2015.08.03: Originally posted on FFN in April of 2008, I then backed the fic up on a now-defunct site called "Ochiba" and eventually deleted the FFN original. When you read it, you'll know why I deleted it (hint: it's awful!). Now I've managed to salvage it with the Wayback Machine. I was 16 when I wrote this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Suzumiya.

It hadn't been completely unexpected, now that he thought about it. Shivering, still damp with rain and - he wouldn't, he wouldn't - he wondered if he had the strength to stand. Nice. He was too nice. Minus the smile, minus the messy hair or nearly-tied scarf, and he might have escaped. The water pouring from the sky made pretty little spills of melancholia-inducing liquid, a cold wind that bit through his skin and lodged itself, inside sinews and bones and souls.

A monster, that's what he was. Extra-Sensory Perception was nothing. Disgusting, like a demon who feasts on corpses already-full of bloated, swarming maggots, like swine-vermin-trash. This had finally proved his three-year theory that he didn't deserve happiness. There was blood somewhere, running down his neck and legs: no doubt that sticky, lukewarm creeping sensation he was currently feeling as he lay in a shuddering heap, but he didn't want to think about whether it all was his or not. A knife had gleamed - illuminated briefly in the dim light of the street - but fear had overridden and only now had he truly noticed there was a wound. After the warning cut against the pale nape of his neck, a thin line just enough to hurt, he had stopped resisting altogether - it was safer to give in.

But, this was unnecessary. This was… he couldn't think on this right now. He had to move in case one of them came back, or anyone found him lying here on the ground, unable to make a noise. He would not allow anyone to know of this. It would be just another secret to keep hidden from the others, under his hat and thrown away the key, although this would be the most difficult to do so. Kyon or, God forbid, Suzumiya could never learn what had transpired.

Itsuki's hands scrabbled desperately against the freezing wall behind him as he pulled himself into a standing position, his breath coming in labored gasps as the world swam, vision blurred. He must have been beaten, at one point - something was broken - although he could not remember that part. For that he was thankful. He was weak, legs wobbling involuntarily as he dragged himself to the nearest bus stop, barely enough energy to stay upright. He still had his wallet, miraculously, and inside was enough for the fare home. He was glad that he lived in the city, if only because no one would second-glance his dirtied clothes and horrific appearance.

The bus pulled up, with trembling fingers he deposited his fistful of coins, and he prayed that he would remain on his feet for the entire trip.

Vermin, slut, liar, faggot, thief, worthless piece of shit -

He whispered the words over and over to himself as the bus jerked to a halt, as it started up again, as the doors slammed open to let more passengers off and on. Someone had found him desirable enough, inconspicuous enough, to... t-to... he squeezed his eyes shut with a wordless gasp. It had happened only a short while ago, sure, but he didn't want to relive it - didn't want to feel those nails, that iron grip, that - it was his stop now, he was getting off now, none of this mattered now, and he was home, he was home, he was home.

His apartment was a mere three blocks from where he had stepped off the bus. The leather book-bag he held delicately at his side was drenched and scuffed, but he had no mind to do homework now anyways. He was going to walk up those steps, unlock that door, and then drown drown drown in his own helplessness.

He was going to be sick.

Itsuki fumbled for his keys - missing the lock twice before opening - and managed to reach the trash can near the kitchen counter instead of throwing up where he stood, body arcing, trembling, as acid washed his throat. Sweaty hands clutched at the plastic rim, knuckles turning white as he heaved again and again, dripping gray skies on the floor and gray memories in the trash and choking on something that wasn't there, couldn't be there, never would be there. Then he crawled to the bathroom and turned the faucet on, filling up the bath with steaming water. Incense, he needed incense, and lit one with the kitchen matches, setting it in its wooden holder on the space in front of him. It would calm his mind and cover up the smell. It would purify him, if only a little and if only he allowed himself to wish that hard.

Koizumi gingerly stripped off his clothes and threw them in a pile by the open bathroom door. He took another glance towards the bath and then at his now-naked skin, and decided to take a shower instead, the quickest way.

It wasn't hot enough, and soon the temperature was enough to burn him, and he needed to be clean because tomorrow was a school day. Tomorrow he had to face God and Love and Wisdom and Fate, and another day of smiles and board games in which he always lost, always, always lost. Suddenly he was sobbing, slumped over on the tile -

And he cried, and he cried, and he cried.

A/N 2015.08.03:

It was intended to be a long-running fic but I never ended up writing any more chapters. I seem to remember that Itsuki was just going to end up acting weirder and weirder due to this on top of all his other stress, then he'd break down, Kyon would eventually figure out what was going on and then they'd eventually grow closer ('cause Kyon isn't a bad guy, you know!).

Feel free to write your own version if you liked this at all, LOL!