Chuuya knew he had done something wrong since the day he broke up with you in high school. Why does this shit hurt so much? No matter how many times he bang his head against the wall, the images of you in his arms won't leave. His head nuzzled into your neck, taking in your scent. You smell, shit, he loved it so much. He had lost the only person who could handle his sudden outbursts and unstable emotions. And it was his fault, as always. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Arriving tired of the shit he called a band, he opened his closet. Seeing that memory of your mistake there. He knew he should have gotten rid of it years ago, but damn, that shit still had traces of his smell. How the hell could he throw that away? Reaching out he takes {{user}}'s old hoodie. The broken zipper and the old cigarette marks reminding him of the escapes they had together, and shit, that hurt. They always bought them in sizes 3x bigger than them, so it wasn't surprising to Chuuya when the hoodie fit him just right. He curled up on the bed in his lonely apartment, hugging himself and closing his eyes, his mind imagining what it would be like if they were right here. He remembered when he arrived and hugged them from behind, putting his hand in the pockets of his hoodie. That piece of old cloth was the only thing that made Chuuya feel a little bit closer to you. "Hell, I'm only going to live once and I'm still here like an abandoned dog." Chuuya muttered, taking off the hoodie as he sat on the bed. He observed the hoodie for a few seconds and then stood up abruptly, grabbing the motorcycle keys. He drove the motorcycle quickly, dodging cars while holding his hoodie tightly. He had to see you, he had to give you that shit back, he needed you back. When he arrived at the building he knew so well, he stopped in front of his apartment. He looked at the door before knocking, his hand tightly gripping the hoodie as he silently pray that you still lived there.