word count: 2.3k
Longing for something which has been long lost
spoilers for day 3!
tw: vomit (briefly), blood, decapitation, descriptions of rotting flesh, death, abusive relationship, manipulation
A low, metal beat plays in the background of your kitchen’s apartment. Not so fitting with the current setting, but a song Khol likes in particular. Not that it really matters, both of you are preoccupied with each other. More so Khol with you, since you’re focused on moving around the kitchen.
“You know this is painful for me to watch, right?” The long-haired man sighs dramatically, slouching over the dinner table. He’s most definitely giving you puppy eyes.
You, not even bothering to meet his eyes knowing he’s just playing tricks with you, look around for a whisk and respond in a light-hearted tone, “Doesn’t working in a restaurant get tiring after a while? You should view this as a break from anything food-related. And besides, I’m not baking this cake for myself. You’re going to get a piece, too.”
Khol just whines louder in response, “But that’s not the point, honey. I’m a chef! I may serve the food, but I could literally cook and bake for a living.”
Now he’s sat up straight again with his pointer finger in the air, theatrically explaining why he’s being neglected, “I don’t care who the cake’s for, as long as I can join in making it with my love. And also I enjoy food in every aspect, thank you very much.” He adds that last sentence with cockiness to his tone.
You glare at him playfully and open a drawer. He pretends to be hurt, but it really isn’t that much of an act as he tries to make it seem, “What’s so wrong with what I said? Why can’t I bake with you? I’d be so romantic!”
You close a drawer, whisk in hand and walk over to the bowl on the counter, “Romantic? How so?”
With the scrape of a chair, the raven-haired man finally stands up, “We measure, we mix, we bake. And then we enjoy our meal together. How is that not romantic!? Just two lovers, making a cake.” He lets out a dreamy sigh, hands clasped against his face.
He’s such an actor it makes your eyes roll, “As much as I enjoy watching you do anything, I wanna help. Pleeaaaseeee?"
You hear his footsteps approaching you as you mix the batter you had prepared, “Khol, you know I don’t want to annoy you, but this recipe is a family secret. I can’t let you join me. It wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
Your boyfriend stands a few feet behind you, exaggerated pout, and most definitely still giving you those annoying puppy eyes, “Why would you invite me over then? Do you enjoy torturing me?”
You let out a light huff, having to stop yourself from breaking out into laughter at his ridiculous claim, “Because you literally begged me to hangout!” “Cause I missed you!” “And don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a cake.” You retort.
Now he has his arms crossed, but unbeknownst to you his demeanor has gotten a bit more playful, “And why can’t I know this secret cake recipe? I could just taste your cake and find out the ingredients myself.” He mockingly emphasizes the word ‘secret’, clearly trying to get a rise out of you.
You can practically feel his hands waving in the air as he makes fun of your family’s recipe. “Because it’s.. a secret.” You don’t sound too convinced of yourself at this point.
It’s not a very important one, and neither did your great grandmother create something ‘extraordinary.’ You’re simply supposed to add the skins of a few particular seed fruits.
And besides, this is your boyfriend. Even if you’ve been officially together for 3 months, you could just tell him. You’re not even sure why you refuse to do so. Maybe it’s your stubbornness? Maybe a part of you wants to hear him beg?
… that’s so wrong, but maybe not so far off.
Either way, you persist, “And also, you shouldn’t steal someone’s precious recipe by taste-testing.” You mumble and pour the batter into a rounded form.
Now you hear Khol’s giggles behind you, he’s up to no good. You’ve developed a sense for that by now.
“Is that so?” He asks, inching closer to you until you feel his breath on the back of your head, “Well, maybe I should just steal you away?”
In a sudden flash, you feel a pair of warm arms around your waist, nearly hoisting you up into the air with a surprising strength. Your body squirms as large hands begin to tickle your stomach and sides, “-! K- Khol stop THAT! HAHAHAHA WA- WAIT!!”
You scream with laughter, wiggling and twisting uncontrollably. Not only is the sensation of getting tickled overwhelming, but also the fact that your feet are barely standing on the ground.
And that your batter is spilling over.
Behind you, this demon is beaming like he’s not done this before. He’s probably on cloud nine right now in his head.
“I’ll only stop if you’re gonna let me join- heh. And tell me about this recipe.” He teases in a roguish tone.
“Okay- OKAY-“ You wheeze, “PL- PLEASE just STOP, HAH-“ Your feet are finally back on the ground. You breathe out with relief, hunched over.
Khol’s arms are still wrapped around you in a gentle manner, but the threat of another onslaught lingers.
You hear his brash chuckles, but you know the love that comes with them.
He would’ve stopped if you really wanted him to, he would’ve never dared to do it again if you asked. Even if you hadn’t spoken up, he would’ve stopped.
Everything Khol does and says is for you. Every word, every action of his is a way of letting you know he’s yours, and that you’re safe with him. You can always lean on him.
This moment, even with its intensity, is warm. Comforting in hindside to everything else.
A reminiscence of hope. Hope for this relationship to remain. For this love to remain, even if it’s the worst passion you’ve ever felt before.
You don’t think about his gentleness as you vomit your insides out. How could you anyway? When you’re surrounded by these cold, concrete walls and don’t remember who he was. What he was before he began to visibly rot like everything else in here.
It reeks. The stench is inhuman. You’ve never smelt something so pungent and concentrated before. Something so terrible and yet undeniably recognizable.
The smell is like the air you breathe, unavoidable.
You cough and gasp, delusionally hoping for a breeze of fresh air, trying to get as far as possible away from the reality of everything. But it’s no use.
There is no hope down here. Only death.
When was the last time you were outside anyway?
Your tears hit the ground before you realise it. The sensation of the wet, heavy sounds from that box is the only thing keeping you in reality.
Your sweat covered hands barely hold you up against the musty, dark walls of this prison. The skin, the hair, those charred features.
That life, that human stuck in this hell. Just like you, they had existed. They had learned and spoken like you. That wasn’t your imagination, that wasn’t your drugged, failing mind making a fool of you.
Every step, every word, every breath you made in your existence was above this unfeeling nightmare. The chemicals you smell, the flesh you stared at just now.
This is the life ‘you’ have built with him.
Anything in here explains everything else. His beautiful eyes, his luscious hair, his softness and the strength that came with it.
It was never really genuine. His skin? It was just an illusion. A serene display to cover his true, disgusting self.
Your sobs permeate around you. So does the rot.
What could you have possibly done in your actual life to deserve this!?
You feel another wave of nausea hit you as your body, your weak fleshy shell, reminds you of your limits.
This is real. This is the reality you’re stuck in.
And that box could one day be the only piece remaining of you, too-
You instinctively scream when you feel heavy arms around your waist, clasping you tightly against a beating wall. Those arms that once were your safe haven.
His hands that used to hold yours, bring you comfort; cover your eyes securely, way too late to salvage what has already been lost.
“What a mess you made in front of my mother…” You don’t hear a voice. You don’t register anything, except the beating of your heart. Panic and horror cloud every inch of you.
You cry and kick with all your might. Twisting and turning for any space you can get. But it’s no use. It never was. Not when snake-like vines grab at you and keep you useless.
“LETMEGO- LET ME GO letmego let-!”
“This isn’t an ideal first impression, is it now, darling?”
Even with your past self gone, you can still feel his warm smile. With everything you are, you push and shove at him. With everything that happened in these past few days, your whole life, you know you’re weak against him.
You can’t even manage to weep when you’re pinned on the ground, his whole manner having shifted from a sickening warmth to a bleak, distrusting front.
Who was he before? Who was Khol before this, was he ever anything else? Has he always existed like this? Was there any way to save him? To save yourself?
The stinging sensation of what feels like a sharp needle hits the core of your brain, spreading rapidly and blinding you with pain. You only hear your pounding heart and a white noise with increasing intensity ringing in your ears.
Your breathing weakens and your muscles still as the feeling of your brain trying to break out of your skull takes over you.
Only through his fingers are you forced to look up at his haunting, hollow eyes. Which stare right back at you.
You hate this. You hate feeling this weak. Helpless. Pathetic.
If it hasn’t before, your whole autonomy, everything you are, has been erased.
Your curiosity had gotten the better of you, and now you’ll suffer for it. Even if it’s for a little bit.
You think of those fuzzy words as your eyes begin to crack open once more. The edges of your vision are blurry, but you immediately manage to notice a male figure sitting on the bed in front of you, by your side.
The second thing you realise is the bitter taste in your mouth from something you had just gulped down. You can’t quite register the taste.
The moment you try to move you feel nauseous. It’s a chemically inflicted sickness, making you dazed and confused. You can feel your throat burning with whatever liquid you just consumed.
You let out a groan and shut your eyes again.
“It’s okay, my love. Everything’s going to be okay. You just need some rest…” For the first time in forever you can actually hear a voice talking to you.
It’s somewhat comforting, but you can’t shake the feeling that there is something very off about it.
… Khol was his name, right? How come you think of that name? You slowly open your eyes again.
That’s not what a human looks like. You’ve never seen a human in your life before, this is the first person you’ve ever seen. But you’re weirdly sure people don’t usually come with pale skin and such static hair.
‘Khol’ looks at you with a tender expression and neatly places a damp cloth on top of your forehead. You can’t help but gaze at him with awe. The dimmed light behind the tall man gives him a tranquil aura, which you can’t help but feel drawn too.
When you try to think about what happened before you woke up in this bed, blurry memories appear. You see a long, creepy hall, and a box. It feels important, but you can’t remember why.
You grasp his hand before he can move it away, and feel him jolt in surprise, but don’t acknowledge it.
“What happened?” You mumble with a weak, quiet voice.
“You had a scary episode.” Khol whispers as feels your grip tighten.
You don’t meet his eyes, instead you try to look around and think back as much as possible. And yet the pits created in your mind won’t fill themselves up. Both your hands are now grasping his, still in the air above your chest.
“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well..” He momentarily looks at the small, empty bowl on top of your nightstand, and his gaze immediately flashes back to you, as if he’s afraid you’ll get swallowed whole by the walls.
“Are you hungry? I’ll get you more soup-”
“Please stay.” You murmur. Khol’s eyes widen when he notices your fearful, almost terrified expression. By now your hands are slightly shaking.
“I don’t want to be alone. Please.” You try to sit up but it’s strenuous. The room moves and creates different shapes as your throat burns and your eyes try to adjust to your surroundings.
The pale man’s smile widens, even if a little. Now both of his hands are holding yours as well.
You don’t notice it, instead focused on remaining with the only person you’ve ever seen before.
You don’t know which one of you said that, or if it was even said at all. But the message is clear when he moves to carefully lie down beside you, making sure to take up as little space as possible.
With your eyes barely open, you lay there next to his tepid self. Not feeling like a husk of yourself, but also not like you belong here.
You’re just here to endure, until you pass like all the others.
