Chishiya x Reader Oneshots

The Truth That Couldn't be Denied - Part II

Part II of @Mel_Mio 's latest request ~

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Survivor's guilt is what they called it. The feeling that you shouldn't be here while others are dead, and that you got the chance to live on. It wasn't fair at all, because what made you better than all those people who died? Why could you return to life after having a whole minute cardiac arrest, after you were basically dead?

Those thoughts accompanied you through every day, and it didn't feel like the scars in your soul would ever heal. The physical wounds had long stopped aching; only the tremble returned when you were stressed out. You took a look at your wrists, at the strange burning marks that would forever remain carved into your skin. The doctor had explained to you that the heat from a nearby fire had caused the metal wristbands you'd been wearing to burn your wrists and leave permanent nerve damage, but it doesn't feel right.

You couldn't explain why, and yet something deep inside you whispered that the reason for all the scars had to be something else. One of the many thoughts and nightmares you couldn't share with anyone else because they didn't make sense.

A single minute had been enough to change your entire life. Well, that and a comet destroying huge parts of Shibuya. As if the chaos had ripped out a part of your soul and you continued to bleed out, slowly and painfully, unable to find the missing piece or seal the wound otherwise.

Solace you could only find in your favorite café, the one that always felt cozy and welcoming because it wasn't over-crowded or too noisy. Once in a while, you'd buy a new book in the store next to it and then sit down, sipping a hot drink and reading through the pages, forgetting everything around you and the chaos inside.

On that day, your choice had been Kafka's Metamorphosis. A decision you couldn't quite explain; it just felt right to pick that up. It was a short story, one that you'd be able to finish in one day, and a sad one on top of that. Weird, confusing, slightly disgusting – and yet you felt connected to the book somehow.

It was on that day that you first recognized him. A young man, hair dyed blonde and wearing a white hoodie, eating cheesecake not far from where you were seated. You were sure that you hadn't seen him here before, since you usually met the same faces whenever you visited the café. He didn't quite fit here, although you had to admit that he looked handsome in his own distinct way.

Your eyes met, by coincidence you supposed, only for a second before you lowered your head again, but from that moment on something happened inside of you. It was a tickle, deep under your skin so you couldn't scratch it away, and it caused your wrists to tingle and your heart to beat faster.

You tried to focus on the book and not let him notice anything, but he didn't let you go. Even long after you finished the Metamorphosis and left the café, his face wouldn't leave your mind. It remained omnipresent, following you into your dreams.

They're the same dreams as every night: familiar places but covered in nature, shots in the distance, red lasers emerging from the skies that felt hot on your skin. A deep sadness and the urge to find the missing piece, but wherever you looked, the sight blurred in front of your eyes, making it impossible to see what's right in front of you.

One thing was different, though, and it's the only thing you could suddenly see clearly: the face of that mysterious blonde. He was looking at you with such an arrogant and condescending look that you wanted to hate him, but his hands held the Metamorphosis and a tiny paper note, and suddenly it was impossible for you to feel anything but warmth.

In the dream, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a note just like the one he was holding. Hoping that this would be the answer you'd been searching for so long, you tried to unfold it, but just in that moment, red lasers crushed down onto the earth around you. The blonde shattered into millions of pieces and you woke up screaming and covered in sweat. In the end, it had been just another nightmare.