Work Text:
The concrete beneath him is grounding, and the wind helps to stave away the nausea and lightheadedness that came from moving too abruptly. Reki was running aimlessly, the flashing of car headlights and streetlamps passing him by. There was no chance of going home, Cherry was probably on the phone with his mom right now, or he would be soon.
Reki didn’t want to talk about anything anymore for the day. For the week. Hell, for the rest of his life, maybe.
Sitting in an alleyway between closed shops, Reki let himself sink into the shadows and focused on catching his breath. The throbbing in his head had subsided for now, but he knew he’d pay for it later. There was no escaping the headaches, annoying, though manageable.
It was a cold night and the harsh heat from earlier that day was almost imaginable. He silently cursed the fact that Langa still had his hoodie.
Reki groaned, realising that his phone was also in his hoodie, meaning that he'd be bored for as long as he was gone.
Well, at least I can stew in my thoughts, Reki thought to himself, sarcastically. It never ends well when he gets like this. When he feels the pressure building in his head and his chest starts feeling like it’s going to collapse from the amount of pain that comes in neverending waves.
He already knows how the night is going to end. The numbing itch in his arms and the steady growth of both numbness and overwhelming heaviness in his chest means that he’d need some form of release when he gets home. Maybe before that, who knows?
Everyone was bound to know how useless, worthless, and burdening he was. Maybe it’d make things easier, even.
But no, he had to stick it out a few hours more. There’s no way his mom would be sleeping any time soon, and the last thing he needs is a barrage of even more questions. Deep down though, deep down he knows it’s out of love and concern. But still, was it really so bad?
If he destroys himself, then others won’t have to do it for him.
People don’t need to tell Reki what he already knows. He’s all too aware of the way all his weight sits on his body, how inadequate he is at skating, how disgusting his body looks (he may as well make it worse right? covered in cuts and bruises and burns and scars, there isn’t much of a difference).
Reki knows.
He knows about all of the comments and glances he gets, how the class delinquent is rubbing off on the pretty new kid, how he’s getting him into trouble and bringing him down with him. He knows about the way the teachers click their tongues at him, not even bothering to scold him for missing assignments and homework, because it’s the usual (they don’t see how Reki spends hours trying to focus on the jumbled words in front of him, legs tapping and chewing on his already bruised and bleeding lips, just trying to focus so he could retain some- any of it), right?
Reki hears the sighs from his parents when they see his grades. Because where did my smart little boy go? He used to be so good at school! Oh dear, what happened?
Reki’s just a disappointment. He’s unattractive and unappealing and too loud— too fucking loud all of the time, why can’t he just shut up? Why can’t he just be what everyone wants? And he’s average, mediocre at everything he gets his hands on. He takes up hobbies and drops them and he can try so many things, but he’ll never be good enough at any of them.
Reki will never be good enough.
And now- now everyone knows he isn’t good enough.
Because he resorted to breaking himself down in an attempt to rebuild everything that he is, and they’ll all know soon enough. They’ll try to help him— not that he needs any help, he’s doing perfectly fine— and they’ll waste their time, because he can’t be helped. He can’t be fixed.
Everyone will learn just how fucking broken Reki is, and they’ll leave him. They’ll all leave him and then he’ll be alone, he’ll be alone and broken and dying.
Dying—
Ah.
Well, if all his friends and family were going to leave him anyways, why doesn’t he just do it before them?
Reki stood up, ignoring every single protest that his body had, and set off for his house.
Reki slid the window to his room open slowly, careful of any sounds it’d make. He knew his way around this, sneaking out and sneaking in. Thank the amount of times he’s snuck out for S for that.
This time is different, though. His door was closed, but he could see the hallway light on, a tell-tale sign that his mom was still awake. His heart clenched, knowing his poor mom was probably worried sick. Without a doubt, Cherry had called her and gave his side of the story.
As quick as the guilt came, it filtered back out, replaced by the security of the fact that no one would have to worry like this over him tomorrow. They wouldn’t have to deal with him, put up with stupid tangents and— well, anything else.
Reki’s arms itched, his body burned with the need to do something. Underneath the piles of skateboard magazines he had, was the promise of release. He quietly reached under the pile, catching onto the tissue the small blade was wrapped with. Cool to the touch, he knew it was the only thing that would satisfy his needs right now.
Wanting to spare his mom from too much cleanup, he tossed random pieces of clothing and towels he had laying on the floor underneath himself. Hey, he may be a horrible son, but he could at least try.
The first cut was shallow, barely drawing any blood, and it infuriated him. Why couldn’t he do this right either? In a fit of frustration, Reki let his hands move of their own free will, slicing and cutting every which way. Arms, legs, stomach—all of it was red by the time he dropped the blade, chest heaving. Everything burned and turning one way or another made pain shoot throughout his body. The headache was back, and Reki wasn’t sure if the nausea was from the lack of food in his body, or from the loss of blood.
Oh, right—blood. He’s surrounded by it now, sitting criss-crossed atop many articles of clothing and towels, all stained red as it continued to pour from his body.
Finally, finally, Reki was done. This was the end, he didn’t need to destroy himself anymore for a false sense of being enough . He didn’t need to fast or purge, he didn’t need to throw on his biggest smiles to appease those around him, he didn’t need to do any of it.
Unable to keep sitting upright, Reki lowered himself onto his back. He brought an arm up to his head, resting it over his damp eyes. And ah, so he was crying after all. Well, shit.
Silently, Reki wondered how everybody would react to his death. Sure, he wanted to believe that none of them would care. He wanted to believe that they’d shake their heads, muttering low Finally, he’s gone ‘s and moving on with their life.
But shit, he knows that’s stupid. Reki has wonderful friends, and a loving family. Deep down, somewhere beneath all of the sadness and depressive spiralling thoughts, Reki knows they’d all be devastated.
His mom would cry. She’d probably be the first to find him, all bloodied and cold and lifeless . Reki’s mom is good, loving, and so kind. She’d be sobbing over his dead body, begging and wishing for her baby boy to come back. His dad would probably be at work, and he’d have to take days—weeks even—to recover from the death of his only son, his wonderfully creative and bright son.
Koyomi would kill him, call Reki stupid for keeping everything to himself, for not asking for help. Reki lets a sad laugh escape, thinking about how mature Koyomi acts, but she’d break down sobbing, curling around him like she did whenever she woke up from a nightmare and Reki had to coax her back to sleep. But Koyomi is strong, and she’d help the twins understand his death in the future, at least.
Reki knows his friends would be upset, maybe not at him— though his brain keeps telling him that he’s not good enough for them, he’s not a good friend, he shouldn’t even be around so many talented people— but they’d be upset that they couldn’t do anything.
Langa especially would be heartbroken. They’re best friends, they tell each other everything. Except, Reki didn’t tell him about this. About all of the ways he’s been hurting. And Reki wishes he could’ve, silently hoping that someone would see how fake his smiles were, how he’s been going silent in conversations more often lately.
And man, Reki was going to miss Langa. But he’d find a new best friend, someone better than Reki, and he’ll forget all about him. Still though, even while bleeding out, Reki couldn’t help but smile at the memories he got to make with Langa.
The way Langa hadn’t even recognized him when they first met, or how Langa duct-taped his feet to a skateboard in his beef against Shadow. Langa was so good, so so good and Reki doesn’t deserve him.
Reki doesn’t deserve to see the way Langa’s eyes light up when he says he brought an extra bento for him. Or the way Langa snorts when Reki tells bad puns or does silly interpretations of their friends. Reki shouldn’t know that Langa favors sleeping by the wall, facing away from it, but always ends up sprawled in the middle of the bed.
But he does know all of this, he’s seen all of it with his own two eyes.
And he wants to see more.
Reki wants to go to school tomorrow, laughing and bumping shoulders with Langa. He wants to visit Canada and have Langa teach him how to snowboard and to laugh together as Langa helps him up from the snow, stealing small kisses (it’s a pipe dream, Reki knows Langa could never want him that way). He wants to spend summer vacation with him and go to the beach a lot, because Reki loved the way Langa’s eyes sparkled when he saw the ocean. Reki loves it so much.
And-
And now he won’t be able to see any of it anymore.
Reki couldn’t move and panic was setting in. Why did he do this? God, he’s so stupid— One bad day and suddenly he’s teetering on the edge of death.
He tried to sit up, but his head immediately started protesting. His vision was darkening, edges fading in and out of black.
No— No , he needs to stop the bleeding, to do something before he loses everything.
“Mom-“ Reki called out, weakly. His voice was barely above a whisper, and he knew he needed to be louder.
“Mom,” He tried again, “M-mama please!” He shouted as loud as he could, a whimper escaping as he tried to move closer to the door. He hasn’t called his mom mama since he was eight, thinking he was old enough to graduate to the more mature mom stage.
Reki could hear footsteps, frantic and loud, rushing down the hall. The door opened roughly, light filtering inside, and Reki had to shut his eyes. He was relieved, maybe he wouldn’t die after all. Maybe he could still get to stay with his friends and family.
If they don’t hate me after this— he shut the thought down, that’s what got him into this situation in the first place.
And then, Reki was being scooped into someone’s arms, safety washing over him.
“Mama, please, help me—“