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The music is reverberating through Nai’s teeth. He can feel his bones tremble in time with the bass of a song he can barely make out the lyrics of.
The table he’s found is squandered away in a shadowed corner of the club, a safe distance from the swarm of bodies that make the air taste stale. His glass is half full of beer he can barely stomach. It tastes too much like someone dipped a loaf of bread in water and left it to disintegrate. It makes his mouth feel dry and his throat feel raw.
He’s come here enough to get a sense of its routine. He’s never in earlier than 8pm when it’s silent enough then he can settle himself in his favorite corner and watch as the crowd surges like a tidal wave.10 pm is when the crowd floods in, and by then he’s managed to hold his nose and choke back enough beer that he doesn’t feel like the crowd’s going to turn his body upside down.
There’s a boy in the center of the dance floor. He looks far too young to be here- baby fat still clings stubbornly to swollen cheeks, and his eyes are still bright, devoid of the tired, shadowed eyes that adulthood brings. Nai can’t help but wonder who he’s lying to, being here. No one with an ounce of sanity would let this boy dance the night away in a place like this- there are hands all over him. Enough he can’t follow the arms back to faces. He’s sweating, face flushed from alcohol. His blonde hair clings to his forehead and sweat drops drag the eyeliner that’s been sloppily drawn around his eyes down his cheeks.
Nai clenches his teeth and looks away. Maybe there’s no one waiting for the boy at home. Maybe he left those people who care behind- too wrapped up in a lifestyle that’s destined to rip him to shreds. Maybe he turned his nose up to the kind of compassion that could have saved him from this inevitable ending, and now there’s someone staring at the old pictures that were saved on their phone, wondering where things went wrong.
He clicks his tongue and takes another sip from the swill in front of him. He curls his tongue and swallows back vomit which crawls up from his clenched stomach. He can feel it slide down his throat, curdling in his chest.
He doesn’t know why he’s here, wasting his Friday night. He’s got dishes in the sink with leftover bits of food hardening themselves onto the china. There’s still trash on his living room table, and the sheets on his bed make the air in his room taste rotten. He’s got so much to do and only a few days off to do it, and yet he’s torturing himself here, watching people throw their lives away for a few hours, doing something that only an animal would consider fun.
His skin prickles. He tilts his head to catch a glimpse of the eyes he can feel boring through his skin. They’re hidden by dark shades, attached to a bouncer standing on the other side of the club, positioned by the crowd with his arms folded. Nai curls his lip and stares back at his glass. He feels exposed, ribcage carved to expose his withered heart and aching lungs. He’s gasping for air, but it’s still and moist. He’s drowning in the smell of booze and breath and people . He wipes a bead of sweat that’s begun to trickle down his forehead and stands up with enough force to knock his drink over with his shaking hand. He barely pays it any mind, stumbling to get away from the noise that’s vibrating with enough strength to rattle his brain inside his skull. He stumbles toward the bathroom, flinching as bodies hit his back and shoulders, touching him touching him, touching him, touching him, Oh God get away from me, don’t touch me-
He pushes the bathroom door open with enough force he very well may have dented the wall. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to give a shit.
He feels a knot loosen in his chest as soon as the door closes, forming a weak barrier between there and here. The air is still unbearably hot, but he can feel a slight breeze from the AC, causing the sweat pooling down his back to chill his feverish skin.
There’s no one in here.
Good. He’s not sure what he would do if someone was in here, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.
He catches himself in the mirror as he moves his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. He cringes. His skin is flushed red, his eyes are encircled by dark purple bags that make them look swollen, and his hair, usually styled so carefully, sticks to his forehead in disgusting flat clumps.
He moves forward, entranced. He watches a bead of sweat move down his sloped nose, stopping at the sharp point at the end. He reaches up to poke the mole on the right side of his face. Once upon a time, the fat on his cheeks would squish under his finger, but now there’s nothing but skin and bones. He presses anyway, glaring at his reflection.
Mirror images. They were meant to be mirror images, him and Vash. They’d been two parts of a complete whole, and now he’s standing in the bathroom of a club he doesn’t know the name of, nursing a headache that’s already begun. There had always been small things that made them unique- his hair came out lighter, and his skin paler. His eyes were closer to green than they were blue. His mouth was downturned as if carved into a permanent frown. None of that was enough to keep him from staring at himself like he could see him in himself if he waited long enough. After all, this is all he has left. His own face a permanent reminder of what he’s lost. A photograph of the love Vash had taken and ripped to shreds.
It’s better like this.
He’s better alone, even with the gaping pit in his stomach that feels like it’s devouring him. When he’s part of a whole, he’s a toxin. Something dark and poisonous that destroys whoever he’s latched onto. First Rem, now Vash.
“I need some space,” was what he said, but Nai wasn’t stupid. He knows how to read between the lines- he knows what it means when someone disappears. When the number he used to call every day suddenly stops working. When the bedroom next to his is cleared out while he isn’t home to stop the inevitable.
“I need some space.” I can’t be around you anymore.
Poisonous.
Everyone leaves.
Everyone leaves- Why do they have to leave what is wrong with me? Vash come back please, God come back I can’t do this without you- His chest feels tight You son of a bitch how could you do this to me, your own brother? His skin prickles and his teeth clench. Please come back, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’d do anything for you, you have to know that. His face flushes as the alcohol causes his gut to twist and his body to burn. Come back. Come back, come back, come back!
Please, I need you!
I’ll never forgive you.
I can’t live without you.
I can’t live without you.
He falls forward, catching himself on the marble counter before he can collapse onto the floor.
His fingers curl, aching as he presses them against the bottom of it.
His breath fogs the glass of the mirror, distorting his face until he can’t make out the shape of it anymore.
He feels warped, smudged alongside his reflection, the empty shell of a body hangs uselessly on the counter's edge, housing shattered pieces of a soul that now carve his skin from the inside out.
He blinks.
Once.
Twice.
He squints at his reflection, at the way the mouth of it curls into a snarl as if possessed.
Stop looking at me like that.
His fingers tingle. His lungs ache, clenching around a vacuum as air is trapped around the lump in his throat.
He needs to leave.
His eyes burn. God, do they burn.
He takes another ragged breath.
And another.
He feels
disconnected.
He bites his tongue. His incisors dig into the muscle of it, causing blood to pool into his mouth. He takes a shaky breath. His mind drifts, sloshing in his skull like water in time to the bass that bleeds through the thin bathroom walls.
Another breath.
He’s slipping again.
Gone. Gone gone gone. He’s gone. His brother ripped him to shreds and left this behind.
Nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. There’s a small knife in his pocket, resting on his thigh. He thinks about pulling it out. Dig the blade into the meat of his thigh. Push. Push push push push until the point is embedded into the bone of his femur. Let the blood stick to his skin. Let the pain wake him up from this nightmare.
His left arm twitches. His hand inches down.
Closer.
The door flies open.
He jumps. The music rushes in with the force of a tsunami. He gasps like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Someone walks in, barely paying him any mind as they waddle drunkenly over to the urinal. He rubs his forehead with his palm, pushing back gummy pieces of hair as he clambers his way toward the exit.
It’s too loud. It’s too loud. He wants to curl up in bed and never wake up, rot into the sheets, and turn to dust. He doesn’t want to be found, no one can look at him again. No one can perceive him with surgical, knowing eyes. He wants-
A hand wraps around his wrist. He’s trapped. He tries to pull it back. The grip tightens. He growls and snaps his head around. He makes eye contact with the man holding him back. His eyes are intense, pinning him down like a moth on a board. He sways from side to side, clearly drunk, but there’s enough strength in his hand to keep Nai still.
“Where are you going?” he slurs. His breath smells like watered-down beer. Nai cringes and tilts his head to the side.
“Let me go,” he spits. His throat burns. The crack in his voice betrays the hostility he tried to force through clenched teeth. The man laughs at him. The condescending sound makes the hairs on the back of Nai’s neck stand on edge. He pulls his hand again, causing the man to grip tight enough to make the bone creak.
“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he says, pulling Nai closer. “The night’s just getting started.”
Nai flinches and looks away from him. His breaths turn ragged and shallow as he searches the crowd for anything that can get him out of this mess. He still feels fractured, split between living this nightmare and watching it from the club’s roof. See? His own voice whispers. This is what happens in places like this. You invited this kind of attention the moment you stepped foot in here.
He wants to laugh, but when he opens his mouth, a sob comes out instead. The man tuts at him. A finger rubs against his cheek, leaving a burning trail in its wake.
“Stop,” he snarls, turning his head to get the man’s hand away.
“Come on, please?” he pouts. “You wouldn’t leave a poor man out here all alone, would you?”
Nai clicks his teeth together, refusing to dignify his comment with a response. His face flushes when he feels the moist air of the man’s breath tickles his neck. He closes his eyes and jumps backward, pulling with more force than he thought himself capable of. The man stumbles, eyes darkening with rage as he grits his teeth.
“You fucking whore,” he spits, lunging for Nai. His fist catches Nai’s face, sending them sprawling into the bar counter. There are annoyed grumbles from the people who are pushed out of the way, but Nai’s vision is black, save for the sight of the man’s bright red face.
His back throbs where the wood digs into his spine. His ears are still ringing, and he feels something warm trickle down his chin. He touches his face with a wince as his fingers come away red.
The man rolls his shoulders back like he’s reeling for a second punch. Nai grits his teeth. He holds one hand out defensively, and lets the other slide into his pocket, taking the knife into his trembling grip.
He blinks. Once. Twice. The man moves forward. He pulls his hand out. Slowly.
He sees himself driving a knife into the man’s thigh. A perfect 90-degree angle so he can sever his femoral. A warm feeling comes over him at the phantom feeling of blood on his hands that’s quickly washed away by disgust. It’s his mind’s poor attempt at pretending he wouldn’t hesitate to rip this man’s throat out with his teeth if he only had the-
Nai jumps when the man yelps. A hand had gripped his shoulder and yanked him backward, away from Nai.
“He said no, jackass.”
Nai’s hand loosens, and the knife falls. It shakes as he watches the man swing backward at the figure behind him. His punch is sloppy, caught easily, and thrown back at him. The man swings again, this time with more force, catching the other guy in the face.
Nai’s head is stuffed with cotton, causing his ears to ring in tune with the music that makes his forehead throb. He stumbles away, scrambling to get to the door while the man is distracted. His heart is thrumming frantically, pounding a tattoo against his chest.
The rush of fresh air makes him gasp on instinct. He grasps his shirt, resting a hand against the wall to stabilize himself as the floor rocks back and forth. He closes his eyes, letting his breath slow as the chaos from the dance floor finally passes over him.
The shock trickles out of his body, leaving behind tremors that make him feel queasy. He swallows back bile. He knocks his forehead against his arm. He feels blood from his nose caking against his skin but he’s been turned inside out. There isn't anything left in him to care.
“Hey!”
The voice rips him out of his head, leaving it spinning. He blinks, squinting at the figure that races out of the club and runs straight towards him.
Nai’s vision threads his hazy view of the street into the man who had been watching him from the corner of the club. He grits his teeth, fangs bared as he prepares for another confrontation.
The man holds out his hands, placating as if he were approaching a spooked deer. His sunglasses fall down to his nose, revealing the panicked expression that’s barely concealed in his deep brown eyes.
“What-”
“Are you OK?”
Nai blinks at him, immediately disarmed by the concern the man wears so naturally. It’s admittedly a good facade, but not one that can fool him. He’s smarter than the usual sheep who filter into places like this in droves. He can piece together how sweet words on a trickster's tongue can break down carefully constructed walls and lead foolish men astray.
“Fine,” he spits, begging for his legs to get it together and regain enough feeling to get him out of here.
The man’s hands raise higher, palms facing him to show that they’re empty. He takes a small step back, hunching his shoulders just so to make himself look smaller. Nai’s eyes drift down, tracing the man’s large biceps. He swallows a lump in his throat.
“I’m not here to try anythin’,” the man says carefully. “Just wanted to make sure you were doin’ alright.”
“I-” Nai starts, cursing himself as his voice trails off. “I’m fine,” he says, weakly this time. Exhaustion is making his bones feel heavier and the bruise that’s forming on his spine is beginning to throb.
“You’re bleeding,” the man says, motioning towards Nai’s nose. Nai sniffs and wipes away a drop of blood that’s trailed down to his lip.
The man lets out an annoyed huff. One of his hands lowers, pulling a small packet of tissues from his pocket. “Just- at least let me help you clean up? No strings attached.”
Nai’s mouth goes dry. He flounders, clenching his fists as he stares at the ground. The ache of defeat turns his body to lead and he rests his back against the wall as he slides down to the floor.
The man treads towards him carefully, taking a knee beside him. He reeks of cigarette smoke, making Nai’s nose scrunch up in disgust. He hands the tissues over, hands hovering, careful not to touch.
Nai reaches for them slowly, careful of the trap he’s certain is somehow embedded in the innocent gesture.
He dabs his face, rubbing away dried blood from his nose. He watches the man the entire time. The man doesn’t seem to mind one bit, content to linger just out of reach, watching him with more concern than Nai knows what to do with.
As soon as Nai has finished cleaning himself off, the man readjusts, sliding to sit next to him on the floor, still keeping a careful amount of space between them. He bends a knee to rest his arm. The silence that settles is uncomfortable. The man’s jaw is tense and Nai can feel a knot twist in his stomach.
“Why?” Nai asks. The man blinks at him as if that was the dumbest question he could have asked.
“Do I need a reason?”
Nai’s face burns as anger begins to boil under his skin.
“You expect me to believe you’re here out of the goodness of your heart?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
The man snorts. “My boss definitely isn’t gonna be happy when she finds out I fucked off.”
“So why?”
The man shrugs. “Shit, blondie, I don’t know? That happened under my watch, I guess. I felt bad I couldn’t stop the guy before you got hurt.”
Nai tiffs. The man sighs.
“He’s not coming back.”
Nai blinks dumbly at him.
“That guy. He’s not coming back. He’s banned for life. Made sure of it myself.”
Nai hums and stares at the pavement. He traces it with the edge of his shoe.
“Why are you telling me this?”
The man huffs a small laugh. Nai spares a glance at him, knocking his head gently against the wall. From this angle, the light from the street lamps makes the ends of his hair shine, highlighting soft waves that frame his carved jaw. He sucks a small breath.
“‘Cause it’d really suck if you stopped coming because of that asshole,”
Nai’s eyebrows furrow. He turns his head.
“Not that I’ve been staring at - I mean I have noticed you, I work here, but I-” the man starts to fumble. His tanned skin flushes. His throat bobs as he swallows. Nai raises an eyebrow at him, causing him to groan and shove his head into his hands. He runs his hands backward through his hair and takes a sharp breath.
Nai turns away, staring into the distance.
Don’t let him fool you, he tells himself. He may seem different, but he’s just like all the others. He’ll destroy you if you let him.
He clenches his fist.
“Nai,” he says quietly. The man lets out a confused hum. “My name,” he says, handing over a sliver of himself on a silver platter.
You idiot.
He’s not sure why he did it, but the way the man’s face brightens by a fraction makes the decision feel less like he carved a hole into his own chest.
“Mine’s Nicholas, but my friends call me Wolfwood.”
“Am I a friend?”
“D’you want to be?”
Nai clicks his tongue. This is dangerous territory. This is something he needs to shut down now before he lets it go too far and shows more of himself than he should. It’s better for both of them. Nai’s never really had friends- he can’t keep them. There’s a poison that lingers under the surface of his skin and infects anyone he lets get too close. He was built to be alone- it’s better that way. No one to hurt him, and no one for him to hurt.
No, he wants to say. Keep away from me.
“I’ll see you next weekend, Nicholas,” is what his cursed tongue lets slip. He clambers to his feet before the man can get up to help him. His legs still wobble, but he still manages to scamper away unceremoniously before Wolfwood can say anything else that makes his chest feel ready to burst.
He can feel his eyes burning holes into him until he turns a corner. Safely out of sight, he takes a shaky, shallow breath and buries his head in his hands, tightening his grip on his hair to give himself a sense of stability.
There’s a sense of excitement for next week that bubbles over like an overcooked stew.
Nai does what he does best. He closes his eyes and crushes the feeling as best he can, leaving behind the comfortable numbness he’s grown so used to these last few years.
You were built to be alone, he reminds himself, but the words feel hollow.
He doesn’t let himself think about what that means.