he’ll see a challenge even where there isn’t one. dominic is statuesque in the dim light, and his shadowed silhouette stretches beyond him - adversarial in its own right.

"yeah? you want a closer look?" his voice is soft and dropped low as he advances closer. dominic doesn’t bother to veil the implicit threat, his narrowed eyes lingering on the smoke of marcel’s cigarette.

marcel doesn’t know what it looks like to see your skin shift in the shadow. marcel doesn’t know what it means to feel boneless. dominic’s lip curls, mirthless.

"the fuck is your problem, maeda?"

marcel maeda

it’s a years old scar - the emptiness behind the ribs that never quite heals. dominic wants more and more and nothing will never be enough for him.

he lets marcel’s words settle in the physical expanse of space between them. the corridor feels too small; dominic thinks he can taste the smoke as well as smell it.

"no," he says shortly, barely above a murmur. "and think carefully about what you’re saying."

marcel maeda

he could ask for so much more.

"just like merlino," dominic sneers. the intention to play at civility had been stripped away the second marcel spoke.

dominic catches the minute change in the admin’s posture; but it is the slight motion forward that prompts him to go on the offensive, drawing close to snarl, "are you really going to pretend to be stupid, marcel? why do you think i’ve been going to kanto for months?"

marcel maeda

the expanse in dominic’s chest yawns again at the provocation. he’s close enough to lash out and strike him. briefly, dominic fights his muscles to still himself, though his fingers curl and he feels a phantom pain ache at his knuckles.

marcel, he figures, wants his violence. he wants the satisfaction of being right, and dominic won’t give it to him. instead, he throws his head back, the low of his harsh, humourless laughter echoing mockingly against the steel entombing them.

"wrong on both counts."

dominic draws very slightly closer, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. when he speaks again, he drops his voice to a soft drawl, but the intimacy belies the bite. "what are you trying to get at?"

marcel maeda

dominic realises his breathing is halting, and so are his words; they’re catching against the chips of shrapnel lodged in his throat. he lets the air leave his lungs and when he leans forward to whisper, as though to share a secret, the aggression has bled from his tone - replaced with something foreign and hollow.

"that’s the first thing you’ve been right about." he is too close to read marcel’s expression; he just wishes he could see his eyes. "i'll follow declan and i'll lie in that grave if he tells me to. and so will you."

marcel maeda

on some level, they’re of the same ilk; dominic knows this, and so he also knows that the more marcel struggles, the tighter he winds the rope around his neck.

dominic’s response is immediate, sharp but spoken very quietly and with conviction. a tight smile can be heard in his murmur.

"no you won’t."

marcel maeda

when dominic holds marcel's gaze, his vacant, searching stare lacks any heat. he reaches fingertips behind his ribs trying to clutch at something but he comes out empty-handed; and he knows that the absence is worse than anger, worse than fear, worse than guilt.

in moments like these, it always feels like he's sliding a blade through marcel's chest, digging a little deeper and twisting the knife a little more.

"fucking hell, marcel," dominic exhales eventually.

marcel maeda