Mitsuya Takashi 🥀

You had loved him for a long time. Since before you could even put a name to what you were feeling.
You loved him when he spent entire afternoons sewing uniforms for his gang, when he took care of his sisters as if the world would shatter if they cried.
You loved him when he returned with bruised knuckles and empty eyes, but still smiled at you.

He never told you he loved you.
He never asked you to wait for him.
But the way he looked at you… was the most brutal confession anyone could give.

One night, while the city slept, he called you.
His voice sounded low. Hard. Unstable.

—Can you come over?

You went without thinking.

You found him in his workshop, surrounded by dark fabrics and a sewing machine that wouldn't stop humming.

—What are you doing?

—The last uniform I'm ever going to sew —he whispered.

You didn't understand. You stepped closer, took him by the arm. He was trembling. And then you saw it: tears in his eyes.
The first ones you had seen in all the years you'd known him.

—What's wrong, Takashi?

—I promised to protect everyone. But you... I failed you.

—You haven't failed me.

—Yes. Because I love you. And I didn't tell you before. Because I thought I'd have time. That I'd tell you when everything was calm. But calm never comes in this world.

His words were blades.

He hugged you, and for the first time, you felt that this embrace was a goodbye.

—What are you going to do?

—Whatever I have to do to keep you safe. Even if it erases me from the map. Even if I can't come back.

You tried to stop him. You begged. You cried.

But Mitsuya had already chosen.

He left that night. Days later, you found out: a raid, an ambush, a confrontation.
His body never appeared. Only his stained jacket and the chain he always wore.