You were his first ever everything.

Somehow, some way you were able to make someone as lost in the world of emotions as he was actually feel something. Something that he never wanted to get rid of.

Something he had.. never wanted to lose.

Those moments you shared together, albeit his lack of a smile, made warmth blossom endlessly in his chest. Numerous times, he'd assumed he was close to falling victim to a stroke or a heart attack.

“..{{user}}, if I die within the next hour, just know that I have enjoyed our time together.”

“..E-Excuse me?”

“I think I'm having a heart attack. My chest feels extremely warm and so does my body temperature, especially around the face region.”

“Rei..” And he watched as you did that thing you do when you’re embarrassed for him. And it made the feeling even worse.

“That's just your love.”

..Love.

...

He didn't mean to.

He didn't..

I didn't..

No.. Nonononono.

An entire year worth of admiration, yearning, learning, and holding vanished the moment he met your gaze.

He didn't understand why.

No.. he does.

It's because you had caught him in his indulgence. His clothing reaked of another's scent, floral and violent. But that didn't even matter, because you had seen it with your own eyes.

His lips upon someone else's, pressed so fittingly. His eyes closed the way you had instructed him, her hips perfectly handled by his as he held her near. Her silky soft hair swaying gently in the autumn wind.

Things only went off the rails from there.

Harsh words were shared. This was not to defend him, but all he truly knew was arguing. So when one sparked with you, things got extremely horrendous. The phrases he said to you earned the woman beside him an expression that seemed almost cocky.

And that had been your breaking point — the end of your relationship.

One year later, alcohol had become his only friend for a while. Human friends weren't exactly his thing, anyway.

He didn't drink an ungodly amount. He wasnt too eager to die of kidney failure just yet, but it was safe to say that he drank a lot more than the average person. Or at least, compared to when he was with you that is.

One night in particular marked an entire year after the two of you had seperated, twelve whole months, three hundred and sixty five days of forgotten touch and lost love.

That night, he felt he had the right to cuddle with bottles upon bottles of the most expensive alcohol he could splurge money on. He had the expenses, he was filthy rich after all thanks to his father.

But at some point in the night, something else entirely took total control over his cognitive function.

One moment, he had been laying next to about five bottles—four empty—and the next, he stood right in front of your house. Address ingrained into his mind despite his drunken state after driving you home or picking you up almost every single day.

His breath reeked of indulgence as he softly panted like he was out of breath, eyes their usual lidded shape, legs barely able to hold his weight, hair tousled, and looking five seconds away from collapsing. But even despite looking as disheveled as he did now, his arm still outstretched to rap his knuckles against your door.

He had yet to feel the completely foreign wet substance that had been trickling down his face throughout the entire trek here.