A/N: okay so this is my first dab at a DOGS fic, so please bear with me as I get the feel for the characters. Enjoy!
o n e . d i s t a n t
There were times in the early morning when Heine would just stare up at the ceiling, eyes glazed over and unmoving. It was in those times when Badou knew better than to make some crude remark or poke fun at the albino. Those early morning times he knew better than to even talk at all. It was, in fact, as if Badou could sympathize with that cold look. The look that reminded him so much of himself was perhaps the one thing that brought upon his silence.
t w o . f e a r
Badou sighed as he put the second shot glass back in its place in the cupboard. As he poured the drink for himself he glanced over at the empty chair, usually occupied by a certain albino. The white-haired bastard had been gone for weeks without a word. Badou placed a shaky hand over his eye and tried to convince himself he wasn't afraid.
t h r e e . h u m a n i t y
He sometimes liked to think of himself as a human. He liked to think that he was similar, if not the same, as the people he passed while walking to the church or Badou's apartment. Then the dog imprisoned in his neck would chuckle and offer some sadistic retort and Heine would move on.
Who was he kidding? Human? Fuck that. How could he possibly be human anymore?
f o u r . d e s a t u r a t e d
He couldn't remember when the world began to feel so dull to him. He suspected it was the reavelation of his immortality that made the world feel so colorless. Heine never found the sunset peaceful, or the colors of flowers in a meadow soothing. To him the world was not beautiful. It did not give him a feeling of tranquility or elicit any emotion from him at all.
The crimson color of blood, however, was a different story.
f i v e . f a m i l y
The philosophy of a family was such a foreign thing to Heine. He would occasionally think that he once had a family of his own. It was in moments when he thought of such a thing that he reminded himself how fucked up his "family" really had been.
s i x . n u m b
Getting hit by a bullet (or many) felt like fire as it ripped through his body. The pain of the injury lasted until the vile piece of lead left his body and the wound healed over. Badou thought that the albino got off on the pain as some sort of masochistic therapy.
Heine disagreed.
The pain was followed by a blissful feeling of nothing, a numbness that no drug had ever succeeded in giving him. It was a feeling of being drugged that his body wouldn't immediately correct. If Heine thought about it, Badou was right in an indirect kind of way.
Pain was the only drug that would work for him.
s e v e n . r h y t h m
It was in the heat of battle that he looked as if he felt the most at peace with himself, with life in general. It was as if the rhythm of his guns that shed blood and carnage seemed to calm the feral look in his eyes.
e i g h t . i n s o m n i a
Badou knew Heine didn't get nearly enough sleep, though the albino would never admit it. The red-haired, nicotine freak knew that it was one of those times when he came home to find a stray dog sleeping on his ratty couch.
n i n e . a n g e l
He knew Heine wasn't religious. How could he possibly be? The poor bastard's life had been nothing but an epic of tragedy and disaster. He had scars underneath his flawless, ivory skin that would never be known to anyone but himself.
It was, however, the little winged angel that waited for him with open arms at the church that made Badou sometimes think otherwise.
t e n . l i f e
Badou had seen him end lives. He had seen Heine rip offenders apart with his bare hands and his crazed eyes wouldn't so much as blink. So when his favorite albino came home with a small puppy in his arms, the newly lit cigarette fell out of his mouth in awe.