Chapter Text
well loved (1)
You can tell from the first time you see him; he is different from you. He carries no pain, he grew up among people who loved him. There’s a grace about him, a certainty in his step, like the world could throw anything at him and he’d catch it with open arms. He’s the prince in the stories, he’s the blueprint of the well-adjusted human who you didn't think was real. He interests you because you want to know what it would take to break him. You could have kept watching him from afar, but curiosity gets the best of you.
To you, it’s only sex. To him it’s something more. You avoid the conversation and he lets you, and the patterns emerge. He is a people-pleaser. He’s hung up on your every word and you play him like a puppet. He’s afraid to be abandoned. His wounds are deep, hidden. He isn't so well-adjusted after all, he fooled you. You used to think someone who smiles like that could never have been hurt. He is a terrible liar when he wants to lie, but this is not a lie to him, it's a way of life. The patterns are so indistinguishable from his exterior that he doesn’t realize his own deception.
It’s only sex. He’s in your apartment about to take off his clothes, then he stops. “I love you,” he says, his tone sad and already defeated.
You stare. This wasn’t in the script. “This is not enough for me,” he says, for context. Tears run down his face. “I think we need to go our separate ways.”
You watch him leave, speechless. Then you run after him, pull him back indoors, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him that you love him. This would be perfect for what you've planned when you saw him as an experiment. You then let out a jumble of other things you think he wants to hear; you came to depend on him, you don’t want him to go. He’ll take what he can get. It’s all you can give. And everything is fine, again.
the squirrel (2)
He has this way about him, he can make you do anything. You hope he doesn’t realize. Chuuya looks with interest as you are dragged to fairs, festivals, art galleries and loud concerts. You never tell him that you hate to be in crowds, or that you're only going along because you want to see the light in his eyes when he gets to experience a new thing. Today there is no crowd, thankfully. He wants to stroll through trees rendered orange by the autumn, in the last days of sun. You go with him and plot to find a secluded area where you’ll press him against a tree. He had said he loves you, you never said it back and now you’re sort of dating and you’ve never discussed it. He looks at you with both hope that you’ll come to love him and acceptance that you never will. It was easier when it was only sex.
You find the secluded area but he doesn’t get the hint. He goes further into the trees, you lose sight of him and you experience fear for the first time. You find him kneeling before a single squirrel. It looks up at him curiously. All you know about these creatures is that they bite. But it crawls into his hands and upon his shoulders. He laughs and notices you. He smiles like the sun; you’ve seen it before, this smile, but now you feel like dropping to your knees. You keep yourself upright. He has you wrapped around his little finger. But he can’t know this. But the feeling in your chest is raging like a stormy sea and if you don’t tell him you’ll explode. He is with you, close within your grasp, yet you’ve never felt lonelier.
(2.1)
You let it go on for a while. You even throw some hints that you're seeing other people, and this upsets him but he tries not to show it. You're not seeing anyone, of course, the very thought turns your stomach. It's a ruse because you don't want him to think he's important. You don't want him to know he has power.
Except that it's so exhausting to look upon him from your high tower, to stop and think before you allow yourself to touch him, to concoct schemes upon schemes to keep him at the distance you've decided he should be. You want him nearer. You want to try your hand at the thing other people do, maybe he'll look upon your wretched soul and decide he still loves you, like the squirrel who could always still bite. He teaches high school students, the most annoying creatures on earth, and he still speaks of them so fondly. Surely he can tolerate you too. You think of something grand, a fancy dinner, or an expensive gift, or something along those lines. You stress about it and he can't tell what is wrong with you. You don't like to show weakness, so you decide to throw it at him without warning. He'll do what he will with the information.
Contrary to everything you imagined, it comes out of you most naturally. Your cheek is pressed against his naked back, you listen to his blissful little breaths and you say it into his skin. "I love you." Plain, uncomplicated, true. It's a weight off your chest. Life feels easier after you've said it.
He is silent for a few seconds. You do not panic at this, you know he worships you. Eventually he turns and looks you in the eye.
"You're just telling me what I want to hear," he says, neutrally.
You bristle. It's the last thing you thought would happen. "No," you reply, stuttering a little. "I— I've felt it for a while, but I didn't know how to say it."
He keeps his gaze on you. This makes you nervous. Will he lose interest in you now that you're no longer an unattainable goal?
"If this turns out to be a lie, I'm going to hate you forever."
"It's not," you say, eagerly. He's keeping you waiting in a way not so different from what you'd do if the situation was reversed. "I'll never lie to you again," you add, just to feed the little gremlin of naiveté inside his head. It works, he smiles tenderly.
"I love you too," he says, at last. You sigh in relief you never knew would be so all-encompassing. He kisses you and you let yourself melt into it, you push the calculating part of your head away. As long as it is with him, it's alright to let go.
never would do it (3)
He steps into the shower, he smiles at you as he disappears in, his fingers had trailed on your naked leg as he was leaving your side. He still loves you, he keeps telling you this but it’s the little things that make it stick. You are, despite yourself and despite your unending doubts, happy. His phone buzzes, you tell yourself not to look. It buzzes again and you lean over, just before the screen goes dark again, and it’s there. Texts from a cute profile picture, asking when they can come over tomorrow. It could be nothing. He would never, you tell yourself this, you try to believe. He is a terrible liar. He couldn’t betray you even if he wanted to.
When he’s out of the shower he kisses your forehead and his wet hair drips on your face and it’s nice, normal, and when he sees the texts on his phone, he takes two seconds before he swipes them away. His face doesn’t change. He still loves you; it could be something ordinary, a work colleague, a neighbor. Yet here you are the day after, following him, watching him disappear with someone else into his tiny apartment. A younger boy in a high school uniform who spent the whole way there looking up at him with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. Atsushi spoke cheerfully, nonchalantly, like he usually does, like this was nothing. He was supposed to be a terrible liar. He was supposed to be the one who would never do this to you. He was, he was. Past tense. You seethe, you think of a million ways to take revenge and make your way home in the pouring rain.
argue over it (4)
You spend the day gathering his things in a box. You’ve never realized how much he leaves behind in your apartment; signs of life, of love, of lies. You then prepare your speech; you’ve known him for years and you know what’s going to hurt him most. He rings your bell at the usual hour, and he’s as cheerful as ever, stepping close for a hug.
You step back, he’s confused. “Is something wrong?”
You choose not to dignify him with an answer, instead pointing at the box with your chin. “I’ve gathered your things. You should take them and go.”
“What?”
“This way’s easier for both of us,” you say, neutrally. Then, for context, “I don’t love you anymore.”
He opens his mouth and closes it. He blinks up at you, and this was supposed to destroy him right away. Instead, he laughs. “Is this a trick? Are you testing me?”
This irritates you. He really did take you for granted. “I told you, take the box and go.”
Now he’s scared, like he should be. “Did I do something wrong? Please, let’s talk about this.”
“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.”
His face falls. His eyes shine with the threat of tears. He takes the box and rummages through it— did he think you'd steal any of his things? You tap your foot impatiently. “There's something else of mine that I need to take,” he says at last.
“Tell me what it is and I'll go grab it for you.”
“I need to look for it myself.”
You arch your brow at him. Is this a way to buy himself time? “I can't let you in,” you shoot back at him as flatly as you can.
He deflates like a sad balloon and you watch with an evil smirk. He takes the box and slowly walks out, looking back at you all the while. When he steps out, he starts to say something but you shut the door in his face.
A minute of silence. You suspect he is gone. Then the banging on the door startles you. He yells, demands an explanation, then his anger dissolves into tears. He sobs at your doorstep. He says he loves you like he believes it. But it’s a lie. He leaves sometime later and you had thought vengeance would satisfy you. You tell yourself that it did.
(5)
He calls several times, leaves voicemails and texts of varying lengths, which you read and listen to but never reply. First, there are several in a day, then one in a week, then they trail off until you forget that you’re waiting for them. Then one pops up, again, and the cycle continues. You smile when you see each one. You feel smug, having ruined him so thoroughly.
Two months go by in silence. To think he'd get over you so quickly; no, it cannot end here. You decide to stroll casually near the school where he works. He'll see you and spiral into heartbreak all over again. You hope.
Before you get to go, the letter comes, along with a small package. A Christmas present, a charming turquoise bolo tie. He still knows you intimately, he knows it’s the perfect gift. In Chinese mythology, the color is a symbol of fidelity for a lover, which implies he figured out why you broke up with him and is attempting to gaslight you into forgiveness. He studies these things, it cannot be a coincidence. The letter too must be full of lies.
You intend to throw the tie away, with the letter. In the end you stow both away in a drawer and avoid that corner of your apartment like the plague.
the news came (6)
You follow him sometimes. You tell yourself it’s a morbid curiosity, and you intend to sabotage any new relationship he’d get into. He doesn’t go on any dates and you don’t have much to sabotage. He notices you in a crowd. Suddenly you’re afraid, you don’t want him to think you care. You slip into a shop and pretend you’re buying a scarf for the winter. He doesn’t give up. He follows you in.
He wants to talk. You don’t want to look at him. You want to him to suffer but you know that you want him, and only him. Even this quest for revenge is one other way you keep a hold over him. You know yourself enough and you can't deny one look into his eyes will make you fall in love all over again. Never mind that he’s a cheater and a liar, never mind that you’re still obsessed.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Atsushi asks. You don’t answer. Out of the corner of your eye you see him fight with himself. Something changes. A sudden absence of light. “I didn’t believe it when you said you don’t love me anymore, I thought for sure you’re angry about something and too proud to tell me why. But I believe it now.”
But no, he can’t move on. It’s too soon.
“I won’t bother you anymore,” he exhales, his voice cracking with it. “I’m sorry.” He turns on his heels and when he leaves, you think he’ll still call, he is weak like that, like you. But he doesn’t. A week later you find out. He fell off a cliff while on his bike. Chuuya calls you, angry as usual ever since the break-up, and tells you the truth. Atsushi drove himself off a cliff. He hoped he would die. Chuuya urges you to visit him in the hospital. You sit in your apartment, shaking. Days turn into weeks and when you set out to follow him again he looks fine. Maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe, not far enough.
time has passed (7)
It’s been a year. He doesn’t call anymore. Sometimes he’ll see you from afar and turn the other way. You broke him, just like you wanted, just like he destroyed any faith you have that love is real. It should be enough. Yet you still follow him discretely, and catalog the unexciting life he leads without you. You want him to suffer more and you want to be there to see it. He attempted suicide once, the dark circles never left his face, but it’s still not enough. So you go on, watching him, waiting for the anguish in his face when he passes by the places you used to go together. But it’s been a year. Now he’s mostly indifferent. But his punishment isn’t complete. So you write the book and you wait for him to call. He’ll know the book is about him and break the silence himself.
He doesn’t call. You stew on it. One day you see him inside a book store, looking at displays of your new novel. You go in and stand near him and you shouldn't, it doesn't fit with your plan, but you're desperate to know what he thinks of it and how much he hates it.
“Have you read it?” you ask. It’s meant to be the final nail in his coffin. A story about him, the betrayer, the cheater. He startles. He wants to run away.
“No,” he says. But you were so sure; but perhaps he really did become indifferent. “I don’t want to.”
It turns out only you are stuck on this. You sigh.
“I still love you,” he says suddenly.
His eyes widen. He didn’t meant to say it. He bolts out of the shop. You stare after him and will yourself not to follow. It’s been a year, and yet you’re still weak, you’ve never changed.
potato chip (8)
You’ve decided to stop following him. He’s a disease eating you from the inside out, you rot while he lives on, he’s found new reasons to smile and he no longer looks like death. Sure, you would’ve liked to keep watching him suffer. But he doesn’t anymore. He said he still loves you but that's another lie. There’s no point.
He’s in the train station. You’ll let him get on and the train will leave without you. Just then, a boy comes running towards him. A different one from before. In the same school uniform.
They chat amicably. The boy is shy but eager. They get on the train together. It shouldn’t shock you. But it’s true; you’ve never considered that he was cheating on you with his underage students. That boy needs to be saved. You jump on the next train and run to Atsushi's apartment, bang on the door until he answers, in an apron, the smell of stew trailing behind him.
He’s speechless. He doesn’t know if he should be happy. You want to slap the hope from his face. “I know what you’re doing, disgusting freak,” you scream and push past him to look for that boy. Whom you find, in the middle of other students, munching on potato chips.
They stop mid-bite. There’s homework spread on the table before them. Atsushi comes back and stands between you and them. “You’re frightening my students,” he hisses at you. “What’s the meaning of this?”
You take the scene, look for any clues that he’s taking advantage of them. There isn’t but you’re not looking hard enough.
“What did you think was happening?” Atsushi yells. You turn to him. The texts you’ve seen that night, they weren’t suggestive yet you assumed the worst, you were always waiting for this love to blow up in your face and you saw what you wanted to see. Evil expects evil. He was never the rotten one, you were, all along.
He kicks you out of his apartment and you stand outside for a long time, clueless. His students leave eventually, and give you sorry looks as they walk away. Atsushi comes out, you try to say something, anything. He tells you to fuck off and slams the door in your face once again.