“us.” your voice is small. if real-time captions were a thing, us would read as small text, barely making up your vision.
it’s strange, to ever think the two of you were ever an us.
“real?” aizawa says. you hear him shift beside you. his feet point towards your body. he’s right beside you, but you can’t bring your eyes to watch him, so you imagine him curling up on himself, hands supporting the weight of his chin as he turns to face you. “what do you mean by real?”
you huff. are you not being clear?
“were we ever actually together?”
“of course we were.” there it is. that softer voice of his. the one you heard so often when you needed reassurance. that very specific, short chapter of your life when he cared for you. “was it not clear to you that we were?”
you feel something bubble. your lips waver. you let out a pathetic hiccup. “but we were never actually together. you entered my life, we held hands, we saw each other, but we were never actually together.” you swallow a big, rolling wave of hurt. “and when i asked if you’d be open to a relationship, everything you did for me just disappeared. you didn’t want to be with me, but you wanted my company.”
it is hard to breathe. it is hard to be stable.
“sorry will not cut what i put you through.” aizawa is just a disembodied voice at this point. right now, it is just you, staring hard at the concrete at your feet, hot tears and the burn of crying stinging your throat. that, and the not-quite-the-same comfort of his body nearby. rejection does that to you. rejection alters what is safe into something you need to run far, far away from. “but i’m so sorry.”
you sense it, a hand placed near you. an offering of comfort, but you know better now. when something doesn’t serve him, he’s quick to take that comfort away, too.
“i didn’t love you,” you say between hiccups, “but you taught me heartbreak.”
“i told you i hadn’t done this before, but you still decided to play pretend with me.”
“i’m sorry.” how dare he sound sad.
“you went on to see other people, but it took me a very long time to try dating again. you were the first person i let in, but you left me so quickly and when i was most alone.”
“i’m sorry.” why is he crying now? he doesn’t get to cry.
“you got what you wanted, aizawa: a rebound after your first love. but guess what? you were my first love, and you did exactly what had happened to you: you disappeared.”
“you’re right.” from the corner of your eye, aizawa palms at his thighs. “i wasn’t emotionally sensitive to what you were feeling. i was selfish. you were clearly a very good person, and i took advantage of your good nature. i may have treated you well, but never well enough.”
for a moment, it is you, aizawa, and the weight of your shared history.
“i don’t think we can be friends.”
you sense movement. aizawa nods slowly. “i will do what makes you most comfortable.”
“do not talk to me again.”
it’s strange. you used to think you could have something close to love, but he never allowed it.
before, during what you thought would be your final goodbye, you had said bye for now.
now, aizawa says nothing. there is nothing left to be said.
