Growing up as a social person, Sora Suzuki was surrounded by love and affection- even from the most random people. Tender strokes, gentle kisses. Love came to him in the form of five unique beings, and damn, he's in deep. But when shit happens, and...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
OCTOBER TWENTY FIRST, TWO THOUSAND AND FIFTEEN
18:10 in the evening
INHALING SMOKE, the grey wisps of pain and misery, Sora stood on the balcony. He held the cigarette to his lips, sucking in the toxins and hoping it would drown out his thoughts. The air around him was cool. It was nighttime now, and there was no one home.
Sora leant against the railing, watching the sky darken, blue and purple mixed together in a melancholic dance. His lungs burned. It felt like he was drowning, and that feeling still ignited something within his chest. Made him feel alive. He guessed that even with the passing years, some things just don't change. Still, that pain, that friend that sat by him when the world was moving too fast, was a company Sora was beginning to hate.
He didn't like it. Hated feeling it.
You see, Sora had always loved the ocean. Was willing to drown in it.
But as he grew up, that sort of love was tearing him apart, and Sora recognised it. Slightly. Like it was somewhere in the back of his mind, a constant nagging that this isn't healthy, and it's going to kill you. Yet again, Sora ignored it. And he kept it to himself.
A weight settled on his shoulders, holding him down, telling him not to say a word lest he burdened his soulmates. You're a knight, a voice would tell him—it sounded awfully like his own—and knights don't hurt.
The crimson burn of his cigarette burned into his veins. Sora felt it on the tip of his tongue, flaring up in his throat, and then he let it all out in a puff, staring at the way it twirled in the air, slowly dissipating. It had been a long time since he smoked— even longer since he had any intention of trying to stop.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he whispered into the darkness. Sora stayed outside until the cigarette was almost finished, flicking it off the balcony. He didn't want his soulmates to see him, didn't want Tobio, of all people, worrying about him. Secrets were common for Sora. They lived within him, sheltered in his very being. He hated secrets, but what else could he do?
Stepping inside the apartment, Sora scanned the empty area. His soulmates were off living their lives, working to achieve their dreams— and where are you? What are you doing?
Nothing.
He bit his lip, drew it into his mouth and nibbled on the dry skin. It became red and raw, sensitive to the touch, with just an ounce of pain, but, once again, Sora ignored it. He had learnt from a young age to ignore things that shook his soul, tilted his world on its axis— it was his way of surviving. Reality was cruel, fate, too. Sora knew that there was no point in fighting against something so merciless. That fire that used to set his soul alight was gone. He had accepted his duty.
