Work Text:
It was an especially pitch black night.
His body stiff with the biting chill of darkness, the sky outside a pool of endless dark ink— so viscous it seemed to bleed through the windows of the clinic. He shuffles on the rough mattress, uncomfortable against its bumpy surface, and the blankets strew atop it did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. Sighing, he eventually decides to lie flat on his back, placing a hand on his chest and letting the back of his other hand lay limply on his forehead. Mono was tired, no doubt about it, but he found himself restless and, as consequence, couldn’t even force himself to go to sleep.
Nearby, an unseen clock absently ticks away: echoing like footsteps from somewhere in the corridor. His eyes are lidded, unable to see through the night— room completely shrouded in a thick haze of noir, with nothing immediately distinguishable. Mono shuts his eyes tightly, an unease creeping up his spine. He does not ignore it— well, he could not even if he tried— and eventually opens his eyes once more, the darkness engulfing him as oppressive as thick smoke. He frowns, then heavily pushes himself upwards from his makeshift bed.
Mono, naturally, glances to his left. Unsurprisingly, he can see absolutely nothing.
“Six?” He calls, more like a strained whisper— voice still sore from years of not being used— and he cringes, feeling a tinge of embarrassment.
She doesn’t reply. Mono then quickly realises he can’t even hear her breathe. His breath hitches and he instinctively gets up, making his way to her mattress and paying extra care to not accidentally trample their little makeshift campfire. Its embers drawn out like stars at his feet. He crouches down, running a palm against the cool tile floor and finally feeling the bumpy texture of the mattress.
Mono purses his lips in concentration, making sure not to graze his hand over somewhere unsavoury— the dark making it incredibly difficult to even see where his hand actually is. He curses inwardly and questions to himself wistfully: why is she always like this?
After a moment or so of meticulously searching for his companion, he eventually comes to realise that Six is absent from the room entirely. Mono frowns, agitation blooming in his core and he rises to his feet once again. Internally, he searches for a transmission within the building as he makes his way to where he thinks the door is.
He feels a tinge of static, blood running cold throughout his body with that familiar rush— heart plummeting with that same mixture of dread and excitement. Mono resonates with it and as consequence, a TV switches on: its location is quite far away, but it provided a useful guide and marker. Meanwhile, he walks straight into a wall (and almost trips over Six’s bag). He rolls his eyes and huffs in irritation, placing his hands against the wall before eventually finding the door frame. This was incredibly tedious, but he had ultimately found the doorknob and was now in process of turning it— relieved to finally touch the biting cold of the metal. The door opens with a satisfying click, followed by an ear-grating squeal as the hinges bend.
Down the hallway, Mono can hear the muffled songs and meaningless jargon blare from a television: light illuminating his way like a beacon. Without much hesitation, he starts towards it— this time more careful with his steps and making sure he doesn’t accidentally collide with something and/ or step on some unidentified object.
“Six?” He tries again, pauses. He waits, listening for anything over the distant murmurs from the TV. Mono hears nothing, tsk-ing and sighs. “Always such a pain in the ass.” He mumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was cold. No surprise there. The building felt like an ice box, devoid of any heating whatsoever or any light sources to boot. The dark like tendrils and him lost in its grasp.
Suddenly, the TV switches tune— a melody, akin to that of an opera singer leading a choir of children, plays out. The woman’s voice is angelic, like a siren leading in any sailor foolish enough to tread uncharted waters. He can’t help but feel it carries a sense of melancholy, that sadness drawing him in: a fish on a hook. Momentarily, Mono’s completely distracted, then his attention— as fast as it had been claimed— snaps. The undeniable squeak of shoe against tile and shuffling of clothing. He stops, breath caught in his throat, eyes widening a fraction in surprise.
Whatever it was, it had sounded like it had come from behind him and to his right— down another hallway of absolute nothingness. After a moment’s deliberation, he makes his way to that hallway; cutting lose from the string reeling him in. He lets that TV play regardless, its sound now morphing into that of a news reporter. Once again, Mono finds himself looking for a transmission to latch onto. Clenching his jaw in concentration, he finds a pulse— static flooding his veins— and connects. A TV rings out from directly next to Mono, startling him. He jumps back, recoiling like a cat, with his heart in his throat. The TV blares the chatter of a talk show and laughter, screen that familiar background of sporadic static. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he (once again) looks forward.
The titled floor is pasty white, aged, blackened streaks like cobwebs stretching into the chocking tar of the night, and he crouches down. Notices a thick liquid, Mono dabs the small puddle with the tips of two fingers— he rubs them together with his thumb, realising what is on his skin is a viscous blood. His eyes widen a bit as his brows furrow, lips pulling into a thin line. Then, another sound, this time a wet heave and low groan. There is a clattering of some kind and the thin, barely visible warm glow of an artificial light long due a bulb change. Leading to that slightly ajar door is a trail of hasty blood smears.
Abruptly, he severs the transmission shared between the TVs, stifling a grunt as he feels the shock throughout his body as a result. Signal blaring a high frequency in his ears, akin to feedback from a microphone. He clenches his jaw, swallowing the sharp pain and makes his way towards the light. This time, Mono chooses not to call out to whoever— whatever— this person, or thing, was.
There’s a lingering smell of iron in the hallway, more apparent as he stands just outside the room— peering in tentatively from the crack in the door. It’s a restroom, stalls in disrepair, and a surprisingly untouched mirror and a basin with a noticeable crack in its bowl. Another wretch and then a strangled whimper of some sort. Mono frowns, feeling a sting in his chest, still the same sympathetic kid he always was.
The figure grasps at the sides of the basin, shoulders tensed as they heave into the sink. He realises the basin is stained with streaks of red, hands clearly slipping to gain hold of the surface of the sink.
Another violent heave, then a splatter of wet material against ceramic. A groan escapes them, then a choked sob. They look up at their reflection, shadows casting on them like a blackened veil but Mono can still make her out.
He pushes the door open lightly, its hinges groan though they sound more like piteous moan. He dons a neutral expression.
Of course, Six reacts— hearing his steadily approaching footsteps, it was undeniably him. Hastily, she turns on the faucet— hands slipping on its metal— and wipes her mouth quickly with the water and a shaky hand.
“I noticed you were gone.” He says flatly, but she can hear how his voices lowers an octave in concern. Six notices, through the grimy mirror’s reflection, that he isn’t meeting her eyes. She finds she can’t meet his silver ones either. Her companion continues, surprisingly loose in his demeanour. “Did you see the blood in the hallway?”
Six flips herself over to face him, grasping the basin like a lifeline. The cool of its surface the only thing in the world grounding her so far.
She nods half-heartedly, gnawing at her lower lip— God, she wore guilt like a fancy dress. All frills, no subtly.
Mono dips his chin, watches her. Her hair is unkempt; blood splattered on her body like she’d stood directly in front of a hose. She refuses to look at him. Clearly, she’s nervous— ashamed even. He sighs softly, moving a fraction closer towards her.
“It was you, wasn’t it.” It was less of a question, the answer obvious. “The blood.” A pause. Six nods slowly and then finally raises her head to look at him.
“I know this looks bad. I-…” She gnaws at her lip until she can taste that familiar sting of iron, grip tightening against the basin. “I can explain, I swear.” Her voice wavers and Mono swears he can see desperation in the way she looks at him, eyebrows creased and eyes wide as if she were mortified by her own actions. Afraid of herself more than he was.
He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “I get these urges. I’ve been getting them since-since what I did to you, since I left that fucking place.” Six’s words come out in a spew of hurried words, trailing off with a mixture of guilt and hatred. She inhales shakily, choosing not to look at him— afraid of what his face would say.
“And-and I can’t control them. It just- I feel like I’m fucking starving.” She swallows, though it feels more like she were forcing hunks of meat down her throat as she had done just a few hours earlier. “So, I go out and I… look for anything to-”
“Eat.” Mono finishes, holding a certain tone she couldn’t place.
Six frowns, nodding defeatedly. Tears prick at the sides of her eyes, she feels pathetic and utterly disgusting— suddenly incredibly self-conscious about what she must do in front of someone like him. Someone she’s grown to value so highly and closely.
A sense of panic rises in her; she can’t risk any sort of rejection— any sort of disgust or vitriol, thrown like acid, directed at her in such a vulnerable state— she realises that she can’t fathom a world in which she is without him again. That reliance, that need, for companionship twists inside her like a blade in her gut and she stares at him with desperate, needy eyes. Six opens her mouth to speak once more but is cut off before she can spew a string of apologies and excuses.
“Is that why you disappear during the night?” He states, eyes narrowing. Searching her.
She nods almost eagerly.
Mono purses his lips. Then furrows his brows, “you think I wouldn’t have noticed?” He blurts incredulously.
She nods hesitantly, ashamed, and stares at her worn sneakers.
He smiles, then chuckles softly. Startled, Six’s gaze snaps upwards and she gives him a bewildered expression.
“Wha-What’s so funny?” She drawls, voice quaking uncertainly. More afraid by his sudden humour than his rejection now.
Mono smiles at her again, it’s a lopsided stupid grin that reaches his eyes and his face creases in a flattering sort of way. She feels as if he’s not taking her seriously, she doesn’t share his humour— pursing her lips into a solemn frown. “It’s nothing.” His smile wavers. “You should’ve told me earlier instead of fucking off to who-knows-where.” He gives her a more stern, worried look. After all, they were all they had.
“I know, I-…” She trails off once more, releasing her grip on the basin. “I didn’t know what to say.” Six would rather die that admit she was scared of even approaching him with this topic, hell, admit anything even scared her at all. Sharing her vulnerabilities was something she wasn’t good at nor really wanted to do.
He nods simply, in acknowledgment. “So,” Mono starts, albeit tentatively, “who’d you eat?”
“Some half-dead adult.” Six turns the faucet as she begins explaining, washing her bloodied hands under the sink. “Already skin and bones and it tasted like shit.”
Mono hums, “you eat all of it?”
“No.”
He hums again. A smile pulling at the corners of his lips, he just lets his head fall— relying on the poor lighting to mask his amusement. Six notices, flicking her hands of excess water and faces him again with her usual bravado.
“OK, seriously, what’s so funny?” She asks sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. He doesn’t say anything, but she can hear him holding back a laugh.
At this she can’t help but also feel amused. The situation seemed so bizarre anyway, and so intense for no what seems for no reason.
“Seriously!” Six tries to stay serious but her voice wavers, losing its edge.
Finally, he burst out laughing. Nearly bending double and holding her shoulder for support. Nervously, she chuckles but it quickly turns into a hearty laugh— moulding with his. They stay like that, grasping onto each other and laughing like eating people was the most comedic thing in the world.
“You’re so dramatic,” he managed, clearing his throat as he tried to regain his composure. Mono lifts his hand from her shoulder, smiling all the while. “You should’ve told me, though.” Voice rough with underuse but tone soft with a sincere concern.
Her cheeks flush and she looks away, had she been unnecessarily hesitant to tell him? Doubting herself, Six purses her lips in thought— mulling over this whole situation in her head, analysing it over and over. Surely, he would have reacted differently but here he was acting like this was some silly quirk of her’s.
Well, maybe it just was.
When she looks up, he’s at the door. The dim glow of the bulb casting long shadows on his frame like ink splotches on a watercolour canvas. She can feel him watching her. His eyes penetrate through the haze of darkness, two silver orbs and as unnerving as a wolf’s watching its prey.
“Why do you vomit after you eat?” He asks, tone measured and probing. Her companion still as a statue.
At first, she hesitates, swallowing harshly— tasting the lingering mixture of metal and bile on her tongue. Then, “I hate the taste. The texture— just everything about it.”
“…It’s complicated.” Six finishes flatly, refusing to elaborate further. Luckily, Mono nods and doesn’t push it, the pair leave the restroom in silence— him regarding her subtly, a mixture of worry and pity twisting his gut. She doesn’t notice, too lost in the aftermath of the situation.
Eventually, they make their way through the winding hallways and back to their makeshift camp in one of clinic’s abandoned waiting rooms. Mono still weary of bumping into anything unseen. Six stumbles to her makeshift bed, now finally realising how drained she felt. Perhaps from the puking, or the hunger pangs or the killing. Or all three. She shuts her eyes.
Before he knows it, Six is asleep on her mattress— breathing steady and soft. The sound is comforting. He turns his head towards her direction despite the darkness, now lying down on his own uncomfortable mattress.
He finds he still can’t sleep.