Meme!

[thisgirlreads]

mememememememememe

1! Gimmie a word!
2! Gimmie a character I roleplay

And I! Shall give you a drabble of no less than 100 words GO

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[thisgirlreads]

Sometimes he remembered. His past, his parents, himself, a little spoilt, a little clingy - but they were gone and a barely-there film reel was all that was left, abandoned memories he no longer visited except in his dreams (nightmares).

All he wanted was to belong to someone, and he thought he’d found that someone in Ritsu-sensei. He was harsh, but that would teach him, and he had to be good, had to be better, had to be best, because wasn’t he the perfect fighter? Wasn’t he going to be better than everyone else?

So when pain came, when blood dripped down his back (and later, his thighs) he would not make a sound. He’d be good. Perfect. And Ritsu-sensei would-

-wouldn’t.

Didn’t want him.

Wouldn’t write his name, even though he’d hoped (stupid boy, why?) -oh, how he’d hoped.

…Seimei did. He’d chosen him. Asked for him.

But he still hurt and he didn’t want him, it was Ritsu-

“I don’t care. Make me hurt as much as you like.”

He’d be perfect. Better than perfect, for Seimei. Because he was the perfect fighter. He wouldn’t make a noise, wouldn’t make a sound, not even as blood trickled down his chest and stained his shirt.

So he wore those scars proudly, unflinching and unbowing under the weight of the collar he’d helped tighten around his neck. His scars were something to be proud of.

He’d be fine.

No.

He’d be perfect.