September 2018: the most recent version I have of this story. After two years away from writing and from this site, I'm putting this story back up as it is. Hopefully I'll be back soon with new chapters, but for now, I wanted to reupload this story asap! Also, apparently I don't remember how to format on this website so sorry in advance for the lack of formatting and I will definitely edit and prettify things soon!

The first thing she noticed was the color of his eyes. They were black, with red pupils, not at all normal human colors. Suddenly, the absence of a certain briefcase was terribly conspicuous. She clenched her fist behind her, missing the familiar touch of the briefcase's sleek handle against her skin. A sliver a doubt crept into her mind, and the all too familiar words slipped into her mind—what have you done this time?—before she managed to look back into his eyes defiantly. "I love your contacts!" she exclaimed, breaking into an eager smile. "They're so cool! I've always wanted to get some myself but I always chicken out cause the thought of sticking something into my eyes is yuck, you know?"

The face before her drew back a step. The glint in his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly. If she hadn't been watching him with enough attention that she'd probably be able to draw him afterwards—well, if she could draw, which she couldn't—the change would have gone unnoticed. "I suppose so," the mask maker replied coolly, "but I'm not particularly squeamish when it comes to eyes."

"Mm," she mumbled, making sure not to trip as she pushed past him into his shop. Mm? What kind of pathetic answer is that? She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, flustered by his cool demeanor. She hasn't expected someone so assured, so confident in his own skin, which, she couldn't help but notice, was absurdly covered in tattoos. Seeking a distraction, she turned to the walls of gorgeously painted masks and haphazardly snatched a nearby one off its stand. "This one's—um, really cute! You must be very talented to have made all these, Mr.—umm."

"Uta," the man replied softly, reaching over to gently tug the mask from her hands.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she apologized hurriedly. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to touch it!"

Uta raised an eyebrow in response. She was suddenly extremely aware of the "Do Not Touch" sign posted on the wall behind him. "Well, that's alright," Uta said soothingly. "Don't worry about it, Miss—"

His last syllable trailed off awkwardly into the silence. "Umm?" she laughed apologetically before immediately cringing and cursing herself internally for the umpteenth time. Where had her vocabulary done today? Off on vacation without the rest of her mind?

Uta chuckled lightly from behind her. It was oddly unsettling considering the height difference between them. "Your name, perhaps?"

She cursed herself again. "Oh, of course, I'm such an idiot! My bad, I'm Maki A—!" In perhaps her only good call of the day, she interrupted herself before she could finish the sentence. After all, what ghoul wouldn't have heard that name? " —uh, at your service!" she joked to cover up her mistake, sweeping down into an exaggerated curtsy.

Uta looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maki?" he mused. "Like hmmm, rolled sushi? How delicious sounding."

"Too bad I'm not for eating!" Maki laughed tersely as she made an escape to the other side of the room. She needed a little space to breathe and regain her composure. "And I don't really like sushi anyways. I mean, some of it is okay, but most of the raw stuff is pretty gross, personally. I prefer my food cooked, thank you very much." With a row of masks between them, it was much easier to relax and forget about his unsettling gaze, and before she knew it, she was prattling about utter nonsense.

"What a pity," Uta's voice wafted over the shelves, his soft and almost monotone voice contrasting sharply with her loud, abrasive one. "Raw food is my favorite."

Maki didn't quite have a reply for that. Bantering about meals with a ghoul? Sorry, but dying wasn't on her bucket list quite yet. Instead, she leaned around a rather ornate display stand and snuck a glance at the mask maker. He was running a cloth over the mask she'd touched earlier, removing her fingerprints from it. His hands moved with an unusual grace, slow and attentive to detail. She watched for another moment before he abruptly turned his head and caught her gaze, a slight smile on his face. His red eyes could have burned their imprint onto her soul. She turned away hastily and ducked behind another stand.

A few more seconds of silence followed. Maki busies herself with another mask, a black one, stuff and leathery, with a square eyepatch on one side. Its gaping mouth stretched across its lower half, held together by a zipper. Her hand rose slowly to touch it.

"You like that one?" the whisper materialized by her right ear. She jumped and was rewarded by a light chuckle from behind her. In her peripheral vision, she saw the layers of his black cardigan unfolding as he straightened up from his position peering over her shoulder at the mask. She felt like a guilty kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"It's—it's really lovely," she stammered. "A tad scary though, isn't it?"

Uta smiled, revealing a perfect row of polished, white teeth. "That's my favorite one," he replied calmly. How could he be so damn composed? She, in contrast, felt as though hundreds of tiny butterflies were pounding against the walls of her stomach, demanding to be let loose. Surely if she wanted just another moment they would break free and she would explore like a firecracker, showering this dim, pristine studio in color. "But if you're looking for something scary," Uta continued, "I think I have something that might do the trick." He glided over the checkered floor to another corner of the studio. How could he move so perfectly? It was utterly unexpected from a man of his appearance. She could easily picture him out on the streets picking a fight with someone, and yet, here he was in this tranquil little art studio, moving as fluidly as a snake. He was an entrancing as one too. So entrancing. It had not been a good idea to come here.

A sharp click reminded her where she was and she snapped her head to attention. He'd placed a jar full of eyeballs on a table across from her. The ghost of a smile rested on his face. Was some a test? He couldn't possibly know who she was, right? No—she swallowed her paranoia and allowed herself to be enchanted by his unusual gesture. "Someone," she replied, bringing a slight smile onto her face to match his, "this wasn't what I'd had in mind when you said you weren't squeamish about eyes." She picked the jar up and turned it slowly, examining each eye within it carefully. How many people had he killed to get this many eyes?

Uta seemed intrigued. "Perhaps so," he remarked, "but this wasn't quite the reaction I'd had in mind when you said you were squeamish about eyes."

She raised her gaze from the jar to meet his eyes. "Well," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully, "it's gross when it's my eyes, but if they're someone else's then it's a totally different story. We do tons of dissections and stuff in school so I don't really mind."

"But how cruel of you," Uta chucked, "to not care about the poor people those eyes came from."

"Oh, obviously they're not human eyes!" Maki gasped. "We usually use cow eyes or something. They barely ever let us dissect human organs since so few people donate their bodies to research, which is a total pity of course, though. I'm totally going to donate my body to science! I don't mind since it'll be for someone else's good. And, well, I'll be dead anyways, so it really won't matter to me anyways." Maki paused and digested what she'd just said. She'd practically given him an invitation to cut her open and devour her. The way things were going, she might as well hand him a fork and tape an "Eat Me" sign to her back. Uta looked extremely amused. She blamed her state on him. He was so damn calm, and it was oddly comforting despite the fact that he looked at least twice her weight, was covered in tattoos, and had those soul burning red eyes. It was so paradoxical. What in the world was wrong with her? She felt like she was losing her mind.

"Really?" Uta stated simply, his eyes studying her thoughtfully. She swallowed nervously.

"Ahhh, yeah!" she laughed, figuring that she'd already thrown herself to the wolves and it couldn't get any worse. "We do lots of other dissections too! I mean, I'm a biology student, so it's practically all we're doing right now. Last week, we were dissecting pig hearts and the professor accidentally dropped a whole tray of them on the ground and all the preservation fluids and stuff went everywhere and I slipped in it and landed straight on the pile of hearts and it was so, so, so gross but also kind of awesome." She gleamed proudly as she recalled the incident. Now that she was set on her favorite topic—science—she prattled on, half out of genuine delight and half out of the desperate need to keep talking in order to delay her death.

Uta watched silently as she rambled on, fascinated by this human girl who'd so innocently stumbled through his door. Human customers were rare enough in his shop, and those who did show up were usually quiet, artistic types. Maki, on the other hand, was something entirely new to him. What a treat.

"—oh!" Maki interrupted herself as her phone's ringtone suddenly went off, shattering the room's calm atmosphere with its scratchy dubstep. She fished the phone out of her pocket most inelegantly and pressed it to her ear. "Ki—ahh," she glanced at Uta. "I have to go!" she said to Uta, flashing him an apologetic smile and making for the exit.

Uta's voice stopped her inches from the door. "Will you come back?"

Maki looked at him, speechless for a moment. "Maybe in a few days?" she squeaked before slipping out the door and shutting it firmly behind her. Once outside, she put the phone up to her ear again. "Kishou, yeah, I'm in the fourth ward, don't worry! I'll be back soon!"

Arima sighed and slid the phone back into his pocket. It seemed his idiot sister had run off somewhere, although that was hardly anything out of the ordinary.

"Well?" Juuzou queried, peering at the taller investigator. "What did she say? Can she buy me ice cream or not?"

Arima cleared his throat. "She'll be back soon," he replied before leaving the room and pushing the matter from his mind. After all, was he his sister's keeper?