mister monster.
Its eye is bulbous and overcompensating; milky and unseeing. Perhaps that is why it hungers so for another. Nanase says it grows more intelligent after each attempt. Assuming forms familiar to the beholder of its long-due prize, Seiji would rather not think of it.
Truthfully, it frightens him.
what is your nature?
He remembers one of those nature documentaries that Natori had lent his voice to.
Animals don't try to compensate for the things they've lost. And sometimes they might even regain them if that is their design.
Would that be nice? Would that satisfy? Simple survival mechanisms that might ensure them another day?
Or is it the betrayal that burns brighter still?
If he were to take the monster's place, he knows how he would feel. And in that case, he understands. That is what disgusts him most.
However, in such a kindred, familiar disgust, there can be nursed—then gained—a great advantage.
The original is best, after all.
anatomy.
One time, Nanase had patiently pulled a flower apart for him, divulging the secrets of its inner workings to further his knowledge or some such sentiment. Her face had softened.
They'd put the remains in the garden under the hydrangea bush. Food for the earth. It's a cycle, see? Seiji wonders if he's supposed to take comfort in that.
He'd done one such dissection for Shuuichi.
Shuuichi had made a strange face.
So then Seiji had laughed, tossing the petals to the wind.
Pistil. Stamen. Sepals.
bloodlet.
She had pulled up a chair to the sink, leaning into him even as the blood dried on his face, skin, and clothes.
Then they had tiptoed down the hall, on a quest for fresh sheets, quiet so as not to wake the rest of the household.
.
The edges of the droplets feather away against the stainless steel of the sink basin as they make their way to the drain.
"I didn't realize they were still this bad."
It's not, though. It never was. He wants to say. He has before.
He doesn't want to see the look on Shuuichi's face when he does, so he says nothing.
Shuuichi fills a glass of water, sets it within Seiji's reach.
papillon.
Its wings realign, mask back in place, and Seiji raises the parasol. A sort of camaraderie, he's inclined to think.
The rain picks up and jostles the butterfly's perch. He shifts closer and stays there until he hears Nanase calling for him.