(no subject)
Kyouichi Saionji hasn't been seen in Milliways in quite some time. Part of it, of course, is that in both Milliways and Ohtori, time is badly out of joint; but that's not all there is to it. Since he struck Antigone, setting face in the place has lost its lustre; makes him feel sick and uncertain.
Saionji doesn't like feeling that way.
Yet that's not to say he never comes here. He has his exchange diary to keep up, after all, and that's the last thread he has with Antigone--the last chance to make things right. And it's always been easier to write in it here, somehow. He's been in and out the last few weeks, on rare occasions; speaking to no one, staring at the blank page, and trying to find the words to take back the past.
If only that day had never happened, he thinks.
Right now, however, he's not trying to write; right now, he's walking by the side of the lake, thinking.
...about what to write, of course, but it's not to say he's obsessed.
He's not alone.
Something--someone--tiny and grey is scuttling along the shore behind him. He'll be damned if he's going to wear a bowtie again.
Saionji halts, hand on his chin, to pose on a convenient outcropping rock. The wind blows his fine green hair back, and he is a very portrait of bishounen contemplation.
It's not even something he has to do consciously.
He takes a step--and falls flat on his face. Only clinging to the rock keeps him from rolling into the lake.
His shoelaces, he sees, have been tied together. And continuing his gaze downwards...
There's a little grey monkey the size of a mouse. Chuchu, Anthy's pet friend.
Chuchu tying his shoelaces together is not unusual. But the lack of sniggering is. Instead the marmoset has a look of deep intensity, as it scoops up an enormous mud pie from the shore and splats Saionji in the face.
And then the chase is on.
And when Saionji unties his shoelaces, the chase is really on.
All the way to the greenhouse.
What. The. Hell. Almost numb with horror and--deja vu?--Saionji opens the door.
Saionji doesn't like feeling that way.
Yet that's not to say he never comes here. He has his exchange diary to keep up, after all, and that's the last thread he has with Antigone--the last chance to make things right. And it's always been easier to write in it here, somehow. He's been in and out the last few weeks, on rare occasions; speaking to no one, staring at the blank page, and trying to find the words to take back the past.
If only that day had never happened, he thinks.
Right now, however, he's not trying to write; right now, he's walking by the side of the lake, thinking.
...about what to write, of course, but it's not to say he's obsessed.
He's not alone.
Something--someone--tiny and grey is scuttling along the shore behind him. He'll be damned if he's going to wear a bowtie again.
Saionji halts, hand on his chin, to pose on a convenient outcropping rock. The wind blows his fine green hair back, and he is a very portrait of bishounen contemplation.
It's not even something he has to do consciously.
He takes a step--and falls flat on his face. Only clinging to the rock keeps him from rolling into the lake.
His shoelaces, he sees, have been tied together. And continuing his gaze downwards...
There's a little grey monkey the size of a mouse. Chuchu, Anthy's pet friend.
Chuchu tying his shoelaces together is not unusual. But the lack of sniggering is. Instead the marmoset has a look of deep intensity, as it scoops up an enormous mud pie from the shore and splats Saionji in the face.
And then the chase is on.
And when Saionji unties his shoelaces, the chase is really on.
All the way to the greenhouse.
What. The. Hell. Almost numb with horror and--deja vu?--Saionji opens the door.