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suddencolds · 9 months

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Fool Me Twice [5/?]

Hello, remember this series? This chapter took me like six months to write. It was very embarrassing opening up the google doc again to see that the last edit was in April (back when I rewrote this chapter from scratch five times over before giving up entirely.) Anyways, I need to post it before I lose my nerve. 😭

Part 5 ft. fake dating, a cold, and an intervention

You can read part 1 [here]! (No context is needed aside from the previous 4 parts).

—

The drive to Good Day Diner is uneventful. Francesca recommended it to him awhile back, when they were both still in college, and he’s been trying to puzzle out their recipes ever since. Though, even with the ones where he’s come close, he rarely has the time to make them properly, in between work and everything else, so he’s been back here a few times since then.

Yves picks up two pint-sized containers worth of soup—chicken farro and miso with ginger—and strikes up a conversation with the cashier while he waits.

“This isn’t your usual order,” she says.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “It’s for a friend.”

“They’re a fan of miso?” Yves considers this. They’ve gone to more than a couple work outings together, and though Yves hasn’t paid particularly close attention to what everyone else has ordered, he thinks he remembers Vincent getting miso salmon on one occasion, a few weeks back. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I hope so.”

“Your friend didn’t tell you their order?”

“He doesn’t know I’m getting dinner for him. I just happened to be passing by, so I thought I might as well.” That part’s not entirely true—the restaurant is a twenty minute drive from the office, and it’s not really on the way home, either.

“So it’s a surprise,” the girl says, leaning back with a smile that looks a little too knowing for Yves’s liking. Whatever she thinks she’s figured out, he’s sure she has the wrong idea. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Yves says. “We aren’t that close. I’m not even sure if he’ll be happy to see me.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s done a lot for me, and I think—” I think I might’ve repaid him in the most ungrateful way possible, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “I think all I’ve done, in return, is cause him trouble.”

The girl finishes ladling soup into the containers and reaches over the counter for two caps. “Usually when people do a lot for you, that means they like you.”

“Or it means they’re just really nice,” Yves says. “I think that’s closer to it.”

“So you’re getting him soup because you feel indebted to him?” She sets the soup containers carefully into a brown paper bag, slips in two plastic sleeves worth of utensils, then slides it towards him.

“Something like that,” Yves says, taking the bag from her. “Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes the next time I’m back. Have a good one!”

“You too,” she says. “I hope your friend appreciates it.”

It’s not as nice as treating Vincent to dinner, but maybe what Vincent needs right now is convenience, not luxury. if he’s already made up his mind about working late, then at least he can work late with dinner on the side. Yves doesn’t even have to talk to him, really. He can just leave the soup on Vincent’s desk with a note, as unobtrusively as possible, and then take his leave again.

The drive back is shorter than expected. Yves turns on the radio, if only to not be left with just his thoughts, and listens to the newscaster talk about traffic, and the weather, and a local festival that’s going to be held on friday. When he puts the car into park and pulls the keys out from the ignition, the silence that follows is not reassuring in the least.

He pockets his keys and heads up the stairs, into the office building, and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. The office is well-lit, even this late at night—it gives the impression of it being perpetually daytime, even though the clock on the wall says otherwise.

He takes a post-it note off of Cara’s desk, scrawls on: Figured you wouldn’t have time to get dinner, so I got you soup, and signs it: -Y. He sticks the note onto the paper bag, regards it for a moment, and then—after reconsidering—staples it on, just in case.

Then he heads off—past rows and rows of desks, around the corner and through the hallway, past the break room, to stop at the doorway which overlooks the room where Vincent sits.

Vincent is still at his desk, paging through documents with one hand, scrolling through what looks to be a long list of email correspondences with the other. From this distance, it’s hard to tell that anything is off, except—

He looks exhausted. It’s subtle, but once Yves notices it, he can’t stop noticing it. It’s present in the way Vincent holds himself, as if the wiry frame of the office chair is the only thing keeping him properly upright. It’s in the way he blinks hard at his monitor, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he’s been staring at it for hours.

There’s a mug of what looks to be black coffee on his desk, half empty but still steaming, which seems to imply that he plans on staying much later. Yves clears his throat.

“Still working hard?” he says.

Vincent’s gaze snaps up to where Yves is standing. “Yves,” he says. “I thought you left.”

“I did.”

“Did you forget something here?” Vincent dog-ears the page he’s flipped to, then sets the stack of papers off to the side. “I can help you look.”

“No,” Yves says. “Well, not exactly. I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered. I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, expectantly.

“Have you eaten?”

“I ate,” Vincent says. The relief Yves feels, at that statement, is unfortunately short-lasted. “Lunch. A few hours ago.”

“Lunch was eight hours ago.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Will you catch up on sleep tomorrow too?”

“If I manage to finish this by then,” Vincent says, “Then yes.”

Yves stares at him. Does Vincent really, truly think there’s nothing wrong with any of this? With whatever sleepless, miserable late-night work session he’s already seemingly resigned himself to? “So what? You’re going to crash on the couch here?”

“I’ll head home around 4,” Vincent says.

4am. “And what? Lay down for fifteen minutes?”

“Three hours, maybe,” Vincent says, turning aside to muffle a cough into his elbow. “I don’t live that far.”

He says all of this in earnest, as though none of it strikes him as even the slightest bit unreasonable. Yves can’t help it—he doesn’t think he could hide the incredulity in his voice even if he tried. “You have to be kidding me.”

Finally, Vincent’s face shifts to show—something. Something other than the utter blankness from before, something past the civil, perfectly drawn business facade. Yves doesn’t have to look for very long to register it as frustration. “What part of my answer was unclear?”

“None of it is unclear,” Yves says. “It’s just… exceptionally unreasonable.”

“By some arbitrary metric of yours, sure.”

“Ask anyone else at the office and they’d agree with me.”

“What you—or anyone else at the office—think about my sleep schedule doesn’t concern me.”

“Let me help,” Yves says. “Please. We’ll get it done twice as fast if I help. Or if you really don’t trust me, hand it off to someone you do trust.”

“There’s no need. It’s my work to get done.”

“You should be at home right now, not working overtime on your first day back,” Yves says. He looks over all of it, now—over the desktop computer and the monitor, the charts and graphs laid out on screen, the piles of paperwork currently occupying Vincent’s desk. There’s a pang in his chest that he hadn’t quite accounted for. “It can’t be pleasant doing all of this with a headache.”

Vincent blinks at him. “What headache?”

“The one you’ve had since before I left.” Vincent can attempt to deny it if he wants. But between Leon, Yves’s younger brother, and Victoire, his younger sister—who’ve caught their fair share of colds throughout the years, between the other members of the crew team he’d spent his 6ams with—who he’s seen frequently tired and occasionally under the weather—Yves thinks he’s well equipped to recognize a headache.

And Vincent looks as put-together as always, for the most part—he looks like he could’ve just walked out of a photoshoot for some classy magazine, his hair neat, his tie done neatly, his suit jacket criminally well-fitted to his shoulders. But Yves doesn’t miss the stiff set of his jaw and the tension strung through his posture, the way he tilts his head ever-so-slightly away from the bright overhead lights as if it hurts to look at them, the way he rubs his eyes or pinches the bridge of his nose, always subtle enough to go unnoticed. The way he holds himself, now, as if it’s taking all of his energy to appear so presentable.

“I don’t,” Vincent starts. “I haven’t—”

“I can tell, you know,” Yves says, a little dejectedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you have one, anyways.”

Vincent frowns. “Talking to you hasn’t given me a headache.”

“Not that,” Yves says. “But I’d imagine that spending all of New Year’s Eve next to me when I was under the weather might have.”

Yves watches the surprise flicker across Vincent’s face.

“So that’s what this is about?” Vincent says slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks—confused, now, taken aback by Yves’s admission—and then a little sad. “You’re just here because you feel guilty.”

“I do feel guilty,” Yves agrees—that much is true. “But that’s not why I’m here.” he feels hopeless, suddenly, attempting to explain himself to someone who would probably have preferred it if he never bothered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Perhaps it was presumptuous to think that he could help in the first place. “I realize now that I can’t change your mind on any of this. But even if you plan to stay here all night, I— I just thought maybe I could—”

He’s interrupted with a harsh, “hhHh’NGk-t!” which jerks Vincent forward in his seat. Then a soft, wet sniffle, and then another— “Excuse m—Hhh’GKT!”, neatly pinched off into his hands. Vincent’s eyes flutter shut as he cups both his hands over his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together as his shoulders tremble with an inhale: “hih… hiIIh… hI’GKSCHHuuh-! Snf-! hH… HEh’DZSSChhUH!”

It’s immediately followed up with a few harsh, grating coughs which leave Vincent hunched over slightly, his glasses slightly askew, his hands still cupped to his face.

“Bless you,” Yves says, a little stunned.

Vincent doesn’t say anything to that—he just reaches across the desk for a tissue and blows his nose quietly into it, before he discards the tissue into a small metal trash can under the desk. The tips of his ears look a little red.

His throat probably hurts too, Yves realizes, with a jolt. Yves really shouldn’t be prolonging this conversation if he can help it.

“I, uh, brought soup,” he says awkwardly. The paper bag crinkles slightly as he lifts it. “Just so you wouldn’t have to skip dinner entirely. That’s why I was gone earlier. I initially meant to just drop it off here, not—” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to argue with you.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment longer. Then he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Bring you dinner?

“You didn’t have to come back at all.”

“I know that,” Yves says. “But I wanted to.”

Vincent takes the bag from him, lifts the post-it note so he can read the few lines Yves has scrawled onto it. He turns aside to muffle a few coughs into his sleeve. “This must have been a lot of trouble.”

“Not more trouble than attending a New Year’s party on someone else’s behalf, that’s for sure,” Yves says. It’s a wonder that Vincent agreed to that arrangement in the first place—Yves doesn’t know how he’ll even begin to make it up to him. “If we’re keeping count, I still owe you.”

Vincent regards him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I never thought that you owed me.”

“Okay,” Yves says. “Then I’m doing this on my own accord.”

“What do you possibly have to gain from that?”

Is it not obvious enough? Yves sighs. “Nothing. I care about you.”

Carefully, slowly, Vincent opens the bag, shifts his documents over to the other side of the desk, and takes out the two containers of soup. Yves regards them closely—hopefully they’ve still retained most of their warmth, even after the drive here.

“I’m not sure if they’ll be to your taste,” he says, a little sheepishly. “If you tell me what you like, next time I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“I’m not picky,” Vincent says. He rummages through the paper bag for a spoon. “I think I’d like both of these. Have you eaten already?”

“Not yet,” Yves says. Perhaps he should’ve picked up dinner for himself at Good Day, too—he’d been so preoccupied with getting something for Vincent that he’d forgotten. Either way, it’s inconsequential. There’s probably enough in the fridge to last a day or two before his next grocery run.

“You also got dinner for yourself, right?”

Yves must hesitate for a moment too long.

“That’s a little hypocritical,” Vincent says. “Do you want to pull up a chair?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten. You brought two soups.”

“They were both supposed to be for you.”

“You’re already here.” Vincent says. He shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side, clears a space on the table, and sets the chicken farro soup in front of Yves. As if it really is that simple.

Yves stares down at it, a little perplexed. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me, he wants to say.

“Unless you’d just prefer to take this home,” Vincent says, misinterpreting his silence as hesitation.

“No,” Yves says. “You’re right. I’ll pull up a chair.”

—

Yves ends up dragging over a chair from one of the tables nearby—he makes a mental note to put it back before they leave. Vincent shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side.

“Now we’re both staying past nine,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’ve always wanted to see what this place turns into at night.”

“Does it live up to your expectations?” “It’s a bit of a ghost town,” Yves says. “But not in a bad way. Feels like I could take all the snacks out of the break room and no one would bat an eye.”

“That’s the real reason why I’m here right now,” Vincent says, so deadpan that it barely sounds like a joke. Yves laughs.

Something about this scene—about sitting with Vincent, here, having dinner on the only corner of his office desk that isn’t occupied by documents—feels a little nostalgic.

“This is just like when I first joined,” he says. “When you were helping me with all the onboarding stuff.”

Back when he first joined, Vincent’s desk was a frequent destination. It’s not that Vincent is particularly friendly—it’s more just that Vincent is really, really good. He has expertise in things that he’s only done once in his life, and he can spot mistakes at a glance. He’s patient, too, even though Yves thinks that if the roles had been reversed, anyone teaching Vincent anything would never have to exercise any patience at all.

He can’t blame Angelie for looking to Vincent for help, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Yves was the one hovering at his desk, watching Vincent go through relevant work over his shoulder.

“The first couple weeks are - snf-! - always difficult,” Vincent says. “But you picked things up quickly.”

“I can’t imagine you as a beginner at anything,” Yves muses.

“Everyone’s - snf -! - a beginner at s-some— hH-! Just a second—” Vincent turns his head away sharply, burying his nose into his shoulder before— “hh’GKt-! Hh… Hhh’IIZSCchuhH! snf-! Hh-! hhih… HiH’GKT-!... Hh… hHih… hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says reflexively.

“Thank you,” Vincent says, with a small cough, which he muffles into his sleeve. He sighs. His voice has held up pretty well, but Yves can hear the muted edge of congestion in his voice, softening his consonants. “What was that you said to me? ‘You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly?’”

“I won’t if you get over this cold soon,” Yves says. “Maybe that’s the real reason why I brought soup.”

“So that’s why you’re being suspiciously nice to me,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I’m relieved to know you’ve had ulterior motives all along.”

Everything gets easier, after that. Vincent seems to enjoy the soup, for the way his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, after he takes his first bite. (“So I was right to think you’d like miso,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs and says, “Am I really that predictable?”) When Yves offers again to help, after dinner, Vincent wordlessly hands him a small stack of business proposals. It’s not much, but just the fact that he’s agreeing to let Yves help is already a step in the right direction—give Yves an inch, and he’ll take a mile.

Yves looks through all of the documents he’s handed, scrawling notes in the margins, and then goes through another third of the stack of unreviewed paper on Vincent’s desk, while Vincent scrolls through pages of spreadsheets, processing data and creating new graphs. Vincent is almost frighteningly efficient, even when he’s not feeling his best—they lapse into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional, near-inaudible hitch in Vincent’s breath, always followed by a wrenching sneeze, or two.

There’s the coughing, too—always muffled tightly into his sleeve, after Vincent turns to face away from him, which must be exhausting. Yves doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s not as though he can catch this cold again.

(“Bless you,” Yves says, after the tenth-or-so sneeze, trying not to let the concern creep into his voice. “I think the pharmacy near 59th is still open. If you want, I can stop by and grab you something for your symptoms.”

“No need,” Vincent says. “If it - hh-! - gets bad enough, I’ll — Hhh-!”

“Bless you again—”

“hihH’IZSCHhhuh! - snf-! - I’ll get something myself.”

Yves wonders what his metric for bad enough is. Then again, it’s probably better not to press.)

It’s nearly eleven before Yves decides to head home at last.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Vincent says, with a rueful sniffle. “You must be tired.” “Not really,” Yves says. “I usually sleep pretty late. If you’re still feeling this bad tomorrow, take the day off.”

“I’ll think about it,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “At the very least, promise me you’ll head home sooner rather than later?”

“No promises,” Vincent says—though at the disapproving look Yves gives him, he amends, “But I’ll try.”

He sounds like he means it, at the very least. Yves supposes he’ll take what he can get.

[ Part 6 ]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i cannot decide if i want to write another chapter of this where vincent gets even worse or if #i should advance their story in the plot sense #i do like these two and want to write more of them in the future if people are still interested in reading more of them :')#my fic #yvverse

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halliescomut · 9 months

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No Subs watch of My Personal Weatherman Ep 5

There will likely be spoilers but not about any of the dialogue because I don't understand what's being said.

-Talking to....editor I guess?? Not good news 😟😟😟

-Opening credits. God these men are so pretty!!!!

-Being depressed on your living room floor- relatable.

-Being depressed on the floor in front of your washing machine- slightly less relatable.

-The lighting in this scene is gorgeous though. Reminds me of the aquarium.

-Daddy's home!!! I mean....nah that's kinda what I meant. 😁

-As much as he adores Yoh, I know this silence is bothering him. Were Segasaki a lesser man he would get (visibly) frustrated, but he stays very gentle. 🥺🥺

-Now Daddy's cooking .... the feelings. The hand close ups. 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 (Sometimes I worry I'm a little too honest on this site.)

-Ooooohhhh. Yummy 😋😋😋

-Anyone else feel like Yoh was like a little bit pissed that Segasaki's food is so good? 🤣 That look just felt a little bit like "Goddammit! You got to be good at this too?!"

-Ooohhhh what did Segasaki say to get that response?? (Edit after continuing- I'm going to assume he was 'asking' Yoh about taking a bath.)

-That smirk 😏😏😏😏

-Segasaki's hand on Yoh's cheek. *Swoon* That deserves its own compilation I think.

-Now we're in the tub 🛀 and Segasaki wants to know why Yoh is so sad. (Remember these are guesses, I can't understand unless it's one of about 15 Japanese words I know...or their names.)

-Yes more affection via hair drying!!! One of my favorite things!!! (Surprised it's not a Dyson blow dryer. I keep seeing them in so many shows, even ones where characters are poor and it makes no sense.)

-We've never seen Segasaki's room have we??

-Yoh instigating kisses 🤭🤭🤭🤭 And more than just kisses??🫣🫣🫣~~~Okay I did have to at least Google translate that interaction, because the vibes were very odd to me. Totally makes sense with the internal monologue Yoh had going. He wants to forget....and that would help him forget. But Segasaki knows what his game is and he's not going to let him hide, literally and metaphorically.

-Yoh the sad little homemaker is depressing me.

-There's something so weird to me about drying a shirt on a hanger. I live in a clothesline household, & line dry clothes all the time, but this is just odd to me. It arguably makes more sense, since clothespins will mess up your clothes sometimes, it's just a bit jarring.

-That is why we have clothespins.

-Yummy ramen. I had that for lunch yesterday. Homemade is yummy, but instant hits different sometimes.

-I think I hate the newscaster lady just bc Yoh does 🤣. (sub solidarity)

-Man-san...Yes I still adore her. Her fashion is a VIBE!! Also her eyebrows are so dynamic. I love it.

-OMG she drew them!!! That's so cute!!!

-IDK what she said, but I imagine it's something along the lines of "See, you make a perfect couple."

-Yoh is so cute. There's a plan for something, though I don't know what?

-They put Segasaki in all of these softly cuddly sweaters at home and I just don't know how anyone is supposed to resist cuddling him.... ykwim?

-I don't know what this conversation is about, but it feels a lot like Segasaki is saying "I can tell when you're lying to me my guy." 😬😬😬

-Did this man just bite him???🤣🤣Well I certainly saw that one, bite confirmed, and it was not a gentle nibble.

-The way Segasaki rubs his head on Yoh like a cat. 🥺😭

-Ope.....well that ended... violently.

-I have mixed feelings about the keychain 🫤 (attempting to minimize spoilers). I understand it, & based on the dynamic of the relationship, I'm okay with it, but I fear it may cause more trouble in the future....😬

-Segasaki looks so sad. 😢😢😢

-Well the preview for next ep includes more Man-san and Mr. Man-san, which I like. According to the Twitters, we're getting complete backstory of the college stuff, which looks very interesting. Also it looks like next ep. will be two weeks away instead of one 😩😩😩😩

#My Personal Weatherman #segasaki x yoh #Mizuki x yoh #i cant remember if i used a spwcific tag for these #shoot

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llycaons · 3 years

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finished ajin! last notes:

a few weeks ago I wrote a post about fight scenes that went like this

I love a good fight scene …the ones that make me go :O in terms of either choreography, use of surroundings, or originality/creativity of established magic systems (preferably all three). I like shock value sometimes but it has to be like. good.

boy howdy did ajin deliver. breathtaking fight scenes, incorporating exactly what I like to see. fast-paced, original, shocking, intelligent. my favorites were ajin to ajin or sato making incredibly bizarre and creative decisions. my only wish was that weapons outside of guns and knives were used more often.

least interesting were the military fights. got boring

the beginning grabbed you instantly. immediate high stakes. there's shows I try to watch sometimes but immediately have to close out because I'm bored :( not this one

kei is such an unusual protag. seemingly emotionally detached, manipulative and cunning, out for his own survival, and eventually becoming deeply invested in defeating sato. I think for him in the end, it was about his own ability? his own capability? his determination? to admit defeat would have been a blow to his pride. he went from trying to avoid sato at any cost to trying to stop him at great cost to himself. and i don't think he was entirely cold to other people (I mean, look at his early scenes!) but he adapts incredibly quickly

as a villain sato is. fucking phenomenal. not really complicated or morally gray but someone super fun to watch, intelligent, calculating, creative, and driven by his own sense of entertainment. I love his design

the duller and more realistic style towards the end was good for the story but I couldn't recognize half the dudes at the end 😭

all the characters I liked made it out thank GOD. and for once them all going their separate ways doesn't feel like a tragedy. this is not a found family story. they aren't bonded by friendship no matter how much some of them wish they were. this ain't shonen

not to say there weren't emotional scenes! sewer breakdown >>>>

and as understated as they were there were real bonds formed in that series, like izumi's connection to tosaki

'he was an amazing person!" he oversaw torture and experimentation for years until it no longer aligned with his goals. nice of him to come clean when he no longer needed to money ig. genuinely a selfless act to create IDs for all the ajin. will give him that.

I see him as gay but I no longer think kaito had a crush on kei or anything. he's just Like that. I'm not sorry to see them part ways at the end, I think it's good for kaito to reassess his way of handling problems and put himself first sometimes. but it would be nice if kei knew he was alive

disappointed at the treatment of female characters but again, I liked how they're drawn. except in izumi's flashback? that assault scene seemed kind of sexualized to me and I didn't like how it was written

the ending was very eerie. from the anticlimactic but appropriate showdown to the reveal that the govt will keep sato alive indefinitely...

I really enjoyed the general mistrust and distain for the govt and corporations exhibited within the manga. the villains may have been 'revolutionary' terrorists targeting the govt/capitalists for crimes done against them (a trend I do hate!) but the suffering of people like tanaka and the wrongdoings of the establishment also wasn't glossed over

too many military scenes for my taste and I wish a little more was done at the end about ajin rights. it's not an overly optimistic manga ig

I also really liked the depiction of technology in the artwork. the fuzzy border around clips of newscasts and frequent shots of internet comments really reminded me of mp/100, tbh

I thought that old doctor was kind of annoying going on about the human heart...human emotion is a crucial element to the story but a biologist pseudo-philosophizing about was kind of. eh

I wanted the motorcycle guy from ch 0 to come back :( I was waiting for him

I don't think the series was going for any kind of analogy or metaphor with the ajin or trying to comment too much on real-life marginalized people, except to continuously say that ajin, despite appearances and media hysteria, really are just normal people. except they can't die

kei talks about not minding being an ajin, but we never see like...explicit solidarity or any community between them. unless you count tanaka's confrontation with izumi on the stairs. even sato and tanaka's rescue of kei was rigged, and then for the purpose of recruiting him. their collection of ajin and sympathizers later was true for some characters, but ultimately meant as a game to entertain sato. which I feel was a missed opportunity, because the torture/imprisonment/exploitation of the ajin by the govt is something that absolutely could have real-life parallels. so I personally don't think this had strong political messages but I think it could have and that would have been really great. and I'm up to hear discussion about that!

do love that kei's still going to become a doctor. he didn't lose his future or his goals. his attitude towards people still kinda sucks and that will damage his bedside manner so no matter how brilliant he is or how dedicated to medicine he is that's going to impact his patients. but maybe he'll see his sister again. it wasn't something anyone in their family seemed particularly worried about

so to sum up, a super cool manga with brilliant fight scenes and somewhat bland characters with few strong emotional relationships. Not my usual style but I really enjoyed it!

#ajin lb #and after three days...so I was averaging just under 30 chapters a day #I stayed up past 1 am last night trying to finish. ha

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