Slow Burn : A Malformed Man's Unrequited Love
Pairing: Akashi/Momoi and hints of Akashi/Kuroko
Rating: PG-13 for disturbing imagery
Word Count: 619 words
"So, how is it?" He asks her. "How does it feel to look at the face of a monster?"
People are niether born inherently good or evil. They are born empty.
Akashi Seijuro was born with an abnormally huge appetite, constantly unsatisfied with what the world had to offer him. It was an insatiable hunger. He started consuming literature and art at the age of five and upon entering grade school he discovered that above all things, his favorite activity was winning.
His world was too small and he was never proven wrong.
Momoi spots him sitting on the staircase leading towards the school rooftop.
Akashi realizes her presence and takes it as a cue to put down a book he's been reading.
They smile at each other like good friends.
"I'm going to stay with Dai-chan. Who knows what he'll do when there's no one around to keep him in line." She tells him. "Thank you for your hard work."
"Please don't thank me. The pleasure is all mine." His words are empty. He stands up and moves towards her, descending a flight of stairs he'll never see again.
Akashi extends his hand. "Satsuki, you've helped me a lot."
He's asking for a handshake.Momoi hesitantly reaches out and shakes his hand. His palms were so sweaty and cold that it gave her goosebumps. She looks at his face, and his visage becomes heavily imprinted on her memory.
Why?
You see, the more she looked at him, the uglier he became. Momoi couldn't explain it, this strange phenomenon occured at the very moment their hands touched.
Everything about his face looks weird. That's the conclusion I've come to. How come I never noticed this before? He's ridiculously ugly. Why, he's almost malformed at this stage. How grotesque. Is he even human?
How she despised Akashi. He was utterly despicable. Everything about him was disgusting and undesirable. Akashi admires Momoi's composure. Even as she wrestled the new found feelings that began to spin uncontrollably inside her like a storm, she never faltered and continued to look him right in the eye.
"So, how is it?" He asks her. "How does it feel to look at the face of a monster?"
Momoi flinches when his grip tightens. "It hurts."
"You must hate me a lot Satsuki. You must think I'm responsible for Tetsuya leaving, don't you?" His smile never disappears.
Momoi pulls her hand away. He was amazed at how much emotion someone could convey by simply furrowing their brows.
She had a lot to say but chose not to.
How could she?
She didn't even have the heart to cry for him.
"Goodbye." She tells him.
Akashi watches Momoi turn around and walk away. Her silhouette fades into the darkness as if she were being devoured by a beast.
Ah yes, the beast. It's here. Akashi thought.
A bellowing howl fills the school's hallways. The beast is now awake. He howls, he whimpers, he cries.
Akashi hears sharp teeth gnawing on skin and bone, savoring meaty flesh. The beast is horrified at his own gluttony, unable to control himself as his claws dug unto her thigh.
Akashi has never seen the beast emerge from the shadows, but he knew how it must've felt. Imagine the horror of eating the flesh of the delicate young woman you loved. Imagine if you had cannibalized everyone you cared for. The mere idea of it would've been enough to drive you insane.
Tetsuya too must've been eaten by that beast. He thought.
Akashi returned to the place where he previously sat, allowing the monster to savor his meal. Before he knew it, he too ceased to be human.
"She wouldn't even shed a tear for me." The beast sits alone and continues his reading.
END
Notes: This is a strange story for an equally strange pairing. I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to write it. I wish I could say more about this story, but I feel like everything that needs to be said has been conveyed in this short piece. It's really all about how people see what has transpired, and I'm always curious to hear about that. Anyway thanks for taking the time to read this depressing piece.
