𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞? 𝐢 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐭

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

SHIBUYA, TOKYO 2006

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

YOU STRETCHED your body in your seat trying to find a more comfortable position as your gaze lingered outside of the window.

outside of the, everything is a blur, each blur resembling remnants of the passing by countryside—the kind take-chan never mentioned in his warnings.

he'd been adamant about you keeping a low profile after broken records hit the theaters, but he didn't say anything about you going anywhere outside of tokyo—especially the countryside.

and so, between the missions that yaga-sensei assigned, you found solace in the open fields and the quiet that came with them, even if it meant skipping a few days at the dorms.

sometimes, you'd even make it back to your own bed as the train's stopped running at 22:00.

yaga-sensei, to your surprise, never scolded you for it. perhaps he understood more than he let on.

settling back into the stiff embrace of the train seat, you let out a sigh. comfort was a luxury that the seat refused to offer, no matter how much you shifted.

you were returning from aomori, where your latest mission had called you to an old temple.

it stood abandoned, its wooden edges curling up like dried leaves, the vibrant life it once held sapped away by a curse. the temple's last caretaker, a devoted monk, had fallen victim to the spirit's wrath, and since then, the temple's decline had only hastened.

the curse itself had been a mere shadow of the fears it once stirred. when you arrived, it was feasting on its own existence, so lost in its self-consumption that it barely registered your presence before you exorcised it.

night had draped itself over the world outside, thick and suffocating.

autumn's presence was undeniable, its chill whispering of the time when cursed spirits grew in might, drawing power from the early darkness and the icy breath of the coming winter.

in the solitude of the train's rear, you pulled the dvd from your lap flipping the disc in your hands, you caught a glimpse of the label—

"original copy - oikawa seiji."

the train rumbled on, steel wheels against steel tracks, a lullaby to guide you back to where you started.

"what a weird movie..." you mutter.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚.

your fingers, slightly cold from the air-conditioned chill, dance over the cd folder seiji handed you. it's a small collection—just three discs, two of which are compilations of shorts and short films he's directed.

his work isn't what you expected.

all his films were dark.

earlier, at the library, the bulky pc took its time as you delved into a rabbit hole of internet forums.