Hello my dearest KdFd fans. I have returned with a new fic about this lovely couple, but I do have to warn you first.
I'm practising my writing and this will be kind of a heavy story. Maybe it's not really suited as fanfiction but I'll see you guys' reaction to it.
I'll be uploading the prologue and chapter one today. The fic is almost finished in my Word Documents so don't worry about my writer's block for this one, I worked really hard on this.

The parts written in Italic right under the date refer to Fudou's diary. In this chapter there will also be a few lines he's writing without a date but you'll see that once you start reading. It'll be a lot from (t)his perspective sometimes.

Please enjoy and leave a review.

Angel

Prologue

June 14, 2019

Dear diary, ––

Good afternoon dia—

Hello…

"Jesus fucking Christ." Fudou grabs the notebook and throws it with a rough gesture away from him. It flies several meters through the air until it gets stopped by the wall and bangs the ground with a loud thud. Of all the things, a diary, a motherfucking diary. He seriously couldn't come up with something better.

Fudou buries his hands in his half long hair and places his elbows on the table, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His hair is starting to grow again, about time; it's been over a half year since the last time he shaved it. It should be growing back to its usual length by now. It feels weird to have this whole head covered with hair again, it's been so long.

After sitting in the same position for a while he slowly opens his eyes and throws a quick glimpse to the direction of the notebook he bought a couple of weeks ago; on advice of his therapist.

Fudou lets out an unintentional groan. Therapist, how much he despises that word, and not just the word. He holds a grudge against that man himself as well. Blabbering like he understands him, pretending to listen and giving fucking worthless advice; like writing down how he feels in that fucking diary. Describing his emotions and how often he thinks back at it. Well like that is going to help him, reminding himself how horrible the time was he's been through the past year. Yeah, he really loves to think fucking back at the times he cried heavily and screamed loudly in pain, when he begged for someone to hear him, to help him. But no-one ever came, he was alone, abandoned, drowning in his own melancholy.

Until someone picked him up, at last, and put him back on his feet. He often wishes that didn't happen, he fantasises how it could have been if they had just let him demise out there. Then he wouldn't have to live with so much pain every single day. He wonders, or more, he doubts that this strong agony will ever vanish.

He lets out a sceptical laugh, it sounds hollow against the empty walls of his brand new house; an empty house full of awful memories and flashbacks.

"A new place, a new life, from now on things will only get better for us."

That was the biggest lie he had ever heard.

Fudou gets up from his chair and picks the diary from the ground. The pages look frightening empty, they're staring at him, enforcing him to grab a pen and write something down. This is insane; it must be that therapist's doing.

A powerful sensation of rage takes over his body; he rips out the first daubed page, takes his pen and begins to write.

Hello you fucking piece of worthless diary,

There, that feels a lot better. It's his diary so he can treat it the way he fucking wants to treat it. To hell with that therapist.

I feel like a complete mess, not very different from the other day, but, I have to start somewhere.

Why am I writing this down you think? Because a bunch of useless, fucking idiots thinks I need it. Or else I can't keep my life on the rails, thinking I'd hurt myself or something. Yeah right.

I mentioned once, fucking once, to my therapist that I wrote a couple of things down during that period and the genius comes up with making a diary about how I feel every day. Yeah well, like that's going to fucking help me. He can't even come up with his own goddamn ideas.

Fudou puts the pen down and looks at the crappy handwriting and the angrily written words. This could be better, he knows he can do better. Somewhere hidden in a box in his closet lays the result of several months writing out nothing but pain and memories. He put it in a box he found while cleaning out their old apartment, it belongs to him and his fancy new shoes. He was so happy with the burgundy red pair of Bruno Magli.

Fudou decided it would be the perfect place to hide some of their memories in since the shoes spent more weeks in that box than that he actually wore them. When Fudou asked why he wouldn't just fucking wear them he answered with something like that it would be a waste of the expensive shoes, what if something would happen to them?

Yeah, what if. It were just shoes in his eyes, who the fuck gets worked up over shoes? His boyfriend would, obviously, but he didn't fucking think of that when he tried them on and spilled some cheap beer on it later that day. He thought for a brief moment that if he'd just put them back where they belonged his boyfriend wouldn't even notice, but the look in his lover's eyes explained all the pain and love he felt towards those shoes when he entered the living room. Against Fudou's expectations his boyfriend had brushed it off and told him that he was right. It were just shoes anyway, he could replace them any time.

Fudou doesn't want to; he's not ready yet but his legs won't stop. He feels like he has no control over his own body, it's completely moving on its own. Fudou stops resisting when he opens the door of his huge closet. Something they made because they thought they'd need it in the future. He already protested, like he'd wear that much clothes but yeah, that's what you get when your partner is a fucking vain dork.

He holds the little black notebook in his hands. It looks like it's been used many times and then tossed away into a corner. That's pretty much what happened to it too, put away in a corner with his deep, dark memories.

His intentions were to maintain it there, never open it again. Hopefully never think of it again but it couldn't be like that. He can't even keep his own promises.

Fudou lets himself fall on his bed and begins to read. It starts somewhere when he was in his last year of high school around the age of sixteen, when he was still happy. He somehow started to write down his feelings in there, it was more of a joke at first but later he realised he actually felt lonely and had no-one to share his thoughts with. Yeah, of course he had friends; he wasn't a loner. It just never crossed his mind that he would feel the need to share his sensitive emotions with someone, but apparently even a man feels the need to talk about feelings related stuff sometimes.

September 20, 2010
Broke up with Shinobu today, what a pain. She kept complaining about how I spend more time with Kidou than with her. I'm done with her anyway, the flat-chested bitch. I'm working damn hard for my money and she expects me to buy her lunch and dinner, gifts for stupid anniversaries and go to the movies. She says that's what boyfriends do, well if they do then I don't want to fucking be a boyfriend. It was way more fun when we were still screwing around anyway. Guess I'll miss the sex with her, but not like we still did it that often.

Kidou on the other hand seems to be spending more and more time with that one-eyed jerk lately. Che, what's so good about him? He's boring, annoys the fuck out of everyone and thinks he knows everything better. Who wants to spend his time with a wiseacre rather than with me? Jerk.

October 29, 2010
Had a small talk with Kidou today, it was going pretty well until those fucking friends of his had to interrupt us again. "What are you talking about?" That's none of your fucking business. But Kidou doesn't mind, he doesn't even notice that I don't want them around. Yeah sure, go ahead. I'll be fine alone.

November 5, 2010
That's it, I'm done with this. The only things Kidou ever talks about are soccer, strategies and school work. I'm giving up, like I want to go out with such a loser. This is useless, I quit.

December 22, 2010
We kissed! This is fucking unbelievable! It even sounds terribly romantic. School organised some kind of prom and I only went to show one Takanishi Shinobu that I look damn hot in a tuxedo (I borrowed it). She was way too busy flirting with other guys, it made me sick. The party was dull anyway so I went outside for a smoke and, there he was. He looked handsome, like, fucking, seriously handsome. Thought he was going to complain about the smoke, he hates it when I do it in his presence but he actually asked me if we could share one. We were standing quietly in the snow and when I wanted to pass him the cigarette he kissed me instead.

It was a good kiss, we started slow but eventually we were lip biting and hair pulling. A kiss has never felt so good and intense to me before, not just the kiss, everything he does feels so fucking good. The way his fingers run through my hair, the light squeezes he gives me in my arm when he needs to breathe, the way his body responds to my touch. I think I could be doing this with him for like forever. I think I found a new kind of addicting drug. Addicted to Kidou.

Fudou couldn't remember that he described the way they kissed so detailed back then. This has always been his deepest secret, no-one's allowed to know about it, it would ruin his reputation.

He skips a few pages ahead, almost everything is in there; their first date, their casual talks, his jealousy, exploring each other's bodies, finals, their summer together, fights, their first time, college. They both enrolled to a university where they could combine their studies with soccer, they had been through so much together already when their lives started for real and they stayed together all this time. When they bought their first apartment together, Fudou really thought nothing could shred them apart anymore.

But shortly after, their lives fell apart.