|| Notes || SaiMami ||

|| One ||

saihara was afraid of love. He despised it with a passion. The way he described it, full of hate.
he had promised himself to never fall in love again. He had only ever been in one relationship, it ending on his heart being ripped out of his chest, shattered into billions of tiny pieces, unfixable. Yet, those gifts. Those notes. Every word making shuichi's heart flutter and skip beats. The messy handwriting, abnormally comforting to the boy.

He was laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his muscles feeling that they were on fire. He hated feeling like this everyday, he hated that every time he moved it was like someone had hit him with a bus. He was dying. He didn't care. The next breath he took could be his last. It didn't bother him, in fact, it made him happy to know that he was dying.

The loud, high pitched ringing of the doorbell rang through his entire apartment, causing him to let out a groan, sitting up and swinging his legs round to the side of the bed, standing up and trudging to the door, opening it with a yawn, his eyes meeting with a wicker basket, a small piece of paper attached. He lifted the basket up, carrying it inside, closing the large oak door with his foot. He picked up the note, his breath hitching as the familiar green pen filled the paper, each word carefully written, yet still messy.
"Shuichi Saihara. It's been a while, huh? I bought you a new pair of jeans, and a few other things for you since the last time I saw you, in that coffee shop, you wear just wearing a pair of sweats and a shirt with holes in places. I know they aren't your usual 'Dark, depressed, edgy' aesthetic but I hope you will still give them a try. Until the next time I see you,
    Take Care.
              Amami <3'
Saihara raised an eyebrow, lifting the lid off of the basket, lifting up a white shirt, a printed picture of Light Yagami on the front, a pair of light washed ripped jeans, a pair of black and white converse and a totoro hoodie. He smiled faintly, placing the note into a drawer next to his bed, leaving the clothes in the basket. It made him angry, did the notes, but it also made him all warm inside knowing someone out there cared about him, even if it was that obnoxious rantarou. Ever since the two boys had met, around three years ago, Amami had always been keen to take care of him, ignoring the fact that he had a boyfriend. 

Saihara groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the faint memory of those sparkly, bright, happy emerald green eyes filled his head, the messy mint green hair, laying in neat waves across the boys forehead, perfectly displaying his mesmerising facial features, the distinct sharp jawline, the slightly chubby cheeks, the ones that turn a sweet shade of pink when he gets any sort of compliment, his soft, yet chapped looking lips curling up into a smile, or gently resting between his sparkling white teeth as he bit it. He was downright gorgeous and saihara hated it. Whenever someone so much as mentioned his name, a wave of anger filled him up, causing the lobes of his ears and the rest of his face to turn a pale red with anger, yet a small fuzzy feeling filling his stomach, the image of the smiling boy in his head.