I kept on repeating it in my head throughout the rest of that week. 'Allen is dead.'
Though no matter how many times I heard it, or said it, those words never truly struck me as real. It made me angry. Tons of exorcists have died before, plenty of them.
So how come Allen's death was so hard to come to terms with? I didn't get it, and didn't try to.
We started to make our way back to headquarters. Reasonless guilt gnawed at me, for leaving China, for slowly letting things return to the way they had always been, as if Allen had never died to begin with. What more could I do though?
Over time, everyone began to carry out their repeated rituals normally once again; lingering around the Black Order, going on missions, things of the sort. Not me, though. Things would never be normal until I was able to reunite with the sweet, white-haired exorcist that I loved once upon a time.
Sorry for taking such a long time to come up with something so short =( I've been thinking of a ton of story ideas, but I've never been able to overcome my laziness to actually write them. -shot- Eeee, but I promise I'll be updating this more