Hi! Movie prompt au suggestion: Akira (1988) + fordo17 >:)
four months late but here it is!!!!
kamino, established relationship, T. low key body horror. 500w.
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77 returns during the night cycle, his dark eyes flashing through the small round window in the door before the lock clicks and it swings open. Seventeen sits up on the cot, the IV line tugging at his wrist, and watches as his brother slips into the private room. The red of his fatigues clashes against the bone white of the walls and the floor and the sheets. 77 pauses in front of the bed, his hands resting on the pale metal of the footboard, and looks down at Seventeen for a long beat, head tilted.
He’s always been hard to read, that infuriating little smile of his obscuring whatever is going on behind his eyes. There’s a new bruise on his jaw, and his hair looks freshly cut, the curls regulation-short, and he smells like the cleansing gel in the shower rooms, and suddenly Seventeen is hit with a wave of terrible, all-encompassing something he doesn’t know how to name. He looks away from his brother and down at his own hands where they rest on the white sheets.
77 hums. He walks around the bed, stepping over wires, and stops at Seventeen’s side, and then there’s a warm palm on Seventeen’s face, and he allows himself to be moved. A part of him wants to jerk his chin and push him off: he’s always been like this, touchy and overbearing and nosy and in everyone’s face but especially Seventeen’s.
But a part of him—young and scared and small—has missed it. Has missed this. Seventeen’s missed the touch of his brothers’ hands, and especially 77’s.
They shave his head every few days: he’s due for a haircut soon. 77 tilts his chin down and then runs his fingers through the bristly hair on Seventeen’s head, the pads finding the dips and swells of the skull underneath. It feels weirdly intimate. Seventeen shivers. He grips the sheets tighter, torn between leaning in and pushing him away.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he croaks. 77 hums, his hip against the side of the bed. Seventeen closes his eyes.
The buzzing that now seems to live underneath his skin crackles. Seventeen breathes through it, thinking about overturned beds and cold pale bony fingers and the feeling of drowning.
77’s hot hand rests on the back of his neck, right on top of one of the bigger ports. It shakes. The pad of his finger circles around the hot plastic, finding the seam between Seventeen’s skin and everything else. Seventeen shivers again, inhales his brother’s clean skin smell. It cuts through the burnt rubber stink of the room like a vibroknife cuts flesh.
The noise of a door unlocking echoes in from the hallway. 77 slips out of the room on quiet feet with one last look, and not for the first time Seventeen wonders what would happen if he let go of the buzzing and the crackling, if he shed this skin of his and let the world see the bone underneath.
