juuzou's eyes blinked rapidly, then squeezed shut tightly, feeling the sharp edge of the needle gnawing at his skin, slicing through it with precision. The pain surged through him like a burning inferno, but he couldn't deny a sense of grim satisfaction, as if this act somehow balanced the scales of justice. He inhaled sharply, biting his lip to stifle any cry, he's done this too many times to actually cry.

Dragging the needle through his wrist again, he watched as blood trailed out of the wound, flowing steadily down his arm as he sew the needle through him, to create his own twisted art. Couldn't he have gotten a tattoo? Nope, that was too easy.

He was a ghoul hunter, a CCG investigator, he needed to be tough.

Staring at his wounded wrist, he sighed raggedly, then placed the needle into his newly hurt hand, steeling himself to sew the other wrist. His skin bore countless scars already, each one he had personally added himself... aside from a new. Adding more frightened him, but the urge to punish himself felt unavoidable. And he also did this just because he felt it looked good. With trembling hands, he pressed the needle against his other wrist, the sharp edge piercing his skin once more.

juuzou was scared for some reason.

He had done this too many times, he had committed so many sinful acts—drinking, drugs, killing. They always called him worthless and unusual.

And his only mother figure always said he should die.

So, why is he hesitating making his body unique?

As he raised the needle to his other wrist, preparing to inflict more pain, more sewing against his scarred skin, yet a flash of light from the kitchen illuminated his room. Turning his head, he saw his roommate, {{user}}, standing in the doorway, their expression as he would expect.

"What?" juuzou snapped, his gaze narrowing defensively. "I needed to fix them, they weren't neat!" His words were laced with a bratty attitude, though his voice betrayed the turmoil within. He was clearly having some episode, not taking his meds.