Tadashi did things for him. Tadashi never failed him.
His brother had come when he had called him years ago. It had changed them. It had changed Hiro. His brother always came around, watched him, talked to him— held him.
Hiro gives him a smile. The smile is shallow— without meaning, his eyes are hollow and dead. He does not move. Instead he’s done with these thoughts. He discards them as soon as he finished his “earthly” distraction.
He smells blood— its everywhere, on him on his clothes, but does not stop him . In fact it encourages him. He makes clean and simple cuts. He takes a bites from a few scraps. He does not eat meat raw— but it fills his stomach.
Hiro finishes, and when he does— he steps from the “clean zone” as his brother walls it. And he wanders off. He lost interest in his kill. He took, strored what he needed, and his brother would clean up the rest.
Hiro wobbles a bit. He strips himself as he enters it. The bathroom is simple, the toilet, and then sink to his right a large space to his left. A drain in the midst, and a shower head to the far side of the door. Hiro leaves his clothes near the drain as he showers. Its only a mere rinse. Hiro sighs softly as he lets the scalding hot water rinse him of his vile deed. “…’Dashi.” He huffs softly, “When can I go home?..”
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