"BUT WERE TOO DAMN SOBER, FOR MISTAKES LIKE THIS."
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[@TSUKKIWRLDS 2022]
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𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 chapter seven; miya atsumu.
messy.
the only way to properly express any of miya atsumu's breakups. they'd all ended with either tears and tears of distress on the females part, or an air of vengeance. but this one.. this breakup was different completely.
the miya twin was happily in a relationship with y/n, a rather quiet and collected type. she was stubborn to say the least, but was a listener beyond belief. with the intelligence and grace she had, miya atsumu couldn't have asked for anybody better than this polar opposite.
but of course.. he had to ruin it.
miya atsumu was destructive, that was a fact. he couldn't keep anything together and nor could he even put anything back together. y/n, while being deductive and yet coherent was as well as a force of reckoning. she was the dash of milk added into a drink of coffee, or the water added to yet a ripe, greening succulent.
she was delightful. yes, with the exception of quite a few flaws, but miya atsumu fixed those flaws with every little word he formed and every searing hot kiss he added to her body. his touch was destructive, yet ever so enchanting, and she could feel it. his hands, rough and scorching, were touching her porcelain body. every touch left a crack, a fraction of her individuality and sanctuary she called atsumu miya.. had left.
the cooling water she had been for the blossoming tulips and succulents of her garden had vanished. it left a version of herself that not even miya atsumu himself could recognize. the milk she had once been, refreshing and tasteful, had been yet spoiled. she was now timid in yet a different version of herself.
she wouldn't cry. how could she? with the way his own scorching touch had left his mark on another woman the way it did her? could she, really? no. she couldn't cry. the ruins and rivers of tears had yet to come, and would never see the lights of japan. they would never feel the oxygen of the earth, the atmosphere, nothing. they would never be washed away by miya atsumu's scalding touch, burning them away with the flick of a finger.
miya atsumu wept. he'd never wept over an individual- a lover, before her.
not the dearest deaths of his grandparents, or the death of his poor mother- who simply couldn't live long enough to teach her son the fundamentals of life.
