suga stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. he played with the ring on his finger, tears welling up in his eyes and his chest feeling as if there was water filling it. huffing out, he looked down at his feet. it was hard to remember.
it was hard to forget. he was everywhere. their- suga's bed smelled like him. his clothes were in the drawers and closet. photos of them lined the walls. suga couldn't look at one place in the house and not think of him.
he was so mad. and sad. frustration filled his body and weighed him down like a sack of lead. he took his ring off and set it on the counter.
he ran out to the living room, and he starting pulling pictures off wall, throwing them to the ground behind him and listening the glass of the frames shatter like his heart had.
but who was he mad at?
him?
no.
no, suga didn't think he was mad at him.
he was mad at the world.
at the people that just watched, letting it happen. the people who couldn't save him. his coworker that failed to inform suga about his absence. his family that didn't love him. at himself, who failed to noticed his downward spiral.
but suga wasn't mad at him.
so why was he ripping his pictures off the wall?
suga realized what he was doing. he fell to the ground and collapsed into a choked sob.
through wet eyes, he looked to the shards. he picked a picture out of the mess.
it was them.
a tear hit the corner of the photo and suga held it into his chest. he quickly inhaled, desperate for air. he was suffocating.
is that how he felt? or did he die as soon as he hit the water?
suga had so many questions.
why'd he do it? was he not good enough for him? why didn't he tell him? did he regret it? could he have been helped?
suga screamed until his throat gave out.
is he happy now? was suicide the answer? was jumping of a bridge his answer?
suga looked at the photo of them again and set it on the ground.
he choked out a pained, "was it worth it daichi?"
