unlucky charms (yuji x reader)

ch. 8 ~ bound by guilt

The first light of dawn slips through the cracks in the blinds, casting thin, pale slashes across the room. The glow is faint, hesitant, barely enough to soften the dark that clings to every corner. I'm curled tightly on the bed, knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hold all the pieces of me together. My face is buried against my own shoulder, eyes half-closed but unable to find any rest. I don't even know how long I've been lying like this, folded in on myself like a wounded animal, too numb to move, too worn out to try.

My chest feels tight, stretched thin, as if there's a pressure building up beneath my ribs that I can't release. Each breath scrapes through me, shallow and strained, and I can't seem to pull enough air into my lungs. It's a sensation that's almost familiar by now, a dull throbbing that seems to seep into my bones.

The silence around me is thick, pressing in from all sides, filling the room with a stillness that feels almost hostile. The faint light from the blinds doesn't soften it; it only serves to underline how small I feel, how lost. I clutch my arms tighter around myself, as if holding on might stop the unsteady tremor that I can feel building beneath my skin.

I close my eyes, just for a moment, trying to find some relief in the darkness behind my eyelids, but the images waiting there are worse. Memories flash through my mind, jagged and sharp, leaving invisible wounds in their wake. The sound of laughter that I'll never hear again, the sight of a face I'll never see. It all comes crashing down in waves, relentless and unforgiving, and all I can do is lie here, curled up and braced against it, waiting for something to pull me out.

But there's nothing. Just me, the dim light from the blinds, and the darkness that refuses to let go.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Days blur together, indistinct and colorless. I couldn't tell you if it's morning or night, couldn't recall the last time I bothered with food. Hunger is irrelevant, just another faint, background ache swallowed by the deeper, sharper edges of grief. When the person you loved more than yourself has been ripped away, when the world you thought you knew crumbles to dust, there's no space left for basic human needs. It's as though my body has given up asking, as though even it understands that sustenance means nothing now.

The memory of food—the taste, the texture—feels like something from a life I barely remember. It sits somewhere in the periphery of my mind, blurred and faded, like a detail from a half-remembered dream. The thought of eating now only turns my stomach, a cruel joke in the face of this relentless ache. It feels obscene to even consider taking something into my body when Yuji is gone, when he's cold and lifeless and . . . God, he's gone.

I glance down at my wrist, where faint red lines trace the spots where the scissors pressed against my skin. The sting is mostly gone now, just a dull reminder of another failure, another attempt to find something solid to hold on to—some pain that would feel tangible, something I could control. But even that slipped through my fingers, another reminder of how inept I am, how everything I touch ends up broken. The marks are already fading, soon to disappear entirely, like they never existed at all. Just like Yuji. Just like all the things I couldn't hold on to.

I couldn't save him. I couldn't protect him. And I can't even manage the simplest things now, like eating, like breathing without feeling like it's an insult to his memory. Every heartbeat feels unearned, every breath tainted with guilt. Why should I still be here, tasting air and warmth, when he's somewhere I can't reach, somewhere cold and silent?

The door creaks open, breaking the stillness of the room, but I don't flinch, don't shift my gaze. I sit there, staring at some indistinct point in the air, vision blurred and unfocused. Whoever it is, whatever they've come to say or do—it's irrelevant. Everything feels distant, drained of meaning. But even through the fog, I know it's him. I'd know his presence anywhere.