a veritable treasure of a room
On the table, Near has arranged a jar of peanut butter, a tub of applesauce, a packet of chocolate, a small bowl of blueberries, a saucer of milk, a fried strip of bacon, a cup of orange juice, a fresh slice of brown bread slathered thick with butter. Near is armed with a fork, a knife, and a spoon, and is taking tiny morsels off each and every thing, in a counter clockwise direction. He takes the smallest bite at a time, closes his eyes, savours it, then takes a sip of water. Then moves on to the next thing.
He's been at this all morning. He can't eat much of anything, but what he does have, he's going to make it count.
He wishes Aizawa were here. The man used to talk about salmon- Near wonders if there is any. If there's some way to express it home. Open a door, hurl it through. Open a door, let everyone out, let them raid this place and steal all the food and the beds and cover it all over again with their filth. With their fights, with their blood. They'd smell.
Near twirls a finger through his newly washed, staticky hair, and makes a note to himself to lock the door. He's never been a particularly good person, he has no reason to start now.
He's been at this all morning. He can't eat much of anything, but what he does have, he's going to make it count.
He wishes Aizawa were here. The man used to talk about salmon- Near wonders if there is any. If there's some way to express it home. Open a door, hurl it through. Open a door, let everyone out, let them raid this place and steal all the food and the beds and cover it all over again with their filth. With their fights, with their blood. They'd smell.
Near twirls a finger through his newly washed, staticky hair, and makes a note to himself to lock the door. He's never been a particularly good person, he has no reason to start now.