Date: 2015-02-02 02:25 am (UTC)
zangetsurider: (Default)
The last voice I ever expected to hear again is suddenly very close behind me, and it's so abrupt, so out of place, that I barely even register it as familiar for a moment.

But how could I forget that voice. Even only having spoken one word, I know who it is. I listened to that voice ramble on for over half my lifetime, once trusted its owner with not only my life, but the very survival of humanity.

A trust that I later learned, and learned the hard way, was deeply misplaced.

I turn a moment after Kazuraba, my posture rigid once again, my hands curling to fists in my coat pockets. I hope for a moment that I am mistaken, that I merely misheard the voice as the one belonging to my oldest friend and the man that tried to kill me.

But there is no mistaking that face, those clothes, and that posture. His hair is longer now, and he seems somehow even more thin and malnourished that before.

But he is very clearly alive.

"Ryouma," My voice is a strange mix of deadpan and a growl, and I stand wavering, torn between wanting to lunge at him, and wanting to turn around and swiftly return home.
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