A/N: I don't know why this is so long... (Well, I do, but still) If you heard hellish shrieking over the past few days, that was me. I called it green, but it's not as green as I thought it'd be... Oh well, I don't give a shit, I'm proud of this.
Kyoya nearly cried with relief when the weekend came around once more, his prayers finally answered. He could huddle in bed and sleep with no consequence, though he'd possibly be pushed out of bed for meals. It was something that made the pressure from not being able to do anything lessen, even if he was still numb and lifeless. It was more comfortable to sleep away the feelings of depression and failure, forgetting his failed tests and frustrated friends, and leave behind his… worrying thoughts.
He wouldn't act on them. Throughout middle school he'd thought about how dying was a very attractive thought, but he'd never done anything. Well… Nothing much. A few light scars on his thighs, and that was all; a childish reaction to a hard situation, but it was a lot better than the permanent solution, no matter how embarrassing those scars were. All he had to do was keep them covered anyway, which was easy enough.
Hot showers and hot tea were enough. Probably. It made the whispers of those thoughts go away for a little while, and that was all he could ask for.
"Kyoya, are you awake?" Came Tachibana's voice from behind the door, accompanied by a knock. It seemed he was trying to avoid an alarm clock to the face, which was fair enough; he was self-aware enough to realise that he was a bitch in the mornings. In all honesty, that made the feat of Tachibana shoving him out of bed in the mornings all the more impressive.
It did make something in his chest sink, however; still needing his bodyguard to do that while he lay in bed like a lump. It made him feel vaguely sick, whatever little appetite he might have had completely disappearing. He was being rather ungrateful, wasn't he? He wasn't doing anything, yet here Tachibana was. His friends still stuck by him. His father even worried over him; not enough to drag him to a doctor – yet – but still. That just proved he was loved for more than his abilities!
… Then, why did he still feel completely alone?
"Yeah…" He answered, monosyllabic and simple so his voice wouldn't betray him. He wasn't crying, no, but he just didn't want to sound too… dead.
He pulled the duvet over his head when the door creaked open, not wanting to see Tachibana's faux-happy expression. Sometimes, there was no stoic mask at hand for the other man, and his eyes just looked sad and a little disappointed. He knew that it was just the situation, not himself; it didn't stop the conclusions his sick brain supplied him with, though.
"Kyoya, it's time to get up," Tachibana said so, so softly, the barest hint of suggestion tinting the words like a faded watercolour.
"I don't have school today," Was his only answer, turning away when he felt Tachibana sit at the side of the bed, still under the covers as he curled in on himself, "I'm tired…"
He heard that soft, sad sigh that seemed to be his bodyguard's go-to answer these days, and it seemed to cut through him like a knife. While he knew what was wrong, why was it this bad? It wasn't like this in middle school, it didn't suck all of his energy and motivation out of him, reducing his role in the family to pathetic invalid. He felt a keen sense of guilt, and it almost fucking killed him each time.
He didn't even realise his shoulders were shaking until Tachibana laid a big, strong hand on his awkwardly prominent scapula. He wasn't sniffling, not yet at least, but his chest was tight, and his eyes seemed to burn. Crybaby.
"Kyoya… I love you, you know that, but you're always tired these days," Tachibana stated matter-of-factly, trying to be gentle but it still made him feel awful, "Come on. Why don't we do some fun things today? It's probably better than just staying in your dark room…"
It sounded like Tachibana was more saying that to himself, but he had a point. His mental health was already crappy, he didn't want to (somehow) make it worse; otherwise he probably would just kill himself. It sounded so flippant, so casual in his own head, and he tried to pretend that it actually shocked and scared him.
Still, going back to the matter at hand rather than letting his brain run off and do whatever it wanted, he slowly lifted the duvet and turned to look at Tachibana's blurry form for a moment. It would be tiring… Did he really want to bother? Not particularly. However… His bodyguards were family and he was more tired of letting them down.
"Okay," He agreed, pulling himself out of bed as if it were some sort of enticing tar pit, barely able to break the surface. He did, however, because he could if he put in enough effort. He could do anything if he was motivated. That was the issue with depression because, even if it weren't some sort of parasitic disease, he found he'd lost some of the will to get better.
That's how you know when you're in deep.
Still, he managed to get out of bed. He had to brush his teeth and hair, but Tachibana let him stay in his pyjamas – for now. He'd rather Kyoya have the energy to do something nice than spend it all getting dressed. Baking, apparently; Aijima was already in the kitchen getting things ready.
Tachibana kept his hand on his back as they walked down to the kitchen, as if Kyoya would break into pieces without the contact. Honestly, with how delicate he was feeling, Kyoya wouldn't have been surprised if he did. Still, if Aijima was going to bake with him – Hotta far away so they avoided his little "helpful" additions – it promised to be rather fun.
It was fun after his father explained what being an Ootori entailed. It was fun after his mother slit her wrists. It was fun after Kuze cut ties and Kyoya realised he was surrounded by leeches and piranhas, not friends. No matter how terrible he felt, nothing had actually happened this time, so it'd be fun again.
It would be fun.
Washing his hands, he gave Aijima a washed out, false smile that didn't reach his eyes; it was the thought that counts. It didn't seem to have the affect he wanted, however; the man coming over to clasp his shoulder and try to seem encouraging when Kyoya could only see bleak sadness and pity. He could only see grey, after all.
"How are you feeling, Kyoya?" Aijima inquired, and it was so obvious how fragile everyone thought he was, wrapping words up in cotton wool and pretending he could just look after himself, take some time off, and be okay. He was fast beginning to see that he was probably wrong about that himself…
"I'm okay, just tired…" He answered, like he'd done since this thing came back, trying to seem like he was more fine than he was. Still, it was just settling into something resembling normal, he and Aijima pottering around the kitchen, baking cookies and chatting a little. Kyoya got to lick the spoon, but he just gave it to Tachibana wordlessly, with a look of apology in his eyes. He wasn't very sure what he was sorry for. Being a weight that brought down everyone around him? His unwillingness to do anything? His failed tests?
… Being himself? Probably. It sounded like him and, well, he wasn't a delight to deal with when he was normal, and this seemed so much more troublesome. It was also something very… him to think. Perhaps if his peers weren't parasites, or his parents had doted on him more as a child, he wouldn't have this complex about worth and success. Maybe then he could actually accept the fact that people loved him, even when he couldn't cope with life.
Or maybe this was just how he was hard-wired to be, and he should go take a swan-dive off the roof.
He ran his hand through his hair roughly, snagging tangles he'd missed with his half-assed attempt at brushing his bedhead, trying to get as far away from that thought as he could. His fingers twitched, and he was sure he looked like a psychiatric patient; standing there in his pyjamas, his fingers threaded in his mussed hair, and his eyes wide and crazed.
Jesus, he was fucked up. His head wasn't normal. He was thinking about his brain splattered across the driveway while baking cookies because, yes, that was a thing sane people did. Maybe this wasn't going to just get better? Maybe Tamaki couldn't fix him like before? This had been happening for weeks, and he was reduced to a useless, brainless lump because of it; he didn't want to live like that!
Seeing a doctor was the logical option, but… Would that even work? Or would he just get pills and side affects and either gain weight or loose even more than he had, feeling completely sick and useless as he surveyed the damage. His mother gained weight, kicked up a fuss, and then got different ones that made her lose a good few kilograms in a month, which were also terrible. He wasn't self-obsessed, but he couldn't be in the host club if he was physically unappealing; he didn't have a cute personality to fall back on.
He was already a waste of Tamaki's time, he didn't need to ruin something that brought him so much joy.
His throat and chest were tight again, and he didn't know why. It wasn't like he was going to cry this time, not really, but he was making a conscious effort just to breathe at this point. Everything felt crushing, oppressive. Tachibana and Aijima stopped their conversation and turning to him, the weight of their gaze on his bony back. It was all too much, far too much, and yet felt so tragically little to get so worked up about – God, he was pathetic!
"Kyoya, are you alright?" Aijima broke in, and he just felt too much pressure from his ridiculous overthinking to even give him a proper answer. He just gave him a nod, mumbling something about taking the tray in the oven, and continued. He was more… ghostlike, as if he was staring at himself in some sort of dream.
He opened the oven, the heat escaping and hitting him square in the face, and he turned to pick up the oven glove… Then, stopped. He just stared at it for a moment, hand outstretched and mind whirring, and he went to pick up the cookies.
He screamed, bare skin gripping onto hot metal, and his loyal bodyguards rushed forward. They snatched his hand off the tray, and he saw how wide their eyes were through the blur of tears. They stared at him like he was crazy, Tachibana running off to get the first aid kit while Aijima tried to calm him down. However, all the shushing sounds the man made just made him panic more, spouting off apology after apology as tears spilled down his cheeks.
In a part of his brain unaffected by the pain, he had to wonder… Was that on purpose? He stared at the oven gloves, he reached out for them, then disregarded them. But it wasn't a conscious decision, he didn't want to burn himself! He wasn't sure which of those possibilities freaked him out more, to be honest. But there was this… clarity, focussing on the pain and not his overactive thoughts. It was far more effective than the hot showers and the boiling tea; perhaps even more so than the cuts on his thighs.
He was in too deep, he had to tell his father, had to go to the doctor… Or he could keep this clarity to himself and just let this all happen, let the world move around him as it was now; his hand under cold, running water as Tachibana rummaged around the box for some sort of salve or ointment. This was okay. This was fine.
They both made short work of the first aid, of course they did, but the silence felt unbearable; like he was waiting for them to say about just how damaged he was. That could never be pleasant. He just cradled his injured hand and hoped that this would be dropped soon. He wanted to postpone the inevitable talk for as long as possible, which was why he couldn't go to a counsellor. This pregnant pause was only going to give birth to a whole load of shit – Jesus, that was a disturbing metaphor.
"Come on," Tachibana prompted, helping him up and ignoring how the words made him flinch and tense his shoulders "Let's go outside for a little while – the fresh air'll do you some good, and it's a lovely day. I can help you get dressed if you like, it's not a good idea to move your hand too much right now."
The older man wiped away the tears on Kyoya's face so gently, it was like he was twelve again and sobbing because he didn't really have any friends. Because Kuze left and took Kanan with him.
"Do I have to? I just want to go sleep…" He tried to excuse. He must have looked completely pathetic, crying his dusty heart out with snot dripping from his nose because tears weren't beautiful, and they certainly weren't blue.
Of course, Tachibana didn't take no for an answer, saying that it was unhealthy for him to just stay in his room. If he really needed to, he could nap in the garden; that was the only compromise he was willing to meet. So, dressed in a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants that were loose on his hips – looking more and more like a psychiatric patient as the hours went by, it seemed – he was all but dragged into the garden.
The sunlight was warm on his skin, but it hurt his eyes. He'd been cooped up a little too long, used to washed out colours and darkness, but everything was… bright. Yellows and greens and pinks and reds dragged along the canvas in a beautiful symphony of colour. It wasn't grey. He actually stopped for a moment. He was able to smell the flowers' scent on the breeze, and the freshly cut grass.
Somewhere in his mind, something grinned sadistically and just seemed to whisper Maybe pain is how to fix yourself this time; you don't need him. It wasn't a voice, and he wasn't insane, but it felt so… accurate. He'd focused on that feeling, he'd cried his tears, and he felt a bit better. But he wasn't some sort of menhera, or some pathetic cutter. He went through a phase in middle school, everyone has something like that they regret. Whereas some may be otakus, he just… hurt himself a little.
God, denial really did run deep.
"Kyoya, are you alright?" Hotta asked, breaking him out of his trance, his face the picture of a concerned parent. It was touching. It was touching, he could feel it. Numb, but there! Maybe… This was something that could help? He flexed his hand under the bandage, gritting his teeth against a hiss as the sore flesh pulled. Not all the time, of course. He wasn't insane, and he wasn't a masochist… Well, not really. It was just… It worked!
No. No, even he wasn't that deep in denial, that willing to ignore this problem.
"I'm fine… It's warm today," He inwardly cringed at how stupid that sounded, but it seemed to appease his bodyguards. They just gave him smiles, ushering him out and sat with him on the ground, grass stains on their clothes. He had to sit because, despite this reprieve, he was still tired and a little too dizzy.
There, siting in the grass with the sun shining on his pale, drawn face… He felt like he could be okay.
Please, God, let him get better.