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— “Hey, Satoru. We’ll help you! You just need to…”
Another day, another useless meeting at the club. Satoru was happy he wasn’t lonely, but honestly being around these people weren’t exactly what he was wishing for when he asked not to be lonely anymore, despite them only being 3. These were thoughts Satoru would never have the gut to spill out.
He was glad Randal’s consciousness gave him other friends, despite them not even being needed. He didn’t really care about them and less would he mind if they just… dissipated in thin air. He’s used to being lonely, anyway.
— “You’re still failing all of your classes, and…”
It’s not like he cares. He’s forever stuck in high school, anyway! It’s whatever, if he fails or not, nothing will happen. It sounds silly to blame them for this. They know nothing about their environment, but the point still remains.
Satoru couldn’t care less, it’s almost as if he doesn’t even care about anything any longer. He just lets things happen.
Hm.
— “…Are you even listening to me?”
Oh. Oh, right.
— “Uh,” — He mutters out — “Um. Start over.” — Avalona hit him with a disappointed sigh.
— “We’ll help you get your grades back, so we don’t have to break you out of summer school like last month. Capiche?” — Satoru nods. She lets out a hum of approval. He knew Lona meant no harm but that sounded more like a threat rather than a reassuring message.
He looked around the table, Spider sat on an edge along with Yamada. He wasn’t exactly sure when or why did Yamada join this asscrack of a club but they did, and they actually have very frequent attendance. Spider sipped on whatever tea they had. Actually, Spider brings those. And they are expensive. Yet she drinks it like it’s water.
Long story short, the club had exactly… 4 members. The exact amount of people to actually call it a modest club and not a freaky gang who roams halls—according to the school council. They weren’t very far from the second concept, though. Satoru exhaled, feeling a tad bit… light-headed? What?
— “I’m- hm.” — He carefully picked his words. — “I’ll catch some fresh air.”
He stood up. Yamada immediately protested.
— “…Tsukada-san, we aren’t exactly… finished…” — They raised their tone slightly, showing the spare-change of authority they had. Was of no use.
Before they could finish, Satoru was already in the halls, closing the sliding door.
An uncomfortable silence fell.
— “…He’s not having it.” — Spider spoke up. — “Oh, Satoru, who broke you?” — She said, before raising her cup to her mouth with a grin.
[…]
He felt sweat bead at his hands and neck. Almost as if everything was spinning, he sat in a corner on the rooftop. It was cold. He could feel the breeze grazing his slick skin and making him shiver. The sky looked cloudy, as if rain was next to come.
He curled up his knees to his chest, taking off the jacket of his gakuran. He exhaled once more, hearing his shaky breath.
As soon as he heard the sound of his jacket hit the ground besides him, he visualized his arms. Morbid. Brutalized.
It made him feel somewhat depraved. He didn’t mind them most of the time, but, when he actually stops to look at them, he twists his nose.
They made him feel vulnerable. Every slice and slit. They reminded him of what he has become and how pathetic he is.
Ah, he misses Randal.
If Randal was here, he wouldn’t have to worry about himself, because Randal would do it for him. Randal would tell him when something is wrong and when something is right. He always does.
This was so fucking tiring.
He looked away in the distance. Randal will be here soon. He’ll be okay, because Randal will be there, and, as long as he is, he’ll be okay.
Sometimes Satoru wished he could keep him forever.
He begins wandering in his thoughts, he was very happy to be friends with Randal. Randal makes him happy, and he makes Randal happy. They’re self-fulfilling, so they really don’t need anyone else, them themselves are enough.
Why couldn’t Randal think the same? See the same?
Was he not the perfect friend he could ever need? If yes, why does he feel like he’s being pushed aside? What was going on?
He felt foolish. Selfish. Silly. That’s not his fault. He’s allowed to be mad. Everyone’s trying to take Randal away from him, and hey, he wants a piece of him too! Not even, he wants him all, all for himself and himself only. He sighs.
— “…Toru?” — A sing-song tone. Oh, he knows exactly who that is! Tsukada almost snapped his head towards where the noise came from.
— “…Dal? Randal? ‘M here!” — He yelled back, with a playful smile on his face. He felt his chest fuzzy.
— “Ah, there you are!” — He hears that giggilish laugh again. God. How he loves it. — “Hmm, you weren’t trying to hide from me, were you? Do you want to play hide and seek?” — Randal drags his words.
— “No! But we can. I’d love to play hide and seek, Randal.” — He smiles once more, Randal replying with a teethy one. Satoru picked his jacket off the ground, tying it around his waist.
[…]
— “Okay. I’ll count, you’ll hide.” — Randal covered his face with his gloved hands. — “Hide better, this time. You really suck at this.” — Satoru snickered.
Tsukada began rushing downstairs from the rooftop, looking for some kind of locker or closet to shove himself into. He couldn’t help but giggle slightly as he ran, his laughing echoing silently throughout the halls.
He dashed inside a classroom, basically throwing himself inside a closet. Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he tried to silence his titter.
— “Okay! Here I go!” — He heard Randal, along with footsteps.
He listened closely as Randal roamed through every classroom and spot around the area they were in. He was getting closer, and closer, and closer…
— “Found you!” — The closet’s door banged open, as Randal pointed at him. Satoru felt his heart jump to his throat.
— “Ghk!?” — He yelled, — “Don’t do that, you scared me!” — That only made Randal giggle.
— “…Satoru?” — Avalona. Oh, yeah, he forgot how close they were to the club’s room.
— “Shit!”
He started fumbling inside the closet, not for long, because Randal shoved himself inside too. The door closed.
Basically glued together and literally snug as a bug in a rug, they both stood inside the closet. Randal slowly brought a finger to his own mouth, shushing. Satoru nodded.
Tsukada felt himself warm up. Ah, how close Randal was! He basically laid his head on Satoru’s chest! This was… weird. They never brought their bodies this close to each other. Hmm… Satoru could smell Randal very well, too. He smelled like… iron. And old dolls. He’s definitely going to tattoo that scent in his brain.
— “…Stop breathing so loud!” — Randal whispered.
— “I’m sorry!” — Satoru huffed.
— “…Not here.” — They could hear Avalona walking away outside. They both let out an extended sigh, a breath they didn’t even know they were holding. Randal looked up at Satoru, before giggling. Tsukada couldn’t help but laugh along.
— “Hey, Satoru, Your heartbeat. It’s so fast! You’re like a rat!” — Satoru felt his breath hitch.
— “A rat?! Are you serious.”
— “But it is true. Hey, if it stopped, what would you do?”
— “Huh?”
— “Your heartbeat. If it stopped, what would you do?”
— “…Die?”
— “Boring.”
[…]
Well, Playtime was over, and Randal woke up. Satoru was yet again, alone. Sitting in the dark club room with Randal’s limp body sitting on a chair in front of him. Everyone was gone, once more. No Yamada, Spider, Avalona. No Randal. No one.
He fixated his sight to Randal, or what’s left of his dream-realm mannequin, even. It looked broken. Looked strange. Looked different.
He set his fists over the desk.
What happened earlier… How close Randal was. How he smelled. How warm he felt agains Satoru.
He felt his nails slowly scratch at the wood as he curled them tighter.
That didn’t last long. He couldn’t linger in the feeling. And he will probably never get that close again.
The thought of someone that isn’t him getting close in that way to Randal made his brain fry.
His nails inflicted at the superfice, carving deeper.
Someone that isn’t him.
He’s Randal’s friend, not his lover. Why does he feel like this? What the hell was going on? Who cares. Who cares about what was going on. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have to care, because all he has to care about is Randal. Not himself, not anyone, just Randal.
If Randal is taken away from him, then he’s no one. He’s reduced to nothing. Zero.
— “…Fuck this shit.”
He pushed the desk aside, going straight at Randal’s dream-form. He placed his hands at his neck, strangling the body.
— “… It’s all your fault, Satoru. This is all your fault. You’re- You’re doing this to yourself-”
He tapped at his pockets, lifting a hand from Randal’ses neck. He shoved a hand inside.
— “My fault. …But I can make it right. I can- I can fix this-”
He brought the boxcutter close.
His hands felt shaky. He as all felt shaky.
He slowly walked his thumb to present the blade out of the yellow plastic case.
— “… Fix this.”
Fix this.
He sliced at Randal’s neck, slightly getting his hand at it too. He was quick to slide it away, only getting an average cut.
Satoru watched as blood dipped from Randal’s neck, the rim of gold getting mixed up and covered by the dark-black steamy fluid. He felt his face heat up.
He shoved a few fingers inside.
It felt slick. Meaty. Wet. He toyed around with them, gliding his fingers around.
He huffed and loomed over the mannequin, his knees around the chair as he basically sat on it’s lap. He could feel his vision getting foggy, as he got warmer and warmer.
— “…Hmm… ghhm…”
He removed his fingers, sliding his hands under the mannequin’s weird-textured gakuran shirt. He raised it and rolled it up just enough to show it’s stomach. He went for the box cutter again. The mannequin’s stomach had some stitching, as if it just went through some kind of surgery. Did Randal also have these? All these sealed cuts?
He slid it smoothly through the skin, basically cutting it like butter. The fluid quickly slipping out similar to it’s neck, the blade looked nasty. It all looked nasty. Satoru didn’t think much about it. If things will repeat themselves forever and ever, maybe he should get some fun too.
Was it wrong to think of Randal while doing this? Absolutely. “Depraved”. He’d say of himself.
This was the only time he felt proud of being depraved.
He quickly went to unbuckle his own pants, fast to slid down his boxers along. His hard, aching dick stood up.
He positioned himself on top of the mannequin, before thrusting inside the slash. He felt it pulse around him, it felt warm. He began moving.
The gash was enough to pull noises out of him, as he lightly whimpered and moaned from the feeling. It all sounded lewd, the slicky and gooey noises from the inflicted wound and the sweet ones he let out.
He quickened his movements as he indulged himself on the feeling, letting his mind get wander through the heat. He rested his forehead over the mannequin’s shoulder.
— “mffh- h-” — Tears threatened to form in his eyes.
His pace became almost erratic, as he felt his release building up on the bottom of his stomach.
It didn’t take long until he finished inside the severed wound, with a loud, longish moan. The tears in his eyes now rolled down freely.
— “… Fucking- fucking hell.” — He slowly pulled out of the gash, huffing.
He watched as his cum became one with the blood, slowly dripping out of the slit. A mess. an utter, absolute mess. Satoru couldn’t help but laugh, freakish mumbles of chuckles echoing through the empty room.
Maybe he was enjoying this. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind if Randal did this to him or if he did this to Randal. Yet, the only thing close to Randal he has is… this weird doll. Well, it’s still him. But just less… life-y. It’s not dead; he has seen it roaming before, but it’s like it’s mind is in some kind of vegetative state. It doesn’t talk; feel; cry; laugh; it’s just there. And, even if something happens to it, it will always be replaced for a new vessel.
If Satoru’s really going to do this, maybe he should take advantage of that.
He quickly began to position himself over the mannequin again, breathing heavily as he hovered. He went to undo the lifeless-doll pants, struggling at it with shaky hands.
Tsukada almost felt himself drool at the sight of it being partially-naked. He started shifting over the mannequin, slowly lowering himself on it.
He moaned as the mannequin’s cock protruded his unprepared hole. It was almost as fast for him to begin moving.
The movements were oscillating, sloppy, and fast. Satoru needed this; and he’s going to take it. No one’s here to stop him. He basically started humping himself into the mannequin as he rode.
Letting himself give in fully in to the feeling, he snapped his head back, feeling drool run down his agape mouth. He was sweaty; the sweat mixed with his tears, and as it ran down, mixed with his drool too. He’s almost asphyxiating himself. He felt dirty. Not that he cared.
“Hey, if it stopped, what would you do?”.
Randal’s words came to his mind again.
He’d die. He’d be dead. Well, he would always be reborn and replaced with another him, but it wasn’t the greatest thing to experience.
Wait, if Randal’s heartbeat stopped, what would he do?
— “…wh-. what would you do?” — He huffed out in between thrusts.
He brought a hand to the blade again, sliding the black square as it grew longer.
What would you do?
Satoru brought the blade next to the side of the mannequin’s neck again, slowly sawing through it.
Hey, Randal, what would you do?
Blood rushed out like crazy as Tsukada slipped the blade throughout layers of skin, slowly reaching meat.
He kept going. Black sprinkled out, staining everywhere. He must’ve hit an artery. Wonderful.
He’s halfway across the doll’s neck.
Hey.
The mannequin’s head tilted to a side as it lost balance over it’s neck. The two getting separated, cut apart.
Satoru heard himself titter again as he grabbed at the mannequin’s hair. Pulling it’s head to the side it was being ripped away from. He almost didn’t notice how he still was thrusting himself onto the doll.
What would you do?
With a disgusting, loud and obnoxious squelch, the head came off it’s neck. Satoru held it by it’s hair as black dripped from the cut underneath it.
He threw the head away with a laugh as he watched it roll away from his view, dark, black, fluids falling along.
See? You’d die too. We’re not so different, are we?
Satoru felt himself get over the edge again, getting back at his quickened pace.
Tsukada finished once more, staining the doll’s wounded stomach and himselves. He raised his head to look at it.
Severed.
It looked awful.
It looked beautiful. Made it beautiful.
Satoru made it beautiful.
— “ghh… hah…” — he began tittering again, mumbling. Once more, it echoed. If this was Randal. God, if this was Randal.
He knew what he would do.