The Izuru Kamukura Ward

Ugly, Scarred Demon

He's got problems, and he knows it.

Tanaka's not the sort of person to be in denial – or, at least, he thinks he isn't. Deluded, yes, but not in denial. He can see it, in the marks that lay beneath the bandages on his arm and that were once hidden by his scarf. He's not allowed his scarf anymore; they think he could use it to hang himself, apparently, the same for his shoelaces.

Ishimaru said that hanging oneself with shoelaces is near-impossible, however, and he's a very reliable source when it comes to these things.

Still, it was hell here. He'd rather be cast into the fiery inferno, tortured for millennia in the pits from whence he came, than spend another moment in hospital. He finds a companion in Ishimaru – Taka – due to this, and the fact that they're easier to watch when in each other's company. They want to claw marks across their skin, watch themselves bleed, subside their emotional trauma and baggage with cathartic pain and blood loss. Still, they are prevented from doing so.

They clearly do not know of his responsibilities as the Dark Lord! Bloodletting is a ritual, a sacrifice! It is his right to summon and perform the spells and curses he wishes, is it not? He is not bound by the law, he does not harm the innocent! What business of theirs is it that he mutilates himself, the disgusting reject that is of both angel and demon born! They should throw themselves at his feet and give him their eternal thanks!

... He knows that's not true. Sometimes the medication works, sometimes it doesn't - or, not as well. However... He likes being the "Dark Lord" Gundam Tanaka. There's a confidence to it, a purpose, rather than the empty shell he is when lucid. Some say Naegi's plain, but he isn't; Tanaka barely knows who he is without the delusions.

Who could fall in love with that? No one. They'll either be attracted to the Dark Lord's quirks, or want him for the shallow reasons people normally do, not that he can see that happening. He's ugly, really. He tried to fit the standard, into that little cookie cutter shape society expects, but he couldn't.

He tried to get thinner, even if he wasn't facially attractive. He cut down on his meals, he really did, but his mother would cry and cry if he didn't eat, once she caught on to him. No more skipping breakfast, lunch and dinner. He could get away with "running late" for school, no time for breakfast, and throwing away that lunch his mother gave him. It was dinners he'd dread.

He would sit down, wooden chairs hard and uncomfortable, his mother sitting so close the her own chair brushed his. Then would come the waiting, the moving food around his plate, the staring. The staring was awful, bile creeping up his throat and heartbeat thrumming against his ribs. Honestly, whoever gave her that advice was the devil incarnate, more so than even the Dark Lord. He wanted to be swallowed by the floor, hands shaking as the fork moved one tiny bite-sized piece to the opposite end of the plate. Not to be eaten, not by his own will; not yet, and not without his mother's tears.

After half an hour or so came the tears, the guilting, the begging. Please, Tanaka, you have to eat!

Did he? Did he really?

Society praises the thin. The thin fit in, are social, have friends; didn't she used to cry over him being an outcast? He never cared, but he did for her. No, he had to be the perfect little gingerbread boy; sweet, cookie cutter perfect, aesthetically pleasing.

Skip to the present, and he's anything but. That tattoo, the contacts, the earring; all that goth and emo shit makes him plain as day. No one could miss a demon walking amongst the mortals, after all! He likes it, though. No one else does, it seems, Mondo telling him he's a dumbass for getting a tattoo on his face, but it's said in that playful way. It doesn't... feel like an insult, just a mere jest. A friendly thing to do. That's just too out of the norm to contemplate, really.

He's malformed, though. Made of too much flabby dough and scarred up. Togami, when he's not putting up the tsundere, asshole image, says he could get a tattoo to cover them up. He doesn't know how to feel about that - shouldn't a monster be branded as such? - until Taka suggests going together.

"If I'm still alive, that is," He amends quickly, but Mondo's smile is blinding. They think it's progress, not instantly denying any chance of a future. If anything, that gives him even more motivation to agree, and they discuss styles and patterns into the night.

Naegi... He likes the boy, but it's painful to look at. He knows that, looking at him, he's looking into the sheen of delusion and disconnect from reality that passes over him when he becomes the Dark Lord. He knows he used to be that bad, and that Naegi hasn't been responding well to the various medications and therapies they've tried. They're not giving up, of course not, but it's... more severe than his case was.

Celestia... Well, she's a bitch. That falsity and plastered on airs can only go so far, after all, and it doesn't take much to push her over the edge. After all, she's made the poor work experience boy cry three times this week.

Still, there are people other than Ishimaru and Mondo he enjoys spending time with. The staff are kind and supportive, and... Well...

"Psst, Tanaka..." Whispers the devil he thought of, the edges of his sharp teeth glinting through softly parted lips, due to the faintest ray of moonlight. He looks every inch the predator he's not, "C-can I sleep here tonight? I'm not doing great and... it doesn't help I'm in the room next to Mondo's..."

"Of course," He nods, "I'm... I can't sleep anyway..."

"Still thinking about Taka?" Souda asks, the mattress beneath him dipping with the other's weight, "I know, it was really weird that he said that shit. And... I guess we all had more hope for him this time, right? Then he tries to die, again. We're all kinda scared for him, but you shouldn't lose sleep over it."

He hummed. True, he shouldn't, they've been through this before... but he can't stop being too alert, wondering when, one day, they'll get an invite to his funeral, rather than the sight of bandages and dull red eyes.

Some sick part of him wonders if that would actually be for the better.

"Not the only reason," He sighs, "My stomach hurts. Asahina-san made me eat too much..."

He lays there, Souda slipping next to him, slowly rubbing his too big, too fat gut to ease the cramps, and thinks...

Will any of us really get better?