Bitten
Author: ryosukekoibito
Pairing: None...Keito-centric
Rating: PG
Genre:Angst
Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything.
Summary: Keito hasn't been well for a while...
A/N: So, while I'm working on my two big multi-chaps I'm going to occasionally post a small drabble or something, okay? So, yeah, here's one I did...over a year ago and never posted.
He didn't know when it had started, only that it had grown and grown, eating away at him, and consuming him from the inside out. At first it was just little nips and tugs when he was left alone, but soon these nips turned into full out bites, and the biting began to happen more frequently. It took a bite whenever they walked in the room, his senses becoming hyper aware, noticing every step they took, every flux in their voice hitting him in the chest like a rock. It took another bite when they were surrounded by the others, hugs and excited chatter given readily. He stayed behind, feeling it chew on the chunk of his being as he watched them all, unable to join in the lightheartedness. And when they left he felt the sharp teeth rip another chunk away, as disappointment overtook him at not being noticed, and he was left alone.
He was searching for a name for the demon that was slowly consuming him. Unrequited love? Definitely. Obsession? Perhaps. It was always there, always ready to send him over the edge when he was least expecting it. One mention of their name, of something they liked, was all it took to sink him. He tried to be prepared, but he couldn't ever stop the crashes of emotion, only ever managing to mask it from his face. No one knew. They would never know, not if he could help it. His demon was all his own, he didn't need to burden them with it. No, they couldn't know. Besides, they wouldn't understand. It would scare them; they would hate him for something that even he didn't understand. No one had ever had an effect on him like this before now. He had never loved anyone so much.
It got harder. The biting got worse. Harder to mask. It brought tears to his eyes, left him feeling like he couldn't breathe, as if someone had taken a rope and lashed it forcefully around his chest, tightening it and trying to crush his ribs. He shook. His hands, his arms and legs quivered with fatigue. He was always tired, sleep no help for the emotional exhaustion. Sometimes it would show on his face, and they would tell him that he looked like he was going to cry. They didn't get it. He was crying. Internally. He was breaking down. Crumbling away. It was winning over his soul. Sometimes it was too much and he would hide, and let himself sob for a little while. On the train home, or in the bus after everyone else was asleep. He would sit and cry. He used to believe that crying made you feel better, but it was never enough anymore.
Then one day they caught him. They were eating dinner, all of them. Celebrating. And it washed over him, pulling on his heart and making his insides feel heavy and dark. All noise faded away, and he was alone, and the tears started flowing. And they wouldn't stop. He tried. But the awful thing had decided to attack, and it was thrashing about inside of him, clawing and biting down on everything. Destroying him. His body shook, and he put down his fork, trying to hide his face as he cried, but eventually they noticed, surprise and concern on their faces. He eventually left the restaurant, running away, as though if he ran far enough it would stop. When they found him the tears had finally run their course. But now they knew. Their faces said so. And the looks they gave him bit another chunk out of his disfigured soul.
Depression, the doctor said, as he handed Keito the bottle of pills. Oh? Is that what you call this?