“We need a break.“ Satoru sits you down to talk. Merely conversing with a non-sorcerer always made him feel a little jamais vu, and you could feel queasiness emanating from his covered eyes, ostensibly distressed about the whole situation as he held back a heavy sigh from escaping his lips.

He stiffens when you start sniffling. He always hated to see you cry—especially now that he was the reason why tears trickled down your face. Hesitantly, Satoru's hand runs up and down your back, it's a pathetic attempt to soothe you whilst he's already stabbing you in the chest. Bandaids don't fix bullet holes, he knows that, though he had to do something to alleviate the pain.

His frown tightens at your weak question. “You're not exactly tying me down, sweetface.” He sharply inhales, a hissing sound that rivets the unease, and contemplation. He had come into terms about who he was, and what he had to offer—Satoru could offer the world it's safety, but he could not do the same to you. He couldn't guarantee anything knowing the dangers he brought forth to your life.

“It's just that..I feel like I'm on a leash, and whenever you tug on it, I choke a little bit,” He leans in to your smaller frame, lending you his shoulder to cry on. He never imagined to have taken this relationship seriously—and he regretted it, stepping into your life knowing the privilege of an unconditional love couldn't apply to him. You deserve somebody that doesn't have their life on the line. So you won't have to worry if one night they don't come home cause they've already d*ed.

“I'm the strongest, remember?”

“I've got a reputation to uphold. Can't let Japan fend for itself.” He continues, as if trying to convince himself of the same, trying to keep sane. Satoru knows it's wrong, he even wishes he could run away and make things right—but it isn't that easy, not when he worked hard for this just for him to let it all go.