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It was an unexpectedly wonderful day for them.
They both slept well. Breakfast was delicious and filling. The coffee was strong and warming. The daily crossword puzzle was solved easily, without any trouble. And, most importantly, they managed to bribe the yellow one with candy to “go play in the other room.”
They hadn’t really planned on doing anything like that. They were just lying on the bed in their room, holding each other tightly. The red one breathed evenly, burying his face in his partner’s feathers. The duck snuggled up against his suit, enjoying his warmth and listening to his heartbeat.
There was absolute silence. For some reason, the objects in their new room didn’t come to life. The green one insisted they were dead, while the tall one believed it was a gift from the House. But, in any case, that wasn’t particularly important to them. All that mattered was this little room and the fact that they were hugging and spending time together. Such moments were rare, so they cherished them as much as they could.
The only thing that worried them was the fact that they couldn’t just lie there forever.
“Tell me how we met,” the second one said, leaning on his elbow and raising himself. The first one glanced at him:
“Don’t you remember?”
“I’ve forgotten a bit,” he admitted. “Why are you looking at me like that? At my age, you’ll have memory problems too, you’ll see.”
It was all too strange, but the tall one pushed the thought aside:
“Do you remember our first night?”
“The first time? How could I forget that? You nearly wrecked me.”
“And you liked it.”
“Shut up and keep talking!”
The red one smiled gently:
“After that, we, well, didn’t talk about it for quite a while. I was afraid you hated me or had even forgotten about it… and then we talked about it somehow, and everything went crazy. And now we’re here.”
“And I’m glad we’re here. May we always stay together forever,” he pressed closer.
The red one felt like something was wrong. But he still replied:
“…Me too.”
They lay there in silence for a while. It felt strange without the constant ticking of the clock. The green one asked:
“How long do you think we’ve been here?”
“Well…” he pondered. “Maybe thirty minutes.”
“So the boy probably must be asleep already.”
“Hey, I thought you only called me ‘boy.’ I’m actually a little jealous.”
Once he’d recovered from the shock, the shorter one grabbed a pillow and smacked him on the head:
“You damn gerontophile!”
The first one laughed loudly:
“I’m a horny nineteen-year-old. What did you even expect?”
The duck grunted, tossed the pillow aside, and lay back down, pouting. The red one ruffled his feathers, which made him feel better.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the fluffy top of his head.
“I love you too,” the short one said, gently biting his cheek.
They fell silent. The silence continued until the green one suddenly sat up and climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and slowly ran his hand over his solar plexus and down his stomach, moving his hand lower and lower:
“Want to have some playtime? Looks like we’ve got a chance”, he tilted his head, playfully pressing his hand to his chest. The tall one lifted himself up:
“For the love of God, stop calling sex ‘playtime,’” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around his partner’s waist nonetheless. “Just don’t beat me up like you did a week ago.”
“I can’t promise anything.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Fine, fine. You’re so boring… it’s actually kind of cute”, he said, unbuttoning his jacket and throwing it away, exposing his warm sweater he was always wearing for some reason.
He gently cupped his head and cooed:
“Is it even legal to be this cute, actually?”
“No. Arrest me, officer!”
The green one pretended to slap him. The red one smirked.
“Nuh-uh, that’s too dull,” the duck mused. “Maybe we should try to recreate our first time, since we were talking about it? Let’s remind ourselves of the good ol’ days. How about that?”
“We’re unlikely to be able to repeat that, I think. The vibes are completely different.”
“You’re such a bore, I swear!” snorted the short one, extending a claw and carefully ripping open his suit. A small hole formed between his hips and knees. He began to gently and even a bit too slowly stroke his rapidly rising member, maintaining intense eye contact:
“Well, I guess I can call you a good little boy, just like that day. Hmm? Do you want it?”
The tall one swallowed nervously, turning away:
“Yeah. I do.”
“Well… if you behave yourself, I’ll consider it,” he picked up the pace. “Maybe you can finish like this? Just from my touch? Without all that extra stuff?”
“I can. But you can’t. You’re already hard.”
The shorter one covered himself with his free hand:
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“I think it does,” the first one cautiously grabbed his hand and began pulling off his sweater. “I bet it’s you who will be begging me to call you a good boy soon.”
“Shut up,” whispered the second, offering no resistance though.
As soon as the sweater was off, revealing his scrawny body and a huge autopsy scar running through his torso, the red one looked him over:
“You’re such a cutie.”
“Shut up!” he repeated, blushing deeply.
“God, I’m just going to- Wait a minute!”
He grabbed him by the left shoulder and stretched out his arm, covered in black feathers with a greenish sheen. On his forearm, near the wrist, were thick, numerous scarlet stripes. The first one felt familiar nausea.
“Did you cut yourself again?” he stared at him intently. The duck shrugged, looking away and did this fake untroubled face the first one knew too well, and stroked his cheek, drawling:
“What’s the difference, little one? Let’s just keep going, mhm? Cutie, I’m waiting.”
“No way,” replied the first one, joining the torn edges of his suit. They fused together like modeling clay. The second one watched in disappointment. He really wanted another thing right now. He rolled his eyes:
“Oh my God, here we go again.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Don’t play dumb.”
The red one, tired of all this, ignored his shenanigans and asked him with concern and anger:
“So, why did you do that? Is something wrong again?”
“Don’t even start.”
“I’m just asking you a question.”
“I said ‘do not even start’.”
The red one was kind of scared already. For both of them, actually. They weren’t fighting yet, but he understood what it all was coming to. He knew that the big argument was close, but he still glanced at his partner with the type of look that immediately made him sigh with irritation and answer:
“I was bored.”
“What do you mean?”
"Stop asking that. What do you mean, what do you mean. You know perfectly well that I meant what I said. Why are you arguing with me in the first place? You gotta respect me and my wishes at the very least as my lover, you know.”
The tall one took a deep breath to keep from losing his temper:
“I’m not arguing with you. But you can’t just… go and hurt yourself simply because you’re bored. You could have talked to me."
"No. I didn’t want to."
The tall one's patience snapped:
"What's wrong with you? This is the second time this week! You promised you'd stop!"
“First of all, don’t you dare accuse me, young man,” he said in a tone that made the ‘young man’ shut up immediately. “And second, don’t twist my words. I said I’d try to quit. I relapsed. I really tried not to do it, but I couldn’t.”
This calmed the tall guy down a little, but he still said:
“Anyway, you’ve cut yourself. That’s not right.”
“Why not?”
The question stumped the first guy. He thought for a moment:
“Well… it’s unhealthy behavior.”
“But you smoke. At your age...”
“Don’t make excuses. I’ve seen you with a cigarette too.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s far more appropriate for me.”
The tall one growled:
“Why are you doing this at all? Let’s find you, I don’t know, a replacement?”
“You think I haven’t tried?”
“Then you haven’t tried hard enough.”
“It’s not your place to judge me, you idiot! You’re sitting here talking about things you know nothing about! You’ve never cut yourself! You don’t understand!”
“Then enlighten me!” the red one said sarcastically.
The duck took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.
“It’s just… well, like a cigarette, really,” he replied. “It makes you feel lighter; you forget about all those… things. I mean, everything that’s going on around you. And the sensations are unusual, pleasant. That’s it.”
The red one looked at him in surprise:
“It can’t feel like a cigarette. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Of course, but, like, that’s the point,” he rubbed his scratched hand. “The adrenaline rushes out. I think it’s even better than cigarettes or booze.”
“Now you’re really stretching it.”
“We get hurt all the time in this House anyway. What’s the difference? One more scratch, one less…”
The tall one touched his hand and said seriously:
“It makes a big difference to me. Promise me you won’t do that again.”
“I’m not going to promise something I can’t keep!” he suddenly shouted.
More than anything, the red one hated it when people yelled at him. He covered his ears. Seeing this, the green one said quietly, gazing into his blue eyes:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I won’t do it anymore.”
After a pause, he added:
“Do you really think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’ve lost my mind? I can see in your eyes that’s what you think. Look at me, look!” he snapped irritably. “I’m a lost cause! I’ve gone completely mad! You see nothing but my… my flaws.”
“That’s not true,” the first one swallowed.
“Yeah, ‘not true’? Listen, why are you always trying to stand out against me? Want to show off how mentally and physically healthy you are? Well, good for you. You’re doing a great job.”
“I’m not trying to stand out against you or whatever you say.”
“Of course.”
“I’m being serious.”
The duck one whispered with unexplainable toxicity, like a snake, staring at him and clicking his tongue:
“Of. Course.”
The corners of red one’s mouth, hidden behind a mop of hair, twitched:
“I’m just scared.”
“Poor thing! And you think I’m not scared?! Do you have any idea what it’s like?! To walk around with a cheerful face and act like a moron?!” he shouted once more, instantly forgetting that he’d promised not to do that.
“I’m worried about you…”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“I want to help.”
“Shut up. You’re selfish. You just want to control me, mold me into your image.”
“I’m not, I just…”
The green one jabbed him with an outstretched claw:
“I said, shut your mouth. Right. Now.”
The first one fell silent in fear. For some reason, it seemed to him that the second one was about to slash him. But the other one retracted his claw with a snort. He was still straddling him, and the scene probably looked really odd from the outside, he thought.
“You think I’m broken”, the green one continued.
“I don’t think so.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. You’re literally-“
“Then for the love of God, stop looking at me like a psycho!” he yelled.
The first one flinched:
“Stop it-“
“You see me as a psycho, don’t you?” the short man hissed with genuine hatred, not even listening to him. “You see me as nothing more than some pathetic little creature that somehow still manages to stay alive.”
“I never, I never saw you as a psycho, I have never said anything like that…”
“Shut your fucking mouth, I’m talking to you!” he screamed in a high, trembling voice. “You don’t even need to say anything. I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re looking at me like I’m a psycho. Look at this psycho, I’m scared of him, I’m so scared. And I’ve never been scared, you moron?! Have they ever ripped your organs out while you were still alive under drugs so it’s more painful?!” he pointed at the huge scar on his torso. “Slowly, one by one, so you could feel every bit of it?! Did they tie a bag of blood to you so you’d suffer longer?! And it’s all your fault, by the way! Because you decided that you have the right to leave us- to leave me behind and go away who-knows-where! So you have no idea what you’re talking about, you brat! You’re not even mature enough for this kind of talk! You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong! I’m sick of your bullshit!”
“You’re the selfish one!” the red one yelled back without any confidence. “You’re always talking about yourself, shifting the blame onto others, and you don’t give a shit about me!”
He quickly fell silent when he realized what he’d said.
“I… I didn’t mean to…” he whispered.
“There you go. You do.”
“That’s not true, I don’t…”
“No, you do. Like I’m a psycho.”
“I don’t…”
“Afraid not for me, but of me.”
He uttered:
“Yes. Right now - yes. I’m sorry.”
The short man turned away. He paused for a long moment. An unbearable, dreadful silence fell. The red one closed his eyes, waiting for another outburst.
It didn’t come.
He looked up. His partner, still not looking at him, said flatly and quietly:
“Wonderful.”
He silently got up from his lap, crawled a little and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the abandoned jacket on the floor. And suddenly he started to look like he wasn’t forty-three, but much, much older. The duck one felt like that not because he thought that the first one was trying to offend him. He just understood that he was telling the truth.
And then, ten seconds later, again, but even quieter:
“Just wonderful.”
The first one opened his mouth, sitting up:
“I… I didn’t mean that…”
“No. Exactly that.”
“Just try to listen, I beg you…”
“No. Now you listen.”
The green one pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his brown breeches.
“I’m so tired.”
He said it with unusual directness. In a typical situation, you wouldn’t be able to get such an admission out of him. He might say he was irritable, that he was bored. But that he was tired? The tall one couldn’t even imagine such a thing.
The green one continued, being strangely calm and collected:
“I’m trying every day. You think I like all this? That every morning I wake up and say to myself ‘Yes, I love that all these lessons, all these things are amusing to me’? That I chose to be like this? I just thought you would understand… but it seems I was wrong.”
The red one cautiously crawled to the edge of the bed and sat down next to him:
“Hey.”
There was no reply. The other just buried his face deeper into the breeches.
“Look at me,” the first one touched his hand.
To everyone’s surprise, including his own, the second one immediately burst into tears.
He cried like he’d never cried before. He choked on his tears, sniffled, and swallowed his snot. The corners of his mouth twitched in a frantic dance. His slightly bulging eyes turned reddish and overflowed with tears that slowly streamed down his cheeks. The red one moved closer to him and awkwardly hugged him, inwardly afraid of something he didn’t even know:
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Please, don’t cry.”
“Nobody loves me…”
“I love you. The third one loves you.”
“He’s a child. He clings to me because he has no one else to cling to… And as for you, I’m not so sure anymore…”
“I love you. Very much.”
“H-how much?” he asked, like a little child, pressing into him.
“More than the whole world,” the first one kissed him on the cheek.
“…Me too. Even though you’ll never be able to understand me anyway.”
“I want to understand you,” the red one gently lifted his head by the chin and looked into his eyes. “Tell me everything. Everything about you.”
The duck one sniffled:
“Until you go through it yourself, you won’t know.”
“Then what should I do?” he gently pulled his partner closer, listening to his sobs. “I want to help you.”
He heard a voice.
“Then just go through it.”
The tall one questioned:
“What? Did you say something?”
“Go through it,” he repeated. His crying suddenly stopped. “Cut yourself and see what it’s like. Maybe then you’ll understand.”
“You don’t have to be rude.”
The green one raised his head. His gaze was unusually serious:
“I’m not kidding. Cut yourself. See what it feels like. That’s the only way you’ll understand me.”
The red one looked him in the eyes:
“You want me to feel pain?”
“Why so?” he asked, stroking his cheek. There was no trace left of his tears. “It’ll toughen you up. Maybe you’ll even like it. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. We could cut ourselves together. Isn’t that romantic?”
“I just… No need to cut yourself. Please, don’t. I want to understand you, I really do. Just promise me you won’t do that anymore,” he whispered with exhaustion. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt yourself.”
The duck thought for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “I won’t cut myself anymore. But you’re going to cut yourself right now.”
“But why?”
The green one took his hand:
“Don’t ask stupid questions. It’ll make you stronger, freer. You’ll understand what it’s like. It’ll be better for everyone.” He brought his face close to his and added, “Don’t betray me. You won’t, will you?”
They suddenly melted into a passionate yet fleeting half-kiss, half-bite. The second one whispered into the first one’s ear, knowing full well how unbearably sensitive he was there:
“I’ll go get a blade, and you’ll be a good boy and sit still right here. Then you’ll get your reward. Okay?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stood up, walked over to the nightstand, and began rummaging through it. For some reason, the first one felt like throwing up from a mixture of fear and disgust. The nausea rose to his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down. He didn’t want to think about why his partner had stopped crying so quickly, as if that was exactly what he’d been waiting for. He was repulsed by the fact that this situation, this argument that filled him with fear, had taken on a sexual undertone for some strange, perverse reason. And it disgusted him even more that he liked it. The green one silently approached him and climbed onto his lap, gently pushing him in the chest. Taken by surprise, the red one leaned back and lay down on the bed. The duck instantly straddled him again, as if nothing had happened. He waved the blade:
“Well? Shall we begin?”
The tall one swallowed hard, turning away. The short one said politely:
“If you’re scared, I can go first. Then you’ll get the hang of it.”
Before the first one could react, he raised his hand with the blade to his own forearm and quickly drew it across with a metallic sound. He showed rapidly appearing whitish wound to his partner. The first one protested, pulling himself up:
“What are you doing?! You promised!”
The second merely parted the strands of hair near his temple and instantly pressed his beak against the hole where his right ear should have been, beginning to lick it with his rough, stiff tongue. Countless fireworks of goosebumps raced across the red one's body. He covered his mouth with his hand. The green one gave him the kind of smile that always drove him wild and whispered right into his ear, making him tremble:
“Why do I get the feeling you’re getting hard? I think we’ll still have time to explore that. Didn’t I promise you a little bit of a reward? And I always keep my promises. And if you’re worried - I’m just showing you how it’s done. I’ll never do it again,” he said in between his licks. The tall one took a deep breath:
“Okay… just… don’t do this again… after this…”
The second one, ignoring his words, shoved the blade into his hand:
“Go on. Be a good boy and run this thing along your forearm. You want to understand me, don’t you? You said it yourself.”
The first one held the blade with trembling hands. They were shaking not only from the recent stimulation, but also from fear. The red one suddenly realized how differently they viewed this situation. Nevertheless, he gripped the blade tighter and brought it just below his wrist. He gently touched his skin with it. He was afraid of the unknown, afraid of ruining everything just like that. The duck ran a finger along his cheek:
“Come on. You’ll look so cute…”
“I can’t," he whispered. The green one squirmed on his lap and said quietly, in a seductive, dramatic voice:
"If you cut yourself, I’ll make you feel good. Want me to even take your thing in my mouth?" He tilted his head back, parted his beak, and took two of his fingers deep into his mouth, winking almost imperceptibly. The first one coughed nervously, hating himself for getting so aroused. He despised his physiological reaction that followed it.
It felt wrong. So wrong.
He gently ran the blade across his skin. He had underestimated its sharpness - even though he tried to be careful, a burgundy scratch quickly appeared on his arm, from which a drop of blood oozed.
“What a good boy you are,” the green one drawled, carefully tearing his suit with a claw and forcefully pushing his partner toward the headboard, making him sit down. He immediately gave a dramatic fake playful gasp, widening the hole in the suit upon seeing his obvious erection, and, lifting his head and giggling and opening his beak wide, instantly swallowed his member. The tall one grabbed the textile of a pillow in a rush of sensation. The short one began moving his head up and down, looking at his face. His small, tight throat would tense and contract, then loosen, taking his penis in and pushing it back out. The tall one was breathing heavily. Blowjobs were rare, but every time they happened, they both lost their minds. After about half a minute, the other one suddenly spat out his member and lifted his head. A thin string of saliva hung between his beak and the tip. The red one felt as if he were being mocked or tortured.
“Do you want me to keep going?” he poked it with his finger. “A couple more cuts. And I’ll consider it.”
The first one sighed:
“How many… how many cuts do you need…?”
The duck patted his hand and looked up at him with an unusually sincere look of disappointment:
“Don’t like it?”
“Well…” the tall one began to make excuses, “maybe I just need to get into it. I… I’ll try again.”
Gritting his teeth, he ran the blade across his arm twice. The cuts that appeared a few seconds later looked even deeper. Unexpected, inexplicable tears welled up in his eyes. He began to feel scared. Scared because he had no idea when or how it would all end.
The green one, meanwhile, was feeling conflicted. He wanted to stop. He really did. But he couldn’t. He touched his partner’s face:
“Come on, come on, little one… don’t cry, shhh… come on,” he began stroking his member with his hand, retracting his claws, “How about this? Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah… better,” the first one managed to say, lying.
The short one easily spotted the lie. It hurt him terribly. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ he thought. ‘He’s in pain… he’s… he’s… I’m…’ He frowned almost imperceptibly, trying to comfort himself.
‘This will make my beloved stronger. He’s just sharing my pain. It’ll help him understand me. I love him, after all. I can’t hurt him.’
Isn’t that right?
He only came to his senses when the other let out a barely audible moan when the stroking became too fast. He quickly pulled his hand away:
“Sorry. I got carried away. How could I not get carried away with such a cutie, though?” he ruffled his cheek.
He gently brought his hand to his wounded arm, pressing the inside of his palm against it. Their blood mingled.
“That’s unhygienic,” the red one remarked. The duck poked him in the nose:
“You’re so silly. But I love you anyway. Come on, a couple more cuts, and…” he leaned close to his ear again, “I’ll do anything you want. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll listen to your elder?”
The first one almost threw up. But he nodded anyway.
Then there was another cut, and another promise, and more touches.
And another.
And another.
And another.
Until about twenty minutes had passed and his arm was completely covered in slashes. The second one looked satisfied, proud, smug. His partner felt so disgusted that he just wanted to sink into the ground or die.
“Now…” the duck opened his beak to begin, but suddenly closed it, lost in his own thoughts. An awkward silence fell between them. The red one wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of what. After a while, he touched his hand, forcing himself to speak:
“Hey… everything okay?”
The green one lifted his head. He was crying. And it was all because he had accidentally glanced at the first one’s hand and thought not about how attractive it was, but about how much it must hurt him. He felt disgusted with himself. With his actions. With the very fact that he existed. The tall one froze, not understanding what was happening. The short one sniffled, trying not to show his tears:
“I need to use the bathroom.”
He got up from his lap and ran into their private restroom, slamming the door, trying with all his might to make it before he broke down completely.
The red one was left alone with his jumbled thoughts. The first thing he did, out of fear, was to merge the edges of his suit back together. He felt dirty. He shifted to the middle of the bed and leaned back, spreading his arms wide. For a while, he didn’t think. Thinking was too painful. He just wanted to pull his brain out and throw it in the trash can, hoping it would rot away quickly.
But soon, thoughts came crashing down on him like a waterfall.
‘Why is my favorite person crying?’
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, he’s the one who asked me.’
‘I’m not wrong. Probably.’
‘Then… why do I feel like throwing up from disgust?’
‘I just wanted to understand him; this helps me to understand him…’
‘Then why do I feel right now as if something wrong has happened?’
He exhaled, trying to calm down. His heart was pounding like crazy. A final thought flashed through his mind.
‘He was right. There’s no way I’ll ever understand him.’
He felt incredibly ashamed. He curled up into a fetal position, falling onto his side. He felt terrible, both mentally and physically. His left arm ached terribly, covered in countless wounds. But strangely enough, he wasn't worried more about himself.
‘God, he’s all alone out there right now.’
‘If I feel this bad, how must he feel?’
‘He’s feeling even worse.’
‘I… I have to check on him.’
He didn’t want to get up, but he did anyway. His feet touched the cold floor. Swaying with exhaustion, he walked over to the door and tugged at the handle. It was locked.
“How are you in there?” he asked awkwardly, giving it another tug.
There was no answer.
He sighed deeply:
“Open up. Please.”
Only silence met him. He pressed his ear against the door. He could hear heavy breathing on the other side. Of course he’s crying, he thought.
He had to come up with something. He paced the room several times. It was all too familiar, and he didn’t even know what exactly he was looking for. He walked until his head spun and he had to sit down on the bed. As soon as he did, his gaze fell to the jacket his partner had left behind earlier. He vaguely remembered something about a set of keys that his lover always carried with him, just in case. Kneeling down, he began rummaging through the pockets and finally pulled the set out of one of them. He didn’t have to search long for the right one - all the keys were neatly labeled in calligraphic handwriting on little pieces of paper attached to them. Clutching the key in his hand, he walked over to the door and sighed, gathering his thoughts. He carefully slipped it inside and turned it quietly, hoping not to startle his partner. The door opened with a silent creak. He peered in, standing in the doorway.
He froze.
The short one, with his back turned to him, was kneeling with his pants pulled down, with his forehead pressed against the tile on the wall. He was masturbating, oblivious to everyone and everything around him, quietly muttering something unintelligible under his breath. At least, it seemed unintelligible at first. The red one felt awkward. I totally shouldn’t have seen that, he thought. But then he caught the words the green one was whispering. His heart sank to his heels.
“Yes, yes, good boy, that’s it.”
A short pause.
“Yeah…”
Even quieter:
“Don’t stop, little one, just don’t stop, I’m almost there.”
And what made real vomit rise to the tall one’s throat:
“You’ll be so fucking pretty with those scars…”
He couldn’t hold back and broke the silence, rushing to the sink and brushing his hair back from his face. He threw up. Acidic vomit filled the bottom of the sink. He quickly turned on the water, trying to wash it away. When the sink was more or less clean again, he swallowed, put his hair back and turned to the left. Their eyes met.
The other one looked frightened, like a little animal. As if he’d been caught red-handed. But that expression lasted only a few seconds. He quickly and skillfully replaced it with a dramatic, fake smile:
“Hmm, looks like you’ve discovered my little secret. Want to join in? You haven't came yet, isn’t that right?”
The red one stood there, staring at him in shock, and said nothing. The first one's face grew serious when he realized his partner had heard everything.
"Have you... been standing there for a while?" he asked, tilting his head.
The first one didn't answer. He just looked. He understood. Not everything, of course, just part of it. But that part was enough.
“So that’s why all this happened, right?” he finally asked.
The duck turned away:
“Don’t start freaking out. I don’t have the patience for your drama. I can’t even get off without your childish tantrums.”
“So is that why or not?”
“I told you not to freak out. Respect me.”
The tall one stepped a little closer. His heart was pounding so hard it seemed the other one must be able to hear it. It was clear from the green one’s face that he was starting to get nervous.
The first one opened his mouth but was afraid to say anything. He became frightened as soon as he remembered how satisfied his partner had sounded just a few moments ago. As if he’d gotten what he wanted.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” the short one began.
“Then how am I supposed to understand it?”
“Understand it however you want.”
“And how is that? What do you think I’m thinking right now?”
“I… don’t know.”
“You do know. And if you know, then explain.”
“I’m not obligated to.”
“You are obligated.”
A brief, joyless smirk appeared on the green-haired man’s face.
“I’m obligated, is that it? Is that what you think?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not a stupid boy. You’ve already figured it all out yourself.”
Silence hung between them. The red one felt as if a knife had been plunged into his heart and twisted, tearing out the flesh. He realized just how pitiful his partner looked right now. As if he were either a child or a very old man.
“You didn’t want to help me,” the first one said emotionlessly. The second one broke out in goosebumps. He had spent so long peeling away that mask of indifference from his partner, only for everything to come crashing down in a single day.
“You didn’t want to help me or help me to understood you,” he persisted. “You wanted me to become just as broken and sick as you are.”
The green one squeezed his eyes shut, as if those words were causing him physical pain:
“No. That’s not true. That specifically isn’t true,” he said unconvincingly.
“Then why did you look so happy a couple of minutes ago when you were jerking off? Why were you moaning those things? I’m afraid to imagine what you were even thinking.”
The duck opened his beak, but the first one cut him off:
“And you… you knew perfectly well that it would hurt me and be hard for me. You harmed me on purpose.”
“Yes.”
The red one hadn’t expected such a quiet confession. He looked at his partner with sorrow. The other finally stood up, straightened himself, and pulled his pants up. After fastening his belt, he reached out to him, whispering fearfully:
“I love you.”
Those words hurt more than any possible cuts. The first one replied, feeling unbearably tired:
“I know.”
It didn’t help.
The shorter one walked up to him and wrapped his arm around his leg. Usually, this gesture brought joy to both of them, but not this time. He whispered something that completely destroyed the red one:
“Let’s have sex.”
He just nodded. He was incapable of doing anything.
The first one felt as if he were watching a movie. The other one felt the same way. Everything was a blur. First, the duck gently touched his partner’s hand and led him into the bedroom. Then he lay down on the bed, pulling down his pants and spreading his legs. And finally, he felt the familiar warmth and a clumsy thrust filling him from the inside.
It was repulsive to both of them. Horribly repulsive. Pressed against each other, they remained awkwardly silent. Only the old bed creaked rhythmically.
“I love you,” the second one repeated, hoping that somehow it would become pleasant and that this would fix everything instantly.
“…Me too,” he heard in reply. It sounded so pained that he immediately realized his partner was crying. Tears welled up in his own eyes too. But they couldn’t stop now.
The red one closed his eyes and continued to move his hips, trying to erase what he’d seen just a few minutes ago. But the scene of his beloved masturbating to his pain was still fresh in his mind. He began to thrust harder, hoping that it would change something. That the more pleasure the other received, the closer they would become. Deep down, he knew it didn’t work that way, but it was the only thing he could do. I came here myself, I let this happen, it’s my responsibility that I should take, he thought.
He couldn’t decide if all this were repairing the connection between them or ruining it forever.
Usually during sex, the duck one felt passion, arousal, a kind of euphoria, but this time none of that was there. Deep inside, against a backdrop of terrible, shameful guilt, there was only relief, for which he despised himself. His beloved hadn’t left. Their connection wasn’t broken. Not yet. But with every passing second, the shame consumed him more and more. Deep down, he knew that everything was over. Not in a literal sense; their relationship would continue, but it was as if something within it had just changed forever. Yet he was no longer able to stop this process. He was holding onto his partner, and that was what mattered most. But his body took over: every thrust stimulated him more and more, and his tears flowed just as freely - more and more. It comforted him that his partner was still with him. In his mind, sex was supposed to be a wonderful cure. But reality turned out to be harsher. The most painful thing for him was realizing that it certainly wasn’t a cure for his lover.
The silence between them felt perverse, wrong. The shorter one hated himself for his arousal. The taller one hated himself for the lack of it.
At some point, they both realized: they were trying to restore their connection sincerely, with all their hearts. They were just using the very thing that was destroying that connection.
Tears streaming down the red one’s cheeks fell onto the green one’s face. He broke down as well.
“We can stop if you want,” the second one sniffled. The first just shook his head and continued moving his hips:
“Just promise me you won’t hurt yourself anymore. Never again.”
“…I promise.”
An idea formed in the red one’s mind: ‘if I don’t push him away, then I’ll be able to save him.’
He came relatively early, with that thought. For some reason, there was no pleasure in it. Just emptiness. The short one lay there, staring at the ceiling. The red one pulled out. Semen poured out of the duck one’s gaping entrance.
“You didn’t get off,” said the first one, as if stating a fact. The green one nodded, even though he didn’t care at all. Not thinking about hygiene, the tall one immediately shoved two fingers inside him, starting to bend and unbend them right away, stroking his front wall. The first one, stretching his arms upward, grabbed the headboard, closing his eyes tightly. If there had been a gun nearby, he would have shot himself in the head without a second thought.
When he felt he was close, he realized he couldn’t stop. He was falling deeper and deeper into this filthy abyss of pleasure.
“Give me your arm,” he said, wiping away his tears. If he survived what he was about to do, he would kill himself, he decided. He hoped the red one would refuse, but he reached out his arm anyway, his face still hidden behind the same mask.
The green one pressed his hand against his groin. The tall one realized what he was about to do, but he was too worn out for all of this. He simply didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over as quickly as possible.
The orgasm came quickly. The first one felt the familiar tightening around his curling fingers and the familiar tremor in his partner’s limbs. Following the pre-ejaculate, a small, tiny stream of semen shot out, splattering directly onto his wounds and mixing with the dark blood. The second man’s pleasure paled in comparison to the terrible guilt and self-loathing. A second passed, but he already regretted what he had done. He looked up at his partner, expecting anger, hatred, incomprehension…
The first one just stared. And that was the most painful blow of all.
“Let’s go to sleep,” he simply whispered. The duck nodded, sobbing.
They both just wanted to forget all this.
Like a bad nightmare.
They both, for a split second, wished they never met.
The night was deathly still until the red one woke up so abruptly, as if someone dear to him had called his name. Maybe it was a bad dream. Maybe something else. For a while, he just lay there. He wanted to scream. Instinctively, he reached out to his left.
The bed was cold. Nothing there. He turned around. The blade, earlier thrown on a nightstand, had disappeared.
He looked around the room. A thin strip of light lay against the wall, under the bathroom door. It was so familiar for some reason. It was like everything that happened that day was leading to this very light. He stared at it for a long time, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped. Probably longer than he should have.
His lover’s promise had lasted only a few hours. Ha-ha.
There was no disappointment inside. Only exhaustion. He knew the answer to the question he hadn’t yet had time to ask. A few hours ago, he would have jumped up immediately, run to the door, started banging on it hysterically, begging… but now he just stared at that very light, like a moth with a broken wing. He thought about that promise, which had seemed sincere to him. About the tears, the arguments, the thought that 'after all this, everything will be different.'
He expected that he should be feeling anger, rage, shock. Inside, there was nothing.
For some reason, he recalled their endless mornings together. The loud laughter of the love of his life. His old habit of smiling first, then speaking. How essential and right it all was. And now these memories seemed like the dreams of a small child. But the scariest thing was that his endless love hadn’t gone anywhere. How much easier it would be if it, and he himself, had disappeared. But that couldn’t be changed now.
None of this could be changed.
No matter how hard he tried.
He slowly stood up. The floor was just as cold. He thought about how neither of them had chosen these endless, exhausting cycles, yet both of them were stuck in them forever. He found that amusing.
Every step he took toward the door was surprisingly easy. There was no inner struggle, no conflict, no hesitation. He knew perfectly well what was happening and what he was about to see. Perhaps he knew even before he woke up.
His hand rested on the doorknob. He immediately realized that his partner hadn’t even bothered to close the door. Behind it, he could hear quiet sobbing and the gurgling of water from the faucet.
For a second, he wanted to just forget about it all and go back to bed, but he knew he couldn’t. Because on the other side was him. His reason for living. The one he loved with all his heart. And the one he would never be able to look at the same way again. But hope had died way before the love that would never, ever die.
And that was exactly why he decided to get up at all, knowing that it would all happen again tomorrow, and the day after, and again, and again…
He opened the door.
“I deserve to bleed.”