In the distance, far off into the night, came the melody of something not quite right.
The rustling of the leaves invaded his ears like a drum without a beat and the only thing Katsuki could think to do is cry. The forest, in all of its glory, cries with him. His tears are fat, ugly things that streak down his face, and splotches of scarlet mar his complexion until he resembled that of a child. He is bloody as the night he was born, quiet as death. Katsuki’s mother liked to tease that his entrance into this world was the last time she experienced true peace. Katsuki always thought that it was only the beginning of the end, a build-up that would deafen even the gods. The world seems to agree.
Bones surround them.
Katsuki, who is slathered in mud and rot, is no stranger to death, but there is something about the boy in front of him that causes his skin to tighten and shiver. Eels run through his veins, slimy and shocking, as he rests his gaze on emerald. The boy is pale, paler than Katsuki thinks is humanly possible. His skin mixes with the bone that is displayed next to it, decomposition already taking its toll in showing the stark white fragments. One of his eyes is missing, seeming as if it had been forcefully ripped out. The other is blank, staring into the abyss that even Katsuki could not see. The air above them feels like static, but the golden-haired boy can only hear what sounds to be like nails screeching on the pavement. He looks down.
The first thing he notices is that the dark-haired boy’s nails are chipped. The second is the wet, moss-covered dirt that lay underneath the nail bed that looked as if it was pulsating with each thump of Katsuki’s heart. They have grown long from time passed, giving his hands a more delicate look. He wonders if they were as soft as they appeared to be, before. There are no calluses, instead, only faded scars that whisper over his wrists and fingertips. However, two scars, in particular, are set in deeper than the others, on opposite sides of his right palm. Death was not kind to him.
His eyes drifted back up. Pus still oozed from the other’s throat that was torn in two. Maggots lie inside, nestled and intertwined with snapped tendons, twitching with every sharp gust of wind. Just above them nest the flies who invade his mouth and feast on his tongue. The teeth around them have been crushed into dust, leaving the boy to choke. Katuski supposes that the other’s breaths must come easier now that they’ve stopped completely.
A shame, though, one did not need to even look at the boy before him before knowing that this person’s death was painful. That he died afraid.
In his hands, Katsuki holds their fate, a long blooded fang of something that had died long ago. He grasps it with shaking fingers and white knuckles, trying not to focus on the similarities between the blood and his own eyes. Unaware to himself, his dilated pupils flicker, unable to calm in the calamity of his body. His spasms come faster and faster until he must use his tongue as a stabilizer, teeth sinking into the muscle. Katsuki’s eyes are blurred by tears, frantic in their journey from fang, to sky, to blood, to emerald. Vermillion mixes with green, making a concoction that is unsightly— disgusting. He forces himself to keep looking.
On the other’s body lie markings twin only to Katsuki’s own, bruised veins that slither down their necks to their chests. In the center rests a symbol that doesn’t quite sit right in his eyes written in dirt and ichor, the blood of the gods.
“Please, Katsuki.” He shuts his eyes as the melody grows louder. Is he free?
The night is clear and the moon is high, safe in her ethereal tower while they are left to wither on the ground below. Maybe this is the reason why he finds the rain dropping on his face so improbable. “Please, please,” cries the wind.
He tilts his head back as the soft sprinkling transforms into a downpour, attempting to wash himself from this, from everything. It does not work.
“Please, please, please, please, ” What happens after, Katsuki wonders. Is this the end?
At this moment, he is deaf. Blind in the ways that matter. The world is too much for him and when he feels the weight on his shoulders, he has no choice but to drop down to his knees and howl. His voice echoes into the void along with the low chime that comes from his earring.
“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea sepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseKATSUKIKATSUKIKATSUKIP L E A S E, ”
If only to make the voice stop, to make everything stop please, I never asked for this-! Katsuki raises the fang high into the air, a whipping motion that places him directly under the full moon. The chanting is closer, right in his ear. He snaps his eyes open, frantic and wild. The writings on their bodies glowed, like a target.
Someone is behind him, guiding his hands.
A beat. Katsuki brings his hands down with a finality that shakes the ground beneath him. Birds in the distance fly from their homes, those on the ground scatter in pairs, and he is finally alone. The earth falls into itself and then… and then it is quiet. Not even Katsuki’s haggard panting pierces the silence. Arms wrap around him, clinging gently with a whisper's breath between them. The fang lies in the chest of the other. From the wound drips gold, too bright for his eyes but he can't look away. Katsuki can feel the pulse of the world mixing with his own until they are one and the same.
“You know what we need to do now,” is whispered in the shell of his ear.
Despite his better judgement, Bakugou Katsuki hums along.