Tokyo Revengers

i wish i were heather- m.sano

↪ I wish I were heather - m.sano

pairing: manjiro sano x gn!reader

— in which mikey knows you're not his to hold.

words: 894

songs: heather- conan gray
               can we kiss forever- kina

Maybe it wasn't akin to the future he dreamed of, maybe it turned out to be rather presumptuous, maybe rather too contradictory to what he wanted- maybe none at all. But he, in his normal state of mind, had never thought that his flower of hopes, dwindles of his deepest sentiments, and love of his comforts would get swayed this easily by none other than his closest friend.

He knew it wasn't mitsuya's fault, none at all, since all he did was exist as the extremely talented being as he is; live on life as if he was arranging scattered pieces of cards little by little - and beautifully.

Maybe that was what attracted you as well, the subtle carefreeness in the midst of amusement and the serious, committed gaze of his eyes while at work. Maybe he fed your sempiternal need for perfection in life, the need for sequence, and the need for a flutter.

mikey wanted to be that person to you. He wanted to be the sunlight that smothers you in the morning, to be the smooth lukewarm wind in the autumn, and to be the vague inspiration that motivates you to go on in the middle of the night. Maybe it was all too selfish of him in regards to hopes of finding himself beside you, laughing and smiling with him under all verdancy of affection.

love me, love me.

But turned out you were a floating feather of a river that remained drenched in honeyed and sweet waters; swirled into paradisiac patterns unguided by anyone else- like the subtle fleeting of a ballerina- and you wished, you looked for someone to take you to the shore and offer you a path of guidance, to show you a world full of rhapsodies.

And he. He was the same. The same but a little more ragged piece of feather adrift at sea with no direction and no one to salvage him. He was lost, terrified and a neglect that no one would opt to extricate from the prickling swamp of world's existence. Of course, you didn't want him, an imperfection. Of course, you wanted the hand that lifted you up from the waters and showed you the tips of mountains and grass, the baedeker to your lost old map. But his mind screamed the same old words,

love me, love me.

So when he accepted the premeditated fate of rejection and still, with firm footsteps, approached you- completely knowing that his wishes were akin to a butterfly finding warmth in winter, like an ancient prisoner wanting more than stale bread, like a human lost in ocean desiring sweet river water - he knew it was hopeless, useless and everything on that line; but his persistent will told him to get this off his chest. So he did.

He brought a single rose to you and his trembling lips, dry as a dead leaf, enunciated, I am wanting an island in place of a cottage, I know it's too much of me to ask. Even though you won't reciprocate, I will say. —"I like you, have liked you since the day we held hands" — and the night you fetched clean snow, for me, to make a snowman I believed wasn't possible. So I will say, you are my hope. And even if you won't let me be yours, you'll forever be my sunlight of hopes.

love me, love me.

And then you laughed, quite loudly and nonchalantly. Your head tipping back, while your eyes crinkled like a crescent moon and your lips, took him as a boffola.

"you must be joking. I'm sure there are others behind that rake waiting to laugh."

He didn't want to break that beautiful smile of yours, or the jubilant sparkle of your eyes that considered his words to be a travesty to the expression of love- he didn't want to break your propitious presumption and utter the words better left unsaid.

While your smile paints the sky with colors more than his palette has ever smeared, more than the rainbows can ever hold- he looks down to the black ground, the sentiments at the back of his eyes threatening, brooding above his heart.

"this is not a joke."

While your eyes, are on the dark sky above, he mutters something much heavier than the steady night could shoulder; something much darker than the dawn could challenge, something much saner than the turbulence of his heart. In the cold chilly night. He whispers that he's okay, that he's alright with the curve of your lips, alright with your happiness that wasn't him.

He whispers that he didn't need the love that wrecked your happiness to shards, shards even mitsuya can't put together.

'love me, love me.'

'love me, not him, love me, not him.'

He whispers to the cold wind.

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