𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮

(xxi) fireworks

negative thoughts came very easily to you.

it wasn't particularly a characteristic of yours that you paid attention to, because you actually used to like yourself and feel comfortable with being exactly who you were.

but now that you didn't really like yourself anymore, the thoughts were like a torrent- rough, constant and overwhelming.

and... to your eternally exhausted mind, the only way to stop the rough, constant, overwhelming train of self-pitying, self-loathing thought was to fight it with something equally as rough, constant and overwhelming.

in your case, a carefully crafted concoction of weed and sex.

you weren't really being excessive with it. you'd slept with yuuji terushima only thrice after parting ways with him- and at few days interval too. self control is key.

anyway, you'd then moved on to one time things.

for example, the quiet but snarky blonde with glasses that hated you in college because he always stood second overall.

and the heartthrob orange haired exchange student from brazil.

you get the idea. it was the first time in a long time that you were this lethargic.

most of your day passed in watching pokémon- the only thing that played on the shitty hotel tv 24/7. so you could now name eighty seven pokémon from memory and counting.

it had genuinely never occurred to you that you could just live off of the money that you had.

and you had a lot of it. more than most people see in their entire lifetime.

it could last you an entire extravagant lifetime too.

you had seen people do it. kids of rich parents- who just skipped through life, in no hurry for anything.

it was more prevalent in showbiz because it wasn't like actors and models had a torch that needed to be handed to their kids. they only had their luxury and newly earned money to share.

they weren't really worked to the bone, handling fifty tasks a day and still getting yelled at.

they simply got on flights when things got remotely tough. ran away to some european country or a private villa in the caribbean.

you used to sort of judge them. but now, who the hell were you to speak? you hadn't worked a day in the last month and your energy levels were too low to do anything.

after selling the chunk of the family company which was in your name, you now had close to 500 million dollars in your bank account not including investments- which roughly came upto 65 billion yen + investments.

surely, that was more than enough to live by the lifestyle you were living till you died.

you were drowning your sorrows in apple juice when the door to your suite was knocked on. it was midday and you assumed it was kita.

but then you pulled the door open and there stood a delivery man, reaching into his bag before facing you.

"sakusa-san?", he confirmed when you nodded.

and then you were handed a basket- the celebratory kind.

with a bottle of champagne and overpriced biscotti and a bar of chocolate and a few small items which all accented each other aesthetically as well as in taste.

the point of a celebratory basket is the celebration of something- which was revealed to you by a neatly placed envelope in the midst of the compliments.