365 Days || Iwaoi

Day 4

Learning how to live without the very thing that kept you alive is hell. For me, Iwaizumi Hajime is what kept me alive.

It's only been three days since his death, since he stole his own precious life from the world, and it is the day of his funeral.

I love Hajime. I really do, with every little thing that I am, but I guess that wasn't enough. Never has been, really. He isn't the first to leave me, but he is the first to do so in such fashion.

The autopsy report said he jumped. His toxicology report was clean, they said that he hadn't had a drop of alcohol in months and wasn't even on prescription drugs.

Both of these are facts, of course, I would be the first to know if he drank or did anything else stupid to risk his career.

I would... wouldn't I?

I thought I knew everything about Hajime, and that what I didn't know I would discover with time. I know that he loved photography, that his favourite subjects were nature and myself. I know that when he was truly happy, he smiled huge with a dimple on his left cheek and crinkles in his eyes.

I know that he preferred coffee over tea, I know that his favourite colours were brown and turquoise, though he never really told me why. I know that he didn't like eating breakfast but he certainly ate a large lunch and a sizable dinner. I know that my ringtone in his phone was his favourite song, not mine, because I was his favourite person but he still liked to annoy me just a little.

I know that I am still so fucking in love with him.

And I know that he isn't here for me to confess to anymore, not that I think I would ever have the courage. To be frank, I thought that maybe my confession would come after we went for drinks on Mattsun's birthday next month. I'd get drunk, Hajime would refuse like always, and I would pour out the feelings I'd been holding in for more than a decade.

I'd always been told that I was a flirty drunk, then an emotional one, so I honestly expected to flirt with my dear Iwa-chan until the point that he tired of it, then cry because he denied my advances.

I picked up a turquoise tie. It was crisp, freshly pressed, and the rhinestone-embellished tie clip Hajime loved paired perfectly with it. He said it reminded him of the stars, the stars that I loved to watch reflected in his eyes rather than painted across the sky itself.

It's cold, and not just because It's the middle of February. It's cold because he isn't here, it's cold because he isn't fixing my tie for me even though I knew perfectly well how to tie it. It's cold because he isn't here in his crimson tie, standing next to me, or better yet across from me, and we aren't attending yet another wedding.

It's been so cold without him here. It's been so unforgivably cold.

Daisies were his favourite flower, and the sight of them was suffocating, alive where Hajime should be. He shouldn't be in a fucking cherry coffin on an altar, He should be passing me tissues because my dumbass swore I would be okay, that I was strong, that I didn't need them but he always knew better.

He always, always knew better.