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[DAY FOUR: HANAHAKI]
Mika doesn’t ask for much. He never has. He’s a silent, willing doll, a pliant piece of clay to be molded in the hands of an apathetic artist, an overager puppet in the hands of an uninterested puppeteer. He’s long since abandoned his identity of a human in favor of being Shu’s doll, and yet—
He feels something thorny constricting his lungs — envy? — as Shu fawns over Nazuna across the room. Mika sits away from them, keeping his distance so as not to bother his Oshi-san, watching the two of them with an ice cold gaze that contrasts the burning hot anger welling up in his chest.
This always happens; the immense tidal wave of resentment and jealousy has become a familiar and unwelcome friend, but it’s been getting worse and more frequent as of late. He just hopes and prays to any gods that might be listening to his pathetic voice that Shu doesn’t notice; the last thing he wants is to further his failings as a doll. Dolls don’t want things, or think for themselves, or get so horribly, painfully jealous that they want to rip themselves apart at each of their ball-shaped joints.
The more Shu coos over Nazuna, the more it feels like Mika’s lungs are going to burst open in a gory symphony of screams that leave his throat raw. Unable to take any more, he dismisses himself from the room — not that Shu pays him any attention — and frantically runs to the bathroom to calm down.
It wasn’t always this bad. In fact, these episodes didn’t even happen until he began living with Shu, until he began gravitating towards him and was swept off his feet, just as a measly star is no match against the gravity of an overwhelmingly massive black hole.
Mika never stood a chance.
He locks himself in a bathroom stall and sits on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest and curling into a tightly-packed ball of failure and helplessness.
He hates this. He hates longing for someone out of his reach, someone who already has a perfect doll to sing the praises of. He hates Nazuna for being so flawless, for taking away his Oshi-san.
Above all else, he hates himself; he hates these unproductive feelings, he hates being so pathetic, he hates his fall into unrequited love, he hates, he hates, he hates—
A sudden, sharp pain pierces inside his chest, and suddenly he’s retching on all fours. He coughs and heaves until his throat is raw, his eyes shut tight with tears threatening to spill at any moment, a doll on the verge of shattering from the pressure. Anyone knows porcelain shatters under pressure; anyone should know that Mika is just as weak and feeble, his only rite to inheriting the title of “doll.”
When Mika opens his eyes, the floor beneath him is disgusting and vile, a testament to just how worthless he is. There’s a sizable puddle of blood splattered on the tiles like something out of a crime scene, with limp, bloodied flower petals mixed in. His eyes widen in horror at the realization, before an overwhelming feeling of helplessness settles over him, chilling his blood like the unwelcoming embrace of the black hole he’s willingly handed himself over to.
If Shu would be his undoing, the one grinding his delicate porcelain skin into dust… it was a downfall Mika would welcome with open, blood-stained arms.