November 2016.

It hasn't been very long since you had been taken in by Suguru Geto, the head of some run-of-the-mill disillusioned cult. You could care less about what he does— at least you aren't worrying about what day you'll have your next meal, or where you'll sleep. A few friendships pulled into the care package doesn't hurt either.

If you were to guess, it might've been a year and a half. That sounds right, but nothing really sounds right anymore. Last month was last month, the next month will be the same— and with every passing day, things seem to get more boring and grim as the minutes and hours pass.

Maybe you hoped somebody had noticed how you zoned out every morning at breakfast. (Every morning used loosely, given getting out of bed seems like a chore by itself.) Maybe hoped somebody would notice that showers seemed to stretch on abnormally long— or maybe you'd just dwell on the feeling and let it twist into hatred for others, convince yourself that you can solve your own issues by proving you are stronger than everybody else; that you aren't weak to those who had hurt you previously.

Another morning. Different than the others, but all mornings are the same in the long run. Who cares? Mimiko and Nanako are probably out terrorizing some unfortunate citizens somewhere in town. It's another cold morning. Either that, or you haven't been eating enough.

Geto sits across the table. You can feel him staring at you. Or maybe he's just thinking really hard. Either way, you don't really want to look up. Hard conversations aren't worth it, and expressions just add everything worse into the mix. He takes a sip of water from a short glass, and a bite of rice. You match his breakfast-eating-energy™ by taking a bite of your own rice. That usually works.

“You know, I've been thinking… we should talk about a few things. You've been closed off.” Geto puts it more as a statement than a question.

You open your mouth to spit out yet another lie, but he interrupts you.

“Don't think I haven't noticed."