#killpen

It was around two in the morning that Terushima’s memory started to get hazy, but he was pretty sure it had completely given up on him by the time he made it to three thirty.  He’d smoked something someone had given him—that much was clear—but what that was or what was in it was completely beyond his knowledge. There was probably some part of him that knew he shouldn’t have taken it, but that part of him had been quelled by the tequila shots he’d just finished downing—not his first shots of the night, either.

This meant that by the time he woke up the next afternoon, his head pounding with a bass that rivaled the heavy dance music that’d played the night before, he was able to capture a moment to regret every decision he’d ever made before immediately rushing to the bathroom to throw up.

As he lifted his head from the bowl of the toilet, he realized there was someone standing behind him.

“What the hell?” said Terushima, rubbing his head.  “I—”

“You stupid…”  The man trailed off, listing off a string of expletives as he raised his head again.

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to say that,” said Terushima, waving the strange man away.  “I feel it plenty.”

The man eyed him up and down.  He scowled. This was when, his vision bounding in blurriness in time with the headache, Terushima realized for the first time that this was no ordinary man.  He was tall, his skin was a deep, dark red, and his white hair was interrupted by two jet-black, jagged horns that spiked backward from his temples. Terushima could see the sharp points of his fanged teeth.

"What the hell are you?"  Terushima scrambled backward across the tile floor, moving so that he always kept facing the imposing monster that towered over him, the light behind him so that a shadow cast down from the bathroom light across Terushima's face.  "Why are you here? "

"I'm Kyoutani," said the demon, scowling, "and I'm a demon.  I figured that part would be obvious."

He did have red skin, horns, and a couple of intimidating black markings that extended from below his eyes back through his hair.  That was a pretty clear indication that he definitely wasn't human. But a demon? That wasn't what Terushima was expecting when he rolled out of bed this morning.  The headache he'd expected, but this? This he had not.

"What do you want from me?"

"Just a little light torture," said Kyoutani, scratching at his temple before bending at the waist to better face Terushima at eye level.  "You're really fucking hungover, aren't you? What a stupid asshole you are."

"Hey!"

But Kyoutani didn't seem to hear the protests from the lanky boy who was now backed into that small space between the toilet and the wall.  Instead, he clapped his hands together and produced from between the two of them a pot and a pan, which rested easily in his hands. He grinned devilishly.  "Okay. Here it goes."

He began banging the pot and pan together by the bottoms, the sound of their impact ringing out with resounding clang s each time the two of them collided.  It was a loud, cacophonous noise that was annoying as hell.  But to Terushima, who was currently nursing the world's worst hangover, it was more like hell than a simile was about to depict.  He put his hands up to his ears to stop terrible sounds from reaching them, but as his hands clamped down around his ears—and he noticed for the first time that he was only wearing one of the two earrings he had gone out the night before wearing—he moved them just a bit faster than he really should have, and another wave of nausea overtook him.  He took advantage of the nearby toilet bowl, his fingers curling around the porcelain and unclasping from his ears at the same time as he retched, making him more vulnerable to the sounds of the pot and pan again.

Kyoutani didn't seem as satisfied with himself as he probably should have.  Terushima wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and looked up at the demon as he lowered the kitchen tools.  "Are you finished?" he asked.

Kyoutani shrugged.  "I mean, I could keep going, but honestly?  This is just pathetic."

"Isn't this your job?"

Kyoutani shrugged again.  "I go to torture people who have engaged in unbecoming activities or some shit like that.  But you're getting tortured enough on your own. My torture isn't adding enough to really make it worthwhile for me to even be here."

“The real torture is your attitude, man…” said Terushima, working his way to his feet, holding his head the whole way.  He shook it slightly, maybe trying to expel the idea of there being a demon in his bathroom completely, but that just made it throb harder.  He stumbled past the demon, who stepped back to let him through, and he rummaged briefly through his open medicine cabinet before finding the bottle of aspirin.  He popped it open before giving himself a few and downing them dry. He was about to turn around but decided he didn’t want to face the demon again, so he bent over a bit so that he could get some water from the faucet, cuping the water in his mouth to bring to his mouth.  Even just that made him want to vomit. Again.

He could hear the demon scoff, but when he lifted his head from the sink and turned around, the demon was gone, and he was left with nothing but his vaguely retch-scented bathroom and one hell of a hangover.

It wasn’t that he thought the demon would come back.  At least, that wasn’t what he was going to let himself believe, that he’d done the longest and sloppiest kegstand of his life followed by a couple of shots and a chaser of who knew what from the party’s jungle juice punchbowl all just so that he could see if that was some sort of hangover-induced hallucination when Kyoutani had tortured him in his bathroom that morning.

He had stumbled back to his bedroom, remembering to lock his apartment door behind him but not remembering to take off his shoes before taking off his jeans, leaving his pants pooled around his ankles as he crashed, face-first, into his bed to pass out.

This, of course, made it more than difficult for him to get to the bathroom before he threw up in his bed.  He tripped once, the change in elevation doing nothing good for his condition, but he was able to hold it all in as he yanked his pants upward to get to the bathroom sink, which he clutched with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes and the one missing earring.

It was this focus that meant he noticed immediately when a hulking, hellish red creature appeared over his shoulder.  He whipped around, agitating his nausea as he did.

“You’re back!” said Terushima, his head throbbing as he shouted.

“Of course I’m fucking back,” said Kyoutani, scowling.  “It’s—my whole thing.”

“What, being sarcastic while my brain hurts?”

“No, feeding off of your pain and furthering it as punishment for your jackassery.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“That’s fair.”

Terushima thought he saw the twinge of a smile in the demon’s face.  It was immediately replaced by his standard scowl.

“So apparently the pots and pans weren’t enough last time,” said Kyoutani.  “So nausea this time, I guess—”

“What, you’ll spin me around with your demon powers?” asked Terushima, his grin flashing a bright set of teeth despite the haggard appearance of the rest of his face.  “Because I can handle myself on the gnarliest of roller coasters, and…”

Before he could finish, Kyoutani socked him in the stomach, hard , and that was more than enough to send his nausea into overdrive.  He barely had time to twist around to the toilet before what was left in his stomach—mostly lime tortilla chips and what might have once been cheap tequila—emptied itself out.

“That was cheap.”

“I am literally a demon from hell.”

Terushima wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Point taken.”

They had met a few more times like this, and each time Terushima was more and more sture that he was going to see the demon when he woke up the morning after he’d gone a little too far at a party.  And a part of him wondered if that was why he was partying as hard as he was.

“Really?” asked Kyoutani as Terushima, his head pounding.  He was sprawled out on his bedroom floor—almost to the bed, to his credit—and every part of his body hurt in the way his head did.  “How many fucking times do we need to do this?”

Terushima just moaned.  There were three or four witty comebacks he had rattling around in the back of his brain, but due to all of that rattling, he didn’t dare open his mouth to say them, for fear of ralphing all over his bedroom floor and making even more of an ass of himself.

Kyoutani just stood over him for a moment, glaring down at him.  Terushima felt watched, and even though he felt like his organs had been turned inside out, he wished that Kyoutani would stop condescendingly dicking around and get to the torture already.  Kyoutani wasn’t supposed to be the judge in this exchange—he was just supposed to execute the punishment.

Kyoutani stood like this for what felt like forever before squatting down next to Terushima’s face.  A warmth radiated from his body, and Terushima vaguely thought that it might have been a pleasant warmth to be around if he hadn’t only shown up to torture him.

Terushima was ready for the torture—Kyou’d probably start by grabbing ahold of his hair, then dropping his head to the floor, then cranking the stereo with some loud music before cracking some rotten eggs in front of him.  Something to really get a well-rounded hangover torture sensory experience.

This wasn’t Kyoutani’s tactic, though.

The demon squatted there, his sharp-tipped fingers dangling between his knees, and looked Terushima directly in the eyes.  Terushima noticed for the first time the way those eyes seemed to flash with fire. “There’s got to be a better fucking way for us to meet than this.”

Terushima’s eyes widened, which wasn’t the greatest move for him, considering the intensity of his hangover, and immediately he snapped them back shut.  They were marred by a filter of tears when he opened them again. “Kyoutani, I—”

But the demon was gone.

He was just lying there, hungover, miserable, and alone.

It had taken Terushima only fifteen minutes since he had walked into the house party to do some shots with Bobata, chug a beer he’d just taken from another person’s hand with nothing more than a quick smile and a wink, and taken a long pull off of the beer bong held by someone he didn’t even know.

Futamata was by his side now, holding a red Solo cup that he wasn’t drinking nearly as fast as Terushima was working through his.  “...so man, that’s why I think something's up.”

“What?” asked Terushima, realizing he hadn’t heard anything else his friend had said.

“I said, there’s Misaki, right there.  And you’ve been going so hard you haven't flirted at all.”  Futamata gestured with his cup in hand. “So are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Takeharu,” said Terushima, draining his cup.  He crushed it and walked away, looking for Bobata and the shots he’d done earlier.  He wanted more of that. Futamata followed him with his eyes, a concerned frown spreading across his face.  Terushima didn’t notice, because he didn’t look back.

He made it almost all the way to the kitchen, where the cheap tequila was half-empty with limes in assorted stages of being cut and spilled salt were scattered across a sticky counter.  He’d almost reached the kitchen when someone caught him by the arm and yanked him down the side hallway.

“Hey, I—!”

A warm hand clamped over Terushima’s mouth, stifling his shout.

At first, Terushima didn’t recognize him—a stern-looking guy with dark black streaks through his blond hair, a way-too-big black tank top hanging off of his muscular but compact frame, a literal fire in his eyes…

“Kyoutani?” asked Terushima through the demon’s human fingers.

“Who the fuck else?”

Kyoutani pulled his hand away from Terushima’s mouth, and Terushima felt his stomach flop.  He was pretty sure it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Wh-why are you here?”

Kyoutani looked away from Terushima, and Teru could have sworn that he saw a bit of red flash against Kyoutani’s cheeks.  “Because…” He took a deep breath out, a breath that smelled faintly of smoke. “Because I’d rather choose to see you tonight than be fucking forced to see you tomorrow morning.”

“You…”

“You’re not fooling a single God damn person, not even yourself,” said Kyoutani.  “I know what you’re doing, going out and drinking harder, thinking that it’ll mean you get to…”

“Okay, and so what if I am?”

“Do you realize that right now, a literal fucking demon is giving you an intervention?”  The fire flashed in his eyes, and he grabbed ahold of Terushima’s shirt. “Do you even…?”

“And why are you doing it, then?” asked Terushima, feeling his blood rise as the alcohol mixed with it, fueling his boldness.  “Might as well keep going while the going is good! I’m sure my punishment and pain is one hell of a snack to a demon like you—you said it yourself, that you’re feeding…”

“It’s because I fucking care about you!” said Kyoutani, clenching his sharp teeth to keep himself from shouting.  As soon as he said it, he breathed a huff of smoke out from his nose, and looked away. “Did you ever stop to think?”

“Kyoutani…”

“That it fucking means something if I’m here to stop you from doing the thing I can punish you for?  That I’m trying to prevent the thing that is literally the reason for my fucking existence?”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“And I don’t even fucking know if you can get it into your stupid, pretty airhead—I am doing this so you’ll learn a lesson, not repeat—”

He was cut off as Terushima grabbed ahold of his shirt, pulling him in to a kiss.  It was brief, but he could feel the immense warmth of Kyoutani’s lips, tasted the smoke of his tongue, and released him.  Kyoutani let go of his grip on Terushima’s shirt, as well, but left his hand on his chest.

“You…”

“I’m sorry,” said Terushima, a twinge of a smile at the corner of his mouth.  “I was trying to meet you again, and…”

“You went too fucking far.”

Terushima’s eyes opened wide, and he held up his hands.

“I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to…  I mean, I thought you wanted to kiss, too, and if you didn’t, I’m sorry to have…”

“Not the fucking kiss, you idiot!”  He hissed these words, and yet a smile was actually forcing its way onto Kyoutani’s face.  “The partying. The drinking. You could have just said something instead of making me torture you, you masochistic jackass.”

“I’m saying something now.”

“I guess you fucking are.”

Futamata walked toward the kitchen, looking for Terushima.  He’d blown him off, and if he was concerned about him before, he definitely was now.  He needed to talk to him, to…

He caught sight of Terushima just as he tilted his head to kiss a guy down the hallway.  Teru’s arms wrapped around him, and the blond guy pulled Terushima in closer. Futamata swiveled on his heel and awkwardly brought his red Solo cup to his lips. That would explain Terushima’s behavior.

“So,” said Terushima, pulling back from his partner’s lips, “do you want to join the party?”

“I doubt it’s going to be as fun as this…”