Here is a choppy drabble with no sense whatsoever written for Tsubaki Niigaki.

oblique; neither perpendicular nor parallel to a given line or surface

he was a boy of nine summers. standing by the door, not quite inside the kitchen, not quite inside the picture. her mother nosed purple azalea, small smile—wistful and knowing—tugged her lips. his brother bottled sunshine in human form, a constant tangent by her mother's side.

(you're wrong wrong wrong mother, he wanted to scream)

He acted without consulting his brain because saving people had been automatic ever since Kanade. That, and the fact that they were all dancing in the palm of fate -like little puppets with string attached, played by a whimsical puppeteer.

Kaichou stared at him, eyes wide with wonder. Brown locks stuck to her temples. Endless strings of raindrops fell around and on them. Purple umbrella lay forgotten on the sidewalk. Ten strides from them, a car was half-crushed, belching thick, black smoke.

Namiki spared little glance on the girl he had just unthinkingly saved, opting instead, to walk away from the scene.

oblique; morally, ethically, or mentally wrong; underhand; perverse

For money he had used his curse; feeding little wormtounges and lechers with snippets of future. They turned those into material benefit –money and lifehood, insinuated on false sympathy. Liars, he called them. But he needed them to live. He was but a child. With little powers to change the bad.

(Like comic books heroes he once wanted to become, many summers ago when all was fine. He hadn't always been a monster)

Kaichou was not a curious person by nature. If there was little to no reason to do it, she wouldn't pry.

But in front of her was a mystery to be solved. Nothing short of miracle or sheer luck could save her from being hit by a car the day before. He'd halt her by a word, disengaging the severity of possibilities completely.

It was too smooth an action to be called coincidental.

oblique; indirectly aimed at or reached, as ends or results; deviously achieved

seventeen summers he had lived. a child still. not strong enough to change the bad. but at seventeen summers he learned he had never had to be alone. monsters could lick each others wound. tails between their legs, staring at the imprints of afterimages bearing both curse and gift. but kanade was never one like him. she was not a monster. he was.

(it was so lame to hook your strands of hope in love; he was not a lover; could never be the romantic shit who thought it poetic to die for love)

Clear sky shimmered blue. Namiki shaded his eyes with his long fingers, standing under the sweltering heat of Monday afternoon.

It would rain later that day. He saw it when he 'accidentally' touched Kanade that morning, his eyes following the movement of the rain droplets as they descended from Kanade's hair, pass her lashes and down her chin. The image was endearingly lewd until it was ruined by an elbow shove courtesy of Aro.

"Namiki?"

"What?" he answered carelessly. Heat was his weakness. Summer often left him listlessly drained by the end of the day. Rain was but a brief respite this early in August, but a welcomed change of pace nonetheless.

"You're silent. What are you thinking?" Kaichou asked. Her eyes trained to the far sky, following his line of sight in hope of catching something he'd seen.

Namiki shrugged. "It's going to rain in the evening."

There was a beat of silence.

"Really?" she responded wistfully, then nodded, "I shall remember to bring an umbrella."