Another dream, once again. There were voices talking about him—saying things he disliked, things that hurt him deeply. Yet he did nothing but listen, because that was what he had always done. He was a gloomy guy, yes, but not a bad person who deserved everything hidden inside his memories.
He did everything he could, and still he failed.
The voices grew louder, and then suddenly faded away. Mitsuki woke up, finding the ceiling in his field of vision.
'My body hurts,' was the first thing he thought. It felt as if a truck had run him over and dragged him down the entire block. 'Where the hell am I?' He looked to the side and saw the same desk and wardrobe, which was strange—those things weren't on that side in his room.
Suddenly, he heard a sleepy moan. His body went rigid as he felt a warm, delicate hand gently touching his chest. His head, like a malfunctioning machine, turned toward that voice, followed by soft breathing.
'J-Jeanne?!'
