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── .✦
another future.
enforcer shinonome stares down at the wet soil, boots crunching on leaves and broken twigs. there it stands — a gravestone, perfectly carved, smooth to the touch and decorated by bundles of flowers. the enforcer knew that sacrifices had to be made. people were to die, people were to suffer for him to achieve his perfect future. even so, the sight brings him to damn tears. looking at him makes his lips go try and his hands tremble.
HERE LIES KUSANAGI DIVA
DIVA OF WONDER STAGE, STAR TO ALL.
DEARLY LOVED BY ENFORCER SHINONOME.
the sight truly is something. it’s intoxicating — here his wife is now, a stone engraved with his name. he's eternally branded into her, forever cemented in her memory, forever belonging to him and him only. it’s suffocating — he will never hold kusanagi divas hand again, never be able to put her lips on his own, feel her head leant his shoulders. never be able to press his nails so deep into her wrist that he could see his indents. and worst of all, she can never come running to his side again. never ask for the love she was desperate for ever again. the love only shinonome akito could give her.
── .✦
the first thing enforcer shinonome does is toss those bouquets of flowers. the dawn illuminates her gravestone. makes it glow and shimmer, like she did on stage. like when she was alive, kusanagi diva is in the spotlight.
mentally, enforcer shinonome thinks of the names of those who dared to try and put something on their loves grave. did they not get the memo that kusanagi diva belonged to them and them alone?
tenma ash, all he did was take the attention away from their beautiful. stood there, benefitting from their beauty's fame, her talents.
otori dolly, just a mindless friend to their dearest. stupid, stupid girl who thought she knew a damn thing about their everything.
akiyama hana, who was she to give their one and only anything? she had nothing. she’s pathetic, needing to give their dead spouse anything.
some fan, useless, die die die, you only care about the lady in your head, not their sweetheart.
kamishiro rui.
rui’s bouquet finds itself in their hands easily. their fist clenched down on the colourful paper near the stems. kamishiro rui, thinking he has any right to act like he was ever a friend to diva or to him. kamishiro rui, who turned on everyone who loved him and ran away, destroying every bridge he had.
the kamishiro rui, who was too cowardly to even jump off the fucking roof and kill himself like the useless pathetic traitor he was.
enforcer shinonome had a better idea for this bouquet.
they perched next to the gravestone, hands over the petals, as if their hand was softly stroking skin. they imagine their loves face; the strands of hair in front of her face, the makeup she’d put on after throwing up in the bathroom minutes prior. their fingers tightened; now they’re gripping her hair, kissing her passionately.
tug— she winces a bit.
tug— she’s frightened
tug— clumps are starting to be pulled off by their force but its okay because she’s so damn beautiful with short hair and because enforcer shinonome damn wants her to look beautiful.
tug— the petals are falling off rapidly. diva is crying at this point. but she knows to obey and she knows to take it because no other man would give attention to such a woman other than enforcer shinonome. she will take what they give her, whether gentle or rough, whether presents or kisses or grief or violence. she will take it because they both know she is below him.
tug— why are they doing it this time? what emotion has filled them? the anger they hold towards kamishiro rui? the paranoia that diva will leave him? or just some sick perverse satisfaction in hurting others, in branding others with their marks of violence, hearing them cry out in pain.
tug— the flowers are yanked clean off. pulling divas head off is a beautiful fantasy. maybe it’d take a bit of work, a bit of strength. they’d get to see the skin tear as he applied more and more pressure until it ripped and a fountain of blood ran down from the stump of her neck. the head would be theirs, of course. to keep as a trophy, a possession to show that diva belonged to them. and of course diva would love it: she gets to die like a queen, and then be kept by her lover for the rest of eternity.
soothed by these romantic thoughts, and cradling a bunch of headless flowers, enforcer shinonome fell into a dreamless sleep. only their flowers remained now with their beautiful.
── .✦
when he wakes up in the early afternoon, beautiful thoughts begin to cloud his mind again.
how did kusanagi diva die?
was it a rebel? did some dirty scum murder his precious, his beauty? he can’t imagine what he would’ve done to that piece of trash. it would’ve been slow and painful, violent and bloody but not like the beautiful violence he’d use on his darling. there’d be nothing left of them.
the more sickeningly sweet possibility was that enforcer shinonome akito would’ve killed diva. oh he can vividly imagine it now. it probably wouldn’t have been as graphic as his gory imaginations earlier, but it’d still be a sight. a hand tight around her neck, an unrelenting fist against her face, bruising until she loses her glamour, her mystique, her charm which originally allured the demon that is enforcer shinonome. he’d be smiling, knowing his bruises will stay on her face and neck and she’d be smiling because she's enjoying this. she’d passively take his beatings while looking straight into his eyes because she knows that this is true love, their true love. then her eyes shut innocently, as if she’s fading into a blissful slumber, and crimson marks are left on his hand like kisses.
── .✦
how long has it been? the sky is a crimson flame, red into orange, an inferno in the sky. it’s like their love really: a passionate, red-hot burning love, a desperate, destructive, bloody, devilish love they both gleefully indulged in. their love was always meant to be. they were connected by the stars in the skies, the waves in the ocean, the heavens and hell. they were bound to each other both figuratively and literally. every blissful moment submerged in his mind: steamy kisses in the dressing rooms, cold nights illuminated by only the streetlight they stood under, candle-lit bathtubs and wine glasses clinked together, blood stained hands intertwined as they danced — one, two, three — until they were dizzy and numb and intertwined so tightly together that maybe their bones were cracking and their limbs were twisting unnaturally.
her bones right now must be so tender. a pristine white, gentle yet fragile, gorgeously weak in his hands to snap and hit and kiss and mold into his perfect lover. her pose must hold the same grace she held when she was alive. open and so perfectly vulnerable, the vulnerability she’d allowed him to abuse and hurt and beat and prod and push until she was back in his damn arms, singing for him like the canary she was, hair on his neck, tears on his throat.
he threw away the headless buds into the abyss and tossed his own bouquet to the side. flowers be damned. gifts be damned. no item could ever portray the maddening love between the two of them.
he submerges himself into the soil. he poses himself in that open position she’d be in right now to mimic her grace, arms sprawled out, legs comfortably spaced. a hand moved to trace over ‘her’ thigh, tracing the kanji for his name where it must have been. the physical mark of his possession over her, so deep it engraved onto her bones, into her very matter. the brand that would make kusanagi diva forever his — alive, dead, as bones, as ashes, as a fossil, as an angel or a demon or a spirit forever his. the tantalising reminder that she is the wife of enforcer shinonome akito. till death do us part.
he’s submerging into the soil, bones entering his system, protruding from his stomach. they’re merging, and soon he’ll be coughing up blood and kusanagi divas damn thigh with his name engraved into it. but it’ll be okay. he’ll cough up the bone, bear the blood and swallow it again. he’d let the fragments choke him, cut his throat until he is hoarse speaking, until all he can taste is crimson, crimson, crimson.
he’ll welcome the pain, for he knows their forever love will bring him salvation.