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Barok had dreaded that day.
He and Asogi were to attend an investigation at Tusspells’s wax museum. The case was straightforward enough, but it was the location that Barok had been dreading. Ever since the wax figure of him had been added to one of the exhibits, he had avoided the place as much as he could. He knew exactly why he had been featured in the exhibit, too: for the public not to honor him, but instead to scorn him.
Despite the results of his trial being made public, the people of London still treated him the same way. They looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Like some kind of agent of death coming to take their souls. He tried not to let it bother him, but he had already been slowly cracking over the past ten years, and with the stress of his trial, he was about to fall apart completely.
Asogi didn’t seem to notice, at least. In fact, in the month since Barok’s trial, Asogi had tried his best to put it all behind them. But Barok knew the truth. He knew Asogi likely still saw him as the monster he was.
How could he not? Barok might not be The Reaper, but he was still loathsome and unpleasant.
When the investigation was coming to a close, Barok couldn’t help himself. He snuck away to the exhibit that featured his figure.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he had done it. Morbid curiosity, perhaps. But regardless of his reason, he was stunned when his eyes fell upon it. It was like looking in a mirror.
It was unsettling, even, how detailed it was. It captured every unpleasant feature of him perfectly. The scowl, the sadness in his eyes, and of course the hideous scar across his face. As his eyes moved along the figure, he noticed a large gash in its chest, as if it had been stabbed with a knife. He guessed it had happened recently enough that Tusspells hadn’t noticed it yet.
His eyes fell onto the sign next to the figure. It stated his name and his now-outdated pseudonym. And, handwritten below it was an addition that read, “Damaging the figures will incur a fine.”
Barok didn’t need to guess why that was written on his and not the others. He knew how hated he was by the public. He knew he was just a monster in their eyes.
Maybe it was even true. Maybe he was a monster.
He felt tears well in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. He sighed, then left the room and headed toward the exit of the museum.
Asogi was just outside in the street, waiting for him. “Oh, there you are. Are you ready to head back?”
“Yes,” Barok said, not even looking at him as he turned and started walking.
Asogi kept up, chatting to him about the case while Barok said nothing in response. He was too busy trying to ignore all the passersby who looked at him in fear.
By the time they made it back to the office, Barok felt tears well in his eyes again. He didn’t need to be loved, but it hurt so much knowing he was hated and feared. He just wanted someone to see him for who he truly was. But then again… maybe he had become a monster after all. Maybe that was who he truly was.
“Asogi,” Barok said weakly once they stepped inside the office. “Please retrieve some inkwells from the storeroom.”
Asogi glanced at the inkwell on Barok’s desk in confusion. “Don’t we already have enough?”
Barok sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying his best to keep the tears from falling. “Just do it.”
Without another word, Asogi stepped out into the hallway. Once he was far enough away, Barok closed the door and finally let the tears stream down his face.
He would always be a monster, he realized. Even now that his name had been cleared, the public’s view of him would remain the same because it was simply fact. The decade of him taking on the role of The Reaper had twisted him into a real monster. It was a curse he was doomed to always live with.
He hadn’t realized just how long he had stood there sobbing until he heard the door open. He turned away, trying desperately to compose himself.
“Lord van Zieks?” Asogi said softly.
“I—I need a moment,” Barok replied. “Please leave me alone for a few more minutes.” He tried to keep his voice even, but it wavered, sounding weak.
Asogi appeared before him, staring up at him with concern. He quickly placed the inkwells on the desk, then turned to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
Barok covered his hands with his face, unable to stop crying. “I just need a moment. It’s none of your concern.”
Asogi huffed. “It clearly is my concern! We have work to do and whatever is on your mind is preventing us from doing that!”
“I’m sorry,” Barok replied, desperately trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry for… for—“
“No, it’s all right,” Asogi said with a sigh. “I’m sorry for being harsh with you. I just wish you would tell me what is the matter!”
Barok took a deep breath. “I…I’ll always be hated. I’ll always be scorned. I… I’m just a hideous monster.” He finally looked at Asogi, who stared back at him with wide eyes. “Even you think so, don’t you?”
Asogi looked at him with pity. “What brought this on?”
Barok glanced down at the floor. “I finally witnessed the wax figure that bears my likeness at the museum. It had been stabbed in the chest. And… it was clear that it is often defaced.”
“Oh.” A long silence passed. “But… but now everyone should know that you aren’t The Reaper!”
Barok glanced at him. “Have you not seen the way people look at me? Have you not seen the fear and scorn in their eyes?” He shook his head. “I will always be hated.”
Asogi looked at him sadly. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. Give it some time, and—“
“Nothing will change,” Barok interrupted. “Nothing will ever change. It can’t change because I truly have become a monster.” He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt himself finally cracking, shattering into pieces. Even with his name cleared, he was still left monstrous, cursed for all eternity. To be hated by all was not a fate he would wish upon anybody. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had no reason to keep going.
“That’s not true,” Asogi said firmly.
Barok’s eyes snapped to him. “What?”
Asogi glared at him. “You’re not a monster. I refuse to let you say that about yourself.”
Barok blinked at him.
“I tried to have you killed,” Asogi continued. “I accused you of horrible things. I was so cruel to you.” He shook his head. “You have every right to despise me. But you don’t.” His gaze softened. “You’ve been so kind to me. Kinder than I deserve. A monster wouldn’t do that.”
Barok continued to stare at him.
Asogi looked at him seriously. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can say for certain that I don’t hate you.”
Barok sighed, hanging his head. “You don’t need to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!” Asogi insisted. “I truly mean it!”
Barok didn’t believe him. It was completely absurd to think that Asogi did not despise him.
Asogi sighed. “Maybe you should go home for the day. I’ll take care of things here. I think you could use some rest.”
Barok turned toward the door, feeling tears well in his eyes again.
The next morning when Barok arrived at the office, he felt only marginally better. If anything, he was embarrassed about losing his composure in front of Asogi.
Despite his continued despair, he tried his hardest to not think about how hated he was and remain focused on work. It was going decently until about noon, when there was a knock on the door.
A delivery man entered, carrying a vase of flowers. “Delivery for Lord van Zieks,” he said quickly, then placed the vase on Barok’s desk before quickly scampering back out.
Barok stared at the flowers. It was a bouquet of flowers featuring lavender and yellow carnations. There was no note attached to the flowers, but he understood the meaning of them well enough. It was a reminder that he was hated.
Growing frustrated, he pulled the flowers out of the vase and tossed them into the wastepaper bin.
Asogi appeared before his desk, looking at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Barok placed his hands over his face, trying not to cry. “I am truly hated.”
“But someone sent you flowers,” Asogi pointed out. “Surely that is proof that not everyone hates you.”
Barok sighed with frustration, looking up at Asogi. “Do you not understand what these flowers mean?”
Asogi’s confusion intensified. “W-what?”
“They symbolize distrust and disdain,” Barok explained.
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
Barok stood. He couldn’t take it anymore. He hated being hated. It had finally worn on him too much. Maybe he should have left London. Maybe it still wasn’t too late to do that.
He turned toward the door.
“Wait!” Asogi called.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Barok said, tears starting to fall again.
“But—“
Barok removed his badge and tossed it onto the floor. “I’m done with this. Goodbye, Mr Asogi.”
Then, before Asogi could stop him, he left.
Over the next few hours, Barok sat at home trying to decide how drunk he wanted to be while feeling badly about himself. He would need to move away from London, he decided. He would never step foot in London ever again. He couldn’t handle being hated any longer.
He’d just finished his second glass of wine when he heard the doorbell ring.
He sighed, and for a moment considered ignoring it. But when it rang again, he reluctantly stood and moved to the door.
Upon opening it, he found Asogi standing just outside, looking utterly defeated. In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” Asogi began. He held out the flowers. “I… I wanted to give this to you.”
Barok blinked at him. The flowers were beautiful—a mixture of periwinkle and acacia blooms. “W-what?”
“They told me these represented friendship,” Asogi continued.
Barok stepped forward and took the vase from him. It was a gesture of pity, he realized, but he appreciated it all the same. “Thank you. This is very kind of you.”
“May I speak with you for a moment?” Asogi asked.
Barok sighed. “Very well.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
He led Asogi to the sitting room and placed the vase of flowers onto the table in front of the sofa and then took a seat. Asogi took a seat beside him, his eyes downcast.
“I need to be upfront about something,” Asogi said. He looked at Barok with a pained expression. “I… I sent you the flowers earlier.”
Barok stared at him, confused. “W-what…?”
“You were just so down yesterday, and I wanted you to know that someone appreciates you.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize they meant something bad. I just picked a bouquet that was a reasonable price. I’m sorry for upsetting you even more.”
Barok couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You… you sent it?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize how absurd the British are with something as simple as flowers.” He crossed his arms. “Anyway, I’m glad I could correct my blunder.”
Barok was still stuck on something Asogi had said. “You… you appreciate me?”
“Of course I do! Were you not listening yesterday when I went on and on about it?”
Barok glanced away. “I suppose I didn’t quite believe it.”
Asogi huffed. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you actually believed me.” Then he looked at Barok sadly. “Do you really want to quit?”
Barok glanced down. “It’s for the best. I will leave London and be away from those who hate me.”
“You won’t be away from the one who hates you the most,” Asogi argued.
Barok frowned with confusion. “What?”
Asogi looked at him seriously. “No one hates you as much as you hate yourself.”
Barok stared at him, speechless.
Asogi’s expression turned pained. “You’ve put up with the public’s opinion of you for so long, you’ve started to believe it.” He shook his head. “You’re not a monster.”
Barok clutched his chest, trying to internalize what Asogi was saying. He did hate himself. He hated himself because he was monstrous and hideous. But if… if that wasn’t true…
Asogi held out Barok’s badge, looking at him pleadingly. “Will you stay?”
Barok reached for the badge hesitantly, his hand hovering over Asogi’s. “I… I’m just so tired of being hated.”
“Then start with yourself,” Asogi replied. “Stop hating yourself.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Barok said softly.
“Then start seeing yourself how I see you.”
Barok blinked at him. “And how do you see me?”
“A kind man who has been through more than most could handle.” He lifted the badge closer to Barok’s hand. “And most certainly isn’t a monster.”
Barok took the badge, clenching it in his hand. If Asogi truly thought so… perhaps it was true. “Thank you. I will keep your words in mind.”
“So you’ll stay?”
“Yes. For now, at least.” He glanced at the flowers on the table. Asogi had intentionally chosen these, unlike the last. It was an offering of friendship, Barok realized. He glanced back at Asogi. “As long as I have you at my side, I believe I will be strong enough.”
Asogi’s eyes widened, and then he smiled. “Then I’ll have to stay at your side for the foreseeable future.”
And Barok believed him. Seeing his smile—his genuine smile—filled Barok with hope. Hope that he wouldn’t always be seen as a monster, even by himself.
Barok found himself smiling. “Thank you.”