[ Kon almost drowns him by accident. That is how it will be remembered. An accident. A misstep. A slippery set of tiles or Kon losing purchase in the confines of the bath.
But is it really an accident when it's all you want in the struggle, with fingers sneaking their way around a throat in a bid that looks more confused and desperate instead of predatory. The amount of times Ash has gotten close enough that Kon could shove his head into the water and eat up the fight from his bones.
He'll tell him one day.
I wanted to kill you.
-
Ash is catching rats about as lean as he is.
He's breaking his bones. He's covered in his blood. He gives him the knife when he gets to the half-fused apex of his thighs and tells him that he'll need to take it from there. And Kon is looking at him through wet eyes, breathing slowed and rough before he turns the blade down and gets to work with slightly trembling hands.
-
There is so much blood. The tub is more blood than water at one point and Kon can barely breathe, throwing the knife onto the tile of the floor and shaking his head as he grabs for the sides of it with his hands. He's reaching out, grabbing Ash by his shirt with a bright red palm and yanking him close, like he might take him with him.
Refill, he half gasps. It's more blood, more gut, more garbage than water, and the slits against his ribs are stifled.
-
Ash falls asleep with the knife in his fingers at the base of the tub and Kon is singing soft waves into the bath of clean water, a soft, wavering set of notes, lips pressed against the echoing porcelain as he hears Ash trying to get comfortable on the floor.
He climbs up the side of the bath, shedding a little water on the tile and looks down, reaches down but can't touch the sharp jut of Ash's shoulder. He's tossing, shifting, uncomfortable, and Kon sings softly, the gentlest notes and trills he can manage before the shifting stops and the knife in Ash's fingers clatters out of a white-knuckled grip.
That's better.
-
You don't eat people you like.
But we make exceptions.
-
Ash's breath is warm on his shoulder when he gives him permission, a soft puff of relief, enough to make his hand come up out of the water, one of his fully reformed ones with fingertips fused back properly and the webbing from elbow to scapula receded to a thin line of a scar. I won't drown you, he says to himself, moreso than to Ash as he rests a hand on the back of his head, wet against the raze of closely-shorn hair. There's a thank you from him, soft with the touch of the tip of Ash's nose to his bare skin. He turns a little dipping his head halfway to brush the tip of his nose against his temples. He broke his knees in, pulled out his teeth, stripped the excess from his body and bore it all without a movement towards temptation. Kon couldn't get out of here, not like this. He can barely function without the water level touching just under his sternum--he'll asphyxiate, a fish out of water.
But shit.
Shit.
No one else would do this for him. No one has the stomach to. For all this blood, for ignoring everything he says when the knife comes down. That he isn't ready. That maybe they should stop. But he already warned Ash to ignore it. Don't let me turn away from this. This is what I want. At the end of the day, this is what I really want. So he watches Ash as he pulls one of the longer pieces of what might have been a tail off the rack, clutch it in his fingers desperately before going at it.
That's me.
That's me.
Ash turns away, like he's being polite, but there's nothing polite about this sort of exchange, this unspoken agreement they made, realizing he liked his teeth so much. You have teeth like me. You have eyes like me. We're not the same, but god if we aren't similar. But. politeness. Kon knows that's not possible in a time and place like this, and he just lowers himself on his hands the entire way down into the water, fingers bracing against the sides of the tub and legs breaking the surface of the water to brace the soles of his feet against the porcelain just above the surface. It's cold and his skin aches and the freshly put-together bone shudders at the exposure, but he can't right now
The now barely-there sounds of chewing exist on a level where he can ignore them.
You're welcome. You're always welcome.
When Ash is through with what meat is left hanging off the rack, still fresh at least, he surfaces, hair wet and clinging to the sides of his face. He motions for him to come close to the tub with his hand, close enough to lean down, close enough for Kon to run fingers over his bloodied cheek and clean his face up just a bit. Blood on his nose. On his mouth. On his chin. Ash is a messy eater, he's always know this. ] Whatever you take off me is yours, got it? [ he tells him, albeit, shakily as he washes his hands in the water and pulls back. ] Do whatever you want with it.
[ It's unspoken, but it's there: Just don't let me see you eat it. I can't watch you do it twice.
FINALLY DONE also i feel u edit comments
But is it really an accident when it's all you want in the struggle, with fingers sneaking their way around a throat in a bid that looks more confused and desperate instead of predatory. The amount of times Ash has gotten close enough that Kon could shove his head into the water and eat up the fight from his bones.
He'll tell him one day.
I wanted to kill you.
-
Ash is catching rats about as lean as he is.
He's breaking his bones. He's covered in his blood. He gives him the knife when he gets to the half-fused apex of his thighs and tells him that he'll need to take it from there. And Kon is looking at him through wet eyes, breathing slowed and rough before he turns the blade down and gets to work with slightly trembling hands.
-
There is so much blood. The tub is more blood than water at one point and Kon can barely breathe, throwing the knife onto the tile of the floor and shaking his head as he grabs for the sides of it with his hands. He's reaching out, grabbing Ash by his shirt with a bright red palm and yanking him close, like he might take him with him.
Refill, he half gasps. It's more blood, more gut, more garbage than water, and the slits against his ribs are stifled.
-
Ash falls asleep with the knife in his fingers at the base of the tub and Kon is singing soft waves into the bath of clean water, a soft, wavering set of notes, lips pressed against the echoing porcelain as he hears Ash trying to get comfortable on the floor.
He climbs up the side of the bath, shedding a little water on the tile and looks down, reaches down but can't touch the sharp jut of Ash's shoulder. He's tossing, shifting, uncomfortable, and Kon sings softly, the gentlest notes and trills he can manage before the shifting stops and the knife in Ash's fingers clatters out of a white-knuckled grip.
That's better.
-
You don't eat people you like.
But we make exceptions.
-
Ash's breath is warm on his shoulder when he gives him permission, a soft puff of relief, enough to make his hand come up out of the water, one of his fully reformed ones with fingertips fused back properly and the webbing from elbow to scapula receded to a thin line of a scar. I won't drown you, he says to himself, moreso than to Ash as he rests a hand on the back of his head, wet against the raze of closely-shorn hair. There's a thank you from him, soft with the touch of the tip of Ash's nose to his bare skin. He turns a little dipping his head halfway to brush the tip of his nose against his temples. He broke his knees in, pulled out his teeth, stripped the excess from his body and bore it all without a movement towards temptation. Kon couldn't get out of here, not like this. He can barely function without the water level touching just under his sternum--he'll asphyxiate, a fish out of water.
But shit.
Shit.
No one else would do this for him. No one has the stomach to. For all this blood, for ignoring everything he says when the knife comes down. That he isn't ready. That maybe they should stop. But he already warned Ash to ignore it. Don't let me turn away from this. This is what I want. At the end of the day, this is what I really want. So he watches Ash as he pulls one of the longer pieces of what might have been a tail off the rack, clutch it in his fingers desperately before going at it.
That's me.
That's me.
Ash turns away, like he's being polite, but there's nothing polite about this sort of exchange, this unspoken agreement they made, realizing he liked his teeth so much. You have teeth like me. You have eyes like me. We're not the same, but god if we aren't similar. But. politeness. Kon knows that's not possible in a time and place like this, and he just lowers himself on his hands the entire way down into the water, fingers bracing against the sides of the tub and legs breaking the surface of the water to brace the soles of his feet against the porcelain just above the surface. It's cold and his skin aches and the freshly put-together bone shudders at the exposure, but he can't right now
The now barely-there sounds of chewing exist on a level where he can ignore them.
You're welcome. You're always welcome.
When Ash is through with what meat is left hanging off the rack, still fresh at least, he surfaces, hair wet and clinging to the sides of his face. He motions for him to come close to the tub with his hand, close enough to lean down, close enough for Kon to run fingers over his bloodied cheek and clean his face up just a bit. Blood on his nose. On his mouth. On his chin. Ash is a messy eater, he's always know this. ] Whatever you take off me is yours, got it? [ he tells him, albeit, shakily as he washes his hands in the water and pulls back. ] Do whatever you want with it.
[ It's unspoken, but it's there: Just don't let me see you eat it. I can't watch you do it twice.
-
You take care of me.
I take care of you.
-
He holds his breath a beat. ]
Still hungry?