Black Love (K/DA x Male Reader)

8 | The Spiral of Guilt

Akali POV

Like the toll of a bell that rattles your very being, each thump of the heavy bass sent reverberations that shook me all the way from my feet to deep inside my bones. It was not a bad thing though. It made it easy to live inside the music. To forget everything but it in a desperate attempt to distract oneself in favor for single-minded revelry. Or maybe that was just me overthinking things.

I held a can of soda in my hand. They had alcohol, but just a few days ago I drank way too much than I really should have with (Y/N), to the point where I felt slightly nauseous even by remembering it.

Speaking of which, it was a little bit of a fragmented haze, but I could still vaguely remember our conversation.

"I just can't help but feel like I'm responsible."

If there was anything I poignantly recall, it was his distinct sad expression when he heard that. But that wasn't what I wanted to say at all! It was like I was a spectator to my own body, an autonomous being with my own face and voice simply saying things I didn't mean at all.

No, it wasn't that I didn't mean it.

It was that I didn't want him to hear that.

I felt guilty by his termination. After all, we spent quite a bit of time together. Apart from simply helping the new trainees transition to fully fledged idols, he and I were particularly closer due to our shared status of being the lead rapper of our respective group.

Yet, despite being so close, he simply slipped right through my fingertips while I was left none the wiser. No goodbye. No apology. Nothing.

Nobody wanted to ever tell me anything.

At first I was curious. But then that simple curiosity festered into something darker.

Why didn't he trust me enough to ask me for help?

How come, despite our relationship, I was left out of the loop?

I was the closest thing to a mentor he had. I could've done more to protect him. Was this something I could have prevented? As his senior, I was supposed to guide and help him, yet it was under my supposed 'help' that he fell victim to the relentless scorn of the public.

Worse yet, the public didn't know what he did either. They simply hated him because he was supposed to be hated. There was a million different rumors floating around with his agency only offering a scarce note disclosing his departure.

They just knew he did something bad, and like sharks attracted to blood in the water, they took that opportunity to drag his name down into the depths of criticism.

All while I was powerless to do anything about it.

But none of this was supposed to be revealed. I reached out in an attempt to reconnect after the worst of it had passed, but when I met with him again, there was this unbreachable wall now constructed around him, and for all our time spent together, never had I felt so distant from him. But I was content to rebuilt our trust, brick by brick, slowly until he trusted me enough to let me know what had transpired.

But I fucked it up immediately.

"I just can't help but feel like I'm responsible."

Again, it rang in my mind like a record cursed to perpetually remind me of my mistakes forevermore.

This wasn't how I wanted it to be.

Our relationship wasn't defined by guilt. I didn't want it to be.

But that's how I answered.