Hold my hand when its over

Chapter 1 - Quiet work

The first time Mortis killed a man, he cried all the way home. Not out of guilt he didn't feel that. It was more like an ugly kind of relief, like popping a blister. Now, years later, it was just routine. Same gloves, same box cutter, same blank stare. Tonight's client didn't care about where the body ended up, only that it stopped breathing. So Mortis left it behind a skip in a forgotten alleyway, where the bins stank of rot and the streetlights flickered like they were trying to look away.

The town didn't notice. Towns like this never did. They were too busy gossiping at the cornershop or closing the curtains too fast to catch the screams. Mortis liked that–being invisible. It gave him time to think. Mostly about Grim. About whether Grim had eaten today. About whether Grim would slam the door in his face when he got back. About how Grim's voice sounded when he said "I love you" and didn't mean it. The thoughts buzzed in his head like static. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept walking.

By the time he got back to the flat, it was nearly three. He turned the key slow, tried not to let the latch click–but it still did, sharp and accusing. Grim was already awake. He stood in the doorway of the sitting room, shirtless, hair messy, a cigarette burning down to the filter between his fingers. "Took your time," he muttered without looking. Mortis stepped inside like a dog expecting the boot. "Sorry," he said, voice small. He wasn't. But Grim had probably left the door creaky on purpose.

Mortis pulled a crumpled box of cigarettes from his coat pocket and held it out like a peace offering. "I got you something," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I love you."
He slipped off his boots, lining them up by the door like always, then crossed the flat in silence. The old brown settee creaked under his weight as he sat down, eyes flicking to Grim–searching for something. A glance. A smile. Even a sneer.

"Love you too" Grim said eventually, flat as dishwater. He didn't look up from his phone. He didn't need to. It was obvious he didn't mean it.

Mortis swallowed the sting and forced a smile. "How was your day?" he tried, voice light, casual, like they were just any couple. But the silence that followed was louder than any fight.
"It was fine," Grim said after a beat, still scrolling. Still not looking at him.

"Where have you been? It's three in the morning." Grim finally looked up at Mortis, and for a moment, hope bloomed in his chest fragile and stupid before Grim's eyes dropped right back to his phone.
"I was at work," Mortis lied, hands twitching in his lap.
"I don't know what's worse," Grim said, not even glancing at him. "You killing people, or thinking I care enough for you to lie about it."
"Then why'd you ask if you knew?" Mortis challenged, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Dunno." Grim lit another cigarette with a lazy shrug. "Guess I'm just bored." Mortis didn't answer. He sighed, pressing his fingers into his knees until the knuckles went white. Then, quietly, he took a cigarette from the box and lit it.
The smoke curled around him as he sat in silence, eyes fixed on nothing, he'd almost smoked the whole thing in a single breath, even Grim was looking at him funny. He breathed it all out slowly, painfully.

"I saw your arms, stop cutting its pathetic." Grim mocked, turning the tv on to flick through youtube.
"Im sorry." Mortis replied, flicking the ash into the overflowing ashtray.
"Is that all you know how to say?" Grim retorted.
"Im-" mortis cut himself off as he took another drag, blinking as the smoke got in his eye.
"You can't even smoke a fag right, can you?" Grim mocked.
Mortis went silent, wiping his eye as he blankly stared through the tv.
"Im sorry im pathetic." Mortis sighed.
"Im glad you can admit it." Grim replied without hesitation. "You gonna write another shitty poem?"
"No." Mortis replied, his tone icy.

"I kill for us, you know." Mortis piped up, stubbing his fag out on-top of one of the others.
"Do enlighten me." Grim replied with a taunting tone, mid scroll through his phone.
"It pays well, how do you think we keep a roof over our heads and the fags and the vaping. The food we have in our fridge, the nice stuff we have."
A hollow chuckle slipped out of Grim's mouth, more amused than surprised. "So what, you want a medal? Or just a thank-you wank for being the breadwinning butcher?"

Mortis didn't flinch. He just nodded, almost imperceptibly, like Grim had finally said something he'd been thinking for years. "Yeah," he muttered, voice thin as a thread. "Guess I do like it." His eyes didn't move. He stared into Grim. "I'm good at it. Doesn't really matter why anymore. Maybe I do it to stop myself from killing you."

Grim stood, his jaw clenched so tight it could've filed down his molars. "Big man now yeah? Threatenin' me like one of your little victims?" A pause. A silent pause. Enough to cause tension you couldn't even cut with a knife. "Do I have to remind you of all the things I do for you, huh?"

Grim rose from the settee, stepping forwards, his whole body tense like a spring about to snap. There was a shift in the air–like the argument just became dangerous. His tone dripped venom, trying to flip the narrative back onto Mortis–trying to remind him who owes who. "You think I like living like this? With a murderer who comes home reeking of blood and guilt? I stay. I clean up after you. I put up with your crying, your twitchin', your pathetic little breakdowns. If I knew what I was signing up for I wouldnt've got with you in the first place." He spat, grabbing mortis' sleeve. "You think you scare me, Mortis? You think you're dangerous? I knew you before the body count. You were a freak before you ever held a knife." He laughed, a cold, cruel laugh. The same laugh mortis had heard hundreds. Thousands of times over their relationship. Grim leaned closer, inches away from mortis' fear filled face before lowering his voice–quiet, cutting, intimate. "Don't ever fucking try to play the big man with me again."

Tears pricked at mortis' wide eyes as he looked up at the man in front of him. He didn't reply or give Grim the reaction he was looking for. He just got up and walked away, retreating into the bathroom to hide. Mortis' heart pounded and his mind raced as he kneeled down in front of the sink cupboard, pulling out his hidden box cutter he dragged it across his skin once, watching the red line appear and the droplets of blood spill onto the floor. Then it was the second line. Then the third. Over and over until there was no room left on his arm. He just stared at the deep wounds in his arms. Every scar. Every fresh cut. All caused by Grim.

Mortis breathed hard, chest tight and shallow as blood ran down his arm in sluggish trails, soaking into the hem of his shorts. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.
"I wish I could run away," he thought bitterly, "but the idea of him not being mine–of him with someone else–it makes me feel sick."

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bandages, wrapping his arm in silence, like he'd done a hundred times before. The boxcutter went back under the sink, tucked away like some awful secret he could pretend didn't exist.

Then–knock knock. A sharp rap at the door like a slap across the face. Mortis froze.

"You gonna come out," Grim called, voice low and unimpressed, "or you hiding in there forever?"

Mortis flushed the bloodied tissues in a panic, wiped his hands dry on his shorts, and stood up. "Yeah," he said flatly, opening the door. No fight left in him. Just enough to stand.

Authors note - 
Sorry for the shorter chapter I promise the next one will be longer! <3