#twsuicidalthoughts

(@sunflower-author this is chapter 2 of yandere bonten btw this has been sitting in my google docs for quite a long time so please don't hate on this)

For a moment, the room is frozen in time.

The word "suicidal" hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. You can feel it settle on everyone like a lead blanket. Some wear it as guilt. Some as anger. And others... as an opportunity.

Your throat still burns. Your eyes sting. But you force yourself to look up.

You're not afraid of them. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

You just want to exist.

But here, existing comes with conditions. Even breathing feels like a privilege you're constantly having to earn.

"...Is that true?" Mikey's voice is quiet. Way too quiet. It echoes in the silence left behind after Akashi's bombshell.

You don't answer.

You can't.

Not because your throat hurts, although it does, but because there's no point. They've already decided what they believe.

Their eyes are all on you, drilling holes into your skull. None of them are looking at you like you're a person anymore. You're something broken now. Something that doesn’t fit. A problem too fragile to fix.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Takeomi speaks, his voice rough and surprisingly steady. No slurring, no jokes. Just quiet disbelief.

"I..." You try to speak, but your voice barely makes a sound. You end up shrugging, and you hate how weak that makes you look.

Ran looks down at the floor. He doesn’t say anything. Rindou shifts uncomfortably. Sanzu’s eyes are too wide, too wild to read. Kokonoi won’t even glance your way.

“I could’ve helped you…” Kakucho murmurs. His voice is low, almost like he’s talking to himself.

You pick up the iPad he gave back to you earlier. You take your time typing the words before sliding it toward him.

"You could have. But you didn’t."

He reads it. Doesn’t say a word.

Mikey leans back on the couch and closes his eyes for a long moment. When he finally opens them, they’re completely empty.

"You don’t get to die. Not until I say so."

His voice is flat, final. It makes your skin crawl.

Then he looks around the room. "Everyone, leave. Except Kakucho and Akashi."

They hesitate. Even Ran looks like he wants to argue, but one look from Mikey shuts everyone up. One by one, they leave. Even Sanzu, who lingers at the door a moment too long. He stares at you before turning the corner and disappearing.

Now it’s just Mikey, Kakucho, Akashi... and you.

Mikey speaks again. "From now on, someone will always be with you. You won’t be alone. You won’t have access to any medication, razors, glass, wires... not unless someone is watching."

You stare at him, trying to keep your face calm. Inside, you want to scream and rip his face off.

"You’re caging me," you whisper, and even that hurts to say.

"No," he replies without flinching. "I'm saving you. Whether you like it or not."

Akashi watches you, carefully. "We’ve all made mistakes, Y/N. But this changes everything. It’s not about controlling you anymore. It’s about keeping you alive."

You slowly shake your head. You’re so done with all of this. You never wanted to play their game to begin with.

"You’ll stay in Kakucho’s room for now. He’s the only one you trust, and that’s fine. He’ll be responsible for your safety. If anything happens to you..." Mikey pauses. His gaze hardens. "It’s on him."

You glance at Kakucho unaware of Mikey's raging gaze at him. He flinches like the weight of Mikey’s words just crushed him.

You want to hate him.

But you don’t.

You hate everything he’s a part of. You hate this place. You hate the control, the silence, the pressure. But Kakucho... he’s the only one who still looks at you like you're human.

"You’re dismissed," Mikey tells Akashi.

Akashi nods once and leaves without a word.

Now it’s just you and Kakucho.

He kneels down in front of you slowly and carefully like he’s afraid to startle you.

"I’m not going to say sorry again," he says softly. "Because I know that doesn’t fix anything. But if you need to hate me, go ahead. Just… please don’t give up."

You're so tired.

So, so tired.

You don’t answer.

You just let yourself fall forward, right into him.

No words. No messages. No fight.

Just your body leaning into his. Eyes closed. Mind blank. And Kakucho wraps his arms around you, steady and warm, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

For the first time in years, maybe you don’t feel free.

But you feel seen.

Previous // Next

Tristen’s brain hadn’t functioned fast enough to reply before Matilda left. He’d remained rooted to the spot long after she’d disappeared, face crimson with embarrassment and shame gnawing uncomfortably in his gut. Not ashamed because he’d almost cheated on Vicky, she deserved as much, but because Matilda hadn’t deserved.. whatever the hell that was, not after everything she’d been through recently.

He knew how she felt, she tried to hide it, but he knew. She’d opened her heart to him and what’d he done in return? Dangled the proverbial carrot right in front of her face, cruelly played with her feelings, gotten her hopes up-.. or not, she pushed him away. She probably didn’t want someone else’s fuck up of a boyfriend anyway, she didn’t want him at all.

What a fucking idiot-.. god, he was so stupid, so utterly obtuse he couldn’t bear it. If he wasn’t so pathetic maybe he would’ve had the guts to break things off with Vicky before she got pregnant; but now it was too late, now he didn’t know what to do.

Was it even his? He hoped not, that’d be a good excuse to leave, wouldn't it? She couldn’t argue her way out of that one, could she? He wasn’t so sure, she’d probably guilt trip him into staying anyway, in which case it’d be better if it were his, right? Maybe it’d be worth it then. Shit-.. the poor kid was screwed either way. He could try and convince her to-.. no, that wouldn’t be right. There was always adoption, he supposed, but no-.. he didn’t want a child, but he couldn’t just abandon it.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! He couldn’t breathe, his mouth was too dry-.. was he about to die, sat here alone on this bench? A few passers-by glanced in his direction as he began hyperventilating, but that only made things worse. Dropping his head into his hands, Tristen swallowed hard, trying his best not to empty the contents of his stomach onto the very public sidewalk. People were staring at him now; he just knew it.

He briefly contemplated launching himself over the railing behind him, it was so close. He could die a sad, wet death in peace then; one that he probably deserved-.. but he didn’t even have the backbone for that either.

I don’t remember moving in; Hell, I can’t even find a possible entry-way. I’ve lived here for years though. I noticed where I was for the first time when I was 16, but I’ve lived here for longer. That much I know.

There’s a bright, flashing button at the end of my single-room-not-so-apartment that opens a trap door. I’m tempted to press it.

It’s a wet kind of heat in here. The kind that fills up your lungs and makes breathing feel like a chore rather than the necessity (and honestly, privilege) that it is. The kind that makes your throat feel funny, and your stomach sit uncomfortably. There’s a way to make the air fresher, but…

At least I get to see the people I love. They’re the only reason I haven’t pressed the button with full commitment. I’d miss them, and… I don’t want to disappoint them. Sometimes the temptation makes me feel a bit guilty - that’s the real reason I don’t press it. If I feel guilty for wanting to, that’s probably a good reason not to. Still…

I’m glad I can see them - really - but sometimes I wish it were through a window. A *smaller* window. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, it’s all transparent. They see in, I see out - that’s fine and all, except that everyone else can see in too. Everyone can see Everything. And on top of that, for some God-Forsaken Reason, I moved in without any clothes. No clothes, no curtain, not even a blanket (not that I need one, as I said, the heat is STIFLING). It’s just a bit…

Anyway. I wish there were at least something to Do up here. A deck of cards, a pen and a piece of paper, I’d settle for a puzzle. Sometimes, I fog over the glass with my breath and tell the onlookers a joke, a fun fact, a poem, a story… Sometimes, I write out !PLEH, and slam my fist against the wall until someone looks up. They always try to help me escape… I don’t think there’s any actual way that I can get out though, other than the button.

I look down at the spikes (there are several rows of spikes right below the trap door), and wonder what it would be like. I wonder if it would be worth it. Even if it ends up being worse, it would at least be New, right? And then the guilt sets in, and then a quiet part of myself says I wouldn’t have to feel guilt, or anything else, if I went through with it. But that only leads to more guilt, so I curl up on the opposite end from the button and write jokes with my breath on the floor.