chuuya knows that being a witch is a problem. a catastrophic and funny one.

no, he didnt have a clue how to make proper potions, but knew how to chat with black cats and...fly on a broom. love for the sea - an elusive pattern of glares, splashes and waves - blooms somewhere in his heart and makes this particular city his destination.

it smells of people, water and tragedy that hasnt occurred. yet. he listens to the clumsy scratch of his shoes as he lands, leads his gaze along the lines of cold asphalt - draws a line for retreat, although is definitely not going to.

in the center of the city, with palpable feeling of someones - spiky - gaze on his back and a broom in his hands, he looks like a lost puppy.