(no subject)

[halfemptyglasses]

It's been nearly a week since Mirai accidentally found this strange place. And while she misses some things, she finds others easier to live without. (Why does she keep a blog again? Her lip twitches at the thought of people complaining about her overposting once she puts her backlog up.) The one thing proving to be a challenge, other than actually talking to people, is that Observation Window.

And even then, Mirai finds it less intimidated once she's watched it long enough for it to loop. It's almost hypnotic. It may be, strange as it might seem, what she needed to see. Cosmic insignificance can be comforting, especially when curled on a couch with a pot of green tea.

Comments

[herr_bookman]

"Why? Why take you flying?" Autor asks quietly, a bit surprised.

Because I want to. The realization makes him glance to his tea, her hands, her tea--anywhere but at her face, but he has to return there eventually. He blushes a bit, mellow and soft, and sips his hot tea to cool down his face.

"Because I thought it might help," he answers, and it's just as honest. "Your situation would be overwhelming for anyone; I figured... some magic might help you forget, if just for a little while."

[halfemptyglasses]

Mirai curls her fingers around the suitcase handle, using her other hand to pick up her tea.

"I'll think about it," she tells him, voice soft and nearly numb.

[herr_bookman]

And Autor's heart breaks again to hear her like that, feeling cracks run right down the middle of him.

"Then... I'll look forward to it," he says gently. "Have a good night, Miss Kuriyama."

[halfemptyglasses]

Mirai gives him a nod and slowly makes her way up the stairs, her gentle footsteps hidden behind the occasional thump from resting her suitcase on the step.

At one point she looks back over her shoulder, but only once.

[herr_bookman]

Autor raises his hand in a wave and smiles a little when she looks back, in a manner that he hopes is encouraging.

The smile fades when she turns away, and he fishes his handkerchief out of his pocket, still crumpled and damp from her tears. He sits and stares at it for a long while, long after his tea goes cold.