Chapter Text
The sound of the tap echoed off the bathroom walls, trying to drown out the deep breath and the painful whimpers. But no matter how loudly the water reverberated in the pitifully empty room, it couldn't drown out the scrubbing. The rough side of the sponge scrubbing over the same spot again and again. Wearing away more and more skin, leaving it as red as the blood it was trying to remove.
“Your hands are already completely red”
“That’s why—that’s why I’m washing them! But this—the blood just won’t come off!” Fu said in a trembling voice, pressing the sponge even harder against his skin and continuing to scrub.
It wasn't exactly a sigh that escaped Hii, but it came close. He had been watching this spectacle for about 30 minutes, and when the now clear water began to turn red again, his nerves snapped.
“FU!”
With a desperate cry, Fu jerked his head up, away from his hands, which were growing redder no matter how long he cleaned them, and toward the shattered mirror in front of him. His gaze lingered only briefly on his own trembling figure before he focused on the background: the open door leading to the devastated living room, the ripped sofa, the smashed walls, the family photos lying in shards on the floor, right next to the man whose empty eyes seemed to be staring directly into the mirror.
When Fu made eye contact with the corpse, his entire body froze. Only the hot stomach fluid crept up his throat, ready to spread into the sink.
“Breathe! Look at us!” Hii interrupted. With tears streaming down his face, he looked back into his own eyes. He tried not to vomit at the sight; after all, he had only been tending to his hands and arms, not the blood splashes and remaining food scraps on his face.
"It's okay"
“Why…? Why did we had to…?!” The question didn’t come out of his throat completely, catching in mid-sentence and causing an unpleasant lump in his throat. His fingers dug into his own flesh, pressing into the wounds that had now appeared.
“Because we have to live, Fu. It’s either him or us.”
“But he did let me sleep here..! Y-Yes, in the beginning everything was better, but—I’m sure he had his reasons—!” Fu took a breath, trying to remember to breathe calmly.
“He threw you the leftovers of his food, or whatever you want to call those spat-out lumps.”
“Yes! Yes, he did! That—that was a good deal, wasn’t it?!” came the pitiful plea for confirmation. But apparently, he was the only one who thought so.
Fu had no expectations for his life. He was happy if he survived in this world and, at best, didn't have to sleep near a forbidden zone. So he did everything he could. He asked in restaurants if they could give him work; he would only sleep on one of the stools in return. Some said yes, others chased him out because they had caught him rummaging through their trash. When looking for food, the garbage bins of bars or fast-food restaurants were the best option.
There were a few exceptions, where people even let him into their homes. Mostly, they were elderly people who saw him as a kind of surrogate grandson and wanted nothing more than a glimpse of bygone days. In those moments, Fu had almost forgotten his own name, so often were he called by different names. These were Hiis favorites, but Fu had a problem with it. He always felt he didn't deserve to be there, that he was taken advantage of the elderly. So, he usually disappeared after a few days. He preferred to hide under garbage bags or hope the ruins wouldn't collapse around him.
And yet, he had been pleased when the owner of a small shop had approached him. Well, at first he had yelled at him, telling Fu not to be loitering in his backyard, but when Fu had apologized, sobbing and on his knees, the man had calmed down. He had even considered Fu's pleading request for work, but ultimately refused. Instead, he had offered Fu a place to stay. He wouldn't ask for anything in return, except perhaps a few small favors.
Of course, Fu had immediately agreed and ignored Hii’s skeptical feelings.
At first, everything went well. The shopkeeper seemed nice, occasionally gave Fu something from his shop, and all he wanted was company. For Fu to sit with him, to talk to him. Every now and then, he wept about his deceased wife and pulled Fu close, almost crushing him with his weight and all the horrific details he recounted through his tears. Fu felt sorry for him, so he always sat obediently, enduring the burning sensation on his skin.
Hii thought the whole story didn't make sense. New information kept being added that didn't fit with what had come before, or he repeated things he'd already said in a different way.
He was lying. Hii was sure of that from the start, but Fu wouldn't listen. He found an excuse and an explanation for everything. The shopkeeper didn't see him as his grandchild or his wife, so Fu didn't take advantage of him.
No. The man didn't see Fu as a grandson or his wife, who probably never existed. He saw Fu as a pet, a toy, and a source of amusement. Hii was certain of that.
The suspicion was only further confirmed when the man began to increasingly invade Fu's privacy. This included simply opening the bathroom door, rummaging through the few belongings Fu had with him, and throwing his clothes into the washing machine even though they were clearly clean, without providing any clean ones in the meantime.
The food became less and less, sometimes skipped for a few days, and after Hii had forced his way in one night, there was no more talk of “Won't you drink something with me?”.
For Hii, it was only a matter of time. A matter of the moment.
When the man threw the food, plate and all, in Fu's face, that moment had arrived. The line had long since been crossed, but Hii had held back out of love for Fu.
It was all over so quickly. The shopkeeper was far too terrified to properly grip the broken bottle he intended to use as a weapon. Hii didn't even wanted to play. The hatred inside him ran deep, and it wasn't about killing someone who had threatened Fu from the start. No. It was about killing someone who had taken advantage of Fu's situation.
When Fu regained consciousness, he was already standing in the bathroom. The tap was running and his hands were covered in soap. For a few moments he was confused, unable to quite grasp what had happened. But then his gaze fell for the first time on the corpse in the mirror. Then on the blood, not yet completely washed away, on his hands and arms.
“Put the sponge away and clean your face, or let me do it.” Hii spoke again, trying to sound calm. As calm as he could be in that situation.
Fu hesitated. He found it difficult to relax his hands, and the longer he looked at himself in the mirror, the more his stomach tightened.
“Fu”
No answer.
“Fu. Now do it already.”
Again, there was no reply.
“I said wash your face or—”
“I’m really stupid, aren’t I…?” Fu interrupted, his voice trembling. The sponge slowly slipped from his hand, and he brought his wet hands to his face. With his fingers, which burned at the slightest touch, he tried, with limited success, to remove the stains.
“You… You need to ask yourself how you ended up with such an empty-headed idiot… How someone as pathetic as me could become your partner! I keep running into trouble and you have to bail me out! You must be so fed up!” Fu gasped, letting the tears simply run down his face.
“You’re a total airhead, I don’t know any guy with as little brain as you. But I chose you, I wanted you. And I still want you.”, Hii replied to the torrent of words. As he had done so many times before, he wanted to reach out his hand, place it on Fu's soft cheek, and simply let him feel that he was there and wouldn’t leave.
The words only brought more tears down Fu's face, but at the same time they lifted some of the weight from his shoulders.
After about another 10 minutes, he finished washing his face. His skin was also red from chafing in places, but not as badly as his hands. He turned off the tap, took another deep breath, and then grabbed the small doll's body that hung from his belt. He pressed it close to him, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to make his way out of the bathroom and into the nearby bedroom. He bumped into the door several times, almost tripped over things lying around, and was startled by walls that suddenly appeared. It was a struggle, but he finally made it into the bedroom, closed the door right behind him, and then opened his eyes again. No broken furniture, no blood, no body. Just a simple, old bed, standing haphazardly in the room.
He approached it with hesitant steps, let himself fall onto it, and only a few minutes later did he bother to lie down properly.
He pulled the blanket over his head, drew his legs close to him, and pressed Hii against his chest.
The bed was definitely more comfortable than the floor.
Fu felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. Although he felt his body couldn't possibly rest, sleep overtook him quite quickly. Perhaps he simply wanted to escape reality.