Everything was on tape. Everything. From the first time they met to each and every second they spent together. Even the forbidden ones, the stolen ones. He didn’t know what hurt the most. It was there, right before his eyes, and yet it was out of reach. Memories. Incomplete memories – if the videos could show him and make him listen, they couldn’t give him the warm feeling of flesh against flesh, the smell of perspiration and sex, how well their skins slid together, the exhilaration of feeling overpowered, of falling over the edge. They had taken the forbidden from him and replaced it with… acceptance. A judgmental, reluctant acceptance. It had been forbidden, until it wasn’t. Friendship, love, sex – those weren’t things supposed to happened between an Enforcer and an Inspector. He knew it. He had always known, but the fall had been so delicious. So easy. Now he was facing the consequences – he had crashed, and he had crashed hard. Left with nothing more than vengeance and a broken heart. Nothing more than the will to bite out the heart that condemned his love so cruelly.
“You’re hurting yourself”, Ginoza said. “Stop this. You cannot do this alone. You’ve already walked past the line and you cannot go back. Stop doing this to yourself. Let go of this case.”
“I’m not letting go of him”, he answered.
“You shouldn’t have gotten so attached to a dog”, Ginoza spat. “You should have let him known you were the master and he was to obey. But no, you laughed when it rutted against your leg, instead of punishing it.”
“Do not talk of him like this”, Kogami seethed. “Have you got no respect?!”
“For dogs? No. They’re just dogs.”
Kogami slammed his fists against the glass between them, his features distorted by rage.
“Then I’m just another dog, so fuck off”, he barked, his heart a bleeding, painful wound.
He had too many memories, too many things swirling in his head, there was too much noise, and always the words he’s dead you are a potential criminal there is no getting out he’s dead I’m… I found Sasayama’s body. Slowly, he collapsed to his knees. He’s dead. Chopped to pieces by the monster he was pursuing. Sasayama was too good of a hound – and he attacked a prey too big for him, only to succumb under its feet. And Kogami was left behind with nothing but tapped, un-personal memories and a life gone down the syphon.
You know we’re not supposed to do this, Sasayama’s voice said in his ears.
We both know, Kogami always replied, and you like it.
I do, Sasayama replied, teeth closing on his ear, hips rolling against him – and Kogami always yielded.
He’d lost the first time he fought against Sasayama – and all the following times. He loved when they fought – the shine of perspiration on muscles, the peculiar smell of strength, and the light, violent contacts it offered him with the Hound. Those memories haunted him even back to his apartment, they haunted him as he laid on his bed with three fingers up his ass and the name “Mitsuru” falling from his lips, they haunted him every time Sasayama walked into the room and laid his eyes on him.
They haunted him still the first time Sasayama had pinned him to a wall and dared him to get away, his thigh up and grinding hard between his legs – and his oh so well kept secret had been exposed that simply, with a whore-like moan falling from his lips.
You know this is not just sex. This is something far more dangerous, Sasayama’s lips had whispered against his nape as he rolled his hips up and made him keen and relish in the sensation. This is love.
It was something more than just sex or just friendship they had – something, yes, dangerous. Something taboo, forbidden, something they should have never even thought of. And yet there they’d been, whispering words when they could, inventing a language of their own to say them when people where listening on them – and people were always listening on them.
Sasayama had made a show of staring into the camera, clearing defying the Bureau, buried to the hilt into a panting Kogami. It was only justice that he’d pay for it – but the price was too much, something he would have never bargained for. Losing Sasayama was something he couldn’t live with.
I love you, he’d whisper in Sasayama’s ear as he held him close, always. I love you, he screamed as he hit him, tackled him to the ground, fought with all he had, and still lost. I love you, he yelled as Sasayama rushed after his prey, and he’d called, he’d called, but there was no answer – just fleshy bloody bits that weren’t Sasayama, couldn’t be, Sasayama wasn’t made of these.
Sasayama was as raw as Kogami had always expected from a Hound, and yet tender. Strong and unyielding, but his promises were the most beautiful when whispered in the middle of the night. He was smart, and yet he was goofy when he blew raspberries on Kogami’s stomach in the middle of training and they both rolled on the ground.
People would expect a relationship like theirs to be dramatic, all made of tears and tortured sex and hushed feelings – but the truth was, they were so open about what they felt and how they felt and how well they fitted together that everyone was blind to it. So blind and so perfect even Sybil couldn’t condemn any of them. There was nothing wrong, even if it was dangerous, even if it was forbidden – it just was, like it had always been meant to be. The Hound and the Hunter. The Dog without a leash. Men who loved too much, too hard, and yet never enough – men who burnt bright, ripped the sky like meteors. Men who crashed hard. Crashed in blood, in tears. In dark Hues and bloody fleshy bits. Men who ground their teeth against the pain, and prayed not to feel anymore, because feeling was too hard, too painful, the absence too much, too present.
I love you, whispered in the dead of the night, through tears. Whispered with sweet rolls of hips and broken moans of pleasure. Cried in broad daylight as a way of saying goodbye. Yelled with angry cried of pain and tears and blood, and those fleshy bits that couldn’t be Sasayama and yet they were.
But there was nothing on it on the tapes, nothing of it on the videos that showed everything. There was nothing of it, anywhere. Just broken memories, like fleshy bloody bits. A love in pieces.