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Sadness hurts. Like nails growing from bones threatening to push out from beneath skin and spray the walls with red, like bonfires erupting on lungs, like shadows creeping across vision. Sadness hurts like hell.
Meguru hates being sad, hates being anxious, hates that he’s reduced to this. Hates it all, hates the world, hates himself.
It starts as so many terrible things do, with an overheard conversation. He couldn’t say who it was or where he was because he’s- He’s- The crippling pain of it makes everything but those words fade into obscurity until he’s clutching at his hair wondering if it was even real, if he’s really just losing it.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Loneliness is an ugly thing.
What they said. They said –
“He’s really good, Bachira that is, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that … he’s not on the same level as them, you know?”
Laughter, ringing like cathedral bells.
“I’m just surprised Isagi didn’t choose someone else, I mean, think about the people he’s surrounded with? Rin, Nagi, Reo, any of them. He’s great but it’s not like he’s special, he’s just weird as hell.”
Laughter. Rustling.
“Aw come on man, even if it’s true you can’t just say it like that!”
Laughter.
He stands there, still. Long after they’ve gone. And in the quiet left behind, he whispers to himself.
“I know.”
Meguru knows what he seems like, knows what people want from him. It’s his confidence, his unwavering smile, his determination. He's a predator all the way through, the type that only smiles wider the bigger his prey is. And it’s true, when the hour of despair hits his veins sing a merry tune and his mind thrums to a beat of victory. That’s what they want. What they expect.
He’s a burning star. He’s-
He’s a boy. Seventeen years. Nearly two decades. And only his mother could love him and on bad days he wonders if she regrets having him as a child, if she’d be happier if he was- Something else. Different.
There’s no stopping it. No stopping that creeping thought that surely, surely it’s him. Seventeen years, and not a person could stand him. It’s him, something’s wrong with him.
He can’t bring himself to ask, afraid, deathly afraid, of the answer. “If I was Rin, would you be happier? If I was anyone else, would you be happier? Do you regret it? Now that you’ve seen there’s so, so many better options.”
Can’t bring himself to ask “why did you choose me?” He’s afraid of the truth. Or maybe he’s afraid of a lie. Afraid that Isagi wouldn’t be able to say it to his face. Say to his face that- That actually, he doesn’t want this anymore. That he signed up for someone braver, stronger, better than the lonely mess Meguru actually is.
He’s not blind, he’s seen the way other people look at Isagi. If he were to write down all the names of people he’s seen gaze at Isagi with lingering eyes, he’d be able to fill a book, and then another. He knows that Isagi doesn’t quite realise the grip he has in the people he meets, doesn’t realise that he could have anyone.
Meguru realises, Meguru knows.
And sometimes, he wonders if Isagi would stay if any of them asked. If any of them had got there faster, would Isagi have said yes as well? If he hadn’t been the first, would-
Oh god.
He doesn’t know if he loves Isagi, he has no idea what love even looks like beyond the pages of a book or tinny words on the TV screen. But he knows that he’s happy when Isagi smiles. Knows that he’s thrilled when he’s near him, knows that he’s enraptured by it, knows that flowers and demons and the sunset sky remind him of Isagi, knows that Isagi makes him feel- Feel something alive, or peaceful, or- Or-
Knows that he desperately wants to be better so he can stand next to Isagi as an equal, as someone who shines just as bright.
He doesn’t feel worthy, doesn’t feel better. Instead it all feels like a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on when it ends, when he wakes up.
Crying. He’s crying. He hates this, hates not understanding why it feels like his heart is being torn to shreds, and it aches. A real, physical, agonising pain in his chest and he clutches his shirt, claws at his bones as if someone he could break through them to get that terrible pain to stop.
It was just words, just an overheard conversation, just a joke among friends so why does he feel like he’s dying?
Great shuddering breaths, he feels like he can’t breathe and that he’s breathing too much, gulping in lungfuls of air as if he’s out at sea, feeling the waves pulling him under, like a siren’s call.
Bile, acidic, wretched bile crawls up his oesophagus and he swallows it down and there’s snot coming from his nose and he feels ill, feels disgusting.
Sadness is ugly, deeply, deeply, deeply ugly and Meguru can’t stand it. Can’t stand himself.
He’s spiralling, he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be crying. He’s supposed to be happy and strong and crazy and fun because- Because if he’s not that what is he? There’s nothing attractive about his grief or his loneliness, he can’t show it, couldn’t bare it if Isagi saw the raw parts of him and hesitated, in revulsion. Because if he can’t redeem himself then he’s just-
Unloveable. As always.
Seventeen years.
A headache, as if the gods are crushing his brains. His thoughts are spinning like leaves in a tornado, and he’s- He’s tired. He can’t understand it. Can’t understand- Can’t- Can’t-
Can’t.
He sits there. Cries. Swallowing saliva and bile, wiping tears and snot, shaking like a child.
Isagi wouldn’t want him, this. Isagi isn’t going to want this. Isagi could have a hundred, a thousand, an eternity of different people so Meguru can’t be this. Meguru has to change, has to make sure that the bad days stop, make sure he’s happy. Make sure he’s worth staying, prove he’s worthy.
The thought makes him nauseous. He doesn’t know why.
He hurts. Really, really, really hurts.
There’s nothing pretty about this, this, this. Heartache. There’s nothing good.
(He wants Isagi. Wants Isagi to come and hold him and hug him and tell him that he’s loved, that he’s already worth it. Wants Isagi to soothe his tears but-
He can’t. He knows what people want from him and this isn’t it. Who would want this pain, this sadness, this grief?
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.)