#thanat

The smell of formaldehyde hangs heavy in the air. It used to be that the chemical smell of the morgue clung to his senses and made it difficult to sit still and enjoy the process, but as his visits became more frequent so too did his tolerance for the sting in his eyes and the muddling of his sense of smell start to rise.

His gaze falls on the hands of the mortician, as it often does, as he returns to the cadaver in dire need of stitches, learned hands navigating around the bulk of the black nitrile gloves that encase them with ease to weave a fine thread through the infinitesimal eye of a needle on the first try. 

Silence always suited the pair and as such, sometimes these sessions would pass in their entirety with barely a word passed between them. Harlan appreciated having a place away from the rowdy going-ons of the church above them and especially from the odd friends Orfuse has a tendency of bringing around his hive, so he rarely finds himself being the one to break that silence.

Rarely does not mean never, however.

“How is a cadaver any different?” He asks when the needle pierces the skin with a squelch that must be more audible to the mortician situated just above the source.

Thanat does not look up from his work, one deft hand pinching the offending wound while the other goes through the motions of suturing it shut. “Different from what, Harls?”

His own idle hands tingle as the neat row of stitches are neatly closed off and tied shut.

“From touching people, how do they differ?”

The mortician shrugs, dropping the needle into a tray of discarded instruments and moves on to the trocar needle that awaited him. “Well, to start, I am still wearing gloves.” He holds one of his hands up for emphasis and wiggles his fingers. Harlan exhales a humored breath and rolls his eyes. They both know what he meant.

He pierces the abdomen with the trocar, and surely being so near the contents of a stomach cavity would be a germaphobe’s nightmare, but he does not flinch. He instead goes about inserting the tubing necessary for draining. Harlan has seen him do it a handful of times, so he is not surprised, only ever fascinated with the mortician.

“I think there is something cleansing about death,” he explains, in the middle of trading the sullied gloves for a pair of new ones. “It is different because they are cleansed, I guess.”

Harlan moves to cross one leg over the other, bringing a hand up to rest his chin upon. He lets out a thoughtful hum. “What a strange mind you have, Thanat Lycaon.”

“No more puzzling than yours, Harlan Mahkir,” he says with just the faintest of smiles. “Besides, there are not many trolls tending to the dead around here. Someone has to do it.”

“Unless you count Lenore, of course.”

“Carrion birds provide a different form of tending, I’m afraid.”

Here and There and Us (Thanat) and Blue Sky Complex (Ichikawa Kei): Opposites-attract, high school friends who continue to date after graduation, long distance relationship for a while. I haven't read Blanc, have only seen Doukyusei but trope-wise, they sound similar! Both are exceptional works so I think they might be a good fit for you as well.

The Trees in Spring (Nakaoka Naka) and Setagaya Synchronicity (Hongo Chika): Both focus on soul/identity searching, coming to terms with the self. I've written on The Trees in Spring before but can vouch for both.

Some more favorites:

Twilight Out of Focus (Jyanome): To read // Review

All That Pierces the Heart (Sumako Kari): To read

Paint Love and the Colors Will Bloom (Shota Kon): To read

Living With Him (Toworu Miyata): To read

I'll Make You Cry (Nozomu Hiiragi): To read // Very brief review

Lullaby of the Dawn (Ichika Yuno): To read (also on Futekiya)