BEAUTY IN DEATH / hq drabbles

( atsumu miya ) the boy with a broken heart

The earth felt rotten as he stood on it, shaking and shaking and shaking. A slight tremor was present in his calloused hands; he felt edged with syrupy sadness like acetone polishing wood. Tears were dried and fickle across his cheeks, flecking him with the heartache of a million forlorn lovers. Atsumu Miya had never felt so hollow, like he was being buried within echoes of himself.

His fingers curled around the stalk of the bouquet in his right hand; it felt surreal to be standing there, a pocket full of pansies and a boy with a broken heart in front of a grave. That's what it felt like right? His heart was fractured like the windows on the gymnasium after a bad spike, like the jutting cuts from the thorns of a rose. He could feel an unsteady emotion crawl up the ridge of his spine, threatening to rise his throat with warm bile.

Lips curl like he's tasted something venomous, but his tongue is laced with your bittersweet memories; kisses under cherry blossom trees and the scent of your perfume when he presses lips against your neck. He's drowning in your soul, not all at once as if that was painful enough, but he can't breathe without feeling you first. Bits of you left behind by the dust once everything was over. And one day those pieces will swallow him whole and he will drown because of you, for you, because he never stopped loving you. And while you shake and slither and scream and cry from eternities over, he will open his mouth to say those three words - seven letters strung like the strings of a harp - and nothing will come out except the screams after you left.

"I love you," I loved you, he corrects himself but my god, the words feel shoved into his throat as he speaks.

You're gone; does it matter?

Atsumu shrivels just thinking about it, about the moment your life ended, because he wasn't even there. He had felt it though, the wave of something heavy completely shatter him in an instant. A round tear is jagged as it curves the side of his cheek; his soul wavers in a broken state, picking apart the petals on a daisy in despair. You love me. You love me not. You love me.

You loved me.

His eyes linger on the gravestone in front of him, a sullen brown tinged with gold, like the gilded cage he trapped himself in just after you died. Etched into marble is your name, your name of all things...

Was it funny to lose you like this? Some sick joke?

There was no death within your hues of [eye colour], just the twinkle of a person screaming for freedom. There was no heartbreak or wisps of grief haunting your freckled face, nor a single ounce of venom upon that tongue he knew like the back of his hand.

Atsumu lowered his head, feeling his knees buckle. He fell to his knees a few seconds later.

The petals on the flowers faintly brush with the influx of wind, torn from the middle and slowly falling to the ground. It's as if it was raining purple; the colour reminded him of movie nights that end with the two of you sitting on the roof of your house to watch the sun set. The way that regal violet twisted across the downpour of clouds into ebony, fraught with raven and black.

And now, each thought carved out inside his mind felt devoured by a pit of heartbreak powerful enough to send him into tears. One minute he's laughing about how high your voice reaches when you sing along to your favourite song and the next, everything seems to have fallen apart, like slipping through his fingers as if each piece of his heart was a grain of sand.

The blue sky mirrors the echo of his porcelain soul, sacred strands left cast across the web in the cerulean air; chills seem inescapable as he becomes Atlas, bearing the weight of the world under the sky.

Under the thumb of the unkind deity, Atsumu forgets what it is to be human again, lacking your tepid touch once more. No embers burn in those wavering golden hues of his, just a tear or two trickle down the side of his cheek when he realises that the world is taking more and more from him every day.

Meanwhile, your serenity is suspended in the palm of fate, cradled like a miser to it's money. It's not what comes after death that is heartbreaking, it's being forced to watch your loved ones cut their throats in the pit of oblivion you had left in your wake.

Oh Atsumu, the boy with a broken heart. Come find my silhouette under the moonlight, and watch my footprints disappear along the shore, chasing ghosts and getting hurt.