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Zamasu had been avoiding Black ever since he brought up the subject that morning, two days ago. It didn’t go as well as Black had planned. In fact, it couldn’t have gone any worse. Accusations and crockery were flying around, and both were just as hurtful as the other when they landed on a weak spot.
When Black had lumbered down for his afternoon tea, Zamasu pushed back his chair and excused himself. Later, Black sought out his company, but Zamasu said that he was tired and needed to rest. Black called him out on his bluff, but Zamasu brushed it off as paranoia. His facade of nonchalance did even more damage than the fight. At least in a fight you could defend yourself and made things right by apologizing, if you had the sense to do it right away. Black didn’t, and that’s what he wanted to make up for. But how do you even begin when the one you wanted to apologize to pretended that there was nothing to talk about?
Black mused on that while making his way back to the cabin. Covered in blood and filth, he must have been a sight to behold. When he lugged into the bathroom, he found neat rows of lemon-scented candles lit on the wall-mounted shelves. The aroma wafting off them almost concealed the metallic tang of blood that covered him from head to toe. He plugged the drain and loosened the taps. Shrugging out of his sullied clothes, he lowered himself into the tub, even though the water was barely lapping at his ankles. Great, he thought, stretching his sore arms along the rim and looking at the guttering flames of the little yellow candles. What is he up to now?
As he was finishing his bath, the air thickened with a new scent: the sweet smell of freshly baked goods. His stomach rumbled, and a ferocious hunger lashed at him to dress quickly, and it lead him on a tight leash to the source of the smell. The dining table was laden heavily with bread, pastries, heaps of scones, scores of croissants, and other delicacies that were equally new and enticing to the animalistic parts of his host brain.
“I have implemented new techniques into my culinary expertise,” Zamasu said, fussing with a tray of steaming vanilla rolls. “These mortals must be privy to divine knowledge on the nature of dessert-making. That is the only rational explanation as to why they are able to produce food worthy of the gods. Would you be so kind as to give feedback on my theory?”
“Huh?” was the only word Black could utter without saliva dripping down his face. He swallowed. The question was lost on him, he was so captivated by the onslaught of stimuli. Scents to make a Saiyan mad, with the sweet cadence of Zamasu’s voice woven into the intoxicating temptation.
“Eat and tell me if it is good or not,” Zamasu said, sparing him a sideways glance.
“Oh.” Black hardly needed any encouragement. Pulling up a chair, he piled his plate high with a sample of all the baked delights, and gobbled them up with as much dignity as his instincts had left for him to command.
“I take it I was right,” Zamasu said, pouring them both a hot cup of tea.
Black had gone through a small mound of food in a matter of minutes, and, his hunger sated to a bearable level, he scooped out a spoonful of clotted cream and another of jam, and spread them onto halves of a scone, taking small bites while sipping on his tea. The heady aroma roused a suspicion in him that this was a special brew, stronger, more invigorating than usual, perfect after a long day chock full of battle. When he had finished, he dabbed a napkin at the corners of his mouth, and leaned against the backrest of his chair with a satisfied smile.
“You’re not that mad at me after all,” he said in a low tone.
Zamasu pretended not to hear him and fiddled with the dregs of his tea instead, swirling it around the bottom of his cup.
“Listen,” Black begun, but words have failed him. He treaded on very thin ice.
“I would rather you didn’t speak any nonsense today,” Zamasu said, his delicate brows furrowed in concentration as he fought to keep up the pretense of playing with his tea.
But it isn’t nonsense, Black thought. They had to talk about it, no matter how difficult the subject matter was. If they let it slip their minds, when the future came, they will have been ill-prepared to face it. They had to learn to live with it, and to make the best of their time, while it lasted. Would it be worth another argument, though? He thought better of it. “I won’t, I promise. My muscles are killing me; I don’t need your lecturing on top of that.”
Zamasu scoffed and sauntered behind him. A healing, Black thought, relishing the idea of a pain-free rest through the night. Some pain made him stronger, but muscle aches were only sources of irritation. A soft hand slid across the width of his shoulders, then another in the opposite direction. Funny. Zamasu had never touched him during healing; it wasn’t necessary to the process. His hands alighted on Black’s shoulders again. Light. Soothing. Caressing. Black’s mouth opened and closed at the sensation. “W-what—,” he stammered, but Zamasu shushed him.
“I’m preparing you for a massage.”
A what?! Black thought, but no words escaped his lips. This must be some kind of dream. One of those weird ones that will haunt and embarrass him before the real Zamasu, because there was no way… and then Zamasu’s hands pressed down on him harder.
A shudder ran up Black’s spine, then another. Zamasu’s firm but nimble strokes locked him in a sea of pleasure, with waves upon waves of exquisite relief crashing against the crumbling cliffs of his will. Thumbs seeked out and loosened knots until they turned smooth as butter. Palms worked the bigger bunches of muscles pulled taught with fatigue over the shoulder blades. And when Zamasu walked the heels of his hands down along the sides of his mortal soul-twin’s spine, he couldn’t keep himself straight any longer.
He tumbled forward, Zamasu catching him before he hit the table, and released him down slowly instead. He positioned the arms first, a support for Black’s head, and when it was safe, let the mortal body’s weight do the rest.
No, Black wanted to protest, but only managed an exhausted grunt.
The massage lasted for the better part of the night. Black drifted in and out of consciousness, sheer willpower keeping him from surrendering completely. Zamasu worked him thoroughly, from arms to shoulders to back. He ventured up his neck and stayed a long time on his head, his temples.
This was a gift beyond the wildest of dreams, and Black fought the pull of sleep to learn why he received it.
When a gentle stroke traced the curve of his spine, signaling the end, Black struggled to shake off the weight of drowsiness. His head bobbed up and down a few times before he shuddered fully awake, the lingering waves of pleasure still chipping at his strength.
“Why?” he muttered weakly. “Why would you spoil me so much?”
“You looked like you needed it.” Zamasu’s lilting voice should have soothed Black’s soul, but he couldn’t help notice that, deep down, it was laced with something unpleasant.
“I owe you one,” he replied, “although, since I can’t mind-read anymore, I’m not sure it would be as good for you as it was for me.”
“I did not read your mind, not once.” Now the unpleasantness – accusation, Black realized – came out in full force. “I was merely observing your body and your reactions. When you care for a person, you pick up on the slightest clues in their bearing.”
That last sentence struck a sore spot in Black’s soul. As nicely put as it was, it made him feel inadequate, uncaring. And maybe he was. The way Zamasu was looking at him now, his steely gray gaze coated with a sheen, his posture defensive, Black knew he had caused more harm than what could be waved away with a simple sorry.
He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I understand.”
“Do you, though?” Zamasu said, his voice strained. A hair’s breadth of restraint kept him from exploding in Black’s face. “You, who would condemn me to an eternity of loneliness? You, who thinks so little of me that you would choose oblivion over my company? Tonight was but a sample of what lengths I would go for you. I can only hope that it weighs in your final decision.”
Oh, here they were again. But finally, Black got it. Zamasu didn’t want his apology, because on his part, the argument hasn’t ended. They couldn’t settle it with an argument, so he turned to temptation instead. How wicked of him. How adorable.
Now it was Black’s time to turn wicked. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about this, but have it your way. We have made the decision a long time ago, Zamasu. It’s the Zero Mortals Plan. Not the One Mortal Plan. Not the Except-for-You Plan.”
Zamasu’s lips twitched, his eyes narrowed to slits. Tears glinted in its corners. “So you are still holding your ground.”
“If we threw out the principle upon which our resolution lies, it would make us the biggest hypocrites in all the universes. I haven’t been committing the most heinous of crimes just so in the end I would sully a sinless world. I haven’t become the worst of the worst, the apex predator of wrongdoings thinking I could walk away from it with a scornful look and the wagging of a finger from you.”
“Yes, I think you have made yourself clear the last time,” Zamasu raised his voice.
“You have to get used to the—”
“Shut your mouth,” he snapped.
“Or I’ll get a saucer in my eye again?”
Zamasu bristled. “I shall make you wish for such lenience. I am no pushover.”
“No, you’re ignorant and weak.” Black was sorry the moment he’d said it, but he had to say it.
Zamasu struck out, fast as lightning, aiming his bladed hands for his soul-twin’s head and heart. Unfortunately for him, not even a god matched a trained Saiyan in speed. Black grabbed Zamasu by the wrists and jumped from his chair, meeting him eye to eye. “Stop it,” he rasped, threat dripping from his forced calmness.
He could crush him. Even though Zamasu would put himself back together an infinite amount of times, he could destroy his body over and over again. Strength was on his side. He might have done it even a day ago, but now Zamasu’s words were swimming in his head. If he cared for him, he would know how he felt by observation alone.
“You do not control me,” Zamasu choked out, trying to wriggle free of his shackles.
It didn’t take a genius to see how Zamasu felt. Black toyed with the idea of letting him go, sparing him from another day of misery. To lend him another day of playing it cool while his mind concocted yet another way to tempt Black to the wrong path. But no matter how he pitied him, he had to stand up for what was right. If they headed down the path Zamasu had insisted on, they would throw away justice for mercy. And they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t abandon the very core of their being.
He flung one of Zamasu’s arms over his head while holding onto his wrist firmly, crossing that arm over the other, pinning him in a body lock. Black’s battle-hardened torso pushed taut against Zamasu’s back, the god’s deceptively lean muscles putting up a good fight against their restraints.
Black wedged his jaw into the hook of Zamasu’s neck, and hissed, “You will kill me.”
Zamasu struggled. Black squeezed him tighter. “That’s the way this has to end. I soak up all the sin blighting the world, collect it, make it a part of myself, and you bring down judgment on that wretched, sullied soul. On me.”
“And it is I who has to live with it,” Zamasu retorted, his voice pitched high. He was fighting back tears as much as he was fighting his captor. A losing battle on both fronts.
This was how their last argument had ended. Him saying how he couldn’t live for a day, let alone an eternity, without his soulmate. How he couldn’t bear to be alone again after he had met the only person who understood him.
I’m not keen on dying, either, Black said then. Both of us has our own price to pay.
Zamasu’s body slackened; his efforts waned. “Release me,” he moaned.
“If you don’t face up to it now—”
“I said, release me.” He straightened his posture. “It isn’t a request. It is a command.”
Black unlatched his fingers and stepped away from Zamasu, curiosity filling him by the sudden shift in his attitude.
Zamasu turned on the spot, facing Black, his recently fallen tears gleaming in narrow tracks across his face. He wiped them off on his sleeve in one swift movement. “Insolent creature,” he growled, a voice reserved for all the other mortals they both loathed so much. “I should have expected your rebellion from the moment I saw you.”
“We have a mission, we—”
“I don’t allow you to speak,” Zamasu said, satisfaction settling in his face when he was obeyed.
What else could Black do? It was him who wanted Zamasu to act like his superior, yet a heavy feeling settled in his chest from the cold stare his divine twin fixed him with. What right did he have to feel bad? Was he not a hypocrite, too, then? He lived with the certainty that he will be judged, but he wanted special treatment until the day came, too. Those two concepts couldn’t be reconciled with each other, yet he enjoyed both of them just the same.
“I shall dispose of you when it is time,” Zamasu said steadily, a heavy resolution punctuating his words. “And then I shall find a way to reverse my immortality, and dispose of myself, too.”
Black let out a cry of horror, then clamped his hands over his mouth in shame.
“What difference does it make to you, lowly creature?” Zamasu went on, cold on the surface, buthis voice quivered ever so slightly, a minuscule quirk playing at his lips as he was speaking. It hurt him to do this, and only desperation could have driven him so far.
It was him. Black drove him over the edge.
“You will not bear witness to it, so you will be spared of even that. Isn’t oblivion wonderful? I am truly filled with joy to share that fate with you in the end. The world shall renew, and both of us shall leave it.”
Black shook his head. Please, don’t, he thought.
“Oh? What is it, mortal? Are we feeling uncomfortable?”
The sarcasm slashed at Black’s heart. He had heard it so many times before, directed at humans playing soldiers, cowering behind their pathetic toys. It rent him where it hurt the most.
He opened his mouth in silence, beginnings of words caught in his throat before he could talk, before he could disobey his god. The only sin he dreaded to commit.
Zamasu turned to look away, but he waved a lazy hand at him. “You may speak now.”
Black needed a moment to collect his thoughts. Then, he said with a certainty matching his soulmate’s, “I have been evil to you. Perhaps, in committing so many crimes, one becomes blind to those that he commits against his…” he hesitated for a moment, then added, “… partner. Not that I deserve to call myself your equal.”
“You most certainly do not.” Zamasu rounded on him. “This is what you wanted, is it not? Your warped heart longed for us to play out our roles properly, so here it is. I hope you are as miserable as your fellow mortals, wretch.”
Sadness washed over Black at Zamasu’s words, like he was a useless old rag, ready to be thrown out with the rest of its kind. But he knew he had caused the same hurt in Zamasu. He badgered him on and on about how he must get rid of him, and, by doing so, didn’t he promise to discard Zamasujust the same? Didn’t he rend his heart with rejection, with a vision of leaving him for eternity?
It was all Black could do to not laugh out in misery. Two of the loneliest beings to have ever existed were about to lose each other in a bitter fight, well before their agreed time to say goodbye. He sidled up to his soul-twin, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on his face.
“What do you think you are doing?” Zamasu asked stiffly.
“Maybe we’re approaching the whole issue from the wrong direction,” Black said, his hands raising at Zamasu’s side, sliding backwards to take him into a gentle hold, like the first one on that fated day when they had met.
“Oh?” Zamasu said, not moving, but not pushing him away, either.
“Maybe, if you do find a new way to have an impossible wish granted, instead of asking for the end of your immortality, you could ask for me to be reborn.” Black knew it was a weak argument. He knew it hinged on Zamasu’s equally weak scenario of miraculously coming by a way to achieve either option.
“Selfish creature,” Zamasu mumbled. “You only say that to be at peace while we are together. My sorrow is still not a part of your equation.”
Black drew a deep breath, hanging on to Zamasu in an unreciprocated embrace. “Let’s make a deal then. We will find a way to make that miracle happen. Together. Then, and only then, will you pass judgment on me.”
Zamasu’s breath caught. The veneer of his act of disdain crumbled as easily as it had come about. His arms slacked by his side. He was torn: the promise of a miracle had been a desperate reach on his side. On the other hand, slim as the chances were, if he didn’t have to do what he dreaded until they found a way to make it right, then… “Why the hug?” he half-asked, half-demanded, as if the answer to his question would tip the scales of his decision.
“Because you looked like you needed it.”
Zamasu’s arms snaked around his foolish twin’s sin-soaked body. They stood in each other’s embrace longer than they had been fighting. The first rays of the sun streaked the fringes of the night sky when they let each other go. Two lonely souls, strong as one, suffering alone.
“Would your highness care to join me for a morning walk?” Black teased, flashing a cheeky grin.
“Careful. I might acquire a taste for bossing you around.”
“Oh? More than usual? And what would you have me do?” He offered his arm, and Zamasu hooked his into it.
“More housework, for a start.” It was Zamasu’s time to smirk.
They crossed the dining room and walked out onto the terrace. A sharp wind bit at their cheeks, fresh in their lungs, carrying all the possibilities of a new day. Hovering down onto the ground, they meandered onto a path leading deep inside a forest. Arm in arm they treaded the path, fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet, talking to and teasing each other within reason. Everything was perfect around them: the chirping of birds, the smell of the pines, the slats of sunlight streaking through the foliage. But not even those compared to the peace that had been restored between them. As long as they had each other, they would make any miracle come true.