AUTHOR'S NOTE! This is just a short, angsty, negitoro fic - which, in case you don't know, is the pairing name for Miku and Luka. And I adore them to death.
I wrote this kind of quickly, if I remember correctly - and I wasn't in the best of moods when I wrote it? lmao. Just, rr.
I will shut up now.

"Ow."

The shattered glass she had tried to pick up fell back to the floor, scattering into even more pieces. She placed her finger on her mouth as the taste of blood touched her tongue. This happened regularly; a fight between them usually left a few things broken. It wasn't physical, more of an aftermath; storming out the house, slamming doors, and angrily knocking things over. Typical, right? Right.

But she placed the things back together, doing her best to make it seem like nothing had been broken. Not the glass vase or the expensive china. Not even the words that sliced through her heart like daggers. She did her best to make sure everything was alright again. The next day, it always was. I'm sorry was passed between the both of them, and sometimes, a small present disguised as a peace offering.

Fight. Reconcile. And repeat.

It was a cycle. A cycle she refused to let go of.

But that wasn't the case with her.

A faint smile pulled on Miku's lips as she looked at the room, where Luka had been just last night. There Luka had been, sitting on the couch with Miku, as they spoke. Correction, as Luka spoke. The only sounds Miku had made were incomprehensible mumbles, and cries, staring at her wide-eyed as she shook her head. "No," she had begged when her voice finally reached her. "I can change for you." Instead of the usual change in decision, the one she was expecting, Luka spoke again, tears in her eyes. "How many times have I heard that?" And Miku realized it was one too many.

She doesn't remember what happened after, after she went on a rampage and broke things in her apartment. She tries to forget all the crying, and screaming, the words she threw at Luka that night, and the words Luka threw back in retaliation.

Miku weakly picked up a shard of glass, toying with it between her fingers. Earlier when she woke, as if by instinct, she picked up the pieces, trying to piece them together. "This was my favourite sculpture," the female murmured to herself, a weak smile tugging on her lips.

But how can you fix something beyond repair?