𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 / bungō stray dogs x reader anthology

𝐟𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 ✧ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

May 20th 2020 / ⟨text in brackets like this is being spoken in Russian⟩ / 1.4k Words

✧ ｡ﾟ✐.*ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ✎｡:*ﾟ

There was something about Yokohama at sunrise, as the sun broke the horizon and sunlight swept across the city in waves, turning the sky scarlet and gold, rose-tinted clouds painting the scene, completing the piece. Truly something about the city at dawn was beautiful in a way you couldn't quite put into words. Maybe it was the way that the dark and light would play tag with each other, each chasing the other away before surging back to life with a near childish ferocity. Maybe it was the way the city slowly came alive, the mafia's work sweeping itself back under the rug as businesses opened their door, the rattle of the train's on their tracks and the laughter of school children as a backdrop as you walked on your way to work. Though this morning it was too early for that.

The park was a quiet place, looking out onto the ocean, which had turned from it's ordinary deep blues to a shower of rose golds, mirroring the sky above. Yet you found yourself here, as the sun broke the horizon, what felt like a blissful relief. The last few weeks had found to be exhausting, nights spent with paranoia breathing down your neck as the peak of what would become known as Dragon Head Conflict came to close. It brought back memories, memories of the Great War and even previous battles, but with those memories came to the sadness of friends and lovers long since lost to time and misfortune.

Intertwining your hands together, you sighed, the contrast of the flesh of your left and metallic feel of the prosthetic in place of your right, both familiar and foreign. How you wished you could stay like this for an eternity, watching the sun break the horizon in two as the sun swept over your body in warm waves, the blissful peace of the sunlight dancing on your skin, an act you would never tire of. However that would be a dream that could never come to pass, the sun would rise higher into the sky which would turn from molten gold to a soft delicate blue, before fading into the velvet darkness of night.

Getting to your feet, you smoothed your jacket down, whipping nonexistent dust from your jeans, Pulling a pair of brown leather gloves from your pocket and slipping them onto your hands, hiding the metallic fingers behind the worn material. A sigh slipped from your lips as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your long coat. In truth you were rather exhausted, to be able to escape from this tiring form would be rather pleasant about now. Not in the sense of death, no in the mere sense of a brief pause, perhaps you could sleep for a year or more, then wake to find the world in a better place, though such a concept could be seen as laughable.

You had nearly exited the park when you came to a rather odd realization, that you were in fact not alone in this place at this hour. A young man stood a few feet away from you down the path, he was not Japanese, no European, a dark cloak of sorts draped over his shoulders and a white ushanka upon his head, perhaps he was Russian then. It had been a long time since you had last visited Russia on that note.

As you drew level with him, you came to the conclusion that he had yet to notice your presence - a talent you took a fair amount of pride in, to be frank - glancing out at the sea, you followed his gaze. "Beautiful view isn't it," you spoke, rather curious if the stranger would respond.

The man glanced at you, surprise flashing momentarily across his gaze, sharp violet eyes meeting yours for a split second before his expression lapsed into something calmer, almost unreadable. "I suppose it is," his words were laced with a Russian accent, so you were right then.

⟨ "This city has an odd affinity for sunsets, it's rather pleasant, no?" ⟩

⟨ "Well, I can't really argue there, though it is rather humid here." ⟩ The stranger said in return, playing along, there was a hint of amusement in his words, oh so subtle and perhaps barely noticeable though you managed to catch it nonetheless.

⟨ "You speak Russian then?" ⟩

It was the kind of almost rhetorical question with a rather obvious answer, but you shrugged and answered all the same,⟨ "Yes, I'm from St Petersburg actually, though I haven't visited in years." ⟩You said with a shrug, your expression your usual - a calm near-emotionless mask, almost like a doll's expression. But you as you mentioned your hometown, and memories of those left behind, a fondness encased your words oh so briefly.

And the stranger didn't miss it either, though he didn't comment on it,⟨ "Then what brings you to Yokohama of all places?" ⟩ he asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.

⟨ "Oh plenty of things. This city can have good work, and it's never boring here, I've met some very talented and gifted individuals here. Besides, this city is a beautiful place." ⟩Your words were innocent, nothing was implied, however, the stranger caught what you were saying almost immediately, and it took everything he had to keep his complete composure. He was oh so tempted to question you further on that statement, though that would be a reckless move.

⟨ "Really? I don't really see it, but then again I myself have only been here for a few days, however, I do not plan to stay or return." ⟩His answer was worded carefully, no one would second guess it, but somewhere in the pit of your stomach something stirred restlessly, that was a lie, one that tasted so familiar - this man reminded you of someone, someone who had been incredibly dear to you.

⟨ "Well I suppose that's fair enough, but then, stranger, what would bring you here for such a short time?" ⟩ Your tone was polite enough to seem as though you were simply making small talk but just clever enough to indicate perhaps there was something more to your words, though that could even be mistaken for someone reading into it too much.

The stranger looked at you sideways, no emotions being betrayed on his expression. The person before him was so incredibly odd, he couldn't place his finger on it, but something within the way they spoke, within the way they moved, seemed both foreign and familiar, as though they were old friends despite that not being the case. They seemed so much older, than they were, as though they had lived a thousand lifetimes rather than one. ⟨ "Business of sorts," ⟩he said, glancing back out at the sea,⟨ "you called this city beautiful, but I can't see that." ⟩

You glanced at the stranger, tempted to push further, though that would be a mistake you decided, shrugging instead, bringing your right head to your face and brushing the stray hairs away from your eyes where they had fallen, the faintest possible creak of the metal joints reached your ears, a sound you wouldn't be able to find unless you looked for it.⟨ "Beauty may be subjective, in the eye of the beholder I suppose." ⟩

Dropping your hand back to your side, you couldn't help but let out a smile, "But then again..." your words came in neither Japanese nor Russian this time, rather English, and barely audible to even yourself, let alone the stranger, "this world is beautiful despite being steeped in cruelty."

There was a pause then, neither of you said a word and while the silence was not full of tension and awkwardness, it wasn't quite filled with comfort either. With a sigh you finally spoke, ⟨ "Well it was nice talking to you, maybe I'll see you around Dostoyevsky." ⟩

⟨ "Maybe you will," ⟩ the dark-haired man said absentmindedly, turning away from you completely, before freezing in his tracks. Maybe it was because his mind was admittedly a little muddled from sleep, but the words didn't fully register in his mind until a few seconds later, for when he had told you his name? Whirling around he glanced around for you, the stranger in the army green coat with the doll-like expression, but there was no one there. He was alone in that place, and the stranger was nowhere to be seen.