𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

event horizon ~ 39

The apartment door clicked shut and he stood in place, in the middle of the hallway—alone.

Still, he couldn't erase the sight of Shouto's expression from his mind. It remained there, almost mocking, and it looked like it had no plans on ever leaving.

What does regret mean?

The only explanation he could give to that, was that regret was moral residue—something hard to remove that had gotten stuck on you when you said or did something against your better judgement.

Yet, even as the regret gnawed at him, worse than the crippling vines, he knew that if he could, he wouldn't turn back time and change what he said. He was a coward. He was afraid and he was a coward.

There was no changing that.

_

Water dripped down his bare skin, and the fogged up mirror did nothing to hide him from himself.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked, eyes glued to his moving lips.

There was no answer.

"What are you afraid of?"

There was no answer.

"You still push people away," Slowly, he reached his hand forward and swiped at the mirror with his palm, "You are still afraid of making connections."

Green eyes stared back at him.

Questions he asked, both out loud and in silence, never got answered.

"There's nothing to be afraid, yet you cower behind your self-made shell—why?"

Hey, was there anyone who could help him get an answer?

"Yuma," he whispered, hand slipping down the mirror, "what is it that you're afraid of?"

There was only silence, until a single crack echoed throughout the bathroom. After that, more cracks came as the broken pieces clanked against the sink and floor.

He needed a new mirror.

_

The cuts on his knuckles throbbed, but he felt like he deserved it. How else would he be reminded of what he had done? The sink was stained crimson and the small pieces of glass that he took out of his skin were stuck in the holes of the drain. Piece by piece they snap against the ceramic and roll into the drain. Piece by piece the stinging sensation ran through his whole body.

He sure was unlucky, to always end up cutting himself like this. Well, he only had himself to blame for that, no?

The band-aids nicely stuck to his skin, but it felt a bit awkward when he flexed his knuckles. He'll make do with it, won't he?

On his way out, the bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

_

The sun was no longer shining when he went out to the balcony, instead, the sky was painted in a flurry of blues and dark, almost invisible, oranges. Even the heat that he had felt not long ago was nowhere to be found, replaced by a cooling wind that didn't fail to send shivers down his spine.

He leaned against the sturdy rails and breathed out as his eyes slipped shut.

His bones ached in an unfulfilled desire to run. To just... run and not look back and leave everything behind—leave everyone behind. In response, his heart did the opposite—ached in an unfulfilled desire to make connections.

With his thoughts running amok, he heard the familiar sound of his phone ringing. Someone was calling him.

Pushing away from the rails, he stepped back in through the wide open glass door. The screen was lit up, but he only realised who it was when he took it in hand.