All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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"Before anything, you should know that even if we swore to protect you, it doesn't mean you are safe," he carefully instructed as he stood before the green-haired teen. Ryota nodded, his lips thinning as he took in the seriousness of the situation.
The man released a sigh, probably relieved by the understanding the teen displayed. "Good," he nodded. His eyes flickered to the boxes hanging at the boy's belt, and he bit his lower lip. He brushed his black locks back, narrowing his eyes at them, resigned.
"Miroir," Ryota's eyes darted to his waist to settle on the box with an indigo linning, his hand unconsciously reaching to graze it. "Miroir will be your best weapon," the adult stressed. "It will raise your chance of survival by at least a tenfold. And, although it pains me to admit it, Miroir will be more useful to you than any of us," he explained, a faraway look in his eyes as he gave the teen a deprecative smile.
Mikaël lowered his sight, evading the troubled look in his friend's future self. He nodded, gently stroking the edge of the supposedly powerful weapon by his side. He wasn't clear on its strength, or the way to use it, but he didn't ask.
Somehow knowing it wasn't necessary. Once Ryota saw Miroir, he would know. He could feel it.
The man sighed, he closed his steel-grey eyes, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose, before fluttering them open at once. Gone was his troubled expression and back was his poker face, his eyes which displayed unmeasurable sorrow.
"I apologize on behalf of Mika for calling you here," he said, giving the teen a bow. "We'll work to keep you alive, therefore—" he cut himself, pursing his lips before silently exhaling. "Therefore, do not concern yourself with us more than you should."
Ryota widened his golden eyes he opened his mouth ready to snap back at the older man but was stopped by a sharp move of the other's hand.
"Let us be honest, brat, we do not know each other," he interrupted. "The Me from ten years ago and the Me from today have nothing to do with one another, don't they?" he rhetorically asked, voice laced with a hidden sadness as his greyish eyes squarely stared into the others pool of gold.
Ryota mechanically reached for his earlobe to rub it and, the male smiled. He chuckled, unmistakenly depressed and relieved at the same time before ruffling the boy's green locks.
"It's good that you are aware of it, that way you won't get attached," he taught. "Take us for a fragment of your imagination, a projection of a distant future which will hopefully never happen," he asked, almost begging the teen.
