the bark is sturdy and comfortable against his back. roots are snakes in the dirt, crawling above and below the grassy terrain. there’s a book by kafka in his lap, open halfway through, and the wind is partial, soft. he does this every so often - goes long out of bounds from the city and noise, instead finding the quietest areas in rural woods and forests. it had been a nice day. baby blue skies and white, thick clouds. he’s too into the book, however, to notice when the clouds start graying and spreading thin. darkness pours into the sky, and when the sun is completely hidden from view, kaneki feels the first of many droplets atop his head. there’s barely any time to process the wetness ( and the strange, heavy presence of another ) before it’s pouring, a sideways wisk of rain. he huddles under the tree, seeking its huge width as shelter.
