@dysastral || PERMA STARTERS 1
   Where does he start? Where does he even go? The drastic shift from home to Hive to home and now here has his head spinning too quickly for him to work out. Already, seconds in, heâs found himself nursing a headache and trying his damn best to keep himself from roughing up the nearest thing he could find.
   Sitting on the sidewalk, he tries to distance himself from what had happened, furrowing his brows and letting the passing vehicles blur into blobs of color until something snaps him from his mild daydreaming.
   Heâs been on edge. Both him and his stand. Itâs understandable seeing as anyone would beâor they probably already are.
   Any little sound outside of passing traffic was worth his attention⊠And maybe thatâs because a part of him is hoping to see someone familiar race his way. Save him from his thoughts and this desolate place. Or maybe just someone to steal a smoke from. Whatever came first.
   Unfortunately, this one doesnât look quite like the kind to carry cigarettes on him, so Okuyasu simply stares with a fowl gaze before deciding to settle his sourness and simply ask if only for the slim chance that maybe he was wrong.
â Hey⊠You wouldnât happen to have a cigarette on you, would you? â
â
. This shithole looked like a war zone. Everything was destroyed, the running water was yellow in his townhouse and there was no electricity. If you were out at night and you didnât have a light you were in the pitch black void, maybe with some moonlight if you were lucky. This was worse that the place before.Â
What sort of cosmic joke had his life become. Where exactly did he go wrong? He was a man with goals, dreams, and a little tenacity. Yet here we was, dead or something. Maybe technically alive, but supposed to be dead, and what? On some foreign planet? He couldnât get a reading on anything. He had no clue what stars shined above them at night. None of them formed any familiar patterns.Â
It all just made his head spin and he honet to god wish he could concentrate on something else. He couldnât have a smoke from his pipe because of his health. Hs lungs were bad enough, he didnât want to smoke anything in case something happened, like, you know, choking on his own blood from coughing. What a damn headache this all was.Â
He turned to the man who had approached him. He could have laughed at the irony. âWhat I wouldnât do for a smoke, man. Nah, I ainât got shit.â He pulled his empty pipe form his pocket to make his point, flashing it in view of the other male.