Unorthodox
-Unorthodox... Something that is abnormal.-
His ash hued fingers twitched, gently twirling a stand of his short, stringy, sable hair into a coil like the kind found in machines, though it refused to curl and instead fell back to its original form. His skin was a decaying, burnt black, and he glanced at his skinny hands, clenching them gently into fist. He... was vile.
He slowly inhaled, his thin body trembling with the effort to breath-it had become more difficult to breathe, but he didn't dare tell Miharu. He was already a burden to the young boy, he didn't need to to make him worried. Even when air filled his lungs, he still felt light-headed and the world spun and blurred. His gloved hands gripped his throat as he tried in vain to breathe.
But he didn't dare tell Miharu, he didn't want to be anymore of a burden.
He exhaled slowly as well, and his vision sometimes dimmed for a fleeting moment and in that moment he panicked, his dark blue gaze shifting left, then right. When his sight returned he sighed in relief, his heart still beating fast.
He looked solemnly at the boy that sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, his curious green eyes watching him carefully. He watched him, kept on checking that he was breathing. His heartbeat was scarce.
But he didn't dare tell Miharu.
Miharu, leave. You don't need to grant my wish.
He didn't dare voice these thoughts.
He wasn't normal. He chose to learn the Forbidden Art, Kira; become a monster; killer. Murder. Destroyer. He tugged a strand of string on his coat absentmindedly, twirling it around. He had killed his mother.
I'm a monster.
"Miharu?"
"Hmm?"
He hesitated. "Do you know what 'unorthodox' means?"
"No," he replied, shaking his head.
"It means abnormal," he whispered. "I'm abnormal."
"And?" Miharu asked. "I don't care."
"If you knew-"
"I still wouldn't care," the boy whispered, suddenly embracing him gently in his small arms. He didn't know what to do, but he knew what to say.
Thank you.
But he was scared, so he didn't dare say that.