oo; prologue

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You're the poem that he'd not dare write; an art that he could not seem to paint. So here is, gawking at what he believes to be the definition of beauty.

Roses begin to seep beneath his cheeks, similar to the cherry blossoms fluttering to the school grounds outside of the classroom window.
His eyes linger on you until the teacher calls him to answer the next question.

That was how it once was.

You are now a broken shell of what you once were. Almost unrecognisable to even your closest friend,
and the boy who still finds himself staring at you from across the room.

broken || sugawara x readerWhere stories live. Discover now