#also i would have made them older but the idea of a midthirties hayato just felt like So Much lol

[fruchtfleisch-art]

If you’re still looking for prompts how about KiraShino for something akin to ‘a weekend away’ :D

“What took you so long?” Shinobu asks. She’s treading water in the deep end of the hotel pool, loose hair swirling around her in a coppery cloud. The setting sun tinges everything in a bloody hue.

“I had to return a few calls,” Kira says. “Everything’s been a scramble since Fukami retired, and we just got a group of new hires last week. Lots of little fires to put out, people forgetting passwords and getting locked out of the network, that sort of thing.”

“Still, you’d think they’d leave you alone for the weekend. It’s supposed to be a vacation.”

“Oh, I talked to Hayato, too,” Kira says breezily, circling around to the far end of the pool, where the steps are. Shinobu makes a lazy half-turn to follow him. “Just making sure he’s not missing us too much.”

“Aw, I would have waited if I knew you were doing that! Is he okay?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Do you think we should have left him some money? He could order something for dinner. I know we have leftovers, but-”

“He’s twenty-four,” Kira says, wincing as he steps down into the shallows. He sprained his hip years ago, after a hard fall, and it never really recovered. “I think he knows how to use the microwave.”

“I just worry about him sometimes,” Shinobu says. She’s lost a good deal of that frantic neediness Kira used to loathe, but the subject of Hayato always manages to bring out what’s left. “I wish he’d go out more.”

Their son- her son, Kira reminds himself, the correction as automatic as the mistake- is as sullen and reticent as ever, but he’s an excellent student and rarely bothers Kira with much of anything. He’s more of a skittish animal than a human being these days, slat-sided and dull-eyed, only suffering the company of his parents when necessity-food, finances, medical care- demands it. He knows his time is precious and limited. He knows he’s only a squatter on a bigger, nastier predator’s turf. It’s not a matter of if, but when.

Kira has been thinking it might finally be time to rid himself of Hayato, now that he’s close to graduating. It’s going to be hard to keep an eye on him if he moves out (a minuscule possibility, but not one to discard entirely). Really, he should have done it years ago, but it always felt slightly more advantageous to have a living son than a dead one, even though Kira’s cover was near-perfect after that first tumultuous summer. Maybe he felt like being generous, after all the hard work Hayato put in to clean up his own mess. Maybe Shinobu isn’t the only one who’s mellowed a little with age.

Older, grayer, slower; joints stiffer, muscles stringier, fat settling where it’s least wanted. Kosaku’s hair, at least, is as thick and brushy as ever, showing no signs of thinning out. The lines and contours of the other man’s face feel as familiar to Kira as his own, now. He likes to think he’s molded the blunt features towards a rough sort of elegance.

Two years ago marks a tipping point, the moment where he had officially been with Shinobu longer than the man he’s impersonating. Kira knows her as intimately as a hand knows a glove, the comfort of their relationship a soothing balm to the various irritations of life. It isn’t what he would have chosen for himself, but its value has gradually accrued, layers of nacreous buildup over the irritating grit of the circumstances forcing them together.

Shinobu knows how he takes his coffee, and when he expects her to have it ready. He’s played the part of the steadfast provider diligently, worked until the house they rented became the home they owned. When Kira, in a moment of drunken idiocy, told Shinobu exactly which part of the female anatomy captivated him, she listened, and bravely offered him the use of her first two fingers, probing and swirling until he felt the sweet scratch of fingernails on his soft palette.

Yes, it’s quite nice.

He ducks under the water, eyes open despite the sting, and kicks out towards Shinobu. When he surfaces, she puts her arms around him, and they float together, the water lapping at them hungrily. In the last dregs of daylight, the water beading on Shinobu’s body flares like molten gold.

“I think I see a little gray coming in,” he says.

“Where?” She’s been dyeing her hair meticulously, scared of looking old. As if.

“Right… here.” He presses a kiss to her temple, disregarding the chlorine tang. Affection and certainty swell in his chest. He’ll kill Hayato, just as soon as they return from Tokyo. Everything is going to fall right into his hands, just like the girl stuffed in the hallway maintenance closet next to their room.

It’s all so easy. He wanted her, and then he had her, almost before he was ready, their eyes meeting as he stepped out into the hall with his swim trunks and towel. His limp, incredibly, has done more to endear him to women than a lifetime of practiced blandness. They disregard him with confidence, certain he can’t do them any harm. Foolish.

Kira has been using his stand less and less as the years go by, savoring the pop of cartilage and crunch of ligaments as he strangles them, the stupid bovine fear laid bare in those exhilarating final moments. It’s not need that drives him to kill anymore, but an aimless sense of play, satiated but still desiring to chew, swallow, and digest.

But this one might be different. He’ll see how he feels when they get back to their room. Soon there will be places to go, and a body to destroy, and words to say, in the darkness of night under thin hotel sheets. But for now he sits suspended with his wife in the pool, weightless, and it’s perfect.

He'll get to everything in due time. There’s plenty of it. Currently taking p4 minific requests (1000 words or less), throw me an ask!