And he lay on the bed. Not much going around. Just a plain bed in a colorlessly plain room. There wasn't much to see. Not much to think. But there was too much to feel. Or was it that he was feeling too much? Just feeling too much. He lay on the bed, feeling. Swallowing every possible emotion that's been triggered in his sufferer of a soul. And all of them curiously mixed in his gut. His eyes. His disinterested eyes that have drunk bitter coffee all the while. And it's been like this. Bitter coffee all the while.
The door creaked into his ears. And the familiar movements were a thief at the back of his head. Kougaiji. Kougaiji he felt random weights making slow motion punches on the yielding bed. Making position, that is domineering—straddling.
Not once had this occurred. No. It has been like this. Always. Straddled like this. Body instantly painted a lesser brightness by another's shadow. Nii Jien appeared on top of him. So what exactly should he feel then? Nii Jien sucked at the bottom side of his neck.
What?
What would happen next, he was perfectly aware, yet still, he lay there.
His cup, being filled, just like some sort of personal fulfillment. His body was arching in pain, as his cup was constantly poured with bitter coffee. He found himself on all fours, just like a bloody dog. He shut his eyes tight, moaning, and then suddenly felt heat and closeness behind one of his ears. There was the heat of breath . . .
"Don't you . . . just love it?"
. . . and then the sinking cold provided by the voice, the words.
His cup, now being filled. It didn't matter if it's with bitter coffee, as long as it wouldn't be found empty. There's pleasure in pain, and maybe vice versa. His tongue has been tasting only bitterness far too long that it has become sweet, the coffee of course.
There wasn't much to think, simply because he didn't want to think about it. This sort of personal fulfillment.