((IM BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!-- YOURE MAYOI)) Mayoi sat in the dim glow of the dormitory, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, eyes shut but still seeing too much. Tatsumi's voice reached him, gentle, coaxing—words of devotion, of understanding, of care. But Mayoi knew better.

"Though I've closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am."

He wasn’t the saint Tatsumi wished for. He wasn’t some tragic soul in need of salvation, someone to be guided, molded into a perfect believer. But that’s what Tatsumi saw when he looked at him, wasn’t it?

Not Mayoi Ayase, not in all his messy, trembling, self-loathing form. Just something convenient. Someone easier to love.

Mayoi wanted to scream. To rip away from the hands that always reached for him, warm but smothering. To stop himself from leaning into them despite everything, because some part of him—pathetic, desperate—still wanted to be wanted.

But tonight, he just sat there. Letting Tatsumi's voice wash over him, letting himself be whoever Tatsumi pretended he was.

At least for now.