[ It's another night, another night that comes and goes where Shunji should be dead, should be gone and in the ground or burned and scattered out to sea or left to rot where he fell, as unsightly in death as he surely is in life.
But he persists. He endures, continues to go on, to exist, no matter who comes for his life, or how, or when. This one ruined one of his good suits, the flesh gouged from his abdomen still slowly knitting, spitting out foreign matter like gravel and tatters of clothing, as he starts up the steps to home.
That there should even be such a place for him. Four walls, someone waiting within. He remembers all the nothing that came before, remembers it in moments like this more sharply than any cut of any blade. He stands at the door, fumbling for his key with numb fingers, cold with blood lost and not yet replenished in his body.
Basti won't like seeing him like this. The thought makes him laugh, as most things do. He can see it now, the furrow of that already serious brow. He'll worry for him, hurt for him, grieve for him. Basti gives Shunji things he's never been afforded before, and what does he give Basti in return?
What indeed.
He steps in, relieved to hear the shower running. If Basti's in the shower, maybe he doesn't have to know the full extent of it. Shunji will discard his clothes, let his wounds finish mending, then slip in next to him. He'll notice the blood, but he doesn't need to know how much of it there was. They can just have a quiet night together.
Basti likes it when they have quiet nights together.
Honestly, he should've just gone to the precinct or gotten himself a hotel. Spared Basti the whole mess of it, come to him whole, after. But that would require Shunji to be a better, less selfish, less weak-minded man. But he is none of those things. He hurts, and he's tired, and he wants the only thing that makes the curse of his existence ease.
He double bags his bloody clothes, shoves them into the trash. Makes his way to the bathroom, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.
He opens the bathroom door, feels the steam wash over him, smiles at Basti's familiar silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass. ]
Sebastian, [ he murmurs, barely audible under the shower's spray. Opening the shower door, he lets himself in, slipping in behind to put arms around the other man's waist. ]
no subject
But he persists. He endures, continues to go on, to exist, no matter who comes for his life, or how, or when. This one ruined one of his good suits, the flesh gouged from his abdomen still slowly knitting, spitting out foreign matter like gravel and tatters of clothing, as he starts up the steps to home.
That there should even be such a place for him. Four walls, someone waiting within. He remembers all the nothing that came before, remembers it in moments like this more sharply than any cut of any blade. He stands at the door, fumbling for his key with numb fingers, cold with blood lost and not yet replenished in his body.
Basti won't like seeing him like this. The thought makes him laugh, as most things do. He can see it now, the furrow of that already serious brow. He'll worry for him, hurt for him, grieve for him. Basti gives Shunji things he's never been afforded before, and what does he give Basti in return?
What indeed.
He steps in, relieved to hear the shower running. If Basti's in the shower, maybe he doesn't have to know the full extent of it. Shunji will discard his clothes, let his wounds finish mending, then slip in next to him. He'll notice the blood, but he doesn't need to know how much of it there was. They can just have a quiet night together.
Basti likes it when they have quiet nights together.
Honestly, he should've just gone to the precinct or gotten himself a hotel. Spared Basti the whole mess of it, come to him whole, after. But that would require Shunji to be a better, less selfish, less weak-minded man. But he is none of those things. He hurts, and he's tired, and he wants the only thing that makes the curse of his existence ease.
He double bags his bloody clothes, shoves them into the trash. Makes his way to the bathroom, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.
He opens the bathroom door, feels the steam wash over him, smiles at Basti's familiar silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass. ]
Sebastian, [ he murmurs, barely audible under the shower's spray. Opening the shower door, he lets himself in, slipping in behind to put arms around the other man's waist. ]
Forgive me, it's been a long day.