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Even with his head sitting in Shinobu’s hands Douma couldn’t help as the corners of his lips jerked upwards, revealing sharp fangs pulled into a gleeful smile. Her eyelids were crinkled up and her face was set in snide anger, soft pink lips spouting sharp comments.
“Oh? Did you finally die? Good.”
Part of Douma couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d lost, and that now in some turn of fate he was talking to his affiliate killer in the afterlife. Though most of him was shocked that he felt that way in the first place, he didn’t know where all of this was coming from, or perhaps where it had been all this time.
His lips parted in slight shock, eyes widening causing the kanji, still gracefully written in his eyes, to become ever so slightly more visible with every passing moment.
“Ah…” he suddenly wished he had his hands back so he could jog his memory like he did minutes prior before his beheading, “You’re Shinobu right? Or Kanae?”
Her voice rang out loud and clear, voice smooth and sultry.
“You make me sick, so don’t say my name.”
A cradle of warmth hatched in his chest, it was a new feeling, foreign but still faintly recognizable.
It stung, yet nurtured his dead missing heart. Like the poison that had killed his late mother, but harsher, sweeter, it felt like it was capable of lulling you into a deep trance from the pain, a truly drool-inducing coma.
He couldn’t place exactly where it came from but it was like the icy fog in his mind was melting, revealing a sweet meadow of flowers.
Douma quickly disregarded his qualms about his lost fight and dying, he had something more appetizing to investigate.
“You don’t have to remember my sister or I, just wallow in hell like the filthy scum you are.”
Douma scanned the woman standing before him holding his head. She still wore her black uniform with a white multicoloured haori draped over her shoulders, purple hair clipped back artfully. She looked sweet and kind but her words and actions said otherwise.
Like a wasp, she was pretty and delicate from afar, but dangerous and prickly up close, pouncing while you were still enthralled by her serene beauty.
Douma idly wondered if he was still feeling the effects of her poison in the afterlife because he was absolutely hooked.
The poisonous sting of her glare was addicting, it sent sharp stabbing needles through his skin warming up the previously cold surface. He wanted to be bitten, again and again, and again once more for all of eternity.
He’d never get the satisfaction of squishing the pests that had killed him like mere dirt under his shoe but this was more than enough for him.
It was painful, Douma couldn’t get enough.
Master Muzans glares and biting comments had never come anywhere close to this, all his self-inflicted and gleeful punishments were yet a faraway dream now, the aftertaste of something not quite good enough to savour. Master Muzan always watched with an unreadable look on his face when he listed all the ways he could harm himself, but Shinobu, oh Shinobu, she’d probably chime in with ways to make it hurt more. He’d never felt it before but that was so unfiltered and attractive of her.
To be able to see behind her carefully constructed kind mask was thrilling, he got to see all her unadulterated anger and spite. Douma felt practically honoured right then and there. A pity he’d never encountered Shinobu before the battle that sealed his fate, he could get used to this type of hurt.
His whole life he’d been worshiped, treated like he was above everyone and everything. He was savoured, he was praised, and always looked up to by dumb enamoured eyes.
A soft and delicate pair of smart emerald green eyes flashed in his vision. He frowns at the ambiguous resurfacing memory but ultimately dismisses it quickly.
He’d always been worshiped his entire life, but he’d never really cared what people thought about him or not. Minor inconveniences that caused him annoyance seemed to be the limit for his emotions, like when his parents had killed each other. Vaguely he can still recall only caring about his precious tatami mats being stained with spilt and splattered blood, the way he kicked his mother's limp arm out of the way to access the damage below her, and finally clicking his tongue in annoyance as he walked off.
Clinical apathy, they’d called it. A person that was unable to feel human emotion or empathy.
He knew it wasn’t normal, even as a human. There were some days when Douma would sit cross-legged and watch as his followers would interact with each other, not knowing what to do, unable to understand.
So to fit in, he’d always opted to fake them. A smile there, a laugh here, and it worked. He got by with his false charisma and carefree demeanour, deceiving all but the very few careful observers.
Lord Akaza was always a clever one, seeing through his acts and falsehoods, every hit and punch was thrown by the man was filled with disgust. If Douma could feel anger, he thinks he would’ve been mad at the fellow demon for seeing through him so quickly.
Master Muzan was smart too, he always saw straight through Douma’s cushioned words and cheerful pleasantries, a carved appalled look always present when he looked at Douma.
The cult leader didn’t very much like how Lord Akaza and Master Muzan looked at him, but here he was in the afterlife, with Shinobu looking at him in almost the same way.
Venomous words dripped off of her tongue, laced with sweet wisteria poison. He blinked in shock, this had never happened before.
He was starting to feel like he didn’t very much mind her grossed-out mannerisms as he did with the others.
Douma’s eyes widened as he came to this realization, “Woah,” if he had his hands still he’d clasp them over Shinobu’s in an instant, “I don’t have a heart anymore…”
Shinobu’s grip found its way into his hair, and he felt his blonde roots being tugged at harshly, long pink fingernails digging into his scalp.
“But I feel like it’s beating.”
Her grip tightened and a bulging vein appeared on her forehead, Douma’s rainbow-coloured eyes shone with bright twinkling stars. Is this how humans were supposed to feel? He felt like a supernova about to collapse in on itself. How sick of god to only give him a taste of humanity after his life had ended, maybe if he’d gotten to feel this high sooner, he would have taken a different path.
“Is this what people call love? You’re cute Shinobu.”
She just blankly stared back at Douma, a calculated but slightly taken aback look on her features. To say she was confused and insulted was an understatement.
Douma drank up her expression like he was getting water for the first time in months, he wanted to see every expression she was capable of making. Hear every sound and word that would come out of her mouth, and learn every mannerism and habit she had. How he wanted so desperately.
He just knew he had to keep talking to her, now that he’d started he just couldn’t stop, he kept running his mouth. Every word was like chasing after a butterfly he’d never even hope to catch, certainly not in this lifetime, it was a newfound obsession, “This feeling really exists, huh? So do heaven and hell also exist?”
“Hey Shinobu,” his fangs reflected at him through her delicate purple eyes, “Hey,”
His face felt a burning rush of blood flush his cheeks, “Wanna go to hell with me?” Douma offered, enamoured by every twitch of Shinobu’s hand and every strand of hair slowly loosening from her hair clip.
If he was still alive he’d buy her anything she could ever hope to dream of, silver and gold metal hair ornaments dripping with sapphire and ruby gems galore. She’d be treated to only the finest meals and training facilities money could offer. Who knows, maybe in this timeline he could convince her to spar regularly. Douma blushed at the thought of getting beaten to the ground by her like a leashed feral animal.
“After you, you worthless bastard!” The poisonous monarch sang cheerfully.
He’d never believed in gods or the afterlife but after seeing all this, he begged and prayed that in his next life he could spend every waking moment with her. Maybe in his next life, they could meet differently, and he’d finally get to indulge in the high she gave him simply by being there.
Douma felt burning passion in his chest for the first time in those moments as he watched Shinobu fade from view.
Oh, how he wished he could be bitten just once more.