ᴋᴀᴋᴇɢᴜʀᴜɪ ᴛᴡɪɴ X ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ {ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛs}

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!Kɪʀᴀʀɪ X ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

"Hmm."

She retreats back into her office, perches on her chair. Her cup of tea on the table next to a collection of photos of you glints blue, the flickering computer screen giving it an almost sickly glow. It's now a cold cup of tea you'd made the week before, but nonetheless, she reaches towards the cup and takes a sip.

You seemed to be doing well, relatively speaking, then; you'd weaseled your way into requesting supplies to make various kinds of teas, and Kirari would wasted no time in procuring the ingredients, the kettle and the bags, the safety gear. You made as much tea as the president wanted, lost in thought, humming, softly talking to yourself.

The results were delicious, but watching you make them was far better than any other kind of beverage. Her fingernail catches on her ice colored lips as she recalls watching you for almost the entire day, doing nothing but making tea for your dearest student council president. You were enchanting. Enthralling. So hypnotizing. And you seemed more you, which is a sight she absorbs and memorizes to be picture-perfect. She's glad for that, now, since you're acting so distinctly unlike yourself.

Was there a catalyst? Or was this simply an inevitable, unpredictable downward turn? Something she knew was possible, but couldn't exactly predict with great accuracy. People were predictable, psychology could be analyzed and estimated, but that wasn't accounting for the simple fact that human behavior could turn on a dime. Especially in an unusual environment such as the one you found yourself stuck in.

Her tongue scrapes against the tea cup, indulging in the sweetness with just a hint of peppermint.

Perhaps making the tea was a catalyst. A reminder of your past life. A reminder of what you had, and didn't have now, and wouldn't have in the future. Perhaps you contrasted the dimness of her own cell–even with the light being a bit more bright, a rare treat she'd granted because you'd complained about not being able to see with such a dimly lit light–with the open airiness of your own, and found it (and everything else) wanting.

It was worth consideration, so she tucks it into his mental files, ready to be pulled out a moment's notice, should it become useful.

For now, though, she grabs her laptop and starts typing a list of things to send to Sayaka, a few things that might help her pull you out of your current state–particularly if his Plan A doesn't work according to his estimations.

**

"Good Morning my love! Breakfast?"

Your eyelids practically burn from the sudden, fabric-swept introduction of natural light.

She's opened all of the lights . You've never seen all of them open, and you barely do now–your eyes, unaccustomed to brightness, squint shut. It hurts, and your hand instinctively shields your eyes even further.

Your lips move, perhaps to say something, to ask what on earth she's doing; but the moment you get your bearings, the moment the light ceases to hurt, you find that your lips remain closed. You don't have the energy to say anything. Who cares if all the lights were open, anyway? It's not like you can go outside to enjoy the actual sunshine. Was she taunting you with it? Or maybe she thought you should be much more grateful.

You wouldn't, couldn't, give her that satisfaction, so you grab the edge of the paper like blanket and burrow yourself in deeper, pulling it up to your chin. A familiar sad scowl sits on your face, an expression that requires no effort in your current state of mind.

You do see, though you don't move your gaze, that she's staring at you again. Watching you with her diamond blue eyes. Analyzing. Always, always. It gets tiring, being the mouse that chases the cheese. So you stopped chasing it, and if she wants to sit there and take notes about the way your fingers curl against the blanket or the way you only shift your gaze to a new spot on the wall every few hours, let her. If she wants to count the bites of food you take, tiny scraps that you can barely swallow without feeling sick, then have at it.