Green Bunny, Yellow Trumpet

2

His footsteps echo through the empty and dead streets of Musutafu. He tries to look around for the same shadowy figure he saw prancing up on the rooftops with beautiful agility but they remained even and blank slated. His bag is the only thing that keeps him company as he sips on the canned iced coffee, numbing his hand the longer it stays. He can barely contain the shiver that runs along the back of his spine.

Exhaustion that ebbs away at him has him blinking owlishly. He yawns, scratching the stubble from under his chin before sloppily walking up the couple of stairs that lead to the loud blonds apartment.

His run of the night went well, if you cross out the encounter with the seemingly spiritual being and the old crazy lady that makes his run seem just like a crazy fever dream. Then he'd say his run was successful in plenty of ways.

He pulls out the ring of keys that took home in his pocket for the night, unlocking the door and pocketing them again.

He's quiet as he slips into the house of his closest friend and places his stuff on the marble counter. The bag crinkles and he has half a mind to shush it because his friend is a light sleeper and sue him if he's worried about waking him up.

He pulls out the yellow sleeping bag and takes refuge on the couch. His eyes take to the fact that it's sleepy time and they shut as soon as his body is engulfed in physical warmth and not just figurative.

His mind travels to the person he saw hopping from roof to roof. The curvature of its hips when it jumps, the shadows that were cast across the beings face like a mask, setting right above its lips as it bounced up and down with the seemingly weightlessness they held, the bunny ears that pranced around just as he bounced reaching momentum and kicking off the roof to leap into a beautiful form that could have only been practiced and perfected.

His skin glowed in the dark and the slight aura that illuminated off of it only gave way to the moon being in his favor. Shouta knew somewhere on the blank slate of the face shrouded in dark there were human features and a face, maybe a bright smile that Shouta promised himself he'd see, eventually.

He squirms in his yellow sleeping bag despite the noticeable heaviness of his eyelids. He wonders about the figures' eyes and how they'd look, what color they'd be and when he'd get to meet and touch and admire.

Shouta Aizawa is not the patient type. He's known that for a while, but could he at least keep his fantasy thoughts at bay for a while. He could spam Naomasa, hell even open up a case for the mystery person but it would do nothing to solve the dilemma he was in. His thoughts kept barreling in like sneaky little monkeys. They wanted to know, wanted to find, wanted to see.

Like hungry rabid dogs that Shouta just couldn't rein in. He remembers the lady's warnings, the thought of not going after the apparent boy itches at his mind and his thoughts contradict every single skeptical concept that, maybe he shouldn't go out and try to find the small being.

Sighing he rubs the space where his nose rides up to create two nostrils. He inhales between those two holes and holds it there for a second, hoping that he'd pass out from suffocation. It doesn't work and he's left on the couch, by himself, in his sleeping bag with thoughts of the person on the roof, and he can't help but become more annoyed with himself.

He wants to draw himself to a blank and tell himself that he'll probably never see them again. Let alone talk to him, and then the thought that he could search through police files popped up into his mind.

You're a fucking genius Shouta Aizawa.