There are times when the who's and why's are lost in the face of loss and lust; combined together to make one of Soubi's more graceless paintings. The sort that call acclaim because they're pointless... Senselessly painfully wretched. The kind he paints out of necessity. The kind which stinks up the apartment for days as he labors over them. Just to come out with nothing.
Natsuo glances up tiredly and Yoji growls. They rip it to shreds for him and drag the painter down into the bed with them.
He bleeds quietly, he breathes defiantly.
Their continuation is a stubborn assertion.
Of what they shouldn't be.
Couldn't be.
Will never be.
"I want to exist too, you son of a bitch," Yoji snarls in someone else's name.
Natuso smiles and nibbles at the curve of his ear again.
Standard Disclaimers.