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Silently, Mind arranged Heart on his bed, and, before he could run away, clicked the lock shut with a hand still bloody.
“[I’m sorry.]” He wasn’t able to put a single emotion into those words.
Heart didn’t even twitch. He laid there, face in Mind’s pillow, utterly unmoving, not breathing, silent. Corpselike. Nothing like the Heart before Soul desecrated him.
Mind took a tissue and wiped futilely at his hands.
He did not sleep that night.
[If Heart slept, he couldn’t tell.
He sat on the floor, his back to his bed, his knees to his chest, vaguely aware of the blood dried all over his skin. None of it felt real, nothing felt real. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He still heard Soul’s sobs faintly, like from another room.
That didn’t happen, none of it happened. Mind was…
Someone, something. He tried to move his hands. It worked. He was surprised he had any effect on the world at all, he was surprised this body was his and not just some object. But he couldn’t be that surprised at all, every emotion was behind some wall, he wasn’t privy to it.
A murderer, now.
They had died before… right? This was different. There was no justification, but Mind knew it was not the same.
He just kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and listening to Soul’s screams turn to sobs turn to scratched-out whimpers, hands itching, he wanted to kill him he wanted him dead he wanted to never look at him again he wanted to cut out each of his organs he wanted to rip him to shreds and so he just kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and-
Red hands. Not only his hands, his wrists, long streaks of blood down his arms, a splatter of it on Heart’s hoodie. At least it was the dark one. That didn’t help the situation as much as Mind would like.
Bloody hoodie strings.
Mind spent the night putting his pieces back together and watching as Heart never moved an inch.]
Heart had cried in his arms, whenever Mind was carrying him to his room. Not that he had the capability, but he still shook, and horrible noises of despair still poured from his mouth.
If Heart had kept crying then at the very least Mind would be sure he was alive.
Mind woke up, neck and back and everything stiff and aching in ways Mind had grown acquainted to from co-opting the bathtub as his new bed. Heart was laid out exactly as he had been the entire night.
“[My Heart? My love?]”
Nothing.
[Wings splayed out across his back. One set pure white, the set Mind knew. Perfect - though he would never admit it, he loved them gracing him, bowing underneath his fingers. He always wanted to kiss them. They were perfect. Heart was perfect. Before Soul he was perfect.
The other set, a result of Soul’s work.
Orange butterfly wings. Circles like eyes. Patterns swirling through it. The opposite of pure.
Heart’s feather wings were sturdy. They had parts to them.
His butterfly wings were thin. Mind could snap them with a single gesture.
Mind’s hands itched.]
Mind encircled Heart’s torso. Heart did not lean in. Heart did not reject it.
Mind picked Heart up, slowly - he was always the weakest and Heart was dead weight in his arms.
Heart’s wings pressed against his back, unmoving, lack of even a flutter.
“[Heart? Could you speak to me?]”
Mind scrubbed down his own skin with a fervor [hands already clean, they were the first to go]. His - Heart’s - clothes were already discarded in the laundry basket. Mind would take care of it all after he and Heart were clean.
“[I don’t need much. A single word is enough.]”
Heart did not give him what he wanted.
Mind tossed the washcloth in the laundry basket whenever he was finished, taking another one. They would shower when both of them were ready [and he was sure Heart wouldn’t collapse under the water’s onslaught]. For now, a wet washcloth with some soap on it was enough to get them acceptably clean.
“[Come here.]” It wasn’t a question, but Mind lilted at the end like it was. [He wanted to see if Heart could move.]
After a moment where Mind felt his hopes were being dashed across the rocks, he took Heart by the shoulders and began to scrub him down, gently but firmly. Crusted blood came off onto the washcloth. His skin cleared. Purifying.
“[There you go, love,]” slipped his teeth, but Mind didn’t care, and he suspected Heart didn’t either.
[He should be ecstatic at that admission.]
Fortunately, not much blood had transferred onto him. A significant amount, but not much.
[Not in comparison to him.]
[Mind had never cleaned the blood off the kitchen floor.
Nor Soul, either.
Soul would have to take care of that himself when he woke up.]
[Torn open, a broken star. Heart shredded, organs made unidentifiable. Supernova wound.
Blood circling him like a halo, a fallen angel who finally received its due-]
So it was quick to clean Heart off.
Mind left the clothes where they were - again, he could deal with them when everything settled - and carried Heart back to his room. Again, dead weight.
It was silent in Mind’s room.
Days on end - Mind, going out to take care of anything that needed to be taken care of: the bloody floor, the bloody clothes. Coming back to a Heart which never shifted.
Almost like he wasn’t there at all.
Mind arranged him how he liked and cradled his neck [Heart would shiver, and it would be gratifying to get a response if Mind didn’t know the cause] and tipped water back into his mouth. He pressed food against his lips and coaxed him to eat - difficult, but it was important. He showered him, rubbing down his skin with soap, running his fingers through his curls and resolving to fix any damage to his hands later.
And Heart was dead weight.
Mind slept on the floor, giving Heart the bed to himself since he was practiced with laying on hard surfaces [he didn’t know what he would do if he held Heart corpse-still]. There was no acknowledgement.
[The only joy Mind got was imagining tearing his wings to pieces-
It was sick. Was it? To wish the infection gone? To wish for his Heart back?]
The days bled together.
[As if Mind was trapped with Heart, a rotting corpse, watching him decay, dying himself, every little way, when Heart did nothing and nothing and nothing and
just nothing.
Just nothing.]
[Mind missed Heart.]
At first it was whispers. Of Mind’s name. Of Soul’s, more often. Of holiness and blasphemy, seeing without sight, sight without seeing.
Regardless of it Heart was still. Mind was unsure if Heart registered any of his words or he was stuck in a daze repeating what Soul taught him.
Then Heart started begging him.
To let him out, let him touch Soul, let Soul kiss him again.
To stop.
To choke him.
He strung out rambling descriptions of how Mind’s hands would feel around his neck, how he needed it, how he needed to see. He pleaded.
He wrapped his hands around his neck, his first movement since all this, and stopped.
When Heart started talking, he never stopped. Not voluntarily. Never listened to what Mind said.
Except when he had his hands around his own throat.
His lips would snap shut. And he would smile.
Mind would carefully take his hands off his neck and cradle them so Heart couldn’t do anything. And Heart would whine incoherently, (please, please, I need to see, just-)
(Please-)
Mind grieved.
[What did Soul do to him? What did Soul do?]
[Heart didn’t answer. He just kept rambling.]
Mind woke up and Heart was gone.
He almost broke the doorknob throwing it open. The door slammed loudly against the wall. He ran to Soul’s room, throwing its door open too, to see Heart and Soul entwining.
His hands itched.
[It would be so easy to kill Soul again.]
He ripped Heart from Soul.
Heart sobbed in his arms, begging him to just let him stay, begging him for everything and nothing and Soul. Just Soul.
He shoved a chair against the door to keep the lock down. Its removal would wake him up.
He didn’t think about Heart trying to leave him.
He didn’t.
[He did.]
Eventually Mind gave up on the floor venture and cuddled Heart at night. If Heart tried to escape, Mind would wake up from his lack of presence, and stop him.
He was right before: Heart was dead weight in his arms and he hated it.
“[Stay, olin mi.]”
Heart said nothing.
Mind caressed his feathers, attempting to soothe him.
Hours might have passed before Mind whispered, “[You don’t want to be here.]”
[You don’t want to be with me. You don’t want me. You want to go back to the perpetrator.
You’ve been trying to escape every other night.
You don’t want to be here.]
Heart said nothing.
Mind didn’t need confirmation. He felt as if his false heart was being stabbed through.
Soul killed his Heart.