❝ 𝙉𝙤 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 ❞ LONG HIATUS

: ̗̀➛THE TALE OF GENJI

"Why do you grieve so uselessly?"
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Oda's door has never looked so menacing. It stands tall and proud in the grey-damp hall, yellow fluorescent light flashing overhead.

(Y/N) has been here before, countless times, but still she finds herself desperately falling back into the comfort of the shadows that normally brace her. Usually, the temptation is something she is able to resist, to bear.

But the door seems taller tonight. Tall and dark and solid oak, and maybe tonight's a bad night, but most nights are bad for (Y/N). Even then, the door has never looked so frightening.

She inhales deeply, just as Oda always reminds her to. (Y/N) doesn't know how Oda knows when she's having trouble breathing, more trouble than usual, at least, because breathing never seems to come as easily to (Y/N) as it seems to come to others, but somehow Oda can tell. He can always tell, when it's (Y/N).

At first, it scared (Y/N) to be seen so clearly.

Now, though, all (Y/N) wants is to be seen.

It's an odd sensation, wanting something. A clench in her chest, as if her ribs are biting her, as if her skin can feel the press of Oda's hands through the bandages even in the absence of Oda himself. It makes (Y/N) understand somewhat why humans go to such lengths to attain what they desire, (Y/N) would give anything for Oda's hands and eyes and gentle words, even though she has nothing to give.

But the door looms. The light flickers. (Y/N) can't be here, can't, refuses to, pollute this place with her presence any more than she already has.

(Y/N) knows what she is. She's always known. It's the humans that mistake her for one of them, and it never ends well for (Y/N) when she corrects them. At least when she's with Oda, Oda knows that she's just pretending, even if he never calls (Y/N) out on that. He lets her pretend to be human, but doesn't react when (Y/N) inevitably fuzzes it up. (Y/N) couldn't ask for anything more.

So she turns to leave. Keeps her wrist pressed tightly against her chest, swollen and throbbing, and slinks back into the shadows where things like (Y/N) belong. The wrist was an accident, the result of her target getting a bit too rough towards the end. The bruises along her hips can attest to that.

It was for a mission. (Y/N) got the information, and Mori won't be mad. It's fine. It's all fine. Mori doesn't care, and Chuuya wouldn't care, and Oda probably couldn't care for a thing like her. And that's all fine, really.

So she returns to the shadows of the grey-damp hallway. But then—

The tall oak door quivers, and the knob twists. Oda's sleepy face peers out at her.

"(Y/N)," he says, as though he had been expecting her. Oda doesn't smile, but his lips smooth into a gentle line.

(Y/N) doesn't reply, and Oda doesn't continue. They stand there for a moment, staring at each other.