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He loved the night time.
When the fiery blaze of light sank into the horizon, seeking its grave. The way the world dimmed with the sun's passing, as though Mother Nature herself mourned, and the shadows steadily crept forward, cautiously at first-- then with renewed confidence-- reclaiming the surface once more.
When the breeze stilled, and it seemed at though even the animals themselves were holding their breath, incessant chirping of crickets fading into blissful silence.
He loved it.
When the Earth lay in wait.
Ripe for the taking.
That was when he rose, another creature of darkness, a lethal predator, ready to claim his throne, blond prince by his side.
A demon, brought into this world and cast into it's darkness; abandoned and forgotten, never given the chance to see any form of light without it's shadow following closely behind it. A monster, so vile and disturbed, so cunning in it's way that it's only companion could be that of an angel who had lost its wings.
An angel who had known light, was birthed by it, raised by it, forever shrouded within its warmth and loving embrace. An angel who had experienced nothing but serenity from the moment it was conceived, who had known nothing but good will and acceptance, who had only felt love without the bitter taste of hatred. Who was only aware of peace, and not the sensation of being broken into a million pieces.
Until he was cast out, wings ripped viciously from his back, mouth opened in a silent scream as he fell, droplets of blood decorating the sky around him. The angel, though he was an angel no more, plunged into oblivion.
And was caught by a monster.
Hanma had found Kisaki in the night.
Had discovered the teen on all fours, hunched over a person that was already dead, and had already been dead for a while.
The rain was cold, each freezing sphere sinking into his bones, hair that was normally upright, plastered to his face, the sensation only semi unpleasant. He shouldn't have come out. The weather wasn't in his favor. But it was night, a starless night with no moon to guide his footsteps. It was dangerous. It was beautiful. And when night came, so did his hunger, his need to hunt.
His only desire was to make someone bleed, to feel their blood gush through his fingertips, a red river that he always found more appealing than the Red Sea. A concept in religion that he never understood. Why choose to believe the story of a man who split the waters, when you could slit someone's throat to receive the same result, albeit with the latter having greater gratification. In the end, that's what Hanma was after.
Excitement.
That satisfaction of ridding the world from scum. And so he stalked the streets, eyes glowing with sinister iridescence as he prowled, searching for prey. Perhaps an exhilarating fight to warm his damp limbs and sate his growing murderous intent.
His ears pricked as he heard the sounds of someone sniffling, crying. The sounds of someone pathetic, of someone broken, and followed it, until he stood standing in front of a balled up teen. He stared down at the boy on the pavement, who was curled over another body, a smaller one.
Someone young.
A kid.
And by the looks of it... little girl.
The teens chest was heaving, entire being wracking with soul crushing sobs, the kind that made no sounds, not a whisper, and yet were the loudest in the world. The ones that were heard because they were silent.
And hear them he did. Because they were the same sobs that he himself made all those years ago. The same tears left unshed. This boy, whoever this boy might've been once, was now a hollow husk, and empty shell with nothing left, a mirror to the way he used to be.
Before he found purpose.
Hanma was a monster, but he wasn't cruel, there was no point in killing the boy kneeling in front of him. After all he, whoever he was, was suffering enough. Killing him would do nothing except maybe provide relief. But Hanma wasn't a charity worker either.
Without a word, he turned to go, leaving the other teen to his lonesome. The rain was still pouring with a vengeance, more so since he'd left his temporary shelter. It slapped against his skin harshly, mildly uncomfortable, but no longer cold. That was bad. Very bad. It meant that he was losing feeling. The beginnings of hypothermia, pneumonia, or some other affliction. And he'd only been out for half an hour.
There was no telling how long the other been lying there, crying over someone who couldn't hear it.
Against his better judgement, the raven haired teen glanced back the figure, tongue loaded and ready to lash out and tell the teen to get his ass moving. But that was when he glimpsed, through the sleet of rain and impending shadows, the gleam of a weapon, reflecting off the sliver of light emanating from the moon, its shape a ghastly crescent.
It was a knife.
A knife made by the most tempered of metals.
Within an instant, Hanma's demeanor changed, adrenaline thrumming in his veins and heat unfurling from his stomach, spreading outward to sear every part of his body.
"Haha!" He laughed, giddy with mania, a dark, bubbling sound that would've been endearing almost, if not for the thread of insanity. "Another one! This changes things. You have to fight me now. I'm hunting you."
Hanma stood, pointing a long finger at the mass on the floor, who had gone still as the pale teen spoke. The rain had begun to lighten, coming down with a consistent fall.
The boy looked up, slowly as though it physically pained him to tear his sight away from the girl . His hair was dark, mussed, matted with blood and sticking to his skin like a glove.
But it was his eyes that gave the Reaper pause. Eyes that were like a black hole, taking everything in and letting nothing out. Still, Hanma didn't think he was imagining the rage hidden in the depths of those black orbs, hidden by the thick layers of sorrow, self-loathing and regret.
And then he spoke.
"I killed her. Because of him I had to kill her. He came and he took her heart but I watched her bleed." there was a voice crack, a whimper. "I let her die because I wasn't and never would be her hero."
Hanma didn't know what possessed him to feel so empathetic, what drew him to the pathetic boy laying soaked in the street. He wasn't sure why his skin tingled, or smile inched across his face, mouth opening and words pouring out. "Then why not become a villain instead. Why not kill everyone. It's only fair right?" he grinned, something salacious. "After all, you'll have a reaper on your side, following like a loyal pet."
That night, in the rain, Shuji fell in love.
Hanma couldn't help but smile fondly as Kisaki looked up at him with a pleased grin, wide enough to form the dimple on his right cheek. He was radiant, remnants of the angel he used to be shining through at moments like these. But the spark in his charcoal eyes told a different story, an ominous one that was much more sinister, filled with vice and forbidden love.
Hanma gripped the teen's waist, shivering slightly at the low squelching noise as his fingers sank into the fitted black v-neck and pulled the other closer until their hips were touching. He could feel Kisaki's hands around his neck, and it always brought him an unparalleled rush, a stunning sense of euphoria to feel hands so capable of ruining lives lay at ease around his throat. Hands that had the ability to kill, choosing instead to stroke lovingly at his nape, before gently tugging Hanma's face down to capture his lips in a soft kiss.
Metallic.
That was the only way to describe the taste, and still, the Hunter growled, pushing their bodies together until it felt as though they were actually merging, the demon and fallen angel. Becoming an entity unlike any other. It was filled with unbridled rage that had a thick underlying flavor of raw lust that made his stomach churn in a mixture of excitement and a similar anger.
But not anger at each other, anger at the system, at groups like the Tokyo Manji Gang, who fancied themselves heroes. At society for putting power into the hands of idiots, then wondering why the world had gone to ruins. Yet none of it mattered, it was of no importance, not now, not while his prince was pressed up against him, nipping at his lips greedily in a way that made it hard for Hanma to focus.
He obliged, opening his mouth and delved into the blond, diligently searching every crevice, his hand creeping up to grip Kisaki's hair, completely uncaring of the blood, pulling the teen's head back in a valiant effort to deepen their embrace. And was instantly filled with ecstasy.
He broke the kiss, appraising the tan teen with a leering smirk, before leaning in and landing a sloppy peck on his cheek, laughing at the way Kisaki gagged dramatically, at the lewd sounding pop, that came after.
"Oi, quit being such a drama queen. How're you going to gag at the sound but not my tongue shoved down you're throat, huh?"
"Whatever." came the huffed response, letting Hanma know that he successfully managed to fluster the teen, if his red-stained cheeks were anything to go by.
The martial artist couldn't keep it down, the joy-- the satisfaction, the fucking colors -- that that he only began to feel because of Kisaki, because of his angel, his salvation. His monstrous being. He couldn't keep to himself, the feeling of happiness and realized with distant surprise that he didn't want to keep it to himself.
So he didn't.
"What're you smiling bout you freak-- hey!" The tan teen exclaimed as he was pulled forward, moonlight filtering through the window of the otherwise silent building save for Hanma's manic laugh as he raised the shorter boy's arm up and executed a messy twirl.
"Come on Tetta-chan." he sang, guiding his lovers body in a loose circle, neatly side-stepping the corpses that littered the ground, completely unaware of the stench of blood flooding the abandoned Toman headquarters. "Tonight was a great victory! Let's celebrate, dance with me. Unless this is your way of telling me that you have two left feet?" He quirked a thin brow, smirking the condescending grin that he knew riled his boyfriend up.
"As if! Don't make me go back on my promise to not kill you."
Hanma hummed, continuing to guide the two of them through the self-made ghost town like structure. "It'd be different for sure, but I suppose I wouldn't be too against it." The remark earned him a punch on the arm, leftover blood splattering in his face and he grinned, the cheshire smile filled with mischief.
"You don't know how to be anything other than an absolute fool, do you?"
He grinned even wider, tightening his grip on Kisaki's waist as the tile floor grew slick. "I'm only a fool for you darling."
"Shut up and dance." Kisaki retorted, allowing Hanma to lead him into a back bend, the metallic scent growing stronger as he neared the floor.
The two trailed off into silence, nothing but the quiet murmurs of Hanma's humming filling the void. They were one, the fallen angel and the monster. Dangerous silhouettes with sins that'd follow them for the rest of their lives, terrible lurking actions that would haunt them were they not themselves. Had they not found strength in each other.
The monster had never known love, had never considered it an option. Had not even been aware of its existence. The angel had never searched for love, because it had already been obtained. And was just as easily snatched away, betrayed by the very ones meant to spread peace and joy. It was sickening.
Together, the teens-- boys-- lost, broken boys danced in their Garden of Death, a direct fuck you to Eden. Corpses covered in crimson littered the ground, the worthless seeds of incompetence. The moon was out in all its glory, showering the couple in its eerie lights and Hanma could make out the streaks of gore enveloping the both of them.
He smiled.
Truly, he loved the night time.
That was when world became alight with chaos and discord ran rampant. When night came, so his hunger and the insufferable need to hunt.
And tonight his desire had been fulfilled.
"I love you." he whispered to the blond, eyes soft, a happy yellow. Sweet grin never fading, even as he stepped back, smashing in the face of a particular hero. He, who out of all the filthy scum, deserved to die the most.
Kisaki smiled as he witnessed the action and buried his face in the crook of Hanma's neck, air warm. "I love you too."
A rare, but cherished admission.
They swayed, slowly, lovingly, moving to the nothing but the melody of their mingling breaths, the echoing symphony of their footsteps, and the steady bass of dripping blood.