{the liar's paradox}
Only the dead tell truths— In which a human obsessed with death visits Uta's studio. Male!oc centric.
warnings: contains mentions of suicide, depression, gore, and violent themes. you have been warned. oh, and spoilers for the end of the tg manga.
"he's a
guillotine,
honey—
and one day
you'll lose
more than your head."
Chapter 1- Guillotine
He doesn't know what draws him to the ghoul-infested alleyways (it's a lie but it's a lie he needs to believe in) deep in the decrepit bowels of the 4th ward. But soon he's running from the death he thought he wanted, sprinting and gasping for air as a starving monster stumbles behind him.
"I just want one bite, please! If I don't eat I'll lose my mind!" The words are howled through clenched teeth, the mad ghoul convulsing with a dangerous hunger at every step. His steps are hurried and frantic, sounding akin to the gait of a dozen people instead of a single unstable monster. It is an uneven staccato of footsteps which resound against the cement, beating in time with Ryouta's heartbeat.
Thud.
This can't be happening—
Thud.
This isn't what I wanted at all!
A garbage can is flung at him by a blossoming red bikaku-type kagune, hitting him in the back of his knees. He falls forward with all the force of his sprint, rubbing the skin of his palms and shoulder raw.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
He collects himself from the fall, stumbling towards the end of the alleyway. There is no pain, only a frantic haze of fear that causes him to cry out.
"Someone, anyone, help me!"
Laughter echoes at his plea, mocking his attempts at survival—though it is not the only response to his screams.
As he turns the corner, his spotted vision creates an unwanted mass of angles and shapes in the form of a red-brick wall. A dead end.
What a fucking way to go, lost in the spiraling maze of the 4th's ghoul district. He could almost laugh if he wasn't holding back a choked sob.
This was nothing like the quick, painless death he had envisioned for himself. A death he had hoped would be ruled as a tragedy done by the hands of ghouls. A bullet would have been so much fucking easier.
Still running, Ryouta jumped the single flight of cement stairs, tumbling towards his assumed death. If he was going to die like this, he'd die knowing he gave his all, in the end. That maybe suicide had been an option, but an option he wished hadn't enticed his mind. This would be a choice without regrets.
"F-fuck off!" The words are said through chattering teeth, each gasp harder than the last. He's sure he's bruised something—perhaps even broken a rib at his 'heroic' leap from the stairwell but it was a pain he once again kept from encroaching into his consciousness.
His fingers find purchase on what appears to be a welcome mat of all things. Dark eyes briefly flitting to the OPEN sign on the door, Ryouta pulls himself up by the doorknob, knees weak and wobbly. It feels like he's standing on a plank of driftwood in the middle of the ocean but he summons up the strength to rest his entire weight against the oak door. In one motion he finds himself strewn out against a tile floor, kicking the door closed with his good leg.
He braces for the inevitable sound of the ghoul clawing at the doorframe, but it does not come. There is only the sound of his haggard breathing as he picks himself off the glossy floors, a sharp pain rising in his left leg.
Ryouta hisses in pain, running a single hand into his windswept red locks. He feels blood welling up in the form of cuts against his forehead as he comes face to face with a pale man whose body was adorned with tattoos.
"Ah, hello there. Are you alright?" He tips his head in an observant gesture, gaze masked by the heavily tinted glare of sunglasses. There's something unnerving in the fact that the stranger could freely observe him—something that sends a sudden chill down Ryouta's spine.
He doesn't know what it is, but he can feel every muscle in his body tensing, pupils dilating, hands clammy, even though his breathing had steadied. The threat was gone… right?
The man, he learns rather easily, is named Uta. He's a mask maker, one of those self-employed craftsmen who stay afloat through other more lucrative means. Ryouta wonders what Uta does on the side, but refrains from voicing his concerns.
The studio is nicely furnished, if not cluttered by art supplies. There are pencils and pieces of charcoal strewn on any available space. He spots a couch in the corner of the flat, a black leather ensemble matched by an equally dark armchair.
Though, if he were being honest, what really catches his eye is not the eccentric nature of the man or the messiness of his home, but the range of masks that are displayed both on the walls and in pristine glass cases. They are all separated evenly, wrapped in velvet cloth if displayed in a case, and range from the macabre to the poetically beautiful. Ryouta spots two masks which are displayed as a pair. One has long silver ram horns, the face painted black and cracked lightly where the temples were, revealing a sheen of white paint. It was as if the mask had once been born of an angelic being, now fallen. The mask beside it looked to be something worn at masquerades or fancy galas; it was layered in gold details, pearls dipping down and resting just below the cheeks. White lace outlined the half mask while brushes of gold dusted just below the oval holes which represented the eyes. It was so beautiful that he couldn't stare at it for too long. Instead, the red-head dropped his gaze to the mask maker in front of him.
"So, Uta-san, what made you live here? With all the ghoul attacks, I mean. Aghh, damnit!" He yells a little too loudly as a cotton ball dabbed at his shoulder. Crimson seeped into the cotton ball until Uta pulled back, discarding it in the trash.
"Sorry… but you should know at your age that disinfectants sting." The ghoul observed, grabbing hold of his forearm. He continued on without missing a beat, "As for why I live here, it's actually pretty simple. The rent here is dirt cheap. And the neighbors aren't that bad—sometimes you even get to see some cannibalism and that's always interesting."
Ryouta could only stare back in shock. Not only had the tattooed man insinuated that he was much older than him (he was 21, not a high-school student, though his short stature had caused many to think otherwise), but he had implied cannibalism all in a single retort.
Is this guy for real?
The ghoul blinked, adding a qualifier as if he had heard the boy's troubled inner monologue. "Just kidding!"
He paused to readjust his unusual sitting position on the bar stool; he sat with both legs pressed to his chest even though it greatly hindered his reach. Though, as far as Ryouta was concerned, he was just glad that the man knew something about first-aid. He could worry about his eccentricities much, much later.
"Now, please, be still. I need to wrap the wound with gauze; it wouldn't do any good if you bled out in my studio, hmm?" Uta chuckled at his own dark words, slowly wrapping the bandages near the junction between his shoulder and arm.
He hummed as he worked, tearing off the excess with his teeth. The pseudo-violence that came with the action surprised the boy, but it allowed him to see Uta's eyelashes as he tipped his head.
I wonder what color his eyes are…
Instead, a different sort of pondering left his lips. "You're really good at this. Don't tell me you have experience with this kind of thing."
It was meant as a light joke, but the man stilled all the same, tattooed fingers perched on the lid of the first-aid kit. He remained silent and suddenly Ryouta worried he had stepped over some invisible boundary with the artist.
Ah, he should have known to keep his mouth shut. The poor man was helping him after a ghoul attack; he shouldn't be prying into his life. He had just met the guy for crying out loud!
"You know, the 20th ward is very peaceful—though the CCG would paint it otherwise. Travel around for a bit and try to survive. You'll learn things like wrapping bandages and applying ointments pretty easily…" He trailed off, lips pulled into a frown.
Due to his sunglasses, his lips were the only indicator of emotion—minus the sound of his voice, of course.
"I'd rather not." He replied honestly. "Actually, I—"
"Sorry to interrupt, but could I call you Ryou-kun? I think it sounds quite cute."
"…Excuse me?" Just what was this man doing? He certainly acted like a clown at times with all his seemingly random statements.
"You see… I don't get too many customers. It's quite lonely here. I don't want to say that I'm glad you were attacked, but I'm glad I got to meet you. Perhaps you'll even become a real customer someday."
The boy nodded, a flurry of thoughts racing through his head. The strange tattooed man may just be what he needed to rekindle his writing. Funny, how near death could cause such odd epiphanies. There was something sinister hidden underneath Uta's polite speech and wide smiles, that was for sure. But it drew him in all the same—just as the decrepit alleyways of the ghoul district had ultimately brought him to his door.
"Alright, fair enough, I guess. But that means I get to just call you Uta, right?"
The ghoul nodded, fingers trailing against the boy's skin for a moment longer than necessary. He took a deep breath, returning his supplies to the first-aid box. "Sounds like a deal."
The lid snapped closed like a guillotine.
Uta popped another eyeball into his mouth, chewing the dissolving sclera thoughtfully. Ryouta was such a pleasant surprise. Rarely did he get humans stumbling into his studio—wounded ones were even rarer. He'd certainly treasure his time with his new plaything.
He had weaseled out a phone number and a promise for another meeting. Uta couldn't wait. Things with the Pierrot were fitfully boring right now. It would be a good distraction.
Though, he did quite enjoy the boy's company. He was the easiest human to read that he had ever come across. There wasn't a lying bone in his body. His face, gestures, and words betrayed his every emotion.
His full name was Ryouta Oshiro. He dropped out of college to write a book involving a protagonist whose cursed fate led to the downfall of the entire human race. It was written beautifully (or, at least, from the little excerpt he had seen from the boy's phone), but people just weren't interested in tragedies nowadays. Leeching off his parents, the poor man had fallen into a spiral of depression involving heavy amounts of liquor to get rid of his thoughts of failure and disgrace. And, while he hadn't been too privy in telling of why he had stumbled down into the ghoul district of the 20th ward, his eyes had told the entire story.
He had gone out to die. Unable to pull a trigger or stab himself, Ryouta had wanted a ghoul to do the job—an interesting and unique way to commit suicide, Uta noted.
Humans were so fickle. It brought a smile to the clown's face just thinking about it.
"Ryou-kun, won't you let me have more fun? I'd love to take your eyes someday…" He held out a murky pair of brown eyes in his left hand, allowing the studio lighting to create a bright shine. They didn't compare to Ryouta's. There weren't any eyes in the world that seemed to hold as much sadness as his. They seemed to reflect every human sympathy ever witnessed in the world.
He wanted to unravel the boy, find out what hidden secrets still remained. There was a novelty to the frailness and sadness born from a human. It was always unexpected but inexplicably beautiful.
The sight of a shattered cup could be just as breathtaking as unmarred porcelain—especially if it were filled with blood.
The thought brought a smile to Uta's lips. Chaos was so… thrilling.
a/n: I'm uta trash and I'm proud lol. anyway, here's an experimental piece; it's not my normal writing style but I tried my best. didn't expect there to be any humor but uta is uta, after all. updates will be based on interest I guess; so let me know if you wanna see more of Ryouta and the 'sadness' he reflects in his writing.
also, ryouta may seem like a blank slate right now, but that's because he grows in development along w/ uta due to their interaction. i hope you'll be patient- i believe the wait will be worth it~
review?
-isis