«𝙄'𝙢 𝘼𝙤𝙞. 𝘼𝙤𝙞 𝙁𝙪𝙟𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖. 𝘼𝙤𝙞 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮𝙝𝙤𝙘𝙠, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚. 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙝, 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬-𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.»
She had always thought that made her sou...
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ENVY
-Aoi-
The week in Nagano was stretching on like an eternity. Every morning started the same way: a relentless pounding on Aoi's hotel door just before dawn, Satoru's annoying voice insisting it was time to "seize the day." She'd barely have time to pull herself together before he'd drag her out, claiming they needed to cover every corner of the city if they had any hope of finding the cursed painting of Envy.
This morning was no different. She'd barely gotten her eyes open when he'd stormed into her room, looking as fresh and sharp as ever. Not a single strand of his snowy white hair was out of place, and his clothes, impeccably tailored, looked like they'd been ironed moments before. She wasn't sure how he managed it, but there he was, standing in her doorway with his arms crossed, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
Aoi, on the other hand, was barely awake, her hair a tangled mess, and her sweatshirt clinging to her like a lifeline. She hadn't even had time to tie her hair up before he was rushing her out into the early morning chill.
They'd tracked down the original buyer of the painting after it had been auctioned at the charity event, but from there, things got messy. The painting had passed from hand to hand, winding up in the possession of so many different people that tracing its path felt impossible. Now, they were left combing the city with nothing but hope that Satoru's Six Eyes might pick up a faint glimmer of cursed energy.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, Aoi felt like she'd walked a marathon. They finally took a break in front of a small café, the kind with little flower pots hanging on the walls, where she collapsed onto a bench, sighing in exaggerated relief.
Satoru sat beside her, looking as though he hadn't exerted a single ounce of effort all day. His hair was still impossibly perfect, his clothes as neat as when they'd left the hotel. He casually adjusted his sunglasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he stretched his legs out, crossing them with that insufferable air of ease he always seemed to carry.
Aoi, feeling her own disheveled state acutely, huffed and pulled her art history textbook out of her bag. She shot him a glare as she flipped it open. «Why are you always so clean? It's like you're immune to dirt.»
He smirked, clearly enjoying her exasperation. «It's a gift.» he replied, lifting his cup of hot milk to his lips.
She took a sip of her own drink, sighing contentedly as the warm liquid settled her nerves. She hated coffee, so hot milk was the closest she'd get to feeling somewhat civilized. Satoru had surprisingly followed her lead, ordering the same drink, which struck her as slightly odd for someone as over-the-top as he was.
Aoi glanced over at him, unable to hold back a mischievous grin. «So, is this what we've come to? Nagano's version of Batman and Robin? Hunting down cursed paintings... with hot milk?»
