uhhhh this is @spiritalbarn idea here u go bby | closed !!
it was late. so late. or perhaps it was early? stein had lost track of time. time slipping, slipping, slipping through his fingers like --
like what?
his sanity?
a sick giggle escapes him at the thought. staring at the tools lined out infront of him, a hum of content escaping him as he raised a scalpel, watching it attempt to reflect the dim light of the room. oh, how beautifully morbid it was. though there wasn’t anything to use them on --
or ... maybe there was.
spirit was there, after all. and oh, had it been years since he had taken a knife to that skin. peeking at what lay just beneath the surface. seeing just what the weapon was made if. and oh had the years between made it that much more interesting. had anything changed? did becoming a deathscythe change something within him?
he rose, taking the scalpel with him and heading to their shared bedroom. leaning against the wall as he stumbled, tripping over nothing. his limbs heavy and way too light all at the same time. his head tilting to the side as his gaze fell to his sleeping weapon. hand reaching out to push up his shirt before --
eyes shut tightly. scalpel clattering to the ground. this wasn’t what he wanted. he didn’t want to hurt spirit. he’d made that promise to himself. he was better than this. better than hurting someone else. he wanted to learn, sure, but not like this -- he didn’t need to tear him apart. he didn’t need to see if he was different on the inside, of course he was. weapons weren’t human after all -- but --
olive eyes shifted, looking at spirit before knees hit the floor. hard. pushing himself back with his hands, ignoring that his right hand had landed directly on the scalpel’s blade. not stopping until his back had hit the opposite wall. his breath came quickly, interrupted with dark, choking laughter. staring at his hands in disbelief. insanity clear in his posture.
but he didn’t do it. he stopped himself. barely. god, he wanted to do it. he wanted to dissect spirit. he wanted to tear him apart -- he wanted --
he was better than that. was he? he tore apart animals, did this really mean that much more? spirit wouldn’t mind. spirit would mind. but if he didn’t know? after all spirit was a heavy sleeper --
❝ no, no, no, no -- i can’t. i -- heh -- ❞ he stops, a wheezing laughter escaping himself, hands coming up to press palms against his eyes. finding tears there. oh, he was torn up about this himself, wasn’t he? ❝ i can’t. i can’t. i can’t. ❞