perfection in your flaws - t. mitsuya

meeting you with your tears

mitsuya attentively watches you work, watches when you tuck the stray thread of hair behind your ears while his feel empty, when you bite your lips while his are cold, when you accidentally smear powdered milk on your cheeks and innocuously forget to clean it while his hand itches to, or when you let out that big sigh of relief after your work-day comes to an end while he too, relishes in your joy. so mitsuya completely, utterly, thoughtlessly blames his biased impulse when he asks you, "I'll take you home, hop on."

mitsuya's enchanted, as much he already knew, even more than how the flowers captivated him, even more than he thought he could be.

and when you loosely but securely hold onto his jacket as he speeds up on the road, mitsuya loses all reason to keep on impugning any of his impulses- because while his nerves are as steady as your immaterial presence, his heart is in a turmoil against all his rational permanence. he'd shamelessly add on that, even after months of his self-proclaimed routine, he's still not used to the searing heat that engulfs his organism whenever you're this close, this near to him.

he thinks it's weird, he thinks it's totally abnormal for him but he knows it too.

but he can't confess, not yet.

mitsuya would've never surmised the hell that breaks loose when he receives a call from you, in sunny daylight.

the sun was high up and scorching when he was on his way to touman's scheduled meeting, an important one that required him to be present. mikey had applied much pressure for the squad captains to be there, claiming that it was necessary and that if his mediator wasn't there, it would cause disorder. the touman settlement at five steps distance, mitsuya's cellphone rings; and like the usual times, his lips form a smile when he sees your name on the caller id, and his fingers hover above the accept button as he gapes at your smiling face- but he'd have never expected the news that came afterward.

he presses the neon green button, inclining his cellphone beside his ear to greet you- but he doesn't get to. instead, what he hears is the painful sound of your cries, chanting his name over and over and over again, in a relentless beseech, a relentless pain. "y/n, y/n! respond to me, please," he pleads over the phone, your sobs prickling like strident needles to his chest.

he hears you heavily sniff through the incessant snivels, prompting yourself to speak something, anything coherent; mitsuya doesn't expect you explain anything and he's more than relieved when you reply in choked stammers, " [...] h-hospital."

and that's all it takes for him to rush to you in minutes.

he hurriedly gets to the said hospital, mumbling you and your siblings' names to the receptionist in a splutter- he doesn't bother to say thank you as he runs up the stairs to the third floor, his mind scurrying over the words the woman behind the desk said, "[sirname] haruki is in a critical condition, if you're one of his guardians, I suggest you complete the arrangements and the payment soon enough."

mitsuya is terrified, he's walking on needles and sheathed swords and it hurts, it really does when he sees your tear-stricken face buried into your hands, sitting in the waiting area with hiroshi by your side. hiroshi's too little to understand, too young to reciprocate the pain you're feeling, but his little hands caress your back anyway, his eyes skimming to half-lidded sadness as you cry into your hands.

mitsuya's sure that the little one doesn't even understand what's happening, why you're crying, or why his other half's in the operation room and why they're not letting him, letting you through. It's all the more painful when his mind skids over and over and all he can say as his feet stutter in front of you is, "I'm so sorry,"

you look up, with your lashes fluttering with an unstoppable tide of tears that mitsuya wished, prayed he could swipe with the pad of his fingers. your lips tremble when you press them together, and your arms jump up to cloak around his neck in desperation, in utter vulnerability. mitsuya holds you close, sneaking his arms around your waist when you conceal your face into his nape, letting out a few sobs, a few cries, a few choked whispers as you clutch onto the material of his shirt- leasing all your burdens, all your tears and your tremulous fingertips reside against the cotton of his shirt.

"h-haruki," you try to speak, but it all comes in incoherent stammers- you don't want to try, you knew you didn't need to try because mitsuya gets it, he understands it.

"it'll be fine, trust me, it'll be okay," he whispers into your ear, caressing your back in consoling, slow strokes. he lets you cry into his shoulders, lets you dampen his shirt that he couldn't care less about, lets you hold onto him as the only support that held you together.

"mitsuya," you croak, "mitsuya, what if i lose him?" you bring your face out, your eyes barely open with the horror of your own words, "I can't, I can't lose him!"

mitsuya can't say anything, can't word anything out because really, what if? he too had his sisters, he too would break if anything were to happen to them. and just like his sisters were everything to him, yours were too. but, what if, what if, what if- it's excruciating to think, even more painful to visualize the possibilities of what if, what could happen; what if, what if, what if.

he too, didn't know.

his heart tugs and sears itself away as your chest reverberates with your sobs, your lachrymose eyes filled with grief, consternation, and pain. he wished he could take it all away, take all the worries and all the pain away from you- make it his if he has to, he'd do it a thousand more times if he has to. but seeing you like this, was unbearable for him.

so he really can't do anything as he sits you down on the bench yet again and crouches down to pull hiroshi into his chest- simply hearing you cry, the remnants of your pain that he could feel stabbing at his own eyes as he mutters to you, "it'll be alright, he'll be okay," — and to himself.