I Never Signed Up For Perfect
The rain had been falling all evening with no end to the storm in sight.
Inside Karina’s apartment, the lights were dim. The air heavy with tension.
Karamatsu sat on the couch, his jacket still on, posture too straight to be relaxed, and too still to be comfortable. He’d been there sitting in silence for almost an hour, picking at the already broken couch that is falling apart at the seams.
Karina leaned against the chipped kitchen counter, arms crossed. Their eyeliner was smudged, expressionless, though her throat ached from yelling earlier.
Neither of them wanted to start this conversation. But the silence gnaws at them.
“You could’ve just stayed home.” she said finally. “Would’ve spared us both the performance.”
His voice came quiet. “You think this is a performance?”
“That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” she said, a bitter laugh slipping through. “Play the tragic romantic, the self sacrificing idiot with a heart of gold that’s too big for his own good.”
He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. His gaze was calm, but there was something behind it. Something tired, yet sharp.
“Maybe I just like to believe people can change.” he said softly. “Even when they keep proving me wrong.”
Her stomach twisted. It was the way he said it that fucked her up. Not angry, not accusing. Just disappointed.
She wanted to hurt him for it.
“I told you so many fucking times,” she said, her tone tightening. “I’m not the type you fix. I’m imperfect. I’m tainted. I’m selfish. I’ll take and take until you’ve got nothing left. You shouldn’t love me.”
He stood slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stepped closer.
“Good thing I never signed up for perfect, then.”
The words should’ve sounded tender. But they didn’t. They sounded like surrender.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a god damned idiot.”
“Probably.” He smiled faintly. That quiet, infuriating, stupid ass smile that always made her feel seen and trapped at the same time. “But at least I’m your god damned idiot.”
She scoffed, turning away. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I haven’t been cruel to you.”
“You have,” he admitted easily. “But it’s not cruelty if I know why.”
She froze. Her pulse jumped. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
He took another step closer. “You push me away because you’re scared. You want me to leave before you have to watch me fall out of love with you.”
Karina’s jaw clenched. “Don’t pretend you know me.”
“I don’t have to pretend.” he said softly. “You told me yourself once. You’d rather be hated than pitied, you’d want to be hated than loved. So I let you make me hate you sometimes. I let you win.”
Her heart skipped. The room felt smaller. And suddenly she couldn’t tell if she wanted to hit him or kiss him. It made her sick to her stomach.
“Stop talking like you’re some kind of martyr!!” she snapped, her voice trembling. “You always get off on being the victim.”
He laughed bitterly. “Maybe I do. But at least I don’t run from it.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Karina looked away, breathing hard. The words clawed at her throat, but none of them felt right. He wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part.
Karamatsu exhaled, stepping back. “You know,” he said, his tone softening, “I used to think loving you made me brave. But now I think it just makes me stupid.”
“Then stop.” she whispered. “No one’s making you stay.”
He smiled sadly. “You say that like you don’t want me to.”
Her lip trembled. “Maybe I don’t.”
He tilted his head. “Liar.”
And just like that, she broke. Not into tears, not into apologies… just silence. He’d caught her again in that careful balance of truth and manipulation, where every word meant too much and not enough at once.
He stepped closer, slow, like he didn’t want to scare her.
His hand reached up, hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She didn’t pull back, but her eyes stayed cold and unreadable.
“I’ll fucking ruin you.” she murmured.
“Already did.” he said. “Still worth it, though.”
She hated that he could make her heart twist and soften all in one breath.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked.
“Because loving you feels like standing too close to a fire.” he said, voice low. “It burns, but it’s intoxicating. And I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you. You hurt so good I crave it.”
For a moment, she almost kissed him. Almost told him to stay. Almost let herself believe that kind of love could last.
But she saw it. The look in his eyes that said he still believed she’d change. That he was still waiting for the good in her to outshine the bad.
And she couldn’t fucking stand it.
“Congratulations, Karamatsu.” she said softly. “You finally found a way to make me stop hating myself for what I do to you.”
He blinked, confused, just before the weight of her words landed. His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensed.
There it was, the hurt she’d been waiting for.
He chuckled, bitterly.
“Congratulations, Karina.” he said. “You finally found a way to make me stop loving you.”
It was barely louder than a whisper, but it hit her like a slap she deserved.
Neither of them moved. The rain outside had softened to a mist, faint against the window.
Karamatsu left without slamming the door, and that somehow hurt way more.
Karina stood there long after the candles they had lit hours ago burned out, her reflection caught in the dark windowpane.
For a second, she almost ran after him. Almost apologized and almost meant it.
Instead, she lit another candle. Letting the match burn down to her fingers, watched the wax drip down the glass, and whispered into the empty room, voice small and cracking:
“Liar...”
