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 didn’t even try to help aside from vainly calling for his own death–which was quite the failure. He hurt all over, in his head, heart and the hand he had broken. It wasn’t a pretty sight for certain. He held onto a small hope of seeing Katsuki ‘round a corner. Not in spirit, but physical. Breathing. Alive. Seeing that is what would make him feel better.
He knew he’d 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 who’s been beaten down to the point that he’s accepted he won’t be getting back up. He was never anything but a fuck-up, he should’ve seen this coming.
Sure, he had his songwriting. But he didn’t get that from nowhere. He unwittingly took his dad’s job from him and had to live with the hurt on his old man’s 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t fuck up saving someone from execution. Ayato is one of the most awful, disgusting people he’d ever encountered, but he didn’t 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 he’d 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 Katsuki’s inevitable return could mend the wounds that that trial opened now that he had stopped caring about the mental barriers he had put up.
