Q sat, knees pulled to their chest, within the four bleak walls that were their whole world. The room seemed endless and at the same time suffocatingly close, the grey shadows somehow both heavy and hollow. They always had the same thought: the outside was like a whole other realm, separated by an invisible barrier that only they couldn't pass. It was a space that everyone else could freely walk in, feel the sun, and laugh without feeling like their veins pulsed with something poisonous. Everyone else is allowed out there, but not you. The idea whispered in their mind, sharp and endless like a circular blade.
Why was it this way? Why could everyone else be happy? Why were they the only one locked up here? Every question burned into them a little more, but they never got an answer. Not from the tall man, not from the farmer who took them, and certainly not from the god the farmer always talked about. Q remembered the farmer’s low voice, dripping with something too dark to be called pity: "God exists, but he has no love for you."
That thought sat in them like a stone. Yes, it all made sense. God’s love was for everyone else, even those who didn't deserve it, while they—the outcast, the toy left to rot—had been cursed to live without it.
They clenched their fists, recalling Dazai. That bastard. He was the worst, with his smug face and his condescending smirk, the look that said he was so far above everyone, even them. And his stupid ability—Q's grip tightened until their knuckles turned white. No Longer Human. What a joke. It rendered their Dogra Magra ability, the one thing that gave them any control over this awful world, useless. Nullified. How could he have an ability like that and still play nice with those people at the Agency? It was a mockery, his smug lies hiding behind that façade of normalcy. Every bit of Dazai made Q’s blood boil—the false calm, the coldness in his eyes, that grin like he was laughing at them from another world.
And then there was Mori. A sick, twisted man who’d coaxed out every bit of their ability like poison from a snake, his voice always dripping with the wrong kind of sweetness. Mori was the reason they were locked away now, left to rot by Dazai and the Agency. They all pretended to be so righteous, to stand for justice, but they didn’t care about them, or Kyouka, or anyone who didn’t fit neatly into their perfect picture. And yet, they took Dazai in without a second thought. Dazai, the prodigy. Dazai, the demon. How stupid that sounded. He was nothing but the man who locked them away, a hypocrite hiding behind a title that suited him all too well.
Q’s thoughts drifted to Atsushi, the weretiger. What a pathetic creature he was, with that perpetual look of helplessness, so soft and gentle that it was almost disgusting. He was so easy to manipulate, but never in a satisfying way. Atsushi lacked any real spine, just stumbling through life, always sorry for himself. How had he even survived so long?
And as for that wannabe, Akutagawa… Q's lip curled. Dazai’s lapdog, his shadow, chasing after him like a lovesick fool. How many times had they seen Akutagawa trailing behind Dazai, his eyes glued to him like he was some God? It was sad, honestly, especially because Akutagawa had the nerve to call Atsushi pathetic. At least the tiger had a sense of independence, however slight.
Then there was Higuchi, clinging to Akutagawa like a child clutching a favourite doll. Q sneered at the thought. She was just another lost puppy, another fool who saw something in that hollow-eyed, grim-looking man that wasn't really there. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
And Verlaine. Q barely knew him, but what they did know was enough to fuel a low-burning distaste. He was just as strange and cold as everyone said, always muttering to himself or talking about "Rimbaud," whoever that was, in a way that made Q’s skin crawl. What a ridiculous thing to obsess over in this miserable place.
But the one they hated the most was the one they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried. The one they saw in every mirror, the one who haunted their every thought, taunting them from the inside. Yumeno Kyuusaku. They hated everything about themself—their ability, which relied on blood and pain, those stupid razors that forced them to hurt themself just to make the magic work. Their constant anger, their wild, unfiltered emotions that spilled out at every little thing. They hated that they were so quick to cry, to rage, to hate. There was nothing redeemable about them, no one kind thing they could say about themself.
No, Yumeno Kyuusaku wasn’t a person at all. They were a pathetic, vile demon, rejected even by the God that had created everyone else so perfectly.
And yet, here they were.
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