Sasori stands as another perfectly polished figurine in this dollhouse. Plastic trappings and plastic feelings. It wasn’t the place he expected to find a familiar warmth in— he wasn’t the person Sasori expected to find it with either.
Barely an hour into the party and Sasori was made keenly aware that his art was not the only thing set in display.
Shiny and new, Sasori stood there in a loose fitting cotton blouse, bishop sleeves gathering into a cuff at his wrist. The buttons of the cuff were good, like the buckles of his shoes. Black and sleek, going all the way up his waist. All wrapped up in a double breasted emerald vest that made him look like he stepped out of some historical drama.
The cravat on his neck itched, but he could not adjust it. The next guest who wanted to see the exhibit stepped forward.
