worn out.

F is for Forelsket

forelsket:
n.
The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.

The first day of the Okinawa vacation was unpacking. They had their own rooms and everything. Atsu stayed organizing everything with narrow eyes and crooked fingers. They had never been straight, the curve of the middle finger on his right hand a the indent of the ring finger on his left (his father was always more violent when he was angry. He tended to snap easily, in more ways than one. Atsu's finger just happened to be collateral damage).

He had off things, Na- Kanashi would always call him pretty. Not handsome, pretty. She said that if he had long hair and makeup he'd have the face of Mor with På's hair. But he had his father's body, so he could never pull off looking like a girl. Kanashi was always so optimistic, she thought that one day, (not today, or even tomorrow, but one day) they would be safe. 

Kanashi was right when she said things would get better. That he would get to be happy. She was right. He feels guilty, though, because now he also feels a pooling in his head that pounds and pounds until he can feel water breaking through his eyelids. He started whimpering in his sleep, he'll have to train himself to stop doing that. The walls he built are rotting away, he has to place everything back before something crawls in through the cracks in his fortress. He tries to fix it, but the fort is becoming nothing more than ashes and rubble.

His hands ache, sometimes. It feels strange, there is nothing in them like he had become accustomed to. The scars are ever clear now that he isn't covered in dirt. Now that he hasn't felt blisters and callouses and pain. It's been a few weeks (hours?), maybe a few months (days?). He isn't sure of anything anymore, he'd lost his concept of time ages ago. Maybe it was when the clock broke. His hands used to tick with it, twitching.

It irritated him, the clock became sgatters of glass and an hour hand, the minute one was twisted (like his fingers).

Atsu mutters― well, he'd lost the habit to the benefit of staying in complete silence, his parents didn't say anything, he'd just nod and do what they said. It was an effective and wonderful way to get less scarring. Kanashi was loud, but she'd learned to quiet down too, their parents were very effective teachers. 

(His fingers were not supposed to bend that far back, they were not supposed to snap, the bone was supposed to be in his skin, not out. It felt like fire wandered, slow and subtle and full of white, hot, pain. His mind aches, a whimper settles in his mouth and he does not let it leave. Eyes shine with unshed tears. "Don't you dare start crying, boy.")

―under his breath. Something like a plan. He takes out his clothes and folds them into the drawers. Clean, neat, picturesque. That's how it had always been in his house. It couldn't be dirty with guests over (even if those guests lived in the slums, the same as they used to).

The sun dances on the horizon, he does not have nightmares.

_

The beach line of the Fukuma resort was just like he saw in pictures his parents showed. The sand was clean enough that it was white. Orange overtook the sky, painting the sea violet. His class chatters happily, drinking from champagne glasses (they had soda inside) staring at the sunset. 

Atsu decides to test his progress; before he wouldn't go within two feet of water without being on the brink of death― and hygiene ―or without supervision. Which was never, so it was usually safe to shower daily and attempt to not drown whenever Mor or På had a bad day.

Water washes over his feet, his pants are rolled above his gauty knees. Scars line his legs, scraps and fading bruises, a line of stitches from when his parents still cared enough to get him fixed. It didn't work, he's still broken.

He traces patterns with his eyes, his arms stuck to his side, crooked fingers and tired stares at school cruel world that could have been something great. White noise and static, the air tastes like salt and blue. He closes his eyes, and faintly, he thinks his lips curl upward. The sun has dragged him to the sky and he ignores the caw of seagulls and the murmur behind him; he is calm.

Clouds warp to creatures bound by imagination and Atsu doesn't move. Someone stands behind him, and for a second―a small, pointless second―he doesn't feel like he's drowning under the harsh waves and gasping to the brutal winds over head.

He feels free, whisps claw through his fingers. His smile is covered by a line; glassy eyes open again, and he watches through his telescope at a world that has delt him the worst hand. He's not a victim, he refuses to be, Na― Kanashi is better now, somewhere safe. Gone, away, she's done hurting.

White noise disappears, the murmurs and caws are back. He turns away from the water, rolling his pants back down. Sand sticks to his feet, he paces back into the hotel. A trail sinks behind him, he's an an easy target, but he can't find it in himself to care at all.

_

After he took a shower and changed into sweaty and a white tee-shirt he headed down stairs. Soft socks padding on the floor as he walked in, everyone was in nightwear and he eyed for a seat.

"Atsu-chan!" Red like blood and poison and hearts wraps around his neck. Elbow behind him, taller than him.

"Yes, Karma?" Atsu looks foreword. His lips slits and eyes dull and half-lidded. Milky skin and scarred joints reach to his crumbled pockets.

"You can sit with us!" There's a smirk on his lips that screams. Atsu cannot find it in himself to protest.

※¿ᴿᵘⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʷᵃʸ, ᵃ ᶜᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃᵐ ᴵ?※

「(!あつ-ちゃん!)」

»“¿ᵀʰᵉⁿ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ, ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇˡᵘᵉ?”«

F is for Forelsket;

Let me paint a sunset

The wind drowns out laughter,

They live happily ever after.

《 ≧𝕆𝕙 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖 𝕤𝕜𝕪！≦》

F is for Fracture;

You're taller by stature

I love all of you―

―Red frayed hair

Don't you dare.

-‖・"Let's draw the horizon."・‖-

F is for Fragment;

My heart is dented,

By crushing travesty

You are my majesty.

▬₰『𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐬.』₰▬

わたしです  じゃなし
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