❝ 𝙉𝙤 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 ❞ LONG HIATUS

: ̗̀➛ EXHAUSTION

"Once I believed, love poems were foolish."
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      The panorama landscape that he sees before him is foggy and never-ending in its expanse. Without the aid of his glasses, his eyes are unseeing, and his vision does little to tell him of the world in front of him. He's grateful for the peace it provides, he's grateful he can't see the name engraved in stone.

Ango could still trace every single curve of it even with his eyes closed, he was familiar with each indent, the small signs of wear—of passing time. The words were carved just as deeply in his mind as it was in the cold grave.

It was yet to be decided if being unable to read Oda's name from this distance was a blessing or not.

There was little to reflect on, with only his blurry world and the umbrella in his hands, and it all got drowned out by the raging rain.

There was much to think about as the edge of his pants got wet and his fingertips grew cold, and it all screamed at the same rhythm of the torrential downpour.

He raised his wrist higher and squinted at the watch's handles, wondering how long it's been since he arrived there, two hours and counting. The numbers don't feel real, somehow disconnected with the reality of standing for so long doing nothing in particular.

The flowers that he insisted on placing earlier were wilted and looked dismal with their petals scattered around the base as the rain beat it farther down.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, really.

He knew exactly what he was waiting for.

When he raises his eyes, he finds a shadowy figure standing directly across from him, with Oda's grave serving as a barrier between the two of them. Ango does not startle, as he knows this silhouette: it's the same one who had been sneaking around, moving about like a particularly sly, cunning snake. Quiet and deadly.

Ango looks into (Y/N)'s cold eyes, unfitting of the playful smile on her lips, and doesn't say anything for a long awhile.

(Y/N) still moves like a member of the Port Mafia, he notices.

"Ango, it's been a while!" She says, voice too sweet. She puts both palms on the gravestone, using it as support she he leans closer and cocks her head. Her hair sticks to her forehead and cheeks. "What brings you here on this beautiful day?"

If he had the energy to do so, Ango would point out the weather. As it is, he only stared at the drenched coat clinging to (Y/N)'s figure, the tan fabric she's usually seen wearing these days so darkened by the water it's almost unrecognizable. A ghost of his past speaks, loud and clear, a reprimand, a warning about the cold and the danger of getting sick.