"𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔?" [𝙙𝙚𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡]

𝘶𝘯𝘰

gn! reader

To your knowledge, you've been invited to a show where two exes reveal truths about each other - or choose to fluster themselves behind a shot glass.Accompanied by your ex, Kiyoomi, you had studiously prepared for d-day; the exact time the episode's production. You carried yourself like a shaken frame; the weight of bones, muscle, and flesh seemingly crippling you with an awkward stutter when you saw your ex-lover. He was there, standing in all his black-haired glory; eyes, deep, dark, and set - from beneath a crown of curls, his brow felt and so did the light in his eyes to undergo a mystic transformation foreign to a curious bystander. Like any fast, hard thing, the director quickly ushered the two of you to sit down, poised in front of the camera to start answering the questions."Were you guys in love?"

I would like to claim that you met the question with unparalleled confidence only known to those who are best friends with their mouths and egos, but to be closer to the truth (for my and your sake as well) you were struck with a sobering disappointment as you registered Sakusa's incredulous gaze to the individual reading the card. Said individual was overcome with a less-subtle fear, I should note, but I digress. "Yeah, at least, I was," you choke out, suddenly becoming very interested in the geometric tiles on the floor. You pondered on the necessity of inserting "at least" in your answer, and perhaps even contemplated the possibility of his eyes being concentrated on your quivering figure, like a pair of dark, shuddering lenses. You weren't acquaintances with this woman/man who answered without abandon, walked without grace, or murmured tactlessly. "I was," he responded, more quietly and darker than ever. However, the human mind has always leaned towards some finer degree of unveiled curiosity; this absurd trait had manifested itself in the gaze of the producer, the director's, and yours; despite this arousing desire to know more, his tone invited no invitation to follow up questions. He shifted in his seat, as if he may have been uncomfortable, or perhaps he was feeling rather awkward. "Back then? I was in love." 

"When did you guys break up?

"I needed space," he calmly recited, interrupting your deep, ivory slumber surrounded by your thoughts. To be honest, it was a long, winding road down all your memories. "And you, y/n?" the director asked.

"Well, I..." you trailed off, burying your head in between your shoulders, a sad and pathetic move, and like a lone, solitary wing, you tried folding into yourself, arching your back to the ceiling as you watched the floor with eyes jaundiced with shame. "I wanted him to, to, to just, just-" Your utterances died down into a broken string of syllables, fastened to your throat, knotting in your stomach, and slumbering in the darkest corners of your entrails. You were sad and pathetic. Sad and pathetic. 

Your tears, which reddened and boiled your eyes in a miserable concoction, fumed over the puffy and swollen hammocks of your eyelids, to slip and slobber over your complexions like greasy lumps of shame, regret, and guilt. His dark gaze was pinning you in place, and you could feel it: the fire that settled in his pupil, like a greedy infant, clawed at your skin, ran over your hairline, and scalded your body. There was no denying that he was sitting next to you, looking, looking, looking, sure that his ex-baby wasn't as pathetic as you were, no, she was better, he was better, you were better then, you were better then. You picked at the jelly at your fingernails, before summoning your jaw to a higher position, your back erect, chin lifted, as if the delicate muscles in your lower jaw had now made acquaintances with a sneaky, but sudden invisible hand. "I just wanted him to show affection," you worked out, "but Kiyoomi was too good for that, or something," you finished. Your chin dropped to miss locking eyes with your ex who was always looking, looking, looking. Like the heat of his gaze didn't linger like sheer nakedness. 

"Oh, we got opposites," the director noted.

"Yeah, we are," your ex spat in reply, teeth glaring from just slightly parted lips, like petals, and warm and reddened like the coat of a ripe peach. "Isn't that what you bastards always say? That opposites attract. There's no way a Goodreads' quote about exes who want space does not exist, is there?" he inquired, inflecting at a certain part of the sentence like a doctor examining sore skin. "Or are you in the midst of making one for cheap people like you?

"Why are you being so defensive?" the director countered, cheerily enough, pronouncing each word with a toothy smile; the gap between the two incisors was prominent, and his voice dripped of cavities as he friendly sneered at them. "It's okay, I know things like this is tough," he admitted, pausing for what seemed to be tethering between dramatic or emotional effect. "But as we told you, we just wanna see how the relationship of people develop over time, not for the entertainment of people," he continued, voice hard and sweet like toffee. It glued to you like a plaque as his words crawled over your skin. "We just wanna know to what extent relationships change."

"If you don't wanna continue, that's okay-" he gestured to the crew behind him, who eagerly voiced their agreements in an unsynchronized chorus of mumbles, nods, and whimpers masked by microphones, cameras, and face masks. "-Just voice your discomfort. We'll pay you for attending the show nevertheless-" under that sentence, he manifested a check between his limber fingers "-and you'll be on your way."

"Now, the question is, do you want to continue?"

"Yes," you both chimed, surprised by your eagerness. Perhaps you owed your sudden interest in your relationship's exposure to nerves, or the nagging lust to disrobe and grasp the reason he had decided to leave you, that is, to finger and explore your relationship, from inch to inch, from conversation to conversation, and from skin to skin.

"Yeah, sorta," you said, smiling at the edge of the sentence, a shy grin edging your lips as your eyes sought refuge to any corner of the room from the large, brooding, and stone-like man. Features carved from granite and sanded with what one would assume to be exfoliants of the most prized cosmetic and financial value hardened as deep-set obsidian eyes gazed at you. It's hard to acknowledge that you once knew a softer man."I guess it's only natural, isn't it?" he quipped silently. "I guess I thought of her/him/them at one point," he finished, gaze falling over streaks of pleated fabric - the folds of which constituted his designer shirt - and crumbling like wilted roses.

"At one point it's hard not thinking about the person you love since they just like-" you looked up at him, focusing on his flustered lips as they trembled and stumbled over his vocal hesitation - it was not normal for him to use such casual vocabulary - "-excuse my language, I meant that they create a gap in your life."

"E-exactly," you interjected, straightening up. "It's hard to find your normal habits once the person who made love languages a habit in your life leaves," you elaborate, finally locking gazes with him. "I realized that."

"How has your love for each other changed your outlook of things in general? Your outlook of each other?"

"It's changed for the better," he immediately responded, eyeing you. "I guess I understand people more, and I empathize with them. What about you, y/n?" he asked, carefully angling his jaw to the knuckles of his propped fist; a peachy stub from the navy folds and pleats of his MSBY jacket that hung cozily over his dress shirt. You came to realize that he had flexed his fingers as if itching to grab anything at infrequent intervals, and his blue-and-green veins grinned at you as he finished his question, gaze washing over your figure.

"I guess I'm more attentive to people...and their surroundings. I've learned to respect space, give it when necessary, but I still know when to push the limits, because sometimes doing that at the best moment is right."

a/n- haha brr writing done