IM IN PAIN PLS - Tumblr Posts

for @tetsvhoe ’s please don’t say you love me collab (angst)

kiyoomi watches as his daughter’s hand holds yours, clutching tightly onto your shirt as she stares up at him with wide eyes.

and they’re disappointed.

he feels a hole rip itself into the middle of his heart, and he wonders how he’d let it get this far. how something as familiar as family has become so distant, he doesn’t know where he lies or what his part is anymore. he’s held her hand so many times, helped her waddle through her first steps, walked her to school on her first day, played with her in the backyard through afternoon adventures.

and suddenly, she’s too far from his grasp.

he’s held yours so many times, through first dates and rough days, through happy moments and random spurs of clinginess, through self doubts and even just simple mornings laying together. you’ve always been there, just a simple reach away, your fingers connecting with his just like the strings of your hearts, interlacing and becoming one.

and you’ve been reaching, trying to grasp him desperately, but he’s never reached back.

“the papers will be sent to you by my lawyer soon. and—”

he cuts you off with wet eyes and wobbly lips, with his heart shattered and ruined and ugly, but he offers it to you anyway because kiyoomi’s willing to give you all he has—every fiber of his being, even if it’s not enough.

“please, don’t go,” he croaks, and suddenly, he notices how the paint on the walls of your house—the ones you’d happily painted together after your marriage—is chipping by the front door.

he hadn’t noticed the cracks before now.

kiyoomi’s begging you through his eyes—they’re dark and obsidian, but you find a way to make them shine a warm brown in the middle, and he can’t lose that. he’s desperately trying to get you to see his heart and soul, that they’re yours. he presses them to your hands, and he craves the safety they bring, but somehow the home he’s found in you is desolate of its usual warmth.

“kiyoomi—”

“i’m omi. you…i’m your omi,” he whispers, his voice cracking in the middle. and then his eyes drop to her, the sweet voice in his dreams, the giggles in the mornings, the hugs after work, the goodnight kisses and bedtime story cuddles and the bridge to his future, they’re all in her. “princess, where…where are you going?”

“we’re going on a trip,” she whispers. “just us two. ‘cause you’re never here, daddy.”

and finally, finally, kiyoomi’s breath stutters as he chokes on a sob—the family he’s been searching for his whole life, the one he’s built with his own hands, is falling apart from the seams.

and on any other day, though his hands are callused, they’re also warm, and you hold them anyway. but he’s a phantom now, the ghost feeling of his touch just a lost memory, an old engraving in your brain.

“y/n, you can’t do this,” he sobs, the tears streaking down his face and collecting at his chin. he’s never wanted his daughter to see him like this, but his world is being plucked from his hands and he’s got no other place to call home. “you can’t! you… you just can’t—”

“and why not, kiyoomi?” you raise your voice, and your daughter flinches slightly. the shattered remains of his heart all but disintegrate at the sight. she’s too good for this world, too good to witness this—this mess he’s created. “why the hell not? tell me something, kiyoomi. would you even realize we’re gone? huh? would you? it’s not like we’re a part of your daily routine anymore. you wouldn’t feel a thing if we walked out this door.”

he wishes he could show you, physically offer you the scene of his heart wilting the second your foot would step out the door, but he can’t, and he’s at a loss.

“of course i would! what are you saying? why wouldn’t i feel anything? you’re my whole life!” you laugh, and it’s bitter, there’s not a trace of humor, but he still feels helpless at the sound. it rings off the chipped paint of the walls and mocks him.

“you have one hell of a way of showing it,” you sneer.

and with a shaky whisper of “i love you, i love you both,” he reaches out, but you step back and your daughter is tugged along.

he offers you the words you’ve desperately tried to hear through the echoes of your memory, but they’ve become as far away as your husband himself, and you don’t care for them now.

“don’t say that now,” you whisper. “please don’t say you love me now.” and with a sigh, you straighten your shoulders, almost like you’re rolling the remnants of his love off your body. “the divorce papers will be sent to you, and we’ll handle how often our daughter gets to see you at court. but don’t contact me.” and he sinks to his knees when he hears the door slam shut, wishing he’d said i love you just once when you needed it most.