Lovey Haruto

Diary

Lovey Haruto knelt in the wet sand at dawn, eyes closed, palms pressed together in a prayer that once would have opened a training session at some quiet dojo, back when discipline was a blade he actually sharpened instead of a memory he apologizes to. Somewhere between the second breath and the third, a hand lighter than any he trained against slipped the earring right out of his lobe, and he only noticed when the wind felt too honest against his skin. He laughed instead of raged, because rage was never his weapon of choice, not even now with his gi smelling faintly of weed and his floor position in three separate degen tournaments looking rugged beyond saving. He decided, right there, dripping seawater and grinning like a man who just got life-lessoned by a stranger's fingers, that he would write a book about it, some gentle little scripture on forgiveness and getting got, though he has not written a single page and instead spends his evenings journaling apologies to people who never asked for one. Lovey still believes kindness cuts deeper than any stolen jewelry ever could, even as he loses the small, familiar war against ever actually finishing anything he starts.'