Keigo didn't remember the aftermath of the mission. He didn't know what became of all the people he and Mr. Compress had arrested. He didn't know what happened to the rest of the team they'd assembled. He didn't know whether his own sounds were tended to. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten home.
Home- that word didn't quite fit the apartment anymore. As he stumbled through the door, the living room no longer held any warmth. It was no longer the place they spent their mornings ignoring the alarm clock and cuddling, exchanging sleepy kisses and caresses until they eventually resigned themselves to getting up. It was no longer the place where they would idle around the kitchen, trying to steal another kiss or talk about their days or their problems with cups of tea in their hands. It was no longer the place he could tell her he loved her with every fiber of his being, loved her so intensely he felt he could combust. It was no longer the place he could walk into and feel accepted, wanted, loved. It couldn't be because she was the one that made it all of those things.
What was it then?
It was cold and empty, and numb. It was heart-wrenching in the most painful, brutal, and raw ways. It was the place where he could be surrounded by her without her being there- and with the pain of her loss so fresh in his mind, it wasn't just pouring salt into a wound- it was acid.
Keigo's throat burned with the sobs that wracked his body as he sank to his knees. His arms and wings wrapped themselves around him trying to bring the comfort he knew only one person could.
It didn't help, it hurt him more, his blood bubbled and sizzled with anger and hurt and pain. It was intolerable and uncontrollable grief. The apartment felt heartbreakingly empty, and he wished he felt the same because what he felt then was so intense and real that he wished he couldn't feel anything at all. His chest ached with longing and sorrow.
He stepped into the bathroom. As he looked at himself in the mirror he saw that he was covered in blood- Mariko's blood. His stomach twisted into knots, and bile crawled up his throat at the sight. A wave of nausea suddenly hit and he found himself throwing up into the sink.
Once he was done emptying his stomach, he peeled off the ruined clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the blood he wished he hadn't been bathed in. He changed into a pair of pajamas, deliberately choosing to wear the shirt Mariko had stolen from him months ago because it smelled like her. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend that she was actually there with him. He imagined that she was just in the other room- their bedroom- waiting for him to join her so they could sleep away their exhaustion together.
She wasn't there when he walked in. The only thing that greeted him was an empty bed, sheets still messed up from that morning as they'd both been too lazy to fix it.
He sank down to his knees.
That bed was where they were supposed to share their first night together as newlyweds. It was the first and last place he'd shown her what it was like when a man and a woman truly, passionately, and completely loved each other. It's been the last place he'd been shown what it was like to be wanted and loved for every reason imaginable, the right ones and the wrong was. This was the last place his heart hurt with happiness instead of grief as she'd called out his name. She hadn't called out for Hawks, the godforsaken hero who destroyed everything he touched. She'd called out his name. Keigo Takami. She'd done it sweetly and warmly and lovingly. That bed was the holy place he'd worshipped her in.
A broken sob escaped his lips, and once he started he couldn't stop. He wailed in agony as he came to the realization that they wouldn't be able to experience any of that together ever again.
He screamed, he cried, he prayed, and he begged whoever might've been listening to bring her back. He needed her, god did he need her. She had held his heart in her hands so gently, so delicately that he'd barely noticed she possessed it. When she died she'd dropped it and he understood why she'd treated it like it was made of glass. He felt himself shattering all over again in the worst way imaginable- into a million tiny fragments that he knew would never go together the right way again no matter who tried to put it back together.
He cried himself to exhaustion: until his eyes were so swollen he couldn't see. He didn't even bother crawling to the bed, he just curled into himself on the floor. He didn't want to go to sleep, but his eyes closed against his will, and sleep overtook him completely.
YOU ARE READING
Beautiful Disasters- Hawks x OC
Fanfiction"Like a mosaic, their broken pieces fit together beautifully" -Unknown No one can keep up with him. He's the man who's too fast for his own good. Meanwhile she's just trying to slow down. She's the woman who's lived a thousand lives. A chance meetin...
