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damned_institute2010-10-13 01:45 am
full-score.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2010-10-13 01:45 am
Entry tags:
- claude,
- depth charge,
- kibitoshin,
- lunge,
- matt,
- mccoy,
- prussia,
- ritsu,
- the scarecrow,
- two-face,
- venom
Night 52: M41-M50 Hallway
((From M44.))
His dinner had probably been one of the more uneventful ones in awhile, but that suited Claude just fine. After hearing about his father's release and running into his mother today, he had a lot on his mind. And that wasn't even touching on all the after effects of his sleep studies that he knew would probably follow him for a long time to come.
Being left to his own devices for a little while wasn't such a bad thing sometimes, because it meant he'd had enough time to sort through his thoughts long enough to keep them from getting in the way when he hung out with friends later. That was why Claude didn't waste any time moping around as he prepared for the night. While going through his things, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his jacket had been returned to him, neatly folded along with the rest of his uniform. Since he'd been unable to check before tonight because of his previous condition, he'd just assumed that it'd been lost on board the Calnus. At least that was one thing that was back to normal now...
Speaking of his Federation uniform, he hadn't forgotten about the phase gun, either. Even if he wasn't sure whether it would be of much use within the institute, Claude had no intention of leaving it lying around his room, either. He slipped it into the inside of his jacket, just as he'd done on his first official away mission all that time ago. His heart ached with something he couldn't quite name, but he pushed that aside for now. He had other things to do.
There was also the ring Guy had found for him to consider. Upon closer inspection, he was able to admire the craftsmanship of the piece of jewelry for what it was, even if he knew it hadn't been given to him to wear as some kind of accessory, or even as an aid in battle. But if what he'd heard was to believed, that jewel was capable of transporting him to the last place he'd been before the Calnus -- wherever that had been, exactly. Maybe it'd come in handy at some point. Claude slipped the ring onto his right hand and collected the rest of his things.
He didn't need to waste much time. After the last few days, Claude had a renewed appreciation for all the possibilities a new shift could bring. He didn't have to sit in his room with a couple of cold compresses taped over his eyes. That was always something to be grateful for.
With that thought, he pushed the door open and slipped out into the hall.
((To here.))
His dinner had probably been one of the more uneventful ones in awhile, but that suited Claude just fine. After hearing about his father's release and running into his mother today, he had a lot on his mind. And that wasn't even touching on all the after effects of his sleep studies that he knew would probably follow him for a long time to come.
Being left to his own devices for a little while wasn't such a bad thing sometimes, because it meant he'd had enough time to sort through his thoughts long enough to keep them from getting in the way when he hung out with friends later. That was why Claude didn't waste any time moping around as he prepared for the night. While going through his things, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his jacket had been returned to him, neatly folded along with the rest of his uniform. Since he'd been unable to check before tonight because of his previous condition, he'd just assumed that it'd been lost on board the Calnus. At least that was one thing that was back to normal now...
Speaking of his Federation uniform, he hadn't forgotten about the phase gun, either. Even if he wasn't sure whether it would be of much use within the institute, Claude had no intention of leaving it lying around his room, either. He slipped it into the inside of his jacket, just as he'd done on his first official away mission all that time ago. His heart ached with something he couldn't quite name, but he pushed that aside for now. He had other things to do.
There was also the ring Guy had found for him to consider. Upon closer inspection, he was able to admire the craftsmanship of the piece of jewelry for what it was, even if he knew it hadn't been given to him to wear as some kind of accessory, or even as an aid in battle. But if what he'd heard was to believed, that jewel was capable of transporting him to the last place he'd been before the Calnus -- wherever that had been, exactly. Maybe it'd come in handy at some point. Claude slipped the ring onto his right hand and collected the rest of his things.
He didn't need to waste much time. After the last few days, Claude had a renewed appreciation for all the possibilities a new shift could bring. He didn't have to sit in his room with a couple of cold compresses taped over his eyes. That was always something to be grateful for.
With that thought, he pushed the door open and slipped out into the hall.
((To here.))
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And which one was she? From the Enterprise he knew or from where Spock and Jim came from? McCoy suspected it was the latter, if only because of that strange comment Jim had directed at Spock on the bulletin. The Spock and Uhura he knew got along well, even practiced music together, but there had been something different about the way Jim had mentioned talking to her.
McCoy mulled it over, but didn't come up with anything that made sense. It almost sounded like personal, but McCoy couldn't imagine him involved with anyone romantically, namely because Vulcans were about as romantic as a block of ice. Obviously Vulcans did get together, but if that deal with T'pring was anything to go by, it was decided on a basis of logical choice. Spock was about as Vulcan as one could get.
But maybe...
Maybe when hell froze over first. McCoy just shook his head. He unfolded the partial map. He had his orders for the night, which was to continue the investigation of the second floor. The morgue was somewhere up there and wondering whether that throwaway line had meant something more wasn't going to get him there.
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Sai stopped outside the door to M47 and knocked. He was unsurprised when no one answered, but still he knocked again, this time telling whoever might be able to hear him who he was and that he'd arrived. There was still nothing, and after a minute or so more of waiting, the ninja opened the door to peek inside.
Nothing.
The room was empty, the beds made and the place tidied as if no one was staying in there at all. It wasn't just Artemis who'd been released, but Haku as well. Everyone was vanishing, and he'd never truly gotten to help the boy. It was incredibly discouraging, but he'd dwell on it later. Now he had more important things to worry about, such as whether more of his comrades had gone the same way his roommate and these two had. He had to find Naruto.
The empty room was left behind as Sai made for the main hallway at full speed.
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/992361.html?thread=73496169#t73496169)]
M49 -> M50
It was disturbing how quickly this was turning into clockwork for him--get up, get dressed, try to make progress, fall asleep, get up, repeat it all over again. Growing used to these restraints, to being weakened and at a disadvantage. Used to being disrespected, under-appreciated (if at all), scorned...
Hmph. Don't think that way.
He had business to attend to and he needed to make whatever transaction the detective wanted quick. Turning his attention the room at his right, Venom moved to the opposite end of the hall. Unlike his usual habit of letting himself in, the assassin quietly and politely leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for the detective to exit the door.
M50. Right next to his own cell.
What were the odds?
just popping next door for a game of death pool, won't be long
If you couldn't see it I'd have had to dismiss you from the investigation, L.
Funny. He'd only barely been joking, back then.
Flashlight in his right hand, radio in his pocket with the hunting knife (still stained), pool cue in his free hand: check.
He'd been expecting a short journey, of course, given that he and Venom had turned out to be neighbours, but barely one step out of his room Lunge found himself standing next to- well. Venom. Not that he looked exactly as he had the night before, though; apparently between night and day the nurses had taken a pair of scissors to the man's hair. Most of his face was still hidden, but for a man who seemed to have designed his hair for hiding behind it must have been a shock.
"Here." With a nod, Lunge held out the pool cue for Venom to take. His eyes flickered briefly to the man's bangs, curious, albeit in a rather less aggressive way than usual- it wasn't vital that he learned more. "Is that your only injury?"
I guess you can say this pool... is adults only.
He would have questioned the matter if it hadn't been for Lunge's sudden desire to point out what every other person had pointed out this day and forced his mouth to visibly open into a grimace of discomfort. He didn't understand--when it had been its full length, hardly anyone had the nerve to point out its absurdity compared to the rest of the asylum and that had been if they had noticed him at all. Now that it was missing a few inches, every being on the planet had become magnetized to him and filled with the need to remind him that he owned a face. While he was used to being the center of attention, it was always attributed to fear. He wasn't feared here. If he was, they wouldn't repetitively state the obvious in his presence.
Nevermind the fact the question remained to be about his health and not simply bringing attention to the obvious flaw in his appearance. The notion that someone would ask about that was just as disconcerting to him.
Eventually, his lips returned to the firm line they usually made. This wasn't the time or place to speak about that subject. "I thank you for returning this," he said with a bow, intentionally hiding the rest of his face with the movement, "but I'm afraid I don't have time to discuss anything at the moment. If you do not mind, I would prefer to speak with you at a later date."
He didn't wait for a response. Instead he straightened himself, head tilted to the side as if to keep the exposed part of his face out of view, and turned to leave.
He had business to attend to.
[Walking off to this hall.]
YEAAAAAAAAAH /shades
The matter was worth noting for later, when they spoke next (you don't seem like the type to lie- your previous greeting was about custom and diplomacy- so what is it you're concealing?), but Venom wasn't the only one with places to be. L was likely waiting with their third partner for the night, and it wouldn't have done at all to keep them waiting. Not out of a real burning desire to be punctual, that was- Lunge had the feeling that L would probably be the type to leave without him rather than sit and wait all night. That, or perhaps come looking for him if he was feeling generous.
Readjusting his inventory- knife now in hand, even if the hallways tended to be empty of monsters- he switched his flashlight on and made his way down the hallway, towards L's room. M25, same as before.
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He bolted upright in the bed, wincing at the pressure on his legs, the sudden change in weight distribution. He wasn't at all expecting it, and it was a definite shock to his battered system - much like a bucket of cold water dumped on him. He'd been lulled into a deeper sleep than he'd known in years- ever since that warmth that occupied his room back at Wammy's disappeared, and he'd known, even then, young and naive as he was, that it would never be coming back. Not until Mello proved himself to Near and the rest of the world.
The brunet took a deep breath, sighing it out as slowly as he could manage; just as slowly, he sank down, his butt meeting the mattress as he turned, swinging his legs gently over the side of the bed and letting the bare pads of his feet find the cold, cold floor.
Landel's was, again, harsh and unforgiving territory, definitely not neutral, like he'd become used to in later years; there was no one here to give him safe space in exchange for his talents and abilities. There was no one here that he could even really count on to look out for him - other than himself.
Mello's got your best interests in mind.
Swallowing, Matt made a face as he stood up; the gist of his expression was skeptical. Mello's got Mello's best interests in mind. No one else matters.
His own voice chuckled faintly in the back of his head as he limped a little on his way to the closet; his mouth set itself in a firm, grim line as his eyes hardened, the blue barely seen past the wide spread of the pupils. There was nothing more that he'd like to believe than that- than Mello wanting nothing more than to get them both out alive-
Then why can't you believe it?
Matt pulled the drab coat on over his equally drab shirt, effectively covering up the hated smiley face.
Why can't you believe it?
The bed creaked beneath him as he sat back down on the edge of it, both boots positioned neatly between his feet, set apart on the floor. Damn the socks, he needed the cold tonight. He needed it like he needed to breathe, or else he'd be lulled into that warmth again- that warmth that shouldn't even be there-
Why can't you believe it?
Swallowing, he pulled on the first shoe, tightening the laces before tying them. Barely blinking, he pulled on the other.
The voice came as a harsh whisper now, a voice long unheard but never forgotten-
Matty.
He stopped. And blinked. A quick jerk of his hands, and the laces tightened. In his mind's eye, clear eyes blinked at him, the color of them changed under the dimmed light of a flashlight on its last leg. One more battery, and the thing would go out, he remembered... but it never did.
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He slammed the sole of the boot down on the floor, his left hand lashing outward as he stepped forward; reaching the desk, his right hand grabbed onto the edge of it just as his other backhanded the radio, sending the shoddy piece of electronic flying into the closed closet door. "Because you left, you senseless twat!" he cried out, face turning a bright red as his knuckles went white. "Because you left, and all that happened when you came back was that I died! And it wasn't like you said- Nothing was ever like you said it'd be!"
Panting hard, Matt fell against the desk, his eyes and mouth both miraculously dry. He gave himself a moment before letting those eyes fade from his memory, squashing that voice down to where it belonged- in a time that could never come again.
"You said we'd beat him," Matt whispered, leaning down close to the surface of the desktop; it, too, was too cool to be real. "You said we'd beat Kira, and the world would be safe again. Safe again- for people like us."
A beat before the harsh chuckle escaped him. How could he believe in Mello now? Neither of them would be safe again. Sure, they were safe from the likes of Kira and his supporters now- but was that a blessing or a curse?
More investigation was necessary before Matt could be sure.
Straightening, he resumed his mask, the blank expression that he let the world know and become accustomed to seeing. He tamped down the memories, of both himself and Mello small, and sat down to finish tying his boot. Once it was tied, he pulled open his desk drawer, taking out the pack of cigarettes, the lighter he'd stolen from the doc, and a single pill bottle: Vicodin. Popping one in his mouth, he swallowed the thing dry before opening the door and venturing out into the rest of the facility, as dangerous as he knew that was.
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The door wasn't locked, but he didn't go for it immediately. He kept searching the room.
He did find a flashlight, which he held at his side like a weapon. He also found batteries, which he pocketed just in case. Pens and keys, which he pocketed as well. Those could be used as weapons in a pinch. He was surprised the patients had free access to them. But that would hold, he supposed, if this really were not a real asylum.
Armed, he opened the door, curious.
[To here.]
M42
The Scarecrow took another bite of his meal, fiddling with his flashlight a moment. Clicking it on resulted in only a weak flickering of light, followed by nothing. Uh oh. It had been acting as though he needed to replace the batteries again, but he didn't have any more- even the used set from his first outing was gone.
Digging around the bottom of the drawer in the hopes he'd simply missed an extra set of batteries, the Scarecrow's fingers ran along something else: the knife his roommate had given him. Even though Depth Charge had intended the former strawman to protect himself with it, he'd yet to carry it with him at night- he wasn't sure he'd know what to do with it when the time came, not having a brain and all. He pulled it from the drawer and examined it a moment before returning it to its spot, glancing over his shoulder guiltily. Another night where he'd decided he shouldn't carry the knife, protection or not- there was probably a reason Depth Charge wanted to keep an eye on him.
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Almost instantly, he whipped the two-way radio up to his mouth and pressed the button. For a second he might have hesitated while he worked out what to say- and how to say it. Last thing he wanted to do was advertise the fact he'd been concerned at all. She'd eat him alive next time they met. If she picked up at all. In the end, he settled on a firm but bored tone, just loud enough to be heard from her desk drawer. "Hime? You there?" He released the button.
Silence.
Heart beating a staccato in the quiet, he tried again. "C'mon, Hime, don't screw around. Pick up."
Still nothing.
Which meant... the Maximal shook his head abruptly. No time for guessing games. Turning to the Scarecrow where he stood by his desk- looked like he wasn't the only one whose flashlight was dying on him- he gave an impatient (and slightly anxious, not that he'd admit it) sigh. "She's not answering. Gonna have to chase her up person." He paused. "Last chance to back out. I won't hold it against you if you stay." With that, he snatched up his shears (slag it, dropped the crow bar last night) and made for the door.
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And, maybe most importantly was that Lunge hadn't touched his gun once since he'd told him about it. Or, if he had, he hadn't actually done anything with it. No bullet had been removed, and the safety hadn't been tampered with either.
So, as to do what he could to repay Lunge's strange generosity, Harvey was intent on actually searching the mine with Jones tonight. It sounded like the man had invited someone else along (the guy had a lot of friends (or allies), but maybe that wasn't so surprising), though as long as it was just one other person, then Harvey could deal.
He replaced the batteries in his flashlight (and once those got low, he was going to have to find more), grabbed his radio, and tucked his gun into the elastic of his pants. That was going to have to be routine from now on. The final item was the metal pipe, which he hadn't quite given up on yet. Even if it was a bit dented, it was still good for getting those locked doors open.
Lunge was already out the door and talking to some man with... ridiculous hair, and so Harvey moved past the pair and out into the connecting hallway.
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From M49
It wasn't until Venom left that Prussia went to the closet where he'd stashed the sword that he'd found along with Raphael. He hadn't touched it since that night, and now he removed it carefully to inspect the blade. It was clean, without a single spec of dried blood from what it had been used for...
He shut the closet door, turning towards his desk to retrieve his torch. Armed with both the light and the weapon, he headed out of the room to meet up with West.
[To here]
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Kibitoshin had been in bed. Or rather, sitting on his bed and staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Whatever. The point was what he hadn't been doing, which was getting ready to go out for the night. After all, he hadn't planned anything, and he didn't know who he was going to be spending the night travelling with, and he didn't know what he was doing. He'd just end up being more trouble than he was worth, right? Anyway, one night out couldn't hurt. That was, at least, what he'd been telling himself over and over, and louder and louder each time; it made it easier to block out that quiet but serious voice in the back of his mind telling him he wasn't being reasonable. He was being a coward. And it would almost have worked too, were it not for Doctor Landel and his microphone.
The sound of breathing caught his attention where the man's voice hadn't (it's always bad news, why bother listening to him?), female, shallow, raked unsteadily across ribs. That... that was the radio host, wasn't it? Kibitoshin froze: rabbit in headlights. But he wasn't the one in danger, was he? That was her. She was the one in front of the car.
The groan seemed to catch in his own throat, painful and stretched over the moments to the bassline of his own heartbeat.
The slap was worse.
By the end of the message, he was barely paying attention to what was being said. What did that matter?! How was he supposed to care about what the Head Doctor was talking about when he could hear her in there, being... being...
It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all. And what was he doing about it? Sitting on his bed, watching his knuckles turn white when his eyes weren't squeezed tight and tasting the slightest coppery twinge of blood on his lower lip, all while he asked himself again and again if staying inside was really worth it. He couldn't sit around anymore. His conscious wouldn't let him- damnit, his duty wouldn't let him. Someone out there needed help, and he wasn't about to just- just sit by and let it happen. Even if there was nothing he could do, he couldn't just wait anymore. He'd go mad for sure.
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The walk over had been quick, but it had made him uneasy. The entire journey had been plagued by things seen out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure if it was due to the flickering lights or just his own unease at visiting Homura's former room, but he had thought his shadow sat at unnatural angles for at least part of the journey. Of all his friends he wasn't the most attuned to supernatural things, but even he could tell when he was being followed and it...felt like that. But there was no one there. Nothing but him, a few unrelated patients, and his own shadow.
Shaking the feeling off his back, Okita moved on until he reached M46. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd come here to see Homura himself. The night before he'd disappeared, they'd even been talking with each other. He'd never thought the demi-god with an iron will would break, but the fact remained that he was gone. He had left (just like Hijikata) to pursue life beyond the walls, a life wrapped in comfort laced with lies. It made Okita wonder when it would be his turn to give up. He'd never been the strongest of wills, always following after others who gave him a set path upon which to walk. It would make sense that eventually he too would veer off after the men he considered his anchors.
It made sense, but then Okita was in a nonsensical situation. He would hold out as long as he could. Until the disease claimed him and he died.
Best to get this over with, he thought to himself as he raised a hand to rap his knuckles lightly on the door. He kept his voice bright and cheerful as he called out, hoping someone was still inside. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
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... well, there was no point in just standing around and wondering about it, was there? Anyway, monsters couldn't get in the rooms, so there was no way it could be a trap or something. He hoped. Not that he was worried about it, of course, because it was his job to be brave and he'd already promised himself he wasn't going to be scared of thing like that anymore. Or at least, if he was going to be scared he couldn't let it get in the way of his work. For all he knew, there was a patient out there looking for shelter or help or something. Like the woman on the intercom.
Still a little dizzy and distracted (how could he not be, with everything he'd been thinking about already?), he made his way to the door, remembering at the last second to be careful and opening it by just a couple of inches. There was a young ma- young woma- a patient waiting outside, wearing a uniform he'd never seen before. He didn't recognise their face, either. They hadn't tried to attack him, though, so Kibitoshin opened the door properly. "Yes...?" His voice came out at a croak- he swallowed and tried again. "Can I help you?"
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After a moment, the door opened just a bit and someone's voice croaked out at him. He must have given Homura's old roommate (if that was indeed who this man was) quite the fright. "Ah, I apologize if I scared you. My name is Okita Souji. I am- was...a friend of Homura-san. I came to see if..." He paused for a moment and smiled, moving a little so he could see better through the crack in the doorway.
The man on the other side was tallish and pale with white hair, but otherwise he couldn't see much more of his defining features. Okita's smile widened a little and he bowed his head. "I came to see if any of his things might still be here."
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"Ah- you're a friend of Homura's?" The Kaioshin blinked, then immediately felt a little stab of guilt. Of all the people to turn up here... he couldn't even meet the man's eyes, not even after all that self-convincing that he couldn't have done anything for his old roommate. So much for courage. And he couldn't decide if Okita's smile made that feeling better or worse- he knew first hand how terrible it was for someone to disappear, and the thought of being able to smile while telling someone about it was almost alien to him. At least it was enough to tell that he wasn't going to hurt him. He stepped back quickly so that he'd have room to get by. "O-of course, come in..."
As he moved out of the way, something caught his eye on the floor- some sort of movement?- but in the next instant it was gone, and to be honest he had a lot more to worry about than his eyes playing games. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Standing awkwardly over by his own desk he ducked his head, fumbling for words. "I'm sorry about-- about Homura. We didn't know each other very well, but..."
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Okita smiled despite his thoughts and bowed his head again to the yet unnamed roommate. The man looked particularly guilty, as if he thought this whole ordeal was his own fault. He moved and Okita took a step forward, entering the room. It was odd, looking at the beds now and knowing that what had once belonged to Homura was no longer his.
"You needn't apologize," he said, his eyes lingering on the beds. Turning back to his former roommate, Okita tried to smile a little brighter, a little more sympathetically. "It isn't your fault. I was the last person to see him, so it should be me apologizing to you. Even if you didn't know each other very well, it must be difficult to lose someone you see everyday. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know." He had to be the rock now, the anchor for the club. He'd done it before in other ways. He'd learned a long time ago how to smile even when one's heart felt like dying. "Do you know which bed is his? Or have you found anything that might have belonged to him?"
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Which meant, of course, helping in any way he could. "Well, this bed's mine, so that one there..." He gestured across to the right side of the room, where Homura and Ritsuka had both sat. "I haven't looked, but there might still be things in the drawers or cupboard or something."
Thinking of both of them there was just strange enough to give Kibitoshin a little shiver, as though two people were sitting there still- though one of them was vastly more gone than the other. It was clear enough now he'd have to take better care of Ritsuka than he had of his last roommate, just in case. Maybe even more so, given how delicate the wo/man seemed to be compared to Homura- he'd seemed so smart and on top of everything, and knowing that even that kind of person could just vanish like that was pretty disturbing.
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Okita nodded again when he was shown which bed used to belong to Homura and took a few steps toward it. It seemed so strange to be rooting around in his things, but he had to do it. For the continuation of Homura's group, and for the sake of what was now his group. He knelt by the bed and whispered, "Excuse me" to someone no longer around to hear it, before peering beneath the metal frame.
What he found was more than he expected. There was a stash, hidden along the wall, but it was there. He could see it all wrapped up within what had once been Homura's cloak. Getting down onto his stomach, Okita reached underneath and snagged it with his fingers, pulling it out. He'd check it more thoroughly back at his room, but for now it seemed there was quite a bit here. It was a good thing he'd brought his pillowcase after all, and he opened it up, carefully packing the weapons, the clothes, the journal and a small sundry of other items into it.
"I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time..." He paused and looked toward the other man as he stood, gathering the bundle up in his arms. "Ah...may I have your name? I'm afraid in my rush to see his things, I forgot to ask."
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At any rate he'd said he would help, and if there was one thing he knew for certain about being a Kaioshin it was that a Kaioshin always kept their promises. He smiled and nodded, even though Okita, down on his knees to search under the bed by this point, couldn't see it. "Of course! I can't guarantee I'll always make it, but I'll do my best to help you all out, I promise."
Truth be told, it helped a little to know that he was going to be doing some good rather than just standing around- even if it felt like putting a sticking plaster over a broken leg, and even if it didn't excuse his inaction now. "It's fine, really! I wasn't really doing much. It's Kibitoshin, by the way," he added. There was a pause. Kibitoshin swallowed a little, trying not to look at the bundle in Okita's arms- there was something so fragile about it that stirred him up a little in a way he couldn't pinpoint. "I... I hope you'll be okay," he said eventually. "Good luck."
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A healer was a valuable asset here, and one Okita could not afford to lose. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Kibitoshin-san." Such odd names. Difficult to say. "I'll..." He paused and forced his smile to remain steady. "I'll be fine. Thank you. Good luck to you as well. And if you should ever need anything, let me know."
Okita bowed and then turned to the door again. It was time to go before Yuffie got too bored.
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/990627.html?thread=73973155#t73973155)]
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The young man’s wide eyes locked onto the object for several moments, before he took a deep, determined breath, and gathered it into his hands. His shoulders were tense as he stared at it – this useless Ritsu, who would never assume he could create anything that would be of value to another person, had shamelessly crafted an object, and had even been so presumptuous to wrap it, as though it were worthy of such decoration. Even worse, he planned to give it to his dear cousin, as though implying his gift was good enough to present to someone as kind as her.
He fought back tears, slowly clenching the package, and leaving more of those tell-tale folds in the paper. He had selfishly hoped to pass it on to her the previous night, before he could dwell on the implications for too long – but he had been unable to find his cousin, even during the following day, and his courage had steadily waned.
He jumped at the screech of the intercom and the click of the doors, glancing towards the source of the sounds and gulping. The announcement was definitely more frightening than he was used to, and by the time it finished, he was trembling and staring fearfully towards the hallway. His routine was to wait carefully each night for Kagura-san to collect him…but if he planned to burden her with something as insignificant as this gift, the least he could do was find a way to her first, and save her the trouble of traveling to him.
Wiping the tears that had spilled over, he collected his flashlight, and timidly left the room.
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