A part of me, a part of you (Kyoko x Male Reader)

Why does everyone save me

(Just a smol chapter this time.)

Usually, waking up to the announcement at 7am was hell. The migraine that came with it, the blinding room lights that came on soon after, the knowledge that he had to go to a god damned breakfast meeting like everything was fine.

Today, Y/n decided no.

No to all of it.

He couldn't wake up to the announcement, he never fell asleep. The room lights couldn't blind him, as they were never turned off. And no one, not a single soul, could drag him to the meeting this morning.

Maizono's patience was getting better, it seemed, as the doorbell rung over and over and over and over again and all he could do was stare at the ceiling. He had thought it may have been Ishimaru, trying to gather stragglers to the breakfast meeting. That guy had an impressive will to go forth, he must of been at the door for forty five minutes before giving up.

Still, Maizono just ignored it.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

His voice still hadn't returned, and now his energy was spent. He wasn't tired. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't anything. He barely felt existent. Like an object you place on your desk, it has no purpose. No use. No needs. It just lays there, patiently waiting for the day it either breaks or gets discarded.

Maizono felt a lot like that right now, only his world would make much more sense if he would hurry up and break.

He was laying on Sayaka's bed, staring up at the fluorescent lights despite them making his eyes sting and see phantom colours, unmoving.

He hadn't changed out of his clothes from last night, even his shoes were still on - laces done up.

If he was in tune with his body, perhaps he would have felt its needs being neglected. But he wasn't. He couldn't feel a damn thing. Somehow, that was good.

He didn't want to feel.

He knew as soon as he did he'd spiral again. Since Sayaka died, he had been keeping as many emotions inside as he possibly could. Part of him thought they'd fade, dissipate, or at the very least go to the back of his mind for longer than a moment. But they kept coming loose, flooding his mind and vision.

Staring at the lights, he saw it in front of him. He saw, in great detail; every bruise, every hair, every fold in each piece of fabric, every blood splatter and cut, every stain on every tile over every limb all connecting and making up the perfect image of the corpse he had found.

He couldn't get the picture to leave him alone.

Maizono unwillingly tortured himself, his brain recreating her voice perfectly calling out for help. Every word, every breath, every gargle as the blood pooling in her damaged lungs shot up and attempted to escape her mouth. He heard the bones in her wrist cracking, contorting, breaking. He heard the swish of the knife before the scream of her dropping it. He heard the thunk of it falling to the ground, the panicked steps and laboured breathing as she clutched her wrist and forced the bathroom door closed with difficulty.

He imagined the calm after Kuwata had left the room, how she probably felt it was over, how she probably thought he would leave her alone... Only to hear the screams and cries the moment the door handle started rattling, the sound of screws coming loose and hitting the thinly carpeted floor.

The angry yells of the man trying to open the door, a desperate need to satisfy the anger in his bones by finishing the job.

He imagined her usually bright, deep blue eyes shrinking to a pin, terrified of what happens when the door opens - never If.