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It was unsurprisingly easy to break into the Japanese man's temporary residence. Dr. Tenma's staying in a deteriorating, run-down hotel filled with unsavory men, high women, and staff who only care about the paycheck. It's a perfect refuge for a fugitive but a poor choice of a hotel. All Johan had to do was play the role of a charming, handsome young man and flash pretty, white teeth, and he was in.
He stalks through the hotel’s dim lobby and scans flaking numbers plastered on crumbling doors. 409… 500… right turn… 501… 502… 503… 504. Then 505. He’s at the Doctor’s door. He picks the lock and lets himself in. The door closes with a small click. It’s quiet and dark; through the darkness, Johan could make out the vague shape of his Doctor sleeping.
He's fast asleep, completely unaware of the blond intruding his space.
The Monster does not know why he’s here, gazing upon the Doctor’s sleeping form like a hawk. There’s a heavy feeling swelling in his chest when he looks at Dr. Tenma, his prey and hunter in one altruistic man. The man is sleeping, his tanned frame highlighted by the street lights peeking through window folds; his long legs peeked out of bed, and his black hair splayed like ink on a sheet. He’s shirtless and so, so peaceful in his sleep.
Monsters don’t love; they devour. Tracing the slope of the Doctor’s nose and the curve of his lips with lidded eyes, Johan watches him breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling in a calming staccato. Impulsively, he feels the good doctor’s chest flutter underneath his carefully light, wandering fingertips, and thinks it can't be love because he's painfully human, when Johan is not. He is a Monster walking and acting human amongst men. Johan thinks it isn’t ‘love’, because his brand of intimacy is twisted beyond reason.
He is far less than human. What this feeling is much more vile, a caricature.
It comes in the form of watching from afar and dropping subtle, intentional hints meant only for the Dr. Tenma's eyes, an obsession that makes him want to pry the doctor open, crawl into his skin, gouge the warm, caring eyes with lithe fingers and jam them into his. If Dr. Tenma can't see the end, then Johan would see the world through Dr. Tenma's eyes. But he'll never be sated because a monster will only ever know hunger.
He craved to slip his tongue inside the older man's mouth, lick every bump on his tongue and every ridge of his teeth with his own, and then he'd taste the sweat in the Doctor's sweaty feverish skin. He'd force unto his warm chest, mouth warm, hungry kisses, nipping, licking, biting down on flesh before plunging pale fingers into the beating heart underneath. Dive in face first into the bloodied, dripping cavities of his chest and devour protruding bones and muscles with a sinful tongue, watching, feasting on the Doctor's pained face.
It'll be the sweetest thing, the doctor's beating heart grasped in his hands, the taste of tangy blood dripping down his tongue and chest, and shreds of tanned skin on his teeth. Kissing the doctor's rough fingers and stripping away his fingertips; as he peppers light, feathery kisses from the bloodied trembling lips until his warm chest, he'd tug on brown nubs with his teeth and swallow the Doctor's whimpers with his own, patient lips. With an unrelenting tongue, he'd lick away his Doctor's sad, humiliated tears from his neck until the corners of his lids, and then he'd bruise his gasping, pleading lips until they bloom red and purple with his teeth. He'd taste his body until all Dr. Tenma could think of was him.
The Doctor softly snores, blissfully ignorant of the Monster beside his bed.
It would be easy to leave his carcass in the small hotel bed. The Monster inside him craves to devour the Doctor, “Start from the tips of his feet, shred strips of his skin until the crown of his head bleeds.” It whispers, its voice so close, tickling his ear, “Watch how he cries as you feast.” But then Dr. Tenma would be dead, and there would be no one to kill him. So, he reels in his desires and transforms his sick, sick desires into a game of cat and mouse chase, and they’ll play until the doctor unloads a bullet in his brain. And then he’ll sleep forever, content.
The blond watches the doctor shift positions, large arms cradling a pillow and a sliver of his stomach peeking out of the blankets. The tanned man sighs, and Johan catalogs every vulnerable, human expression on the doctor’s face.
Other times, he thinks of letting the Doctor get close to him. Not close enough to trigger him and foil his plans, but enough for him to taste the brush of death. Johan can picture it so, so clearly: Dr. Tenma’s hands shaking, his face contorted in raw, primal fear, the gun cocked to kill in his trembling hand. Then, Johan would point at his forehead, mockingly and purposefully setting off the man’s anger, “Here.” he would mouth, his eyes trained on a hesitant finger on the trigger and the older man, watching, preying on the myriad of anger, hesitance, and conviction on the man’s tired face. He would play Russian Roulette with the Doctor over and over again, if this barren land permitted it. He finds himself enjoying the chase and the hunt, threading life and death with the gun pressed against his forehead.
The doctor's eyelashes flutter slightly and grunts in his sleep. Johan eyes the dark circles under the older man's eyes and the stubble on his chin. He's looking less like a genius neurosurgeon, and more like a wanted fugitive as the days pass by, and Johan wonders if the man would save his life twice, knowing how monstrous he is inside.
Sometimes, when he is alone, he thinks of Dr. Tenma. He’d pick up a gun, press it against his head, and envision his head against the barrel and the older man staring down in well-deserved disgust. It’s sickeningly perverse, and Johan smiles at the thought of the good Doctor finding exactly what goes on behind the Monster’s closed doors. Johan toys with the idea of slipping this little fact to the Doctor. How will Dr. Tenma react? Dr. Tenma would stand there, stupefied and unable to move from shock. He’d resemble a deer in headlights, and Johan would stand there, smiling, observing, searching his face for a prediction like a game of Bingo.
Will that encourage the Doctor to put down the beast for good?
Johan predicts anger next, and he idly fingers the trigger- thinking of an aggravated Dr. Tenma pressing a gun against his head, and Johan would savor the Doctor’s long, black hair, his tanned skin, and the determined expression on his face before his savior finally, finally blows out his brains. The thought makes him smile wider, but he knows it’ll all end the same. The Doctor would hesitate to take his life, and the Monster would wait for the bullet that never came. Johan would leave, disappointed, but the Monster is patient. He'll make the Doctor see the truth and watch him break under his hands.
It felt good to toy with the Doctor's feelings
The Doctor is too kind for a world where it's every man for himself. It's a dog-eat-dog world, yet the light persists within his eyes, and Johan thinks the Doctor is too naive. Even when allowed to atone for keeping a monster like him alive, he refuses to shoot, seeing the humanity in his blank, lidded eyes.
There’s none. If Dr. Tenma has light in his eyes, then his is a bottomless, neverending darkness, and Johan knows that far too well.