Yao stared vacantly at the line of chainsaws on the wall, large and monstrous looking machines with jagged teeth. Teeth that could rip into soft and malleable flesh, slice through bone effortlessly. So many of them, poised and displayed for Ivan to choose from. They all looked the same to Yao, the numbers and colorful tags plastered on the chainsaws failing to convince him otherwise. As far as he was concerned, any one of these would do.

'How about this one, myshka?'

Yao turned to Ivan, who had a large black and orange box in his arms, 'THE BRAND NEW STIHL MS 171' plastered in large letters on the front. Yao leant forward to read the tiny letters beneath it.

'I don't understand what any of this means.' Yao glanced up at Ivan, not sure why he had even bothered to ask Yao for his opinion. After all, Ivan was the expert in these kinds of things.

'It has a long-life air filter system that prevents premature clogging,' Ivan beamed. 'It also has side-mounted chain tensioning. Doesn't that sound good?'

'Yeah… I guess.' Yao withheld an exasperated sigh, desperately wanting to do something other than talk about chainsaws and clogging. 'Let's get this one, then.'

Ivan looked down at the box in his arms for a moment as if to consider it.

'Maybe I should get an electric carving knife instead…' He snapped his head up to Yao. 'It would cut through so much more neatly than a chainsaw, da?'

Yao huffed out, his agitation no longer concealed by feigned patience. 'Well, where do we have to go for those?'

Ivan set the box back onto the shelf. 'They won't have them here… We'll have to go to another store.' Then, perhaps noticing Yao's irritation, he smiled gently. 'But we can look at other things here, so the trip wouldn't have been a waste.' Ivan pulled Yao by the arm. 'Come on, myshka. Maybe you'll see something you need.'

Yao humoured Ivan and pretended to look around the place in interest, although he really had no intention of getting anything. He hated going to places like these, stores just full of shelves upon shelves of tools Yao would never use, the smell of plastic and rubber giving him a headache. Ivan, however, was beaming in enthusiasm and interest at every shovel and piece of machinery.

'Look, wouldn't these be fun to use?' Ivan nudged Yao, taking a pair of shears off a shelf.

Yao warily glanced at the shears, noting the razor sharp edge and how easily that could snip off a finger or a toe. He took it from Ivan's hands, inspecting it a little more closely.

'Maybe,' Yao spoke softly, eyes drawn on his own hand as it gripped the rubber handle of the shears. He squeezed the handle, watching the blades snap open, like a creature with his fangs primed for attack. He turned to look at Ivan, only to find him gone, as if he had soundlessly melted away.

'Ivan?' Yao whipped around, bumping into someone in the process. 'Sorry,' he mumbled, his eyes scanning the store for Ivan. He shouldn't have felt panic at Ivan's absence, but he did, a tightening feeling overtaking his chest.

'Yao?'

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. Yao flinched and turned around to the source of the voice, immediately recognizing the concerned expression that he was met with.

'Yong Soo.' Yao blinked, the other brunette pulling him in abruptly for a tight hug. 'What are you doing here?'

'What are you doing here?' Yong Soo pulled away, although his hands were still locked onto Yao's shoulders. 'You disappeared, Yao! I thought you were, like, kidnapped or something!'

Yao chuckled weakly. 'N-No. I'm fine.' He pried Yong Soo's hands off his shoulders. 'I'm just… shopping.' He gestured to the pair of shears in his hands. 'For my new place.' Yao added, the lie feeling oddly light on his tongue as he said it.

Yong Soo glanced at his hands, his face paling. 'Yao, what the hell is this?' He grabbed Yao's left wrist, still bandaged from when Yao had cut himself. Yong Soo's brown eyes looked up to glare at Yao. 'Don't tell me that's what I think it is.'

'It's not.' Yao pulled his hand away, urging himself to come up with some reasonable excuse quickly. 'I… I dropped a glass when I was washing dishes.'

'What happened there?' Yong Soo grabbed Yao's other arm, tracing over the swollen patch of skin where acid had splashed onto Yao. His eyes flitted to Yao's own, quickly drawn to the top of Yao's head. 'And you've got a cut on your forehead, too.' Yong Soo clamped his hands to either side of Yao's head, studying every inch of skin for further bruises or cuts. 'What the hell happened to you, Yao?'

'N-Nothing,' Yao hissed, aware of the attention being drawn to him and Yong Soo. 'Let go of me!' Yao wrestled Yong Soo's hands off. 'Nothing's happened to me. I'm fine.'

'You're not, Yao. You're hurting yourself, aren't you?' Yong Soo's hands gripped Yao's shoulders, tenaciously holding on to Yao. Yao felt irritation and anger boiling up inside of him just at the clingy touch of this man. 'Look, I know things must look pretty bleak right now. I've been there.' Yong Soo spoke loudly and brusquely, completely insensitively in spite of the words that seemed to spill out of his mouth. 'You're having a tough time getting a job, I know that. But getting angry — hurting yourself — isn't going to help.'

'You don't even know what you're talking about,' Yao seethed, struggling to put some distance between himself and Yong Soo's infuriatingly loud voice.

'Come and stay with me, Yao. I'll find someone to help you — there's doctors for this, you know!'

Shut him up, a soft voice drifted across Yao's mind, teasing and lingering. Make him quiet.

Yao gripped the shears in his hands tightly, opening and closing it slowly and with forced restraint. Words no longer reached Yao's ears. All he heard was the warbling of a nuisance. A pest that refused to leave him alone.

'Both me and Jin can be there for you. We're practically family, Yao,' Yong Soo's voice pierced Yao's ears, ringing and demanding to be heard by everyone.

(Shut him up.)

Yao considered it. He considered it carefully, blinded with rage but guided by cold and apathetic clarity. He felt the strength build up in his hands, trembling as they sought to push away Yong Soo — perhaps to do a little more than that. Just a little more so that Yong Soo would stay away for sure, so that he would learn a lesson he should have learned long ago.

'We can help. You don't have to go through this alone,' Yong Soo's voice barked, persisted, nagged at Yao.

(Shut him up. Shut him up. Shut him up.)

Yao didn't care for those passing by with curious looks, nor for the store security cameras. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? It wouldn't be the first time that Yao had beaten someone to a pulp, felt rage boil over as he crushed a man's face. How had Yao not realized it all those months ago, those days when he was trapped in dull and endless cycles of office work and gulps of bitter, stale coffee? Before Ivan, before Yao had even felt pulse of the scar-faced man fade away beneath his knife, there was a feeling unspoken. An immense need in seeing his own bloody knuckles beat and thrash away at the pests that irritated and ate away at Yao's patience for a mundane and colorless life. A want — an urge — to paint his world crimson red.

The monster had been hidden away in Yao since the very beginning. The only difference was that now, Yao wouldn't hesitate to bare his fangs.

Yao let the shears snap shut. He would need the edge pointed. Glaring into Yong Soo's face, contorted with such fake concern, Yao felt his frustration and anger burn in him like an insatiable flame. It was time to peel that ugly mask away.

(Tear it away until there's nothing left.)

'I'm sorry, boys,' a deep voice spoke behind Yao. 'But you're going to have to calm down or I'm afraid I'll be escorting you two out.'

Yong Soo released his grip on Yao. 'Sorry about that.' A sheepish smile spread across his face. 'We'll keep it down.' Yao suddenly felt very conscious of the eyes watching him, of the aching of his hand as it grasped the shears tightly. As if snapping out of a trance, Yao blinked and felt sick to the stomach in realization of what had just been going through his mind. His hand loosened and dropped the shears, a clang echoing out into the store.

(What was I thinking?)

Yong Soo bent down and picked up the shears. He handed it back to Yao, is expression light and ignorant of what those shears could have been doing had the man not intervened.

'You dropped these, Yao.'

Yao took the shears with trembling hands, unable to look into Yong Soo's eyes without remembering the overpowering hatred he had felt for such a brief and terrifying moment.

'I realize I can't force you to live with me or get help, Yao,' Yong Soo sighed and pulled a card out of his pocket. 'But if you ever need anything — anything at all — just call me, okay?'

Yao took the card, frowning at the elaborate design, 'The Poisoned Apple' inscribed on it.

Yong Soo laughed. 'I know, I know. But um…since you left, me and Jin have become 'business associates'. We kinda run the place together now. Sounds cool, doesn't it? That's still my number on the card, though! It's got Jin's too, if you ever need him.'

Yao only nodded weakly, words failing him as he still felt his pulse throb loudly in his ears. Yong Soo slapped Yao's back and smiled.

'I'll see you around then. Don't hesitate to call, okay?'

'…Yeah,' Yao croaked out as he watched Yong Soo walk away, bouncing with every step as if the world had somehow reset itself, as if the cuts and scars on Yao had faded away and there was nothing left for Yong Soo to worry about. Yao resented that he made everything such a light and trivial matter, but at the same time, he was relieved that he was rid of the loud and brusque man, too.

Yao glanced at the shears in his hands, the feeling of them becoming something repulsive. He put them back on the shelf, unable to even fathom killing someone with those. No, those shears would always have Yong Soo's name written on them. They would always wear the phantom splotches of Yong Soo's blood and what might have been if the beast had completely taken control. In the strangest of ways, those shears were only meant to tear away Yong Soo's breath and Yong Soo's breath only. Yao did not want those shears in his hands.

.

Alfred pressed the red thumbtack into the map, taking a step back to see the beast's handiwork in its entirety. It was the third week since the disappearance of little Emily's father, the missing person's reports piling up on Alfred and Kiku's desks mercilessly with every passing day. They had all been older men—- some of which had a history of domestic abuse, though the relevance of this to their deaths was still something Alfred and Kiku couldn't say for certain. And in all of the cases, barely a trace of blood, but just about enough ingrained in the carpet or dotted on the ceiling to make them a matter for the homicide department to deal with.

Perhaps the strangest part was the sudden influx of these cases. As Alfred ran his eyes feverishly over the map, he thought about how in the past few weeks alone, twenty men had disappeared. The map was infested with red dots, each one the mark of yet another strike from the beast.

(Almost a body a day…)

The peculiar circumstances in which these men disappeared was not entirely new to Alfred. For the past three years now, there had been sporadic cases like these. They weren't frequent, but over time the names piled up. A silent and almost shy killer, carefully and leisurely eating away at his prey. Slowly, so that perhaps no one would notice. Leaving empty houses in their wake, not a single drop of blood to be found. But now…

(Now the killer's getting sloppy.)

Alfred slumped into a chair, a full mug of coffee having gone cold on the conference table beside him. He took a greedy gulp from it anyway and mulled on the latest victim — although whether or not this was the work of the silent killer was something to be reconsidered. A doctor had gone missing, no body nor any witnesses regarding his whereabouts. There were, however, teeth and fragments of bone in his fireplace — both of which were confirmed as Dr. Rothaugen's. Not exactly in line with the killer's usual pattern, but perhaps part of the dwindling self-restraint that they were starting to let go of.

'I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything —'

Alfred snapped his head towards Kiku's voice, finding him standing at the doorway.

'… but we've got a witness for Fred Lombard's disappearance. His eight year old son.'

Alfred shot up from his seat. 'Let's go, then. Is he here?'

'Yes, he is…' Kiku's eyes flickered, hesitating with his words as he often did when he had to say something unpleasant. 'Social Services was kind enough to escort him here.'

'And?'

'They… uh, made a request that you not conduct the interview.'

'They?' Alfred approached the doorway. 'Who's they?'

He peered over Kiku's shoulder, and just as he thought, there she was. The stern-faced blonde watching from afar, her hand rapping impatiently on the receptionist's desk. Her icy blue eyes caught Alfred's own, piercing him with an irritated kind of glare. She made her way towards the conference room, heels clacking sharply against the floor as she did so.

'I thought you said he wouldn't be interviewing,' she hissed at Kiku.

Kiku turned around to face her and smiled weakly. 'I-I'm taking care of that now, Ms. Sterling. Please excuse the delay —' Kiku turned back to Alfred, his eyes silently imploring Alfred to just let things be.

Alfred, however, simply could not turn away from one of the few and rare witnesses this case would ever have.

'If you don't mind me asking, Linda,' Alfred steadied his gaze onto hers, attempting to fend off her hostile glare. 'Is there any particular reason for your request?'

'That's Ms. Sterling to you,' the woman replied dryly. 'And as far as reasons go, I only need to tell you that I'm only looking out for the best interests of the child. Seeing as this entire ordeal is a traumatic one for him, I do not think your presence would ease the process. That is all.' Her eyes flitted to Kiku. 'Mr. Honda, if you don't mind…'

'Yes, uh…Follow me, Ms. Sterling.' Kiku guided the woman away from the conference room, glancing one last time at Alfred uneasily. It was a tough job, appeasing everyone the way Kiku did. But at the end of the day he always managed it, and Alfred supposed that was the only reason the two of them had ever gotten anything out of witnesses or suspects. Kiku had what Alfred lacked, and this way they both worked well together.

Turning back into the conference room with a quiet huff of agitation, he returned to the dotted map. He glanced at it and felt the overwhelming weight of the case burden him. He really hoped that today's witness would prove helpful somehow. Alfred needed this case to go somewhere — anywhere — before the pile of names grew even more, before the trail of this hungry beast went cold. The clock was ticking, and with every step Alfred took, so did the beast. This, Alfred could not allow.

.

Yao caught the glimpse of a white scarf, instinctively drawn to it as the panic in his trembling hands ebbed away. Ivan was still here, and for reasons Yao could still not quite understand, he was relieved. He opened the glass door that led out into the store garden, the late afternoon sunlight warming his skin as he approached Ivan. Yao paced himself, deliberately slowed his steps. He should not have to rush to be by Ivan's side, and yet a fluttery kind of anxiety urged him to do so.

Ivan did not appear to have heard his footsteps, his back still turned to Yao. His white scarf fluttered slightly in the summer breeze, the only part of him that seemed to be moving. Silver blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, and Yao found the sight unusual — perhaps because Ivan had the look of a wintry snowman, his hands ice cold and his skin ghostly pale. Yao almost half-expected Ivan to melt in this kind of heat, dissolve into a puddle from the sun's blazing caress.

'There you are.' Yao stood next to Ivan, feigning irritation although he felt none. 'I was looking for you.'

When no response was given, Yao followed the mesmerized gaze of Ivan's. Bright, beaming sunflowers met Yao's eyes, Ivan's towering shadow looming over them.

'Did you find anything you liked, myshka?'

The memory of the shears crossed Yao's mind, but his lips were faster. 'No.'

Ivan hummed in acknowledgement, his hand reaching for the sunflowers. He caressed them, tracing his finger over the velvety yellow petals.

'You know, I've always dreamt about sunflowers… but I've never really seen one until now.'

Yao looked at Ivan in interest, suddenly caught by the tender expression in Ivan's eyes. Entangled, stifled and trapped by it — but he did not fight it. He allowed himself to be guided, carefully and slowly lured into a sea of thoughts and emotions that had no place. Sympathy, perhaps, for the child who could only dream of sunflowers and never hope to touch one. But there was something else, too. Something that ached and hurt in only the most bittersweet of ways, an invisible snake coiling around Yao's chest and squeezing, crushing his breath. It slithered and curled around Yao's arm, down to his hand, and slowly forced it up. Extending, reaching for the cold man. Reaching until Yao felt the fabric of Ivan's coat beneath his fingers.

Melting. Crystal snowflakes dissolving at Yao's touch. Ice breaking and crumbling apart. The sun was sweltering and beating down on Yao with July heat, but the air around Ivan was so cold. An icy phantom wrapped around him, a bitter ghost hanging on to him like a painful memory. Why was he so cold?

'Are you okay, myshka?'

Yao's eyes snapped up to Ivan's own, his grasp on Ivan's coat wavering. He nodded weakly, his grip loosening. 'I'm fine.' He forced a light chuckle, the invisible snake still coiled around him tenaciously. The suffocating feeling was here to stay, it seemed.

'Why…' Yao croaked out, his breath still a little uneven. 'Why do you even wear this? It's a little too hot for coats and scarfs, don't you think?'

Ivan chuckled. 'Yes, well… I like wearing them. My scarf, it's like a part of me. You can't just remove it.'

Yao raised an eyebrow at this, picking up the dangling end of Ivan's scarf. 'Why not?'

'Like I said, it's a part of me.' Ivan smiled and took the scarf end from Yao.

'Metaphorically speaking, you mean.'

Ivan only hummed at this, his expression light hearted and amused. There was, however, the ever so faint flicker of irritation. Or rather, an unwillingness to continue this conversation. Yao wanted to push a little further, but decided that it was best to leave it for now. He did not want to ruin a perfectly and relatively innocent day out.

Yao sighed. He drifted his gaze to the sunflowers, radiating despite the shadows cast over them. They seemed to reach for the sun, flaming petals curled towards the sky in this desperate yearning for warmth and light — in the same way that Yao's hand sought Ivan. Only the thing Yao was reaching for was anything but warm. Rather, he was reaching for something cold and distant, stung by the bitter winter.

(I shouldn't…)

His gaze travelled to Ivan, eyes met by a soft smile.

(I shouldn't want that smile.)

Yao shouldn't want any of this. He shouldn't want this moment to last a little longer, for Ivan's smile to linger a bit more, for the sun to never dip below the horizon. Yao was trapped, chained by this man. He had been made a killer — a monster — by him. But even so, Yao could not find resentment nor disgust in his heart. There was only a reluctant fondness sprouting in his chest, carefully and wearily reaching out for the pale monster Yao's heart had come to treasure in the most peculiar of ways.

(I'm sick… It's the only way. There's something wrong with me.)

'What are you thinking?' Ivan asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes. Perhaps he knew, although Yao did not like to think that his thoughts were so transparent.

'Nothing,' Yao replied curtly, averting his gaze back to the sunflowers. 'I'll be waiting in the car.'

Yao turned and walked away without another word, afraid of where his mind would be taken next if he gazed anymore at the lilac hue of Ivan's eyes. Fear, crawling into his heart and burrowing a permanent home in it, eating away at him with every passing moment. Tearing away piece by piece until there was no space left, no space and no escape for Yao. Setting his chest ablaze with dread, although what Yao was dreading was something uncertain.

And as he opened the car door to sit inside, another worrying thought formed.

Yong Soo. He had seen Yao. He did not know where Yao was, granted, but he knew Yao was still around — still alive. This was not necessarily a problem — the scar-faced man was dead and long gone, perhaps even forgotten. There was no evidence, no trace of Yao's involvement. There was no good reason to worry. And yet somehow, Yao could not rest easy. Everything suddenly felt fragile, delicate, like a house of cards wobbling unsteadily. It would only take a gentle touch, a breath of air, to send it all crumbling down.

It was with this unsettling feeling that Yao waited in the car, watching the store entrance for Ivan's pale face. He waited, and couldn't help but think just how fleeting every moment was. Just as sunflowers wilted, so did beasts draw their last breath. As the blood Yao and Ivan spilled together dried, someone in the distance followed, closing in with every drop of red. And when the time came, they would chain them both, clip their wings and cage them.

This, Yao would not allow.