broken || sugawara x reader

o3; snow

The frosted snow crunches under the heels of her black boots as she walks down the path. Deep blue mixed with the coal-black painted sky, streaks of grey clouds scattered around in a frenzy. Glimmering stars sprinkled throughout the night sky, each one glowing brighter than the last in a competition of beauty. The moon's light cast down on the quiet streets of Miyagi as everyone was tucked away in the safety of their own homes. The snow shimmers in the light like glitter and breaks apart easily from her large strides.

Music flows through her ears like the calming waves during the tide. Her headphones securely placed on the top of her head providing the only source of entertainment she has right now. For it being so dark, the winter atmosphere made is obvious it was not too late for the third year girl to be walking down the streets alone, dressed in more revealing clothing.

Her usual comfortable shoes are now replaced by large black leather boots which gave her a few extra inches of height, accentuating how her legs looked in the shorts and fishnet tights which left almost nothing to the imagination. The aim here was to look mature. Someone who isn't in high school. Someone who makes money and can walk into a store to buy alcohol and cigarettes.

The shops bell chimes as she pushes it open, heels clicking against the flooring. The aisles are almost eerily empty as most usual customers are staying away from the winters cold air. It would be incredible to be able to be so warm on a night like this. To be close to loved ones and have a warm smile on your face. To be watching a movie and eating so many snacks you feel slightly sick afterwards. To be falling asleep mid-way through the movie, only to be pushed awake by those around you as to not miss any important scenes.

Walking to the back aisles, tired (e/c)-eyes scan the shelves searching for her father's usual while picking away at the chipped black nail polish on her fingers then moving to the broken skin around the nail. Alcohol was frequently moved around in shops like these to encourage the customers to scan the shelves to buy more than needed or wanted. It could be called manipulative or it could be called genius. There can be a very thin line between the two sometimes.

Her hand reaches out to the desired bottles of poison as she makes her way to the front of the store paying absolutely no mind to the other items darted around the shop. She pulls her headphones off of her head and allows them to hang around her neck and shift slightly as she walks.

The fake-blonde lifts his head hearing a small bang on the table in front of him. His cigarette hanging from his lips as his headband can hardly control his dyed hair. Honey eyes slightly glare at the girl for her behaviour as she quietly apologised for the noise.

Her head is held high with pursed lips and confident eyes, a foreign look to everyone else but the shop owners she frequented often. One leg carries all her body weight and her left-hand moves to her hip as she points carelessly to the shelves behind the worker who is still staring at her with now focused and intense eyes as if to intimidate the girl- a trick which won't work. "And a packet of 'Pall Mall' cigarettes too please."

Silence falls between them. The man closes the magazine in his hands and places it down on the counter in front of him next to the liquid courage then turns around and grabs a packet of the desired sticks of toxin. With a firm hand, he sets them down on the counter while still stealing glances at the girl who remains confident in her composure. After counting in his head the man speaks up in a gruff voice, obviously caused by the cigarette he still has dangling between his two fingers on his left hand.

"That'll be ¥3358." With having already known the exact price she pulls out the crumpled notes along with the coin change and places them on the counter. As her hand was about to clap around her purchased items a calloused hand betas her to it. The male stands tall and glares at the girl while his lips turn into a snarl, his cigarette now forgotten in the ashtray.