I held no expectations when she called, asking if I was free. Frost bit at station windows, slivers of white ghosting my lips on the way to her apartment. At three transit stops and a few short blocks, reaching her dwelling never took long; fifteen minutes, twenty at most. Soft steam rose from the plastic bag – a takeout order from a nearby restaurant which promised good food at low prices. Various boxes boasting savory scents, everything from sweet sauces to the most bitter of spices. I had no idea what she ordered, only that she paid ahead of time and wanted me to pick up dinner along the way. Not an unreasonable request–

Only Azumi trusted little that she did not prepare herself.

No lights greeted from her windows, giving the space an abandoned air. Stilling in the street, Youko unfurled without prompting, senses blooming inside my body. People painted behind thin panes, pastel bodies busy with nighttime tasks. Cigarette smoke, wet garbage, whispers of snow. No blood or raw meat; nothing to hint violence. Still, I did not move until I caught her tread, the familiar cadence of her heart.

He retreated willingly, leaving me alone. Slowly, I forced my breathing to slow, alternating inhales between my nose and mouth. There was nothing to hint danger yet my body refused to relax, adrenaline humming in both ears. Azumi rarely called after filming, especially this late.

I could not help but fear something was terribly wrong.

Knocking, I frowned at her call that the door was open. Another abnormality. Smoking incense greeted in the genkan, floating from her room in curling tendrils. Musk and tree bark clung to the vapors, promises of wild things:

Along with the heady smell of sex.

"Minamino."

A husky voice, softened by strain. Azumi emerged from her room wearing nothing but a dark camisole and panties, hair tousled, lids sunken to half-mast. Sweat pasted black locks to her nape, tickled her chin, that satisfied mouth. I knew to expect such: I was nothing to her, a willing student – a harmless acquaintance. She wore sensuality like armor, allocating sex when no other outlet won the war with stress. I knew this, had heard tell of numerous one night stands.

Such did not prepare me for the bruises on her arms.

Or another man's scent on her body.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile faltered and she glanced down, running a hand through her hair. "Sorry about the mess, meant to take care of it before you got here."

"No, it's fine." Youko railed against the words with claws and teeth, a sentiment I shared. Nothing about this was fine, nothing at all. I couldn't help but stare at the blistering purple on her wrists, each molded after a man's fingers. "Are you alright?"

A short laugh, the barest of sounds. "Don't worry, I took care of it."

Slipping off my shoes, I stood before her after two steps, still gripping the perspiring bag. "That is not what I asked."

She faltered. I could not imagine what she saw in my face, though her eyes grew incredibly wide. Soon enough, she gathered herself, arms crossing beneath her breasts. "Look, it's not your problem. This isn't the first time–" Here she stopped, sighing through clenched teeth before adopting a glare. "I said I took care of it, alright? There's nothing to worry about."

I knew better than to fight her. If I protested further, Azumi would throw me out without a second thought. We both valued our privacy, knew the invisible lines in the other's psyche.

Such was how our relationship worked.

Instead, I memorized the scent tainting her skin, surrendering the food.

"Thanks, you're the best." She raised the bag to her chest, breathing in the aroma. "Come on, I got enough for both of us. Don't want to miss the movie."

Anger still cinched my gut, cold and meticulous, though I suppressed it with a smile. There would be time for it later – we would make sure of it. "A bad one?"

"The worst – a black and white monster flick."

We set up camp in the living room, settling on the sofa. As always, she ordered something impossibly hot, curry sharp enough to burn a hole in any stomach's enamel. I said nothing when she handed me boxes filled with sweetened chicken, vegetables, rice, as well as fried tofu. There was no jesting about my eating habits, how I would long outlive her because of safe choices.

We allowed each other to be ourselves.

Sure enough, the movie was horrible. Outdated effects, overly dramatic actors and a plot full of holes reigned supreme, alongside the paper mache monster rising from the sea. She made no effort to hide her laughter, giggles bringing her to the floor in the middle of the meal. At intervals, she repeated a line in an obnoxious tone, though mostly she enjoyed the film in silence, shoulders pressed to my knees, head against my thigh.

I said nothing of the contact, content with absently touching her hair. She allowed me it, leaning ever so slowly into my hand, eyes never leaving the television.

"Do you know why monsters exist, Minamino?"

The question came softly, one which did not expect an answer. I weaved raven strands between my fingers, gaze fixed on the line of her neck, the shell of her ear.

"They let us see ourselves as we really are."

Phantom hair dusted my shoulders and I felt him listening, waiting. More bruises sprouted over the course of the film, sprinkling her shoulders, her nape. Angry lines rippled across her deltoids, pricks of dried blood scabbing her spine.

Yes, monsters allowed us an untainted view of mankind.

And oddly enough, as he brooded and schemed, I found no qualms with what I was becoming.

September 2020 OTP Drabbles

Prompt 3 – Watching a movie.