Tenebrous [OPEN]

Anxiety, guilt, and fear overwhelmed Arata as he lay in bed. Each sleepless night had been harder than the last.

I can't go back to shutting my ears, and eyes and pretending I don't hear screams when I try to sleep.

You're no ally to the Quincy, you're barely a Quincy yourself.

Their words bothered him to no end. The taunting voices were beginning to grow faint and yet his own mental rebuttals continued with growing desperation. All the while, his rational mind attempted to mediate. How could he be losing this much sleep over statements that were not even directed at him?

How could he be losing sleep over any of what had occurred at that meeting? Where were the flames that he had been so certain would be enveloping the city by now? Why had Arata never encountered a shinigami in the passing months if they were so hellbent on the annihilation of Arata and his kin? He had seen that blond haired gentleman around more often than he had encountered one of those robed murderers, even when attempting to avoid them both. That man had not lost his head, so why should Arata be losing his?

Against his better judgment, he had started getting dressed.

In no time at all, Arata was greeted with the brisk air of a Karakura summer night. How appropriate for the brisk walk he was taking. He had really missed this town. He never left his apartment unless he had to. The type of social isolation that Arata had been practicing for the last couple months was no way to live. Even without the revelations he had been given, it was no wonder that Arata was in such poor spirits.

Even then, he was looking over his shoulder for some looming threat lurking in the shadows. Yet, nothing came. Nothing happened. He was alright. Everyone was alright. Hotaru's training was coming along nicely. It was almost as if everything was going back to normal. He could return to his peaceful life.

In no time at all, Arata's wanderings had led him back to the park. Had he subconsciously been walking towards it this whole time?

As he returned to that solitary light, he had almost expected to see a small crowd of Quincy there again. He would certainly feel more appropriately dressed with his new blazer on. However, he knew even before he had arrived at that bench that the park was empty just like he had left it.

As Arata took a seat on the bench, a memory bubbled to the surface of his consciousness. He hastily pulled out that card from his wallet. He had received this card that night from this very bench with a phone number on it.

About a week later, he had scrawled an entirely different number onto the back of it.

Arata impulsively entered that barely legible number into his new phone, and then waited with anticipation for the voice of a certain Quincy.