SONGS OF GRACE ─ Ichimatsu Matsuno

№. I ─ 友達

友達 ─ friend

A man of bad luck.

A self-proclaimed title that he lived throughout his NEET life. Well, it was true nonetheless; when he tried to break a Kit-Kat bar-- the whole bar would break off, opening a new pair of wooden chopsticks-- it would break in half, walking around on a sunny day-- then suddenly it would start raining-- he can go on and on and on. It would take him years of convincing that he wasn't the living embodiment of bad luck.

He surely had Fate put a "kick me" sign on the back of his head wherever he went. And Fate played their games, messing with him and making his life complicated to the fullest.

I mean, he is the fourth brother of the sextuplets. Four; meaning bad luck-- the devil's number. Coincidence? I think not. Being born as the fourth brother amongst a shit pile of virgin colored-coded-Teletubbies, he grew to adapt to the thread on his neck, trying to perish every time he was happy.

If he were more honest with himself, got help, and possibly found a healthier way to adapt to his mindset; he could have made friends. Hell, he might have gotten a girlfriend.

But no~, the purple virgin-chad-emo-boy didn't know how to express himself, even though he was trying to his fullest. His mother, Matsuyo, suggested therapy one time but he refused, thinking that even though if he got help, nothing would change. Because Fate loves to torment his feelings.

Speaking of feelings, he blocked them out. Yes, you heard me, he blocked them all out. He didn't want to feel anything in case he got hurt. His heart was made of glass. Literally.

Ichimatsu built a barrier around his heart in case he got hurt, wanting to protect himself from how horrible this world is. He wanted to break it down and feel again-- true feelings-- and find peace within himself. Surely, God was saving something for him, right? I hope? I think? I don't fucking know?

How can a loving God cause such agony?

Not feeling emotions embarked what he looked and felt like inside out; making people think he was a god damn serial killer. An apathetic mask that he put on to protect himself in order for others to not get his bad luck like a virus. He was honestly glad that his bad luck wasn't spread to people like a lifetime illness, not only because he didn't want someone to go through what he's going through, but he didn't want to take responsibility for it at all.

If he didn't feel anything-- nothing at all-- then why was his god damn heart beating the hell out his chest sitting next to (Y/n)?

To fucking (Y/n).

Out of all the brothers that (Y/n) could have sat next to at the Chinese restaurant, she decided to sit next to him. Him. Nani the fuck.

He sat with his knees to his chest, his shippers occasionally slipping off of the booth from how polished it was. His heart was hammering in his chest, a sickening feeling in his stomach when he saw how close he was to (Y/n). It seemed rude to put your feet on the booth, but both anxiety's of (Y/n) hearing his loud-ass heartbeat if he put his feet down, or the staff giving off a bad impression of him from how ill-mannered he was; he didn't know what to do. Surely, he was used to people giving him bad impressions, but he didn't want people to know him for, 'Mr.-Putting-Your-Dirty-Ass-Slippers-On-The-Booth.'

Hell be with him, the six-dumb-ass-demons invited (Y/n) to "get drunk as fuck until you can't think," quoted by Osomatsu. Ichimatsu knew that it was all going downhill when the shitty eldest announced that (Y/n), a CEO of a famous fashion company in Japan, a multimillionaire woman, with high social class was going to eat dinner with NEETS. NEETS. It seemed so fucking sad and funny at the same time.