Chapter Text
Blood has never been easy to wash off.
It stains, it leaves a mark.
Tsukishima wipes the sweat off his neck, feeling the red fluid drip down from his knuckles to his nails. When blood falls onto the ground, a life is exchanged. Death to coddle lost, knives to fill the empty space in his arms. Tsukishima remembers Tadashi. Tsukishima remembers the lab partner that nags him everyday, bothers him everyday. Tsukishima wouldn’t admit outloud–that he actually appreciated Tadashi’s presence–but when the warmth is lost, Tsukishima utters out a single wish,Tadashi, I want you back near me.
My mind is so fogged without the sunlight from your smile.
Jesus, I sound pathetic.
It’s so loud and silent at the same time, it never ends.
If I take another soul, would it exchange for yours?
The loud scream is cut off when the man falls, his head going limp on Tsukishima’s shoes.The head of blond hair is stained with red, the lean figure towers over the dead. Tsukishima’s ragged breath shakes his ribs, the knife still clasped around his fingers. The remnants of life lingers in Tsukishima’s heart. The guilt. It smells. It’s messy, gross, full of grief. It smells, it’s an intoxicating stimulus that rattles Tsukishima’s neurons. It’s cold, breezy even. It makes every single nerve on his body stand up on guard, his adrenaline pumped to the max. It makes him feel alive, it keeps his brain conscious after what had happened to Tadashi.
Killing people makes him feel alive.
He tilts his head, his ears catching the faint thump-thump-thump. The victim of his grief takes their last staggering breath, their heartbeat going faint. It exchanges for his own. His heart beats faster in adrenaline, his ears soaking in the silence stolen from the poor victim’s hands.
“You there! Who are you?!” The loud scream wakes him up into a running fit. Tsukishima drops the knife as he values his identity more. The guard chases after Tsukishima, his foot tripping over an arm. “Huh–my foot–a pipe?” the man’s breath quickens, his eyes darting, “Whose… Whose hand is this?!” a choked yell is squeezed out of the officer’s throat.
A chunk of pink meat meets the officer’s foot, its skin ripped–a nerving clean white humerus bone—the torn arm drips with blood.“What—Young man get back here!” As a command, the words come out shaky.
Tsukishima’s back meets the walls on the unwelcoming facility with a bang. The fluorescent light hits the back of his eyes. His vision reddens at the memory of the soul he took. The facility’s rigid structure reminds him to conceal–conceal the growing lust disguised as revenge. It’s for Tadashi, he thinks. I’m not taking a liking to murder.
He brushes his hair back, trying to push the memories away–like always.
He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back. He wants Tadashi back.