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Mikoto woke up at that strange place again. The sky was clear, just like the one he used to see everyday when biking to work, but with a little more eerie atmosphere. The green couch felt comfortable, at least, and the ruins behind him no longer seemed so weird as they did when he first saw them.
He already lost count of how many times he appeared there, but as he always came back to reality after a while, he thought that it must be just some kind of dream. It was going to be over soon, it needed to.
However, he didn’t get to think too much about it, because something, or someone, caught his attention. This time, Mikoto wasn’t alone. He was finally meeting that person.
He had the same eyes as Mikoto, the same hair, same lips, same everything. And these eyes, uncomfortably similar to his, were staring at him for a while, lovingly, like he was a piece of art.
Behind that devoted gaze, though, was a sinner.
“You—! Why did you do all those horrible things using my body?” Mikoto asked, disgusted by the concept of him and by the fact that he couldn’t remember what happened, what his crime was.
He stayed silent as if he didn't even know where to begin. The sight of Mikoto alone was like a spell for him, one to make him forget his words. When he opened his mouth to say something, he felt his hands grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.
“Why did you have to ruin my life like this? I’ve always tried my best to be a good person and yet—” Mikoto stopped talking and his hold on him got weaker. Since when was he that aggressive? He was supposed to be the normal one out of the two of them.
He didn’t move at all, letting his other self keep pulling him. “I did what was best for you, Mikoto,” He said, almost like a prayer. “Everything… was to protect you. And I’ll disappear soon. You’ll be fine.”
One of his hands was on Mikoto's cheek, gently caressing it.
Mikoto laughed. “...What? Where did you even get the idea that what you did was the best thing for me, that it was going to help?” He let go of him and started pulling at his own hair. All of this was happening because of himself, that distorted image of his, which he was ashamed of.
He insisted, getting closer, and Mikoto went back to gaze at him like something was forcing him to. “Because that's what, deep down, your heart truly wanted, the heart that was entrusted to me,” He delicately held Mikoto’s hands. “But you won’t need to think about it anymore, you don’t need to remember anything that happened. Do you understand?” He needed to save him, to be blamed for what happened, to free him from this cruel reality that kept hurting him over and over again with no piety. That was his job, his duty, the reason he was even born. His grip tightened, desperate, brutal, just like himself.
At first, he simply wanted to bear Mikoto’s sins, but his selfishness was now blinding him, a veil made of devotion messing up with his wishes. He was so radiant, perfect, and the parasite inside him wanted some of his attention before never coming back. During his last moments, if Mikoto wanted to cling to him, he would accept it, if Mikoto wanted his flesh to be torn apart before he disappears, he would also do, because even the anger that he has hidden so much from the others, but couldn't hide from him, was precious.
Mikoto didn't know how to react. Hearing from him, his mirrored image, all these justifications, those words that no sane individual would ever say, feeling the uncomfortable warmth from his touch and his existence itself were making him nauseous. His heart would never wish for that, Mikoto was a good man, he wouldn’t even think about hurting anyone. He, the source of his suffering, was just taking advantage of his body to commit any crimes he wanted. Mikoto was convinced of that.
Still, he wondered, why was it so difficult for him to let go of his hands? Those, which took other people’s lives, stained with blood, holding onto his own. Gross. Mikoto looked at them. That red, that remain of his, or maybe their sin, was spreading through his fingers, dirtying him, but making him come back to his senses.
Mikoto pushed his other self to the ground, getting on top of him. “I'm sorr—” No. It wasn’t the time for him to be considerate, to apologize when he was the one in pain. He stared at that person, that reflection below him. “...You are so unfair,” He smiled. “What’s the point of you disappearing right now? For me to handle everything alone? The others keep looking at me like I'm a threat to them,” Mikoto's breath became heavy, he could feel it on his skin. “I just want my normal life, the one you took away from me, back.”
He knew how Mikoto’s supposedly normal life was. The way he tried his best to keep in contact with his mother and sister, trying not to be like his egoist, insensitive father, his constant attempts to fit in with people that didn’t even deserve him, his countless nights without sleeping because of his work, and of course, the way Mikoto bottled up all his feelings and never fought back, laughing at his problems instead. Until now.
What he also knew was how he took this life away from him. It was for his sake, a form of salvation.
“...If this is how you see it,” The monster that he was. “If this is how you see me,” A sinner imprisoning the one he adored the most, the one he was devoted to. “It’s fine. You can blame me as much as you want, but… if I hadn't been born, you would’ve broken apart, Mikoto.” He inverted their places, setting himself on top of his other ‘me’, caging him so that he wouldn’t look anywhere but his face, so that he would have the image of him pictured on his mind forever.
The two selves were vulnerable. Their weaknesses, exposed. “Hey, I saved you, right?”
He must have the worst savior ever, then. Mikoto couldn’t control his tears. It was so childish, ugly, he felt miserable. Every second looking at him, a negative portrait of himself, was a kind of torture for his mind. He had the feeling that if he tried to speak, he would collapse, his heart would stop.
“...So why are you crying?” He asked, bringing his face closer to his, holding it like it was fragile and kissing his other self on the cheek, not far from his eyes. If he kept going, maybe his tears would stop. He did it again and again, almost like a form of worship. Perhaps he was drowning too much into his desires, in how he was craving that last moment alone with him.
No, it was for Mikoto’s sake.
Oh, how selfish he was.
He froze. His body wasn’t listening to him, that cursed thing that he already controlled before. When something finally obeyed him, Mikoto slapped his face, giving in to his impulses. “I… I didn’t mean to do that.” Actually, he did. That person remained silent, was he mad? For some reason, he wasn’t scared of that possibility.
Trying to find out what his reaction was, Mikoto stared deep into the pair of eyes in front of him, his gaze sinking into his soul.
Then, he saw in himself a corrupted look, a sight that he never imagined he would find so beautiful. It wasn't like the expressions that he was so used to faking, it was genuine. Mikoto could still see the mark of his hand on his face. His other self seemed so pleased. He was panting, smiling, his eyes devouring him.
He must be going crazy. The view was so satisfying, the control he had over the situation, over him, addictive.
He thought he deserved that treatment, that he should be punished if Mikoto felt like doing so.
He wanted more, and hated himself for it.
He also did.
He wanted to crush that side of himself that he loathed so much until these conflicting feelings went away with him forever, this devil was the one influencing his mind.
“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said. Mikoto placed his hand under his shirt. Did that monster, that parasite who ruined his life, who ruined him, even had a heart, or was he only surviving consuming his?
Surprisingly, his other self indeed had one, and it was beating so, so fast. His heartbeat sped up even more when Mikoto embraced him and dug his nails into his back, kissing, biting until those lips that looked so much like his own, a deplorable reflection, bled.
For the last time in their lives, they heard their most grotesque desires, swallowing the little reason that remained in each other, enjoying this sin before his leave, before the requiem.