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Last night was terrifying, Yuga would admit. He doubts anyone wouldn’t be scared by it…
Even this morning, in the light of day ( that should be safe, he begs. clinging to some child-like belief that monsters can’t come into the light, that they’re stuck in the dark ), Yuga just couldn't stop seeing it out of the corner of his eye , seeing that thing -
( -His vision was filled with meat and blood, arms and legs and heads, and wide eyes seeing everything and nothing-
- He can feel the eyes of this thing on him, the knowing gazes of the audience - )
-..seeing those things . So he’d decided to take a walk, despite the downpour of rain, icy when it hit his skin and sending jolts up and down his body. The pitter-patter of the rain against his umbrella was soothing to his frayed nerves, and nice to listen to while he travelled the vast area that was the UA grounds.
He walks aimlessly, dearly hoping that the things, the horrible creatures (could they even be called creatures? Was that a creature? or was it something more? some horrible thing he couldn’t and never would understand-) wouldn't come back tonight and continue to antagonise him. What would he even do if they did? What would they do? They had already taken his security and his sanity, what next? What if-
A splash behind him tears him out of his thoughts as he whips around to find the source of the sound. It’s going to be them , he thinks frantically, they’ve come to finish me off.
But it’s just a frog. Sitting on the pavement, it wore a silly smile. And Yuga feels silly for jumping, for being so startled ( -they stare, and Yuga stares right back - ) by a frog .
“Bonjour!~” He tells the little critter, crouching down gently, not even caring when his knees touch the wet floor, staining his clothing, “What are you doing so far from a pond, mon ami? So far from your home, are you lost?”
The frog doesn’t respond, for it’s a frog ( it’s so mundane that Yuga feels relieved, just… just a normal thing. That’s what he needed, after the writhing flesh and the eyes oh god he wasn’t real nothing was real and they all stared and- ) and Yuga giggles to himself.
The frog croaks, and Yuga can’t help but laugh again ( it’s just a frog! it’s fine, it’s fine, he’s fine-) , “Oui, oui, bonjour! How are you, Monsieur Frog?”
The frog hops a little closer, and Yuga feels tempted to reach a hand out and pet it. But he faintly remembers reading somewhere that it can dry out the skin of the frog ( and his hands still feel filthy, he’d scrubbed himself clean after those things had finally left- but he felt it still, horrible awful writhing textures on his skin ) so he keeps his hands away from the small friend.
“Do you have a home nearby, hm?” He asks, “A pond with frog friends? That must be nice, to be a frog.”
A life so simple… Yuga would pray for one, but he’s- he’s not sure there is one, not for him. If there is, he doesn’t think he wants to know, because the knowledge it was out there would surely drive him mad. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to even know about it, doesn’t deserve knowledge. That’s too dark for him, so he laughs.
He continues to laugh to himself, finding it amazing how something so simple can make him think so much, it was only a frog . Nothing that should cause too much thought. But it did. Making his hands shake, clammy with sweat and sending tingles up his spine making him almost regret the decision of leaving his room at all.
"I am talking to a frog, mon ami… Am I going crazy?" he mutters to himself, now wondering about his own sanity. He decides to leave the frog behind, to continue his aimless wandering like walking far enough will reset his brain, turn him back into the Aoyama Yuga who didn’t know too much and didn’t talk to frogs and was fine and happy .
Jumping at the sound of movement returning, he slowly shifts his head in the direction of the noise. His eyes widened in fear before he could even process what was going on, and he knew he was going to see something that had been there at the foot of his bed, terrorising him. His body was shaking, his legs weakening at the thought of what it could be. Now regretting even starting to turn around, he holds his breath. Only to see the frog that was…
...sitting.
It was sitting, just as much a frog as it had always been. Just a regular amphibian, staring at him with eyes that couldn’t understand Yuga and never would.
There were no strange shapes in the trees ( The something wipes his tears away with its frigid, moisture-laden hand ), no wriggling figures with all the intention of eating him ( - and the writhing mass of limbs twitching and pulsating is driving him mad- ).
Just a frog on the ground and Aoyama Yuga.
Oh god, he was going insane, wasn't he?
Yuga, with nothing else to do, his mind drawing a complete and total blank ( besides those thoughts, those memories he dearly wished were a dream, some horrible imagined experience fuelled by eating something strange or reading too much horror or something ), he tilts his head back and laughs.
He laughs and laughs and laughs ( they were looking, they were watching, they want this from him, don’t they? They want him to snap, to go wild. Because he’s just entertainment for them, isn’t he? ) and it bubbles out of him like a bottle of champagne shaken too much. He hardly registers when the laughing turns to sobs, deep racking sobs that blurred his vision and made it feel like he was drowning.
( Wasn't it so terrible of him to wish that the figure was here to soothe him? It wanted nothing but pain from him, like some twisted sadist from the beyond, and yet he wanted it so bad right now, wanted the hand on his cheek that rubbed away his tears because it was better than nothing ).
At some point, he realises he’s on the ground, completely and utterly soaked, water pooling in his umbrella by his side. In the umbrella is the frog, swimming silly little circles in the makeshift pond created by his flooded umbrella.
He wants to be some carefree animal sometimes, like a frog. Especially right now, as he wiped away his tears with a drenched dress shirt that was practically transparent by now. Just a petit frog, swimming around and hopping from lily pad to lily pad. Splish-splash, splish-splash.
( -They stare, and Yuga stares right back- )
Yuga laughs once more and ignores the way it brings more tears to his eyes, lifting himself up on shaky legs. Instead of hurrying inside, to dry off and avoid getting a cold, Yuga decides to grab the umbrella's handle and carry it away. The frog, curious as always (so unafraid, did it even know what was happening? Did it know what he was?) pulls itself up to the edge of the umbrella, croaking at him once and looking ahead.
He'd find some place to put it, he decides, somewhere sheltered where it could rest. Then it could go to a place it belonged. Unlike him, who was so horribly out of place anywhere he went.
(He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, so horribly aware of the blood rushing through his body and the beating behind his ribs. Maybe some people would find comfort in this, a reminder they’re still alive and that despite the things that have happened to them, they are still alive. But to Yuga, it seems like a taunt. You aren’t dead, his heart tells him with malicious intent, you aren’t dead and this will continue until you are.)