ikanaide;
saishuubin, kimi wa noru, boku wo oitette hashiridaru, yukkuri to jimen ga zureteiku naichadame, naichadame demo hontou wa iitai yo "ikanaide."
words: 582 song inspired by: ikanaide (soraru version)
He wasn't quite sure what made him want to believe that their relationship was healthy.
Maybe it was the boy's touch, which he craved so, so desperately. Maybe, it was those rare times when the boy showed him his soft side -- he didn't shy away from him, he wasn't afraid to let him know that he cared (although sometimes, it almost felt like pity). Maybe, it was the fact that he didn't see himself as "good enough," "adequate," or "worth something," so it was only natural that the boy saw him the same.
Maybe he liked the bitter taste of those rough kisses left on his lips. Maybe he liked their occasional late-night rendezvous, which had always left him wanting more. Maybe he liked the empty feeling the boy left in his already empty heart, especially when he went through his periods of absolutely despising him again, sometimes for no apparent reason.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so fucking much, I can't stand you, why don't you just leave? You'd be doing everyone a favor!
Hah, he'd laughed to himself, almost painfully, sounding like he was forcing it. You're right. I would be doing everyone a favor. I'd be doing myself a favor, as a matter of fact.
Maybe, just maybe, the shredded remains of whatever "relationship" they had left and whatever little bit of "hope" he had left for it was enough to make him keep on living (if you could even consider him "alive" anymore). Whatever his reasoning was, he wasn't completely sure. Who in their right mind would subject themselves to such emotional wear-and-tear? Maybe he wasn't in his right mind. He'd surely believe it.
But, at the end of every single day, he supposed he deserved it. Every last bit of it. He deserved the pain and the suffering and the torture, he had brought it all on himself. Who would love someone like him? He wasn't even a "someone" anymore, he was a thing. Blood no longer pumped through his veins, and his heart was at an eternal standstill. He had the misfortune of being a walking, talking, corpse -- and some days, he wished for someone, anyone, to put him out of his misery, to just let him die. The sweet embrace of death had to be better than this constant agony and self-loathing and slow self-destruction, right?
Anything had to be better than that, right?
Even so, when he thought he was surely at his breaking point, that he couldn't take it anymore, and that he should just end it all right there and then -- he was there for him, every single time, to pull him away from the edge, to love him and care for him, to make sure that he was okay -- and that, that was the reason why he continued putting up with such emotional distress, even if it wasn't a good one, it still sparked a light in his cold, dead heart, it made him feel a little more alive, and it rekindled that small hope that maybe, just maybe, he actually loved him.
Hey, are you alright? Were you crying? You look upset. Talk to me.
Despite every single one of his flaws, despite every little insensitive or ignorant thing he may have said or done to him, that, that was enough to make him want to keep going.
Every single time.