Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Prologue: Look Out Your Window
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Sawamura Daichi walked along the sidewalk with his eyes trained on the concrete, waiting. Waiting for the familiar crack that branched out from under the tilted lamp post like a spider's web.
Because when he stepped over the crack he would look up. And even though he had to crane his neck to see the figure sitting at the writing desk, scribbling away with a feathered quill, it was worth it.
So when he stepped over the crack that night his eyes instinctively darted upwards to the second floor window above him. And he was never sure if it was the fluffy cat that always had its face pressed against the glass that kept forcing his eyes to the window, the warm, butter yellow light that shone out of it, or the man that sat there writing every day without fail. Nevertheless it was a daily occurrence.
The stranger in the window looked down at him and smiled. Daichi waved back.
He liked to think he was special to this man he'd never spoken to. Like he was the only person who got to see his kind smile shrouded in shadow. He doubted that he wasn't recognised. He did this every day, and every time the man smiled back down at him.
Daichi wondered what he looked like from up there. Was he similarly silhouetted by the lamp post behind him? Or did the stranger know exactly what he looked like? They could have crossed paths before and Daichi would have had no idea.
Sometimes he saw bits and pieces of the man's face. Never enough to paint a full picture, but just enough that he could make out certain features. He looked no older than twenty two, but Daichi always saw his gold rimmed reading glasses twinkling because of the light behind him. They pushed back his fine hair like a headband, and Daichi wanted to know if it had always been gray, or if it had turned that way because of stress or something.
He didn't look stressed, though. He looked calm. Like he had very little to worry about.
Daichi watched the stranger's smile fade away slowly as he turned back to his work, dipping his quill into a pot of ink and immersing himself in his writing once again.