By V. Welch
Silence drapes the area under a blanket, covering the surroundings in its suffocating embrace.
Pressure builds in Yūsei’s ears, dampening his hearing. The familiar lights and constant hum of the city are now gone— instead there is only here and now. Yūsei takes a step forward, the grip on his scythe tightening, for an aura of something unforgiving has begun to take shape. Trees rustle softly and the wind barely whispers, yet nothing makes its presence known. Not their mission, not any wildlife— not even another person. Yūsei looks back to Tōma, his second in command, to find a weary, uncertain look on his face. His mouth opens to speak but the words die. His eyes dart to something behind him, but nothing is there. Yūsei begins to think that maybe, just maybe, this mission was faulty, that they were sent on a false sighting. Any tension that had relieved itself from his body comes rushing back as a screech breaks the silence.
Wind tosses leaves up in a tornado-like formation as a dark mass rushes by— any defining features obscured by its speed. Yūsei steadies his hand on his scythe, his grip slipping as sweat beginning to slick its handle. His mind begins to question Tōma as he takes a step in front of him instead of continuing to spot him from behind.
Then, everything begins to happen far too fast, far too unfamiliar from his teachings. A return of the mass from the shadows, a split second freeze reaction from his nervous system, the sweat continuing to bead down his forehead and arms, his weapon feeling too far from his hands. Yūsei wasn’t prepared for this, he isn’t prepared for this. Tōma is in front of him, but it feels as if he couldn’t be any further. This unknown monster is going to get him— it is going to attack him and there isn’t a single thing either of them can do because Yūsei’s body is stuck still and cannot move no matter how hard he tries and everything he has done to prepare for a moment like this is futile because he couldn’t just get his emotions in check and—
Nothing. In his self-inflicted commotion, Yūsei had shut his eyes, but they were open now and the monster was on the ground. Bleeding out. The sound of flesh crunching and something being sucked brings his attention to Tōma, who is entangled with the monster. Something is wrong, though. Yūsei calls out to him, again, and again, but Tōma isn’t responding. Animalistic means of devouring still fill the air. Metal and sweat waft into Yūsei’s nose. Blood? Whose blood is this? Tōma is fine— Tōma is over the creature; his knives impaling its chest, his face buried into its— neck?
There is nothing to see,
for what would there be?
Obscurities hide obscenities.
Yūsei, you made that up.
He’s just resting there.
He did not bite— he cannot bite.
This is not a betrayal.
He looks up.
He turns to Yūsei.
One horrified face
meets another.
Confused, conflicted, scared.
Scared of each other?
Or the consequences to come?
Leaves of autumn crunch beneath his feet
and the whistling of wind continues
as hesitating steps are taken.
How such tragedies are almost funny,
satirically laid out— Who is the true fool here?
The boy who’s well kept secret
spills out with his victims blood.
Or the one who blindly trusts,
a moth to his flame.
The moon rises, his heart sinks.
Pale light illuminates Tōma’s face,
he looks almost—
Human.
In the sky, the moon fights for dominance through the clouds. Now, instead of vicious breaking of flesh, soft croaking and ragged breathing is all Yūsei can hear. He isn’t sure who the noises are coming from, though— his body doesn’t feel tethered to anything anymore and the world seems to slow down. Tōma is now in front of him (how he got there Yūsei can’t remember) standing painfully still. Standing so stiff he can feel Tōma’s muscles tightening. Through the fog, Yūsei is aware of a burning gaze that refuses to break contact. He meets Tōma’s face. His eyes. His dark brown, near black, eyes that, despite typically absorbing all light, seem to sparkle under the few lamp posts surrounding them.
“Yūsei, this isn’t what— I didn’t— This is not how I wanted—”
“Stop talking.”
Tōma’s mouth remains open, crimson trickling from his canines. Yūsei can just see the words begging to come out. A scream, or maybe a cry, threatens to escape his throat. Yūsei wants to throw a fit. He wants to take his scythe and let his hands do whatever they wish. But none of that would feel cathartic. He knows his adrenaline would crash and sticky, clinging regret would trickle in. Despite this, disgust begins to overwhelm him, his gut twists and his feet reflexively begin to move backwards.
“Are you not going to say anything else? Yūsei, I’m— I’m not dangerous.”
“I said stop talking.”
The ground splits— his soul splits.
Splits into two, two worlds.
Worlds that have no place
for both creature and man.
What happens when a bay laurel
and a yarrow
brush past each other?
Unmovable—unchanging.
Healing—sacrificial.
The yarrow’s only use
is to get in the way,
to dissuade the mission
of the bay laurel.
A creatures only use
is to get in the way.
To throw his heart out,
wear it on his sleeve,
trying to atone for his sin.
With his eyes and the crinkle of his skin
when he smiles.
No stars can be seen through the thick mass of clouds now covering the atmosphere. In a second, wind picks up with ferocity, drying the burning tears sprouting from Yūsei’s eyes. He shouldn’t be crying. Tōma lied and this lie has grave consequences. That’s right— this is supposed to have consequences. He must end whatever thing is in front of him. A thought, barely a whisper, creeps into a crevice of his mind. How easy it is for Yūsei to turn his Tōma into a monster. A monster who knows his favorite brew of tea and takes care of him when he decides to “test” his allergies for the hundredth time. A monster who has seen him at his darkest hour—
But what does that matter now? He has been the very thing that took away Yusei’s family, hiding in plain sight. He does not deserve to keep walking. A violent, paralyzing thought flashes through Yūsei. It would be simple— taking his scythe and slicing Tōma’s head clean off with a swift motion. He could almost see the scene play out in front of him. Tōma’s eyes would go wide despite a flicker of trust still resting in them, then his head would roll— drop to the ground and blood would begin to sputter out from the severed arteries in his neck.
A thumb and something damp brings him back to reality. Yūsei has not severed Tōma’s head and his tears are currently being gently wiped away. A jolt runs through his body, straightening his spine before he grabs onto Tōma’s wrist.
“Do not touch me! You— You disgusting—”
His mouth was slapped shut by a strong hand, “You do not get to talk to me that way.”
“Disgusting Vampire,” Yūsei spat out through Tōma’s hand.
“I am your friend. I have a name. Tōma,” he choked out through a sob, “You know my name, Yūsei.”
His name—
Is this a falsehood too?
His name may be known,
but what about his character? ...
Could a life laden in such deception
contain any sincerity?
These years of connection,
darkened in an instant.
Is there a way to right
these wrongs?
A gentle touch scalds,
burning through his walls.
A heart seethes,
yearns.
Cloud shrouded veil lifts.
Moon blazes in the pitch night sky,
endless fire erupting from its glow.
And yet, the moonlight—
Yūsei isn’t focused on
the moonlight.
Instead, the warmth
in front of him.
His heart ignites against his will.
The flame this moth
is drawn to
holds its watcher tight.
If I push away now, I’ll have lost him forever.
The sobering reality of the passing thought brings him back. Tōma carefully releases his hold on Yūsei, watching him like a wild animal. Before his grip is loosened, his hand is in turn caught by Yūsei.
“Please don’t,” tears roll down his face, “Tōma, don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” Tōma then hums, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I guess now it’s too late for that. So—”
“Just shut up,” a small, exasperated chuckle comes from Yūsei, “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
“God, I hope not. I don’t have a good handle on my fangs quite yet.”
Yūsei gives him a bewildered look, slowly blinking, “When I tell you to shut up, please do it.”
Maybe it’s exhaustion, or a feeling of warmth creeping within him, but Yūsei finds his head resting on Tōma’s shoulder, the full weight of himself beginning to melt into him. Tōma whispers something indiscernible in his ear, probably another apology, before arms hesitantly wrap round him. Yūsei returns the embrace, taking in the faint metallic scent lingering on Tōma’s clothing. The smell that once struck fear, pumped adrenaline into him begins to take on a new life— one of secret feelings, one of comfort, one of home.
