(no subject)
Hakkai's body, wrapped in a sheet, was left on the hotel bed. He didn't have any way of burying or burning it, and he didn't think it was appropriate anyway. Hakkai wasn't dead. He was out of the hotel, free, not lying in a stained sheet on the ten thousandth floor of a fucking crimson prison.
His blood was stuck in the creases of Gojyo's fingers (no amount of scrubbing could dislodge it all), and Gojyo could taste iron with every drag of every cigarette. But that was okay, because he wasn't dead. ...Gojyo was going to fucking kill him when he returned, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't.
The elevator lights blinked as slowly the tiny car traveled down the side of the hotel, heading for the ground floor lobby. Gojyo leaned against the glass wall, chainsmoking until the air inside the car was nearly opaque, stabbing the butt ends out brutally on the glass in charcoal crescents.
He wasn't dead, but Gojyo could still feel the snap of his neck between his fingers. He wasn't dead. but he could still remember the sick wet slide of his palm over the torn and bleeding hole. He wasn't dead, but Gojyo couldn't stop picturing him pale and still, in his shroud a thousand stories up.
His blood was stuck in the creases of Gojyo's fingers (no amount of scrubbing could dislodge it all), and Gojyo could taste iron with every drag of every cigarette. But that was okay, because he wasn't dead. ...Gojyo was going to fucking kill him when he returned, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't.
The elevator lights blinked as slowly the tiny car traveled down the side of the hotel, heading for the ground floor lobby. Gojyo leaned against the glass wall, chainsmoking until the air inside the car was nearly opaque, stabbing the butt ends out brutally on the glass in charcoal crescents.
He wasn't dead, but Gojyo could still feel the snap of his neck between his fingers. He wasn't dead. but he could still remember the sick wet slide of his palm over the torn and bleeding hole. He wasn't dead, but Gojyo couldn't stop picturing him pale and still, in his shroud a thousand stories up.