Kenopsia | Katsurou | Chpt. 5 | Open
There was no sound but a dull ringing in his ears.
He felt off-kilter, everything seemed grainy. His world was swimming, swirling. It was all wrong. Katsuki was dead. Katsuki was dead and he just stood there. He stood there and watched, he didnāt even try to help aside from vainly calling for his own deathāwhich was quite the failure. He hurt all over, in his head, heart and the hand he had broken. It wasnāt a pretty sight for certain. He held onto a small hope of seeing Katsuki āround a corner. Not in spirit, but physical. Breathing. Alive. Seeing that is what would make him feel better.
He knew heād never see that ever again.
He leaned against the wall and nearly burst into tears again. He had found someone he could share a life with. Someone he could really see growing old with and spending all of his time with. That dream of spending the rest of their years in some dream home together had been cruelly torn from his arms. Katsuki was dead, and that dream went with him. He was vaguely aware that he was smiling. Not of joy, but a broken and defeated smile. The smile of a man whoās been beaten down to the point that heās accepted he wonāt be getting back up. He was never anything but a fuck-up, he shouldāve seen this coming.
Sure, he had his songwriting. But he didnāt get that from nowhere. He unwittingly took his dadās job from him and had to live with the hurt on his old manās face every day, knowing that he caused that. He had to deal with his warped view of friendship day in and day out, then reap the internal turmoil when someone didnāt actually want to be his friend. And now he had failed to save his boyfriend from execution.
Katsurou Mikazuki hated his own guts and he wasnāt afraid to admit it anymore. Come one, come all to his pity party. He was the worst human being on the planet as far as he was concerned. Suba and Calypso are greasy little fucks, but they didnāt fuck up saving someone from execution. Ayato is one of the most awful, disgusting people heād ever encountered, but he didnāt fuck up saving someone from execution either.
He wound up in the infirmary, wincing as he ran his broken hand under the water before grabbing a roll of bandages. He winced, knowing that this was going to hurt. A lot. He bit his lip and started to tightly wrap his hand, his screams of pain loud but muffled, tears stinging his eyes as he bound his shattered hand. He whimpered when he finished, wiping at his wet face with a sleeve. Then he took off again. This time his destination was different.
The new floor. He wound up exploring around the rooms until he found his own. He finally had a room that he could call his own, but rather than feeling good or relieved, he just felt bitter about it. He instinctively reached for the doorknob with his left hand, only to feel searing pain lance through him. He bit back a yell, tears returning to his eyes. Using his right hand to open it this time, he got a good look at the inside before promptly ignoring it all and collapsing on the bed without even shutting the door.
He curled up into a ball there, and finally what heād been holding in since his outburst after the execution was let out. He screamed his throat hoarse and cried until there were no tears left to cry. And then he just lay limply, expression dark and horrifyingly empty. There was no guarantee that Katsukiās inevitable return could mend the wounds that that trial opened now that he had stopped caring about the mental barriers he had put up.
