Chapter Text
The thing about Kariage was that there wasn't a way of talking about him without having to mention the tiny sleeping pills he always carried around. And the heroin.
I wish I could talk about him without having to think about the deep end right beside the edge he is always standing on. Without thinking about the purple eye bags and those upsetting dead eyes.
Without the late night calls and the wavering sound in his voice. Or the slurring of his words when he is too far gone to form any logical sentences.
There was a time before all of this. When we were still young, his voice was still high-pitched and his eyes full of innocence.
I wish I could go back there. Wish I could hug him and tell him that everything will be alright. That he should stay away from all the drugs and people that only smile when they know that you've got something they want. Something that makes it worth pretending and lying over.
If I could, I would go back to the time he first tried this kind of hell. I would go and find him, get him away from there, cup his face in my hands, and scream, "You are lovely and amazing and smart, and doing this kind of thing will ruin all of that, and please, please don't do this to yourself. Please don't leave me. Please stay, stay the little innocent and so, so beautiful boy you are." I would only get half of the words out before breaking down and crying, and he would just stand there looking dumbfounded and out of words. I would feel ashamed for this kind of breakdown, because he wouldn't understand why it meant so much to me.
But it would be all worth it if it would make him stay away from the tiny pills and the sharp needles that want to take parts of him away that I love.
Instead I'm putting my phone in my jacket after texting him and hurriedly putting my shoes over the completely different socks I'm wearing. I'm nearly dripping while racing down the stairs and jogging to the location Kariage sent me.
Somewhere near the big city park. Not quite at the playground park but somehow further west where the football field is.
And there he is, lying on the grass with his limbs stretched out in all directions and looking at the sky, completely lost in between up there and down here.
I'm still standing at the beginning of the football field, sweat running down my face and completely out of breath. And I don't wanna take a step forward.
Seeing Kariage lying there so still, bathed in the field lights, around him the too-bright-to-look-real green grass with the sky above him so devoid of stars, as if all the light and hope got sucked out of it...
It looks like a painting. Something someone would draw years later to pinpoint the exact moment everything was falling apart, months or years before they finally realized that nothing would ever go back to how it was before. Something you can only paint with a numbness around your heart that's trying to save you from everything that is lying below it and still failing. One of the paintings you hide forever, even from yourself, because there is no way you could explain it without all the stitches ripping open again.
And even though I'm still in the present time, it still feels like I'm already looking at the painting without being able to change what happened.
God, Kariage, why do you have to do this to me? Why does loving have to hurt so much without any of us trying to hurt the other?
With closed eyes and a deep breath, I take the first step forward, open my eyes, and start sprinting forward with my focus only on him.
Because I can't lose him. Not yet.
And I don't want to see the first paintbrushes start forming.
Stopping right in front of him, I'm looking down on his now closed eyes and trying to wake him by calling his name.
Slowly those mesmerizing black eyes are opening, and the idiot gives me a dopy smile.
He is stretching his hand in my direction as if he could cup my face with it from this far while slurring a "Heyyyyy.... you came."
Scoffing, I answer, "Of course I did, you idiot. You called.", while sitting on my knees beside him to brush away the strands of hair that are sticking to his sweaty forehead.
"And you always come" the whisper leaves his lips like a thought that was too fast to get held back, while slowly blinking at me.
God, I'm too emotional for this right now, having been so the whole of yesterday and today, but I blame it on the one hour of sleep I got between lying awake and worrying for hours and before this stupidly beautiful idiot in front of me woke me up with a few misspelled messages and a call.
"Someone gotta pick your stupid ass up"
I help him into a sitting position before helping him up with my hands holding him on his armpits.
He is staying in front of me in a tank top, completely sweated through and freezing while holding his upper body with his arms. His hair looks longer and more creasy than at the beginning of the school year.
Putting my jacket on him and ignoring the cold and that I'm still wearing the All Might pajama t-shirt that I forgot to take off in the rush and that nobody is supposed to know about, I tell him to "come on".
There's a certain pain you feel when the person you are talking to is looking right through you. Right through everything that doesn't give them the kick they are searching for.
He doesn't make a move forward, and his eyes are still glazed over, still staring at me with this faraway look. I put my arm around his shoulders and start moving with him forward. "Do you wanna go home?"
Without having to look at him, I can already imagine the face he must be making at the thought of returning to the same apartment his parents live in. So without waiting for an answer, we are walking the way back. I only run a few minutes before.