Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

3rd person Chuuya POV

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It was currently midnight.

The world around the redhead was quiet, asleep.

Kamlai, his so called step mother finally stopped the intense screaming session about him not fulfilling her expectations.

The days where his father had to leave for night shifts were the worst. Having to deal with the woman that was supposed to replace his mother made his blood boil.

Years ago, when his father - Masahiro - divorced his mother - Sayuri -, he couldn’t even get himself to change homes and leave one of his parents weekly.

He loved the fuck out of his parents. They were known as the “perfect family” in their small town. Both of his parents being happily married, often being overly cheesy in public places and always being seen going on dates even after their first child lead others to feeling jealousy. Their house always felt like a home. All feelings were validated, both the small and big ones. Being raised in a catholic family, He was taught to always pray about them if he ever felt like not telling his parents or friends. But he always felt safe sharing his troubles.

Until the letters containing big words and numbers started coming. He obviously has never known what they involved, being told that it’s adult business. His dinner plates became smaller each day even though he was growing bigger day by day. Clothes all fit tight even though his small body lacked the meat around his bones.

“Goddamnit Sayuri! These debts are about to leave us homeless and you're out here wasting money on buying alcohol rather than buying our son food to eat!” -the small ginger overheard his father scolding his mother, or well.. having an adult talk downstairs when they thought he was deep asleep.

Mom and dad both became angry at the world around them. And being a five year old boy, Chuuya didn’t understand why - God was with them at all times, wasn’t he?

Each time his mother caressed his pale skin, apologizing for all the nights he had to spend alone, without the comfort of the ones he loved the most, the reeking smell of alcohol haunted his nose. He hated that smell wholeheartedly. But his heart was too big to bear that much hatred. That disgusting stench that used to make him feel like puking, now softly caressed his throat with that specific burn that made him forget, just for a while. Each stolen bottle reminded him of the disgrace he had been. It’s obviously his fault that his parents divorced, isn't that right?

Now, he was sitting curled up against the bathroom door, the cold floor sending shivers up his spine. The bottle he chucked into his bag when he went to the corner shop now laid forgotten by his side. A disgrace is all he was now. He wasn't the smart sweet boy anymore.

Questioning his humanity was one of the most productive things he has done for the past few years - other than studying until his eyes couldn't comprehend the text before him. He wasn't living, he wasn't surviving. He was a programmed robot that followed orders and the same weekly schedules.

The cold breeze of the window he's cracked open now reached his warm but still trembling body. He knows that alcohol won’t fix the shattered pieces of…

Of his what?

His soul?

He’s not human enough to have one.

Maybe he can’t be fixed.

It’s obvious that monsters like him have no purpose but to ruin.

Ruin everything. Ruin everyone. Everywhere he has ever been, and everyone he has ever interacted with has been ruined in one way or another.

What’s his purpose anymore?

He only brings pain.

He only-

Suddenly his thoughts have been interrupted by a scream. A scream of his younger step sister. It’s only now that he has realized how hard he was clutching his hair. As he slowly lets go, a sharp burning wave of pain washes over him. Fuck. It was that type of pain that turned into a migraine sooner or later. Why was he like this?

A several minutes later, he decided to leave the room he physically and mentally trapped himself in. Hair in knots, clothes rumpled, and smelling exactly the way that makes him realize that he and his mother aren't all that different.

The floor was creaking under his weights, each step echoing through the walls of the eerily quiet house. Not a home. And it was his fault why such drastic change had happened. Each minute jailed in this place made him want to rip his hair out.

As expected, Kamlai - his stepmother - wasn't anywhere near the nursery of the small two year old. Her dark hair and tanned skin were the complete opposite of him. It felt quite melancholy at times. She was all he wasn't, was all that he wished he was. It didn't matter that she wasn't fathers, all that mattered was that she was different. That she wasn't Chuuya.

He braced himself before pushing the door handle slightly, the door becoming ajar. There she was in her beauty. With her soul so vulnerable that he had thought of stealing it in the past. Being thirteen, still reliving your parents divorce, wasn't the best time to bring him a sister, or any sibling for that matter.

Her eyes lit up as she saw him entering her room. As if the tears still streaking down her face were just an illusion. Deep in his heart - if he even had one, he developed some form of care towards the small brunette In front of him. The blood , that he wasn't very sure if it still flowed through his body, never ran cold around her, and he wasn't very sure that it ever will. And he hated that.

Mayumi flapped her tiny hands at her brother, who was more of a father at this point. He glanced at the small clock in the neatly painted pink room. It was almost two AM. School starts at seven. Might as well not sleep tonight, he thought to himself before lifting his sister, which he knew wouldn't fall back asleep too quickly.

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The class was loud, full of screams, laughters and useless conversations that won't be remembered in an hour. Except, surprisingly, Chuuya wasn't complaining. He loved disappearing the shithole he was supposed to call a home, even if it was just for a few hours at time.

Managing to be a part of a friend group usually made him feel overwhelmed in a way, considering that he wasn't all that social. But the sheep weren't just an ordinary friend group, they felt like family. Most of their town knew them as a “gangster group of teens”, although considering that not many knew that some were barely surviving he did not blame them for such accusations. They stole, they fought, and most importantly they helped the ones that needed it the most.

Chapter Text

3rd person Osamu POV

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He has always wanted to die.

But let's not get too ahead of ourselves.

He was a broken boy living in a family whose expectations weren't met when they first saw him. Mayumi - his older sister - was the perfect child. She had the perfect amount of emotions, and also had a perfect control of them. On the other hand, the small brunette boy seemed like a body with a soul trapped inside of it. Eyes dark as void but yet they still had the slightest flicker of life.

He had a difficult mind with a heavy heart, that he wasn't too sure if it still was beating. But to shorten who Osamu was, we wouldn't need to trouble our minds too much.

He was simply a vessel.

Nothing more.

Or that's what he would say. But deep inside, he knows that he's something much different.

Such a primitive thing as a vessel felt nothing. But he felt everything. His emotions were overflowing, dripping from the tips of his fingers. They were sticky and messy, just like honey, like blood.

He wishes to wrap his emotions around his fingers and pull them out. He would pull so hard, even if his ribs have broken, even if he had died.

The body that he possessed couldn't even be claimed as his. A body must belong to a soul. And his was so crushed, that most people said he didn't even have one. What a soulless little thing.

But to be honest, the brunette has never seen his body anything more than something he could mold or reshape, like a dough. If his inner self couldn't be perfect, then at least the outside part could fit some standards.

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His arm raised, twisting his wrist towards him. Five thirty eight AM it read. One hour and twenty two minutes until he had to drag himself into the hellhole called school. Not feeling like going back home today, his legs dragged him to his towns small park. All groups could be found there. Moms with their children, teenagers trying out their skateboards for the first time, and druggies sitting by the trees, attempting to get a break from their burdens just for a little while.

The park had always soothed him. Being so far away from the house where all he was was just a disappointment, not a son.

Sitting on a wet porch wasn't optimal, but he wasn't necessarily complaining too much. Anywhere was better than dealing with the raging fits of the woman he was supposed to be calling a mother. He may have a reputation of being an emotionless depressed cunt, but the constant blaming got on his nerves more than anything else.

The old wired headphones that were stolen from his sister a few years ago (that were now taped with cat washi tape due to accidentally cutting small pieces of them while attempting to make his hair look presentable) were currently playing, or more defined, blasting “First love/Late spring” by Mitski.

“And I was so young when I behaved twenty five. Yet now, I find I've grown into a tall child.”

Being in a child's body when his mind was more mature than the grown ups around him was frustrating. He was like an accidental extra piece of a puzzle, never fitting anywhere, nothing fitting with him. Faulty pieces like him were thrown away and forgotten about.

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“Goddamnit!” the brunette whisper-yelled to himself. The short little nap he was planning on taking turned into a three hour one. It was currently nine forty five AM, which meant that third period was just about to start and it wasn't really needed to feel the disgusting feeling of pure humiliation wash over him the moment he walks into the classroom late. He'd always hear crap like “I assume that killing yourself tonight hasn't worked yet?”. His face scrunched up from disgust. He hated when all eyes were on him. And he hated that he felt the feeling of hatred.

People yelled and turned around as he bumped into them, not wanting to waste a single second of time. If he had to be honest, his stamina was worse than an elderly person, but he obviously couldn't admit that in a situation like this.

Running up the stairs of his high school mid the ringing of the bell may just be more stressful than being caught doing drugs or smoking at ten years old. But that is a story for another day. The distraction he made for himself to not think of the most cardio he's done in years was enough to not remind him that there were still people in the halls.

“We have physics, the teacher is an old fuck, i still have around half a mi-” he started processing a thought that didnt last too long. One second he was running, now he was on the floor. He just crashed into someone - and definitely humiliated himself way more than if he just arrived late to class. Whichever God was out here wasn't on his side today, surely.

His dark empty voids that he possessed, rather than eyes, looked up at the person that just probably made Osamu their enemy, if he had not been one already.

His breath was quite stolen away from him. He swore that those were the most beautiful eyes the world had seen. And the ginger waves that were framing his face fell like water in a waterfall - they could've even resembled satin with how silky they looked. Who was just this boy? Maybe a new ki-?

“Oi prick! You need help getting up?”

Considering that he's only found drowning himself this appealing, he may need help getting up from how hard he just fell for a boy he has just met for the first time.