ODE TO THE MURDERED, bonten

48

PART FOURTY-EIGHT !
all's fair in love and war.

this chapter contains panic + anxiety attacks and an explicit mention of torture, do read at your own discretion.

SOMETHING FELT WRONG. you can feel it deep within you, like your sanity is being hanged on the gallows, your mind detaching, cutting up into small ribbons of nonsensical mania. you cannot describe it. but you're aware that something within you had changed significantly. your nightmares growing hungrier is one thing, another was the medicine that was suppose to help you, but it only turns into mind poison.

you feel a mattress beneath your back when you awaken.

    then fingertips. you feel two soft fingertips caressing through your hair.

    you stir in the moment, frowning at the bed cushioning you, the heaviness that settled in your bones and the ache on your abdomen.

you hear someone call your name like a psalm.

"shh." comforting fingers are on your hair.

    "you're okay now. no one's gonna hurt you here." your eyes open to a pair of golden eyes—so soft and buttery, like dandelions—staring right back at you.

"...Hanma?" it's Hanma.

"hey." his voice is husky yet so achingly gentle, a smile fluttering on his lips. "it's me."

despite the pain in your body, you sit up and pull him into a tight embrace. Hanma reciprocates the action immediately, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

God, oh my god. he's here. Hanma's here and he's alive.

his large hands wrap around your torso in craving, fingers going under your shirt to soothe your skin there. his lips pressed against the side of your temple, "it's okay now, i'm here."

"you were dead." your voice is a breathy crack of smoke, a tangent. "i thought you died."

"i'm sorry." Hanma plants another kiss on your warm skin, rocking you both in a slow manner.

you pull away to have Hanma's cheek on the palms of your hand, your thumb lifting to press against his face, the tip of your finger running down his jaw—a forming stubble pricks your skin—then you swipe under his piercing golden eyes, examining for any mishaps and anomalies. when you only spot a few bruises and mild burns, you drop your hand and lean your head on his shoulder, letting out a tangled sigh from your chest. Hanma palms the back of your neck, nuzzling into your hair and you both simply stay like that, measuring each other's breaths, counting the heartbeats between you two.

he sits there, enjoying the rare pleasure of your touch that you don't show too often to him, never to him.

he takes your hand when you finish, splays kisses all over your palm. then his eyes shift to your body, he frowns.

"you're thinner." there's an undertone of anger in his baritone. "and your nightmares are getting worse."

    "nothing serious."