#killcheroy

Recognition was instantaneous – everything about this girl had been burned into his mind’s eye. She had haunted him in memories, dreams, and now, right in his own bed. He felt nauseous. Blood rushed in his ears. His chest squeezed, more from panic than his injuries.

“Y-you!”

Her expression was collected, but not blank. Her features held an eerie, faint glow in the prison’s darkness, allowing Fuuta to pick out the notes of anger and melancholy in them. His mind flashed with all the ghost stories he’d heard in his life – of cold fingers squeezing throats, or a fiery grip dragging someone down to hell.

He scrambled backwards into the wall. He wheezed out a breath, and the pain in his body convinced him he wasn’t having one of his usual nightmares about the girl.

The seconds dragged out. Her cold eyes bore into him. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. He’d already imagined her words a thousand times. The voices in his head had suggested everything insult she could have slung his way. He’d replayed every possible conversation they could have, and all ended in the same way.

He couldn’t handle that stare any more. Fuuta could feel his heart crawling up his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut and threw himself into a messy bow at her feet.

“Go ahead.” he demanded, voice trembling. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already!”

It didn’t matter how hard he tried to steel himself – he continued shaking on the cold concrete, sniffling as tears began to drip below. He braced himself for her wrath.

“Is that why you think I came?”

His breath hitched. He’d never heard her voice before. He could tell it would have been melodic if she wasn’t speaking with such an icy edge.

She let out a low, harsh laugh. “It’s tempting, but no. I just wanted to ask you something.”

He curled himself tighter before her. He knew what would follow. Why? Why me? What did I do to you? How could you? And he wouldn’t have an answer. He’d been seeking one himself, to no avail.  

“Look at me.”

He swallowed hard. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. It was worse than the bodily pain he’d expected. Her eyes – the same eyes he’d studied with a cruel flippancy – were brimming with disgust. It was clear that she knew every inch of his rotten soul already. She knew this was all for his own pleasure, his own attention. She knew she was targeted only for her innocence and weakness.

Fuuta’s stomach churned. Maybe she would ask if he felt sorry. Even if he said yes, her eyes told him it wouldn’t change anything. What, then?

She crouched down, bringing that stare inches away from him. “What’s your name?”

He twitched. “…What?”

“You got to know my name. My face. My friends, my home, everything about me. I deserve to know your name. I was so sick of seeing that damn username. I had nightmares about it, you know.”

“I… I…” He inhaled a hiccupping breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s your name?”

“K- Kajiyama.” It was common information, one she could have gotten from asking anyone else in his life, or this prison. But it churned his stomach to admit it, all the same. “Kajiyama Fuuta.” He bowed his head.

“Hmph.”

He didn’t dare speak another word. He wasn’t sure what he would even say, if he did end up getting control of his voice.

She was silent too.

He assumed she changed her mind, and decided she was ready to kill him, after all. He braced himself for whatever was to come.

Then, the light dulled in front of him. He glanced up to find her drifting away, back towards the wall she’d entered through.

“W-wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “Just… wait.”

“I don’t need to listen to a single word from you. I’ve heard enough.”

“I know. I know.” He grabbed at his chest. “But I… I meant it. I’m sorry. It doesn’t change anything… but I am.”

She glanced over her shoulder, looking him up and down. There was something different in her gaze, this time. An emotion he couldn’t discern.

“I know.”