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Despite having told Es he wasn't as angry as he used to be, he felt as if all he could feel now was anger.
Despite having told Es he would be able to fix all of this, it only got worse.
Despite having told Es to forgive Mikoto, they...
...
A rush of hatred flows through his body, and he shoots up in his bed, clenching his fists so tightly that the wet sensation of blood seeps through into his nails. He should control himself. He hasn't done any good for Mikoto so far, and to put himself out there as Mikoto while being unable to calm this anger within him doesn't paint a good picture for Mikoto. The Mikoto who shuns anger and violence, who believes it to be unsightly.
John curls himself up, resting his forehead onto his knees as his back further pushes against the wall. Pathetic. Disgusting. Unbecoming. He wraps his arms around his calves, but brings an arm up to ruffle and scratch at his head in stress, a similar action to Mikoto.
He would hate to be compared to someone like me... I'm everything he wished he was, but nothing admirable. Surely if he saw me in this state he'd laugh.
He brings the arm back to wrap against his legs, and tightens the grip. If only Mikoto loved him as much as he did. If only he could see him. Feel him. Apologise. Explain. Then, and only then, will he feel satisfied. But now, it's too late. It's impossible.
If only he could treat him with the same kindness he gives everybody else, tell him that he did good, that he really did save him. That...
That he loved him.
John knew his love. He knew the level of his devotion to Mikoto. But would Mikoto ever love him? The personification of everything he despised yet desired? Would that ever be possible?
He unfolds himself and shrinks back down into the bed, pulling his blanket over him.
Even within these moments to himself, all he's able to feel is frustration. Anxiety. Fear. Depression. Nothing good. If only he had secured that "forgive" vote. Maybe everything could've turned out better for him. But he's stuck with somebody that could never give a good life to him.
What he would do to be able to touch his face, caress it gently and tell him it'll be okay, that he'll be here for Mikoto no matter what. To pull him into his chest and grip him tight. He really is so beautiful. Nothing compares. Nobody compares. Is it narcissistic to think that of somebody who shares your face? He doesn't think so.
Someone like Mikoto, who gives unique facial expressions that John could never replicate, could never have the same dishelved, unkempt look as John's. He took care of himself despite his tight schedules, and he always put out the best version of himself.
Not to mention, he could never replicate how beautiful Mikoto would look like above him, whispering sweet-nothings into his ear that would shoot up not just his ego, but his-
He snaps out of these thoughts with a startled jump, and shifts his body to stare at the wall. Since when did he think such strange things about somebody he was meant to be protecting? He shouldn't cross a boundary like that.
But with someone as attractive as Mikoto was... how could he stop himself? It doesn't help that thinking these kinds of things helped move his attention away from those horrible feelings in him. It gave more of a reason to give into these thoughts.
He makes sure his lower half is covered with the blanket and he shoves his hand into his boxers, not bothering to take them off. Before he does anything, he closes his eyes and rocks his hips against his hand.
"John... you're so good for me. You're all pent up just because of me... How adorable."
He pants hot breaths and quickly grips his dick, stroking it up and down at a medium pace, which immediately causes moans and whines to escape his mouth.
"Shh... You wouldn't want anybody to interrupt us now would you?"
Replicating the actions of Mikoto, he covers his mouth with his free hand, slowly picking up his pace.
"I'm so proud of you,"
His hand stutters, his hips rock against it-
"You've done all this, just for me..? You're so strong. I love you so much,"
A line of drool falls out of his mouth, quickly staining the pillow below him-
"Y'know, I can almost say that you've..."
He bucks into his hand quicker and quicker, messier each time-
"...saved me. My saviour..."
With a loud whine, he cums all over his hand, staining his boxers. He takes heavy breaths as he basks in the afterglow, and then quickly covers his face with embarrassment.
"God... I'm so disgusting, aren't I? Tarnishing 'my' image..."
He ignores the smirk that lays painted on his face.
Maybe a little self-indulgence is fine after all.