VIVIDWords | AkiToya (Project Sekai)

Dress {9}

     He scrolled down his emails, mindlessly reading the subject names of each one. 'Festival Organization', 'Live Event', things related to either of those two topics popped up most frequently. Rather, they were the only subject they were about. He groaned, leaning into his palm. He couldn't get that frustrated from it, though— he was BAD DOG after all. A singer.

     As he moved the cursor upwards, he noticed an older one— about a month old— sitting at the bottom, beneath all the ones about festivities and useless shows that no one would attend. 'Long time no see, li'l bro!' was it's subject line, typed in an unnecessarily fancy and mostly unreadable font.

     'Hey!
How've you been, Shinonome? I tried texting you before, turns out you had your phone number changed. I couldn't find your current number online either, so sorry if you see this late! I'm coming back to Shibuya in a month. Exactly a month, actually. I don't remember the airport name, but it's that one that got built recently. Hoping to see you there, if you see this in time.
     Mizuki'

     His eyes widened as he stared at the message, darting back and forth between the date and their name, as if he thought he was hallucinating. Two days from now, Mizuki was coming back. Mizuki was coming to Shibuya. The mouse hovered over the reply button shakily, the only thought circulating inside of his mind being about what he should do.

     He felt uncharacteristically timid, hesitant, to talk to her for the first time in years. Years that felt like decades, centuries. Would they even want to talk to him?

     No.

     They would.

     They told him they were returning for a reason.

     They would've just forgotten about him if they didn't. Quit being so pessimistic.

     He sighed, closing the tab as he glanced at the top of the screen. The digital clock read 12:06 A.M, the realization of how long he had been outside for and reading those unimportant texts shocking the exhaustion into him, carrying his body into his bed.

     Two days.

     Two days.
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     He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he approached the airport, picking at the deepest parts of them. The loud chatting of surrounding people and the roaring of airplane engines filtered into his ears, everything else becoming something akin to white noise.

     It was loud, surprisingly busy for an average Tuesday afternoon. He stepped inside the building, his feet landing on the rubber ground. He felt out of place in there, as if he were a microphone left in the midst of tangled up speaker wires. His eyes darted across the building, looking out for any signs of pink; he wanted to leave with them as fast as possible.

     Finding none of that color, he drove himself deeper into the airport, swiftly moving away from any strangers as he approached a bench. He sat down, self-consciously shifting around until he found a position he deemed to be adequate.

     He drummed his fingers against his thigh, images circling and flashing into his head for no apparent reason. Frames of different shades of blue— light and pale, cyan, and something only a few shades lighter than navy blue— blurred throughout his mind, resembling certain people he couldn't name at that second. Other hues of browns and pinks were present, as well, however were almost entirely covered by the opposing color. He could visualize the colors swirling, blinking, turning into images and memories he had attempted to block out long ago. The pictures, though, were only momentary, disappearing just as quickly as he had from everyone's lives.