It came again, the dream that haunted his slumber. Always it found him, never could he escape its grasp. He would not wake up, he knew, until the dream was finished. And so he waited, with a sense of inevitability that weighed heavily on him.

Tsuzuki Asato stirred uneasily in his sleep, pushing aside the blankets frantically as though it was their soft weight that kept him confined, unable to escape the vision that plagued him.

Trapped in his mind, he found himself in the same desolate room, bleak and bare of any decoration or furniture. The walls were white, the floor was white, and there was no ceiling; only darkness, which stretched infinitely on.

The room gave him a sense of timeless imprisonment, an eerie feeling of complete helplessness.

The sterile confinement was silent, save for the sound of liquid dripping, from far off. Looking around for the source of the sound, Tsuzuki suddenly spotted an immaculate operating table, standing in the middle of the room. Had it been there previously? He didn’t trust his own judgement, and could not be certain if the room had truly been empty before.

The source of the dripping stemmed from this table; a liquid was falling slowly from the shining silver surface to the pristine floor tiles, splashing methodically in a widening pool of fluid. The liquid was crimson, and with a feeling of detached horror, Tsuzuki realized it was blood.

On the table lay a body, and it was from the body’s wrist that the liquid was falling. Innumerable slashes marked the pale flesh there, crisscrossing in a macabre pattern. Severed tendons, shredded muscle, the detail was quite real, and frighteningly so. The wrist was all that was visible; (for which Tsuzuki was immeasurably grateful) and the rest of the corpse was covered with a starched white sheet.

Curiously, with a hesitant air of revulsion, Tsuzuki stepped forward, reaching to pull the sheet away from the body’s face. As his hand touched the pristine fabric, it fell away, and he gasped in shock. A beautiful face stared sightlessly up at him, the violet-hued eyes clouded and blank. Shining chestnut tresses fell over the pale face irrepressibly, and Tsuzuki absently combed a hand through his own unruly locks.

The face he looked upon was his own, blanched and still in death. As he stared uncomprehendingly at his own corpse, a low chuckle drifted across the still air, and Tsuzuki tensed in anticipation. Turning slowly around, he faced the specter that made its nightly appearance in his dreams, this evening no exception.

Muraki stood before him, visible eye gleaming with predatory anticipation. Neither man moved, and each stared at the other with contrasting emotions. Muraki was tense with impatience, only noticeable in the quickening of his breath and the slight twitch of his gloved hands. Tsuzuki on the other hand was an open book; anxiety, loathing, and a suppressed, frightened hint of desire, which he perhaps was not even aware of, visible on his face.

The last did not surprise Muraki, indeed he had counted on it, and it would make his seduction of the Shinigami all the more enjoyable. Pale lips curved in a mocking smile, and the doctor met the Shinigami’s violet eyes knowingly. Acutely aware of how easily the man read his feelings, Tsuzuki turned away in shame.

Smiling almost tenderly, the doctor strode forward, stopping within a few feet of the now visibly shaking Shinigami. "Tsuzuki-san. We meet again."

Tsuzuki clenched a fist, barely containing the rage that coursed through his veins. Every night the doctor would taunt him, hoping to elicit a response. Tsuzuki had never before replied, opting instead to remain silent. "Damn you Muraki. How are you doing this?"

Affecting confusion, the doctor smiled mockingly. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." His voice, deep and resonant, echoed across the room’s expanse, to be swallowed up by the darkness overhead. This statement succeeded as no other had in provoking the Shinigami, and Tsuzuki lunged forward, fist aimed for the smirking alabaster face.

He didn’t know why, but a sudden, intense rage burned in him, a desire to injure in any way possible the one who stood before him. It was a futile effort, and Tsuzuki realized this even as he swung. But something, some unresolved thought, kept him from withdrawing; instead putting his full force behind the blow.

Muraki caught his wrist effortlessly, twisting it behind Tsuzuki’s back. The Shinigami struggled to pull away, feeling the other’s hold tighten as Muraki drew his captive closer. "Such hatred, Tsuzuki-san. Do you really hate me this much?" Tsuzuki gritted his teeth at the pain that lanced through his arm, as the doctor twisted it mercilessly. He struggled in vain against Muraki’s firm grip, and the other man laughed softly in his ear, voice lowering to an intimate whisper that sent a shiver across the Shinigami’s skin.

"Why prolong this tiring game of cat-and-mouse?" The other man chuckled, the sound dark and seductive. "You refuse to give in to the inevitable Tsuzuki-san, and that’s one of the things I love best about you." Tsuzuki felt the doctor’s warm breath on his neck, and his trembling increased as soft lips ghosted across the exposed flesh there. Muraki’s other arm wrapped firmly around the Shinigami’s slender body, drawing him against the doctor’s broad chest.

Tsuzuki stiffened at the intimacy of their positions, muscles tensing as Muraki nibbled his ear, lapping the lobe gently. "You aren’t so certain that you don’t want this, are you Asato?" He called Tsuzuki by his first name in a caressing, taunting tone of voice, a liberty he had never taken before.

Shuddering, Tsuzuki attempted to pull away once more, his efforts made futile by the other’s strong embrace. "Muraki," he grated, his voice rough, "Let me go, please."

"You surprise me. Do you really think that your pleas mean anything to me?" Muraki pressed even more intimately against his captive, his breath hitching slightly. A soft moan escaped Tsuzuki’s lips, a pleading sound, and Muraki smiled, before drawing away. Tsuzuki looked shocked, hardly believing the wanton sound had escaped his lips. He stared at Muraki, paralyzed with confusion. The doctor simply stood, and smiled at him, silver eye holding the amethyst gaze of the other effortlessly.

The dream was nearing completion, and Tsuzuki was left once more, distraught and tormented. He fell to his knees, tears of frustration trickling down his face, which was contorted in suffering.

The room began fading, the bleached walls and floor dissolving into darkness. "I’ll find you soon, Asato. Soon, my desires will come to fruition, and you will be mine." Muraki’s deep voice echoed ominously in the rapidly growing void, and Tsuzuki could hear the triumph in the doctor’s tone, as it faded along with the dream.