Work Text:
Takuto had spent the past few days leaving his bedroom door open. Hoping to satisfy the faint sliver of hope that there was someone who could come in, and tell him to get some rest.
But every day was the same. The same dead air. The same absence outside his bedroom.
It was no wonder how he grew less and less attached to life. What kept him going faded away. He thought it would reappear in some new form. But that was merely hope. Formed into dreams that would never translate to reality.
It was a few minutes past two in the morning. And Takuto craved to be dissolved into acid. Or maybe in the ocean of his mind. He wanted to return to the cosmic ether and blossom into something new. Perhaps by then he could relax.
Yet he wasn’t even sure if that was guaranteed. He had made himself a promise. Even if it meant becoming a stranger. Even if it meant keeping secrets only he could understand. Maybe at the end of his research, he would have a life of his own. A happiness he could treasure.
Takuto’s stomach rumbled. A shaky sigh departed him at the reminder of needing to eat. He hadn’t eaten in hours. Last thing he could remember eating was a cold sandwich buried in the back of his fridge. What was left in said fridge was only juice boxes.
Takuto moved away from his desk, yet winced at the ache in his bones. His muscles stung, pleading at him to stop working and lay on his bed.
However, Takuto shook his head at such a thought. The moment relaxation swept his being, he would be out for days. Collapsing was the farthest thing from his mind. And despite the staggers in his stride, his legs shaking with every excruciating step he took, Takuto was determined to continue his research. That was far more important than whatever he was going through.
His thoughts bounced, pounding against the walls of his skull. It tugged his being to different directions. His mind was only a mere foggy delirium that fought to keep him alive.
The pain dulled at his body. Entertaining every thought in his head started to wear him down. Fumes of his productivity had long extinguished out. Takuto couldn’t even remember why he had even stepped away from his desk in the first place.
Exhaustion replaced all thoughts.
It pressed around his head as if it were a thick liquid. Sticky and sinking into his brain matter, suffocating him. Every breath pierced his chest, its own kind of poison he couldn’t begin to describe.
Takuto had only blinked before feeling the dampness on his cheeks.
Was this what it felt like to be a dead man?
Perhaps it was. With how every labored step made his muscles quiver, maybe he was better off six feet under than standing up.
Takuto only wanted his research to be done before he could get to rest.