JJBA X Reader || Define Dead

Towering Cloud In Summer

A/N: Fellas, is it gay to be in love with your best friend?

Ah how exhilarating. Blessed with a silver tongue by some trickster God – it was a miracle that young Y/N had not yet been caught. Somehow not yet dead or gone. It was probably something in particular about them. A gravity that subconsciously followed them around like a spectre, pulling all sorts of people to their aura, and causing all sorts of problems for them.

Of course. That doesn't bode well for somebody who's bound to dart headfirst to the winding path of misery.

It probably was fate, they weren't the kind of person who deserved nor wanted something as nice as bliss and peace, not the kind who was content with such. After all in a world with a thousand gourmet meals, would one really be satisfied with just a simple morsel of the possibilities?

And so their company would ye old trustworthy heartache. Loneliness becoming a beckoning friend that asked you to never change. To become immovable. No matter the people or settings. To forever be the same sad, sad person, a simple marionette to the strings of fate.

A person who it'd be foolish to love.

The monster who eats out the hearts of many in return for naught. Who carves their name in the tablet of history with only their bare hands. Who is forever destined to follow only the river back home. Despite the lack of six wings and thousands of eyes, it was clear they were a being crafted of divinity, or perhaps a devil instead.

That was how they were created. To be beautiful and bewitch. Which in hindsight was definitely more fitting than an angel. Though it didn't matter really. Whether a swarm of locust followed them, or a great battalion, only destruction and war would follow.

Despite that, they were more-so a pawn on a chessboard, than anything else. They could meet a brave knight, a sturdy rook, or holy bishop and marvel in their decisiveness and prowess. But none of them had the option to change and become anything they wanted.

No. That was the miracle of the pawn. It's fluidity.

Strange markings laced the body of divinity. Streaming down their sides like the great Jordan river, moon phases decorating their spine, the origin of which was unknown. No amount of pondering would cause them to recall where these strange, aberrant tattoos had spawned from, hidden beneath layers of clothing.

There was something dangerous in their blood.

But, all of this was rather ironic, wasn't it? A romantic cursed to a lifetime of solitude. Almost laughable if not pathetic.

And so the fool will grasp at any semblance of light trickling through, ignoring how it singed at their hand and burned their senses, lingering – they would wait for their chance to strike. And they'll wait a thousand years more if so be it. Sleep for another millenia if woken up in the wrong position. Because at some point. It will have to be perfect.

Even so, they'll never be free of their exhaustion. It'll weep in their bones like wilting flowers and crush their soul when given enough time. And eventually everything will turn to dust and stop thinking.

Never happy. Never satisfied.

A jolt sparked in Y/N's nerves as they shot up with a start. Quickly, they drew ragged breaths in through their mouth, cursing silently; the same horrid nightmare for weeks plaguing had been them. Oh. If only it would cease plaguing their slumber, and they could be rid of the unpleasant, bitter feelings that seeped into their mind each and every time. Really. Loneliness was dreadful.

Not that it mattered. At least it wasn't boredom. No matter where they went, travelling to the very ends of the world, across seas and rivers would fail to part them with that old friend known as trouble. Rearing it's beguiling face around and asking to stay another night between their ribcage.