Work Text:
The atmosphere is so tense you could cut it with a knife. Unfortunately for Sayo, all she has is an AK-47. The bullets would probably shatter the rigidness like glass, but it would also be improper. Some things are ritualistic, like her meetings with Wakana Rei.
They’re infrequent. Sayo could see her for a month straight and then not hear a peep for the next six weeks. Still, inconstant as they are, there are some elements that have made themselves part of the routine. The weapons. The blood. The dark and dirty settings.
From roadside diners like the one they’re currently at to cheap motels, nowhere they’ve met would ever be considered a touristic or sanitary spot. It fits the whole ordeal, though. As satisfactory as the irony of meeting in a church to sin would be, they’re more similar to the bloated corpses under the floorboards rather than the holy saints depicted in the stained glass. Even if they appeared pretty, they would still be rotten, it’s better to be truthful. They already wear masks around everyone else, someone besides the mirror should be able to see what lies under.
And what would that be, exactly?
A monstrosity so huge that the grotesque appeals to you, of course.
Sayo was the monster under the bed while Rei was the thing lurking in the shadows. When they looked at each other, all they could see was their reflection in the other woman's eyes. And that act was horrible in itself, wasn't it? See and be seen.
“You've cut your hair.” Sayo finally decided to dissolve the tension, not through a knife and neither by shooting — it would be more appropriate to say she dismantled it with her bare hands.
Visceral.
“I had an incident with an oil fire.” She spoke nonchalantly, but Sayo could see from the way her eyes kept walking all over the place that this was something that bothered Rei.
“Let me guess… Tried to cook by yourself?” Wakana didn't answer. “You're being hunted down by at least five different country's intelligence services but you burn your own hair when cooking?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“Sayo…” And it was then that the assassin noticed how her words could be interpreted.
“I didn't mean it like that. I know not to kick a dead dog.” There was a sigh from Rei, one that made Sayo think she wished the dog was either still alive or being kicked.
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
The tension came back, just as — if not more — thick as it was before. Their relationship was a complicated one: maybe they would work as lovers in another universe, but in this one they had to draw the line on the sand.
Still, they slept together, Sayo spooning Rei despite the height difference. Still, they kissed each other both in greeting and in goodbye, blood rushing to both women's cheeks. Still, they loved one another, in a way that was dangerous. Because if they accepted the other's flaws, that would be akin to forgiving themselves. And no one who has spilt that much blood deserves any kind of mercy.
The silence continued for exactly forty-five more minutes, time needed for them to stare blankly at each other and consume watery orange juice in order to not be kicked out.
Finally, Rei stood up. Sayo had stretched the olive-branch before, now it was her turn. “I'll be going.”
“Will you text me when you get to your safehouse?” The taller woman smiled and they both knew she wouldn't. Not now and not ever, Hikawa left to worry to the point of anger.
“You'll hear from me.” A rare smile from the green-eyed hitman.
“I hope so.”
But hope only causes one thing: eternal suffering.