Scenarios ✘ D. Gray Man

When You Meet Again; I

Before you read, I want to warn for detailed depictions of (social) anxiety and PTSD, along with vomiting. There is also hinted mental abuse. If you cannot handle these topics, please do not read.

Allen

Paranoia, a word so simple but it held such much... weight in your life, especially after your doctor had diagnosed you with it, his hand cold against your back as he told you the necessary measures that needed to be taken to fix it.

Hearing it the first time, that simple eight-lettered word, you almost were hopeful that having a solution could help you return back to normal, get back to being you but, in the end, that thought ended up being wishful thinking. Walking down the street was hard but working – especially since you were attacked there and met so many strangers – was nearly impossible; everyone was out to kill you. 

It didn't that long before strands of your hair became white, the stress and anxiousness piling up with fear, nearly killing you every night. You were spiraling down a dark hole, one that seemed endless and forever, nothing to stop your free-fall. 

At least, that's what it seemed like before you rediscovered an old passion – drawing. 

It was odd how much peace you found in something as simple as the consistent shading of colors, watching them blend underneath your fingers, staining expensive paper that you had spent a majority of your paycheck on, but you imagined it had something to do with how it reminded you of your childish innocence, when you could spend hours out in the sun, alone but surrounded by everything; reminded you of when there were no worries. 

So, when your anxiety reached its peak, you forced yourself out of your home and walked over to the nearest park and sat down, taking out your oil pastels and your pad of paper, and just loosing yourself in your work – ignoring everything and everyone and the world doing the same for you. 

That day, though, was when it all changed for you. 

You had followed the same pattern as before, throwing on a random jacket over your pajamas, fingers shaking as your thoughts ran so rapid in your head, you were starting to get sick of them, before grabbing the book filled with all your emotions. 

As you picked it up, you caught sight of the silver lining of it, running your fingers over the cover. You didn't know why, but the image immediately steadied you, bringing your heart's beating down to a slight flutter while also easing the trembling of your fingers. 

Shaking your head, you tucked it into your bag, racing around the room to search for your pack of oil pastels before you finally left your home, destination already in mind. It only a few minutes before you finally reached the part, bright greens and faded browns entering your vision as the smell of fall entered your nose. 

Finding the nearest bench, you pulled your bag up beside you and just watched the scenery, taking everything in at once. It was hard, just sitting there and waiting, but you knew you needed to do it, needed to get used to moments like these. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally pulled your book out from your bag, flipping to an unfinished page, before pulling out your pastels and getting to work. 

You didn't know how long you had been there before a thud sounded from beside you, loud even with the growing noise of the park. Tensing, you felt your hand freeze, afraid to move. Then, the trembling started, gradually growing the longer you lingered. 

"Um," you flinched at the voice, fists clenching, "you're (Y/N), right?"

A gasp fell from your mouth at the sound of your name, head ripping up to meet bright gray eyes, ones so familiar to you. You could feel whatever stutter you had growing on your tongue die in that moment, suddenly caught on the boy before you, the boy from that night.