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Tatsuya no longer had a lighter, but that did not matter. He still had his Persona. With a flick of his fingers, flame danced on his skin, and the cigarette lit up. Katsuya wasn't home to pay any mind to Tatsuya wasting a couple of his cigarettes. He would pay him back for it later, in any case.
He held out his distorted arm. No, that arm was not even his. He would cut it off, if he could, but fighting with only one arm was unfeasible. So it stayed. A constant reminder of the paradox he was, the sin that was his every thought.
Sometimes it would pulse, and His thoughts would creep into his mind like they were his own. He would move his arm, would use it for cruelty and kindness at His whim, and Tatsuya would struggle and fail to stop it.
Tatsuya took the burning cigarette and pressed the hot end to the dark brand. Use holy water to baptize an innocent soul… and use holy flame to baptize a sinful soul in hell. He did not scream. To do so would be to deny this as his rightful atonement. He bit his lip hard enough that crimson spilled over his lips, his chin, his neck. It dried as it fell, but left a mark nevertheless. A mark that could be washed away, unlike the brand that could not even burn.
The cigarette was still hot, and he pressed it to skin once more. He deserved this, he reminded himself. He had broken his promises. He had been greedy. He had wished for too much, wanting a happy ending yet also wishing not to remain alone. He had wanted the warmth of Jun's hand to remain his. In its place, the instrument of purification slid against his palm, so that he would not think to take Jun's hand ever again.
The first cigarette burned to ash, but it was simple to light another. Apollo's fire could not burn him - he had tried - but, by using a cigarette as a medium for the flame, he could still hurt. He could still receive atonement.
The brand did not recede when burned , only aching and writhing on his skin as though it was a living thing, but Tatsuya took pleasure in bringing the cigarette to it anyway. Perhaps, he thought distantly, if he did it enough, He would feel it. He would realize that Tatsuya had recognized his sin. And He would grant him the mercy of taking Tatsuya alone, leaving the innocent lambs to their idyllic and pleasant peace.
Burn, he demanded. Of the brand, of the cigarettes, of his Persona, of his self. The marks the flame left behind were almost as breathtaking as the agony of their making. The pain of atonement was satisfying, yet urged him to burn more, more.
Katsuya smoked cigarettes because they contained addicting substances, ones that slipped into the lungs, the blood, the brain. They invaded a body and made it crave more, an irresistible calling. Tatsuya didn't smoke, but he thought he understood. The need to light one after another was impossible to refuse. They were holy candles, and as his shoddy, self-made rite of purification went on, he could not be without one for even a moment.
The smell was bitter, putrid, but was it really nicotine, or was it the smell of Tatsuya's filth being burned away? The smoke made him cough, but wasn't it because his lungs were expelling the built-up debris of so many broken promises? His skin was littered with red, but weren't they marks of his devotion?
If he ever wavered, all he had to do was remind himself of Jun. Jun, who had tried so hard not to forget him, and who Tatsuya had left behind. Jun, whose lighter Tatsuya had always kept, and yet who he had not kept close. Jun, who had fallen under a monster's power. Jun, who had fought his way back to himself, and had done his best to fix what he had done. Jun, who had been so pained by being forgotten… and had erased everything, for the sake of everyone's futures.
And what had he done, Tatsuya mused as he pressed another circle into his skin. What had Tatsuya given Jun in return…?
Nothing.
He had only taken things away. He had ruined everyone's selfless act. He had discarded their feelings and thought only of himself.
"Burn," he whispered. "Burn, burn, burn -"
He winced in pain. Around the brand, his skin was burnt and cracked and peeling and bleeding. But the brand was unchanged. No matter what he did to atone, his sin could not be forgiven.
"Burn, hm?" The words came from his mouth, his tongue had ushered each syllable forth, but they had not come from his mind.
He had come. A laugh spilled from Tatsuya's lips, and the branded arm met them. His tongue lapped at the wounds, tasted the blood, felt the texture of the overlapping burns.
"You mar yourself so," the demon whispered. Tatsuya's lips quirked up into a facsimile of a smile. "Do you truly believe this body is yours to atone with?"
Tatsuya did not speak. He would not grant the monster acknowledgement. But he realized, with cold horror as he gazed at his arm, what He meant. This body belonged to the Tatsuya of this world. He was the discarded Suou Tatsuya, who should have disappeared. He was only borrowing the body of this world's Tatsuya… and now, he had irreparably…
"You understand," He praised. "Good boy."
Tatsuya was sickened. To be praised by Him, and to have added yet another transgression to his ever-growing list, were both unforgivable.
"If you were to give yourself to me, then you could 'atone' as much as you like." He murmured the words against the brand, kissing it as though it was the wrist of a dear lover. "I would grant you flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. You would be born of me anew, in my likeness, and be made pure."
"Disgusting," Tatsuya snapped. He bit down on the brand, as though he could gnaw it off.
Without a physical mouth, His words echoed inside his mind instead. "Only because you are disgusted by your current unsightliness. Is that not why you wish to burn it away?"
Tatsuya choked on his words, and coughed into his arm instead. His presence had receded. He was always lurking, ever in the darkness, ever in all shadows of all minds, but He was not waiting in Tatsuya's lips, was not pressing His weight against Tatsuya's soul. It was overwhelming and violating whenever He would use Tatsuya as a vessel, but Tatsuya's consent and feelings on the matter were unimportant. After all, the Paradox deserved whatever he received.
Tatsuya looked at the half used box of cigarettes, sighed, and closed it up. He would put it back in Katsuya's room and hope the man didn't notice. He hadn't meant to use so many, not at first. He had just wanted to ease the guilt. He had just wanted to turn anguish into something more easily understandable. He could not stop the flood of emotions, but he could staunch bleeding and ease pains. He could treat himself with bandages where he could not treat himself to forgiveness.
"...Tatsuya…?"
Katsuya frowned. The light in his room was on, which meant that while Tatsuya had been lost in his delusional reveries of atoning, Katsuya had returned home. That made it far more difficult to simply put the box back where it had been. The light was dim, but not enough so that Katsuya couldn't notice that the boy was holding something.
Katsuya stepped forward, and took the box from Tatsuya's hand. "Were you smoking? You can't do that," he scolded, sighing.
Tatsuya could do nothing but disappoint others, it seemed. The only one who praised him was the demon that had branded him, and even then, it was always mocking, always wrong. It never settled in his bones, warm and steadying, the way his friends' smiles had.
"Sorry," he offered lamely.
"You're still in high school," Katsuya said, more gentle now. "When you're an adult, you can smoke. Okay…?"
Tatsuya was close enough to an adult already. What did high school and grades and gossip matter, when he was responsible for the end of the world? Why should he act like a child who could leave the complicated matters to adults, when he had put his fingers to necks to check for a pulse, and found none? He had seen husks of people who had been robbed of dreams, and flesh of people who had been robbed of life. He had fought until his arms shook and he could barely stand and then he had fought more. He had done enough that he could at least straddle that invisible line between child and adult, if not cross it and leave it far behind him.
"I get it," Tatsuya muttered.
He crossed his arms instinctively, and then winced at the unexpected pain. If he had been wearing a hoodie or sweatshirt, it would have helped, but he was only wearing a loose shirt. He hadn't thought to change clothes.
Katsuya was unfortunate enough to notice. He flicked on the hallway light. His face paled, and the box of cigarettes fell from his hands. It thudded against the floor.
"Tatsuya, you…!"
Tatsuya looked away. "...Can you get bandages? And disinfectant," he added.
Katsuya inhaled sharply. "Why?" he asked. His voice was barely stable. "You know you can… if something is bothering you, you can come to me for help," he said, almost pleading him to.
But Katsuya could not help him now. If he could, Tatsuya did not want him to. He would resolve his mistakes with his own two hands. He would face the demon who resided within his heart and body with his own power. Katsuya should simply forget about him and move on. He didn't need to be tied down by a troublesome person like himself.
"It's not your problem," Tatsuya replied.
"There's so many," Katsuya whispered.
He was horrified and shocked by the monster that dwelled in his brother’s skin. As he should be. Tatsuya was not human. He was a paradox and a parasite that had stolen a human’s life. It was a shame that even fire could not smoke him out.
"The first aid kit?" Tatsuya was calm.
Katsuya cleared his throat. He put a hand on Tatsuya's shoulder, squeezed, and let go. "I'll be right back. Just wait here."
Unlike Tatsuya, Katsuya kept his promises. And so, he returned with bandages and disinfectant and burn cream and all sorts of other unneeded medical supplies shortly after.
It reminded Tatsuya of when he was little. He would get scrapes and cuts and bruises, and he would be too brave to cry over them, but Katsuya would look him over and find them and bandage them up. He would sternly warn him to tell him when he got hurt, and every time, Tatsuya would nod his head and swear he would. And every time, he would have to have his brother point out his injuries and lecture him anew.
This time was slightly different. As Katsuya tended to the burns, he quietly told Tatsuya to come to him for help, to tell him about his troubles. However, Tatsuya was no longer a child who recklessly made promises. He was too old for such innocent sins.
No matter how gentle Katsuya’s hands were, they were not meant for him. No matter how kind Katsuya’s words were, his brother would not hear them. And so, Tatsuya said nothing. What could he say, when he was stealing something meant for another? What could he say, when he was a stolen life? What could he do, to make Katsuya realize that he was wasting his time?
He didn't want to hurt Katsuya too. He didn't want to break anything else.
The only thing that should burn to ash was Tatsuya, and Tatsuya alone.