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That night, Uki came home early for the first time in years. He parked in his usual spot, next to his husband’s car at the end of the driveway.
His face was neutral, expressionless, as he walked to the trunk, opened it, and picked up the two shopping bags inside.
Those who knew Uki would have recognized his numb face as the beginning of the end.
Those who knew Uki would have wondered what on Earth would have possessed him to buy any kind of groceries for Fufu-chan, they had always gone together when they had the time—never him alone. Fufu-chan was particular about the groceries and Uki never seemed to get the sales quite right.
It wouldn’t matter tonight, for Uki knew perfectly well that at this hour of the day, sunlight barely sagging in the weeping pink sky, red creeping into shadows, children scrambling to get home in time for dinner, Fufu-chan would be in the den, half a bottle of Kraken black rum on the side table next to the couch he’d be napping on.
The man had always seemed so sleepy these days. Uki was too busy to ever look into it.
Uki walked into the kitchen and unpacked his groceries. With practiced hands, he started washing and chopping vegetables, meat and spices. Before long, he had two pots going, one bubbling with water and the other exhaling with the scent of fresh tomato and oregano.
At this point, Fulgur came downstairs, woken by the sounds of cooking, and by the scent of his favourite sauce. Uki heard him enter the kitchen but kept drying the plates he’d had to wash so he could set a decent table. He looked over his shoulder with a soft smile and was met with one of Fufu-chan’s, equally warm, satisfied that Uki was here again and maybe something wane as well. Sad, almost.
“Fufu-chan.”
“You’re home early for once,” – Uki could smell the rum on his person.
“Yeah—just, they let us off early today, ya know?” Fufu-chan drew closer, bringing his warm arms around Uki’s waist and peered over his shoulder into the stewing pots.
“Mm.. that smells wonderful. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“Plus macaroni as the main, it’ll all be ready in a minute. Sit down, Fuu-chan?”
Fulgur nodded and walked to the kitchen table, and Uki followed him to set plates and cutlery down. Fufu-chan looked at him wistfully, but felt awkward and returned to his sour look. Fulgur felt a little off that he hadn’t woken up in time to realize and help out with dinner. Uki had cooked for him without a word, two people world apart in the same room.
After dinner, Fulgur opened the second bottle of wine and coughed nervously, his throat tightening. He smiled the first genuine smile in nearly a decade. It had been too long since he’d been able to have a proper meal with Uki. Usually, he would only know Uki had eaten the food he’d left out by the cleaned plates in the morning—-the man would always leave before Fulgur could even see him before going off to work. He's... been waiting for a long time for Uki.
The silence was unbearable and stretched into eternity and so, Fulgur did what he’d always done and tried to be the braver of the two.
“So Uki, you’re going to finally tell me what the matter is?”
He looked at Fufu-chan, an unusual intensity in his gaze as he yawned and steadied himself with a metal hand on the edge of the table, Fufu-chan’s words ever so slightly slurred after the heavy meal and wine. A look of discomfort crosses his face and something inside his machine heart beeps at him rapidly, blaring red. He ignores the notifications screaming for his attention and looks at Uki instead.
Beautiful, loved Uki—even after all this time. He thinks he'll miss this.
“Fufu-chan, I’ve… been living a double life. The further you and I drifted apart, the more I dedicated myself to… other pursuits.” Uki said, mismatched eyes narrowing at the expression on Fulgur's face.
Fufu-chan said nothing, perhaps unable to, his pupils dilating as he became paler, hands twitching —a look of painful discomfort crosses his face. Uki unrolled a small piece of paper on the table between them.
On it was one name, and address. Fufu-chan’s name, their address.
“I am a contract killer, Fulgur. A good one in fact. What you’re feeling right now isn't indigestion, but a deadly dose of arsenic in your wine. I’d apologize, but after the last few years, it would just sound fake,” Uki lies with an air of finality.
Uki watched him for a few minutes longer, long enough that he wondered whether the poisons had worked faster than usual. Then, Fufu-chan smiled, his face slowly opening itself to joy, as beautiful as the day they got married.
Uki’s eyes widen, breath caught—he watched him reach into his pants to take out another crumpled piece of paper. With the exaggerated care of the terminally drunk and ill, Fulgur dropped it on his plate and then toppled off his chair, the frantic sounds of alarms quieting. As he fell to the left, his last breath faded with his final message.
“I know, Uki.”
It took Uki a few seconds to react, frozen as he was. He stared at the body of his husband and his eyes flickered to the table instead, unable to look at it. He unfurled the crumpled piece of paper that Fufu-chan had placed on his plate. It was a cheque, made out to the exact amount of the contract on his life.
A suicide note on the back.
For a long moment, Uki didn't know what to think. He didn't know how to feel.
For the first time, he felt guilty about the blood on his hands.
All this time, he was Fufu-chan’s saviour, and Uki couldn't have felt more ashamed of himself.