I don't want to be here anymore - HQxreader os

shirabu kenjirou

Shirabu can't help but laugh at the way your face contorted in any of the pictures. You smiled so brightly that even the camera lens had a hard time making it fully rendered.

Your dress was long but not too long; as you've said, it's such a bother when the skirt gets caught in the heels.

You wore a bright necklace that you had gotten from him in a gift for your birthday. It was in gold with your initials engraved in it.

He remembers how you clung onto him for your life the whole evening when you got too many drinks in your system.

He remembers the way you so blissfully moaned his name when you had your first night in bed after the marriage and he remembers how the scratch marks were bright for several days.

He remembers your contorted face when you had to change your IDs to his last name. You had chuckled a bit while sadly turning all your stuff in to get new ones.

He remembers how Goshiki had greeted you so proudly the first time after the marriage, and he remembers how Ushijima wanted so badly to become your child's godfather.

He remembers how loud Tendou and Goshiki were as they ran to the hospital when happening to pass by the city right during your labour. He remembers how the nurses had to push them out of the room and how he wanted to laugh while also cry.

He remembers the first time he saw your daughter's face and held her in his arms. He remembers how her face seemed so innocent yet beautiful.

He remembers the first time you went on a family trip together, which was also the first time he realised he grew up.

He remembers how you mocked him for not being able to ski and how your daughter was so much better than him at skiing despite being only 4.

He remembers the funeral of your mother and how much you grieved. He remembers the many shed tears about it.

But he also remembers the way you always felt like she was close to you. He remembers how you passed on and lived a happy life.

He remembers the first time you sent your daughter to school; he was panicking and staying home all day from worrying while you were working. He remembers your daughter's happy face when she came home from school with a name tag and several new numbers to her friends.

He remembers it all.

He remembers the ups and downs, the times where it felt like everything was horrible and the times where it felt like he only wanted to live forever.

But he also remembers the way the doctors asked him to stay out of the room when your body couldn't hold on for any longer.

He doesn't remember your last words.

He doesn't remember how your touch felt or how soft your lips were. He doesn't remember the way your eyes glistened at him whenever he came home.

He doesn't remember the way your daughter cried your name as he had to explain to her what happened.

He doesn't remember how he suddenly was alone without his daughter. He barely remembers how her wedding was with her girlfriend, he barely even remembers her name.

So he thinks for him self while taking the last sip of his brewed coffee (which got cold ages ago) that maybe things were meant to be this way.

With his last strength, despite not being that old, he manages to stand up from his sofa. Instead of sitting down in the kitchen to read an article he lies down in your bed.

It still has one of the blankets that you loved. Of course it has been cleaned, yet sometimes he wishes it wasn't. Your smell has faded away from the room, therefore he rises his mug to his nose.

You always drank loads of coffee every day to manage to get through it. You smelled harsh yet vanilla in some tricky way.

So with the memories he has gathered, he slowly lies down the cup and closes his eyes.

He was finally going to meet you again.