Our Blue Catalyst || GojoGeto

Dreary Nights

     

     Suguru Geto's eyes slowly open to a blurry, dark-lit room. It's impossible to distinguish anything other than general shapes. A peculiar sensation emanates from his chest, unfamiliar to him. It stings and pulses. The pain he experiences is uncertain, whether it's a burning inferno or a nitrogen-like icy chill. Having cleared the sleep from his eyes, he tries to orient himself. He rubs his face, but it weirdly feels wet, like his hands are damp. He squints and reals back. Is that blood? Startled, he springs out of bed and leaves a trail of sheets and blankets behind. He stumbles through the pitch-black room before the door slams shut behind him from the force of his exit. Despite hearing a grumble from the room, he disregards it.

     Inside the bathroom, he fumbles for the light switch, inadvertently leaving smudges and stains where his hands touch. The room bathes in light as he finally flips the switch with shaky hands. The sight in the mirror shocks him.

     There's nothing. No stains on his hands, no gore. Nothing on the wall? What's going on? That was blood. He was sure of it. Wasn't he? It must just be sleep deprivation. The last few nights have been exhausting. Earlier too. A hearty sigh escapes him. Whatever. Suguru opens the door and only takes a step forward before he recoils back in shock and terror. What the fuck? Riko Amanai.

     She stands before him in the doorway, drenched in layers of slime and rot. Her clothes are tattered and raw. Her hair is wet and matted with dried plasma. It clings to the thin skeletal features of her face and neck. She attempts to speak, but all that emerges is a weak, raspy screech. Her deteriorating hand extends towards him, the sagging skin nearly melting off each bloated and blackened finger. Flakes of it slough off and drop soundlessly to the ground. A gaping hole on the side of her head exposes fractured skull pieces of putrid pus and oozing rot. A revolting smell of metal and iron fills the air and his senses and causes his throat to constrict. He heaves and retches for air as he doubles over and vomits where he stands. He kicks the door shut before crashing backward against the bathroom's back wall. Heat burns his cheeks as he continues to retch and gag, gasping for breath as he struggles to find relief. Frantically, he claws at his throat until he takes his first full breath. Tears stream down his face as the fresh air kick starts his lungs, providing momentary respite. He gasps a few more times until his breathing gradually returns to a manageable rhythm.

     In his state of exasperated panic, he tunes into a sound emanating from the door which had since grown quiet. He freezes at the noise, his muscles shake, his heart pounds, and tears well in his eyes as the sound grows louder. Louder. His breath cuts short and his nerves become more like electric wires than functioning body parts. Louder. A tumultuous clapping sound comes one after another from behind the door. It grows in sound and rhythm until it is ear-splitting. A resounding chorus of applause. He doesn't move an inch from the bathroom corner as his body tucks him close. His knees squeeze tight to his chest as he heaves, his hands covering his ears. He rocks ever slightly for a semblance of comfort.

     "Suguru?"

     Geto's head shoots up towards the familiar voice, the comforting sound of his best friend.

     "Satoru! Satoru, please help me." He squeaks out, and his weak legs propel him towards the door. With a fluid motion, he's got the door open. He almost rushes into his arms but stops just short. Only a faceless visage of his friend stands before him. Horror creeps into Geto's features. That's not Satoru.

     His foot instinctively back peddles, but the floor gives way beneath him and shucks his body into a deep inky abyss. A single echo follows his descent.

     "You are not strong enough, Suguru."

     He wakes with a soundless scream, his eyes shoot open, and his body bolts straight up in bed. Tears cascade down his burning cheeks. His heart threatens to pound out of his chest, and his breath labors. Wildly, his eyes scan the room for further danger. The darkness finally adjusts. A sigh escapes him as he sees Satoru lying beside him, drool coating his pillowcase. Relief finds his senses. Good, this is real. He's pretty sure. With gentle pressure, he probes at the goofy white-haired boy. A muffled groan escapes Satoru's lips. Deep sleeper, I guess. Geto is awake now, he knows for sure. Tense and stiff muscles make it hard for him to move after the shock he experienced. There his phone lies on the nightstand. 3:14 am. Damn, it's late. Suguru should've gone back to bed ages ago. He contemplates waking him up. No, he shouldn't. Maybe they can talk later. A part of him wants to seek solace from Satoru, steal a kiss, and stay cuddled up next to him. Suguru just isn't like that, though. He would feel off about it. Yeah, it would feel off. His rigid body hoists him out of bed, but he maintains silence to keep from waking Satoru. He glances once more at the comforting sight of his friend. He steals a secretive kiss before tip-toeing out of the room and hurries back to his own. Maybe his heart had grown softer towards that idiot after all, but who knows?

     The thought of sleep unsettles him. He lies facing the ceiling, now in his bed. A multitude of thoughts cross. Recollection of all the haunting things he witnessed doesn't die out, but the exhaustion in his bones wears him down. This nightmare was a new one for him. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about that day all week, but this was intense. His fists clench at the last words of that dream. No more! That's enough! He'll just swallow the fears and nightmares down. Much like the curses he intakes, the feeling is disgustingly similar. He succumbs to fatigue, unsure if the terrors will return.