Excerpt: Bloodlines

"But neither of us are dreaming," the green-eyed man said with a hint of dejection, allowing his gaze for the first time that night to leave the older man's face. The killer let go of his companion's chin, watching with amusement the grimace that crossed his best friend's face as he laid eyes upon the dirtied jacket, along with the blouse beneath it. The blouse itself had been rather nice previously, immaculate white in color and smooth against the skin; now, however, the front was dyed almost entirely in crimson, still wet in some places, while in others the blood was just beginning to flake off. It would probably never return to the state it was in when he had first purchased it.

"You don't seem surprised," the older pointed out with a grin, and he immediately after received a half-hearted glare in response.

"I'm not, really," the other answered honestly, shaking his head. "I knew you would one day."

The older tilted his head to the side, observing the other male's facial expression as he turned his gaze away from him once more, opting to look at the wall directly behind him instead. "Disgusted, then?"

"I can be no more disgusted with you than I am with myself at the present." Manna pushed himself out of his chair, the scraping of wood against the floor echoing across the room. He quickly closed his notebook and grabbed his pen, before picking up his notebook as well and holding it against his chest. He turned to head into the hallway leading to the back of their home, but his friend stopped him, grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him back against him. The blonde made, in the killer's opinion, a pitiful effort to be freed, and he stopped his struggling shortly after the dark-haired man had wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on Manna's shoulder.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

The smaller male refused to look at his companion for a while, staring off at nothing as his mind worked. The other waited patiently, idly playing with the bottom of Manna's button-up shirt.

Eventually the blonde looked to him again, with his face wiped clean of any former traces of emotion, and stated, "I would prefer if you would not get my coat bloodied with yours."