Putting Pen To Paper - Naegami Story

Eyeteeth Arc - 7

Cherished,

You are correct (per usual) in your assumption that I have never gone camping before. What would be the point when there is a sprawling mansion sitting amidst a field of manicured gardens? Proper camping doesn't seem the type of thing I would ever enjoy, so maybe it is fortunate that I have never been. And I never lived in the suburbs either, so I suppose all forms of camping is foreign to me. Tell me, what kinds of foods did your mother make? In the woods there isn't a lot of equipment to cook, so I am certainly curious about this. Maybe her recipes could inspire me. Also, you will do wonderful in the kitchen if what you are aiming to serve is a mess of ingredients. I think the only successful kitchen fiasco you inserted yourself into was when you made those simple cookies with Kirigiri and Hiro. There is no mystery about my kitchen abilities, though. I am naturally talented at everything I do, so of course picking up cooking came easily.

Don't call me strange, Makoto. You mean it as a term of endearment, which I think deems you the strange one. I'm trying to forget the circumstance of this word from my last letter.

Every word of your last letter caused a hitch in my throat, (I've never been so adored before, despite my grandeur). You are thoughtful and sentimental, and destroy every vile thing inside that rots me. I look at the mirror and can recognize the face that is handsome, but you paint me with colors romanticized, glamorous, and tender. I wonder what is special about your eyes that you see such beauty in me, and the answer comes that it is Naegi Makoto's eyes that see me, and see the potential of good in everyone. To me, these scars are another stroke of paint you have put on the canvas of me, the person you look at and love. If you had gotten the knife deeper into my jaw, it would only be the representation of how you fluster and stick the words I want to say to my throat. And if you truly believe my "arousal" is strange then understand that if you had sliced my hand off I still would have found a way to make it pleasurable to me. There is nothing wrong with you, dear. I want you to read this and sear the words into that wonderful brain of yours. Makoto, you never could have been able to kill me. No one is able to kill me.

Nothing of anything has been going on here at the Future Foundation, which makes your absence even more noticeable as there isn't much to distract myself with. I just monitor the progress. The wallpaper stripped from classroom walls. The seeds tucked into moist dirt. The people unloaded, leaving the wombs of train cars. The buildings erected inch by inch. I look at things and wish you were there looking with me. But you're right, we do have the moon. I stare at it like a lover through the window from my place on the bed. I miss you.

Yours,

Byakuya