#-drabble

Beats. They were everywhere, every motion making a pace that a person could unconsciously follow. A bell ringing in seconds of intervals, a shop keeper yelling to his customers, the sounds of cars zooming by. They all had their own sound, their own purpose, their own tempo, and they all meshed together in the rock concert that was life.

This time, though, one instrument in that concert was listening to a different sort of beat. Shizuo slowly lurched down the streets of ‘Bukuro with a headphone dangling from his left ear, hands in his pockets. Inside a pocket, protected by curled fingers, sat an iPod, diligently doing its job of providing the walker with his own beat to step to.

But goddamn, some of these songs were weird.

All day, on and off, Shizuo had been listening to the music player. He’d only recently gotten it this morning as a gift from Tom. ‘We’ve been working together  for two years now,’ Tom had said as he handed the blonde a small wrapped box, ‘I know you might not like it, but it’s the thought, right?’ And when Shizuo had opened the box there it rested, headphones wrapped around the device like a straight jacket. Tom had even pre-loaded it with music for him, hundreds of thousands of songs waiting to be listened to.

Who was he to be ungrateful for a gift? It wasn’t as if Shizuo hated music - he just didn’t have a whole lot of time for it, aside from when he was at home. Even then he was usually catching up on Kasuka’s shows or sleeping harder than a brick. This portable thing was pretty ok though. It had even helped him keep his cool with a few customers.

 There were classics on it, of course; The Pillows, Golden Bomber, Ayumi Hanazaki, Sinatra and Queen. Lots of stuff that was popular and some stuff he hadn’t heard in ages had their place. The song that had just flicked on, though, sounded happy with its tone and depressing as shit with its lyrics.

“Black, black is love’s potion. We drink, we drink from its well. And in their name, let’s drink for true love,” sung the voice in his ear a little shrilly, “For true love can break the spell.” Ah, so it was fairy-tale bullshit next. Whatever. He’d deal with it and maybe it would make more sense than most of that shit did. 

A few moments passed as he listened to the shrill-lady sing about a green girl - no, a frog? He could have sworn it was a frog, but he didn’t know how to rewind the damn song - and a scorpion-man-thing as they swam out into a lake and…had sex, he thought? It was hard to tell, the phrase “and his stinger went wild” was the only way he could think of that. 

He could feel himself getting real damn annoyed when two things happened at once: He remembered a teacher a long time ago read him a story kinda like this and another line of the song caught his attention.

“Black, black is love’s potion. Take heed, take heed of the thorns. Don’t scream when it stings. Remember that you were warned.”

Yeah, he remembered this now. He had no damn clue why there was a song about it, but he knew the story. “A scorpion asks a frog for a ride on its back,” he recalled quietly to himself, “The frog doesn’t want to because it thinks it will get stung, and the scorpion says it won’t. Then it stings the frog in the middle of the fucking lake because it says it can’t help it.”

Shizuo had the sneaking suspicion that the song was talking about something a little different from the story, but if he remembered what his teacher had said, then it was about how people’s natures don’t change. If he compared it to the song, it sounded like dicks were always meant to be dicks and that people shouldn’t complain if they knew the one they talked to was like that.

“Huh.” That must make him a scorpion then. It wasn’t like he could change himself, was it? He couldn’t just wake up one day and not hurt the people who cared about him. Did that count? It had to, or that story wouldn’t make sense.

Shizuo stopped at a crosswalk sign, waiting for it to turn green. As he did, he lit a cigarette, almost dropping the iPod. Looking at it kinda pissed him off. He couldn’t tell why. But as he looked at it, he decided that was enough music for the day. Holding the lit stick in his mouth, he gently wound the headphones back around the player and stuck it in his pocket. Out of sight, out of hearing, out of thoughts, even as the words echoed in his head. Don’t scream when it stings, remember that you were warned.

The front door of the apartment opened, letting the chilly evening air in the warm den. An involuntary shiver ran down Essie’s spine, but she said nothing as she continued working. She had set herself up in the dead center of the den, papers and sticky notes completely surrounding her. Her laptop sat directly in front of her, the brightness starkly contrasting with the light--or lack thereof--in the room. Her blonde, typically neat hair was tossed up into a messy bun, and a few pens and pencils were sticking out of it.

Luke walked into the den and stopped immediately, surveying the disaster. “Ess? What’re you doing?”

“Working,” was her only response as she grabbed a paper and compared it to her laptop screen. Luke’s eyes scanned the den, finding Ankou on the other side sleeping. He set down his messenger bag and keys, cautiously stepping forward. His eyebrows drew together in confusion as he tried to make sense of everything. 

“You do know wha’ time it is, don’t you?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Essie slowly began to turn her head to face him, eyes still lingering on the information she was reading.

“Mhmm,” she hummed absently. “It’s 5:30.”

Luke sighed. “Mo ghrá, it’s nearly two in th’ morning.”

“I—what?” she asked, her attention finally taken from her work. “No it’s not.”

He gestured to the darkened windows. “It’s pitch black outside, and there’s hardly a light on in here.”

Essie frowned. She looked around, confused. “It—I could swear it was 5:30,” she replied with a laugh. “Well, this isn’t exactly the first time this has happened to me.”

Luke shook his head. “Did you eat?”

Essie made a face and looked down at her paperwork. “I, uh, no. It seems I lost track of time.”

“Ess,” Luke said in exasperation. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds or you forget to take care of yourself.” He stepped closer to her and extended his hand to help her up. She took it, uncrossing her legs and pulling herself up. They both stepped carefully around the scattered pages and onto bare carpet.

“Welcome home,” she said with a sweet smile, leaning up to kiss him softly. His arms encircled her waist lazily, and Essie rested her palms on his broad chest. He smiled against her lips. After a moment, he pulled away to look at her in content.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Essie stepped into their home, relieved to find Luke absent. Part of her had known that he wouldn’t be; he was still working his shift at the pub, and wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. With a small smile, she knew Luke would be surprised.

Flipping the lights on, she greeted Ankou with a scratch behind the ears. She’d been gone for a week on assignment—having supposed to be gone at least two—and happy to be home a week early. Essie knew that when she asked her superior to stay in New York, it meant that she would have to travel much more to compensate for not staying primarily where her present assignment would have required. When she told Luke about the changes, he was reluctant to accept, but he understood.

Her feet felt like lead, but her heart was light. God, it was good to be home. She left her suitcase at the door and trudged back to the bedroom, paper box in hand. Ankou happily trotted after her, and she smiled. The moment she stepped through the back threshold, Essie set the box down on Luke’s side of the bed and began to strip out of her clothes. A trail of clothing was left as she entered the bathroom to shower.

As the warm water washed over her, Essie’s exhaustion caught up with her. She struggled to stay awake, and by the time she finished up, it was difficult to stand. Her hands moved lazily as she toweled off, traveling to her hair to wring it out. Upon reentering the room, she found Ankou curled up by Luke’s side of the bed, sleeping soundly. She pulled on a snug tank top and panties from one of her drawers. With a tired smile, Essie crawled into bed on Luke’s side, pushing the box aside and sighing as her head hit the pillow.

Her eyes were heavy, but instinct and habit tried to force her to stay awake, just to see Luke before she slept. Her knees slid up to her chest and she curled up, cradling his pillow tightly. One of her arms stretched out over the edge of the bed, hand palm up, fingers lazily curled inward.

Esselyn screamed out in frustration, hopelessness permeating the carefully constructed walls around her heart. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault…

Her mind whispered it like a mantra, and she stumbled into their—no, his—place, her vision blurred. The lights were dim, and Ankou greeted her, but she made her way straight past him. She had to leave. Had to get out of here.

Nine.

A lump developed in her throat as she pushed the bedroom door open. Her things and his were strewn, almost indistinguishable. That’s how it had been over the past few months. Luke entered her life and it was a tangled mess. What they had—not anymore—was entanglement personified.

Eight.

Esselyn reached for the closet, pulling out a duffel bag and filling it with as many of her things as she could find. She couldn’t leave a trace of herself here. Anything that could lead to her. Frantically she moved, hardly registering that she’d been injured—as always—and was running on adrenaline now.

Seven.

Ankou watched her from the doorway, confusion in his bright wolf eyes. Esselyn ransacked the bedroom, not caring to leave it any more of a mess than it was. Her blonde hair stuck to her brow, and as soon as she stuffed the final possession in the bag, she zipped it up and shut the windows. He’d hate it, but he’d thank her—maybe not—later.

Six.

Her ears listened for the door. She hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t come home and see her like this. She swiped at the blood running down her chin, hissing as the contact with her sleeve left a stinging sensation. Throwing the duffle bag on the floor by the front door, she kept looking out through the kitchen window and looking for something—where’s that goddamn pad he keeps in here—anything to write on. She hears cars in the distance, and panic seized her.

Five.

Finding a pen, she scribbled out a half-assed note about how sorry she was and how he deserved so much better than her, how he needed someone that was so much less like a time bomb and a walking disaster. How he shouldn’t miss her.

Four.

Hot tears ran down her face as she scribbled out a few more words. She choked as she wrote out—I won’t miss you—traitorous lies on the paper. She hated herself. She knew she’d taken a risk, and now she—the both of them—was paying for it. She betrayed them—betrayed him—and the end result was quickly approaching.

Three.

Running back to the bedroom, Esselyn folded up the tear-stained paper and tucked it between the now closed windowpanes. She smiled ruefully to herself—he’s not gonna miss this—because she knew him so well already. She knew his habits, his idiosyncrasies, what he loved and hated, knew his strengths and weaknesses. The scars, the planes of his body, the lines of his heart. Everything. 

Two. 

Time was running out. Esselyn heard tires screech into the neighborhood, and she sprinted out of the bedroom. Grabbing her duffel bag, she left their—his—place. A strangled sob escaped her mouth. She almost wished she’d died back in the city—this is so much worse—just so she didn’t have to live with the constant knowledge that this was the day she killed him. She knew how he would react to the note, to her missing possessions, to the lack of her, and it was nearly paralyzing.

One.

They were here. She had to lead them away from here, away from him. Esselyn threw her duffel bag into her car and peeled out of the neighborhood, struggling not to look back in the rearview once as she left her life behind her. He would be a wreck, and it broke her inside.

Whoops! Ibuki got that wrong. Heads aren't going to roll.

They're going to fly.