post-prison realm 𖹭. cw: pairing - seitoru, age gap, suggestive, oc x canon
seiseki's nails were concerningly long and sharpened to the tip, as if she sanded them down the way she would a sword. satoru thinks they might be sharp enough to pierce his skin if his shirt was any thinner.
he doesn't mind the thought—of crescent-moon marks and lengthy red lines from seiseki's nails digging into and dragging across his pale skin. blood of the strongest pooling beneath red-and-black acrylics.
with each impatient tap against his chest reminding satoru of seiseki's presence, the thought fades into an echo at the back of his mind—though the taps aren't necessary. the solid weight of her on his lap won't let satoru forget any time soon.
not that satoru could forget at all, really. how right it feels to have seiseki in his hands—
how wrong it is.
barely two months have passed since seiseki's eighteenth birthday, even if it had felt like an eternity in the prison realm, not much time had passed on the outside world.
and yet satoru had missed out on enough.
so many deaths, all in the span of twenty-one days. a majority having taken place on one single day.
the tokyo college's student body went down by half.
no principal, no yaga. only kaede and akane were left from the upper-alumni years, and there's a grand total of zero third-years now.
if satoru closes his eyes for too long, he's brought back to all the skeletons in the prison realm—and if he lets his mind wander, those skeletons turn into fresh, identifiable bodies.
a sharp nail comes flicking his forehead, startling satoru out of his downspiral. he meets seiseki's scowl head-on and grins at her.
"so mean, seiseki-chan." he pouts. "is this how you treat your sensei?"
seiseki's eyebrow raises at his words, likely noticing his impulsive projecting. but instead of calling satoru out on it, she seals their lips in a kiss—and satoru's ashamed of the yelp that slips out of him, quickly muffled by seiseki's mouth.
they've not gone further beyond heated kisses, although that says very little with how satoru hasn't been able to go an hour without kissing seiseki ever since she pushed him against the wall and told him to shut up not even two days of his release.
the admission—it didn't feel like being doused in gasoline and lit on fire. no, satoru's seen it coming from the day seiseki sat beside him on the stones in the backyard and murmured thank you for everything, with a tenderness that could kill a man.
seiseki's the one to pull away first, drawing out a whine from the strongest as satoru makes grabby hands for her. seiseki looks unamused by the large hands squishing the skin of her cheeks and neck but doesn't tell satoru to stop, to his delight.
because of course seiseki would find her own delight in a different form.
"no," she drawls, to satoru's earlier question, "just my favourite one."
satoru chokes on his next breath, distantly realising that's the first time seiseki's acknowledged him as a teacher since she left for kyoto two years ago.
yeah, seiseki could kill a man without lifting a finger—could kill the strongest by smiling at him and telling him to keel over and die.
