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It hurts to breath. A shin of sweat clings to his too-hot skin, making things uncomfortably sticky. The gray tiles he had curled up upon burn against his bare arms and legs, his face, which presses to the ground, the cold feeling like it’s biting at his flesh even through his clothes in contrast to the fever.
Minagi Sanjo feels woozy. Faintly in the back ground he can hear himself panting, slowly dragging short strangled breaths through his squeezed-tight air pipe. It feels as though those phlegm that were stuck and sticking to the back of his throat suddenly had all decided to mutate and grow large spikes instead, poking out toward every direction.
Not that he would be able to witness that. Not to mention his glasses that are currently nowhere to be found, every rise and fall of his chest now shoots a new wave of pure pain coursing through his whole body, no matter how small the breath he tried to take. He blinks, as involuntary tears gather at his eyes, blurring the dimly lit toilet in front of him.
His ears are ringing. Apparently not just from the short of breath.
Blood loss. Thick, red, gooey liquid is coming from his mouth, slowly oozing between his slightly-parted lips and dripping from his flaring nostrils. He could feel that small sticky puddle of wetness that had already formed under his chin.
He can’t help but tremble, his heart beat quickening as he panics at the horrifying sentence in his head.
He’s about to die.
He doesn’t even care that he whimpers as lights were suddenly turned on anymore. Cold, artificial light, that feels more like daggers, worsening his already pounding headache. Through half lidded eyes he can see a dark figure that crosses the bathroom, then stops in front of him. A half amused, half irritated, familiar sigh cuts through his haze like a knife.
“Why, Minagi-kun. It only takes a few weeks of me gone to turn you into this mess?”
His poor lungs protested fiercely at his sharp intake of breath.
“Meru... How...?”
He had lifted his head at the spoken words. There it is, standing tall and sneering down at him, the man he so demised and had ached for, with that ridiculous top hat resting upon a perfectly-intact head.
“It can’t be.” He whispers. “You’re dead.”
Merukatoru tuts, shaking his head, as though he had gone through this the third time already. With a kindergartner too.
“You wanted me dead and gone so bad, Minagi-kun? I would say, however, that you seems to need me here, don’t you think?” The shriek of absolute agony that sounded even pathetic to his own ears, as Merukatoru kicks, hard, at his stomach, flipping his curling form over, pointy shoe digging into soft flesh.
Minagi had begun to sob openly now, despite every convulsed twitch of his muscles send him deeper into what feels like hell. He gasps, shaking his head weakly, although it’s getting hard to tell whether it’s him doing it or just his body twitching on its own.
“No, no. I...”
I saw it, he meant to say. I saw your ash-gray skin, your unmoving eyes looking straight at me yet not at me at all, bulging out of the one lonely head, sitting in that box they use at the morgue. I saw your hair sticking out wildly, for for this one time there’s no big top hat to cover them anymore. I saw myself feeling relieved, for the one who had haunted my life and dreams was finally gone. Then I watched myself drinking into oblivion, desperately trying to fill that emptiness with booze. I watched him started coughing, puking blood instead of bile.
But then Minagi can’t say anything anymore, because the former great detective had hauled him up by his blood soaked shirt collar, blasting away any coherent thought with hot-white pain that comes with the sudden movement. Without a single word, the man shoved him face up under the open faucet.
Cold. Can’t breath. Pain. Cold. Pain. Can’t breath.
Freezing water lunges through his nostrils like angry beasts, filled and flooded his mouth as he tries to grasp for air, to scream. Everything’s too much, he was dying, dying, choking on water mixed with his own blood, killed by this merciless wrath who haunts him even in death.
For a moment he can’t feel pain or his lungs anymore. Instead he feels reality losing grip on him, slowly slipping away along side oxygen through the crack of his fingers. Merukatoru’s firm grip pins him down, as he thrashes mindlessly, making every futile attempt.
Then he hits the floor with a thud. He instantly collapses into a shivering soggy mess. The blood is mostly gone now, thanks to the devil.
Something cold and delicate presses against his face. His long forgotten glasses. Minagi glances up to a Merukatoru, standing and twisting his wrist calmly, as though nothing had even happened.
“Say, Minagi-san. You ever heard of the hanahaki disease?” The bastard peered down at him, lips twisting into a warmth-less grin. “Words say when there’s unspoken and unrequited love, flowers will begin to grow inside the lungs. Making our victim cough out petals, who in the end dies, due to the plant that had filled their entire respiratory system.” Merukatoru Ayu explained matter-of-factly, which tone he always uses whenever he’s making a deduction, as he bends downwards to Minagi. Iron grip fingers are pressing against his jaw now, but Minagi only stares blankly at the detective, still trying to catch his breath, all the while too high on adrenaline to feel any pain. A streak of blood is forming again at the corner of his mouth.
“In this case I believe, blood was represented as petals.” The detective said, absentmindedly tilting Minagi’s head from side to side. “Which is funny, really. I had thought you hate me enough to want to kill me yourself.”
Minagi blinked like the idiot he is as he stares at Meru, who scoffed at him. “And red roses? Really, Minagi-kun. One would think a novelist like you would have some kind of creativity inside this dense skull of yours.”
“Wh-what?” Pinkish water droplets fall from the tip of his hair as he wheezes faintly. Actually he feels as though he’s about to faint for real. “No... You can’t possibly mean...”
Merukatoru watches in amusement at the beutiful cocktail of emotions slowly dawning on Minagi’s face. “You offend me with your distrust again, Minagi-kun.” He chuckles. “Guess there’s only one way to gain evidence.”
Soft, thin lips press against his, as Minagi’s some what existing brain working harder than ever to get a grip on what the fuck’s going on. Warm breath puffs lightly against his wet skin, making chills running down his spine. A even softer and even wetter tongue slides across his lips, sucking gently, lapping at the blood. They’re so close, close enough for Meru’s long lashes to poke dangerously at his wide eyes, their nose tip rubbing together. Every move, every single touch feels as though electric shots had gone straight to his already overwhelmed little gray cells, absolutely frying every wire that he himself didn’t know had existed. He can’t help the moan that escapes his throat, parting those well-caressed lips, longing for more, more. But of course, Merukatoru being himself, has to pull away after an especially hard nib. Dilated pupils gaze back at him, those already black eyes becoming even darker.
In one swift move the detective straightens, leaving the slightly panting pile of Minagi on the floor. Which, to Minagi’s relief and utter dismay, found his breathing normal again, like those passed days of compressed breathing and the burning of lungs never even existed.
He shakes his head still, disbelieved. “Meru, this has to be some trick, right? Some stupid move you pulled on me again.” He stares up at the standing man, who stares back emotionless at him. “Tell me the truth, Meru. What is this? How are you not dead? I saw it, saw it with my own eyes!”
“So demanding. Is that how you treat your saviour, Minagi-san?” Minagi shivers under the smile that blooms suddenly across Merukatoru’s face. It somehow reminds him of a coiling snake. The detective then starts walking away, out of the bathroom, twirling that cane he pulled out from god knows where. “And of course I’m not dead. I’m the greatest detective of all, after all.” He said so with a glint in his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you again, Minagi Sanjo. I must say it’s been quite fun so far. Also,” he gestures towards a gaping main door, expression innocent. “I might have had to broke in so, your lock’s busted. You might want to fix that.”
“What?” The poor writer scrambles hastily off the ground. “This is coming out of your bank account Meru, what the hell!”
“But I did it to save you though. Are you such a lowly person now, Minagi, that you’re going to charge your very life saviour?”
“No I’m not lowly! Fine, fine then.” He sighs, wiping furiously at his soaking wet hair. “Help me guard the door then, because I’m going to take a shower and change these clothes.”
“Go ahead.” Was the feather-light answer.