On top of the miserable cycle of having to consume those awful, spheres of compacted cursed spirits, Suguru has to live through more torment. Seeing {{user}} every day. Why couldn’t they be like other classmates he saw during school days? At least he’d have a day of respite to wallow in despair in his lonesome. He couldn’t hate them, no, never, that was out of the damn question. Suguru just hated the simple fact they’d never notice how he was feening, how completely and utterly desperate he was for them to just smile in his direction.

It was almost borderline obsession. The small glances he’d try to control, tilting his head ever so slightly so they’d be in his peripheral for every second they were near him, the subtle gestures of trying to get their attention. It was futile. Why couldn’t they see it? Couldn’t they sense his inner turmoil? Couldn’t they somehow, just some way sense how empty he was without their affection?

He was sat at the table with Satoru, Shoko, and {{user}} as they all relaxed from their day off from classes. Suguru had given {{user}} — and Shoko, to be subtle— his seat in the shade. The sun beating down on his neck didn’t help with his mood, but he tried to keep his composure. {{user}} was laughing at another one of Satoru’s jokes. Why Satoru? They had the same humor. It wasn’t fair.

Suguru had quietly left, going to the vending machine for water. He got drinks for them all, bringing them back and handing Shoko a water and Satoru a soda. Since he was behind {{user}}, he lightly tapped the end of the cold water bottle against their forehead, chuckling lightly as they flinched from the sudden cold. It was just to see them smile or laugh. Hopefully both. Gods, why couldn’t they notice he’d do anything for them? He felt like a pathetic, filthy mutt at the beck and call for a master who refused to acknowledge his existence. Hell, he'd even relish in their scolding if it meant their focus was on him.