Chapter Text
Thump, thump, thump. Mahito tilts his head, looking at the pulsing organ gripped in his hand. Blood is running between his fingers, tickling the back of his hand and dripping off his knuckles onto the pavement. Such a deep, dark shade of red that it almost looks black.
A sigh slips past his lips as he lifts the organ up, tugging at the veins and arteries still desperately trying to tether it to the twitching body sprawled beneath him. His hair falls forward over his shoulder as he leans down, staring into her wide eyes and the blood running from her mouth. The puffy, bloated flesh of her face matches the rest of her distorted physique and her eyes are bulging, but…they’re blank as she stares up at the cloudy sky beyond Mahito.
“You’re boring.” He squeezes her beating heart and she doesn’t even make any noise. She just twitches, weakly writhing beneath him. His knees press at her hips until she goes still and he rolls his eyes.
Leaning back, Mahito releases her heart and lets it wetly plop back onto her distended chest. It rolls down the side of her ribs, hitting the pavement with a juicy thud. “I don’t get it,” he confesses, bracing his hand against the ground behind him and tipping his head back. “You’re not special. So why did you think Y/N was beneath you?”
He hears a gurgling sound, but that’s the only response that he gets. Trailing a cold fingertip along her leg, Mahito’s lips curve into a grin. “You keep treating Y/N like you’re better than her, but there’s nothing interesting about you. You didn’t even scream when you saw me!”
Letting out another sigh, he leans forward again and wraps his fingers around her heart. Lifting it off the pavement, Mahito squeezes and watches as fresh blood gushes from the slippery organ. “I’m getting bored,” he says, bringing his face near hers. She just stares blankly, gurgling at the back of her throat.
“I want to see Y/N again.” With that, his grip tightens on the heart resting in his hand. Mahito’s fingernails dig into the meaty slab and he contorts its shape as a fresh gush of blood splatters his face, runs down his arms, soaks into his shirt. It pops like an overfilled water balloon, decorating his hair with blood and shreds of meat.
Laughing, he lets the remnants of her heart fall from his grasp. She isn’t twitching anymore, isn’t gurgling anymore. When he leans a little closer, Mahito can see the last hint of life leave her eyes. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and stands over her, getting one last picture before happily making his way down the alley towards the street.
You’re going to be so happy! He took care of another problem for you! She was the meanest one in the bakery, wasn’t she? She always made the cruelest comments, always said things that cut you to ribbons. So he couldn’t just let her keep hurting you!
Besides, he needed a little something to cheer him up after this morning. It wasn’t nice of you to ignore him. It wasn’t nice of you to brush it all off and tell yourself that he wasn’t real. Again, he’s so tempted to do something…scary. Something that would definitely let you see him.
Mahito is happily looking through the pictures that he took when he thinks about last night. The clash of your warm lips against his chilled ones, the look on your face when you finally saw him for the first time. You looked at him like he was something amazing and he wants to see you wear that expression again.
Before you saw him, you said you could feel him. Maybe if he can get you to acknowledge him a second time, then you’ll be able to see him again. The only problem now is deciding how to do it. What will make you acknowledge him? What will make you talk to him, out loud, like you did before?
You’re going to need something to cheer you up after work and Mahito knows that he can’t show you those pictures of your coworker yet. He wants to see you smile, he wants to see you happy, and he knows that you need him to take care of you. He’s going to impress you with the gift he leaves hanging off the doorknob at your apartment.
By the time that Mahito returns to the bakery, it’s late in the afternoon and close to closing time. The others are sweeping the floor and wiping the windows while you’re helping what are hopefully the last customers of the day. It’s just too bad…you look so happy, talking to these strangers. With a pout twisting his features, Mahito sits on the counter behind you to observe.
It's not often that you get customers like this. A pair of salarymen, stopping in so one of them can pick up a surprise for his wife. It’s so sweet, so cute, the way he’s talking about her. How happy she’s going to be when he shows her the slice of strawberry cake that he’s picking up. He’s so excited to see her reaction and it makes your chest tighten, wishing that you had someone like him.
What’s it like? To have someone be so thoughtful, to have you at the forefront of their thoughts when they get off work? To be so eager to see you. To know your favorite things, to be so happy and excited to surprise you.
It’s a bittersweet feeling to see someone so in love when you’ve felt so alone since coming to Tokyo. So alone that your mind conjured up that surreal hallucination. Or was it some sort of nightmare? The loneliness is eating away at your brain like a parasite.
“You’re just getting one?” The other man gives him a skeptical look and sighs. “Seriously? Get yourself one, too.”
“What? No, I mean this is just supposed to be a treat for-”
“Look, life’s too short to not get cake when you want some.” He rummages in his pocket for his wallet and gives his friend a warning glare. “Either treat yourself or I’ll do it for you.”
His friend holds up his hands and shakes his head. “Okay, okay! Make it two slices of the strawberry cake.”
There’s a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you get a second slice and nestle it into the box alongside the other one. It’s as you’re turning to grab a sticker to close it that you feel something. Like a shot of ice along your spine, a prickly uneasiness like there’s someone standing right in front of you…like there are eyes on you.
You don’t even realize that you’ve been standing frozen in place until you hear a tap against the glass display case behind you. Turning back to the customers, you put on a smile. “I’m sorry for the wait. Here you go. Two slices of strawberry cake.”
The box is taken eagerly and the customer turns away with a big grin on his face. His friend, however, lingers near the counter for a while. He’s looking down at the rows of desserts, eyes darting along each line of options until he finally lifts his gaze to you. “All of this talk about cake made me start to crave something sweet. Which one of these is your favorite?”
“Huh?” It takes a moment for you to form an answer. No one’s asked for a recommendation before. People usually come in and just get whatever they think looks tasty or looks like it would be perfect for pictures. “Let’s see…um…the berries and cream cake has been our best seller recently.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He sighs and taps the glass in front of the berries and cream cake slices. “I don’t want something trendy. I want something that I know is going to be good. So, which one is your favorite?”
“This one is my favorite.” You point to it, hoping that it won’t be something he’s allergic to or can’t have. Of course, you start to think of a backup option when he holds out his credit card.
“Two slices. And box one separately.” Seeing your eyebrows lift, he smirks a little and takes a step closer to the counter between you. “I said life’s too short to not get cake if you want some. You look like you could use something sweet, too.” His fingertips brush against yours when you take his card, his eyes remaining locked on yours.
Behind you, Mahito rolls his eyes and leans back with his hands braced on the countertop. Swinging his legs, he watches you box the cake slices. He listens to the way you thank this complete stranger and the way that guy compliments your taste in sweets. All the while, the curse is wondering how far he could stretch the man’s skin before he would die.
“He doesn’t even know you,” he pouts, sliding off the counter and coming closer to you. Slipping his arms around your waist, he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs. “I know you better than anyone else. You don’t need anyone but me, Y/N. I take care of you! I keep you safe from creeps and anyone that tries to hurt you!”
You’re tensing up and when you tell the man to have a good evening, your voice cracks a little. It’s only after the customer leaves that you lower your head and look down at your midsection. Mahito beams, nuzzling his cheek against the side of your neck. He knows you see it. The way your apron wrinkles under his arms, the way the fabric has tightened.
“I want you to talk to me, Y/N.” His gray and blue eyes slide towards your coworkers. One of them is still sweeping and the other went into the back of the bakery. It’s so tempting to do something to the girl that’s sweeping.
She joined in when the others were gossiping about you. All Mahito would need to do is touch her, warp her soul’s shape into something that will catch your attention. Something that will impress you, something that will make you acknowledge him. It might get messy, though, and that would just make you stay later at work. Mahito just wants you to go home so he can have you all to himself with no distractions, no interference.
You’re relieved when you’re able to leave the bakery, but a little worried. One of the other clerks didn’t come back after she went on a break. No one’s heard from her or seen her. You heard one of the others mention something about a possible serial killer in the area and it has you on edge now.
Glancing over your shoulder, there’s a sick feeling in your stomach. Paranoia sends a prickly sort of sensation across the surface of your skin, an anxious heaviness in the pit of your stomach. As your fear begins to mount, you feel something odd yet familiar.
It’s a pressure around your fingers. Cold, firm, like there’s something gripping your hand. The sensation would usually set you on edge, but now it feels almost reassuring. You pause at a crosswalk and as you wait for the light to change, you spread your fingers and imagine that other hand threading their fingers with yours. The human imagination really must be strong because you can swear that you feel fingers between your own.
When you arrive at your apartment, you find a plastic grocery bag hanging from the doorknob. You grab it quickly and peer inside to find things that make your heart race. A pack of the cookies that you like, a small cat plushie, a bottle of your favorite soft drink, and a cup of instant ramen in one of your favorite flavors.
It’s not until you’re inside, with the door locked, that you feel something on your fingertips. Something kind of sticky and dark. Lifting your hand, your heart sinks at the sight of something dark reddish brown on your hand. It smells metallic, but you know exactly what it is.
The bag falls from your hand, the cup ramen rolling out of the plastic bag and revealing something else. You’d only glanced at the bag’s contents as you were walking into your apartment, but now you can see something carved into the paper lid of your cup ramen. “Mahito…?”
“Can you hear me?” The words are whispered beside your ear and there’s a pressure around your waist.
You can feel something solid against your back, feel chilled lips against your skin. When a lock of grayish-blue hair tumbles forward over your shoulder, your eyes widen. “No…no way…”
“Can you feel me?” He presses his hips against the curve of your butt. One arm tightens around your waist as his other hand glides up your chest. Cold fingers, decorated with dried blood, skim over your abdomen and gently grip your throat. “I want to hear you say my name again.”