blackwood. he knows that name. god damn it, he knows that name. he searches every inch of his mind, he rifles through his memories from all the years he lived in shrike heights before he took off to spend time in the united kingdom again, but he just can’t place it. blackwood. it’s more familiar than his own last name, but why? edward stares at the guitar case that sits beside the person who eats at the table next to him in the food court, and his own food grows cold as he thinks and he thinks and he thinks.
they didn’t go to high school together, edward can’t remember a blackwood at shrike high, and the person didn’t work with him for his father either. were they a friend of kit’s, maybe? or a friend of a friend? no, they don’t seem the type to have been acquainted with the sombun’s, and they could easily be a mutual friend but... just having a mutual friend wouldn’t explain why the name is so familiar to the point where it almost hurts.
blackwood. oh man, it’s gonna haunt edward forever. if he can’t figure out the association soon, he knows it’ll drive him mad. he’ll go bonkers before he recalls the association if it continues on like this, and he’s growing hastily frustrated over the fact that none of his shrike heights memories prove to be doing him any good. he chews on a mcdonald’s fry slowly as he keeps staring at that labelled case. he goes through every year of his life in shrike heights as closely as he can, he works through connections with every person he’s ever met, all to no avail.
how can he be so familiar with a name, but have no recollection of why or how? it doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. it’s almost as if the blackwood association hasn’t come from shrike heights - and then it hits him. “holy fuck.” he swears, speaking out loud when he doesn’t intend to, the revelation overtaking him. “blackwood.” ( @urdamage )