#hellsdogs

ㅤㅤhe didn't do anything wrong. and, yet, he'd had to bury his little sister. a bleak concept that sasha used to joke about, right in his face; poking fun at his incessant worry over her untimely demise with her laughter that was once so loud, so full of life. he didn't do anything wrong. and, yet, he didn't do anything right, either. he'd had suspicions over what was happening to her down in the basement, had often questioned her scars only to be answered with a backhand from his mother. in his childhood he had been understandably useless, and in his adulthood he was just useless, even if he tried. he'd gotten custody of her when she was eleven, and he was twenty-five, and the first few years had been difficult — but at least she'd been more or less at home. under his roof, and under his protection, for the most part. there had been good times, too. like when they'd taken all her old stuff out to the middle of nowhere, her dismantled bed, her church clothes, the mirror taken down from the basements ceiling. he'd given her a hammer, and some matches, and they'd bonded whilst mourning the death of sang-mi, but also celebrating the birth of sasha. and now he was left alone to mourn both versions of his sister. both versions that he couldn't save. he almost couldn't believe that she was buried six feet under where he knelt, the earth still freshly dug and a makeshift headstone in place whilst the ground settled. he was a quiet crier, with tears silently streaming down his cheeks as he mindlessly rearranged the bouquet of black dahlia's he'd left the day she was buried, back still turned to sen as he frowned at the ground, face heavily concealed by the hood of his raincoat as the storm clouds rolled in. " but i didn't do anything right, sen. if i had... " if i had, then she'd still be here. " what was she like? " thunder clapped overhead then, imminent warnings of a flood to come. " when you were with her, i mean. was she happy? she used to insist that she'd never get a boyfriend. " his smile was sad, but the ghost of his sister's was even sadder as she clung to sen.

"I don't understand..." Perhaps Kimi was too exhausted to fully comprehend what the other person was saying, blinking back her tears though they weren't from sadness. Her sleepiness was beginning to make her eyes instinctively water. She wiped at her face, as if that would wipe away some of the exhaustion. "What are you trying to say?"

ㅤㅤno one had ever given sasha flowers before. not when she had been alive to receive them, at least. only three people had left her flowers: sen, siwoo, and her killer. it was surreal, really — sitting at your own grave. body permanently bruised from the tragic violence of her death, never going to heal, never going to change, never going to age. but little had changed since her small funeral, attended by the same, small few that left flowers at her grave, besides the seedy few that lingered in the background; crying with hands in their pants over the loss of their favourite hooker. and sasha, of course. silent and invisible, only seen (and felt) by sen as she sat and watched with her head on his shoulder as siwoo spoke of how good sasha had been in spite of everything. he'd cried and everything. not that she should expect any less from him — the overprotective, worrisome older brother, always dreading that the worst would happen to her. and his worst fears had come true when he'd opened the door to the police. she'd watched that, too. almost cried when he cried, almost laughed when he threw up. she watched everything now. by murdering her, her pimp had essentially fired her; and now she had nothing but time on her cold hands. the ground was still freshly dug, a temporary tombstone in place. her body encased in a black coffin, six feet under where they were sat, her knees pulled childishly in against her chest as she stared at the engraving half covered with flowers, some old, some new. sasha pushed away from sen then, getting to heavy booted feet before squatting to pluck a fistful of the fresher flowers from one particular bouquet. " black dahlia's... " a pet name given by her killer ever since she'd been a little girl; the flowers nothing more than a token of his smugness. but he'd also cried when he'd dropped them off. " her murder is unsolved, too. i mean, i know who did it. but she must've known who did it, too. i'll have to try and find her to ask. " she moved to sit in his lap atop of the fresh dirt as she spoke, tucking the stem of one flower from the bunch behind sen's ear. " i'm going to kill him, by the way. the next time he brings me flowers. i only want flowers if they're your flowers. " fingers moved to rest against his chest, icy palm remaining so, even when his heart raced beneath such warm, radiant skin, using a firm hold to push him back against the ground. she repositioned herself so she could straddle him, discoloured knees pressing into the soil with a sick moan as she laid the rest of the flowers against his chest. " doesn't it make you hard? knowing that i'm here, but also here... living and dead. " small, bruised knuckles thud at the soft ground nearest sen's head, back straightening as she knelt over him; morbidly positioning the flowers and manoeuvring sen's willing hands to look like he was in an open casket service. his arms were folded over his chest, stems tucked beneath his arms, and the sight was enough to evoke a soft, content sigh. " you should be buried with me. " doesn't understand the romantic implications of such a request, only really caring about the fact that she wants to rot with him. " here lies sasha and sen... sen and sasha. may their souls rot in peace, or whatever that priest guy said. you would invite me, right? to your funeral, i mean. who knows, maybe your next attempt will be a successful one. "

he doesn't understand their language much . blonde and tall , she didn't know it was her mother's type . free of her title and past , of her diamonds and silk , yui mori liked soft spoken men with gentle hearts ; the man that sits across akina is nothing like her dead father . he smiles , bows in a way she's sure yui had taught her and says sorry for spilling his drink . jonathan wanted to talk to her , to ask if she'd like to come and see her mother . but akina knew better , knew better than believing his polite lies and knew better than letting herself come face to face with her mother's new daughter . five years old , half canadian and half japanese - akina is sure she's hating that kid until she actually sees her .

While the sudden grasp to her hips should have given her the hint, Hanako was still startled as she was pulled away from the outside lunch area of the big company, into the shade around the corner. There was a familiar scent though, followed by the calloused yet gentle hand pressed to her lips before she turned around. Happiness was written all over if not for the surprise in big doe eyes. "Kimura-san!" Good that his hand still covered her mouth because this certainly would have been an exclaim too loud to stay hidden. How many weeks had it been now since she had last seen or heard from him? How many night had she hugged herself wishing he was there with her? How much time spent thinking he may not be on this earth anymore? And so of course her arms reached up to him, swung around his neck to pull him down for a tight embrace. "Kimura-san...You're alive.