Hannii

The wind blew from the north, chilling and freezing tonight. Sky, pitch black, no stars at sight.

Light illuminated from inside the building, a huge contrast to the darkness that seemed to envelope almost everything.

The air grew colder, whipping and sending your hair flying as if synchronizing to the heartbeat of your cold, detached heart.

Angelic, they say.

But your heart's just as dark as the sky,

‘Malicious’ is what you are.

‘Angelic’ because your tone sounds melodic—too innocent.

‘Angelic’ because your smile looks sweet—too intoxicating.

‘Angelic’ because of pretty privileges.

The concept of an angel to everyone seems to be a beautiful person, probably with wings or as long as you look perfect.

As long as you fit the concept of a wise, kind and gorgeous Angel, they'd never doubt what you did wrong.

Because you're Angelic.

That never failed to make you scoff internally, but despite finding that compliment ridiculous, you kept the facade.

You kept the composure, the tone, and the act.

Because,

Sat beside you, on the rooftop, was your target, or rather, what you call your ‘next victim’.

Completely vulnerable, hands shivering from the cold, and mind a chaotic mess. Leaning to you like you're his only ally—his only companionship, the only one who could actually see through him, despite being tangled up like a knot.

You hummed, listening intently as he confided what he felt about the mess stirring within him to you.

Zanka's voice sounded breathless, he's frustrated, disappointed, and sad all at once. His voice gruff as he continues to speak without a break.

He spat words, though unable to pick the right ones at times, he'd continue talking, most of the time you'd cut him off was only to suggest the best word that explains what he feels.

He doesn't normally overshare, it's not even in his nature to be this chatty, but it seems like you had successfully got close enough to make him let his guard down like this.

And that's exactly what you wanted,

Because that means you're this close now to play with his strings.

Pull and pluck some whenever you want,

Tug and cut some whenever you please.

“Everyone says they understand, but they really don't. And you? Yer honest enough to not tell me ya’ do.”

“Hmm, maybe because… I don’t? I don't understand what it feels," you paused, turning to him with that same soft smile.

“But I'm willing to listen and try to understand what you feel from your perspective."

You noticed the way his eyes softened just a fraction, his lips parting, pupils dilating as if he just saw something in you.

You assumed that he probably thinks you're being sincere, and inside, you're already insulting him for being so naive.

“It's fine to feel that way, Zanka. No one's perfect." You told him, voice dripping like honey as your face hovered near his.

“Your efforts are enough, you don't have to prove yourself to everyone, as long as one believes in you, that should be enough."

You flashed another stretched smile, sweeter than the last one.

What you didn't caught, is the way Zanka's eyes narrowed at you. Navy blue eyes staring at you as if trying to figure out what's beneath the surface.

“Do ya' believe in me?”

"Yes."

"I don't believe ya’." Your breath caught at the sudden sharpness of his tone, and here Zanka is, looking at you like he had already stripped off every layer of your personality.

"What?” You played it off with a laugh, "Well, that's fine, you don't have to believe anyone after all.”

"Stop playin’ innocent." That made you blink, actually taken aback. Does he actually—

"Tch, and here I am lettin’ myself bare in front of ya'. Stop with that fake kindness shit, be for real." He paused, but just before his face started inching towards you.

“Yer only seein’ me like this because I let ya’, so let me see the real ‘you’ too."

Your eyes squinted, lips slowly curving into an amused grin.

Maybe, you had completely underestimated the boy in front of you.

He had keen eyes, but what you weren't prepared for was even when you had him all vulnerable, he's still on guard.

A spark of interest lit up inside you, holding back a smirk that threatened to lift beneath your sweet, angelic veneer.

Secrets were secrets.

They are kept hushed and private for a reason.

Because one slip of one's tongue could ruin everything.

You never knew how he did it, you never knew how Zanka made you… comfortable. Comfortable enough to take off the mask.

Comfortable enough to let your own guard down.

And, comfortable enough to be fairly real.

You thought that you're still on the right track, you thought that you're still playing the game that you've always won alongside your brother.

But little did you know, something real had been budding—growing. Something that contradicts whatever you still think was part of the plan.

Because,

Letting out the real you, wasn't part of the plan.

Showing what was the interior wasn't in the picture either,

And, his lips, kissing yours with such passion—loving your mouth now is against all the rules that you set yourself.

Especially the erratic drumming of your heart? That's not supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to exist. Falling in love wasn't in the plan.

“Stay detached." Your brother reminded.

But all of these rules you learned and forcibly shoved multiple times in your head,

All dissolves when Zanka finally stands in front of you.

When his face hovered near yours, when his lips found yours and when his hands intertwine with yours—

All thoughts disappear. Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. What do, is the feeling of his chest pressed just right against yours, both hearts synching—following each other's rhythm.

And at this moment, you're real. The feelings were real, the kiss was real, yet it all felt surreal.

"Mhmm—” a low pleased sound vibrated out of his throat while his fingers pressed against your skin, under your shirt.

Zanka started trailing kisses down your neck, and you've never felt something as good as this.

"Tsk, getting comfortable, are we?” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, but you offered more of your neck, which Zanka quickly took advantage of.

"Maybe, can ya' blame me for feelin’ safe?"

Your hand stilled against his chest, the other retracting from his face.

Safe?

He feels safe?

That sentence should have made the sick, cruel part of you twist with amusement, it should've made the smug part of you curse him for being so stupid.

But no.

Instead, you felt guilty.

"Ya’ know?” Zanka paused, one hand cupping your left cheek and forehead resting against yours.

“Sometimes I look at ya’ and think that ya' might not be real,”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

"Yer like an Angel. Ya' heal somethin’ in me, and everytime I touch ya’? I feel like I'm touchin’ something holy.”

That word again.

Your lips pressed together in a straight line, the air suddenly felt thick, almost suffocating in a way it could choke.

Your hands?

The same hands that had dragged others to darkness, the same hands that had originally been weaponized to destroy the very person, in front of you, holding them—suddenly felt heavy, filthy, and entirely unholy.

Because, no, you're not holy. You're greedy, and sins have enveloped your whole being fully.

And you're sent to ruin him,

supposedly.

You pulled back, the butterflies in your stomach disappearing, now it felt hollow, empty—guilty.

“Don't," you choked out.

Breaking eye contact sharply, Zanka blinked in confusion—confused of what he might've said wrong.

You smiled, the same one that doesn't reach your eyes, "Don't call me that. You don't know what you're talking about.”

You'd never really notice how loud a clock ticks until you're the only one left to hear it.

Where a room that you thought was cramped suddenly feels like a whole desert.

And that's exactly what a lone boy feels right now.

Your name is all that screams in Zanka's heart, your presence might have been present during that last passionate kiss that one night,

But tonight, all Zanka feels is the cold, empty spot on the couch in the common room, that should've been warm and dipping with your weight.

A lone man yearning for a girl full of wonders, even as questions swirled inside his ever wondering heart—Zanka pushed the feeling aside.

Because all he wanted was to savor what was left with you.

There's a reason you're being secretive, and secrets aren't always to be accepted. So he ignored it. ‘Let it pass. He let it go.

If this secret was so bad that you'd have to hide the real you and only let a few, then Zanka would keep his eyes shut, be blind with the truth.

Zanka would keep his mouth zipped, be mute even if he knew.

Zanka would cover his ears, be deaf, just to keep you.

Just to keep whatever this was between you. Just to keep your pretty lips against his, and just so you'd keep straddling his hips.

Yet you never came along,

He doesn't believe the rumors that you died on a mission.

You wouldn't. That he was sure of.

Zanka knew, you're there somewhere. Hiding? No, someone's trying to keep Zanka away.

Away from his love.

“What did I say?" A pained cry came out of your throat.

"You never listen.” another muffled wail.

“What a pain you are, sister. I thought you were capable enough to be let alone. Turns out, you’d fold fast with no assistance.”

Tamsy played around with his vital instrument, almost playfully, adjusting the tightness of the silk threads every so often—taking his time with his punishment.

“Maybe if you listen to my warnings, I wouldn't have to punish you. I gave you enough time to ponder your actions,” Tears fell down the saturated tiles, your body still high up on the second floor.

“I gave you enough time to think whether you're still in line. I gave you enough time to fix what you've wronged."

Your brother continued to speak, using that innocent tone of his while the ropes bruised you all over.

"Have I not been considerate enough?” The navy ropes tightened yet again, this time painful enough to shred against skin and snap bones.

“I'm deeply disappointed, my dear sister."

As Zanka chases a future where your paths will cross again, you stay locked in the shadows of your brother's very own hell,

Waiting for the end that you know so damn well.