Work Text:
My room is a mess, used paintbrushes scattered across the floor, staining the grey carpet underneath it. Paint pallets all over the place along side a plethora of paint tubes. Clean, fresh white walls covered in dried up paint that I haven't paid attention to for weeks, maybe even months. There's paintings hung up on the walls, some seated on an easel, and some splayed out on the floor, Making the room look like an art museum than anything.
I scoff at the thought, because it's stupid, it's foolish, and it's somewhat funny to think about, considering every single painting in this room is consisted of the same mysterious man. Long black hair tied up in a half or full bun, a lock of hair escaping the neat bun, creating a bang Infront of his face, sometimes covering his right eye. Usually wearing either a black sweater, or a navy blue Gojo-kesa with a golden robe wrapped around it. The same black ear piercing visible in every painting. No eyes, No nose, only a soft smile I had drew with a dark shade of red.
I keep on drawing you, over and over I keep on painting your face, the same soft expression you always seemed to flash me with back when we were teens. The same reassuring smile that I now cling onto. Never ever even thinking of the possibility that one day it would be nothing more than a mere ongoing fade of a memory. My memories that I refuse to let myself forget. Its a scary thought and possibility, that one day you'll completely vanish from my memories. It scares me, it scares me to think that one day I'll forget your voice, the same, soft, soothing voice that called out my name everyday. How my name rolled off your tongue so often, your tone always calm, so serene, filled with so much love and reassurance. I'm retaining it with me until the day I die.
It scares me to think that one day I'll forget you as a whole, that one day I won't recognise the man appearing in my dreams. That one day the smell of your cologne will fade from my nose. The sweet, comforting strong cologne you always wore, cinnamon invading my dorm room, my shirts, my sheets, and myself. But that isn't anything new, you always Invaded my every being, creating a forever lasting place for yourself within my heart, clinging onto me like a parasite I can't seem to get off. 11 years later, and I still smell cinnamon in my room.
The smell is faint, barely there yet its spread around like a virus, faint, not enough to satisfy my aching heart, not quit enough to warm up this dead, cold room...yet strong enough to constantly remind me of your missing presence, the smell and warmth in which I'll never experience again. The warmth and comfort that my body and soul craves like an urgent need.
And the last thing I had expected from myself was hallucination. Getting home from a mission, late at night, the clock on the wall indicating 1AM. I turn on the lights and hang my jacket on the coat hanger. I walk through the the house wearily. Making my way to the kitchen for a glass of water before my eyes land on you. Your muscular yet gentle built sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, an open book in your calloused hands and lap as you flip through the pages. oblivious of my presence in the kitchen. Your hair tied up in a half bun, letting most of it splay on your shoulders and back, the same lock of hair forming on the side creating your never changing bangs...breath taking purple eyes focused on the letters of the book you're reading. And it's as if my heart had stopped beating, almost dropping the glass of water, which I am now gripping tightly, the glass threatening to break under the strong pressure.
Your eyes fall upon me, your serious, focused expression averting into a soft, knowing smile that I remember better than anything. Lifting and tilting your head to look at me, and I'm frozen, I can't move, every inch of my body is immobilized, breathing unstable as my breath hitches, my lips trembling with shock of the figure Infront of me.
„Welcome home, 'Toru."
My vision goes blurry with unshed tears as I put the glass down, taking slow steps towards the living room, lips parted with no words spilling past them. Replaying the way that nickname rolls off your tongue so smoothy, soft eyes staring at me lovingly.
"Sugu?.." My voice is weak, unrecognizable and dying in the back of my throat, and I want nothing more than to fly into your arms, hug you tightly and inhale the sweet smell of cinnamon.
My steps get faster and faster as I rush to you, reaching out for you only to grasp nothing, hands remaining empty as your figure vanishes in the blink of an eye. I stare at my empty hand in confusion, frustration and sorrow. I feel my knees go weak as I stumble to the ground, unshed tears making their way down my cold face, vision blurry and nose runny.
How can I live like this? with half of me forever gone, how can I laugh without you? smile without you, exist without you. How could I ever get over you Suguru? It just isn't possible, your demise killed half of my soul, half of my heart and half of my happiness. I am not whole without you, not in this universe not in the next, not in any world or universe where you're not my happiness and pain all together. No matter who, what, when or where we are, I'll love you like an alcoholic.
So till then, I'll paint and paint your face till it's nothing but muscle memory to my tired hands. Till the day I die, I'll forever think about you. And I promise to be strong, strong enough to protect and save you the next time we meet, the next time fate brings us together in different bodies, forms, genders and worlds, We'll achieve what we couldn't achieve in this universe. Together forever.
Together The Strongest.