Ango certainly has done a good job of keeping his nose out of the affairs of the Agency. Despite the Special Ability Department’s collaborative relationship, he has kept himself as distanced from it as possible. Not only one, but two men he once knew work there now, and a snake has no business sniffing around where he once shed his skin.
He is good at what he does, and ultimately, that was his downfall. Everywhere he walks, a cloud hangs above his head. He knows people notice it, because he does not try to hide it. The rain reminds him of the day it all fell apart, and he feels even gloomier than usual.
He steps into the cafe, shaking out his umbrella. Ango rarely does ever get days off, and when he does, these days of peace are rarely ever peaceful — traitors, of course, do not deserve peace. Today, though, he decides it’ll be different; what’s done is done, and nothing ever comes from wallowing in the past.
That is, until he spots a familiar mess of red hair he hasn’t seen in four years. He recognizes the stature of the man even from behind. He feels his heart pound against his chest.
No... no... no...
All his hard work of keeping his business out of Oda’s all comes crashing down. He has half a mind to skitter out of the cafe, but he feels like his feet are glued to the floor.
| | | | | | @inmaculati
