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It was late when Hanamiya got back from the club. The flashing lights and the loud, pulse-thumping music echoed in his ears as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.
His steps were as light as his head, as the earlier tipsiness still lingered. But the burden his feet carried was almost dragging him back down, all the way back to the ground floor.
Earlier that evening, Hanamiya hadn’t gone out with any particular intention. But it all happened anyway, as if within a blink of an eye.
One minute he drank and flirted. And before he knew it, he was in some toilet cubicle with a girl. Kissing, humping, and letting out all his sexual frustration on her. She had been easy and eager. Really nothing but a distraction.
But it wasn’t just the act of cheating that gnawed at him through his walk back home. It was the sheer realization of who he’d be coming to, who he’d be facing after this.
___ ___. His girlfriend.
Sometimes—no, most of the time—Hanamiya Makoto felt like a living, breathing tragedy.
Especially regarding his encounter with ___.
Because you know, in this world, there is dark and there is light. While Hanamiya believed he had been born out of the dark, he could never state that ___ came from the light. He would rather say she was the grey that slowly tries to warm him just a little bit more into the light.
He was all con and cunning. But he would not say she was naive and gullible either. He discovered, instead, that she was actually someone who had thoroughly learned both spectrums of innocence, yet still chose patience and understanding as her principle.
Rationally, one can think she was the perfect fit for him. Someone who could steadily lead him out of his dark ways. And that's probably how the universe had somehow brought them together.
However, deep down he actually felt like he never deserves her. Simply because he never believed in any kind of redemption. Especially for people like him, people who hurt, with all those things written in his history.
Yet, he also could not stop himself longing for her constant to his chaos. Her mountain to his storm.
And lo and behold, here she still stayed. She stayed despite the insults, despite his cruelty, despite every stupid thing he did to test her to see if she had some breaking point. She never did.
Not for him calling her a "freak" at times, with zero affection in his tone.
Not over her being stood up at that diner weeks ago, or at that other one weeks before.
Not for him breaking her favorite flower vase to pieces.
Probably it was his nature. Or perhaps, to break and to wound, was his ominous fate in this world. That might be the reason he ended up seeing her as a challenge, that he both hated and craved in equal measure. He just couldn't help it.
As much as he was disgusted by himself, he could never completely shut this existing urge, to push her further, to see just how much she could take before she finally snapped. Before she gave up on him.
But she never did.
Not by this second.
She was sitting on the couch, reading, when Hanamiya finally entered. A soft glow from the lamp drew shadows on her face. She looked up from her book, offering a small, tired smile, as he closed the door behind him and shrugged his feet out of his shoes.
She didn’t ask where he’d been. She never did. She just looked at him with that same patient—too patient—expression that always made him feel both warm and suffocated at the same time.
"You're home," she said softly, with tinge of happiness. Hanamiya just knew she had been waiting for him to come through that door for hours.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath, trying to shake off the weight of what he’d just done.
"Yeah," he muttered, voice a tad bit too sharp, "Had a little fun tonight."
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He could sense the way she was watching him, a little more careful than usual, like she was waiting for him to say more. The silence between them stretched, and that made it too easy for him to finally let the words slip.
"I slept with someone tonight."
And just like that, the sentence choked the atmosphere. It hung painfully in the air, in a few seconds that truly felt like a ticking time bomb.
Hanamiya looked at her, with the signature dismissive expression of his. He watched, and waited, for any sign of anger, any sign of hurt. Anything that would tell him he’d finally gotten through to her. That he could make her react, could make her explode.
Her expression didn’t change. Or maybe a little. Surely her smile disappeared.
___ blinked slowly, and for a moment, Hanamiya thought she hadn’t heard him. But then her eyes met his, full of quiet comprehension that made his stomach twist.
"Why would you tell me that?" she asked, voice soft but steady. There was no visible fury, or blatant accusation. Just an inquiry delivered in a hollow calmness that somehow made his skin crawl. "Why did you even..."
"Because," he began, his words coming out jabbing now, like he was daring her to feel something, "I'm tired."
"What?"
"I'm tired, ___. I'm fucking tired! Of this! Of us! And of you, who definitely knows whatever your saintly ass doing to me!”
“What even—”
"Now tell me why you're here in the first place?! Tell me what goes on that little brain of yours right now, hm?!"
"Mako— The hell are you saying?"
“Bet you always think, the more pitiful I am, and what I do, the more of an angel you are! Always thinking like I'm some kind of puzzle! Something broken that you can piece together! And guess what, ___? I think it's fucking time you suck it up.”
She stood up slowly. Her book closed and slipped from on top of her lap to the edge of the couch. The silence between them thickened, suffocating him.
“Are you crazy?” She sounded in disbelief.
“No, I'm broken and you're too good for me.”
“Yes. And you're crazy to expect me to be tamed.”
Another silence followed, before she finally began to close their distance.
“I never once thought I could fix you, Makoto,” she said sternly, “I just wanted to love you. And I never meant to tame you either. Hell, I didn't even plan! But I did expect honesty so thank you.”
Hanamiya felt his chest tighten. There was a knot of dread beginning to form, sinking into his stomach. She was there, so close, but not quite reaching him. He could feel the warmth of her presence, yet the venomous part of himself had already taken hold.
He sneered at her. But she wasn't intimidated.
"I loved you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her glare fixed on him. "I loved you, and I stayed because I believed in you. I believed that maybe you just needed someone to see the person that you are underneath all that pain.”
With each word she uttered, Hanamiya felt his facade cracking and his heart breaking. He knew she was telling her truth. And everything she said, was everything he had dreamed about, prayed for.
But why? Why wouldn't his arms reach out to her? To embrace her. To tell her that he believed her. Or if he wasn't able yet, at least tell her the fact that he still wanted to.
"But that? What you just said?” She continued, nodding her head slowly, a pointed finger emphasizing her statement, “That is the line, Makoto." The disappointment in her eyes cut deeper than anything he had ever said or done to her. "I’m not going to let you destroy me anymore. I’m not going to keep waiting for you to choose me. No more."
The words hit Hanamiya like a punch to the gut. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt it. The sharp, unrelenting sting of loss. It's here. It's finally happening.
Before he could even say anything, to try to salvage the wreckage he had made, she had turned her back to him. The gesture was enough to trigger an involuntary response, an honest fear desperately breaking onto the surface.
"___..." Hanamiya started, his voice cracking just a little, and he hated himself for it.
She ignored him, with nothing but resignation in her aura. A display of that quiet, unwavering confidence that he had always admired—and hated.
“___, wait,” Hanamiya's voice was now hoarse as he witnessed her stuffing her phone and wallet into her favorite sling bag. Then she walked again, all the way to the front door. "___, I— Where are you—... You know how I am."
"I sure did." Her voice was firm, the finality in her tone cut him off. "I'm sorry. I’m done."
She opened the door. Hanamiya stood frozen, watching as she stepped outside, disappearing into the hallway, leaving him standing there alone.
In only a matter of seconds, every ounce of his arrogance was suddenly wiped away. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there after the door had shut. His mind unable to process what had just happened.
But seriously though, what the hell did he expect?
The next few days were such a haze. Hanamiya tried calling her—endlessly, obsessively—but she didn’t answer. He sent messages, but she never responded.
He even tried to show up at her apartment, knocking on the door. As much as he didn't want to admit, he waited, and hoped. But it seemed like she was staying at her friend's, one which he knew nothing of.
No news. No clue.
The loss of contact grew longer than what Hanamiya could stand. Until even he knew that he was only torturing himself.
It was a little more than a month before Hanamiya finally heard anything from her again. It came in the form of a simple text. Something so cold and final it made him sick just reading it.
“I’m moving on. Please don’t contact me again. I can’t keep living in the past.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Gone gone.
And wasn't this all those gamblings for?
What did he expect?