too little, too late — m. fushiguro
a/n: megs i love u im sorry
megumi didn't realize how much you meant to him until it was far too late.
you had somehow settled in his heart, and whether you had meant to or not, he knew it was a dangerous game he was playing. he couldn’t let himself get attached—couldn’t stand to lose someone again—and so he didn’t. he tried his best to keep you at an arm’s length, denying the feeling any time a single thought of you would seep into his mind.
he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—allow himself that small bit of happiness, of warmth. he didn’t want to feel that familiar ache in his heart, and he didn’t want you to feel it either. he was protecting you, he told himself. he was stopping the inevitable before it even started.
he didn't realize how much you meant to him when the dagger had been driven through your body and into your heart, inadvertently into his own. he questioned why his world stopped right then and there, why it seemed as though the ground had been ripped out from under him.
he’d seen death before—this was no different, right? he knew it would happen eventually, just another casualty that shouldn’t have happened but happened anyway….so why couldn’t he tear his eyes away?
look away, for fuck’s sake, look away—
when your body hit the floor, he knew in that moment that he would make himself play that sound over and over again—he would never let himself forget it. he wasn’t allowed to, he told himself, for a reason unbeknownst to him then.
years later, when the day comes around and he sits in front of your resting place, reading your name off of the stone that he has memorized every jagged line and imperfection of, it was then that he finally realized just how much you meant to him.
and he would never get the chance to tell you. too little, too late.
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