"..how."

chuuya, who hasnt slept for a day, is still upset - splintered, ugly state - just wants to take a refreshing walk. hes not in the mood to talk.

hes also not in the mood for hallucinations, because you, obviously, must be somewhere far away. in the grave, for example.

but youre here, after four years of separation. in the middle of usually bustling yokohama streets - its nearly five am - chuuyas knuckles actually itch to punch your face.

"how the fuck are you alive."