heartache | t. muichiro

chokehold

「

"the girl he thought he could trust, gone and reduced to nothing but a bystander."

」

Pulling himself to his feet, Muichiro grunted in pain once the same tormenting fist came in contact with his jaw. Any prior support he had seemed to vanish as he stumbled back against the cement wall behind him.

"Hey, Jiro," One of his tormentors spoke. "Try this."

The steel glinted in the limited light within the alleyway, turquoise eyes widening at the sight of the blade. His bottom lip quivered as Jiro looped a finger against the handle and spun it effortlessly between his fingers.

Cold metal hit his neck as Muichiro instinctively reached for something, anything, to escape this newfound danger. His hand met the soft fabric of Jiro's uniform shirt whilst his back pressed firmly against the cement wall behind him.

"Do it."

"Finish the job, Jiro!"

"Please." Muichiro breathed. "Please don't."

But the black-haired male chuckled at his desperation, lifting a hand to his mouth as he laughed. "Please? Really? I don't think you realize how much of a bother you've become to me. You keep disrupting my plans."

"With you out of the way, my life would be so fucking easy."

"Beggars can't be choosers, after all. Can't they?"

Before he could press the blade deeper into Muichiro's neck, the sound of a familiar girl gasping had the two of them freezing and looking in the direction of the disturbance.

You stood, frozen in horror at the sight of the group. Your hand unconsciously moved to feel for the marks and bites still lingering on your neck that had yet to fade, a finger hooking onto the chain of your necklace and fiddling with it nervously. "Jiro...?"

The blade clattered to the floor as Jiro moved to console you, his fingers moving to gently caress your cheek and shush you like a terrified adolescent. "Hey, it's okay. I wasn't actually going to kill him, it was just to scare him off, alright?"

Muichiro stared in disgust at the two of you, a strangely strong urge to vomit suddenly emerging within him as your boyfriend's friends scattered like frightened mice. He grit his teeth at the minimal proximity between you and his tormentor, bending down and slowly grabbing the blade left on the floor and stashing it into his pocket before scoffing and walking away.

But as he passed you, his ears picked up on your whispers.

"Just a dream."

"A really bad dream."

Huh?

--

The school bathroom was cool and damp. A singular, dim white light flickered every so often and poorly illuminated the three stalls behind it, a few sinks standing in front of these stalls with small mirrors above them. The ground in between each tile seemed murky and full of dirt and grime and the beige walls did little to add to this hopeless atmosphere.