Death By A Thousand Little Things || Masaji || MM
Masaji's death was fast. A couple of knocks to the head, and it might as well have been over in an instant. Even when he's sat down and tried to linger on it, his efforts have come up empty. He felt death, and felt it too quickly to remember much about it.
Right now, he thinks this is what it feels like to rot.
Or, to be more accurate, to finally be aware of how much of yourself has already decayed past recognition.
The paint; all discolored, and chipping, and flaking off in chunks. It exposes the weak, rotten wood underneath.
"Are you saying I, Angel Yukari Kamikita, would lie?"
Masaji first recognized her as "Angel Yukari Kamikita". Of course he would. He remembers the embarrassment he felt just trying to act like a normal person around her. Except, he wasn't a normal person. He was doing what he always did: guessing what would make her feel more comfortable, tailoring his presence around what he thought she wanted. And, he still fucked it up like he always does.
"If you shared even an ounce of kindness that you gave to others with yourself then you'd come off your stupid sad act and see there's something to love."
He really thought he'd made a friend, then. It'd been so long since he'd had so much as a friend...
But, what a stupid, sad act he's been.
The wallpaper has yellowed so much, and gained such a thick layer of grime that the pattern can't even be made it out. It peels, and curls off the walls, shrinking the space of the rooms.
"Mana sorta talks about ya like you’re her best friend, so…
He never wanted to just say 'I'm only talking to you because you're the closest connection I have to my daughter.' Because, that was never all it was. At least, that's what Masaji has convinced himself. Maybe there was a selfishness in his actions. Though, what guy wouldn't want to get to know his daughter's best friend?
"Is it because me not offering something doesn't let you feel useful?
I understand you have a surface level concern for me but given everything I don't really want it"
denial denial denial denial denial denial denial
"Mana would not like that man."
"His ex-wife is just a piece of shit and he's passive with her toxic habits so I don't have faith in his taste is all."
Masaji had spent the last two years trying to do better. Saying he'll do better than he had been, that he'll finally make a change for himself for the better.
And not a single damn thing about him has changed.
He's the same coward who couldn't be honest with the woman he married. The same fool who made excuse after excuse for every crumb of false affection he was given. Time and time again, he slaps on a fresh coat of paint, and rearranges himself to fit whatever someone needs him to be-- what he wants them to need him to be.
He can repaint all he wants, dust the rafters, scrub the tile, and patch himself together with spackle and plaster and nails again and again and again and again.
But the foundation has been crumbling underneath him for years.
And he's finally too weak to hold it all together any longer.
Masaji stops himself from looking to anyone else for answers. He doesn't think he needs them, really.
Masaji stops listening to all the chatter around him. He knows he'll be ushered along at any vital occurrences.
Masaji stops thinking about what anyone needs anymore. He hasn't had much success, anyway.
