Archive of Our Own

The allure of the night is as present as the harrowing stench of blood. Of a rotting, decaying corpse; the stars twist into countless crooked limbs, all to which hold a fraction of split bone. The road is wet, humid and thick beneath his clean soles. The car once a pristine white is now dyed with an unbearably, vivid red.

Satori can feel a broad, sickening lump form at the base of his bland gullet.

The car’s blinding lights do a rather poor job at illuminating the road ahead of them, but Satori can make out the large figure lying in front of him. A man, a tall one. His hair is dark, his figure painfully broad. His long, muscular legs are intertwined with one another, meanwhile his arms are twisted in countless knots, fingers bent, and gaping open. His work shirt’s ruffled, his pants tight, yet ripped at his sturdy calves. He’s drenched in a pool of his own, pitiful blood.

Maya peeks his cute, lofty head out of the car’s withdrawn window; his hair swings pasts his pleasant features, his big, wide eyes completely devoid of life stare endlessly at Satori.

“How bad is it?” he asks nonchalantly, not a semblance of care in his mindless tone.

Satori nudges the figure with his foot, rolling the man onto his back, his body limp beneath the rainy, shattered concrete. His face is twisted in a look of aberrant horror, blood pools from the seams of his obscene mouth. His teeth are blemished; muddy with thick, bubbling blood. He’s insufferably handsome.

“…he’s dead. You killed him,” Satori declares as he turns to face Maya once again; he catches a glimpse of his widening grin, his fang pokes at his pretty, dry lips—regret is nowhere to be seen in the shadows reflected upon his fetching, smooth skin.

Maya tucks his head inside the car, then emerges from the driver’s seat a few seconds later with a small, almost playful hop. His shoes are gone, replaced by a pair of mismatched socks. His feet tap lightly against the damp, humid pavement. Satori catches a quiet, frustrated groan. Apparently, the wet ground isn’t doing him any favors.

Maya’s face is totally motionless as he stares at the limp figure; his eyes are dark, like a black tide—a friendly, yet dangerous smile decorates his gentle face. His hair’s a mess, strands of soft brown sticking out in every direction. He really needs a haircut, Satori thinks.

Maya cranes his head, and Satori can practically feel the laugh caught in his throat. He’s awfully bad at hiding his amusement.

“Oops. I wasn’t even going that fast…” Maya mutters under his stale breath; tracing lazy circles on the blood-stained pavement with the tip of his socked foot. Cheeky.

Satori resists the gnawing urge to roll his tired eyes. He could use a cigarette right about now, but with how damp the air surrounding them is, it’d probably die the moment he lit it. With a quiet sigh, he drags a gloved hand down and across his face in total dismay.

“You were,” Satori says, eyes dusting directly towards the body as he circles its pale figure—large, heavy and rather bulky. He’s the kind of corpse that won’t be easy to dispose of in its entirety. “This is exactly why I don’t let you take the wheel.”

He studies the body for an awfully long beat, weighing his options. Maya might be incredibly clever, full of wit and wicked mischief, but he’s not exactly built for brute work. If Satori leaves the job to him, they’ll be stranded on the road for longer than Satori is willing to endure.

Satori rolls his shoulders, a low groan slipping past his plump lips as his joints pop back into their designated place. The crackle which echoes throughout his flesh is oddly satisfying.

…He’s not even sure why he let Maya drive in the first place—or more like, he’s not sure when he began allowing Maya to steer him around altogether. It’s not like Maya has to do anything in specific, all it truly takes is one, measly look at those dark eyes of his; one look at his lovable, toothy grin, and Satori’s morale caves; crumbles to pathetic pieces. He almost feels like a dog rolling onto its back, hoping its owner will spare it even the cruelest of affection.

Satori doesn’t allow himself to chase the line of thought any further. Not the time, not the place.

“Can’t we just leave him here?” Maya asks innocently, casually poking the man with his foot; right where the deep gash splits his fragile side open. Blood bubbles and fizzes out, it stains deep, dark and wet against the asphalt. Maya watches the sight with an enamored look on his face. He’s making a total mess.

“Of course not,” Satori says as he thoroughly scans their surroundings. The road is surrounded by thick, moistened woods. There doesn’t seem to be any activity out in the wild, perhaps their situation wasn’t as dire as Satori assumed. “You of all people should know that,” he adds, voice awfully sharp.

Maya hums in contemplation. He toys with the corpse a little longer, nudging at the man’s limp hand until his thick wrist bends at an unnatural, grotesque angle; his skin tears, leaving behind an obscene, gruesome display; his lithe fingers hanging by a thin strip of flesh. His foot drifts lazily towards the man’s stomach, pressing down just enough to draw a wet, gurgling sound from his flaccid throat. More blood spills out, pooling beneath his chin, staining his face and shirt with a thick, ugly red. The sight is nothing short of filthy.

“Are ya’ mad?” Maya asks, he keeps his gaze fixed on the body all throughout.

Satori sighs. He isn’t. The thought doesn’t even cross his mind. He just watches Maya stand over the man he’d slammed into the road with a yearning satisfaction. Maya is an effect of consequence, a sin he abides in ever since he took his hand upon that gloomy night; Maya’s mind had long since turned to mush, ideal. His mission is cruel, and so is the paradise reflected upon their intimacy—in the end, when the night draws to an endearing close, Satori is the one who held his chin up high, and branded himself with the title of utter responsibility.

Satori’s hands are shaking.

“I’m not,” he replies, quicker than he means to. His conscience usually catches up a bit late when it comes to Maya. “It’s just… an unfortunate inconvenience, that’s all.”

Maya turns to face him, a wide grin stretched across his pale face, his eyes scrunched with a lovable, unrestrained joy. “I’ll take care of it, then,” he says in a half sing-song. “Ya’ can relax—I’ll even let ya’ take the wheel for the rest of the trip.”

…As if Satori could even afford to do that; regardless of the corpse, the windshield was still dripping with an utter, violent red.

Maya starts toward the back of the car, light on his feet, a little bounce in each and every one of his steps; as if he hadn’t just killed a man. Satori can sympathize with the sentiment—to an extent, at the very least.

Regardless, Maya’s actions are his own—a debt, in other words. Satori grants him his wishes, his desires, his each and every need. His thoughts, his hands, all revolve around Maya; around his pretty face, his uneven, petty hair. It’s Maya’s own will which guides him in and throughout. It’s evident in every one of his faults—when he holds him, when he traces the lines of his pale flesh, when he takes his limp, unreciprocated hand. One might even say he breathes for him—for him, and for their shared goal.

…Anyhow, Maya looks beautiful drenched in pity, drenched in violence and greed. Satori will ruminate through each and every one of his twisted wants if it means getting to hold him tight, close and tight. Close enough forget where one ends and the other begins—until his own, harrowing greed consumes Maya whole. Satori would bleed for him, gladly, If it meant that the bruises scattered across Maya’s freckled skin would keep taking, and taking, until they were carved permanently into what’s left of him, and his precious grin.

The firm, heavy shovel grits its ferocious teeth against the swollen pavement; scratching across its rocky surface as Maya drags it out of the trunk, and towards the grassy hill next their parked car. Maya bites the inside of his cheek, then smiles blissfully.

“Haha—it’s kinda like old times! Don’t ya’ think so?” Maya exclaims, his voice way louder than Satori would like.

What an unfortunate time to want.

“Wrong,” he says, running a long, gloved finger across the car’s bumper; the blood is unexpectedly thick, and so are the countless pieces of meat stuck upon the silver grill. “If that really were the case, I wouldn’t have to be wiping the front of the car clean.” the stains left upon the white sheen is nothing short of irritable.

Maya shrugs, his smile easy, yet awfully content. He bites his lip, a fang peeking out from between his pink, chapped lips. “Told ya’ to take it easy,” he says, wrapping his right arm around the man’s broad neck before hauling him upright. The corpse slumps against him as he drags it toward the side of the road. “No need to go the extra mile—though, I do appreciate it!”

No use battling against what’s fact. Even so, the ‘extra mile’ is just a way of endurance, precise plotting against a certain roadblock—Or perhaps he just wants to lift a little weight off Maya’s shoulders.

“You look awfully content…” Satori mutters. There’s probably a large bottle of bleach in the trunk; maybe even a towel stuffed somewhere under the backseat…

“More like… relieved.” The shovel clangs against the dirt as he taps it with the base, testing for the perfect burial spot. “Could’ve hit a deer, y’know.”

Deer, deers. Right. Maya had gone on and on about them while racing down the abrupt highway. Maya claimed he’d read ‘an interesting’ article late the night before, long after Satori had gone to bed to get enough rest for the hours-long drive ahead—of course, all before knowing Maya would insist on taking the wheel in the morning while they cleaned up after themselves.

Maya had said deer were smart. Smart and kind. That a cute, pretty deer was the equivalent of a small, naive four-year-old human child. That they had a unique digestive system—“one with four different stomach chambers!” he’d exclaimed. Satori couldn’t really wrap his head around the sudden empathy Maya felt towards the creatures.

Maya lets out long, drawn out whine, then drops the corpse carelessly from where he’d been propping it up. The shovel’s still in his hand as he stares down at his raised foot. The damp cloth clinging to his skin must be driving him crazy—he really should put some shoes on. He’s going to catch a cold…

Satori’s throat feels dry; dry and scratchy. Maya truly is pretty. Pretty with a frown on his face, pretty with the way his long gray pants ride up his skinny legs and bunch around his slim, bony ankles. His wrists are pretty in the way they tense around his prey, and so is his face, his hair, and his overwhelmingly creepy smile. Satori loves his eyes most of all. He loves when they’re on him, hates the feeling that gnaws on him from the inside whenever they dare linger on anyone else for too long. He wants Maya’s reliance just as much as he wants his vulnerability, his praise, his utmost approval. Maya truly was the prettiest of consequences.

…

“Maya,” Satori calls out, his voice feels awfully stagnant.

Maya turns to face him after driving the heavy, silver shovel deep into the ground beneath him. A patch of damp dirt gathers around his feet, the corpse already forgotten beside him. He hums in response. He’s listening.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

Maya smiles; beams, even. He doesn’t respond.

Truly, what an unfortunate time to want.

───────

The motel room hums like a dying animal. The air conditioning whirrs relentlessly, the flashy curtains clink together softly against the window’s twisted glass panels. The symphony rings throughout his ears, the stench of smoke attacks his accustomed nostrils.

Satori doesn’t dislike mornings—far from it. Rather, he views the shining sun as an opportunity, one he can only take upon once his palms have been swallowed in pride. Yet, he can’t help but itch at the back of his neck, allow it to spread down his spine and through his bruised shoulder blades. He bites his lip, pricks at the thin flesh, feeling as blood pools across his dull molars.

There’s a bookshelf in the corner of the room. Its large, and incredibly out of place; the books placed upon the molten wood are too. All different shapes, colors, sizes—more than decoration, they feel like a total eyesore that just makes Satori itch his neck even harder. Hard enough, he can feel the thin layer of skin begin to peel off, imbedding itself into the crevices underneath his elongated fingernails.

Maya is nowhere to be found.

The bed they slept in is drenched in blood. Fully, and thoroughly intertwined with grimy and disgusting fluids. Maya’s clothes are strewn across the coffee stained ground, his laptop is left abandoned on the wooden nightstand, and so are the car keys. The windows are screwed shut, and the dust left upon the door’s doorknob is neatly in place.

There is no use in forgiveness once the act has been enacted—but he knows he’s worthy of it, he knows for a fact Maya’s smile was real, that the warmth of his embrace was nothing short of acceptance. Maya had said it himself, all that time ago; there should not be a single worry left in his shattered mind, Satori wishes to believe so more than anything else.

Satori turns on the flimsy TV, letting its static fill what remains of the spacious room. He reaches for the bookcase, flips through the never-ending stack of pointless, seamless books. The pages are filled with an overwhelming amount of dust, and so are the corners surrounding each and every one of their colorful covers.

His black, leather gloves feel tight on his reddened skin. Maya was smart, so very smart—although naive, he could easily manage once his dull eyes were set on a fixated goal. The elements, his environment weren’t necessarily an obstacle; not as long as Maya was willing to hold his wisdom against its tightening restraints. Maya didn’t need a car, didn’t need clothes, didn’t need his blood ridden underwear, neither did he need his perfectly tailored uniform; but most importantly, he didn’t necessarily need the hand that once fed him, the arms that once lead him to victory. Maya doesn’t need Satori in order to get his way.

He organizes the books based on color, from brightest, to darkest. Separating them by size. By how thin they are, by how thick they could be; dust flies across the molten air, tickling his nostrils, attacking his bloodshot eyes. Moisture threatens to spill from the seams, and he can’t exactly tell if it’s from the overwhelming bile pooling inside of his shaken stomach, or the grime which floated upon the claustrophobic room.

He doesn’t know the password to Maya’s computer; not that it matters—not only would navigating it be incredibly pointless considering his faltering abilities, but its code is made up of countless mysteries aimed towards a finish line Satori’s eyes had long since been withdrawn from. Ever since the sickening rise of a certain something began to swell across his blotchy cheeks, Satori has found himself swimming deeper, and deeper into the shallow waters of total madness.

The first shelf is done. The books are neatly stacked upon one another. Their colors spanning between a vicious red, to a gentle, green hue. There is little to no space left in-between each and every one of the books, they’re stacked together so tightly, one would have to go through a tremendous amount of effort to even pull one of them out efficiently. Satori moves on to the next stack, his face twisted in total despair.

Maya was as cute as a button. Pretty in all the right ways, loose in all the aspects Satori loved. Satori likes Maya’s warm, freckled skin on his, he likes when Maya takes his hand, and unshakably leads him down the road of terror. He especially loves when Maya is careless, when he slips up; when he shows the tiniest crack of his undeniable humanity. Maya could be vulnerable too—in fact, Maya was vulnerable in front of Satori, undoubtedly so.

Satori flips a book open. It details blood, murder, mythical monsters. Romance imbeds itself into its dusty, detailed pages. The same ones which crack at its delicate seams. The book describes a woman, a woman drenched in innocence, submissiveness, desire. She’s a spitting image of what Satori once held in his hands, he can’t help but shiver at the potent font staring back at him.

…but what was Satori if not vulnerability itself? What was Satori if not a pointless, mindless follower? He could yearn for a time to which he had the upper hand; one where he had not fallen for a limited covet—yet, his smile doesn’t waver anymore. His desires might be twisted but at least they’re being met in a way that matters.

He can’t bear the thought of Maya leaving him.

He loses interest in the book. It’s all pointless, looking through the lens of the past is. He might fathom all to which lies in the realm of possibility—but he can at the very least, find unending comfort in the bruises littered across Maya’s flesh. The blood that drips down his battered knees is an act of his own, one he conducted. There’s a stain which defines his actions left on that untouchable, caring deity. It leaves him sane enough to put down the book, and flip open another.

Othello refers to a raging jealousy; and Satori feels thoroughly, and unsteadily warm. He runs a cold, gloved hand through his untamed hair. It’s a feeling that plagues him like a fatal wound, he can’t exactly shake the itch which gnaws at the base of his scalp, and before he can truly acknowledge it, he’s reaching into his back pocket, he desperately needs a cigarette.

The smoke filling his battered lungs almost brings him to tears. He feels the sentiment swell, yet dissipate into a threatening nothing. He cannot be at ease once he acknowledges the want that eats at him, the jealousy that powers through his thinning veins towards the countless cigarettes that touch Maya’s pretty lips, and slowly kills him.

Satori laughs, laugh and talks just like any ordinary man—no, just like any other stupid, vapid man.

When the click of the door resounds across the putrid, spacious room, Satori makes a conscious effort not to turn around almost immediately; and thoroughly fails.

Maya stands by the doorway. His clothes hang off him, they are twice his size. His hair is incredibly matted, and his eyes are nothing short of lifeless. His lips are sealed into a thin, pointless line. Blood spreads through his clothed knees, clinging to him like second skin. His lips are exceptionally red. Satori can’t help but think he looks beautiful.

Maya walks toward Satori, the slap of his bare feet muffled against the filthy carpet. “Hi,” he says innocently, a small grin tugs at the corners of his eager mouth.

It feels as if a thousand needles are stabbing into, and through his tightening throat. His mind runs through a variety of questions, each and every one equally as pointless as the other. Satori takes a long, exasperated drag of his cigarette, his face feels like it's on fire.

Satori lets the book he was holding drop to the floor, and allows his mind to wonder for a second. Unease runs down his limbs, Satori feels like a spontaneous mass of anxiety. He wants to kiss Maya; he looks undoubtedly attractive as he stands before him. He looks small, and pleasantly naive. The blood drenching his pants looks uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, he almost wants to suggest he takes them off.

“Where were you?” Satori asks, he tries his best to hide the desperation in his voice.

Maya shrugs, his smile only getting wider. Then, he stands on his tippy toes, and throws his long, clothed arms around Satori’s stiff neck. His head falls against Satori’s shoulder, and Satori can only clench his jaw in response. Maya must definitely feel how tense he is.

Maya laughs, and Satori feels undoubtedly pathetic as he lays his cigarette flat against his fingers, and places a firm palm on Maya’s back. “Did ya’ miss me?” Maya asks, he sways from side to side playfully.

He doesn’t answer, he can’t really bring himself to. He feels powerless, humiliated…

Satori runs his palm up, and down his back. Before finally hooking his fingers on Maya’s flimsy waistband.

───────

On a seemingly random evening, Maya suggests he and Satori go out for dinner.

The suggestion is innocent enough, all though inefficient. Even so, Satori is nothing if not faithful, so he allows Maya to drag him out to what appears to be a rather fancy restaurant.

Despite his preferences, despite Maya’s eager smile, and his tall, sparkly glass of juice, Satori feels fear take an unfaltering reign over him. Maya’s good, kind even, when he wishes to—but Satori isn’t sure just how oblivious to his reality he truly is. The weight of his sins run down and past his spine, it weighs down on each and every one of his faltering steps; especially as they walk side to side…

Distress begins to tug at the ends of his exposed nerves. Responsibility, cruelty, lust—it all feels incredibly crude now. He feels ‘consequence’, and it speaks to him directly through each and every action performed through Maya’s will. Satori has killed, brutalized, raped and taken so, so many times before. He should’ve known there was something incredibly wrong with his situation once guilt began to crawl up and down his reddened flesh.

Yet, Satori is not exactly ready to be faced with such an ugly truth. Maya’s body was thin, malleable and excruciatingly desirable; his eyes were meant to be stared at, his face was meant to be held, his body was meant to be lusted after—his lips were meant to be kissed sloppily, they were meant for reassurance. Maya was meant for him, Satori wishes to believe.

When Satori fucks him, he has the urge to shake him a little harsher, to dig his nails into his hips so he’ll finally break out of his unconsciousness; he wants him to open his eyes, and berate him for his actions, kiss him for being so desperate and comfort him for being so, so incredibly distant—yet, he’s too afraid to. Because, he’s wrong. Wrong and cruel, and the world has finally punished him with the sin of empathy; coated him in it so, very primitively he can’t help but distress over it, mull it over with his blood stained palms.

So when his vision begins to blur, black dotting the corners of his bloodshot eyes, he has no problem leaning into the cushioned seat. Perhaps that ‘consequence’ he was so afraid of has finally grown large, bulky and bold enough to enact its revenge; perhaps Maya had finally realized his worth, and how the digits regarding probability had narrowed down to a pointless, meaningless zero.

The last thing he remembers, is Maya’s face resting upon his palms. An endearing look on his face, before it all goes pitch black.

───────

Satori had been in love once before; not with a human being, much less an idea—rather a concept. Control is the one thing Satori could call his own, especially when his pride had been crudely trampled on. All thanks to the unending whispers of an insane woman.

His mother had sliced her wrists, filled a filthy bathtub to the brim, held a flimsy rope to her battered neck; yet her incompetence had only done so much for her. She was an absurd, poor excuse of a human being; an absolute enemy at the face of what Satori had grown addicted to once he realized his mother’s mind, words and body did not dictate his own.

His first introduction to love was the death of his mother.

Her pathetic life had ended at the sake of his words, his hands, his actions and his will. Satori determined the morbid, obscene and the pretty as his lover the moment the very idea of control had begun to lead his every action. It was nothing short of sublime, had he not been so naive, he would’ve undoubtedly ‘put a ring on it.’

When he first brought a knife to a man’s gullet, he felt ecstasy explode behind his eyes. And when he’d first penetrate a cold, sickening corpse, he’d absently determine his life as completely, and utterly concluded.

So, the loss of his first love was only natural when Maya came into his life.

Maya changed everything. Changed it all with his unending wisdom, with his cunning, addictive voice, with his gentle personality. Satori hadn’t even realized just how far control had seeped from his figure, not until it was too late. Not until he realized the hand tightening the leash was no longer a hand, but rather a slim, freckled finger.

He loved, yet absolutely hated the fact.

The rope is bunched in his fist as he watches Maya kick his bare feet across the sand, dipping far and past the water’s surface, only to emerge with a toothy grin on his face. His necklace is bright, the glass sparkling against the setting sun, blinding what’s left of Satori’s vision. He feels nothing as Maya falls backwards, laughing as the water embraces him softly.

He can’t exactly pinpoint when he came to his conclusion; much less when he determined himself brave enough to commit to it—but he’s come to terms with his decisions. He’s never been one to devote himself to a healthy lifestyle, always indulging in what makes him happy, yet now he feels his collar tightening, strangling him. He’s choking, out of breath, and he knows for fact he’ll soon run out of time if he doesn’t allow himself to let go.

…yet, Maya was too good to be true. Undeniably so. He couldn’t exactly stick by his side any longer, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of another having what was once his. Breathing the same air, tasting the same sweetness. It made something ugly coil in his chest. His torment is about freedom, about knowing it all, and keeping what is best for you if it means leading what many would determine as a ‘life well lived.’

Good riddance, he tells himself. And it almost sounds convincing.

Satori’s heart skips a beat when he sees Maya approach him; soaked from head to toe in saltwater, leaving countless indents into the sand below him. He looks peaceful. Satori suddenly feels incredibly overwhelmed. He holds the rope on both hands now, displaying its cruelty with not a semblance of remorse.

Maya tilts his head up. His eyes don’t go to the rope between them; instead, they stare at Satori’s mesmerized own. He lifts it toward Maya’s neck, hesitating only for a second before slipping it over his pretty head. Maya doesn’t move an inch. Rather, his face just twists into an expression Satori can’t say he’s seen before.

“Yer’ going to kill me?” Maya asks. His eyes look far gone—his whole expression does.

He was. Satori was going to kill Maya. He wanted to kill him for ruining him, for branding his skin in his legacy, for making him crave him in ways Satori didn’t even think were possible. Maya was an unmoving force in his life, and so are his arms, legs, mouth—Maya’s kisses had become a drug. Something Satori could no longer live without. Satori loves Maya so much, so very much, he wants to bite his tongue off and kill him.

Satori feels tears gather at the edge of his swollen eyes.

Satori loops the rope around Maya’s neck once, twice—Maya still isn’t moving. He’s just staring at him. His eyes are pitch black, his mouth is pressed into a thin line, his brows are knit together and downwards. Satori’s feet sink into the sand. His hands are trembling intensely. He can’t bring himself to pull tight, not enough to leave a mark. The thought of anything but his own teeth bruising Maya’s skin makes his stomach twist.

“I’m at my limit—it’s only fair.” He reasons, more with himself than anything, really.

“Yer’ so dumb.” Maya takes a step closer, and Satori freezes in place. The rope tightens itself. “so, so, so dumb.”

“Ya’ can’t live without me. Ya’ know ya’ can’t, that’s why ya’ need to stop thinkin’ so much.“ They’ve had this conversation before, too many times to count—And it always ends the same way. An embrace, a few shaky apologies, the illusion of peace. Satori finds himself quietly wishing for that same ending now.

“Ya’ no longer gotta think about anythin’ or anyone. Won’t ya’ let me take that burden off yer’ shoulders?”

Satori nods. At least he thinks he does. Even after so, so many years of being side by side, his first love is nothing compared to a pretty face, to some pretty words. Maya is warm, and Satori now lives to chase after that warm carcass of flesh, one that does wonders, one that speaks wonders. Maya was something akin to a guardian angel, he’d prove him such over, and over, and over again.

“It’s because ya’ keep tryin’ to think that we can’t understand one another,” Maya says, wrapping his long, scarred arms around him. He hugs him tight, so unbearably tight. His body is cold against Satori’s own. Damp and shivering under his sickening touch.

Satori thinks he hugs him back. He’s not sure. He can’t think. He doesn’t really want to, at least not right now.

They stay like that for a while. Or at least, Satori thinks they do. “Let’s have sex tonight, m’kay?”

───────

“He was the only person who ever looked at me like I was worth saving. So I made sure He couldn’t save anyone else.”

“We were both trying to escape, but we ran into each other and couldn’t look away.”

“If we can’t be happy, then let’s at least run away together. Until the world ends.”

───────

…When he awakens, red coats his vision. It drips down his forehead and past his runny nose. There’s a man on the ground next to him, and Satori stares holes into his corpse as he sits up.

The corpse is that of a tall, rather masculine man. His muscles are defined, his face sharp, cheeks hollow in a way that’s indefinitely attractive. Satori vaguely recognizes the man. He’s dressed from head to toe in black, red and white. An apron hangs from his broad waist. Satori recognizes him vaguely. The waiter. The one who had been serving them. Serving both he and Maya.

Satori looks around. His stomach feels funny, and his head feels undoubtedly light, his world spins as he thoroughly takes in his frayed surroundings. He can’t exactly say he was expecting this, neither can he claim he was expecting anything, really—but now, he can finally say with bated breath, that he feels afraid once he realizes Maya is once again, nowhere to be seen.

The room he’s in is dark. Satori can make out the outline of a bed, the long, mocking legs of a tall chair, and a sickeningly small, blood stained rock resting on the ground besides the man’s corpse. Satori can’t help but let out a breathless laugh; Maya was a visionary, a king, far too intelligent to be outsmarted, really—

Hands, deft fingers encircle his lofty head, tie themselves into his dark, purple locks, and gently pull, upwards—slowly, turning his head to look the supposed tormentor in the eye.

Maya’s eyes are empty when they find Satori’s. His grip hardens. His pupils bloom unbelievably wide. Satori feels sick to his stomach. He can’t bring himself to utter a word, it would feel out of turn. Out of order. May his sacrilege be spared enough to feed his greed. To aid his childish, lustful predicament. There’s blood dripping down Maya’s cheek, and Satori fantasizes about wiping it clean with his deft tongue.

“This man, ya’ like him, right?” Maya asks, his tone dripping with something Satori isn’t quite ready to acknowledge. Satori’s nails dig into his palms when he feels Maya’s grip soften, his hand, instead of pulling crudely, brush softly through his messy hair.

Satori doesn’t answer, at least not verbally. Instead, he shakes his head—no. Satori is not sure when his desires began to twist into an incoherent orb of contradictory mumbles. He can now throughly acknowledge that there has been an undeniable change in his depraved mind. All though his preference borders on the dead, the pale and the vulnerable, it’s appearance has taken a new shape. One with dark, sickening eyes, messy, brown hair and reddened flesh—undoubtedly alive. Satori craves Maya, he craves him carnally.

“No?” He questions, before gripping his chin, forcing Satori to look at the man’s undeniably attractive corpse. Maya’s expression is saddened now, his brows knit together in its semblance. Maya’s hand buries itself in his hair once again, tightly this time, and pushes his face forward, closer to the corpse, closer to the arousing stench of death.

“It’s just how ya’ like them, though,” He says, his grip never once faltering, Satori winces weakly at the maddening, almost cunning pain. “He’s got muscles everywhere, and he’s awfully tall, too!”

He’s out of it—both he and Maya are. He’s not sure where Maya’s mind has been, or where it is, but he can tell he’s trying to prove a point. Satori feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He shakes his head once again—no.

His actions aren’t making sense. Why go the extra mile? Why must he show him a smile if he was just going to tip him over anyway? Satori thinks, thinks and he’s sure he knows, but that would only confirm the undeniable. It's inevitable, and Satori tries to hide the excitement pooling at the base of his veins—of his running, fizzling blood.

Maya’s grip falters, letting go off him completely. He bounces on his heels, face pensive as he stares at everything but Satori. He looks angry, somewhat—or more like disappointed. Maya’s legs are upright, stable and alluring. Satori wants to rest his head on his thighs.

“Ya’ really don’t want to? Does that mean ya’ weren’t just desperate?” He asks, his gaze boring holes into the top of Satori’s skull. He can feel his gaze penetrate him, the room feels awfully warm now.

Maya leans down to his level, their eyes meet; it feels nothing short of degrading, even as a smile appears on Maya’s pretty face, wrinkling his freckled flesh along the way. He rests his cheek on his bandaged stump. “Yer’ so dirty, Satori. I should’ve known from the beginning…”

So Maya did know. Satori feels like it shouldn’t come as much of a shock, really—but his reassurances were not truth if hope was still buzzing wildly at the back of his skull. Yet, Maya didn’t particularly look angry, and he can’t exactly say he’s dissatisfied himself, either, if his half-chub is anything to go by.

“I might sleep like a rock, but yer’ awful at cleanin’ up after yerself… Honestly, I expected better from ya.”

Surely. Surely Satori knew that. Ruminated through it, acknowledged its implications and hoped Maya would be kind enough to open his eyes. Embrace him as he quietly breaches him. Once, twice, all as long as it went along the lines of satisfaction, pain, and endurance. “Just ask next time, mkay?” Maya declares, and Satori feels lucid. Fear has never felt so good.

Satori shakes his head—yes, okay, will do.

Maya stays silent for a few minutes, his smile slowly dissipating, before promptly asking: “Do ya’ love me?”

Satori shakes his head once again—yes.

Maya laughs, laughs and laughs. Satori allows himself to drift off to the sound of his festering laughter.

───────

Maya is equally busy as he is heartless. 

Maya is a focused man, a talented man. Ever since he pinpointed his enemies as pawns, he’s been nothing short of unbeatable, unstoppable…

Maya isn’t avoiding me. He’s just busy. He repeats to himself, over and over and over, as he lights a cigarette, and brings it to his lips. 

Even when Maya gave him the privilege of  looking at him with that rare, almost precious light in his otherwise lifeless eyes—Maya’s focus was always elsewhere. On the screen, on his work, on their shared goal. Maya was always isolating himself from the world, from Satori, if it meant getting even one single step closer to victory. A step closer to that bloody scene that followed after drilling holes into the heads of countless, nauseating agents. 

…Satori allows the smoke to settle snugly atop his lungs. 

Even so, despite his own needs, his own desires, Satori told himself it was all worth it. That Maya’s bright, almost boyish glow that followed after each and every success, was a gift. Especially if it came soaked in someone else’s blood.

Yet, there was a nagging, ugly feeling whirring its monstrous head at him each and every time Maya would disappear for long periods of time. Each and every time he’d witness the endless scroll of translucent lights reflected upon his pretty face after a whole day of typing away in his computer. Satori was never one to crave until it took, he’d always had the privilege of the upper-hand, enough responsibility underneath his belt that every drop of sweat imbedded into his forehead was always a result of a good day, a laborious day, rather than distress itself. 

Another, long, excruciating drag. Satori tries to ignore the uncomfortable burn forming at the base of his throat—and the sound of the balcony door opening and closing behind him. He can’t bear the thought of looking even a little desperate. It seems…

“Gimme one,” Maya demands before even coming into view. Satori obeys immediately, handing him the box without a second thought. The action grounds him enough to bury his face into the palm of his gloved hand, his eyebrows stitch together uncomfortably. 

“I thought you said not to interrupt you?” Says Satori, eyeing Maya as he walks into view, and leans on the metal railing. Maya takes the cigarette from him, slipping it between his chapped lips, before turning to face him. There’s a smug smile tugging at his mouth. Satori lights him without a second thought. Eager.

He takes a drag, a rather short one, before settling the cigarette in-between his pretty fingers. “I’m takin’ a break. I’ve been workin’ the entire day, after all.” He says nonchalantly.

That much was true, Satori concludes. He feels uneasy. He can’t really find it in him to push and prod, much less ask; it feels as if even the slightest of movements will push Maya to retreat into the cramped room they’ve been forced to stay in—yet, there’s an unbelievably painful itch, one that starts at the base of his skull, and spreads throughout his floaty chest, towards his swollen groin. He wants to reach out towards Maya, let his fingers brush against his exposed nape, tuck them into the collar of his wrinkled shirt, press into each and every bone that curves through the thin wall of flesh…

“…Have ya’ heard of Poveglia?” Asks Maya. He sounds cheerful, too cheerful for someone who had given Satori a stare nothing short of deadly for merely asking “Do you need anything?” early in the morning meanwhile Maya’s hands had been practically glued to the computer. 

Satori allows the question to settle neatly stop his shoulders. “Can’t say I have. Where is that, Germany?” 

Maya shakes his head, a giggle emitting from his lips as they curl around the cigarette, and takes yet another short drag; Satori watches fondly as the smoke escapes through his nostrils. 

“Nope, Italy. Venice, to be exact. It’s a cute, little island to the north,” Maya pauses, before shortly continuing after a few seconds of staring at nothing in particular. “They say it was a quarantine zone for the people with the plague—tons, and tons of people died there. Then, around the 1800s or so, a mental hospital was built on the island, where the craziest of patients were kept. Can ya’ believe that?”

Satori shakes his head, and watches as the seams of his cigarette deteriorate. He takes one final drag, before smearing its pointless edge on the metal railing. He promptly lights another one, and brings it to his mouth. “There’s no way that story is true…” 

“‘Course it ain’t.” Maya states as he flicks the burnt rings surrounding the reconstructed tobacco. “It was a quarantine zone, just not for plague patients. Rather, incoming ships and its cargo.” 

A shared goal. A sole want. He’s not sure what it is that Maya’s getting at, but each and every action of his feels performed, rehearsed and barely analyzed. Maya is smart, so, so smart—who says sharing moment isn’t exactly what it appears to be in Satori’s unstable head. Equivalence and exchange was something he’d confide in when he operated in a more brutal manner, now he’s turned soft, worrying about intentions and feelings that don’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things. He feels incoherent, messy, insecure and ultimately pathetic. 

“…do you believe an Anamnesis base might be there?” He asks hesitantly. There’s no point in skirting around the topic really, Maya’s long since held his unmistakable priorities above anything else. 

“Nah. But I believe i’m close to figurin’ somethin’ out,” His fingers brush against the silver railing, dust gathering below his fingernails. They’ve grown unusually long, Satori should cut them for him soon. “I wanna go to Venice. Did ya’ know The Talented Mr. Ripley was filmed there?” 

He sounds curious. Happy, as he takes yet another drag. Satori’s head feels like it’s spinning in countless, vicious circles. Maya shifts closer, just enough for their shoulders to touch—and somehow, that’s all it takes for Satori to realize there’s no point holding back anymore. Not if it’s only going to eat him alive.

“Do you love me?” He asks. And he can see the harrowing hesitation reflected upon Maya’s eyes. 

It’s a stupid question, he thinks to himself before anything else. It’s really doesn’t matter, not one bit. Feelings are an altercation, it’s all Satori’s ever known; it’s all he’s allowed himself to indulge in considering the morbidity of his situation, yet they’ve grown unbelievably pale, smitten and pointless. Never once had he allowed them to dictate a need much less a want, he can’t afford to be reckless, or rather, couldn’t. 

Ever since Maya showed him such an earth shattering light, recklessness is all he’s known. He’s learned to be a different person, he’s learned to feel shame, he’s learned what it’s like to feel a desperation so throughly potent he almost wishes it would kill him out of an utter, dictating mercy. 

He takes a drag of his cigarette. And then another, and another, and another.

Maya leans his head on Satori’s arm, his hair bunching up around the curve of his broad shoulder. “Why do ya’ ask?” He asks, and the words send an unnerving shiver down Satori’s narrow spine. Fear, heat and shame dwells endlessly throughout his stomach. He grips his cigarette in hopes the heat will be potent enough to burn in and through his fragile skin. 

Because you haven’t been giving me any attention, Satori thinks. A thought so devastatingly humiliating it makes Satori want to climb over the railing and fall to his death. “I wouldn’t let ya’ get away with half the stuff ya’ do if I didn’t.” He emphasizes with a nudge of his head against his arm, his skin feels warm despite the cloth that separates them. 

Right. Yes, of course. Now, Satori feels even more like a fool. Maya was telling him outright, wasn’t he? Who was Satori to deny him anything, much less doubt him, doubt his words. It would be utterly inconceivable to, as Satori himself has gone so, so far when it comes to placing his diminishing faith upon Maya’s pretty hands. He nervously brings his cigarette to his mouth, only to find out the entirety of it has been scorched out. He watches the remaining smoke drizzle upon the air relentlessly with a dejected look on his face; certainly, for no other reason than that.

“What’s wrong? Don’t believe me?” Maya prompts, shoving himself further into Satori’s personal space. His chest presses against Satori’s rigid arm, and Maya looks up at him with an unintelligible look in his face. His pitch-black eyes are as wide as ever. The sight it doesn’t fail to stir up a strange, almost endearing adoration in Satori’s firm abdomen. 

Maya’s hand reaches up. His lithe, skinny fingers prod at the white of his collar, before casting their attention downwards; towards the shiny, black buttons imbedded into his neatly ironed uniform, and towards his leather, remarkably expensive belt…

“What, are you doing—“ Satori lets out, more flustered than anything as Maya’s hand begins to deftly unravel the strap binding his belt together. The shock is enough for him to drop the shortened, pointless cigarette nub in his hand, he doesn’t even register the sound of its rapid fires fizzling underneath him. 

“Relax, i’ll be quick about it.” He responds, finally unbinding his belt and pulling it out of the countless wool rings holding it in place. Satori feels his face consumed in an overwhelming amount of flames. Maya is never one to initiate, really; He is more of a ‘suggest and never commit’ type of person when it comes to these scenarios. Whatever’s crawling through Satori’s veins feels new, dangerously welcome, and impossibly alive—yet, there’s a lump of unease stuck in-between his dull teeth, digging into his gums, and sharpening his molars. 

His belt drops to the ground, and so does Maya as he lowers himself to his knees. The sight is exhilarating, immensely overwhelming, yet incredibly satisfying. There’s a harrowing nag at the back of Satori’s throat, echoing deeply throughout his body, chanting malice into his ears. Maya has work to do, matters to attend to—and Satori knows it. He should point it out, he really should, yet he can’t bear the thought of Maya leaving him alone. Especially not now. Satori feels like he might drop dead if he were to lose sight of the view in front of him right now. So much for a ‘shared goal’.

…and really, who is he to criticize Maya’s judgement? If Maya thinks what’s best in the moment is to get on his knees and blow him, then he’ll abide by it. Hesitantly. 

There’s something carnal burrowing itself into Satori’s chest. The feeling is vile, morbid, and incredibly arousing. It’s only when Maya’s fingers brush against his smitten flesh does he allow his mind to go numb, his thighs tense and sweaty as he takes him to the hilt. Satori fucks his throat earnestly, saliva pooling at the seams of Maya’s mouth as he mouths at his pelvis. With his small, cute tongue besotted on his dick, he reaches exceptionally deep, so much Satori would go as far as to say he’s throughly bruised the insides of Maya’s swollen throat. 

Satori feels his body tighten and soften at each and every lap of Maya’s addictive mouth. He feels antsy, panicked, a wave of emotions surround him, it’s almost funny. Satori doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feelings Maya brings about, how each  and every look of his crazed eyes puppets him around like a rag-doll, and Satori absolutely adores it, hates it, cherishes it— 

Satori reaches out, interlacing his shaky fingers within the crown Maya’s hair, dragging and pulling brutally at the elongated strands of hair, harsher than he needs to, really. He wants to hurt Maya. He wants to fuck his throat until blood drips down his lips and nose, choke him on his cock until he passes out from lack of oxygen, make him cry and scream beneath him—he wants Maya to feel as deeply as he does for him. He wants Maya to want him. 

Yet he won’t say it, he can’t, as he knows for a fact Maya will not take lightly to it—or perhaps it’s simpler than that, Satori is afraid. He’s scared to know the truth of what he refuses to speak on. He’ll keep Maya pliant and swollen below him if it means never having to listen to the utter, raw cruelty leaving his pretty lips. His head these days, has been nothing short of a disastrous, messy, convicted mix of doubts; but at the very least, he can have the slight reassurance, the need for want, the need to love so deeply it burns the both of them inside and out. 

Satori grips Maya’s hair tightly, harshly, forcing him far deeper than what he’s capable of, before pulling him off his dick completely, cumming on his face. White, hot tears land on his face, on his pretty freckles, on his lips, on his mouth…It’s a nice look to him—a good look to him and his pretty face. Satori almost wishes Maya would stay like this forever. 

Satori allows his lithe fingers to lightly thread atop Maya’s hair, curling the thin strands against his skin, until they detach from his scalp completely. Maya looks unbothered, feels unbothered—merely wiping the filth off his face, smearing it past his pants, drenching his skin in grime. He feels a threatening pressure loom over his shoulder as Maya stands, his eyelashes are wet, long and cute. He’s filthy, he’s so utterly disgusting without half the mind to acknowledge the sin or what has come of it. Satori feels livid, lucid yet happy all the same. 

Maya unsticks his bangs from his immersed forehead, parts his hair, allowing it to catch on the curve of his long nails, and hooks it behind his reddened ear. Maya spares him a smile, his eyes glittering as he inter-wines his fingers together, and places his hands behind his back. Semen curls past the curve of his cheek. “I’m goin’ back to work,“ Maya declares, before turning on his heel like a winded hound. “don’t bother me, mkay?”

Satori is reminded of the time he had been shot in the leg after a specifically gruesome mission. Reminded on how he’d chant salvation like a mantra, how he had grit his teeth and beared it. Maya bears intercourse like Satori bears pain and thinks absolutely nothing of it. 

…yet, he can’t help but wonder, is that not an act of love in itself? Maybe his status had pitied him enough to throw him a bone, or perhaps even plenty of them. He’s long since engraved the act of feeding upon a pathetic amount of crumbs if it means getting a split look of glistened lips and reddened cheeks. He can only hope Maya too, is putting himself through the burner to display his gratefulness; his love, the one he swears upon...

Even so, Satori wishes for it, pitiful as it is, that Maya might say it back someday.

───────

Tucked away in the crevices of the remarkable town of Ine, is a small, public middle school. Its premises don’t appeal to many, as its walls are pathetically dull, its swimming pool is specifically filthy, and its classrooms are nothing short of lackluster.

By the time Satori and Maya get there, it’s far into dawn, and the floors are ridden with an overwhelming amount of striven blood. There’s a group of men perched upon its grounds. Neither of them hesitate to strike them down with a cruel grin and smear of their very same cruelty. Maybe a couple of bullets would do the trick, but apparently, Maya found the prospect of their skulls shattering beneath his fingers to be much, much more enticing. 

Maya never details their missions anymore. Merely keeps Satori in the dark, and rubs a loving, gentle thumb over his palm when he asks too many questions. Satori tries not to be bothered—in fact, he isn’t. But the sense of utter unease pressing its ugly claws upon his swollen shoulders is incredibly evident, so much he bites his lips as he watches the men bleed out, and Maya turn towards the battered classrooms surrounding the halls. 

Maya looks enraged, he knows it in the quiet of his dark eyes, that he views this trip as an inevitable failure; one that will itch and prod at the back of his neck for the following months. Satori can feel his filthy, blood-stained garments stick to his arms, legs, neck , stomach—he too, feels immense discomfort at the result of their inefficiency, although for entirely different reasons. He knows he’ll be faced with an intense scrutiny under the gaze and hand Maya will continue to cruelly dictate if it means adding another streak of blood to their already pitiful uniforms. After all, if there’s one thing Satori is absolutely sure of, it’s that Maya despises inefficiency.

The halls are as quiet as they are dark. The sound of their polished shoes click distinctively against the reddened, wooden floors. “Urghhh—! my clothes are all dirty now! It’s stickin’ to my skin…” Maya exclaims in discomfort as he picks up the pace, his head whipping around wildly throughout the halls. He slides door after door open, each one crashing violently against its rusted joints. “I seriously need to wash up,”

Satori follows faithfully, all though his pace much slower. Despite the unspoken rule, he can’t help but feel a burrow of uncertainty towards the idea of voicing his thoughts, especially now. A variety of voices clash and connect throughout his battered head. The want to stay vigilant, and the want to please weighs him down, dutifully aiding his growing headache. It’s not ideal, but he can’t help but prick at the overwhelming amount of blood coating his body, his hands, his face…

“Why did we come here, exactly?” He asks, and tries his best to stifle the unnerving amount of anxiety welling up inside him as Maya stops dead on his tracks. He stands completely still, before finally turning to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pink and glossy against the moonlight panting against him gently. He doesn’t talk, merely looks at Satori, starting by the shin of his shoe, up to his composed, blood-stained face.

“Seems ya’ need to wash up, too.” Maya declares, before whipping his head around, and begin down the hall once again; each step more playful than the other, his hair bouncing behind him. Satori hold in the urge to bite his lip until blood begins to sizzle beneath its pudgy surface. A spark of irritation flashes through his extended irises, his feet feel swollen, stuck to the ground as he forces his legs to follow. 

“Maya,” he calls out, only hurrying the pace once he realizes he’s outright ignoring him. “Maya, i’m serious, why are we here?” He speaks sternly, encircling Maya’s wrist, and yanking him backwards, their bodies almost colliding in the process. A wave of regret washes over him almost immediately after witnessing Maya’s expression. Cold, heartless and undeniably angry. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that—

“Serious? Yer’ serious?” asks Maya, his voice twisted into a humiliating mock, his face withdrawn into a vicious smile. Satori’s hold loosens before he can stop himself; yet unexpectedly, Maya grabs his hand, squeezing hard, almost as if daring him to pull away.

“Don’t act like ya’ got a backbone all of a sudden,” Satori can feel the color draining from his cheeks, yet pumping such full and through. His head feels heavy, his eyes are unbelievably wide. “Ya’ know, that at the end of the day, yer’ just gonna keep following me around,” He says as he pulls Satori even closer, his gaze sickening, nauseating. “Yer’ gonna do whatever I say, no matter how much ya’ hate it. Even now, ya’ hate that I’m treating ya’ like this, don’t ya’?”

“You—“

“Come on, Satori. Serious Satori. Ya’ can stand up for yerself’ if ya’ reeaally try. Go on, prove it. Tell me off. Ask me again why we’re here.”

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, rather, he stays still. Utterly and completely still, the words reverberating through his head. It takes him a minute or two to finally acknowledge, that the countless shivers hurrying down his spine, and the small, glossy bullets running down his pale skin are  a mere, piteous consequence of the distressing fear coursing through his veins. 

“I’m doin’ this for ya’, all of it,” Maya darkly declares, his gaze now penetrating the tiled windows scattered across the enlightened halls, piercing through its foggy glass panes and into the moon floating above the starry sky. “it’s better not to tell ya’ stuff sometimes, it’s for yer’ own good. Let me carry that burden for ya’.”

It’s wrong. So, so, so terrifically wrong. Even Satori, who has dipped his hands in countless grooves of overwhelming rage, sadness, and depravity, can acknowledge the sickening nature of the situation he’s stepped proudly into. He can feel the way countless hands cradle his hand in distress as he stares into the ocean that is Maya’s pretty features. 

“Ya’ shouldn’t think. At least, not right now. Don’t worry yer’ pretty little head about anythin’, yeah?” Maya proclaims, before taking Satori’s gloved, blood-ridden hand into his own. Satori, as ridiculous as it sounds, feels undeniably shaken, shocked, yet dosed as Maya pulls him forward, and picks up his pace once again; leading Satori further down the hall in slow, guiding steps. 

“Geez, I seriously need to cool off now…” Maya states, his gaze now directed towards the countless doors surrounding them, and Satori—

Follows, he follows at a snail’s pace. He can’t exactly come to terms with the feeling dwelling inside him like a wild animal; much less throughly comprehend it. He watches as Maya’s touch grows gentler, not a hint of anger, hatred nor danger in his lithe, skinny fingers; in the blood circling their palms, dripping down their wrists and onto the rotten, wooden floors…

“What’s wrong? Didn’t I tell ya’ not to worry about it?” Maya asks, turning back to look at him with a gentle crane of his head, and Satori—

Can’t stop thinking about the gentleness intertwined within their touch, about how the fingers that cradle his own feel so, so very warm against his cold skin. About how Maya’s eyes shine so beautifully against the moonlight, about how he doesn’t want to think of anything that bothers him at the moment. Maybe he should listen to Maya, knowing him, knowing their closeness, could he truly mean any harm? Even when he engages in it? 

And so, he follows; his steps no longer hesitant, or at least, that’s what he tells himself. Even so, any doubt is quickly wiped from his altered mind the minute he catches sight of the lingering smile on Maya’s cute lips. He lets his thoughts sink back into the depths of their own confinement. Hopefully the haze will make him pliant enough to please the hand holding him so very tightly now.

Satori keeps his gaze down, watching as a variety of different wooden tiles reveal themselves upon his darkened eyesight, only looking up the moment Maya suddenly picks up his pace, pushing through the large, metal doors located at the end of the hall. 

The night silence is somehow forbidding. A stink is in the air, the stink of garbage is left out to rot. The night sky isn’t particularly appealing, nor is the murky pool spread out beneath him. 

“Ah…! Finally, I found it!” Maya exclaims, as he cruelly lets go of off Satori’s reddened hand. He sounds incredibly cheerful as he begins to discard his jacket, allowing it to drop to the ground carelessly. So that’s what he meant by ‘cooling off’…?

Maya rolls his sleeve up, dipping his bandaged stump into the murky waters below his feet—before quickly rising to his full height. The small, adjacent, yet pleasant smile displayed on Maya’s darkened expression tells Satori everything he needs to know. “It’s the perfect temperature. Help me untie my shoes, please. Ya’ always tie them real tight.” 

Satori leans down, his deft fingers reaching for the already loosened shoelaces, but not before allowing a shaky sigh to escape his cold lips. “You’re a terrible swimmer, you know that, right?” 

“Whaa…that’s not true. Not true at all. And even so, it’s real shallow, nothing’s gonna happen.” He says, his fingers intertwined within his tender ribbon. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Satori mutters as he tugs at the knotted laces, half-listening to the soft, impatient tap of Maya’s unattended foot. “Knowing you, you’d still find a way to drown.” He works the stubborn knot loose and slips off the first shoe before moving on to the next.

“But if that happened,” Maya’s ribbon falls to the ground, “ya’d jump in and save me, right? Be my hero and all that…”

Satori slips off the other shoe, refusing to look up. His fingers, for some reason, won’t stop shaking. There’s an unnerving heat creeping up his neck, and whether it’s from the cold or from the words leaving Maya’s mouth, he honestly can’t tell. “I suppose I would…” He declares, all though hesitantly. 

“See?” Maya says, his voice slightly strained as he pushes his shirt over his head. His skin is dipped in moisture, and slight, almost endearing streaks of red; a consequence of the blood spread throughout his once pristine uniform. Satori stands, eyes staring unabashedly at Maya’s stomach. “I have nothin’ to worry about.” He says playfully as he reaches for his leather belt. 

Maya is half-naked before Satori can even acknowledge it. His pants falling to the ground, leaving him solely in his underwear. It’s not a sight that’s new to him, really. He’s seen Maya naked time and time again, considering Maya has somehow managed to unlearn shame—yet, his eyes still wander as Maya hooks a thumb into his flimsy waistband. It doesn’t feel any different, it really doesn’t, to see Maya undress before him; but Satori won’t lie and say he isn’t unbelievably appealing. The skin that clings to his legs, the freckles scattered across his warm flesh, how loving and tender he looks beneath a light Satori wishes belonged to him, and only him. It all pushes for a narrative Satori can’t bring himself to chase after.

Water splashes before him. Countless drops of water land before his polished shoes, leaving a penetrating gloss upon the dusty pavement. Maya has jumped into the water, his underwear abandoned next to his jacket, belt, pants—His hair clings to his face as he pops out from the glistening waters. The whole thing feels almost indecent, all of it does. Too casual after such a brutal mission. And yet, Satori can’t help himself, he thinks he might actually fall in love with the sight, with the burrowing wrongness displayed not upon their filthy uniforms but rather words that won’t exactly leave his head. 

“The water is so nice,” exclaims Maya, kicking his feet through the water, making his way to the edge of the pool. He rests his scarred arms on its seams, and looking up at Satori with a look he can only describe as ‘expectant’. “Ya’ should come in, too. Don’t ya’ feel gross?”

Satori could argue the water is just as, if not filthier than their uniforms. yet, Maya’s face is dipped in a pleasing hue, one that calls to Satori with the curve of his cheek and relatively sharp corners. There’s no shame in his own undress but there’s a certain hesitance at the back of his throat. One that has begun to dig its shortened nails into his pudgy flesh, bleed through and out of his teeth, tongue and lips. His eyes feel shaky, uncertain. And Satori—

“Ya’ shouldn’t think. At least, not right now. Don’t worry yer’ pretty little head about anythin’, yeah?” 

Begins to carefully remove his gloves, fingers curling and uncurling after being freed of their damp confinements. He feels relief course through him, a strange, almost blissful feeling. He doesn’t dare look up as he hears Maya’s giggle resound across the dark surrounding them both. It’s a lovely feeling, an addictive feeling. 

Satori sits at the edge instead of jumping right in like Maya did. Of course, that doesn’t sit well with him, as Maya starts whining almost immediately, pulling at Satori’s slim ankle, trying to pull him in with a playful smile. Satori lets out a long, exasperated sigh, checks that his cigarettes are safe in the pocket of his discarded pants, and finally pushes himself off the edge, slipping into the pool beside him.

The water, is in fact, very nice. It feels incredible against his skin, it chills his bones, warms his flesh. He tries his best to avoid the grime floating upon the water, and leans against the cold, stone walls. He watches Maya retreat farther into the confines of the pool, allowing himself to indulge in the relaxing ambience. It would be a lot more relaxing if Satori weren’t so painfully aware of how reckless Maya was being. The guy could barely swim, and given how unclear things still were, there was every chance danger was still lurking somewhere nearby.

Maya splashes a handful of water at Satori’s face as he kicks through the water. Perhaps he should really take Maya’s advice now. 

Satori bites his tongue, swallows blood back like slick, liquid copper. He leans his head forward, staring at his fingers, at the blood smeared upon his shattered nails, the bone protruding from his thin skin. The flesh there is scarred, pink, and unbelievably tight. Maya’s skin is scarred, too. Full of such, in fact. On his long arms, his thin legs, his sturdy thighs, his flat, skinny chest, too. He’s pretty, Satori firmly believes; he enjoys witnessing him naked, he’s determined. His arm looks pretty and branded once not wrapped in countless bandages. Maya is a disturbing creature of nature Satori can’t help but feel obscenely drawn towards. 

Satori feels…nothing, really, when after what feels like hours,  Maya stays limp beside him. Head drenched in water, eyelashes dripping with serenity. His back against the tile much like him. He feels nothing when Maya presses closer, face pressed against his shoulder, chest, arms. He feels especially nothing when their drenched chests touch, foreheads collide harshly enough to make Maya giggle lightly, and Maya slots his lips into his own. 

“So that’s what it’s like…kissing.” Maya ponders out loud. “Feels good.”

Maya is a terrible kisser. Satori thinks he tries not to hyperventilate.

───────

The van. The sky. Night blooms above him as he slices through what’s left of his victims. Sweat pools down his face, his hands, his legs. Satori feels unbearably filthy.

Grease, flesh, A plucked out spine… 

His job here is done. He’s killed, violated, and handled every last bit of the harrowing mess. Thank god for theatrics, he thinks as he trudges over to get Maya.

Maya is a small, squirmy thing in his backseat. His short, stubby nails prick at the leather seat idly, his hair is tied into a cute, messy ponytail. He looks exhausted. The twins are asleep next to him. 

Soma lays carelessly atop Maya’s lap, his limbs spread out throughout the limited space. His uniform is wrinkled, untied, undone. The glass shard in his necklace shines through the darkness surrounding them. Maya’s finger picks up a fine strand of hair, and begins to caress it gently. Noa’s head is limp, resting upon Maya’s shoulder. Her cheek is plastered on the broad muscle. Drool escapes her pretty lips, cascading past her chin, staining the filthy white shirt below her. Her hair is a mess, Satori can’t remember the last time she looked so childlike. 

“My job’s done,” says Satori, as he makes his way further into the van. “Your turn to get out there.”

Maya’s glistening eye turns to look at him. It’s big, wide, and awfully endearing. Satori looks away before he begins to feel that offending thrum whittle throughout his sturdy chest. He feels his nose wrinkle, brows furrow; every time he looks at Maya, pliant and pretty, Satori feels an undying, creeping sense of unease. Being faced with something he wasn’t willing to comprehend, much less embrace, was certainly clawing at him each and every day. It was undoubtedly destroying his defenses, so severely he felt the need to keep his guard up even when he knows for a fact such isn’t necessary. 

“Oh—uhm…!” Maya exclaims, before quickly gritting his teeth, regret pooling across his face once he realizes he was way far loud. His eye skims over the twins, just for him to breathe a sigh of relief once he notices the two are still sleeping soundly. 

Maya shifts as gently as possible, only freezing once Noa shifts. Her small, pudgy arm wrapping itself around Maya’s own. “I actually got the job done beforehand…” he says, minding his volume. “Y’know…just in case the twins wanted to play, or…somethin’.”

He looks sheepish. He looks pretty. The scars surrounding his face are appealing, too. Satori can’t help but stare him down. Maya’s heart was so, so big. So full of naive love and overwhelming amounts of misplaced trust…

Satori clicks his tongue, mindlessly ripping his gaze away from Maya. “Half of it, you mean.” Satori loosens the leather surrounding his fingers, before skimming over the texture, and pulling his gloves clean off. “You’ve still got to get rid of what’s left of them.”

Maya lets out a particularly drawn out whine. His shoulders tighten, there’s an unpleasant look on his face. “Aw, cmon…can’t I do it later…?” He requests hesitantly, shyly tilting his head, gesturing over to the twins who’ve practically engulfed him in a mess of limbs and coats. “I can’t really move right now…”

The image is clear, accelerating. It almost feels casual, normal. Maya’s clothes are dirt-stained, his knees are bruised and unbelievably scarred. His right eye lacks sight, his left arm is a gaping mess—but even then, he looks inviting, hesitant, it’s precious to Satori. Nothing in his life can be assimilated to the normalcy he feels when he looks at his cheeky face, there are no strings to grasp if his bases were to collapse out of a sudden, not even in the smallest of actions; taking him young, willing for a smoke outside, put him in his knees, bend him over the car seats. Satori knew before truly allowing himself to feel it, to see it, that Maya is a perfectly unusual man. 

Satori gives him a short shrug, a dissipating hum. He’s uncaps his flask, and drinks a bit of water, before redirecting his gaze towards Maya. “As long as you have it done before morning,” He then adds, “I’d hate to delay this any further.” 

Maya practically beams. His smile lifting upwards, his pretty fang poking out,  smearing its sharpened influence across his lips. He nods his loft head, disarranging his hair further. “Okay, yeah, I can do that. I’ll get it done before then.” he whispers carefully before leaning further into his seat, accommodating himself despite the twins. 

Moonlight bleeds through the van’s flimsy, tinted windows as Satori takes a seat across from Maya. He too, relaxing in his seat. His job, all though a lovable one, must have its downsides by leaving him incredibly exhausted by the strains of the falling dawn.  He crosses his legs before pulling out his notepad; today’s expenses must be dutifully noted.

He allows his pen to scratch the paper’s surface pitifully, ignoring Maya’s eager eye on him. “Uhm—Hey, Satori,” Maya calls out, his words blurred by his inept whispering. 

“What is it?” he asks, sounding way more blunt than he means to, eyes never leaving the paper. He catches the tiny flinch Maya gives at his tone.

Maya’s eyes land on the sleeping Soma, on his spread-out hair, on the peaceful look on his face. His socked feet curl and uncurl, rubbing against eachother, desperately looking for heat in the barren wasteland the two perched their coats upon. “It’s just…I dunno, today was a good day, don’t ya’ think so?”

Satori doesn’t stop writing, but he does give him a raise of his brow in confusion. Their day had been nothing short of painfully ordinary. Boring, even, if Satori were to be completely honest. Maya, clearly sensing that confusion, immediately starts scrambling for words, opening and closing his mouth like a helpless goldfish.

“I mean…! Ya’ invited us all for breakfast, and we even went to the beach afterwards,” He mutters, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself rather than Satori. “—It was for work, sure. But, I had a real good time…”

Satori almost wishes to dismiss him. Maya’s voice was nothing short of a nerve wracking allure. A scramble of helpless words, a jumble of naivety, shyness, inexperience; it all called to him in such a beautiful manner, it felt impossible to rip his attention away from, impossible to not quietly worship once engulfed in enough darkness, one he knows eyes will continue to ravage, but never judge. 

“I guess…what I wanted to say was—” Pink dusts his pretty cheeks, his gaze entirely focused on the pointless, tinted windows like it suddenly matters. “Thank ya’. 

…

Maya wasn’t just unusual. Maya was outright stupid. A stupid, vapid boy. A victim of opportunity, a chance so incredibly vulnerable, it endlessly drives Satori further into madness. He swallows down his laughter, his cruelty, his undying want to ravish Maya, to push their mouths together, just to bite his tongue clean off. He wants to watch the bruises scattered upon his flesh bloom further, he wants him to sing Satori endless praise, he wants him to stay by his side—

Instead, Satori chuckles. He throws his notepad to the side. “I don’t need your thanks, i’m merely doing my job,” he declares, before standing upright. He can’t sit in that van with Maya for another second. Satori is a sick, twisted man—yet he believes himself to be insane in that well-spoken and equally driven men tend to be. He will not lay hands on his opportunity, on Maya’s pretty, freckled skin. Not if he still holds even the thinnest of rationality in-between his swollen fingers. 

He swallows bile. He desperately needs a cigarette. 

Satori takes his leave without so much as a glance towards Maya or the sleeping twins, just steps out of the van and lets the night sky embrace him. He lets the thick, heavy stench of death crawl into his lungs pleasantly. 

He lights his cigarette in a rush and lets it hang between his lips longer than he wishes to admit.

Satori wants to make Maya’s life miserable. 

───────

The corpse of a man. Large, bulky, disgusting. He discards him with a finger pressed against his cheek. He discards want like a piece of pointless flesh, digs into the skin around his socket as long as it compliments his efficiency, his need to withdraw. Satori wills his existence to a chord of strings and a satisfyingly alluring tone. Satori, all though master of discarding a will, cannot let go off desire just yet. 

Maya is no longer an outlet, no longer the naive little thing he fantasized so deeply  about. Satori is deeply infatuated with a gnawing, penetrating fear. The fear of loss, loss of self, loss of joy. The same one so deeply ridden in fraught and anxiety. It’s so, unbelievably, saddening. Satori wants to treasure the feeling. 

“Owww—! Ow! You’re hurting meeee—!”

Perhaps, Satori was meant for better. Or perhaps, he was just meant to remain by Maya’s side. In all it’s logic, and all which led to his hysterics, he will never be able to pinpoint just when exactly he had determined the sight of freckles, blood and pitch black eyes so utterly exhilarating. Seeing how messy, how pitiful he could be filled Satori’s heart with warm, sweet satisfaction.

Maya pushes, prods and pulls. His hands put on a weak fight, one Satori can’t help but scoff at. Maya might be one to complain, throughly, severely, but it won’t change the events of that day. It won’t change the fact, that despite all to which fell upon him in a sense of absolute bliss, Maya was the one who reached out to him, the one who offered his hand in a moment of obscurity, and forced Satori to take, take, take until it destroyed him inside and out. To toss rationality aside was a feat like none else, especially through such an unwavering man, such a dedicated man. 

His cries don’t mean anything if at the end of the day, Maya chose him. Maya chose him, and none else. If Satori is to be by Maya’s side, as intended, as planned, then others must not concern him. Not the countless obstacles obscuring their rocky path, not the previous owner of the shiny glass hanging from Maya’s neck—He has him. Maya has Satori, why should others concern him? 

Maya throbs, screeches, and scratches. Maya is good at everything, Useful for everything, Satori can’t help but think. But he’s especially good at arching his back, moaning and sobbing beneath him. He’s good at being by his side and must, must if it means it will stop him from running away. Running away from what he must speak of, from the truth, from the absolute fact that he cannot find happiness in anything that isn’t a pair of gloved hands, and eyes meant for absolute devotion. 

He tips his head forward, so incinerated in sin, in warmth, in Maya’s unnerving kindness, in debt. He lets his teeth hover over warm, pretty skin before finally sinking in, only pulling away once an overwhelming amount of blood pools at the base of his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and the seams of his teeth. It’s loathsome, the lies his delusion has rooted from, but perhaps the bruise will keep him steady enough for another, and another, and another, and another. 

Maya doesn’t do much in order to fight him, now. Rather, he goes limp, steady and unbelievably pliant. It’s almost like he’s holding a corpse. Satori tries not to think too harshly on just how much the idea unsettles him. 

Satori clings onto a reality that is no longer his own, one he lost in the midst of fulfilling an order which meant absolutely nothing at the end. One that didn’t hesitate to throw him to the side if it meant achieving a much greater goal, a much greater purpose, one that would fulfill a want so incredibly ridiculous its almost pitiful—yet, Satori cannot throw his head back and laugh, as he too, still believes Maya to be the only one who can save him, and vice-versa. 

Satori never once considered himself to be emotional, clingy, needy. He never once asked it of his mother, never once felt like he truly needed it if it came out of such putrid, mortified hands. Yet, now, all he wishes for is to lay next to him who leads him, bring him so, so very close, without worrying about those sharp teeth of his ripping into the sensitive flesh of his jugular. 

Maya merely hisses, the tips of his ears burning an endearing red, almost as if enraged, or perhaps even aroused. “Brute.”

───────

The bathtub is covered in blood around the drain. 

Satori is no longer a force of nature. Although incredibly rough in-between each and every one of his pretty edges, such comes with a compliance like none other. It’s unbelievably pleasant, and it shines a redeemable gold, one Maya loves to trace countless circles within, allow himself to dip further into his harrowing ocean, touch him gently, touch him harshly. It’s sickeningly addictive.

Satori is a frail, trembling thing at the edge of utter and depraved madness. Satori is slipping into the shoes of a lovesick murderer, a devoted killer. He cannot come to terms with the fact that rather than being embraced, he is being throughly examined, watched, cherished. 

…Perhaps loved, too. 

It’s not often Satori cries, it’s not often he allows his condition to overtake him in such obscene situations; it’s not often he’s willing to show just how desperate his will, desires and wants have made him. Maya, all though nothing but loyal, has created a reckless mess of pointless emotions. Maya doesn’t wish to kill him, merely mend him for what he’s worth, allow Satori to come to terms with his prevalent role. 

A mild seizure, Maya supposes.

His eyes roll back, drool slips bast his pretty lips. Maya allows his hands to run through his face, run through his hair, feeling and prodding at each and every crevice, his pulse erratic. Satori is not all there, yet—

“Ya’ might not feel like it,” He says, leaning in, pressing harshly against him. Must Satori not see, may he at the very least feel. “But I need ya’ to smile for me, okaaay?” 

The reaction is not immediate, much to his dismay. Satori’s spasms only become more potent as Maya fits his head into the crook of his neck. His desires are so pitiful, so, so very pitiful, he remarks in his head. To be the one bleeding profusely, a crimson path running down his slim legs—yet, allowing Satori to drench himself in the bliss of his own pleasure was outstanding. There was no longer any meaning to their love making, really. Just plain desire. Maya will eventually have to trace his own. 

Satori chases after him to the best of his abilities. Wraps his limp arms around Maya in a string of ragged breaths. He ignores how the toughened hand looks for more, craves for more. Instead, Maya’s deft fingers pull at Satori’s stretched eyelids, gawking in awe at the endless white reflected upon his eyeballs. His flesh stiffens and softens beneath the palms of his bloodied hands. 

His touch feels sickeningly familiar, almost as if Satori was trying to crawl inside his body, become one with him. Mend their flesh and bones together, allow the consequences of their distressing sins to bind them together in a harrowing amalgamation of flesh, spit and blood. Maya allows his head to be slightly tipped upwards, and his lips to be gnawed at in total hopelessness. 

“Ahh, poor Satori.” Maya coos. “Out in a world where nobody likes ya’, where ya’ can’t trust a single soul…” Maya rubs his thumbs tenderly across his pretty cheeks, gently stabilizing his shaking body. “Where ya’ only have me.”

Satori smiles. Smiles as told—and so does Maya, because he loves his obedience, loves his compliance, loves his efficiency…

“Good boy.” He says. Because Maya loves Satori.