“Souta,” I muttered under my breath, the name barely escaping my lips as I sought some semblance of haven in calling his name

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here,” came the reassuring voice of him.

My stomach was churning with a sickening feeling as I stumbled upon the words. “I'm feeling so disgusted right now.”

“I want to tear myself apart,” I confessed with a quivering voice.

“But why? What's wrong?” Souta pressed further, his voice soft yet insistent.

My frustration bubbled to the surface, threatening to consume me entirely. “Can you distract me for a second? I might go full rage mode,” I pleaded, my desperation evident in my tone.

Souta's response was immediate, with a note of determination coloring his words. “Okay, look at me,” he urged, his voice resolute yet reassuring.

I lifted my gaze, meeting Souta's eyes with a mixture of weariness and despair.

Souta offered a comforting smile, “You okay?”

I shook my head.

“Wanna talk about it?” Souta offered.

“I don’t have energy left.”

“It's fine if you don't feel like talking, just want you to know I'm here if you need it,” he reassured as his hand reaching out to grasp mine.

He gently squeezed my hand. And after a prolonged silence, I finally broke it with my weary voice,

“I... feel like I could throw up, and I'm just... disgusted by so many things.”

“Is it about your family issues?” he asked quietly.

“What else do I have in life than them to have these feelings?” I replied, the bitterness seeping into my words.

Souta's brows furrowed in understanding, “I thought things were okay, but I guess they're not,” he murmured, then squeezed my hand again, “Anything I can do to help you?”

“It’s just my extreme mind,” the truth of my struggles laid bare in those simple words.

Souta's nod resonated with a sense of shared understanding. “I can understand the feelings, it's the worst,” he admitted softly, his voice carrying the weight of our shared struggles

“It’s just so messed up, right?” I murmured.

“The thoughts? Yeah, definitely,” he agreed, while his voice was tinged with a sense of resignation. “I can't tell you how many times I've tried to make sense of what's going on in this head of mine. It's a mess, and the worst parts get amplified while the good memories all seem to fade.”

“Oh yeah,” I murmured again, the familiarity of his words resonating deeply within me.

“I've probably forgotten most good things that happened in my life, yet I still recall the traumatic experiences so clearly it's almost like it still happened yesterday,” Souta continued in a quiet voice, as if he were stating an immutable fact.

“Mm,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts.

He leaned closer, then rested his head on my shoulder.

“You sure you don't want to tell me what's going on?” he asked after a while of silence, his voice low and warm. He remained close, his head still resting against my shoulder.

A heavy silence hung between us again. “It's just my self-hatred acting up,” I finally spoke.

“I understand,” Souta replied, as he tightened his grip on me. “It's such a consuming emotion. I know too well the feeling.”

I remained silent; the weight of my mind’s mess was too heavy to put into words.

“Please be honest with me,” Souta implored gently, his voice filled with genuine concern 

“How bad is your self-hatred right now?”

“...that I wanna tear myself apart.”

He pulled my head close to his chest, his arms wrapping around me in a comforting embrace.

“And you feel it's justified, right? That you deserve it?” he murmured, his words a painful echo of my own thoughts.

“Mm,” was all I could manage in response, the weight of my guilt threatening to crush me under its oppressive grip.

Souta's embrace enveloped me in warmth and comfort, his chin resting gently atop my head. “It's a shitty feeling, I get it,” he whispered.

“...Can’t I just vanish? I want to be ripped out,” I whispered in return—yet contradictorily, everything in me was screaming with desperation.

He held me even closer, “I wish I could say otherwise, but we both know I can't,” his voice tinged with regret. “These thoughts are like an infection; they're a part of us, and even if we find peace for a moment, they always find a way to creep back in.”

I remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in with each passing moment.

“I hate how much I understand them,” Souta confessed, his grip tightening around me

“Why can’t we just die? Why haven't we given up yet?” I choked out the words, tasting bitter on my tongue.

Souta's arms tightened around me, drawing me closer into his comforting embrace. “Do you really want to know the answer?” he asked.

“Do you have one?” I asked, feeling too tired to even hear an answer.

“I can give multiple answers, but they all ultimately lead to one truth,” Souta replied softly, his hand gently stroking the back of my head.

“And it is?” I forced the words out, though they felt hollow and devoid of need for an answer.

“Well, here's as straightforward as I can answer it.” Souta explained, “We're still here because deep down, no matter how much we hate ourselves, we know that it's just a matter of time till we find salvation,” He held me even closer and buried his head into my hair.

“I don’t like this. Why can’t we just kill it? Why can’t we just be lifeless beings walking around? I hate emotions.”

“Believe me, sometimes I wish I were a robot too, just so I could turn my emotions off whenever they get too much.” He continued to gently stroke my hair with his fingers. “Yet, we both know we feel this way because we're human, and even with all these negative feelings, humanity is what makes us push through.”

“I don’t wanna be human. I hate being human. I hate humans,” I spat out, my voice dripping with disdain for my own existence.

Souta chuckled softly, his fingers gently stroking my hair in a futile attempt to soothe my tumultuous emotions. “Yeah, I feel you,” he admitted with a playful shove and a smile.“I'm human, do you hate me?”

Souta's giggle softened the tension between us. “Can't take a joke?” he teased, enveloping me in another hug as he buried his face again into my hair.

“I'm not in the mood,” I replied curtly, my emotions still raw and unyielding.

“I know,” Souta acknowledged, raising his head with a smile, his fingers still tracing comforting patterns through my hair. “But you said it yourself, this is just our emotions acting up, and we both know they're unpredictable. I'm just trying to lighten the mood and help ease the pain.”

“Well... you did a little, but I wanna be in full emo mood,” I admitted, my lips betraying a hint of a tugged smile.

“So what, you going to go and put some sad music on now and just wallow in self-pity?” He let out giggles as he held me tightly once again.

“Yeah, bring me some hard metal rock,” I replied,

Souta chuckled and released me from his hug momentarily to retrieve his phone. “Any specific band or just anything with loud music?” he asked, his tone carrying a playful hint of amusement.

“Anything about hating life and humans,” I quipped, my voice heavy with sarcasm.

With a mischievous grin, he selected a song and started playing it. “There you go, go ahead and sulk in your emo mood,” he declared playfully.

“It's perfect. I'm feeling it so bad.”

“That's my emo boy,” he teased, giving me a playful shove.

“Shut it,” I retorted, though a small smile escaped the corners of my lips.

“Okay, okay,” Souta relented with a laugh. He turned his attention back to me, his expression softening. “You doing okay?”

“No,” I replied immediately.

“Yeah, nothing,” I muttered, “I’m just here trying to understand why does God still give me blessings? What does He want from a loathing human like me still alive?”

Souta's response was unexpected—a gentle punch on my arm. “If you're so self-loathing, then answer me this: why do you still have the will to live if you hate yourself so much?” his voice carried a hint of earnestness, his eyes searching mine for answers.

“I feel so ashamed in front of God,” the weight of guilt and shame bearing me down with every syllable I utter. “I can't bring myself to end my life simply because of this shame. He has bestowed upon me so much, yet here I am, consumed by thoughts of seeking death.”

“You feel ashamed because He has given you much, yet you feel ungrateful for all those blessings,” he chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his tone. “But what if God gave you those blessings because He wanted to see you happy?”

“But I'm still not happy,” I admitted, my voice choked with emotion. “I'm still not grateful, and I still find myself longing for death with every passing moment. I just want to be wiped out completely.”

Finally, a tear escaped, tracing a solitary path down my cheek.

As Souta wiped the tear off my cheek, his words, spoken with unwavering conviction, resonated deep within me. “You know, I'm sure God is aware of your struggles,” he began, his voice soft yet filled with certainty. “He sees you at your saddest and your happiest, He knows your pain.”

“I'm sure God is well aware of all that, but He hasn't given up on you yet,” Souta continued, his voice filled with compassion. “For every tear you shed, He still gives you another blessing, and for every moment you long for death, He gives you another moment to laugh, because I'm sure He believes you're capable of finding happiness.”

Then, in a moment of desperation, I grabbed my hair and pulled it with all my strength, as if trying to rip my mind out of my head. My body trembled uncontrollably, longing to release the pain trapped within my chest, to cry out that anguish out of my soul.

My sudden and drastic breakdown caught Souta off guard. “Stop! Don’t hurt yourself, just breathe, breathe.” He wrapped both of his arms around me as he desperately tried to keep me from pulling my hair, “Please Ano, don’t do this to yourself!”

I had always been the cold, nonchalant, and collected one, the pillar of strength for Souta during his breakdowns. But this time, I couldn't contain the buried self that was consuming most of my mind. My tears flowed uncontrollably, each sob wracking my body with such intensity that it stole my breath away. I couldn't stop the flood of emotions pouring out of me, and in my desperation, I longed to grab hold of anything within reach and tear it apart, as if to match the agony tearing me apart from within.

The sight of Souta, so utterly desperate and hopeless, was enough to break my heart. He clutched me tighter, a desperation of his own filling him, as if he were trying to shield me from myself. His touch was both comforting and suffocating, holding me in a vice grip as if afraid I might slip away. As he reached out and grabbed my hand, I clenched his hand with such force that it felt like all the blood drained from it. My grip was tight, almost to the point of pain, as if I were holding on for dear life, seeking an anchor in the midst of the storm raging within.

Souta's grip tightened around me, his own anguish mirroring mine as tears welled in his eyes. The weight of my pain bore heavily upon him, and I could feel the tremble in his embrace as he struggled to hold himself together.

“I'm sorry. I'm. really. sorry.” I barely managed to choke out between sobs.

Souta's response was immediate, his own tears mingling with mine as he held me close.

“I know, I know,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I'm sorry I can't ease it, but...” He rested his forehead on atop my head, his tears mingling with mine as they dripped onto my hair. “Please just calm down, okay? You've nothing to apologize for...”

I shook my head in response to his apology, unable to find the words to convey the complexity of my emotions. 

Then, with a sudden resolve, I pulled myself away, distancing myself from his touch. As if flicking a switch, the tears ceased, leaving behind only the sound of my ragged breathing. I retreated into myself, shutting down any outward of emotion, and my head went all blank.