𝐒𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 - ★彡[ᴀʟʜᴀɪᴛʜᴀᴍ]彡★

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌.𝐉𝐏𝐆

TW: SUICIDE

If this topic triggers you in any way, please skip this part. I can provide a brief summary at the beginning of the next chapter. This chapter could potentially be very triggering to some people who have witnessed someone else's death, so please skip this part if you feel like there's a chance that this topic could upset you.

Please refrain from making any jokes about sensitive subject matter as it could potentially be harmful to victims who've survived these experiences. This is relevant to the story and this chapter wasn't made for fun, I understand that this is a very sensitive topic. I know that this is a romance fanfic but I wanted to give more insight into Alhaitham's character in this book so that readers can catch a glimpse of the truth of the situation (although several elements are yet to be incorporated into the story as of yet).

My goal is to find a healthy balance between romance and plot, as I'm sort of writing this not just as a romance fanfic but more as just a fanfic with an actual story (unlike some of my other works which were mainly centered on romance). I hope you all will stick with me as I try this approach! There will still be lots of romance though as I heavily like Alhaitham's character. I'll also make a Christmas special hopefully ^

Sorry for the long starting note-- Art in this chapter is made by me however it was heavily referenced from "How to Get My Husband on My Side."

A final warning to please proceed with caution. :) <3, Wasabi

Under the light of the moon, a little boy went out to a meadow. The stalks of wheat and weeds blew and intertangled themselves in fluent threads of yellow. Every once in a while the strand would tickle his nose causing him to irritably rub his nose. He pushed on through the plants that were so tall he practically couldn't see where he was going. Despite this, the little boy knew the exact right direction to go in that would lead him towards his mother. He could feel her presence like a sweet scent on the wind, driving him forward. After walking through this meadow dozens of times, the little boy knew where to jump over the divets in the ground and where to avoid each rock so he wouldn't stub his toe.

He called out for his mother over and over as he grew closer to her, yet she didn't respond. It was strange. His mother was always here at this time of day and made sure to reply to him without fail. Carrying his lantern in one hand, he used the other to push through the fronds as he grew progressively more frantic with his movements. The little boy felt a sense of dread, his senses screaming at him that there was something wrong. A ringing sound came into his ears like chalk scraping on a whiteboard, suddenly felt as if he was growing further away from his mother with each step he took. He felt as if he were suffocating as he continued to move forward through a never-ending battalia of stalks. Moving forward, closer and closer and closer still, the boy felt like he was dragging his feet through cement. The hand holding his lantern began to shake as fear settled its claws around his neck, digging into his skin. After what seemed like forever, he smelled a strange scent in the air. The little boy knew that he was close to his mother now. Just a few more steps and he would finally reach her and run into her arms and cry like a child.

The little boy was scared. He subconsciously clutched the gemstone on his shoulder that his mother had given him, its vibrant shade of green glimmering in the light.

The little boy recognized the stench that reeked in the air: stank and repugnant like an animal's urine. He suddenly felt suffocating and heavy. He suddenly felt light and free.

The little boy took a step through the foliage and saw his mother.

. . .

"Interesting," they flipped the photo around and found that there was no note on the back except for the date when the photo had been taken, "so they even set that up. How horrific."

They leaned back for a moment. How grotesque-to think that they would include a photo of the suicide...

"You can't help but feel bad for the child. Right, ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄?"

But as expected, there was no response.