this means i owe you, doesn't it? || bungou stray dogs

gently, gently - chuuya nakahara

Am I suffering beautifully?

There are no scars on my flesh for Chuuya to trace. I have left my skin untouched, porcelain smooth, and the hair he runs his fingers through is soft and smooth as silk. I have made great strides to appear unspoiled, and I like to believe that it is impossible to guess that I am anything other than whole from sight alone. But it has been too long, and he knows me better than that. I squeeze my eyes shut as his nails skim feather-light along my scalp, and my fingers curl around the back of his shirt to match the knot in my stomach. He sighs and kisses the crown of my head. I try to focus on his warm, easy breaths, and pretend I am capable of breathing easy too.

Is my agony lovable?

I make sure to thank him often, even when nothing particular has happened. Thank you for being so good to me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for existing. Each time, he says that I have no need to do so, and that he would do it a hundred times over for me. I am set aflame, and a savage love scorches me to my toes. There is no being on this planet I could ever love more fiercely than him.

Can you see me, everything that I am laid bare, and choose to stay?

He comes home sometimes to see me sprawled across the couch, staring at the wall or the ceiling or anything or nothing in particular. "I'm home, love," he murmurs, gentle even in tone, and I try my best not to cry. There are many who Chuuya is short in temper with, and many who know him as nothing but harsh. But not with me. Never with me. I bring his hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles reverently. Somehow, we both end up tangled on the cushions, and I bare my soul to him without fear of judgement. It is a messy thing, writhing and ugly and oozing viscous, but he quells it before it can rear its head and spit rancor. Now I cannot hold the tears back, and I repeat over and over again that I love him into the warmth of his neck. He says it back and strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. "You're going to be okay," he tells me, and I find myself believing it unconditionally. There is nobody who knows me better than him. It is hard to believe, but I try my best to take his word as truth. I will be okay.

I will.

word count: 443

a/n: i've been struggling with an anxiety and depressive episode for almost the entirety of 2021 now. much of this oneshot has been from my own thoughts after being diagnosed and just trying to function on a day to day basis. this is a combination of what has been said to me and what i wish would be said. i think it is my most vulnerable piece of work so far. i promise i will get some lighter works in too.