𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐀 Manjiro Sano

Chapter 6

Moment flashed and time rather rolling swiftly. The bleach-haired male settled alone with no utterances escaping his mouth within the deafening household that merely silence marvels-- rebounding onto the wall that cages him away from the rest of the world. He had occupied himself sitting on a stool while in front of him settled a canvas wherein the content exhibited was a painting of him and his wife.

The sky outside, peeping onto the slit between the windows, shows tints of orange-- lifting, overwhelming the midnight blue hue that once blanketed, illustrating the sun's elevation aloft the atmosphere. He remained inside the custom-made room where her wife would spend most of her time if she's not performing anything. His irises scrutinize every stroke of the paintbrush made against the rugged texture of the canvas. He could discern the elegant and graceful movement of her hands as he reminisces how he watch her paint with delighted emotion written all over her face that day.

The way her svelte hands move dexterously and softly with every stroke she made was fascinating and outstanding.

Focused merely onto the entire painting, it was thoroughly made. Darting to the eyes of her, it was rather endowed with an endless mystique that was seemingly portraying a life who was staring solely back at him straight to the eyes. Her lips that were tinted into a shade of l/c hue were furthermore irresistible. Each detail was created with utmost compassion and scrutiny, capturing faultlessly the detail of his wife's exterior, his even.

Tiredness festooned his eyes. He didn't sleep a wink. He's tried, however, no matter how badly he immersed himself in the other stuff, there is this one thing that never slipped out of his mind, remained tattooed within, igniting the anxiety, that he hadn't received a call or a single message from his wife.

Lost within his eternal running thought, perhaps lost admiring what was positioned in front of him. Manjiro was baffled, when he least expected it, he felt his phone vibrates within his grasp: tugging his attention completely, with eyes faintly widened.

Bringing the phone to his eye level, Manjiro read the owner of whom was dialing him: Happiness surged when he saw it was from his wife. The pale glare penetrated his sensitive charcoal irises, bleached hair falling, as his finger was ordered avidly to press the answer button plastered onto the screen.

He was excited, the unpleasant sentiment that burns his soul was lifted, he was utterly eager to immerse himself listening to her mellifluous voice. By the time he answered the phone, however, the hope that elevated him for a fleeting moment was ruthlessly shattered. Soon, then having disappointment painting evidently on his complexion.

The voice that immediately greeted him wasn't his wife's, instead, it belongs to man, as the voice was intense and not as tender as his wife's.

"Is this the spouse of Y/n L/n?" The voice uttered from the other side of the line, baritone emitting urgency which he perceived well.

Tight-lipped for a moment, Manjiro replied unenthusiastically. "Yes..."

"Your wife--" the phone mutters, however the endless ringing within his ears prevented him from comprehending wholly what was being said. Ending the call as to not wishing to hear further the nonsense utterances escaping the unnamed man's throat, Manjiro plastered a smile as he mutters something under his breath.

"I'm glad she's safe."