It was some sort of made-up, make-believe sick and twisted idea of a hollowed-out corpse of fun only a few moments ago, now melting into the feeling of an overblown game of truth and dare, where no matter what Suguru would have chosen to utter or pretend to do--- by design of the very game, there were no winners, only losers. Even within those seconds piling together in this worn down, blown apart hourglass, clicking and flowing bit by bit till the surroundings that kept them contained in one or the other mindless space, had filled itself to the brim. This was a game that would not allow for either of them to get out of with emotions intact and not heartstrings rubbed raw by the splinters of glass pushing deeper and deeper the more they would wriggle and wind to adjust to their own outgrown reality about each other. All just culminating within the realisation he couldn't tamper and would never tamper: Satoru's anger had always been breathtakingly beautiful. And due to that there was not much else to do but admit and admire, adore nothing else but these suffocating colours, tugging at him, pulling at him to keep an attention unlike any other, broken down to the finest nuances of pitiful clashing desires that he could have laughed at in the ringing tones of unfiltered scorn, enough to unravel whatever had been hidden away for an odd amount of years rolled all into a small little discardable silver ball.
" You're an idiot. " It's a whisper worth, if at all. He wonders, for a moment, why Satoru plays and abides by rules he could have just shrugged off, told him to go to hell for and leave this wretched, messed-up togetherness, a muddled and molten little thing, moulded out of wishes and dreams that aren't theirs anymore, like nothing has ever happened. Telling him to rot in the depths of everlasting hellfire shouldn't be too far off, with words he had spouted their whole union together, one more seething and hurtful than the other. He wonders - and comes to no conclusion about it.
That's a lie. He knows why. Would always know why. That's the most painful thing about it.
" Trying to get a rise out of me for nothing. Could always just tell me what you want but you are trying to figure out how much is still there from the Suguru you want. It's fine Satoru, it's alright, I know. " ---It's not me who you want, it's alright, I will deal with that. Alone what had transpired, seen and felt and so seriously and openly taken in, yet his eyes had never moved from Satoru's, as if stuck in place by some force, glued together at the very edges, tearing them apart like this would have been impossible, ripping slowly and excruciatingly, would have felt like nipping at unkempt seams of their messed up little projection. Admiration, adoration, love, whatever this stain-filled remainder of their former selves could be called, all not perfect, not as ...what, exactly? He couldn't look away. All the time Suguru had waited for however long it had taken Satoru to be done with this dare he had muttered about in the non-existent heat of the moment, he hadn't looked away. From these eyes as clear blue and drowning, feeling like being sucked up into the ocean, ready to have his lungs filled with salted water and slowly, but surely suffocate within them and by them and still, he hadn't looked away. Gaze had taken something far away, when no matter what he could have uttered in apologies that felt like tacked together and would be the same way hated by his Honored One as his whole self-serving surrounding was, all would have fallen flat in this ridiculousness of broken breaths and pants and jolted heat. Infinity; come and gone. He wouldn't wonder if Satoru wanted him not close anymore.
" Could have just stopped it all, you know--- " Ridiculous words. Ridiculous thoughts. Nothing worthwhile after what just happened, but he had come close, too close perhaps, if Satoru wanted him gone he could just push him away, turn on that coveted power of his and launch him all the way away from him, get up and walk out, perhaps, but just perhaps. If not? Whatever he had spoken in these nearly imperceptible murmurs of some stupid knowledge they both had had [ of course, he could always stop anything he wanted, no? ] all the time from the beginning till now, would be sealed by that kiss he had wanted [ they had wanted? ]. Something about it must have felt nearly innocent. As if this was just a test of the waters, muddied and brown, soaking into shoes, dirtying up socks, like a pure little spot having been left untouched, something might have felt nearly too naive. Expecting Satoru to even accept it and not curse him out at the very same moment. Suguru had barely moved, the leverage of his position making it easier to just lean forward for that desired little touch, honesty given within that heartbreakingly soft closeness, hands still off - not touching him if not wanted past just this. This was what he should have given him from the beginning, what he could have given him the moment he was aware of it, but games were just that, meant to leave all these broken little shattered toys, left somewhere behind in that blue spring of theirs.
What'd I ever do to you? - selfish things, little things, discardable things. Things that made no sense past in his mind and his perception alone. Things that if he were to say out loud, he would feel foolish to have them rummage around scratching at the inside of his skull like rats scavenging for leftovers. It was so many tiny, ridiculous things, that he could feel sick and angry and so hurt over it - but it's not important. " I'm sorry, Satoru... " Would it even matter? Blameless, faultless, all claims that were like the aching pain in his chest, twisting and turning his stomach into a knot for this stupid feeling - I don't want to hurt you, I never wanted to, I'm sorry - didn't matter anymore. Too late of thought, too honest of an apology to turn and twist it, couldn't still fault him if he were, if this neverending spewing of burning word strung together into a lashing would be spun continue. Easy like that, wasn't it? To follow up anything given with a line of hate-filled mirth, as if to not try and find the good in something you want to demonize. Maybe it was that, he couldn't even tell anymore. Ridiculous. Above all else, he couldn't do anything but apologize, no matter how late it was. " I'm sorry, do you want a change of clothes? I will give you some of mine. " Buzzing sound in the back of his mind, whirring somewhere behind his eyes he had closed since only begun talking in bequeathed thoughts of discardable pacification. Whispers all the way, even when kissing that sign of frustration, that tear, away. An ocean indeed tasted - after all - like one too.
