𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 / bungō stray dogs x reader anthology

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

April 30th / this is a scrap also existentialism / 1.7k words

✧ ｡ﾟ✐.*ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ✎｡:*ﾟ

The weather had seemingly taken a turn for the better, this of course was a hoax, it was only the first week of December, within a day or so it'd be back to the hellish cold. It had warmed up significantly and though it was a rather cloudy day it wasn't particularly windy and was overall quite pleasant. And it was on this day that you found yourself seated on a park bench in one of St. Petersburg's larger parks. It was a nice place, the pathways were clear of snow and the trees were coated in a slowly melting frost. Certainly not the worst place to find herself.

Your Brother had gone off to meet an old friend and as such for the time being the two twins had parted ways. You didn't particularly mind of course, as any sibling you loved your brother, but that didn't mean they needed to be conjoined at the hip twenty for seven, they might be twins, but they were two separate human beings.

Leaning back in your seat, letting your eyes drift skywards; squinting, you raised one of your hands skyward, examining your fingers as the sun slowly became visible through a break in the grey overcast. Blinking you sighed, sitting back up and letting your hand drop into your lap, admittedly you were rather bored.

As the sunlight roamed the park, the warmth it offered not unwelcome, the glare from the snow it created less so. Staring down at the pavement, You absentmindedly fiddled with your bangs, your mind wandering to that of the parks over occupants.

Man. Woman. Child. Woman. child. Man. Man. Child. Woman. Woman.

You counted each one as they roamed the space, though you didn't actually look up to see any of them, it wasn't particularly hard to differentiate those who wandered around the space. For the odd thing about a person's mind, is that they are always thinking - at the very least subconsciously. When they are thinking, it isn't that hard to differentiate the minds of strangers. For a person's consciousness does, in fact, leave a mark on others. In the form of words and actions, human interactions intertwine their thoughts and feelings doing the same.

And as you once more leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes, you could feel the thoughts of all of those around your swimming in your subconscious. Opening your mind's eye a little wider - so to speak - you could feel the small trickle of thought and feelings of those around you flood your mind.

The feel of the fur under a dog's ear and the joyful bark it let out to it's companion, who to let out a bark - this time of laughter - in return. The feel of styrofoam and cardboard beneath your fingertips as someone took a long lip of coffee, the liquid burning down their throat, a sigh leaving their lips at the familiar feeling. The significantly less pleasant smell of cigarette smoke and the drugged relaxation it brought with it. The warmth that bubbled up in one's stomach as they talked and giggled with their lover, their hands clasped together tightly.

These emotions were not your own, rather of those around, and they flooded your body all at once. Such an odd thing, this one-way empathy was, to have the feelings flood through your, echoing in your, coming to rest in your bones as if they were your own. Frankly, it was exhausting, and while this Gift of yours had it's uses, and this in itself was the bare minimum. But you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything back towards these strangers. They were people, yes, but you would never see them again in your life and truly, you couldn't particularly care less about the strangers around your - but perhaps that was a little too cruel in nature, it was really the simple fact that you yourself, wasn't like them.

The way you saw the world was so drastically warped and tainted - any childhood innocence you once held had left you long ago - that, of course, you couldn't see things as they did, nor they as you did. That's the funny thing about war, it makes you grow up, forces a rather toxic maturity onto the backs of literal children. It certainly did for you, and while you were acutely aware of the sheer toxicity of that fact, there wasn't much you could do about that at the moment.