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Fuuta’s never been the type to plan.
He’s a man of action, after all- characterized by his quick remarks and impulsivity and bravado. Thinking could come after he solves the problem.
That lack of foresight is probably how he ended up here in the first place. Oh, how he had “solved” that one.
Everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts, and he doesn’t even know what home is anymore, but fuck, he just wants to go home. What he would even do if he could he doesn’t know, but anything, anything would be better than this.
Some nights, when he’s not busy being plagued by night terrors, he lies awake, staring at his ceiling, willing his mind elsewhere. What would he be doing right now if not here, suffering? Probably sitting in his shitty room, doing his shitty uni homework or playing some shitty game. Never stopping to think, never thinking to stop. He’s never needed to.
But now that he has time to, he starts to wonder… where was he going to begin with?
The future had always terrified him, hence he never bothered to ever even consider it. If he had continued like that, where would he have ended up…? Likely still in a major he didn’t care about, carelessly coasting through life, wreaking havoc on the lives around him without thinking twice. He thought getting into a nice university meant that his future was secure enough. If only, if only, if only.
He can only keep misery at bay for so long. It would’ve caught up to him eventually, without a doubt. He realizes that now. It almost makes him laugh, this clarity- a commodity acquired all too late, for all the wrong reasons.
Regret, so much regret, crushing, unbearable regret is all Fuuta knows anymore, other than the pain. He could never have outrun it, simple as that. It never ends. It never will.
He feels as if he’s lived twenty lifetimes over his twenty years of life, his youth long since spoiled with nothing to show for it.
It seems if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.