Erase Herゾごホ

どこにいますか - where are you?

✐ ✎ ✐  Aizawa POV ✐ ✎ ✐

It's all wrong.

I hurled the last cardboard box across my room with a strained grunt, watching it slam against the wall, the contents exploding out and scattering over the floor with a clash.

This is wrong, I shouldn't have to do things like this.

I fell to my knees, surrounded by many miscellaneous items that belonged to (y/n). Her hair brushes and hair ties, her books about nerve damage and her jewelry boxes filled with things she will never get to wear ever again. I let out a hopeless sounding scoff, tucking some loose strands of black behind my ears as I felt a familiar burning sensation sting my eyes.

I shouldn't have to go through my dead girlfriends belongings, I shouldn't have to. It should've been me, not her. If I could go back-.

But I can't.

And now it hurts.

It hurts more than anything ever did before.

I sighed, sitting back and leaning against the side of my bed, as I pressed my elbows against my knees and rubbed my head.

Why do I always lose the people I love?

I frowned, staring at the various trinkets and oddities spread around my feet, now never being able to learn the story behind each purchase or journey behind each item. My eyes latching on to one item in particular, the stuffed elephant just out of arms reach underneath a couple drawing pads and loose pens. I reached forward, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric as I hesitated to even touch it. Tears burned my eyes now, breaking free from their glass cage and scrolling down my cheeks as I thought of the last time I watched her hold that plush against her chest.

I'd give anything to see her again, I swear I'd even sell my soul. If there was a way to see (y/n) again, to have one more normal day with her. A morning where I can wake up with her by my side, to hear her soft breaths as she sleeps beside me, even after the sun slips behind our curtains. An afternoon full of terrible movie choices and arguing over which one of has better taste, even though it was always her. An evening plagued with the smell of smoke as she burns dinner three times in a row before giving up and letting me cook. And a night. A night where I can tell her I love her, one last time.

I'd give my own life for one of those days.

'im alive'

I let out a small sigh, reaching behind into my back pocket and fishing out my phone as I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my black sweater, clicking back to the same message I had stared at for hours at a time.

'im alive'

I pressed my fingers against the glowing screen, touching the vibrating words in front of me, in attempt to feel anything that wasn't empty. Anything closer to her.

"Is this you, (y/n)?" I whispered, "Where are you?"

'Sometimes love just isn't enough.'

I shut my eyes, the bile in my throat rising and threatening to be thrown up as I rested my head in my hands. You're dead, aren't you?

You have to be.

The sinking feeling in my gut tells me different though, I can feel you. Even before that text every inch of me, every reasonable and rational shred of me told myself you are dead. There is no coming back. But I could feel you. You're alive. You have to be. And then you texted me. It had to be you, right? Who else would text me that? Who else would reach out to me?