Work Text:
March 2019
He didn’t know who he’d be. He didn’t know. He felt under, worthless. Pathetic.
Middle school was harsh on him and he was harsh on it. He wanted to die for even being so rude, ever.
So he did.
In the morning a new Shuichi woke up. One that didn’t die. Because really. it was stupid of him. To overdose on melatonin. stupid stupid stupid. all the things he’d say to himself, all the things.
Maybe I am a sinner, he wanted to be held in someone’s arms. Maybe I am hopeless, he couldn’t decide anything. Maybe I am ungrateful, he couldn’t even like the body he was born in.
He was nothing, he would say. Nothing. Nothing, nothing.
June 2021
The clouds looked like stars.
They were scattered and small, bright white against the deep-blue sky.
Shuichi couldn’t sleep. Neither could Kaede, not that Kaede even could…. They were both glued to their phones in frantic desperation one for the other. Kaede wanted to be dead. Shuichi’s ‘job’ was to keep that from happening. It was a disgusting cycle.
Shuichi’s eyes would slide over the screen word after word, sweat pouring out of his eyes, shaking in every fiber of his soul.
“I want to be dead,” Kaede would say.
“It’s too much, it’s all too much. there’s no hope.” Kaede would say.
Every time Shuichi saw the little typing icon his stomach would heave, he could barely bear it.
October 2021
The sunset was idyllic.
Waking up is a tricky thing. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, there’s everything wrong with it.
In the mornings sometimes Shuichi’s limbs don’t feel like his own. He can feel them and move them but can he? Can he really? The question lingers in his mind like a strong scent, mind-twisting and overwhelming.
Yesterday Kaito had a headache like that. From too strong a scent. It made Shuichi cry. He felt helpless toward his friend. He couldn’t do anything.
May 2022
The sky was yellow;
I cried. I keep remembering what Kaito said, I’m sorry, he said. I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have been apologizing, after all.
Shuichi’s the one who left.
“I laid my arms down to rest and sat, at some point I could feel their weight. The bones and muscles I could feel, in each of the nerves I knew were my own I felt nothing, I knew nothing.”
He hated when that happened…
June, June, June.
Was it June? Was it? No. No, it wasn’t.
“I was listening to music, it was sad music.”
He had a dream he would say. Of residential he would say. Was that a lie? Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He could never type some words enough, it felt as if his thoughts could never be understood unless he typed maybe hundreds of more times, thousands, infinite maybes. The world would boil over with thick liquid ink screeching out perhaps and maybe and partials and the thick ink would choke him, clog his throat, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Death is a good friend, and we talk often.”
I exist, I exist, I exist, Flatsound he’d hum. It wouldn’t make him feel any better.
Kokichi has it bad, his father called him a feminine whore. He cried into Rantaro’s shoulder.
Rantaro understood, he understood, he understood, HE UNDERSTOOD. Shuichi would shout and shout and shout and shout. It never felt like enough, even when his pillow got wet from spit it was never enough.
He was going to the counselor’s office next hour. His stomach hurt. He had given away his food at flex.
To Rantaro and Kokichi.
Of course.
“Sometimes I think”
((little talks, of monsters and men))
He would think, think think think tinnk htink tikntk tihnkt t ikj t tihjt jkt k
Into ruin and ruin.
Kokichi and Rantaro, Rantaro and Kokichi.
Kaito. Kaito. Kaito. Kaito and Kiibo. Kiibo, Kiibo, Kiibo… Kaito and Kiibo.
June 2022
Still June. June just started. June was the anniversary. June and July, they were both anniversaries.
It felt like the summer was just shuffling between bed, the couch, and Shuichi's desk.
Felt. Was.
They were good friends.
Was Shuichi just not being open to accept friends or were they not open to accept him? Nobody would know.
Nobody. would. know.
He dented the wood with his nails as he lay in bed. His teeth could bend the wood too. interesting. not really but okay.
HE HATES
He hates he hates he hates he hates. He hates the way people make him feel. He hates the way he looks. He hates his family, he loves his family. He hates his friends, he loves his friends. He hates. He loathes. He despises. He hates, he hates, he hates.
He would sit and build his own Minecraft pity party while listening to sad music on loop.
A minecraft pity party, because really, who would want to hang out with Shuichi?
He should have been the one last year, the one who tried to die.
He deserves it.
He deserves it.