Pierce my heart ♡||♧ 𝕬𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉

Replacement of trepidation

The slender fingers now dug into his own flesh, massaging his neck and collarbone, tugging at the tanned skin.

The brittle fingernails scraped, like sandpaper, and left faint imprints across the throat and chest. The white teeth pressed deeply into the cracked bottom lip, nearly squeezing out blood by now.

Motive. What is your motive? The motivation to move forward in life, or even the reason why you stopped in the first place. What drives you?

Yaba asked this question to the man seated with him at the counter, both of them drinking a glass of wine.

Banda did not respond to this question directly with speech. Nonverbal communication was also communication. Reactions and emotions are often more descriptive than attempting to put the matter into words. Was Banda flustered, ashamed? Did he perhaps feel pressured or did he not know the answer to this question? Has he ever dared to ask himself at all? Yaba did not know.

Lips squeezed tight, Banda spun around, head hanging down to face his companion. A harried grin on his face.

"Want to guess?"

Yaba sneered. Shook his head in incredulity before taking another sip. "You're unbelievable."

Banda stared at him with a blank expression, lips slowly warping back to their normal state. "Better tell me your goal first. I'm a serial killer. What are you? Why do you think so much like me?" Banda found himself more talkative when he was with Yaba. Possible interest in the other's past life could be the deciding factor. However, so could be the fact that it had been a considerable time since he had spoken to someone in whom he was genuinely interested.

"The same ideals we share, however, we do not share the same goals. You are a killer. I'm not."

Banda's hand slid from his chest down to the counter, fingers drumming in displeasure. "How do you plan to achieve your goals?"

"Through the help of others. The assistance of you, Banda."

Banda's fingers stiffened, his gaze, pupils dilated, piercing Yaba like an arrow.

"You want my help? Yaba, what is the goal you are trying to pursue? We share a mutual love for this land, don't we? But do we also share the opinion of what should happen to ourselves?"

"This land is worthy of my guidance." Yaba emptied his glass, set it down with a dull sound, and then looked at the other. Since childhood, he had strived for control, which he never seemed to achieve. Even the smallest acts were taken out of his hands. Bedtime, meals, and even which route to school was chosen. Yaba had every right to live out the control he never had. No one would stop him from leading this paradise.

His ideals, his rules. Everything would now come true.

Banda swayed the glass, observing the wine, which almost seemed like blood. He found Yaba's position of interest up to a certain point, but he believed that the pure motivation to be powerful was quite a bore. A standard motive. With Yaba, however, he accepted it.

"You've seen the news. If I don't stay in this country, I face certain death." Banda sat back, an exasperated sigh slipping from his lips. "Besides, I enjoy murdering and torturing others, so it's logical for me to stay."

Banda looked up, now glancing again at his counterpart, and seemed to hesitate briefly. He did by no means want to appear weak or naive. That Yaba lost respect for the killer repulsed Banda at the mere thought.

"However, we have similar views about this world. Yaba, let's work together as equals. I won't get in your way and you won't get in mine."

Yaba was initially surprised at the other's quick cooperativeness but did not complain. Instead, he inched a little closer to the other, so close you felt the breath. Warm and moist and reeking of wine. "We're going to be a wonderful team, Banda."

And with those words, the agreement was settled. The cooperation between the two would take place. With a certain blanket of reassurance, reveling in safety and comfort, Banda and Yaba lay together in a hotel room that night. The separate beds stood only a meter apart from one another.

The decision that it would be safer to sleep in one room had been clear to both of them. The slight grogginess, which was caused by the wine minimized only the inhibition threshold between the two. Thus, they slept late that night. Before that, they told each other the stories of their youth, about jobs, relationships, and motivations. There was a familiarity between the two that they seemed to have little shame for their past. They told each other openly about everything.

There was an image like a class trip or two best friends at a sleepover party. An innocence and childishness between the two that were actually neither one nor the other.

Both slept until the sun woke them, the sky bright blue. No sign of the storm of the previous day.

And then, as they both were standing at the exit of the hotel, tightly together, they gave each other a smile of sympathy, of belonging.

"After the fall of the last two games, we will meet again." Banda was the one who spoke while slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder.

"I trust you not to die with this, Banda."

Banda rolled his eyes, smirking in amusement before he started to move. Waving casually once more, he looked over his shoulder at the other.

"The same goes for you. Later Yaba."

The paths of the two would now separate anew. Not even because of a quarrel, the last two games should be a solo experience for both of them. Each wanted their own amusement before they wanted to unite again outside the hotel.

Banda had the conviction that this would soon happen, in a couple of days perhaps. And from that instant, he no longer had the feeling of trepidation in his chest. It was as if it had been displaced by warmth and a future. A future with which he was at peace.

And so the two of them went on their way. May the final games begin.