Putridus

Prelude

Sadness brings out the worst of some people. It is a strong emotion that envelopes those who are drowning with a dark cloud full of negative emotions.

Grief.

Loneliness.

Regret.

No one wanted to be the villain of the story but sometimes, when the world seems to favor others, one could think of doing something so horrendous in order to cope with the empty feeling brought by the series of the trauma they have had in the past.

In Atsumu's case, he created a world he could never take back.

A world where there is a version of himself that he dreamt with someone he loved.

Loved.

If someone's going to tell him that he would be capable of doing such a thing five years ago, Atsumu would laugh it off.

"I may be powerful, a capable wizard and a well-praised writer, but I will never make something so real it could be compared with the reality we have right now."

If only he had the mental stability he used to have.

If only he could grasp at the tiniest thread of hope.

If only...

Atsumu stared blankly at the wall adjacent to him. With solitude of almost 2 years, the blank wall became his companion. A blank canvas that gave him the ability to draw his own story. He must be crazy because every time he stares at the wall, he could see pictures.

Moments.

Memories that he pushed at the back of his mind.

After two years of solitude, he became dependent on the memories he made with the people who used to stand beside him. It was the only thing that can make him remember who he used to be because the Atsumu of the present is different from the one the public used to adore.

And loathed.

He blinked. And blinked. And blinked.

And looked at the wall once more. There, he saw an image of a guy. A young man with sharp facial features that were amplified by the jet black curly hair he sported. Atsumu felt like he knew the person; he felt like the name was almost at the back of his tongue but he couldn't remember it, so he averted his eyes to the two moles resting on top of the young man's right eyebrow.

Atsumu held up his hand, raising it up towards the moles of the young man. Although it was nothing but a pure hallucination, something tells him that those moles were familiar.

A memoir of someone so important.

"Who are you?" He whispered, voice hoarse from a long time of not using it. When someone is left with nothing but themselves, talking becomes unnecessary.

"Atsumu?"

He looked at the doorway and watched as a young man entered his room. The man looks like him: hooded eyes, thick eyebrows, well-defined facial features. The only difference is the hair since the stranger had dark brown hair that is flipped on the left side.

Atsumu's hair is longer; the blonde grew out and it gave him the appearance of a man with ombré hair. Greasy. Messy. Different.

He watched as the man placed a tray of food by the bed.

"Mama mentioned that you don't have an appetite so I made your favorite: fatty tuna... maybe this could help," he smiled as he stepped back, waiting for Atsumu to reach for the tray.

He didn't.

Atsumu just stared.

Then he averted his gaze back at the wall.