Chapter Text
It’s suspicious.
The amount of disappearances that have been happening around town, the weird influx of people that seem to be coming from all corners of the world to what used to be a quiet town, and the stain of blood in the alleyway behind his apartment complex.
A serial killer, the news says.
Should he report this to the police? This would be considered a lead, wouldn’t it.
But, on the other hand, that would be so much work, and really he’d just gotten that new job as a barista, in such a good area and in walking distance, and missing so much work early for police reports was bound to get him fired. It was also so hard to find a job without the right papers, or well people that wouldn’t check that his papers were forged.
…and the police would check that too, huh.
Ignore it, then. If the police did their jobs, they’d find this alleyway soon anyways. He had called about weird noises a few days before.
Shinji gets up from his crouch to turn to leave, but then there’s someone in the alley’s exit blocking his path.
“Can I help ya?” he asks, friendly despite the situation.
The man is wearing a black coat that goes to his knees, opened to reveal a white blouse that’s unbuttoned to show off some really nice collarbones.
Shinji wasn’t attracted to collarbones, he wasn’t, ok, but they were really nice collarbones.
“No,” the man said, his voice deep like silk, and Shinji gets the first inkling that he really should get laid, if he’s getting so turned on by such little things to a man he’d never met.
Well, ok then. He’s going to walk away now, like an adult.
Except when he moves to sidestep the man and leave the alleyway, instead his head spins as he finds himself suddenly pinned to the wall.
It would’ve been sexy if it weren’t for the blade through his abdomen and the hand over his mouth to stop his pain-filled scream, not that he did scream. His pain tolerance was ridiculously high, he knew, built from past experiences he’d rather not well, reexperience.
But he guesses he would, today.
The man smirks at him, dark and cruel, an edge of insanity in his eyes.
“Why?” he asks.
The man laughs, “Why not?” he purrs, “You saw the evidence I carelessly left behind, didn’t you?”
And Shinji understood several things just then.
He’d left that bloodstain in the alleyway on purpose.
The weird noises too, were on purpose, with how easily he’d subdued and silenced any loud noise Shinji tried to make.
The bloodstain and proof left behind wasn’t a mistake, it was a lure for new victims.
What a fucked up man.
“Ah,” he tries to make a sound of understanding, but it’s mangled by the blood that he’s starting to cough up, and the pain.
The man twists the knife further before pulling it out. He seems content to let Shinji talk and make small noises of pain now that he knows Shinji isn’t the type to scream on a first date.
“Least tell me your name, darling,” he says, because well, if he’s gonna die, might as well learn the name of the man before he passes out.
The man looks intrigued, for some reason.
“Sousuke,” he says, and Shinji wonders if it’s the truth, or if he’s the cautious type.
Not the cautious type, he decides, when there’s a knife through his heart and he well,
He dies.
He wakes up in the ground, hand escaping dirt and pulling himself up before taking a gulp of fresh, clean air.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, wondering what time it is, how many days it is.
“Where the fuck did he take me?” he mumbles again out loud. He doesn’t usually talk to himself like this, not unless he was feeling loopy, and right after he dies he tends to feel loopy.
Oh. This was a graveyard. He checks the tombstone behind him to make sure it didn’t say his name, because that would suck. He literally just got papers like a few months ago, don’t make him restart in some other country again, that was so much work. And he was starting to like this place and its easy atmosphere!
It’s, to his pleasure, not his name on the grave, and not one he recognizes either.
Well, no matter, he had to go find out what day and time it was, and clean himself up, fuck he smelled rotten. He hated it.
He rushes home in a flurry, ignoring any weird looks he gets on the way. Thankfully it seems pretty early, or pretty late - he’s not sure if it’s sunset or sunrise - and there’s very few people on the streets. He makes it home back to his apartment, unlocks the door, and rushes in. When he checks his phone that he’d left on the kitchen table, he sees no missed calls. Ah, so his death only lasted for a night, this time. But it also meant he had work in- he checks his watch - 30 minutes.
Fuck.
The flurry as he cleans himself up, bandages the wounds that haven’t completely disappeared yet, and then dresses is almost impressive. He runs out to go to work and open the store to which many people claimed sold the elixir of lifeblood itself.
Ah, sweet, sweet coffee, he could use some himself.
So much.
It’s to the astonishment and slight fear of his coworkers that he pulls 15 shots into a cup, puts some ice in to cool them down, and then proceeds to chug it.
Work today was gonna suck, he needed the caffeine, even if it would probably give him a heart attack. Not like he wouldn’t survive it, or well, come back from not surviving it.
If he has tunnel vision as he makes drinks, and if he had trouble hearing and understanding what people say to him the entire shift, well, that sounded like everyone else’s problem.
So, Shinji dies, and then he goes to work.
It’s after two weeks, that he’s working the bar, and he looks at a cup for a decaf nonfat flat white, that he realizes the name on it was Sousuke. He has a moment to find the irony funny, before continuing to make the drink. I mean, first they had the same name as a serial killer, which would suck for them when he was caught, second, they ordered a flat white that definitely wasn’t a flat white.
It almost made him want to snap a picture of it, the drink that is masquerading itself as a flat white. He’d gone through all that training and yet, they still put these repulsive drinks in front of him for him to make. There were only a few things separating a flat white from a latte or a macchiato. First of all, a flat white has whole milk, whole, not nonfat, and by itself that wasn’t bad, but then the only thing that separated a flat white from a latte was the pouring order, the milk type, and the espresso shots. The espresso shots were ristretto shots and not decaf shots, and this machine couldn’t make ristretto decaf shots. So, that’s already ⅔ criteria not met.
He has his hat on, so most of the customers wouldn’t recognize him outside of work and try to strike a conversation like so many tried while he was working. He also tried to keep his face hidden with the bar, because he liked his friends well enough, but he had no desire to make small talk with random strangers.
It’s when he hears his voice that he almost freezes, deep and like silk, calm and in control and irritatingly and deceptively gentle, even when he was stabbing another person.
“Excuse me, sir,” the serial killer says, “I have the flat white,” he continues.
“Yes, I was just about to make it,” he answers, because he’s at his job and he can’t just ignore a customer, god forbid, even if it’s slightly annoying for him to hover and ask about his drink that Shinji was working on, god damn it.
“Ah, I caught you just in time then. Could you also pour the espresso shots in last?”
And Shinji would like to think of himself as a good man, as a strong man. A nice person, an even temper. He also might be lying to himself.
He lifts his head to stare in contempt and disappointment at Sousuke in front of him, only taking brief satisfaction in Sousuke’s eyes widening at the sight of his face.
Half of him wants to tell him very pointedly that what he wants is not a flat white, it is a latte macchiato and his order is an affront to flat white’s. But that would be weird, and show that he cares too much about coffee, that he’s a coffee snob, and also he might lose his job.
“Of course, sir. I’ll be making your latte macchiato right away,” he says, instead, because he’s a reasonable person who can function in polite society.
Sousuke seems to hide the surprise on his face as fast as it appeared, and now seems to just be slightly amused, in a demeaning way, because of course he did, this was Sousuke. Sousuke, who he didn’t know at all, but also felt he knew intimately well. Well, no better way to know a person’s true face than when they were half crazed with bloodlust and had a knife through Shinji’s guts, but who’s counting?
“I had a flat white, not the…” he pauses, as if to taste the word before he mispronounces it, “latte macchiato.”
Shinji does not laugh at the butchering of the word macchiato, but he does stifle a giggle into his apron.
“Of course,” he says, not agreeing at all, and then goes back to making his drinks.
“Wait,” Sousuke says, “When does your shift end? Would you like to go out to eat with me?”
Ok, creepy, he did not expect his would-be-actually-is killer to ask him out. Maybe Sousuke thought he was imagining the similarities in the man he killed and the man he stood before now. Oooh maybe he thought they were family and found it funny in a fucked up way to fuck the dearest family member of the man he killed. Only to reveal it all in a dramatic way, and then also kill or lock up his lover in a creepy basement.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be creepy or rude,” he says, eyes kind and smile dripping with regret, “I’ll just give you my phone number and you can give me a call if you’d like to accept.”
“Nah, it’s fine, I get off work in 2 hours, we can go then if you want.” Shinji says, because he has no self-preservation and because the man was hot, ok. Plus, not like he could actually die, so what was the harm in fucking around with Sousuke for a bit? In letting himself be killed or fucked or whatever else over and over again, his serial killer wondering how he miraculously appeared again with seemingly no injury or fanfair.
It was always fun to mess with people. And it was better if Sousuke focused on him than on disappearing other people. He did kind of like this town, after all.
“Ohh, he was so handsome,” his coworker said, when they’re in the back, “I can’t believe he asked you on a date! You’re so lucky,” she sighed dreamily.
He raises his eyebrow at her.
“We’ll see how it goes,” he says amicably, “If you liked him so much, Hinamori-chan, you could’ve flirted a bit too.”
“I tried,” she pouted, “he wasn’t into it, so I quit while I was ahead. But still, he was so nice about it, he’s perfect.”
She moons over him for the rest of the shift, and makes him promise to send details about the date he now has later today.
Shinji almost sighs, but he doesn’t. At least he doesn’t have to worry about protecting Hinamori, since Sousuke wasn’t interested in her.
He thinks Kensei and Hiyori would yell at him for it, scolding him that only he would ever agree to go on a date with a man who killed him, but he was of the opinion that there was totally crazier people than him out there, probably. I mean, he only had to point to Sousuke, honestly.
And so begins the delicate courtings and murderings of one Shinji Hirako.
Multiple people saw them together, so really there’s no way Sousuke could attack and kill him after this date, well not immediately after anyways, and Shinji soothes himself with that fact.
He even looks sort of nice today, not in his usual ratty jeans and a tshirt. He’d decided he wanted to look nice this morning, and had put on a patterned dress shirt and some nice pants. Thank god for that, seeing as he now had a date.
After his shift, almost on the dot, Sousuke appears again, and as he bundles up his apron, he wonders how funny it would be to confirm for Sousuke that he is in fact the same person he killed, but like, in a roundabout way so that Sousuke doesn’t know if Shinji actually knows or if he’s oblivious.
It’d be funny, ok.
Sousuke takes his arm, as he leads him out the door.
“So what’s your name,” he asks, amicably, “Well, other than Sousuke.”
“Mm, Aizen,” he says, “Aizen Sousuke, pleased to meet your acquaintance, and you?”
Shinji grins, finally a full name for his unfairly pretty face.
“Hirako Shinji,” he answers, “the one and only.”
He does not chuckle at his own dumb joke.
“Could we stop at my apartment before we go?” he asks, holding up his apron to show he wants to drop it off before they leave, “And where did you want to go?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Sousuke says, “And there’s a new family restaurant that opened up nearby that I’ve been meaning to try. I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Oh, so you like trying new things, Sousuke,” Shinji says, rolling his name on his tongue, his voice a little dark. It was such a nice name, and so fun to tease Sousuke with, to see him suppress the twitch every time Shinji broke the boundaries between them, using such a personal name to call him with.
“Of course,” he says, “Though rarely do I go back to things that truly please me.”
“Why not?” he asks, curious.
“I find there’s beauty in only being able to taste something once, only have it once. The second or third time will always be less satisfying, and ruin the memory of the ephemeral first time.” Aizen says, and Shinji gets the distinct impression they’re not talking about food anymore.
“I can see that,” Shinji says, but he doesn’t stop because he’s an asshole, “But I think that the best things can be made over and over, y'know? Gotta feed the family after all.”
Aizen doesn’t say anything, and Shinji has more to say, so he continues, “My favorite professor once said that the most beautiful art was made to be consumed over and over again, because it is something that shows you something new about yourself each time you see it.”
And ok, he’d lost control of that conversation quickly. He’d only meant to tease and then he’d gone on a ramble of art of all things. God help him.
“I’ll have to regretfully disagree with you.” Aizen says.
I guess you’re going to have a very stressful few months, then. And you really won’t like what happens next. He doesn’t say
“Oh, this is it,” he says, and starts to go up the stairs to his apartment, an innocuous alley only a few feet away, where they’d first met.
Sousuke’s able to keep a remarkably straight face, all things considered.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked, “I’ll only be a moment, but it is cold out here.” He over exaggerates a shiver.
“No, I'll be fine out here,” he laughs, and then gestures to his pristine dark coat and a lovely purple scarf.
“Suit yourself,” he says, and treks up towards his door, the same route he thinks Sousuke must have watched him take for a few weeks before luring him out.
It does only take a moment to set his stuff down, grab his wallet, and head out.
“Let’s go,” he says, intertwining their arms together again as he comes down.
The date is nice, the food is good and the atmosphere warm. If he hadn’t had the experience of that night, he might have been well and truly taken by this charming persona of Sousuke. How much of it was fake and how much of it was the real him? He wonders, knowing that the best lies hold fractions of the truth.
It’s fun to tease him, too, but no matter his quips and teases, Sousuke is annoyingly unphased and straight-laced. If it weren’t for that glint in his eyes, he wouldn’t know that Sousuke is perturbed by, well, the fact that he isn’t buried six feet under, and he takes immense pleasure in that fact.
He deserved a bit of confusion and horror.
On the way home, Shinji realizes he forgot his jacket and shivers, and without a word, Sousuke puts his black coat around Shinji’s shoulders and smiles at him, his hand briefly holding Shinji’s locks in them before letting the strands fall away. The back of his hand had briefly grazed Shinji's neck with that move.
Shinji shivers again, this time not from the cold.
“Thanks,” he says, face red and trying to hide his face. He should’ve brought a scarf with him, fuck.
“My pleasure,” Sousuke purrs.
And when they get to the apartment, maybe it’s a testament to Shinji’s charms or the enlightening conversation they’d had at the restaurant, but this time, Sousuke does follow him in.
He gasps when they enter his apartment only for Sousuke to turn on him almost immediately. This time when he’s pinned to the door as soon as they enter, there’s no knife in his gut. He had to stop himself from looking down to check, but there was no pain and he really didn’t want to give himself away.
That dark glint in Sousuke’s eyes is exactly the same as he takes off his glasses and tucks them away somewhere unseen.
He struggles a bit, to see the strength of Aizen’s grip, and feels himself get just a little bit harder when he doesn’t even budge.
Aizen, for his part, doesn’t seem surprised or affronted that he is struggling, just pleased, just pins him down a bit harder.
“Beautiful,” he breathes into Shinji’s ears, “Stop struggling now, Shinji. After all, you want me to continue, don’t you?”
And fuck, he was weak to that voice. He stops struggling without a thought, submitting to the monster before him.
“Good,” Aizen purrs, “Very good.”
Aizen proceeds to kiss him, a hot and dark thing that Shinji could get addicted to forever. He tilts Shinji’s head just so, biting at his lips with a fervor and skill that Shinji could admire. But the real topping on the cake is just how domineering he is, pushing him against the wall, restraining and holding him down without mercy, moving around Shinji’s body as if it’s his to do with as he pleases. Shinji’s never claimed to be normal, but fuck if it doesn’t do something for him.
The hand molesting his ass certainly helps.
He whines when Sousuke stops, leaving him panting for more, and desperately following his mouth to try to get it.
“Patience, Shinji.” Sousuke says, as if Sousuke wasn’t driving him crazy.
And he moans when Sousuke finally kisses him again, but has a moment to feel confusion when he pushes something into his mouth and down his throat before Shinji can protest or stop him, if he even could, with how Sousuke controlled the kiss so firmly.
When his eyes begin to droop and he feels himself start to fall asleep despite the very satisfying and very thorough make out session he’s having, he knows he’s been drugged. When Sousuke carries him to his bed and crawls on top of him, he wishes he could speak to tell Sousuke that he would have let the man fuck him anyways, and when his heart beats too fast and his stomach curls and he sees blood spilling from his mouth, he knows he hasn’t been drugged, he’s been poisoned.
He dies like that, with Sousuke on top of him, inside him, caressing him.
It would’ve been ruled a stroke, if it’d taken him long enough to come back. His body wouldn’t have been found for 3 days until his work called him in missing and then they’d have taken him to the morgue and it would’ve taken a week for the workers to inspect his body and then declare it a natural death.
None of this happens, of course.
He wakes up in the morning feeling like shit, come is dried to the inside of his thighs and everything aches. Ah, there was nothing like a good fuck.
If only it didn’t come with death.
Shinji gets up and groans, stretching his limbs. His phone is blaring which means it's time to get up. He goes to get his phone, and then with another distracted thought he goes to get his wallet too, pulling out the little sheet of paper with numbers he’d been handed.
He types out the numbers without any real thought, he thinks if he were more awake he’d feel glee, or if he hadn’t just died, he’d be more sadistic about it all.
Instead he types the same words without those feelings being as strong as they should’ve been.
“Hey, Sousuke! This is Shinji, thanks for dropping me off yesterday. I had a really good time, and I hope we can go out again soon. I'm sorry you couldn’t come inside, and I hope you made it back home safely.”
The text is short, succinct, and would be utterly confusing to Sousuke, because he knows and Sousuke knows that he should be dead. And, well, that Sousuke had in fact come inside with both Shinji’s knowledge and permission. It would surely confuse him, or at least annoy him a little bit and earn Shinji in this game that he wonders if Sousuke knows they're playing.
He goes to take a shower instead of agonizing while waiting for a response. He’d already pressed send, it was too late to change the message now.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I made it back home safely, and though I’m busy for the next week, we could meet up the Tuesday after that and go get dinner.” the text reads when he finally exits the shower.
Short, and disappointing.
Except then he reads the follow up text.
“Oh and do be careful, I saw on the news that there’s a serial killer on the loose. It can be dangerous to invite strange customers you’ve only met once into your home. Of course, you don’t have to worry about me, I’ll always take care of you.”
The last line shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat, especially when he knows that Sousuke means killing him and not anything else, but the implications of the words “I’ll always take care of you” make him blush anyways.
If Shinji were in the business of lying to himself, which he wasn’t, he’d deny that he wasn’t feeling things. Fuck.
The man had teased him and hinted at what actually happened last night without revealing it, all the while warning him to be safe and that he’ll take care of him as if he wasn’t the very killer he was warning Shinji about. The sheer craft of his manipulations made Shinji want to melt, what a fucking asshole.
Cross out his thoughts from before, Sousuke definitely knew what game they were playing, and Shinji definitely wasn’t winning. He hated the man. He was an affront to humans.
Shinji wasn’t human. Shinji has been immortal and ambling through life longer than when Sousuke’s great great great grandparents had been born. He’d died so many times already, too, but none had been quite as close and personal as they had been last night. Could he be blamed for being intrigued, and for the weird relationship he holds with death? Death doesn’t scare him more than annoy him, and on Sousuke, Shinji can almost forgive him for the pain.
Shinji also had the unfortunate circumstance that his heart was attracted only to bastards and sycophants, apparently.
Fuck, he was dating a serial killer.
Fuck, he was probably gonna need to clean the blood off his sheets again at some point in the future.
And fuck, he liked fucking with Sousuke too much to actually report him. Not like he had any real evidence anyways.
His alarm blared.
Whatever, he’d deal with it later, he had to go to work now.