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Kumo was good with a guitar. Yea it took him a little longer than he’d liked to get to this point, but he was there. All the songs came like second nature to him. He could close his eyes and let the rhythm take him away. But apparently the universe forgot to loop him in on the plans for the day. Every note sounded wrong, every rhythm never landed on beat, and to top it off… his B string snapped, leaving a cut along his hand.
Rain had tried to comfort him.
‘It happens to everyone’
‘Cut yourself some slack’
‘You’re doing the best that you can.’
But what if he wasn’t.
When he left the practice room, that was all that went through his head.
What if he convinced himself that his best was actually his worst?
It started as a walk, but as the voices grew louder and his cheeks became hot, his feet moved faster. And they only stopped when he heard the click of his door behind him. With that soft noise, a wave of emptiness washed over him. The bare walls moved closer with each second he stood still.
He was a liar.
And as if on cue, his chest collapsed. Every feeling washed over him and all he could do was stand and watch as his body crumpled into a ball under the weight. It molded into the side of his bed, and grasped at his sheets as it shuddered.
Some deep; sick, twisted; part of him knew that he could never live up to his own impossible standards. That he would forever be chasing after something that would be his downfall.
His effort was, and would, never be enough.
The cold uncaring walls surrounded his body, echoing this pain into a void that only he could hear. Even if he clawed his way out of this room, it would never feel like home… But when did he ever have that? Years… Eons even.
Tears trailed down his cheeks, eventually being absorbed by the sheets beneath him. But he never felt them. His thumb traced circles into the fabric. Nothing. He clenched his eyes shut. Fighting against these episodes was not the easiest, but he had practiced it enough. His body shuddered against his breath. What started as short bursts, formed into deep timed inhales. He smirked. Huron never steered him wrong.
Time froze. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and dropped.
Why him?
Out of all the ghouls in hell… Why him?
All the effort put into piecing himself back together fell apart. He crunched into a ball as sobs slipped into the bedding.
Huron. His brother. Crouched in front of Kumo with a knife in hand.
He rubbed at his eyes, but the image was engraved into his sight.
The pain of his back being clawed returned to the healing scars.
A flash of light as he reached for Huron. Every fiber of his being ripped apart and put back together in the matter of seconds. Waking to a cold damp room, surrounded by strangers.
Kumo abandoned him.
He reached into the ether, searching endlessly for something that would never be true. Even after a hundred attempts. Nothing. A scream forced its way up his throat, only to die halfway there. Replaced by a strangled wail. Reverberated against the walls of his own hell.
The thought of moving his thumbs against smooth sheets made bile rise in his throat. It was too much. Silent but loud.
With his last remaining strength he released the edge of the bed and crawled toward his night stand. He opened the drawer and reached for the only thing left. Huron’s dagger. Holding such a sharp object made many parts of his head spin, but the soothing sensation of energy laced into the hilt quieted them. He forced his breath even and bathed in the energy of his brother, even if it was months old.
Every day he stayed here, the less likely it was for him to find Huron. Was he even alive? It was something he tried not to think about these past few months, but that was easier said than done.
Kumo shook his head, turning toward the bed, gently resting it on the mattress. As thoughts ran around in his head, he stared at the dagger in his lap, turning it over as he pleased. The design on the hilt was simple, almost seeming like a sea of waves with nothing to crash into. A blue stone in the center. Huron called it Lapis.
A knock at the door almost startled it out of his hands, but Kumo always had good reaction speed.
Silence.
If he stayed still he could trick any normal ghoul into thinking he wasn’t home. He tapped into the ether to see who he was dealing with. Unfortunately for Kumo, it was the only ghoul who he couldn’t escape. Aether.
“Kumo?”
He cleared his throat to respond, but nothing wanted to come out. Silence continued.
“I know you’re in there bud.”
Kumo swallowed, calming his burning throat, “What’s up?”
“You okay?” Aether’s voice seeped through the cracks, closing more distance between the two of them.
“Yea-” Kumo’s voice, at first uneven, became smooth. “Yea. I’m fine.”
There were two ways this could go. Aether could take the bait and believe him at face value. But, there was a chance he would open the door and see how much of a lie that statement was. Kumo’s fate was in the palms of the universe, whether he believed in it or not.
Aether breathed deeply, “You know where I am… If you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
His energy lingered at the door.
“And Kumo?”
All his mouth would allow in response was a hum.
“Don’t be like Dew.”
Without any time to respond, footsteps faded into the distance with a click of a door down the hall.
He sat there for what seemed like eternity, the legs beneath him numb. This wasn’t helping anything. He gently laid the dagger onto the bed, savoring every second he had before he removed his hands. But even his eyes couldn’t leave it. Scared it would grow legs and run back to its true owner.
Kumo closed his eyes and let out a sigh. And then he stood.
The image the mirror reflected was worse than he expected. He pulled at his eyebags and smeared the little eyeliner he had put on earlier that day. At first he thought it looked cool. But then he realized how much attention it drew to his eyes, and the redness where white should’ve been. Frustrated, he rubbed furiously. But, nothing could solve the issues he had made for himself.
Kumo turned on the water, letting it heat up before he splashed it on his face. His breaths became deeper with every second as he massaged the tense parts of his face. Eventually splashing more water. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, leaving his hands rested on top of his cheeks. They felt around every inch, lingering on the scar over his right eye. It led up to his horn which was shorter due to the same accident. Simple sword training can be dangerous when you’re with Huron.
If there was any laugh left in him it would have slipped out, but silence continued to echo against the tiled walls. It lit a fire in his heart, one that he had avoided. Without much time to think, he burst out of the room. He wasn’t sure what would calm the unrest that built in his soul, (or whatever rested at the center of his being that weighed down his shoulders constantly) but he could figure it out.
He looked out the window catching sight of the bright orange slowly fading in the distance. While his fingers started picking at his cuticles, Kumo took note of the wooden bench that overlooked a field. It was hidden by the bushes of the garden that the Sisters of Sin would take care of in their free time. That was exactly what he needed.
In a few seconds he breached the doors, the crisp breeze grazing his skin as he approached the bench. It looked to be older than most of this garden, but when he sat it didn’t budge. Chirps of distant birds heading to their nests for the night filled the air, with crickets starting to chime in. The spring air filled Kumo’s lungs as his breaths deepened. How did he never think of this before? It almost felt too perfect, the lake a few yards beyond the field still. Only gentle ripples passing through with the light breeze.
It helped him feel alive. Like he belonged in this god forsaken world. He looked up toward the sky, watching as the clouds passed by. His eyes closed as he continued the deep breaths. He was told that healing wasn’t linear. That there would be good days, and there would be bad ones. And he understood that. And yet, there was something gnawing at the back of his brain, an old feeling that he swore he worked through.
You’re never gonna learn.
The silence faded into distant laughter, some that wasn’t his. When he glanced at the field he noticed a group of ghouls gathering. They had a ball of some kind, and started to toss it around the circle. Whenever someone dropped it there would be laughter. A tinier ghoul would glare the few times he dropped it. Dew. They still laughed but it would be short lived as they got cursed at. The smile against Kumo’s lips faded.
You will never be enough.
His lips pressed together as his brain flooded with statements he knew weren’t true.
You’ll never fit in.
No one will ever accept you.
You will always be alone.
The voices echoed in his head, convincing him to give in. Allowing the wave of unrest to wash over him until it all went numb. The continuing laughter from the field fueled the fire in his stomach, forcing him out of his seat and through the halls of the Ministry. Throwing his fist through a wall was the only thing that would help calm his heart, but that wasn’t a viable option. It would end with Copia and Aether scolding him. So he opted for the closest thing to it, a punching bag.
It was located in the gym, which was normally empty, especially at this time of day. As soon as he walked in Phantom glanced, but went back to his own thing quickly. There was a bin that held all the hand wraps and boxing gloves, but Kumo continued past them. His eyes focused on his last hope.
He reached out to the standing punching bag, running his hand against the fabric. It was rougher than cloth but thicker than skin. Something different from what he was used to, but it would do. Kumo raised his arms covering his face, then started his routine, swinging to the rhythm of his heart, and pausing for a moment. The faster he punched the more his breaths evened and his brow furrowed.
It reminded him of simpler times. When he didn’t worry about hitting the right notes and blocking. When he was with the one person he cared about.
He punched faster and combined it with dodges. The punching bag blended together with the memories of sparring with Huron. Kumo’s hands covered his face as he anticipated his brother’s next move, keeping his feet moving. Huron threw a left hook which Kumo dodged and retaliated with a right hook, making contact. He paused in surprise, but didn’t let his guard down. Huron tried to jab at him, but he once again dodged and landed a kick.
You abandoned him
The vision of Huron slipped.
You’ll never see him again
His throat tightened as tears built, but he blinked them away. The more punches he threw, the easier it seemed. So he didn’t stop.
You are a failure.
The pain that spread through his arms and torso only proved each breath behind it. Only justified the taste of iron on his tongue as his fangs dug deep into his chapped lips. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the tears. Each jab harder than the last, sending sparks up his arms. Every time he thought to stop only fueled the fire.
No one will ever love you.
While his throat was still dry, his mouth opened with a blood curdling scream. It crackled into nothing as he collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself. His fists clenched with each sob that rippled through his body
He failed. As a friend. A brother.
He could never make it up to Huron. He should never be forgiven.
When Aether found him, his knuckles were bloodied and bruised, maybe even broken. But it was hard to tell through the numbness that spread between them. Kumo would like to have said that the conversation went easy after. That everything he said had comfort reciprocated… But there was no conversation, only a smile pressed against his lips as he stood and walked out the doors.