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Shuu had been gaining weight for the first time. Not that he cared, the body was but a vessel for the mind. This change was not of his own doing, but resulted from regimented meals Nanaki, or Uzune–Shuu still needed to make the correction after referring to his colleague of five years as such—forced upon him. “Assisting in his recovery,” was promoted as the cause, though Shuu regarded it as more of a punishment. Uzune was playing house with his new doll.
“Dinner’s ready, Isa~” Uzune cooed from the kitchen, loud enough for Shuu to hear from where he’d been holed up in his study, brushing up on his trusty atlas of anatomy. Unlike his own hunger pangs, Uzune was difficult to ignore. When their arrangement—that was the only word he could describe it as—began, Uzune would administer his meals. Dreadful it was having to watch his smile through the spoon, as if Shuu were a toddler trapped in a forty-year-old body.
Shuu at first believed himself a victim of Munchausen by proxy, but Uzune had stayed true to his word and helped him recover. At least for the moment, no attempts were made on his life. Not even a willingness to poison him bit by bit until he died a slow, agonizing death. Fairly uninteresting. Perhaps because Shuu would have known the signs, but it’s not like he’d have the will to stop it. Uzune would snap one day, of course: the only question was when. He’d been looking forward to it. While Shuu didn't loathe the state he was in, some variety would've been nice.
“Isa~” The same voice chimed with a hint of irritation. He hadn't been called ‘Isa’ this consistently in over a decade, but they might as well be honest with each other and ditch the aliases.
It was easier for Shuu to move with after the physical therapy appointments Uzune brought him to weekly without fail, to the point where now, they were bi-weekly. Shuu adjusted himself out of the desk seat and onto his wheelchair without placing too much pressure on his left side, and maneuvered himself to the kitchen.
Standing at the counter was the man himself, Uzune Hitori. He was still a gross imitation of the real Kazuaki, committing to keeping up the deceased’s appearance for a reason Shuu couldn't comprehend. His closed eyes, lackadaisical smile, and overgrown hair mirrored a different departed love from Shuu’s own past. There was no escaping Kawara Ryuuji even outside his dreams.
Shuu was never quite sure where the line was drawn between both Uzune’s personalities, and it was unlikely he even knew himself where he began and Kazuaki ended.
Still smiling, he scolds, “Isa, you know it's impolite to keep me waiting for so long.”
“And yet you still waited. You could've just collected me yourself.”
“I knew you’d come eventually. You always do.”
Shuu couldn’t argue. Perhaps he’d grown soft in this twisted domesticity.
“I may not next time.”
“Don’t be so stubborn~ You like my cooking.”
Shuu did. It was objectively well made, but what drew him to it was the prospect of incapacitation. Delighting in a meal presented a gamble of life and death, and what was science if not taking that leap of faith?
Hitori strolled from the counter, plate in hand of Gyoza mixed in with some sort of meat. After placing the tray down, Uzune stumbled, bracing himself on the hardwood. He sat himself next to Shuu before he could fall, but still his head hit the table. Asleep again.
Shuu's only advantage against Uzune was that he too was hindered by his own body. Not much of an advantage considering Shuu was even more paralyzed than before. He wouldn't ever be reinstated as a school nurse, nor would he be fit enough to continue experimentation. He would need an assistant to carry the bodies back and forth at the very least.
Thankfully they’d reached the point where he could feed himself. Uzune left the plate on his right so it was easy enough to slide it over and dig in.
The show with his meal was the observation of the one who made it. Armodafinil only curtailed his sleep attacks—he averaged one or two a day now, much better than the five or six before. Once Shuu swallowed the remaining dough and what he now tasted as beef, Hitori had transferred into REM sleep. It would be roughly thirty more minutes before he woke, if his calculations were correct.
Hitori’s hair was soft, despite the constant bleaching. Shuu had never seen him do so but he must take good care of it. He would need to touch up his roots soon. Or perhaps he was letting them grow purposefully. About time he quit flaunting his innocence.
Hitori’s eyes opened and closed repeatedly, his pupils converging. Sleep paralysis. He never discussed what he saw during, perhaps he never remembered. Most of the nightmares surely involved Mr. Fujishiro. Shuu pulled his hand away, a blonde strand wrapped around his palm. He thought to keep it for further analysis, but decided against it, discarding it into the trash bin.
Hitori hummed awake. “Oh my~” He yawned. “Did you enjoy dinner?”
“Tell me what you dreamt of.”
“What an odd question. I don't remember.” Feigning confusion, as always. Though it might be convincing to some, Shuu spent much of his time with the professor, being able to intuit when he was putting on his act.
“That's impossible. You were just in REM sleep and would be able to recall some, if not most of your dream.”
“You just love torturing me don't you, Isa? I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“I can presume a concept, but I'm more curious as to what you actually saw.”
“It's too upsetting to discuss.”
“Hmm. Stimulants may not be enough. An SSRI might halt the paralysis.”
“Seeing me suffer isn't fun for you anymore?”
“It's getting rather boring. Your reaction is the same every time.”
“Are you to torture me then?”
“Who’s to say I don't whenever you're unconscious?”
“I think I would know.”
“I can next time, if that's the sort of thing you’d derive pleasure from.”
“I don't believe I've implied any of that!”
There. That was what he loved. Playing with Uzune’s strings.
“Hmm, I wonder. I’m not all too convinced. You haven't tortured me, you haven't killed me, you're no longer indebted to your dear Nageki. Why else would you stay other than some sort of physical prospect?”
“Does seeing you like this not quantify suffering?”
“I'm perfectly content. Killing me slowly would be much more interesting. But if you were to seek physical pleasure, then I wouldn't be opposed.”
“Do you fantasize about me Isa?”
“Would you like it if I did?” Shuu prodded.
“Then you have. Tell me what you think about.”
“Wouldn't you like to know. I can't divulge all of my secrets can I now? We have far too much time for me to be doing that.”
Uzune rose from his seat. Before Shuu could protest, the man sat himself on his lap and placed his hands over his shoulders.
His eyes were focused, like he'd never seen before.
Shuu was transported back to the night the professor brandished his gun, landing two bullets into his side with practiced precision. Gone was Professor Nanaki’s idyllic facade. This was Uzune. Calculated and capable of severe cruelty. Shuu hesitated to name him sociopathic, but he certainly had traits of it. Unstable home life, adultification, losing loved ones at a developmental stage: Uzune was practically destined for it. Like Shuu in a way. Maybe that's what kept them together. Escaping the loneliness with the only other person deserving of the other’s affection. How sad the two of them were, performing this twisted routine.
He allowed it when Uzune pressed his lips to his own. Allowed himself to play house, if only for a moment.