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Summary
There’s a shogi piece he always carries in the breast pocket of his coat, and Midorima swears he can feel it cutting into his chest. It weighs a ton; it’s the cross he bears. It’s a bishop, and it reminds him of who he once worshiped.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“You did the right thing, y’know. He wasn’t gonna get any better.”
“Takao."
“I mean, he was kinda bad for you.”Takao is right. He hates that Takao is always right. He hates Takao, he hates Akashi, and he hates himself the most. There were too many sleepless nights spent thinking about how if he were just a little stronger and just a little more persistent, Takao would be wrong and Akashi would be here. Akashi would be here and wouldn’t be someone to be hung up on.
Bookmarked by zkygr
04 Aug 2019

