#(please cry)

the further you got from satoru, the more a bitter resentment bloomed in your chest, choking out the softer memories. you hated him for letting you slip through his fingers like grains of sand, for not fighting harder, for not deeming you worthy of the effort.

you hated that he had the priorities that he did, that his grand ambitions eclipsed everything else, and even more, that you weren't even a footnote in those ambitions. you hated, with a burning, all-consuming passion, that he didn't choose you.

you'd always known, deep down, that he was destined for greatness. with a name as striking as his, how could he not be? he knew it too, you were sure of it. he carried himself with that quiet confidence, that almost arrogant grace. and you, you were just… you.

satoru wasn't a serious person. it was his defining trait, the mask he wore to navigate the world. most people saw the easy smiles, the quick wit, the constant stream of humorless jokes. they saw the shield, but no one, not even you, dared to peek behind it.

you knew there was something there, a quiet storm raging beneath the surface, but it was a line you never crossed. didn't even touch it. he didn't want you to, anyway. he’d deflect with another joke, another grin, and the moment would pass, leaving you both a little more hollow.

because, then, he'd have to talk about it. he'd have to peel back the layers and expose the vulnerability he so desperately guarded. satoru wasn't sure he could muster that, not for anyone, not even for you, the one person who saw glimpses of the real him. the thought of confronting his own demons seemed to terrify him more than anything else.

and it didn't help, not even a little, that everything you did, everything you saw, everything you touched, smelt, tasted, heard – it all screamed satoru. the world was a cruel collage of memories, each one a tiny shard of glass piercing your heart.

there were so many movies you'd never be able to watch again. the rom-com where you'd both laughed until your sides hurt, the tearjerker where he’d subtly dabbed at his eyes while pretending he wasn't crying, the cheesy action flick you’d both secretly loved. all of them tainted now, the joy replaced with a dull ache. old memories, bitter, definitely not sweet.

songs, too. the radio was a minefield, each familiar melody a fresh wave of grief. you couldn't even have chocolate, his favorite, without a pang of longing. the old mugs, the ones you’d bought together, were banished to the back of the cabinet, too painful to use. and his side of the bed… your bed, now, only yours.

it was always cold at night, a stark reminder of his absence. you weren't used to sleeping alone. maybe, by now, you should have been. it's been so long, hasn't it? time should have healed these wounds, but they just kept bleeding.

there was a bakery just a few streets down. it used to be your favorite little secret, a place you’d stumbled upon and then shared with satoru. the two of you went all the time after that, drawn by the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and the promise of quiet companionship. you don't go anymore. shame, really. they had the most amazing croissants, flaky and buttery, just the way he liked them.