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Mayoi found himself lying uncomfortably in bed, acutely aware of his own breathing. Feeling both cold and flushed at the same time, his skin sweating and crawling with his own thoughts. Even though he had just showered, his hair felt greasy and heavy in his scalp, and the texture of the soft pajamas and sheets a heavy burden on his body. Perhaps there was no point in staying like this and dirtying the bed with his presence, he reasoned, and not feeling in the mood to go on an outside walk, he decided to go back to what he considered his actual home for years.
Operating as quietly as possible as to not wake his roommates, he unscrewed the metal panel of the air vents and skillfully crawled inside. He made sure to screw back the panel from the inside and went on his way to nowhere in particular, just moving forward out of memory. Well, not like he could get lost with how much he knew the place, and even if he did, would anyone really care?
Despite having slowly gotten used to “normal” life, despite the dust or the stench or humidity of the vents, despite the consuming darkness, the small space that forced him to crawl on his belly like a miserable worm, despite everything; it felt like home. Maybe that was natural, he thought to himself, someone like him didn’t deserve to breathe in a nice open space, to be able to walk freely or to be in the presence of others, despite what everyone told him, it felt as if he had been born to live and die in the confine of these spaces that weren't meant for the eyes of the people. Aaah, what an interesting thought, to die here in the vent… not having to bother anyone with an undeserved funeral or memorial, it would be nice, if it weren’t for his corpse rotting and contaminating the space.. the putrefact air would surely pollute the others idols living space, which was unacceptable! Dear god, how selfish was he? He probably didn’t even deserve to die here, the place where dozens if not hundreds of shining souls lived cheerfully day to day.
But he could always fantasize. in his mind, becoming a wandering soul and being able to witness all of the hope and dreams of these people was a dream come true, he wouldn't bother them with his presence and he wouldn't be troubled with having to talk or interact with people, he would just be a witness until the end of time , until either his yearning for a brighter and innocent youth was satiated or the universe itself ended.
He laughed at himself and his wish fulfillment, the perverted sound echoing in the four metal walls around him and slowly dying out. It was only after he was back in complete silence that he realized the heavy feeling on his gut and his own hand, trying to scratch at his forearm. His mind momentarily took him to his fellow unit members, cheering him on earnestly and trying to make him feel better about himself, but right now, in his own echo chamber of unhealthy thoughts devoid of human interaction, he reasoned that it was better this way, that nobody truly cared. Taking off the glove that was sticking to his skin due to the sweat, he let the nails dig the blood free from his skin, already ridden with scars and marks from previous incidents. The paint was…nice, it distracted him from the burden of awareness, if only momentarily.
Still, some thoughts manage to slip into his clouded mind. He remembered about his nails, which were probably having the polish stained and scratched from how aggressive he was being. hah, that's all he was good for, right? ruining the things others put effort on,
ignoring their support, putting them on edge with his presence, letting the blood stain the metal underneath his body.
At this point the air around him had become hot and humid, he didn't know when he stopped moving or when he started breathing so fast, but the suffocating atmosphere made his senses partially come back to him. Fuck, how was he so stupid? he was going to disappoint everyone again, he had thrown all the progress he had made into the trash and stomped over his friends wishes, and, to add to it, he had his disgusting blood drip all over the air vent and contaminate the air flow that went thru the building.
He tried his best to clean the mess with his sleeve, despite the fact that he was basically in complete darkness and couldn’t even see properly where the blood had gotten, he tried his best amidst the panic and self loathing, crying out tears of both desperation and shame. At last, he deemed that there was nothing more to be done and crawled back pitifully back to alkaloid’s room, the fantasy of dying right where he stood still circling around his mind but not being acted on, his own cowardness being to blame.
He found himself in the bathroom, and vaguely tried to avoid the silhouette taunting him as he washed the newly formed wounds, but ultimately caved and took a look at his reflection. He was greeted by an unsightly image, perhaps he didn’t realize in the darkness but the blood had stained the white t-shirt and managed to get to his ghostly face. Ahh, that terrible face, the bags hanging from his eyes being such a deep purple that they almost resemble bruises, his dark and disturbing gaze obscured by his bangs. No wonder no one liked him, if someone saw him like this, decrepit and filthy, they would most likely run and call the police.
His mind reached out for comfort, and it found the image of the other cute idols living in the building he so often thought of. Bright and alive, with big, glassy eyes that reflected the light and wonders of the world with child-like innocence.
If only he could be more like them, he couldn't even muster up his own happy memories of the past seeing as he didn’t have any. So he settled, like he had done all of his life, on observing.