Archive of Our Own

Henryk leaned back against the wall, panting. The clatter of his saw cleaver hitting the street echoed through the narrow Yharnam alleyway. Gascoigne had squeezed in to lean against the wall opposite him, still impossibly close, trying to catch his breath. The sound of clawed feet on cobblestones could be heard softly in the distance. Under the light of the moon, two hunters claimed a moment to heal and regroup.

"Nice job taking that beast's head off," Gascoigne grinned.

Henryk pulled off his mask, a puff of hot air rising as he sighed. "Nice job yourself, cutting that first one completely in half."

Neither hunter spoke after that.

They stood, facing each other, standing nearly pressed together in the alleyway. The wide brim of Gascoigne's hat shielded their faces from the light.

It was one of those moments that seemed to go on for hours, and yet passed in the blink of an eye.

Gascoigne and Henryk stood there, cloaked in shadow, gazes locked onto one another. Henryk felt himself drop the mask clutched in his hand, and instead grabbed Gascoigne's capelet in his fists and pulled. Their mouths met in a clash of tongue and teeth in a frenzied attempt to get impossibly closer to one another.

And under the light of the moon, two men found solace in something new.

--

Henryk pulled his mask back on as they exited the alleyway, hiding both his face and the multitude of new bruises along his neck and jawline. Gascoigne followed a moment later, adjusting his trousers.

Henryk stopped and turned, and raised a hand to brush a stray hair back into place under his partner's hat. Gascoigne took Henryk's hand before he could pull it away, and brought it slowly to his lips for a kiss. "Until next time," he murmured softly, and Henryk could only stand and watch as he shouldered his axe and walked away into the night.

Gascoigne pushed Henryk roughly against the wall, pulling away the smaller hunter's mask and tearing open his yellow coat. Their hats fell to the ground as he pulled Henryk's head to the side, nuzzling into and nipping at his neck.

"Your teeth feel sharper," Henryk gasped. He wrapped his fingers into his partner's grey hair, tugging slightly.

Gascoigne bit down again with a growl and sucked a purple bruise into Henryk's shoulder.

"You love her."

"I do."

Henryk stood on the roof of a Yharnam house, looking over the area for beasts. Gascoigne sat nearby, his mind clearly not on the hunt.

He sat down next to him, so close they were nearly touching. "I've seen how you look at her. It's alright, Gascoigne."

Gascoigne grabbed Henryk's hand. "I have to choose between you and Viola, and I do not want to." He looked up at the moon, as if searching for an answer.

"I won't make you choose. I'll care for you always, no matter what happens."

"Thank you, my friend."

He walked into Oedon Chapel's cemetery. The air felt too still despite the ash swirling around. The sounds of his breathing seemed too loud, too harsh, as did the echoes of his footsteps.

He smelled the blood first… metallic, and tainted.

"Gascoigne?"

There was no answer.

"Gascoigne!"

The he saw it. What looked like a large pile of dirty fur, wrapped in shreds of cloth.

"No...."

He ran, whipping around the clusters of graves and leaping over strewn rubble. Then he stopped.

There, lying on the ground, was Gascoigne. His bloody axe forgotten next to him.

Where his kind face had once been was now the contorted visage of a slain beast. Jaw askew, mouth full of bloody fangs. Bandages torn away, showing lifeless, crazed eyes. The skin he had known so well by touch replaced by dirty, matted, blood soaked fur.

Henryk screamed.