Bloodied Tissues Pt.2
satoru x depressed!reader x suguru pt.1
'Their bond was greater than anything there ever was. And slowly you were casted aside and left to rot, like a fallen leaf in the autumn air.'
｡°‧ tw: heavy angst/no comfort, suggested child abuse, eating disorders, suicidal themes, reader is in severe depression.
—In which you'll never be forgotten again.
Satoru glances out the window, lost in thought.
The sky is almost too blue today, there’s something oddly gentle about it. Why does everything feel so calm?
Across from him, Suguru sits just as he always does: back straight, composed, quietly flipping through a book as if nothing in the world could ever hurry him.
“what chu’ doin’?”
Suguru can’t help but roll his eyes, pointing towards his book. “Clearly reading dumbass.”
“HEY! don’t bully me..”
Suguru deadpans. “stop screaming”
He snorts. “You’re so boring”
Satoru leans back further, tilting his head just enough to scan the room from behind his glasses.
Everyone’s here. Being normal like they’ve always been. So why does it feel like something’s missing? His gaze flickers towards an empty chair near the window. It doesn’t mean anything. It's just a chair. But still, he frowns.
“…Was someone sitting there before?” he asks, almost absentmindedly.
Suguru doesn’t even look up. “People sit everywhere.”
“Yeah, but…” Satoru stops himself, clicking his tongue. “Never mind.”
It’s stupid. Across the room, Shoko exhales a slow stream of smoke with her gaze drifting. She looks…off. He would even describe it as sad.
“You look like you didn’t sleep.” he calls lazily.
Shoko shrugs. “Do I ever?”
“Fair.”
There’s another pause. God, it’s quiet. He taps his fingers against the desk, once, twice, then stops when the sound doesn’t help.
“…Man, today’s boring,” he mutters.
But it’s not. That’s the problem. It’s too nice.
It feels like this is a day that he’ll remember forever. The breeze grazes his skin softly due to the open window. The wind oddly smells quite..good? His eyes drift back again to that same spot near that same window. The chair is still empty. For a split second, something tugs at him. He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Whatever” he says, louder this time, like he’s brushing something off his shoulder. “I’m starving. Let’s ditch.”
Suguru finally closes his book, now looking at him.
“…Already?”
“Yeah. This place feels weird today.”
He clicks his tongue, but stands anyway.
“Alright.”
He doesn’t ask what Satoru means. That’s simply how he is. As they step out into the sunlight, it hits them violently. The rays of the warm sun were almost blinding. It was perfect. Too perfect. Satoru tilts his head back, staring up at the sky again.
“…Seriously” he mutters, quieter now, “what’s with today?”
The wind brushes past them, soft and fleeting. For a second, it feels like something passes between them. Something familiar. But it’s gone before it can settle.
Satoru pauses mid-step, he frowns, then keeps walking. He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t realize that there’s no one trailing just a step behind them anymore.
But actually, against all odds, he does.
“Oh—shit.”
The words leaves him in a breath that’s almost a laugh, like he’s just remembered something that is the least of his worries. His hand comes up to the back of his head, his fingers tangling loosely in his hair.
“I forgot.” he chuckled, lighter than it should be. “Shoko, have you seen [name]?”
He says it so easy. Like you’re just around the corner, like he didn’t forget for months that you exist.
The hallway’s warm and there's sun on the floor. It’s the kind of day you’d skip class on. The kind of day you’d drag him to the vending machines. But Shoko stops, her eyes slightly bigger. The cigarette between her fingers burns quietly, a thin line of smoke curling upward, untouched.
Her eyes land on him. “Wait…” she scoffed. “You guys didn’t know?”
Behind him, Suguru shifts. He steps a bit closer, placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. A crease between his brows forms.
“What do you mean ?” he asks.
Shoko looks at them both in silent disbelief.
“She killed herself two days ago.”
Suguru blinks. “…What?”
It isn’t really a question, more of a reflex. A fragile sound that slips out before he can stop it, already chipping at the edges.
He doesn’t move. His eyes stay fixed on Shoko’s, searching for the smallest cracks in her expression. Maybe a hesitation, a sign she misspoke.
“Yeah.” she says quietly, like the words themselves are heavy in her mouth. “She overdosed… They found her in the water.”
He waits for the correction that should follow. For her to shake her head, to sigh, to say she got it wrong, that it was just a really bad joke. But the silence stretches, thin and unbearable.
But the thought that maybe she wasn’t joking doesn’t come slowly. No. It seeps in, cold and invasive, filling the space inside his chest. He feels it press against his ribs, heavy and suffocating.
Only his eyes give him away, they’re widening just slightly. Like they’re waiting for you.
Across from him, Satoru thinks he didn’t hear her right. He replays it in his head like a shattered song. But it doesn’t form anything real, he can’t find an answer. Because you can’t be dead.
The hallway is still there, but it feels distant now, like it’s been pushed far away. The light is too bright, too warm. The world hasn’t changed, and that feels wrong—devestating even.
“You—” he gasps, spikes tearing his throat. “You’re kidding, right?”
Satoru doesn’t stutter. He never has. But he’s stuttering now.
There’s a smile on his face and he doesn’t really know why. Some stupid part of his brain is still trying to make it a joke. Like if he smiles, she’ll roll her eyes and call him an stupid dude like she always does.
But amongst all the pain in his heart, he can’t help but wonder why it’s hurting this much.
Shoko just looks at the two wrecked boys in front of her.
For a second disbelief flashes across her face. At the cruelty of it. At how perfectly it proves everything you ever thought. It brings a taste in her mouth even stronger than the tobacco sitting in her lungs. The rotting taste of irony.
“You should really go to her room.” She breathes.
Her gaze shifts between them, lingering just a fraction longer than usual.
“There’s a note for both of you.”
The cigarette between her fingers has burned low now, the ash threatening to fall. She glances at it briefly, like she forgot it was even there.
“…I’ve already read mine.”
No one says anything after that. Because there’s nothing left to say. The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of you.
It’s too late. It’s been too late.
And the sky is still fucking blue.
The walk to the dormitories is quiet. A silence so stuffy, it fills their lungs like wet cotton. It’s a silence filled with unspoken words and heavy feelings. The sun hangs high, shameless and gold, spilling across the hallway.
The shadow of your closed door stretches long across the floor, a dark tongue swallowing the light. Suguru’s hand hovers at the knob. His breath frays, his head keeps shouting at him to turn back. But he pushes through. The door gives without protest, a strangeled creak echoing.
The air itself feels wrong. It’s sour and heavy, like the windows haven’t been opened in days, or maybe even longer. Dust hangs suspended in the air, sadness infiltrates through the cracks in the floor. It coats the walls in a thick film, it clings to the ceiling fan. Then settles into the grooves of the floorboards until the wood rots. The scent is truly horrible, he can’t help but cringe. It smells of misery and copper, desperately braided into something that lives in the back of the throat.
Like the windows haven’t been opened in days—or maybe longer. A gag wrenches out of Satoru's mouth. The mirror lies gutted on the floor, a constellation of violence. Blood darkens the shards, and dust has already claimed them as its own. Alcohol bottles—glass, plastic, anything that once promised numbness and calm are strewn across the floor in a glum manner . Some still stand, sentinels of empty vigils. Others are broken open, their bitter liquor oozing across the floorboards in sticky, amber rivers. There are too many to count. The floor has disappeared beneath the debris of trying not to feel.
Suguru’s sharp inhale cuts the air, his throat feels on fire. How can someone live like that?
On your bed, the blankets are a shipwreck. Twisted, half on the floor, maroon dried into the fabric where red used to be. The smell is metallic, old, like pennies. It climbs into Suguru’s sinuses and stays lodged. Pills scatter across the floor like maggots. Tissues, crumpled and used, dot the room like failed prayers. Every surface is a testament to hours that folded in on themselves.
The room doesn’t look lived in. It’s abandoned, nothing is where it should be. As if every object was used, then dropped the moment it stopped serving a purpose. grime has settled over everything in uneven layers. It clings to the desk, the shelves, the edges of the bedframe.
Even the light feels tired. It seeps through half-closed curtains in weak, uneven strips, catching in the dust and turning the air into something visible. Something you can touch.
With an intake of breath, Suguru starts searching for the note. Fortunately for him, it isn’t hard to miss. An envelope sits on your desk, untouched by the soot of the world.
Suguru’s body moves before his mind agrees to it, drawn to that terrible piece of paper. His hand shakes with the restraint of someone who is scared to learn more. Each tremor in his fingers is an apology he’s choking on. The ventilator hums in the wall, a sinister lullaby keeping time with his pulse.
Seeing his friend moving, Satoru takes one step too. It’s reluctant, like the floor might open if he really commits to it. Something catches his eye on the envelope. There’s two kittens, drawn in precise lines. But it’s not the skill of the drawing that makes his belly curl in an uncomfortable manner. It’s their colors.
One white.
One black.
A rendered drawing of them in graphite from whatever was left of you.
The ache behind Satoru’s eyes is physical now, a tide pressing outward, and it takes every muscle in his face, every year of being the strongest, not to let it break. His jaw locks. His hands curl until nails bite crescent moons into his palms.
A pounding ache blooms and spreads, rooting down his spine. The ventilator keeps humming. Suguru picks up the note simply because someone has to. The paper is the only thing in this mess that really feels like you. He opens it carefully, as if it might bruise.
His body immediately starts trembling at the sight of your handwriting. His hand shakes, the hum of the ventilator resonates in his ears like a sinister lullaby. His eyes are wide in fear. Behind him, Satoru finally breaks. A sob gurgles from deep in his heart.
With a shaky exhale, he starts reading. Immediately, the first words written shatter the base of his skull like a meteor. His hand claps against his mouth and he starts to tremble.
For the first time, he too cries.
My dear Satoru and Suguru.
There’s too much to say.. And somehow, none of it ever comes out right. I keep rewriting this over and over.. I feel like an idiot because I can't even write a proper goodbye.
I was going to say that I’ve felt useless lately, but really that would be a lie. It hasn’t been lately. I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy. I mean, can you blame me? I never had love in my life. My whole family loathed me because I wasn’t strong. Pretty stupid reason to beat a child if you ask me though..
I didn’t really know what love was supposed to feel like, not until I met you. Very corny I know.
But really, out of everything my life could have given me, it chose you two. The loudest, brightest, most impossible people to stand beside. And yes, as cliché as it sounds, I stupidly fell in love with both of you.
I don’t even think you noticed. I mean, why would you? I was just the girl who arrived halfway through the year. Just someone weak and forgettable.
But even then… we had something. At least, I think we did? Even if it was small, I really held onto it like it was everything.
I still remember things I probably shouldn’t.
Like...Nanami trying to help me with math one time and I couldn’t focus at all, because I kept staring at his hair and thinking how ridiculous it looked under the light.
Or being dragged into playing wingman for Haibara and his hopeless crush… I was standing outside that little café for hours, trying to gather information on her like a secret spy.
I remember Shoko laughing, like, really laughing, after blowing smoke right into my face. I remember how I choked on it while she just kept giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world.
I remember you, Satoru… buying me sweets that one time I failed a mission. It probably was nothing to you. But for a second, I thought maybe you saw me.
And Suguru… skipping class with you, sitting side by side in the library, not speaking, just turning pages in the same silence. It felt… peaceful. Like I was allowed to exist for a little while.
Those moments were so small, so ordinary. But to me, they were everything. I think that’s why it hurts so much now. Because I don’t even know if any of it was real to you.
Unfortunately, I think I started disappearing long before anyone noticed. Like I was being erased from the edges of everyone’s minds, piece by piece, little by little, until there was nothing left worth remembering. And the worst part is that I knew. I knew, and I still stayed. I still waited for someone to look at me like I was real. It makes me feel so stupid now, writing this. Like I was asking for something I was never meant to have.
I think, deep down, I always understood that I was never meant to be important. Not in the way you both are. Not in the way the world bends itself around you. But I wanted it anyway. I wanted kindness. Just once. And I hate that I have to admit this, even now, but you—Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto… you made me feel so small.
You made me feel small because of everything you didn’t see.
I think that’s when it finally sank in. That I really didn’t belong. At first, I didn’t realize how far in the sea I was.. How deep I was in it. I just kept going. I purposefully took on missions that were too much. Missions that possibly could kill me.
Because if I died out there…At least I would be remembered as someone brave. Not as the girl who loved far too much and received too little.
I really thought I could outrun that version of me. But she always came back. She came back every time with alcohol bottles and bloodied tissues. And in the end…I couldn’t fight her anymore.
Because obviously if you are reading this, it means I didn’t go down fighting. I took the cowardly way out.
I’ve been thinking about death for longer than I want to admit. It's like a thought that kept coming back, until it stopped feeling like a question and started feeling like an answer. I kept wondering what it would be like to disappear completely. To leave without leaving anything behind. And every time doubt tried to creep in, that maybe I shouldn’t do it. I reminded myself of the same thing: There really isn’t a future for me here.
Because nobody cares.
And I know how cruel that sounds, but it’s true. It’s true in the quietest, most undeniable way.
And you noticed.. Of course you did. Everyone did. Not enough to understand what was going on, but enough to see that something was wrong.
Shoko noticed when I started asking her for cigarettes, even though I used to whine about how bad it was for her. And you, Gojo… You noticed how I kept excusing myself after meals and how I looked less like myself each time.
You saw it. Both of you did. And that’s how I knew nobody cared. Because if you had cared… you would have said something. You would have asked. It wouldn’t have taken much, a simple “Are you okay?”
If even one of you had stopped me, if you had asked why I was still wearing my winter uniform in the middle of summer, maybe I would still be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have sunk so far.
Because I wasn’t trying to disappear at first. I was trying to be found.
But I got tired of waiting. And eventually, the waiting turned into something else.
Something colder, like standing in the ocean, letting the water rise inch by inch, convincing yourself you can still breathe. Until you can’t.
I was so desperate for something gentle, something kind, that when it didn’t come…I accepted it.
One day, when life will be even more beautiful now that I’m gone, when the sun feels warm against your skin and your toes curl into the hot grains of sand.
I hope, just for a second, you think of me.
When the waves crash a little too loudly against the shore. Or when the wind flips through the pages of a book you weren’t done reading. i’ll be there. In small ways.
I never really was seen when I was alive. But maybe like this I will be.
“Let death be kinder than man.”
-[name]
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