only half-heartedly, now.
Day/Time: Day 56, Free Time
But he swears he doesn't really see it,
When she says that all of it was so unfair.''>
He had said he would come and find him, today.
Absently, the teen pried off his tightening fingers from the cover of the book, placing it aside as he let himself tip over to land heavily on the sofa. The cool material was welcoming to his tired body, and he gratefully sunk into the cushions with a quiet sigh as his ungloved hand wandered up, settling gently over his eyes as his reading glasses slipped off the bridge of his nose. He really, really didn't like wearing it--it was too much of a hassle, always ending up lost somehow one way or another--but it was prescription, probably from when he had started wearing contacts.
Speaking of said lenses, the teen tiredly rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes in an effort to sooth the slight pricking that was the product of extensive reading without rest. He knew wearing the contacts too often wasn't a good idea; over usage, even when the lenses were actually needed, deteriorated eyesight, and since he wasn't in any urgent need of it the resulting damage was probably worse. If he didn’t catch himself, his eyesight would actually worsen than how they would do naturally, and that was a prospective outcome he admitted he wasn’t very fond of. Yet, to go without them…
No, he wasn't quite willing to do that just yet, if only because he didn't want to catch sight of himself in a mirror or any reflective surface he might pass near. He wasn't ashamed of it, no, but recently it had started to make him wary when he caught anyone staring at him, at his crimson eye. The reason for it was as clear as fog to him, unfortunately--maybe if he knew what the problem was, he could fix it, but in this case it ended up that he didn’t, and therefore couldn't.
A small laugh trickled out of his parted lips as his eyes flickered unseeingly behind his eyelids, gloved fingers scrabbling against the back of the couch at his side and grabbing nothing but thin air as they sought out a blanket to latch onto and came up blank. His hand shifted momentarily, and a bright green eye cracked open to make an inquiring scan of his surroundings. A few seconds trickled by--he closed his eye again and let his hand slip back into place as the faint memory of picking the blanket customarily kept at the sofa up from the arm and bringing it with to him to another corner assaulted his mind after a brief pause.
It figured he'd forget to bring it back again.
Letting out a soft breath, he twisted in place to burrow closer into the cushions; he was tired, he was sleepy, and the couch felt like it was made of clouds and spun sugar at the moment and he didn't really care that he was probably going to roll off the edge, eventually, if he fell asleep just then. The weather wasn't helping him keep awake, either, dull and overcast and cloudy and altogether soothing enough to numb him to his nerves.
He probably would have been content to bury his head into the cushion and rest, if the corner of the book hadn't caught his eye.
Reaching up, Allen caught the edge of the slim volume and brought it down to him, careful despite his absentminded state. The book seemed to share his own sentiments, almost seeming haplessly battered in its miserable condition. Turning his upper body back a bit, so that he could read while he held the book in both hands without having the back of the sofa hit his elbow, he settled himself as comfortably as he could.
The fair haired librarian managed a lopsided smile as he flipped open the cover, skimming over faint, looping writing; it filled the volume from one side to another with frail, fluttering pages decorated in dark indigo ink, creased where previous handling had marred its content. It was a diary of a sort, or at least a relatively small manuscript--there were smooth pencil marks and quick sketches highlighting a section here and there throughout the pages, drawled over the ink with a loose sort of precision. Tumbling over each other with an air of rough, unrefined balance, they scrambled for his attention while keeping in line with the rest, though chaotic and messy they were in parts.
Then again, he had never been one to pay much attention to what he was writing.
Valiantly, he tried to stifle the yawn from escaping; his endeavor fell flat as tears prickled at the corner of his eyes from how hard his jaws were clenched together, teeth grating for a moment before he relented.
A quiet word of resignation on his lips, he let himself fall into a light doze. There would be no harm in it, taking a rest…