Work Text:
He could feel her hands trembling as they gripped his wrists, he shifted to the edge of the uncomfortable hospital chair placed by the side of her bed. Her nails dug into his pulse points, sending a shock of pain up his forearms. He dared not move or say anything, too afraid of her disappointed eyes staring down at him. She tugged him forward, leaning down to whisper,
“Come here Korekiyo, let me look at you.”
He stood and bent down, hair falling over his shoulders like a curtain, and eyes still locked on the way his pale skin was turning pink under her grip. She let his arms drop back to his sides and reached up to pull his mask down, he closed his eyes; He never liked to watch this part. Her lips met his and he could taste the artificial fruit from her lip gloss. She cupped the sides of his face gently — too gently for the way her tongue slid against his. She finally pulled away and he resisted the urge to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, knowing she wouldn't like it.
“Now,” he was handed a neatly folded school uniform. “I just finished hemming the pants, take good care of it for me, okay?” Korekiyo nodded and took the clothes from her, rubbing the material between his fingers.
“Of course, Sister.” He knew she had worked very hard on making it just to her liking and he wasn't going to ruin something she had done for him. The uniform was carefully set on his book bag so that none of it touched the floor. When he turned back to face her, she was smirking.
“Red is a good color on you.” She reached up and brushed her fingers over his lips, the tips of them coming back smudged with lipstick.
“If it would please you, I would be happy to purchase some for myself.” He again stopped himself from ridding any trace of her from his mouth.
He would look quite pretty with red lips, he supposed. But he didn't want to look pretty, his sister was the pretty one. He was thin and lanky, rarely filling out his sweaters the way he longed to. His hands were bony and perpetually cold, nails bit short from stress. No, he would never be pretty.
"Did you hear what I said, Korekiyo?" His head snapped up, hoping the panic wouldn't show in his eyes. Her lip curled up slightly, eyebrows furrowed. "I asked if you're still in love with me." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked at him through her lashes.
“I..." he took a deep breath. "Of course I love you, Sister, why wouldn't I?"
"Cute, but that wasn't what I asked you. Clearly, you need me to repeat myself. Are you in love with me?" She tilted his chin up with a finger, the same finger she had used to touch his lips. He knew she would leave a red smudge behind; he hated it. He wished his mask was covering the way his face flushed hot with discomfort, and the way he chewed his lip hard enough for the skin to split. She probably couldn't tell the difference between his freshly drawn blood and her lipstick. He swallowed his discomfort along with the metallic tang on his tongue.
“Yes, I am still in love with you.” He was gritting his teeth hard enough to hear his jaw creak.
She smiled at him. A sickly sweet thing that never showed her teeth. Her hand brushed against his cheek before his head snapped to the side and a warm pain bloomed on his face.
His eyes watered, tears threatening to spill down his flaming cheek. It burned. It burned like the time she brushed his arm with her lighter, singeing the hairs and making the skin bubble. It burned like the bile in the back of his throat when she coaxed him to touch her — the way she would touch him. It burned but he knew he deserved it.
“Apologize.” Her hand was still in the air, a clear sign she would punish him again if he didn't comply and apologize. Apologize. Apologize. The word rattled around in his head, making far too much noise. Apologize. Apologize. He hadn’t realized a string of “I’m so sorry’s” and “please forgive me’s” were tumbling from his lips until a “Be quiet Korekiyo” cut through the racket. His mouth snapped closed, teeth clicking together.
“That wasn't so hard now was it?” She brushed a tear from his stinging cheek, a feather-light touch that he leaned into instinctively. Her hands grasped his, squeezing tight. “You’ll be back tomorrow, won't you?” It wasn't a question.
“Yes, Sister.” He gathered his things, taking care to keep his newly made uniform un-wrinkled. He pulled his mask up over his nose, hiding the smudges of his shame.
Tomorrow he’d be back and the cycle would continue anew.