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Heart, liver, body, blood. The blood splattered on the floor isn’t from Louis, for once. Kneeling in it feels wrong, sacreligious, like a taboo he’ll never come back from.
And he loves it. He’s never felt so damn alive. The man on the floor in front of him is someone he loved-could love-never loved at all, and the gaping hole in his chest shows the ribs that encase his beating heart.
“You’re beautiful like this,” Louis says, the words coming unbidden from his mouth. They fall to the floor like nails. The man doesn’t hear him and he knows it. “You know that, Ruru? You’re beautiful.”
Blood-guts-blood on the ground. He’s wrist deep in a corpse. Louis loves Satoru, he really does. Loves him more than anything else in the world. To consume something is to show the purest form of love. Louis is going to give it to Satoru today; he will bare his heart, show his soul, and give it to Satoru, and Satoru will give it to him, and Louis will consume him.
Some may call it the work of a devil, and Louis agrees, he does. Louis is a devil, though, try as he might, and he would rather embrace it tonight. He would rather be a devil than an angel. He wants Satoru. He wants to eat Satoru. Louis wants Satoru to know he loves him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks Satoru, and Satoru does not meet his gaze, does not even try to. Satoru’s eyes are a million miles away. Louis would say it was daydreaming, but he knows it’s blood loss. Satoru has never been the most sturdy person alive. He’s a rich kid from a richer family, a precious jewel that was never allowed to roam. Satoru is strong, but Louis is stronger. “Do you not like it?”
There is no answer. Louis didn’t really want one, anyway. Blood smears on Satoru’s ribcage as Louis drags a finger across it, pinpointing the weak spots where the ribs can be snapped. There’s a lot of them. Little cracks in the bone where he must have been injured in the past. Louis thinks it’s beautiful. Satoru would probably think it’s ugly, if he could see it.
Would a god think it’s ugly? Perhaps. But Louis is no god. He’s barely even a human, at this point, faded and worn with time. Louis is a demon, a monster, a horror, and Satoru loves him anyway. Satoru cares anyway. It is exciting. It is new. Louis does not want it to end. He has to show he loves him in the purest way possible.
Slender fingers grip one of the ribs between them and tug. It’s easier than Louis expected, honestly, and easy to repeat for every rib. The crunch of bone pulling apart, of the ribs crumbling to pieces in his hands, fills him with some sort of giddiness, like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
Forbidden. This was forbidden. But Satoru - Satoru had agreed, had said he’d wanted to. Enthusiastically. And who was Louis to say no to him?
Blood-bone-marrow-blood. Louis moves the lungs aside, and looks at Satoru’s heart.
“You’re beautiful,” he repeats, in a hoarse whisper, and he swears he sees Satoru looking at him, but when he turns Satoru isn’t looking anymore. Louis finds he doesn’t care, can’t care, shouldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t. This is art. This is beauty.
“I love you,” Louis says, wrapping a hand around Satoru’s heart. It beats in his palm, a steady thump-thump-thump . Louis marvels at the feeling.
He tugs.
The heart comes loose. It’s bleeding, bleeding so much, and Louis still feels it beating in his hand. He smiles at Satoru, and he knows that for once, it reaches his eyes. Louis is happy. He’s happy.
“I love you,” he whispers, and he takes a bite.