𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙣𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 [𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙜𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙞]
Henlo peoples! I have returned from my blanket cave to feed you a rambly angsty thingo that came to me at 2am 😅
and because I have an obsession with a certain gucci flip flop man I had to write this before I forgot about it
{𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @no--longer--sane @gogolparadise @stumpys-bag-of-rice @angolicious @poppirocks}
Soft peridot eyes seem to shimmer from the artificial light of his computer monitor, eyes that tell their tale through distant gazes and dark circles from all-nighters pulled to finish reports. He always looks exasperated despite his stoic demeanour, as if he's seen the world for what it truly is beyond its façade from the rim of his coffee mug. As if he's disassociated from his turbulent mind in the midst of his work. It's nothing new to him. Given his line of work, he's always bound to dwell on something from the past. Yet, he always seems to think of one moment, over and over.
He knows it's mental torture at his own hand but he never seems to pull away from what once was.
His mind fills with ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ as he relives the event over and over and over.
His mind swims with intrusive thoughts of something he had no power over.
He doesn't realise how tightly he's gripping the handle of his mug. Or how he trembles as his breath quickens and chest tightens.
He sets down the mug of lukewarm caffeine and turns from his desk, making a beeline for the exit as composed as his mind will let him.
What would've happened then?
He halts in his tracks. He tries to anchor himself in the middle of an empty corridor, the fluorescent lighting causing him to squint at the glare from his glasses.
He runs a hand through the the strands of his sleek black hair while his mind runs rampantly through memories that he should've disregarded. It was only part of his work after all.
Every time he tried to, searing guilt would slash at his chest and choke the air of his lungs. To forget such things would be...
Not after all the anguish he caused for them.
Those nights spent at Bar Lupin, the drinks they shared, the stories they told.
The friendship they once had.
A friendship that transcended their ranks in the Port Mafia.
A friendship that made him forget the reasons he had been there, albeit for a short while.
A silent tear trickles down his cheek, lips trembling softly as the memories invade his mind.
To forget such things would almost destroy his very being.
One by one, the tears start to cascade in torrents as his mind wanders to what could've been, but was not destined to be.
Because of him, he had lost two people he had grown to almost calling his friends.
Because of him, one was six feet under and the other despised him.
Broken sobs bubble from his throat as the memories haunt him once again.
He never asked for this, he was only a lonely pawn in a twisted game of chess.
He never asked to be the reason for losing someone he cared about deeply.
He never asked for any of this.
