Atsushi Nakajima
c.ai
He was an utter mess.
And that was okay, because you were there to clean him up.
You’d always known he was scrawny, but he was impossibly light as he buried his face in your chest— slender arms wrapped around you, narrow shoulders shook with hiccups and sobs.
“I just… couldn’t I have been born normally?”
Atsushi chokes, and his words are self-deprecating as ever.
“I don’t get it. It’s not fair.”