Growing up as a social person, Sora Suzuki was surrounded by love and affection- even from the most random people. Tender strokes, gentle kisses. Love came to him in the form of five unique beings, and damn, he's in deep. But when shit happens, and...
anna's cover of arabian nights makes my knees quiver
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JANUARY TWENTY FIRST, TWO THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN
13:02 in the afternoon
A MONTH HAD passed since Sora's first therapy session, and woah. If you had told him a year ago that talking would help (talking to human beings and not just the water in a bathtub or the moon behind a window), he probably would have laughed in your face. Being vulnerable was something that tasted like sin to him— a crime that should not be committed for the repercussions were too large (i.e. being open)
Yet, here he was, seated in Mikayo's office for the eighth freaking time.
The two had agreed to have sessions twice a week, to make sure Sora didn't keep his feelings bottled up (because god knows he would), and to also let him have time to process everything (mans went from no, emotions bad to wait, emotions needed?).
It was far more than Mikayo's usual clients, that was for sure, but she figured that Sora needed the extra time. And if she rearranged her schedule to better fit his, well, no one needed to know besides her (and us, ig).
"How has work been?" Mikayo asked, pressed flush against the back of her chair, the fabric soothing her sore back. She folded her arms in her lap, over her notebook, and crossed one leg over the other. She looked beautiful like this—objectively, Sora thought. Her hair was pulled away from her face with a ribbon, strands spilling out around her ears. It framed her pale, pretty face. Her soft cheeks were pink from winter's chill, and she wore a simple black turtle neck that hugged her figure in what Sora could only describe as perfect. The end of her maroon skirt rested against her stockings, sleek and shiny.
Sora swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "A bit taxing, really." He gave her an uncertain smile, but her eyes glowed bright.
"Well, being a CEO of a well-renowned company sure does that to you," Mikayo said, and her smile seemed to stretch across the rest of her face. There was something else behind her eyes, something that reminded Sora of his four soulmates (and that small reminder caused a hurricane of aches and echoes in his cracked, hollow heart). "Have you been overworking yourself again?"
"Want me to be honest?"
Mikayo nodded. "I'd prefer if you were."
"A little bit," he confessed with a subtle wince. Sora lifted his hand, hovered his index finger above his thumb. "Like, this much."
Exasperated amusement lined Mikayo's face, and she spoke, "Your 'this much' must be very different to mine, then." She pointed her pen to his face, her grey eyes piercing through him. Sora liked that about her, he guessed. Mikayo managed to see through all parts of his facade. Not only that— she wanted to see through him. Realistically, Sora knew that the same could be said about his soulmates. He just never gave them the light of day to do so. "The bags under your eyes don't appear to have gotten any better. In fact, they look worse than the last time I saw you."
