I am your God.

Oh...

Ahhhh. Damn, I couldn't finish it for more than a month, it's terrible. I didn't think I'd be up to my ears in business, but I am. In the end, my notes erased everything, including the last version of the story, and I had to write it all over again in a day. There is no logic in the story, do not look for it, I really have already forgotten what I wanted to write then. I'm sorry: (but... Enjoy it??

Oh, yes, Douma in this part is just an asshole.

These words penetrating into the very soul, flying from the soft lips of a blond demon, scald with bright cold not only the room standing in the semi-darkness, thereby causing pale areas of open skin to be covered with a thin layer of goosebumps; but also strike somewhere deeper, much stronger, and from this it is clearly more painful. Not physically. Somewhere in the very soul of a trembling brunette, surely exactly in the heart. It presses, harasses, exhausts to the point of exhaustion, forcing you to bend almost in two in the strong grip of a sectarian of a notorious cult. Hot air vapor, contrasting with the environment in the area, slides from the lips cracked by sudden temperature changes, which dissolves in a weak haze in the pressurizing atmosphere. Soyama almost squeezes out a quiet squeak, a mute moan of pain, it is only necessary for someone else's, once so dear hands to squeeze his waist harder, press on his ribs through his clothes, dig sharp nails, like claws into the fabric, touching the skin. With all these actions, openly hinting at an early expectation of a response.

But what is he like? What should I choose? Why are both options, anyway, so disappointing. If you decide to brush it off and make a failed attempt to escape again, he will catch up and kill you, if the Duma wants to give at least some kind of head start on escape, and does not attack immediately, it is only necessary for the living body that is now resting in his, perhaps, tender embrace to rush to the door. Hakuji is tense, and the demon realizes that he is not yet ready for the choice he has offered. If you stay here, near the Dome, there is a high probability that you will simply lose your mind, lose yourself and clarity of mind. Everything will never be the same again. It was as if those dreams were simply torn apart in one moment right in front of my eyes without a single possibility of recovery. The brunette understands this, but the truth is much harder for him. Bitterness rises in my throat. No, no. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to end everything right here and now. Doesn't want to, doesn't want to, doesn't want to. Soyama is still so young. Quite recently, just the other day, his nineteen-year-old turned. The choice, albeit much better than the other, however, is accepted, after repeating itself several times in Akaza's head.

– Good boy, – such a sweet, such a satisfied exhalation comes from above him, when desperate, but so eager to live, the blue-eyed man's body relaxes and almost falling off his feet, allowing himself to be picked up, squeezed harder, like a rag doll. "I knew you wouldn't leave me.

A minute of silence.

"I love you, oh dear Hakuji-san. I love you so much...

***

Three sleepless days and three sleepless nights passed like needles. The very next morning after that terrible incident, the blond man behaved as if nothing had happened: he still illuminated everyone with his radiant smile, gave everyone a commandment about the father of God and, it seems, nothing has changed in his behavior at all. That's just he looked at Soyama with a frantic hungry look, often lingering his gaze on him more than allowed, as if telling him: "Don't you dare pretend that something is wrong with you. Smile.“ And Hakuji smiled, feigned, tired, but followed the rules of the unspoken game. Maybe it was just a dream, right? Then why all these three days people who died in a "dream" have not returned.