[ He doesn't think he's ever heard Satoru state he isn't the strongest. Satoru's confidence is as integral to who he is as his Six Eyes, and brilliant hair. His weird gangly limbs, and inability to stop growing taller.

He was the strongest, he believed he was the strongest, and he wanted to be the strongest, and so Suguru couldn't remain at his side any longer. He couldn't keep up because there was no breath in his lungs to run the marathon of shamanism.

So yeah, he does feel alone, but some callous part of him didn't expect Satoru to care.

Or at the very least, he hadn't expected Satoru to want to understand him.

Softly, ] That's not your fault, Satoru.

[ He feels so hopeless, and he can't imagine going back to Tokyo and continuing on the path of a sorcerer without being ground down into nothing. But he doesn't want Satoru here with him—it's so stupid complicated, wanting his best friend to relate to how he feels, while at the same time wanting to spare him the loneliness and despair.

With the pillow gone, it's easy for him to take Satoru's hands in his own. ]

... I don't want you to hate me. That's why I don't want to talk to you. [ Because Satoru and Shoko are his family. And if they drift further apart than they already are then... ] I'm scared of something happening to us too.

So I'm just pretending that nothing is.

[ At least while they're here, he can pretend. ]