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Yoshiki’s room had never felt so uninviting. He stood outside of the door, took in each poster and bit of clutter on the floor. The body shook with a yearning nostalgia as unwanted memories were dredged up like blood welling from a picked scab. So much his body wanted to say, wanted to do, so many memories in this one place that didn’t belong to him, not anymore.
He wanted to retreat, to crawl out from this suffocating body and return to how he was before because being human was awful and limiting and confusing.
But Yoshiki turned to him, gray eyes looking almost blue in the light, and asked with that quiet voice of his, “Aren’t you coming in?”
He stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. It made a clicking noise as it shut. His lips quivered with a nervous smile. “Alone in your room. How scandalous.”
Yoshiki didn’t smile but his frown didn’t get any deeper either. “Yeah.”
He didn’t know how to respond so he didn’t, just took a seat on Yoshiki’s bed. He ran his fingers over the covers. He was in Yoshiki’s bedroom, his private chambers.
Yoshiki picked up a comic off the floor, seemingly at random. He turned to a page, and his eyes flitted over the words.
He drummed against his thigh.
No one said anything. Yoshiki flipped the page.
“Are you still mad?” He asked.
“About what?”
“About me… almost killing Asako.”
“So you admit it?”
He didn’t answer because he told Yoshiki he would never lie to him and he really wanted to. Lying was so easy. It had been easier back when he thought Yoshiki didn’t know and all he had to do was pretend to be Hikaru. Now, he was full of questions and anxiety and wonder that made his borrowed skin crawl and his chest throb.
What was so bad about killing Asako or that old lady? Both of them had threatened his existence because if the village discovered his true identity, he’d be ousted from this body or worse.
The comic fell to the ground. Yoshiki glared at him, the same way he had last night.
Why didn’t he kill Yoshiki when Yoshiki confronted him like he had planned to? Navigating this was more difficult than it had to be.
Yoshiki’s expression was covered by his long bangs, but he could still tell everything he was thinking just from a glance. It was a remnant of Hikaru, small but undeniably present, like a pebble digging into the heel of his foot, nagging at him that Yoshiki was upset and he had to do something to make Yoshiki happy.
It was Hikaru’s fault, he decided. All those soft memories tinged with yearning that he’d inherited had twisted his shape. He had taken to the role like water filling a cup, taking the shape of its container. Hikaru had left, but there were still a few droplets of his identity left. In that way, Hikaru had mixed with him, muddling his pure form until they couldn’t be separated from each other.
He wasn’t the Lord Brainsnatcher anymore. He wasn’t Hikaru either.
Yoshiki sighed angrily, tearing him from his thoughts. “I don’t know what I thought you’d say.”
“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” He pleaded, trying to inject every ounce of sincerity into his voice that he could muster.
“I thought you were going to be honest with me.”
“I am!” His chest throbbed with hurt at Yoshiki’s doubt.
Yoshiki’s nose wrinkled with disdain. “As if.”
He sank into the bed, trying to keep his insides from pouring out. Why didn’t he kill Yoshiki? He wouldn’t hurt like this if Yoshiki was dead.
Yoshiki who always asked so much of him and never seemed happy with what he did, who never smiled like he did in his memories, who acted like being around him was a burden.
Yoshiki who shared ice cream and jokes with him, who kept his secret because he wanted to be with him, who acknowledged him as his own being.
“What will convince you?” He sniffled, “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Show me your insides.”
“What?” He said dumbly, almost stunned into silence. He rubbed at his weeping eye. “But- but you hate that!”
Yoshiki’s gaze was firm. “I don’t hate it.” He insisted.
“Yes you do. You always cry afterwards.” He said confused.
He reached a hand towards his shirt. “I thought you liked it when I did this. Just sit there and let me do it.”
He fell quiet. Bits of black mixed with his tears. It dripped onto his shirt, staining the fabric as Yoshiki settled in front of him. His slender fingers unbuttoned each button impatiently, stumbling and slipping in his haste. He hissed in frustration before practically ripping the cloth off. He swore he saw a few buttons fly off and click against the floor. “Yoshiki! Slow down!” He gasped, shocked by the strange urgency.
A warm hand pushed at the middle of stomach, making his insides shiver in anticipation. “Open up.” Yoshiki ordered.
“A-are you sure? You don’t have to do this…”
Yoshiki glared at him from under his bangs. “Just do it.”
He relented and unraveled the skin just enough to expose the red underneath before Yoshiki thrusted his hand inside, fingers parting the muscle and traveling deep inside. He keened, the sudden feeling forcing the air from his chest. He blindly groped at Yoshiki’s arms. “I-I wasn’t done!”
Yoshiki didn’t respond, leaning forward to go deeper inside. His breath hitched at the way Yoshiki’s nails scraped against his insides. “Too rough! Yoshiki!” He gasped. The front of his shirt was covered in black from his murky tears.
“Stop talking.” Another prod that made his legs shake. Yoshiki shoved at his shoulders, making him fall backwards. His head stung as he smacked against the wall, and Yoshiki clambered on top of him.
All he could see, feel, hear was Yoshiki, Yoshiki, Yoshiki . From this new angle, Yoshiki felt so deep inside of him that he feared he may accidentally pull him fully. His insides met each rough touch with their own like a cat rubbing against an offered hand. The torn muscle ached, but he couldn’t focus on fixing it because each time he tried, Yoshiki would hit a spot in him that made his throat close and his insides shudder with hunger.
Hikaru always wanted this to happen. He wasn’t sure Hikaru exactly dreamed of it being like this.
Because Yoshiki didn’t look happy. He looked absolutely disgusted.
“Stop…” He gasped between breaths. He tried to push Yoshiki away with his knees. “Yoshiki, stop it. I mean it.”
Yoshiki didn’t pull away. He bent his arm, coming closer to his head. His mind went blank at the feeling. It was so warm both inside and outside of him. Yoshiki was pressed on top of him, eyes focused entirely on his gaping stomach, but face close enough that he would only have to lean up to kiss him. Hikaru always wanted to do that too.
He didn’t want to though. He wanted Yoshiki out. It was becoming too much; he wouldn’t be able to hold back if Yoshiki kept this up. He was ringing the doorbell on a door he didn’t want open.
With what little strength he had, he threw Yoshiki off of him. His arm was wrenched out with a wet noise, slick with red, and Yoshiki hit the ground with a thud.
“What the- what’s on my arm?”
He sat up with trembling limbs, his torso still split apart. “I told you. You didn’t let me finish opening.”
Yoshiki’s eyes widened, looking up and down his stained arm. “This is blood?”
He used the remainder of his shirt to cover up the hole. His insides squirmed restlessly, wanting to flow out, touch Yoshiki like he’d touched them, and then pull him inside again.
The muscles began to knit back together as he focused on them. He rubbed at his eye, relieved to find normal skin there. “What even was that? You’re never that rough.” His voice was slightly hoarse.
Yoshiki pressed his non-bloodied hand to his face, obscuring his expression. “I- I’m sorry. I thought… I thought maybe a part of Hikaru was in you or something. That if I just went far enough I could just pull him out, but that sounds pretty dumb, right?” He chuckled. Blood smeared against his shirt as he clutched his stomach. “Oh my god, why did I do that?
“Yoshiki…”
“I got so mad… not just about last night. I’ve been mad at you, at Hikaru, at everyone. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”
He crept forward. Every part of his clothing was ruined, his pants soaked with blood and white shirt marked with black tears, but he pulled Yoshiki into a hug. “It’s alright, Yoshiki.”
Yoshiki trembled against him. “Why did he leave? Why’d he have to go on that mountain?”
He could tell Yoshiki the truth but lying was easier. “I don’t know.”
“Did he suffer when he died?”
Yes.
“No.”
“I’m sorry…”
“I am too.”
Yoshiki sighed. “I believe you.”
He didn’t realize how much those words would sting.