He’s met onryo with less heinous afterlives. The thing about ghosts is that they–usually–only die once. Manner of death aside, even the most vengeful of them might still balk at the sight of a man eaten whole.
So what fucking gives.
Maybe it’s the faux sense of chivalry threading through his clan and through his kind that has him laying there with rapt attention – the side of him written paltry next to endless tales of abducting maidens. ‘Just look past the body count, I promise.’
Hideo commits her scars to memory. Blood on the peonies. It’s not as if her story is far from their salaryman’s – but this is different, he reasons, because Shi… Because he says so.
Beast-like, he huffs to steady his nerves. Hideo nestles against her like a wolf steeling for winter as she folds into him.
“Too late,” he goes. I’m sorry feels like the easy way out. “Shame we couldn’t’ve met earlier, boss. Revenge fantasies are kinda my thing.” He forces his own smile, his fangs a little too bare, his eyes a little too moon-crazed.
He had refrained from doing so, but he runs a palm over the scar on his neck partly out of solidarity and partly out of habit. It’s the near-perfect mark of a cleave that almost did him in with tragic, folkloric flair. It’s a cut so clean that he feels as if he’s had a ‘cut here to kill’ sign on him ever since.
“Well, these ain’t the feelin’s I was expectin’ at the love hotel.”
If Shi were a maiden, she’d be the type happy to be abducted if only to be a pain in the ass to a creature so unlucky to chose her. The revenant feels the gaze of the ogre in man’s clothing, recognizing not pity but...anger?
Surely one night in a love hotel isn’t enough to make him feel protective!
“Yeah? Well. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to take revenge on my behalf. I’m kinda a troublemaker.” Shi murmurs, gazing up at his visage that seems more beast than man.
It’s in that look that Shi knows one thing, one small but decisive determination: she was going to coax that beast from its cloak, not to quiver in fear but to - what’s the he runs his hand over?
With a soft sound of curiosity, Shi turns further into his cheek, his jawline and throat. Her eyes focus on the scar he traces. If she hadn’t known better, Hideo had been beheaded and sewn back together, or very nearly. The clean mark of a righteous blade sent to smite a demon.
Gentle, so gentle, Shi presses her lips to the mark. They were both ghosts upon the earth in their own way, one a centuries-old legend and that other dead and gone by all measures of life.
And here they were, awash in the afterglow of a hard fuck and their own self-pity.
Shi slides up from the curve of Hideo’s form, leaning over him on propped up palms, a curtain of black hair hanging over him, tickling at his nose. “I wanna see what you really are.”
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