Chapter Text
Where are my swords?! Where are they!!
Harumasa frantically, desperately searches the rubble for his weapons. Ether crystals are crawling up his arms, fast reaching his torso. He has lost sight in his right eye and the vision in his left eye is slowly being overtaken by an eerie green glow like that of Ethereal cores.
He needs to end this, end himself , fast. There are no others with him, so he must do it himself, before his worst nightmare becomes reality.
Before he turns into a monster and hurts his loved ones.
“ YUU!! ” He knows that voice, that nickname. It's his boyfriend. His normal, civilian, clinical assistant boyfriend who has no business being in a Hollow. He must be hallucinating.
“YUU!” The voice is closer now, clearer. Through his limited vision, he sees someone approach. Someone in a grey hoodie holding a massive black and red scythe. His mind connects them to a photo in a report he had seen before.
A photo of infamous Hollow Raider cum Proxy Charon. Charon the Ferryman who brutally sends Ethereals to their doom, racking a known kill count in the thousands. Charon who evaded arrest 16 times by diving so deep into Hollows that even authorities dare not pursue, as if they have no care for, or are immune to, Ether corruption.
Charon who is apparently his boyfriend, Yang Phoebus, crashing to his knees in front of Harumasa and reaching out shaking hands to cup Ether crystal-lined cheeks. “Yuu.” His voice shakes more than his hands.
“Yang -” Harumasa has so many questions, but none of them make it out. Instead -
“Kill me.” There is finally someone who can do it for him, before it is too late. Guilt stabs him, knowing that Yang will have to live with all the pain that comes with the deed, but there is no time to dwell on it. “Kill me, quick, before -”
“No!” Yang panickingly shuffles through his backpack. “Not yet!”
“Please, Yang. I don’t want to turn into a monster.” Harumasa reaches for the scythe. If Yang cannot do it, then he’ll do it himself.
His hand is grabbed and held to a tear-streaked face. “Please, Yuu, trust me. Just one last chance. If it fails, I’ll kill you, OK?”
Harumasa can only say yes. “Please be quick.”
Yang retrieves a syringe from his backpack. Harumasa recoils at the sight of the needle. Memories rise, unbidden, of days confined to a white bed in a white room, sharp needles piercing his skin in various places and pumping unknown chemicals into his body.
“Yuu!” He returns to reality in Yang’s arms, head cradled to the crook of Yang’s neck.
“Yang, do it.” He closes his eyes in preparation for pain.
“I’m sorry, it’ll be OK.” He hears before he feels the prick of the needle.
The pain starts mild, such that he can still grit his teeth to muffle moans. And suddenly it reaches a threshold and he is biting down and screaming into the fabric of Yang’s hoodie. All throughout it, Yang murmurs sweet nothings and reassurances to him, his arms a grounding weight around his body.
The last thing Harumasa remembers before fading into unconsciousness is a kiss on his neck, just above the choker, and a whispered “Yuu, please live.”