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CHAPTER ONE what can go wrong, will: part 1.
IN THIS MOMENT, if Mikio Fushiguro knows nothing else, she knows this: the night is dark and she is fucking tired. Exhaustion creeps into her young bones, and nestles a home in her muscles, weighing them down with heavy fatigue while she trudges up a concrete sidewalk worn by erosion from either hordes of daily footsteps, age, or a combination of the two. The weather is not quite on her side either; gelid breeze sidesteps the fabric of her uniform and slaps her skin as if she wasn't wearing anything to begin with.
Life grows tougher when one's existentially worn. Tasks that took little to no effort are taking everything she has now to complete, which isn't much. Soon, she'll have nothing left but bones. Even skin won't last forever.
She should curse the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College for its lack of staff. It's because they barely have people that she's had to accompany Inumaki-senpai and Nanami-senpai on two separate occasions and was still expected to show up to Shoko Ieiri's office to shadow the chronic smoker of a medic (the irony is hilarious, isn't it?) with a smile on her face and no sign of complaints. Now that she really thought about it, she should just curse the world at large. The curse producing-masses outnumber the ones that can exterminate the curses at a rate that's almost laughable. And she would have. Laughed that is, had it not been for the burn of her twin brother's stare at the back of her neck.
Mikio didn't need to turn around to know exactly how Megumi looked. With his Stygian-black tresses that stared gravity in the eye and openly defied its laws the way they shot out in every direction, eyes the color of the sapphire women wore in their ears and on their fingers, hands haphazardly lodged in his pockets as if he couldn't even be bothered to defend himself if dangers bother to appear and a scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face, her other half watches her with bated breath. She almost feels inclined to angle her head toward him and humor herself. To catch the way he's worriedly eyeing her, waiting for her legs to give out so he could intervene if he has to would be amusing, but Mikio's too tired to even muster a giggle, let alone a full belly laugh.
"Stop staring at me," she orders instead. "Your eyes'll get stuck like that."
"This is the third mission you've been on this week without rest," Megumi says, tone observing.
"It's been a busy week."
"It's only the third day of the week."
"What's your point, Megs?" she asks exasperatingly, turning towards him now.
A frown rests on his face, not that it ever leaves. "My point is that you're tired, and you should be back at the institute resting yourself."
