[Closed] - Trial 2 Reaction - Six Feet Under
His mind was a blank. His eyes glazed over. Hand gripping his arm so tightly his knuckles turned a stark white. His face even had drained of all color. There was nothing. No expression on his face other than the tears that had stained his cheeks. The ringing in his ears wouldn't stop... The cracks of the pucks didn't stop... The sound of death continued to resound throughout his skull. Oh how he wished for it to stop. For everything to just cease being for the time being. Everything was just overwhelming. Everything was just too much...
Time was meaningless. He couldn't tell how long it had been since the death of Takumi. It could've been days or minutes or weeks... He didn't know. He couldn't process it at all. Hiroshi barely even registered the sound of the train door opening and the shuffling footsteps of his fellow classmates out the door. He got up to follow, looking about in a daze... And for a second he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of messy blue hair, his eyes widened for a moment, his breath halted in his chest before letting out shuddering sigh. It had just been his imagination. Takumi Akiyama was gone... Why oh why did he feel like he'd see his friend again just around the corner... It was all so preposterous.
So foolish.
So stupid.
Why did he let his guard down. Why did he slip. He never had real friends before... So why had he reached out this time? Perhaps because of his stupid title? Perhaps he'd held on to that ignorant thought that perhaps if he'd tried hard enough that everything was going to be alright. That he could've prevented something. That he could've saved everyone. Just like how the others so stupidly thought. It was all disgusting. It was all unrealistic. What use was all this hoping and positivity if it meant that every time he'd have to deal with his friends betraying him, he'd get torn to pieces? Fuck this. Fuck everything.
As the crowd of his classmates dispersed, Hiroshi wearily dragged himself off his seat in the train, trudging back down the station platform towards his room. Reaching his door, a splotch of red caught his eye as he reached into his left pocket for his keys. Staring at it for a moment, the red object slowly came into focus.
A rose. A single red rose placed in front of Takumi's doorway.
He didn't know why... But suddenly Hiroshi felt anger flare up in the pit of his stomach. Restraining the urge to take the vase along with the rose and throw it across the room, Hiroshi unlocked his door and yanked it open forcefully. Storming into his room, slamming his door behind him, he kicked off his shoes, and practically ran straight to the coffee machine he'd stolen from the brewery. Almost kicking the machine in frustration, Hiroshi grabbed one of the bags of pre-ground coffee beans and tore into it, not caring about the mess he made as he brought the bag and practically dumped the coffee into the coffee machine's filter. Noticing he'd added too much, Hiroshi cursed under his breath and took the coffee mug that was sitting on his table and began scooping the excess powder into it. He didn't get far though. Flinging both the mug and the bag of coffee at the wall in frustration, not even flinching at the sound of shattering ceramics nor bothering to clean up the mess he made.
Collapsing to the ground, Hiroshi leaned against the foot of his bed as he buried his face into his knees which he'd pulled up against himself, hugging them tightly to the point where he felt it hard for himself to physically breathe. But he didn't let go. Tears poured forth in a torrent of screams and sobs. He couldn't get a hold of himself. He wouldn't. Not when his closest friend... His first and only best friend... Had killed someone. And not just a random someone either, but another friend of their's. In all honesty Hiroshi felt he should've condemned Takumi, just as Ruri did. He should've felt that he'd gotten his just deserts. But why... Why couldn't he hate Takumi Akiyama? Why did he miss him already? No... No... This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. Everything felt horribly horribly wrong.
And nothing would ever feel like it was right again.
With shaky legs, Hiroshi then stood up, and threw himself onto his bed, not bothering to take off any of his clothes at all. Gathering the blankets on his bed, entangling himself underneath them, Hiroshi huddled, his breathing shallow and quick. His mind was a maelstrom of emotion now. And there was no stopping it....
Until sleep should claim him, there was no stopping the agony and betrayal he felt within his heart.
