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𝘽𝙐𝙍𝙉𝙊𝙐𝙏 ──── 〔燃えた〕;
❝ they say 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 heal, they do, but there's always a 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧 left behind to remind you of the 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣 you once felt ❞
❝▮ 𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 ─ 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚...
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🏁 017: ALL SCARS ARE OLD 🏁
MAY 31, 2006 9:29 AM TOKYO, JAPAN
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THE SUN RISES IN THE EAST, sending out its daily signal that calls for the life below it to rise from their slumber. The sky fades into a deep, warm blue. Swirls of pink spill about the blue canvas creating a mellow brew of vivid color, and it blankets the busy, early morning city of Tokyo.
Above what seemed to be a sleeping princess rests a pair of birds that lay perched up on the sill of the window resting above the bed in which she slept. They tweet in a harmonizing melody that seemed to pull her from her rest. A tiny yet noticeable scowl formed on her lips as she allowed her eyebrows to mush into a wary line of confusion and slight annoyance. It was not a secret that Naomi wasn't a morning person, and if her words could not tell it then her facial expressions sure could say what she didn't.
Her body was nestled in a bed that didn't feel like the one in her hotel room. The blankets that covered her body gave her warmth but they simply weren't the same as the ones back at the suite. Neither was the placement of the window. Everything was far too different for this to be the norm. Unfamiliar and irregular in a way that felt too jarring to feel comfortable.
Her eyes cracked open in slits. She couldn't find it in herself to open them completely due to the amount of sleep she held in between them. A certain heaviness filled her eyes, her face felt sort of puffy and dry. She could only imagine how she looked at the moment. If a mirror was placed before her, she would more than likely run before she could even see her own reflection.
Naomi pushed herself up on the bed. A headboard stopping her back from making contact with the white wall behind her. Her nails grip at the sheets as she looked around the room. It quite literally gives her a migraine-trying to figure out just where the hell she was. And Naomi found herself opening her mouth to begin to call out for someone until she heard footsteps entering the room. She straightened her spine and forced her eyes opened so that she could get a good glimpse at who it was to enter the bedroom. And Naomi should have known. Of course, it wouldn't be anybody else except him. She was foolish to even think that she could have gotten kidnapped and was being held hostage in this bedroom. That probably would have been preferable.
"Mornin', princess." When he spoke it sounded as if his voice had been debunked by a few octaves. His voice was quite raspy and deep, signs of sleep still evident even in the two simple words. Naomi gulped, the dryness in her throat temporarily being quenched as she eyed him curiously.
"Morning." She mumbled rubbing her eyes.
He wore nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants. She could see the waist hanging low on his hips, the band of his boxers exposed as he bent down to place something on the nightstand beside the bed. Her eyes travel up from the bolded "MICHAEL KORS" label on the band of his underwear, up to his honey toned torso, purposefully skipping over his side profile to nosily see what he had placed on the nightstand. A simple glass of water with a paper towel next to it. Two little white tablets placed on the paper towel.
