"Call me Kai from now on."
"You...want me to call you Kai?"
"We're no longer in the hospital. We have no need to put up our guards or act like strangers."
Chisaki continues to hold her hand almost limply in his own; Kiyoko guesses it's so he doesn't hurt it. It can't be because he considers her something that needs to be treated gently, like someone precious, like he-
Kiyoko feels a shiver run through her body and every nerve is screaming at her to retract her hand. It hits her so fast despite it not really being a surprise. Kiyoko has known in her heart for a while now what this was, but it isn't until now that she understands how serious Chisaki is, the depth of his lingering gazes, the meaning behind all of his careful words, his compliments, his odd insistence that she is special, she is not like those he deems diseased. This is more than just a fondness or affection, more than what she had assumed. Kiyoko feels like such a fool. The cup in her hands feels so heavy.
"No more titles, no more worrying what others think. It's only us here now. I know it may seem sudden to you, but don't mistake my request for something careless or thoughtless." Chisaki holds her hand in place and stares into her eyes like he's drowning in them, like nothing else exists.
"Call me by my name. Not by the name of your patient, of the man who came to you broken and without reason to live. Call me by the name of the man you've made a fool of, won't you? Yes, a fool. I can't even touch you, not properly; you might believe it's poetic justice. To me it's torture."
Kiyoko feels the cold metal of his prosthetic against her hot cheek. She can't feel Chisaki's pulse through it, not his heat, or his skin; there is no sign of life from the contraption. It's more a tool, not truly even a part of him, but Kiyoko is trembling all the same. The sake inside her cup is spilling over with how hard her hand is shaking.
"You're ill, Kiyoko. But I can cure you. I can show you the way things ought to be, how someone like you should carry themselves in this world. I can take away any pain this illness inflicts on you. It's simple. All I ask is you take away this...this loneliness….this longing. You treated my wounds once after all. Would one more time be so difficult if it meant becoming mine?"
Chisaki takes in her quivering mouth, her wide eyes; she looks rattled, but she is not as responsive as he'd like. She can't seem to give a single reply. Is she still so frightened of him? Does she...hate him?
"You think I'm crazy."
"No, I-I just don't...I don't know what to say. I don't-Chisaki-san, please let go of my hand."
"Kai."
"I-"
"Please."
Chisaki pushes the cup into her palm, curls her fingers around the ceramic.
"No!"
Kiyoko rips hers hand from his and stumbles back on the ground; her cup has been knocked from Chisaki's ushering grip, clattering to the floor and making a mess where Kiyoko lays. Her fists are clenched against the tile floor, her body is taut like a drawn bow; she looks at him like a startled bird ready to fly away at a moment's notice.
Chisaki kneels there, face impassive. His hand picks up the cup and holds it; he doesn't look at it. Just holds it in his hand. The rim is chipped.
"Do you hate me that much? Even now, when I've only tried to repay your kindness? Have I done something to insult you? Have I so much as raised a hand to you? No...but you still…."
"I can't. Chisaki-san, I can't accept this."
Kiyoko pulls herself up to half sitting; her hair is in disarray around her cheeks, but her voice is level now. She appears to have regained her senses enough to speak.
"Please...please, I can't…I don't love you. I was only doing my job."
"Was that all it was? Your duty, your sense of obligation? I find it hard to believe." Chisaki comments. "You're so cruel to lie to me this way when I've been nothing but honest."
"I am not lying. I don't hate you Chisaki-san; you're absolutely right, you've done nothing to hurt me. You made have made me uneasy and yes...you scare me. But I won't say you've done anything to actually hurt me. But you've hurt others. Chisaki-san….when I think of what you've done to that little girl…"
"Is that all? She isn't dead you know."
Kiyoko wants to throw up at the nonchalant quality in Chisaki's voice; no, not even that. He sounds relieved almost, as if to say, 'oh, is that all?'.
"Eri was a failure, or more accurately my plan was a failure due to those heroes interference. Her existence was a cursed one from the word go; I was only making use of her. If anything, I gave her purpose. It would have been a waste otherwise, don't you agree? You still believe even under the worst of circumstances, people may still have the opportunity to make something of themselves, don't you Kiyoko?"
Kiyoko can't bear looking at him any longer. She feels sick to her very stomach.
"Ah. I was hoping you would understand. But that's okay. It's in the past after all." Chisaki continues; he rises to his feet and sets the chipped cup down on the table. "Let me help you up."
"I'm fine."
"Don't be ridiculous. You've been drinking and you obviously have a lot to think over. I'll help you to your bed. You should get some rest..."
Kiyoko's somber eyes follow his own gaze; it flickers briefly over her bare, slender legs, the skirt of her dress having exposed them during her attempt to crawl away.
"Let me help you up. Don't be afraid."
Chisaki reaches out for Kiyoko only for her to slap away his prosthetic hand with as much force as she can muster.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
It's a wonder no one else in the building has heard her shrill cry, but the only sound that follows is silence and Kiyoko's heavy breathing.
"Please just...please, don't."
Chisaki's face is blank. He's staring down at her like he's in a trance. The hand she has used to strike his is red; Kiyoko holds it to her chest and tears finally escape her eyes, from the pain or the fear, Chisaki doesn't know.
He smiles. He smiles down at her, watching her with what might be gentleness. And sadness.
"I couldn't touch you even if I wanted to. Don't you see, Kiyoko? Wouldn't you say it's punishment enough? To be powerless, to have nothing but your name, to have to sit there day after day and watch other people, unworthy, filthy, trash, speak and touch you so casually when they don't deserve it? Every day, I would think about what I could do, what I could possibly give you with how I am now. How it would feel to touch someone and not feel my skin crawl and not be disgusted. I thought about it constantly and it amazed me. It convinced me. I tried to find reasons not to pursue you, to stop this...this affliction. But I couldn't stop questioning it; if it was so wrong, if it was something to avoid, why...why is it I look at you and I feel cleansed? Why is talking to you enough to set my mind at ease? How can it be wrong when your touch was enough to get me through one more day of hell? Don't you see? Kiyoko, don't you? Don't you understand?"
Chisaki stoops down and pauses for only a moment before taking her in his arms, half forged of metal, half blood and flesh above the elbow joints. Kiyoko is limp; her had hangs in what could either be acceptance or defeat. She feels like she weighs nothing and Chisaki holds her just a little tighter against him; he has an insane idea she might just float away.
Kiyoko doesn't resist when Chisaki carries her to the bed, not even when he unzips her dress and slips it off her body as she sits upright on the edge of the bed. She may be either too muddled from the wine and the stress or paralyzed with fear, but Chisaki likes to think she might trust him at least a little. He leaves her in her underwear; it's nothing fancy, but his breath is taken away all the same. With deft swiftness Chisaki removes his own clothes down to his boxers; he usually removes his prosthetics at night, but he decides to leave them this time.
"You're skin is like ice...get under the covers. You'll catch a cold."
Chisaki mumbles, reprimanding but not all that stern as he pulls the blankets over them. The bed is just barely big enough for the two of them to share, but it doesn't bother Chisaki; either way, he is intent on drawing Kiyoko closer, close enough so her limbs could be intertwined with his, so her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and he can feel her heartbeat against his.
"I apologize. Is the metal uncomfortable?"
"...yes."
"I see."
Chisaki shifts and unhinges his artificial arms; he lets them fall to the side, and flops back somewhat clumsily on the bed.
"Kiyoko...come here."
She stares at him for a long moment; her eyes have ceased tearing up and they look somewhat unfocused. Kiyoko wordlessly lays her head by his shoulder, but it isn't what he wants.
"Your hand…"
Chisaki gazes at her, hopeful, and Kiyoko silently places a hand on his chest, arm draped prone over his torso. Her breathing is steady again, slow; Chisaki can feel it fanning out against his skin.
Her skin is flush against his, yet Chisaki isn't aroused, not quite.
Oh, not that he doesn't want her, but right now this isn't the time. This isn't about desire. It's need. It's intimacy. Kiyoko is still trembling and though the sensation is not exactly an unwelcome gesture by definition, Chisaki would prefer to have her trembling in ecstasy, not fright.
Kiyoko is more than a woman he wants to share his bed with. She is his idol and he is a worshipper, a devoted protector, someone who plans to show her the light. Is it so unreasonably to request she give herself to him completely in turn, to allow him ownership of her heart and mind when she has inconceivably enraptured his body and soul? Chisaki thinks not.
He sighs. Why the hell can't things be easier? What more does he have to do? It's getting tedious and he seems no closer to his goal.
But at least she's allowing this; whether it's from being afraid or something else, Kiyoko is basically holding him, though Chisaki would prefer to be the one initiating contact in the first place. Having her do it makes him uneasy, uncertain; he doesn't like not knowing what's to come. But this is fine, for now.
Chisaki looks down at her; it's better than fine, really. Kiyoko seems tired, half asleep, probably close to passing out from exhaustion and the wine. Kiyoko feels warm, but not clammy; her skin is smooth, her body is light, but there's definite weight there too. She is a solid presence against his chest. Her hair is tickling his chin a little but it's not like he can use a hand to smooth it down.
But all in all...it's nice.
Chisaki wonders if his words have touched her heart at all or if this is a fever dream. He supposes he'll know come morning.