Yuki slumped over, trying to catch his breath and stop bleeding out of his mouth. The tip of his tongue felt like it wasn't there. He had probably bitten it off. He spat out some blood, covering the floor in front of him with a crimson mess.

"You'd be a lot better fuck if you'd just shut up."

Akito kicked him again.

And again.

'pretty pretty you're so fucking pretty'

And again and again.

Yuki couldn't remember the last time he'd been caused so much physical pain. Yuki couldn't really remember anything. So, lying on the floor with blood pouring out of his mouth, Yuki tried to make up a memory to make him feel better.

But sadly, he only could come up with one image. It was the same image that he always got, whenever he tried to think.

It was the image of a boy who might've been pretty at once, with his pretty orange hair and wide crimson eyes. Well, one of them was crimson.

'god i love your body you're so pretty'

The other one was hanging out of its socket entirely, with a pair of rusty sewing scissors sticking obscurely out of the iris. The boy was skeletal, with large gashes sliced up each arm and leg, but he oddly had a twisted grin plastered to his pretty face.

Akito paced around Yuki, so that they were both facing each other.

'but your eyes are the prettiest'

"You're not as good as my kitty, but at least I know you won't die on me. You're more valuable anyway."

Akito kissed him again.

And again.

And the clothes came off.

And Akito left.

And Yuki cried.

And Yuki thought about the pretty boy who he couldn't remember.

'i should've left you with only dreams to fill your pretty head'

Akito always called Yuki a substitute. Yuki assumed that was because something had happened to the pretty boy. Akito talked about him sometimes. Akito said that the boy was easy to break, au contraire to what Yuki had thought before (Yuki had thought before?). Akito also said that Yuki was easy to break.

'you even taste pretty'

What a good little whore.