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First, it was always the prickling underneath his skin. The sensation started at his palms, where it would slowly spread and increase in intensity. For now, it was just a minor discomfort, but Sander knew it would only get worse from here. Hell, he could already feel the gaping abyss calling. It was always like this. In the heat of battle, the brutal madness propelled him; it shielded him from thoughts, hesitation, guilt or fear. However, once the fight was over and the raging fire burnt out, it all came crashing down, leaving him to pick up the pieces in the ruins of his mind.
And he tried to. He really did. But it was easier back in The Facility. They would always cart him back to his containment unit, where he could curl in on himself and close his eyes and hope he wouldnβt have to wake up. Things were different here. So much different. It felt like a test. They pushed at his limits, leaving him in the company of others to see if he would become the monster they wanted. Did they have the answer yet? Hadnβt he done enough? Hadnβt he killed enough?
Not even his own family⦠But he digressed. His Stigma is sated, for now. He would not go there.
The fight left him the moment they stepped on the truck to return. Any further precautions were redundant, but he let them. He barely felt the cold metal on his skin anyway. Of course, he didnβt need any treatment. It had always been this way; they shot him and stabbed him and flayed him and broke him, but he would always wake up the next morning, alive and whole. One of the small mercies his curse of a power allowed him. Power left its marks, of course. It surged violently through his veins, leaving them dry and barren after it was gone. The heat was scorching moments before, but right now, he felt as if his blood were ice and his heart had gone into hibernation.
He shivered, numb fingers digging into the flesh of his arms as he sat in a corner, knees drawn to his chest. Despite the flurry of activities around him, Sander appeared inattentive, blue eyes glued to some spot on the floor and shaky arms wrapped around his bare torso. He was anything but, though. Every scrap of his strength was spent, but parts of his mind were still making demands. He smelled coffee, strawberries, vanilla and baked goods and fizzy drinks all rolled into a cloud of smog that threatened to choke him and made his empty stomach churned. He willed them all away, only for the room to return to the metallic stench of blood and disinfectants. However, as soon as his mind fragmented and he loosened his grip, the delectable scents returned full force, until he managed to cobble together the effort needed to banish them again.
The mental tug of war went on and on, as Sander felt his mind to tear at the seams. He needed to get out of here, and fast. Then his saviour came in the form of herbs and anise. Its smell suddenly invaded the vast space, prompting Sander to snap out of his daze long enough to catch a glimpse of dark hair and black sweater. Afterward, the scents faded almost immediately, like someone opened the window in a stuffy room. The dull, metallic scent of bagged blood remained, but its pull was something he could effectively block out. The figure left as sudden as he entered, his power and appearance did give Sander a few clues about who he was, but he couldnβt be bothered to think about that right now. He just wanted to get out of this room.
After minutes that felt like hours, the doctor finally declared them clear to leave. As a guard drew closer to unlock his cuffs, Sander rose to his feet slowly, but still leaning against the wall behind him. He held his breath all the while. Once he was free of the restraints, he bolted. Well, it was more like walked out briskly, since that was all he could manage at the time. The exhaustion was already setting in.
Some time later, somehow, Sander managed to find his way back to his dorm room. After a few minutes fumbling with the door knob, he finally got his fingers to be cooperative again and went inside. Without even bother to close the door behind him, he dragged his feet toward his assigned bed, hoping to catch sight of any new furniture. No such luck though. Everything was the same as when he left them. With a barely audible groan, he dropped into his chair, leaning back. Of course. They wouldnβt let him have it yet. There were more hoops to jump through, more tricks to perform before he could get his treats. He gritted his teeth, fingers pressing into the flesh of his arm again, though he had enough sense left not to use nails. He didnβt need the sight of blood at this moment. Not even his own. The exhaustion once again clamped down on him, so he didnβt try to fight it anymore. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes, losing himself in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
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Even darkness wouldnβt hold him. His sleep was fitful; he lost count of the times he blinked awake to the pale light streaming in through the window. Eventually, he gave up. There was no point in trying, despite the exhaustion that was still gnawing at his consciousness. Things would stay like this for the next two or three days, no matter what he did. Well, there was one thing he could do about it, but it didnβt look like Director Zhang had allowed it yet. He didnβt know if she would. Either way, he couldnβt just sit still. The withdrawal was unpleasant, but downright torturous at its peak. He wouldnβt go through that again.
Cold metal against his bare skin, a sharp contrast to the slick warmth in his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, eyes lolling, looking at everything at once and seeing nothing. It hurt, something hurt, but he didnβt know where.
Somewhere above him, she shouted, a faint whisper in his buzzing ears. He couldnβt. Never again.
After a long, steamy shower to wash away the sheen of sweat and gore on his skin, Sander began his morning routines, which mostly consisted of putting on various hair care products and rummaging through his meager luggage looking for a suitable outfit. However, a keen eye could tell he was far from rested, even after a night sleep. There were prominent bags under his eyes, his hands shook when he reached out for something, and every once in a while, he just stopped, blue eyes faraway while thin fingers gripped his forearm until the knuckles turned white. He did everything slower this morning, mainly because he needed the pacing. He couldnβt let himself be agitated. Or even worse, excited. Lawrenceβs power came to mind, but he let the thought perish. Maybe a few days, when he was more desperate. Mind-related powers were not something he enjoyed dealing with. His thoughts were barely his own most days; he didnβt need any further interference.
Regardless, he left the room as soon as he was able, but not before casting a glance in Kusariβs direction. He owed her an apology, at least, but her silence last night suggested that she might not want to hear. Or he just made that all up because he was afraid. Either way, he chose the easy way out, for now. He would deal with her once his limbs no longer felt like they had been dipped in lead and chained to the floor. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of black on Christmasβ desk. It was the blond boyβs PS Vita. The thought of Christmas brought back a host of unpleasant (though not really) memories, but it also raised the question: where was he? As far as he knew, Benediction healed everyone in that room last night, which should include the blond boy. Yet, his bed was empty. Maybe they were keeping him for additional testings. Sander stood silently for a few moments, then finally reached out for the little device, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie before leaving the room.
Long stays in hospitals were boring. Sander knew this from experience. The least he could do was making a quick delivery.
Right after he finished with his business, of course. The hospital was not something he had fond memories of.
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As Sander arrived at the Registrarβs office, it was almost noon. He had been postponing the trip, first in favour of a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee, then several more. The caffeine did little to help with his fatigue though, but it felt nice to finally have something in his stomach. Yesterday was so hectic he didnβt even have a chance to eat. They did say that eating help with your temper, or something along that line. Hopefully that would be the case.
The scent of people inside the office greeted him, sending a shiver down his spine despite the thick fabric of his hoodie. Sander had been hard pressed to find anything thick enough with long sleeves in his closet. They didnβt let him bring too much luggage. But it wasnβt like the cold bothered him anyway. Not in this stage. Once the line before him cleared, Sander made a beeline for one of the available attendants, the ID card firmly his grip.
βHello there. How ca-β βI am here about my requisition form.β-Sander cut the attendant off, tone curt but hardly hostile. At least, that was what he hoped. He was in no mood to exchange pleasantries right now, but he didnβt want to ruin anyoneβs day either.
βA-ah. Of course. Are you here to turn them in orβ¦β-The attendantβs plastic smile faltered, but he kept it up regardless. However, Sander didnβt miss how his eyes dropped briefly to the X on his neck or how his left hand moved to the edge of the table.
βThey are taking too long.β-His voice dropped. Any lower, and it would come out as a growl. He cleared his throat, gripping his forearm once again.
βRight.β- The brown-haired man adjusted his glasses, even though they were perfectly positioned. Likely a nervous tick β
βI'll need your name and ID number.β Sander gave the man the info he asked, then he waited, restless fingers twitched and curled and pressed into the flesh of his palm.
βHere it is.β- After a short moment, the attendant spoke again. From his benign expression, he obviously didnβt read what exactly were those requests. That, or he could have been working here for far too long and didnβt give a damn. β
βYour request is still being processed. I'm sure you'll get them soon.β βLook. I canβt wa-β- Sander trailed off, taking a moment to will the frown off his face β
βI have a condition. And I need my things now. I canβt wait. Please, isnβt there something you can do about it?β βI can bump your request up so you can get your items a bit earlier.β-The attendant shrugged, typing up something as he spoke β
βBut you're not getting them right now.β βThere isnβt anything else I can do.β-The man said, almost as an afterthought, a hint of uncertainty in his dark eyes. Sander didnβt miss how he slowly edged away from the panel of glass that separating them.
Sanderβs jaws worked as he considered his response. The frustration was slowly turning in rage, and once sprinkled with a hint of fear, it turned into desperation. Maybe if he caused a big enough commotion, they would learn to take him more seriously. Maybe if he broke the glass and dragged this fatass out of his boothβ¦
But he couldnβt. He wouldnβt.
Exhaling slowly, he forced a crooked smile, then left without another word.
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βπ πππππ π£ππ₯ππ π ππππ₯ππ π / / @RedDusk@January
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It wasnβt hard to find his way to the hospital. He could just follow the scent. And Christmasβ was not one he would soon forget. It must be because of the whole magical blood thing, since he knew the patterns of his thirstβs preference, and Christmas did not fit there. He might be putting the blond boy in danger just by being here. Then again, he might not. The craving remained as persistent as ever, but during the first few days of his withdrawal, he barely had the strength nor motivation to do much. Best get this over with so he could at least leave guilt in the back of his mind.
As soon as Sander placed a foot inside the hallway, one guard was already there to greet him, rifle at the ready. The guard murmured something into his phone, eyes never left Sander. However, he didnβt stop Sander, but instead just followed him around. Really, he would be surprised if they didnβt send out anyone. It didnβt matter though. As long as they didnβt deny him access.
Several doctors were hovering over the blonde boy like vultures by the time Sander arrived. By the looks of his bedhead and bleary eyes, he had only just woken up--or been woken up--and he was currently looking between the doctors with wide-eyed, fearful stares while they talked around him like he wasn't there.
"We'll need the Director's permission before we can do anything extensive," a stocky, balding doctor informed the other two, a taller man with graying hair and an equally short, pudgy woman.
"We're up to our necks in injured subnaturals. His blood can heal almost anything in high enough quantities! Are you really going to pass this up just because the Director hasn't cleared our request to keep him?" "She has a point," the taller man agreed, albeit reluctantly.
"Even the Director would be hard-pressed to argue against how effective this subnatural could be here rather than on the front lines." "You misunderstand me. I'd like to keep both of the new healers here indefinitely, but we can only wait on the results of the request form. A little silly that we all have to submit request forms--you'd think she'd prioritize us over the subnaturals like they do at West, but oh well. Of course, I've attached a comprehensive analysis of the benefits in keeping the blood healer here, at least. If she must risk a healer on the front lines, I'd rather it be the other one." "A shame we couldn't convince her to let us keep the previous healer--that boy with the needles," the woman replied, sizing Christmas up like she was comparing the two in her head.
"Didn't help that that one was about as cooperative as a subdural hematoma." She sniffed testily before adding,
"We still might have been approved if that Shane boy hadn't submitted a similar request. And of course she gives the healer to her prized pet." "You probably won't give us that much trouble, will you? No sudden interference from the Director's pet this time, right?" the balding doctor prodded Christmas with what was supposed to be a playful poke.
From the way the boy shrank away, the extended finger might as well have been a hot fire poker.
Seething rage bubbled up in Sanderβs chest. But they had always treated subnaturals like weapons. Getting angry wouldnβt change that. Killing wouldnβt change that; instead, it would only confirm to them of his kindβs monstrous nature. So he swallowed his anger, instead just coughed loudly as he entered the room.
β
Ah.β- He pulled on the collar of his shirt, drawing attention to the large X that marred his skin ββ
Sorry. Did I interrupt something?β
"Who--" the female doctor stopped when she saw the X on his throat, but quickly regained her composure.
"We're discussing something right now, subnatural. Leave or we'll call the guards.""...Sander...?" Christmas's voice was barely audible under the woman's retort, but despite his fear of Sander, he feared the doctors and their hawkish gazes far more. Between his potentially murderous, blood-sucking roommate and the hospital staff, he found himself trusting the former more. Were he less frightened, he would have found the choice disturbing.
β
Donβt worry, the guards are already here.β-Sander offered the woman a thin lipped smile, far too exhausted to try for something more genuine.-β
I just want to see my friend. Nothing too disruptive, I promise. You donβt actually need him for your discussion, do you?β
"On the contrary, he's quite important to the discussion. I'm afraid you'll have to talk to your...'friend' some other time."They were always like this. Not all of them of course. Just the jailors. Just the tormentors. They thought they were better than the subnaturals, just because they fitted in with the norm. But Sander knew better than let the situation escalate into violence.
β
Understood.β-He shrugged, before turning to leave- β
I will wait outside then.β
Christmas made a noise between a cry and a gasp as Sander turned to leave. He knew what this was, between the doctors' perfect smiles and quiet agreement even as they offered lip service to the Director's rules. He didn't want to be left alone with them. He had run away to escape endless smiles and icy terror, not to embrace them under a different form. It was irrational, he knew. They would treat him well if they wanted to use him, but he was afraid all the same.
Christmasβ whimper caught Sander off guard. He froze midstep, turning to look over his shoulder. The blond boyβs frightful gaze reminded him so much of what he used to see in the mirror. Sander could never fully understand the boyβs fear, but he knew enough what it was like to live under the intrusive gaze of these researchers. However, there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there? He didnβt really want to find out. Instead, he just offered Christmas a somewhat apologetic smile, then hastily exited the room.
He had to wait. Fortunately, Sander was nothing if patient. Especially when the unnatural sluggishness plagued his senses and exhaustion threatened to collapse his bones. Out of sheer stubbornness, he remained standing for the first fifteen minutes or so, leaning heavily against the wall. However, after a while, seeing as how the researchers wouldnβt be finished anytime soon, he figured he should make himself comfortable. Or as comfortable as he could when the skin of his arms felt like there were bugs burrowing under it. So he slid down, back against the wall and legs sprawled out in front of him. A bump in the front pocket of his hoodie reminded that he still had Christmasβ gaming device, so out of pure curiosity, he took it out to have a look. Usually, Sander would have frowned upon such a gross invasion of privacy. The students barely had any to begin with, anyway. But he figured a quick look wouldnβt hurt, and he desperately needed something to take his attention away from the incessant buzzing in his head.
After a few minutes fiddling with the device, Sander finally got it working and managed to open up a game. It was a text-based game, thankfully since his fine motor control skills had all gone to hell, featuring what seemed to be giant robots and anime girls. His eyes glazed over every so often and he barely remembered half the choices he made, but he decided to keep playing regardless, determined to burn whatever time he had left. It was not like he had anything better to do.
Later, the group of researchers left, but they took Christmas with them. Sander quirked an eyebrow at that, but he followed anyway, from a respectful distance of course, so no one would get jumpy. He cast a glance back at the guard who had been trailing his steps all this time. Sincethe opportunity was there anyway, he also filed the scents of all the researchers in his memory. Just in case.
They moved from rooms to rooms, the myriads of savoury scents made him grimace, but that was it. Between his fatigue and the threat from the guardβs readied rifle, he found his craving far easier to reign in. Eventually, the researchers went in a room, then left. No Christmas in tow. He waited until their lab coats disappeared into the distance, before poking his head in the room, looking for his roommate.
Christmas was sitting on the bed, a fresh pad of gauze strapped to his left arm, on the inside of his elbow.
They had brought him around to help the worst of the injured students, and he couldn't truly fault them for that. He was terrified, of course, that they had plans to keep him there essentially forever, but could he really argue with the logic behind it? He had no place on a battlefield. His last performance had been more than enough indication of that.
He plucked at the hem of his ruined shorts, too lost in thought to notice Sander peeking in.
The scent hit him as soon as he entered, but Sander was prepared. He switched off his ability immediately, and focused on keeping it off. That strategy worked, to some degree, though he still finding himself eyeing the patch of gauze on the blond boy's arm. He resumed the grip on his forearm momentarily, before making his way toward his roommate.
"
Hey."-He greeted, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie to retrieve the black PS Vita. Of course, he had taken the time to wipe all of his save games, and just erased any trace of him using in general. Hopefully the boy wouldn't notice -"
How are you holding up?"
Christmas flinched at the sound of a voice pulling him from his idle contemplation. The doctors had told him to wait there, so he had expected their return--not Sander's appearance.
His first instinct was fear--the last waking memory he had of his roommate was the raw agony in his wrist, the knee against his stomach, and the undeniable sense that he would die. His second instinct was to flee when Sander's hand withdrew into the pocket of the hoodie.
His third instinct was to answer the question, because someone was talking to him and
good boys answer questions honestly, Christmas.Despite the efficient heating system in the hospital building, goosebumps dotted his skin.
Without meeting Sander's eyes, he answered with a murmur of
"I'm...okay."Only then did the realization fully hit him that it had been a
battlefield. Other people had been there. Where were they? Was it a victory? Did Sander know?
He chanced a quick look at Sander's face and froze. His roommate looked haggard, eyes weighed down with bags and complexion pale enough to blend in with the hospital walls.
"Are..." he gulped down the stammer and tried again.
"Are you okay?"Sander knew he wasn't the shinning picture of good health right now, but he didn't think it was so bad that other people began to notice. Or Christmas was just trying to be polite. He would just assume the latter and act as if nothing was wrong for now. They didn't need to know about his...condition.
"
I'm..."-He paused, closing that final distances with a few last steps until he was right at Christmas' bed side.-"
I will be. Don't worry."
With that said, Sander took out the gaming device and handed it over his roommate. Only then, he noticed how badly his hand shook. A pang of panic bloomed in his chest, prompting him to withdraw his hand and dropping the device unceremoniously on the hospital bed. He hastily shoved both of his hands back into the pocket of his hoodie, before lifting his gaze to look at Christmas.
Christmas didn't have the chance to back away as Sander closed the distance between them, and before the panic reflex set in, Sander pulled out...his Vita?
"
Sorry. Thought I bring something over for you to pass the time."-He quickly tried to divert the blond boy's attention, switching the topic. -"
Did they let you leave yet?"
It was several rounds of mood whiplash and enough blinks and stares to almost be Morse code before Christmas finally grasped the basic use of words again.
"You brought my Vita?" he asked like it wasn't obvious.
He picked it up carefully, looking between the handheld console and Sander like it might be booby trapped. When the device was snugly in both hands with no strings attached, the tension in his face relaxed with a faint upturn of his lips and a slight raise of his cheeks.
"Thank you."Another blink reminded him, beyond the surprise of the gesture, that Sander's trembling hand had almost dropped the thing.
He nibbled on the inside of his lower lip for a second, fussing with his thoughts and coming up blank on ways to be subtle about asking. He had felt Sander's strength firsthand. There was no way he was all right. But he had insisted...
The Vita's weight in his hand was a silly thing in the scope of it all, but he had missed it--the reality of having a--Sander had called him a 'friend.'
"Are you okay?" he asked again, raising his eyes as much as he dared. The compromise was Sander's chin.
"
I'm fine" was the first words out of Sander's lips. Despite the fact that he was not fine. He was 10 shades of fucked up and his jaws hurt from all the clenching and he wasn't sure what game Zhang was playing at but he didn't want to play it at all.
He was not fine.The blond boy was unexpectedly persistent, but so was Sander. He remained silent for a few moments afterward. The boy could have meant well, but it was not something Sander enjoyed discussing, so he would not. -"
I am fine." -He repeated, mustering up the most convincing smile he could manage.-"
It's just the exhaustion. I will sleep it off later."-Not really though, despite his effort. But Christmas didn't need to know that.
"
Are you hungry?"-After a short pause, Sander spoke up again in another attempt to change the topic.-"
I'm heading to the cafeteria soon."
"They said I was supposed to wait here..." Christmas responded, though the talk of food reminded him that he
was hungry, actually.
Something jiggled in his mind--not quite clicking and not quite connecting. And he remembered the Director's words about Sander, saw again the Sander on the battlefield, recalled the hardness of teeth against his open wound. The hand that wouldn't let go. The grip like iron. The eyes that had burned a feverish red in the night.
Click.His voice was a whisper when he found the question that he hadn't realized was on the tip of his tongue until now.
"...Do you need blood?"It was Sander's turn to break eye contact. Well, one-sided eye contact of course, since the blond boy wouldn't even look at his face. Regardless, he looked away, eyes focusing on the wall on the far side of the room. Anywhere but the white patch on his roommate's arm. But what brought Christmas to such conclusion? Sander was confused. Did he look that bad? Was it because of the
change? It was never like this before.
"
No."-Swallowing the panic that threatened to break his voice, he spoke. His tone was neutral, but it was firm, brokering no argument.
He waited a short moment, then continued, speech back to normal this time-"
You heard them before, didn't you? They didn't have permission to keep you here."
Yet. But he left that unsaid.
"
If you are worried, just return later. They wouldn't even know it."
"Come on. They won't even notice."
Christmas blinked away the thought with a frown.
Sander had seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion and Christmas shoved any remaining thoughts about it away. It was just a hunch, from the way Sander had behaved in the dorms and on the battlefield, but he wondered if maybe he had offended his roommate with the ghastly pseudo-offer. Everyone could have an off day, right? Drinking blood to get stronger was...intense, but he had seen subnaturals do crazier things before on television. Maybe it was nothing more than Sander's discomfort with his power in general.
βIt does not matter to me where it comes from.β
He pulled at the corner of his shirt. His shredded shirt. His tattered shorts. Sander was right about the doctors. But they had been right about his worth in the hospital, too. Christmas looked up at last, meeting Sander's eyes tentatively.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Um...could we head back to the dorms first...s-sorry," he pulled at his shirt for emphasis.
Grateful that the blond boy didn't push the question, the tension in Sander shoulders melt as he offered his roommate a more genuine smile. "
Sure, let's go."-He said, turning to leave.
The torn shirt drew his attention, which led Sander to debate whether he should lend Christmas his hoodie. He should, but he wasn't sure the boy was even cold. Everywhere felt cold to him right now, so he didn't want to assume. In the end, he decided to keep his coat on. No need to make this weird anyway.
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The walk back to the dorms was silent, and Christmas did his best to not shiver in the cold September air wisping across the open quad. He had been applying for colleges before the mark had appeared on his face, major undeclared, uncertain about the future and scared of the world at large. It surprised him how much had changed in just a week. And all while he had remained pathetically the same.
In the flurry of events between turning himself in and now, he hadn't given himself the time to think about it all. Certainly wasn't going to start now.
He hadn't noticed when his walking pace had increased, but where he had been following Sander's lead from a respectful distance before, he was now right behind the other boy. Consciously slowing down as they entered the dorm building and took the elevator up, Christmas fiddled with the ribbon in his hair, pulling it off as they reached the third floor.
Other students were milling about the dorms, but most kept to themselves, whispering about the events of the night before and speculating about the disappearance of some forum.
It all went over his head as they entered their empty suite.
"Where's...um..." he had forgotten her name and that guilt nagged at him, too. She had even cleaned up his lip in the aftermath of orientation and he hadn't even found the semblance of mind to remember her name. Selfish of him. Wrong of him. Always wrong of him.
"Where's our other roommate?" he asked instead, hunching down to look through his duffel bag.
Sander clutched the thick fabric of his sleeves as he walked, eyes strained to stay on the path. It was quite fortunate that he had taken time to memorize the way around campus, considering the fact that Christmas was quite content to let him lead. It would have been quite embarrassing to stumble about aimlessly, not to mention tiring as well. All that standing had taken its toll. Once they arrived at the relative safety of their shared suite, Sander headed straight toward his chair and sank down, leaning over to hide his uneven breathing.
There went his plan to hit the track tomorrow. Maybe it would be better if he just stayed inside. Maybe if he began to break something, they would notice. But would they care?
Christmas' question pulled him back to reality, interrupting his increasingly grisly thoughts."
Huh?"- He mumbled dumbly as he turned his head -"
Oh, you mean Kusari? She just left earlier."
Pausing for a moment, he continued, voice suddenly soft, almost tentative -"
I guess she is still mad about...yesterday."
Christmas stopped, a small bundle of clothes in his arms as Sander mentioned "yesterday." He had placed the Vita down nearby almost reverently, still simmering with an undercurrent of pleasant surprise that someone had even bothered. It had been a while since anyone had bothered. A while since he could even pretend to expect things that seemed like friendship.
"Um..." he scratched at the fabric of the clothes. Deciding against broaching the topic of "yesterday" until Sander was feeling better, he shuffled towards the bathroom instead.
Inside, he pulled off his torn shirt and shorts in favor of a gray, long-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts. There weren't any extra shoes, unfortunately, so he couldn't replace the nicked sneakers on his feet. With a quick sigh, he eyed the ribbon he still clutched in his hand, turning on the faucet and soaking the length of cloth in the water. It probably needed to soak longer before he could try scrubbing out the stains, but he didn't want to leave it behind.
The blood stains wouldn't come out with just water, as he thought, but at least a lot of the dirt did.
When he had done as much as he could for the beleaguered fabric, he wrung the excess water out of it and tied the damp ribbon back into his hair. A shower would have been nice, but Sander was waiting. Some small giddiness tiptoed into his overall trepidation about Sander's behavior and Christmas emerged from the bathroom with his torn clothes in hand and a hesitant smile. His face was still specked with bits of dirt from the night before, but that didn't seem to bother him.
Sander had a thing for impeccable appearance. It wasn't that he was a neat freak. Not really. But
she had always liked it when he was, so he made a habit out of it. Even now, when his thoughts were train wrecks and his mind was scrambled, he kept his clothes tidied and fresh. So it was understandable that Christmas' appearance did make him wince a bit. Internally, of course. He didn't need to look like a condescending fuck. There was no helping the boy's sneakers, since Sander's were probably two size too big for him. But once his eyes caught the torn clothes, the bloody memories of their previous battle came rushing back.
Fire in his limbs. In his eyes. Down his throat. Clutching his heart.It did not help that he always remembered everything in perfect details. Even when the thirst was choking his mind.
"
If you need a shirt or two, tell me. I have a few to spare."-He said quickly, bracing one hand against the desk to pull himself up. The freckles of dirt on Christmas' face was bothering him, and for a moment, he almost reached out, but decided against it at the last minute.
Gross invasion of privacy, he told himself.-"
All done?"-He said instead, walking past the blond boy to reach the door.
Christmas nodded despite the fact Sander's back was to him. He grabbed his ID card and fell into step behind his roommate, the behavior almost automatic from old habits.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πΉπ¦ππππππ π»: π»πππππ βπππ / / ~ππ3π
The cafeteria was everything he expected. Even at this hours, there were still people milling about. Most didn't even give the pair of them a second glance, so Sander just strolled right in, giving the man behind the lobby counter his ID card to scan. Christmas followed suit. The aromas of food was reminding Sander of his hunger, but he still couldn't really work up an appetite. Really, there was only one thing he wanted at this moment, and Zhang made it clear she wanted to dangle it in front of him for a few more days. Still, he was here to get food. Might as well. Maybe if he shoved enough food down his throat, the craving might actually subside.
They sat down at a table in the corner, a distance away from most others eating there.
"Um..." Christmas looked around at the displays of food and the people eating nearby.
"I can get the...food..." he looked at Sander in case this was somehow not all right.
Sander looked almost surprised at that offer, but quickly composed himself. He glanced at the food displays, pondering his options. No utensil. Christmas would definitely ask if the blond boy witnessed him struggling to even get food in his mouth. So there weren't many options left.-"
That's great. Just get me a sandwich. Please. Thank you."- He smiled, then added -"
Maybe a cup of coffee as well, if they haven't run out yet."
It took Christmas three trips to get everything Sander asked--and then some. One large plate piled with three foot-long, BLT subs, a mug with black coffee, and another large plate stacked with extra-rare, bleeding steaks.
βIt does not matter to me where it comes from.β
He was...curious if his hunch was right, but otherwise wouldn't mind eating the food himself. A bit of guilt nagged at him for pulling something slightly underhanded in what he thought was a helping gesture. If he was wrong, it wouldn't be a problem, right?
And if he was right.... Actually, he hadn't thought that far ahead.
Sander was beginning to wonder why Christmas kept coming and going back to the displays. The question was on his lips, but eventually, he didn't need to ask. When the blond boy came back with the plate of bleeding steaks, Sander had to clench his jaws to keep from wincing. He grabbed the steamy mug of coffee to hide his grimace, though when he held it up to drink, his shaky grip became very noticeable. Knowing this, he only took a quick gulp and placed it down, reaching for the sandwich.
What concerned him was the blond boy's intention. What was he trying to pull?
"
So..."-He said, swallowing his first bite of bread and bacon -"
You must be hungry."
Despite his neutral tone, Sander's eyes were glued to the bleeding pieces of meat. Cow blood hardly interested him much; he just found its color mesmerising. But the smell was wrong.
A snap, and he caught himself. His blue eyes turned back to Christmas, watching the blond boy's carefully.
"Um..." Christmas quailed at the stare.
"A-actually..."He looked around like he was trapped.
"I..."Lying was hard. Always had been. Even for small things.
"I'm not...that hungry," he finally admitted.
Sensing his roommate's discomfort, Sander softened his gaze, instead switched his focus on his meal. The bread was far too dry for his taste, but he didn't dare to pick up the coffee cup again. Maybe he should've asked for straws next time.
"
It's fine."-He shrugged, placating the blond boy. His mind churned with thoughts, trying discerning Christmas' motives. What was he trying to do? Was this a test? Or did the boy just make an attempt to give Sander what he thought he wanted?-"
You can use the extra nutrients."
Especially after what Sander did to him yesterday. Fortunately for both of them, Benediction was on hand at that time, or else... Well, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't make the habit of meeting with people after his blood rage. He honestly didn't know how to act around them. Would a simple apology cut it?
He doubted it.
"I--um--I was wondering if..." he stopped talking, fumbling with the words in his mind.
"If you...actually needed blood after all," Christmas confessed the last part in a barely audible whisper.
Sander remained silent for the longest time afterward, just chewing through his food while keeping his eyes on the table.
"
...Always."- He finally mumbled moments later, eyes still glued to his pale hands.
"O-oh," Christmas responded lamely as the answer he wasn't ready for came out.
He poked at the plate of steaks for a long, silent minute.
"...How come you won't...eat this then?" he looked up at Sander before looking quickly back down.
"Not enough."-Sander responded curtly. It was not something he felt comfortable discussing. That wasn't hard to tell from the way he suddenly stopped eating and contented to just stare at his hands instead.
Red eyes in the night and icy terror, and even deeper than that...a wish to be that strong. But a plate of meat wasn't enough for the trade. Too cheap for what he was bartering for.
Christmas had a guess for what would be "enough." He had a guess and a steak knife. And he thought it'd be fair this way. The weight of the Vita in his hands before was such a small thing. But it lingered in his mind like a lure. "Friend" was a frightening word for him. He very much wanted one--at costs he didn't want to fathom, terrified of that equivalent trade he saw as "friendship." But in the fresh torment that was this new reality of monsters and destruction, he feared "isolation" more.
Coexistence or dependency? He had always chosen the latter for himself in that false dichotomy.
Christmas pressed his index finger against the unused knife's edge, drawing a thin, short cut of blood that stung and made him wince.
But he held out his hand to Sander after the initial flicker of pain ebbed into a steady presence.
"...So what's...enough?" he asked quietly.
The scent hit him first. Even with a cup of coffee nearby, its aroma still paled in comparison to what his nose managed to pick up. He looked up from his folded hands, and the first thing he noticed was the oozing cut on his roommate's finger. The scent was almost overwhelming, but he managed to cobble up what left of his willpower and blocked it out, almost biting his tongue off in the process.
"
No..."-The word escaped his lips as his eyes widened, cracks began to spread across the facade he took so long to perfect. He remembered Christmas' whimpers beneath his hands. He remembered the sting of Kusari's knife on his flesh. He couldn't do this. Not yet. Not here. Hadn't he hurt them enough? Just because he didn't have the will to stop when it mattered?
"
Please don't."-He reached out, catching Christmas' bleeding finger in both hands and pressing it against the fabric of his sleeve. Thank god he wore long sleeves today.-"
Don't do this. Don't."- He repeated again and again, fear evident in blue eyes.
Christmas looked up then, cornflower blue eyes meeting Sander's stormy gaze.
βThis way, we're even.β
"This way, we're even," he said softly.
β
W-What?β-Sander frowned, thoroughly confused. His grip on the blond boyβs unintentionally tightened ββ
You donβt owe me anythingβ¦β
His mind raced as he racked through the chaotic current of his thoughts to figure out what could possibly make Christmas want to βget evenβ with him. In the end, he came up empty-handed. He had been nothing but a menace to his roommate ever since they met. He almost growled at the poor boy on their first meeting. And the battle afterward was a disaster. What could Christmas possibly owe him?
β
I donβt get it.β- He spoke up again, this time finally noticing his death grip on the blond boyβs hand. He quickly loosened it, but still kept the injured finger in his left hand while reaching out to snatch the steak knife away from the blond boy. There wasnβt really a point in hiding how badly his hands shook anymore. ββ
You donβt want to do this. You have seen me. I canβt stop. I wonβt.β
β
Please.β-He finally added after a short pause, while pushing Christmasβ hand away.
Christmas watched Sander's hand shake in its movements, watched his resolution falter. What was he pushing for? Something like friendship. Something like disaster. And apaprently he'd pay in advance for it.
"If...if you don't kill me," he looked at Sander's trembling arm.
"I won't mind."β
But I do.β- Sander responded immediately, almost hastily. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as Christmas ββ
I know myself, Christmas. And I do mind if you put yourself in danger like this.β
His grip on the blond boy loosened further, but he didnβt let go. He didnβt dare to. The bleeding had slowed, he could tell, but the temptation was still there. Of course, he wanted a second taste. He just needed a small gulp. Just enough to take the lethargy out of his limbs. He missed the rush, and more than anything, he was afraid of the crash. He knew where his withdrawal was taking him, and he wasnβt sure he could handle hitting the bottom of the abyss again.
But he didnβt want to hurt anyone. He didnβt. The murderous urges, the blinding anger,
the monstrous glee, that wasnβt him. Or at least, that what he would like to believe.
β
I will be fine. Donβt worry. The Director is sending me moreβ¦supplement. I donβt need to take it from you.β- He tried to reassure the blond boy, finding it easier to form words now that the bleeding had subsided ββ
Please, relax. Eat something.β
Despite what he said, Sander kept the steak knife on his side of the table.
For a while, Christmas didn't respond, eyes still following the unsteady movements of Sander's hands.
He wondered if he had run away because he hated that place or the person he was becoming in that place. The person he was still becoming here.
"Okay," he finally agreed.
Satisfied with Christmasβ response and far too drained by the recent events to put proper thoughts into anything, Sander turned back to his meal, trying his best to finish the sandwich. With just one hand of course. His left hand was currently clenching the knife white-knuckled and Sander shoved the utensil into the pocket of his hoodie, to avoid any possible complications. Eventually, he just gave up and began to gulp down lukewarm coffee between bites, getting food down his throat as fast as possible. Once that was over with, he sat patiently until Christmas was finished with his meal. The blond boy didnβt seem to be interested in making anymore conversation, so Sander left him be. He could use a little bit of peace and quiet himself.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / π»π π£π πΉπ¦ππππππ πΈ: ππ¦ππ₯π πππ / / ~ππππ
After late lunch, he went back to the dorm with Christmas in tow. His roommate had been utterly silent after the strange conversation, so he just suggested a shower and went back to hunching over his desk. Soon enough, he found himself reaching into his pocket to retrieve the steak knife from earlier. The same knife Christmas used to cut his hand, and later, Sander had slipped it past the guards on their way out. He stared at the shiny steel surface, watching his reflection in the blade: blue eyes, pale face, brown hair. Then his eyes stopped on the smear of blood on the cutting edge. Christmas. He could tell from the scent alone. He hesitated at first. He always did. Then he leaned in, closing his lips around the blade.
It was just a little bit. He wasnβt hurting anyone.
And it was not enough. The miniscule amount did nothing to satisfy his thirst. Barely a fragment of heat down his throat. Barely a skip in his heart. If anything, it only agitated him. Rousing the craving for
more. He gritted his teeth, shoving the knife in one of the drawers of his desk. That was when he noticed the dark stain on his left sleeve. The blood had already dried up by then, but Sander still tried to get what he could out of it. Which was not much.
Christmas emerged from the shower as silently as he had gone in, eyes still looking at something that was neither here nor there. He dressed himself in the same clothes he had pulled out prior to the meal and exited the bathroom just as he finished tying the ruined ribbon back into his hair. He spared Sander one fearful glance with a hint of vague expectation before looking away.
Was it Sander he saw when he looked at his roommate? He wouldn't answer that question directly, even to himself.
No, he hadn't changed at all. Still latching on to people to hide from his own fears.
The sound of the bathroom opening caught Sander off guard. He lowered the stained sleeve immediately and looked over his shoulder, only to catch sight of Christmas emerging from the shower. His lips parted to form words, but his mind quickly caught up.
His eyes.
He hastily turned back to the table, pretending to be very interested in a scrap of paper.
β
Sorry, but I think youβll have to walk back to the hospital on your own. Iβm not feeling too good.β- He said, though it didnβt take much for his voice to sound tired. He actually was.-β
Donβt forget your Vita.β -He added before falling silent.
A glimmer of acknowledgment reminded Christmas that the lure of small kindnesses remained and that he saw too easily the people he wanted to use as crutches for his own crippling incompetence. That undiluted fear that ate away at him from every angle had once again found the one juncture that had always worked in the past: his need for others to rely on.
Running away had been two steps forward in some random direction he had hoped was right, and this--this mistake he was about to make here--would be ten steps backwards. So he took the only route available before he hit another bad end.
He picked up the Vita and ran away.
Mixtape Ghost N
