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At this point, Tatsumi couldn't tell whether or not the hand he'd held up to Mayoi's face was tentative, or if the essential shake was borne out of his own sick health. Oh God, he begged and prayed it was the latter.
He didn't know how he'd ended up here, how Mayoi was laying with her back flush to the plush cover of Tatsumi's bed, with the priest above her, knees pressed to the bed on either side of the girl's legs. But for some odd, unholy reason, Tatsumi was glad he was in this compromising position. As his hands shivered onto skin that was far paler than his own, Tatsumi could only fight to let out unstable, shallow breaths. He was sure that there was some kind of argument, a fight on the way down, about how Mayoi was so sure that he was a sinful creature that Tatsumi should stain his pure hands with. But alas, Tatsumi never heeded Mayoi's warnings about her own unsanctity. How could he ever believe that she of all people was unpure? She was so gentle, so nervous, so apologetic- if Tatsumi didn't know any better, he could've mistaken her for an angel herself.
Finally, finally, Tatsumi steeled himself, pressing the palms of his hands against Mayoi's cheeks. A sigh fell from his lips, satisfaction that he had finally touched the girl's face. "Mayoi-san," he called out, quietly, as if it were akin to Gabriel's call to the Holy Mother. "Mayoi-san," he repeated, a chant of worship, a hymn of prayer of how Tatsumi was so grateful to be above Mayoi. He shifted, tilting forwards to lean closer to her face, ignoring the stretch on his hip that screamed at him to return to the path of light, rather than falling down this dreadful route of sin. "Mayoi-san." A third time, a little more forceful now, yet still she gave no answer.
No, Mayoi was too shocked that Tatsumi had even come this close to her, that he has insisted on touching her face, that he had gone through with his words and dirtied his blesséd hands. She was in no state to do anything more than hold her jaw open and gawk at the marvel that was Kazehaya Tatsumi, the priest who surely wouldn't see the light of heaven, all because he had dared to sully his hands with the skin of Mayoi. She didn't understand why he was so desperate just to touch her and then do nothing else with her, why Tatsumi held his hands to her cold cheeks and then stayed there. Why did Tatsumi even care about her enough to hold her like this?
Oh, that was right, Tatsumi cared for everyone, didn't he? He always wore that holy smile, pleased to be faced with anyone and everyone, even those vampire siblings that frightened the life out of Mayoi and gave Tatsumi the impression of devil spawn. Tatsumi was so kind and he was so gentle, it was only in his nature to be kind of her, surely. It was no deeper of an affection that Tatsumi held for anyone. Surely Tatsumi would do something like this to anyone.
In the deep and heavy silence of the room, Tatsumi drew in a breath. "Mayoi-san," he called out. His fingertips danced upon her skin, blessing each and every one of his cells with the purity of the most pious man she ever knew. Breath escaped his mouth into Mayoi's face, as if washing her over in a bath of holy water. "Mayoi-san has a wonderful face," he admitted, lips quivering, as if ever syllable that left his throat was reverent and prayerful. "Please-" he was begging at this point- "please don't hide your beautiful face."
As Tatsumi's fingers danced away from her cheeks, down past her neck, towards her shoulder, Mayoi could help but to reach her own hands upwards, after being still for what felt like hours. She gripped onto the fabric of the jacket that shrouded over Tatsumi, tight enough that she was sure her nails would leave little indents in it. She held like her life depended on it, like she'd die if she gave Tatsumi the chance to get up and run away from her now. But that wasn't right, was it? She didn't need to hold on so tight to keep Tatsumi here. No, Tatsumi stayed by his own accord. Tatsumi had always stayed by his own accord. Even back when they didn't know each other very well, when Mayoi was too terrified to even show her disgusting face to the rest of ALKALOID. Like that one time, when Tatsumi was in the elevator, and Mayoi had decided to follow him, like a creep, but he didn't seem fussed. Instead he called her down, and stayed even when he saw her. He didn't run away then, so why would he run away now? He'd said something similar to her back then, too, about how Mayoi had such a lovely face, and that smile had been there, stretching his cheeks upwards.
Tatsumi had never treated Mayoi like she was an unforgivable sinner, had he?
Mayoi allowed her fingers to relax, and Tatsumi didn't run away. He stayed where he was, eyes still lingering on Mayoi's face. It made her nervous. Not in the way she usually was, fearing that anyone and everyone was judging her just for existing, but it was something more delicate than that. It made Mayoi feel as though Tatsumi was paying some kind of strange homage to her. She certainly wasn't worthy of something as holy as that. She wanted to turn her head away, to hide herself away so that she didn't have to worry about whether or not her cheeks were redenned with the blood pumping through her blood vessels far quicker than it usually would. But for some odd reason, she just couldn't do it, she couldn't deny Tatsumi the sight of her face when it was the only thing he wanted at this moment in time.
A sigh escaped from between Tatsumi's pale lips as his hands wandered back up Mayoi's neck, back to holding her cheeks, with a little more grip on his fingertips this time, as if he was trying to make sure she wouldn't slip away from him now. "I love your face," he admitted, quietly, as if confessing each and every last one of his sins to God Himself. "Oh, my dear Mayoi, I love your beautiful face, I cannot thank God enough for creating it."
Mayoi's breath caught in her throat.
The idea that God could create something as sinful and unholy as her was something she'd never even dreamed of before, not until those words had left Tatsumi's mouth. If God was the perfect creator, surely He wouldn't have made Mayoi? But oh, with the way Tatsumi's gentle and kind fingertips pressed into the plush skin of her cheeks, she could almost believe what he insisted. She steeled her nerves, the grip she had on Tatsumi's jacket tightening, her fingers curling back into themselves. "I like your face too," she murmured, believing it wholeheartedly, as full of sin as it may have been. But surely that wasn't too awful of a thing, surely not, not when the perfect creator had created Mayoi to like Tatsumi's face. And surely not when it left Tatsumi's lips stretched into the flesh of his cheeks. Perhaps it was okay to be so wholeheartedly sinful when Tatsumi's face was the cause of such a loving sin.