and it feels like medication. and it’s good for me, i’m sure. but it don’t matter how your love feels, anymore.
ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader ; angst ; tw: su1cide
ushijima was a man built on logic, discipline, and absolute certainty. he believed that if you worked hard enough, if you dedicated yourself completely to a goal, you would succeed. and for a long time, his goal was keeping you alive.
he loved you with a quiet, solid intensity. he checked your wrists, he hid the sharp objects, he sat with you through the heavy, silent hours of the night when the darkness in your head grew too loud. his presence was like a heavy blanket, a steady medication that kept the worst of your demons at bay. he truly believed that his love, constant and unyielding, would be enough to cure you.
but love cannot rewrite a broken mind.
on a thursday. a random, cruel trigger—a sudden piece of news, a ghost from your past, a breaking point that shattered every single line of defense he had spent months building around you. it wasn’t his fault. he was at practice, sweating under the gym lights, thinking of what to make you for dinner.
the love he gave you was good. it was perfect, really. but in the end, it didn’t matter how safe his arms felt, because the pain inside you was a fire that swallowed everything whole.
when the front door clicked open, the apartment was entirely too still.
“i’m home,” ushijima called out, his deep voice echoing flatly against the walls. there was no answer. usually, you would greet him from the couch, or he would find you wrapped in a blanket in the bedroom.
he set his gym bag down. the silence in the air felt heavy, thick with a terrible, unmoving finality.
he walked down the hallway, his large frame casting a long shadow. when he pushed the bathroom door open, his heart stopped.
you were there. cold. quiet.
the bottle of pills was empty on the floor. your eyes were closed, your pale face finally free of the agonizing exhaustion that had plagued you for years. you looked peaceful, but to ushijima, the sight was a violent shattering of his entire universe.
he dropped to his knees, the impact rattling his bones. his large, calloused hands—the hands that had held volleyballs, the hands that had held you so gently—trembled as he reached out to touch your cheek. you were already freezing.
“wake up,” he whispered, his voice cracking, a sound so raw and broken it didn’t even sound like him. “please. i.. i’m here.”
he pulled your limp body against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder. for the first time in his life, ushijima wakatoshi wept. he shook with violent, silent sobs, rocking you back and forth in the quiet bathroom. he had done everything right. he had loved you with every ounce of his being.
but as he held your lifeless body, the brutal reality broke him completely: his love was a medicine that simply couldn’t save you.
© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.
