Asylum taps their fingers on the surface of their desk as they write down a few notes down on a piece of paper before them. The sound of the pen scraping against paper fills the mostly empty room and so when they hear nearby footsteps they glance up, the bandage wrapped around their forehead slipping along their skin slightly. They listen to the footsteps, watching the shadow of feet pacing outside of their door and so they cross their bottom pair of arms on the table, setting the pen down and clasping their top pair before their face as they wait for a telltale knock.
A moment later and there’s a light knock. They call, “Come in.”
They are surprised when Anti walks in, dragging his feet slightly with his head lowered towards his chest. They straighten up in their seat, crossing their upper pair of arms over their power pair now. “Hello, Anti,” they greet, watching the demon stop just inside the door, kicking at the floor like a nervous child. “What is it that you need?”
“My partner,” Anti growled out, crossing his own arms over his chest and meeting their eyes with a dark glare. He looks upset, uncomfortable. Asylum shifts in their seat, one of their hands unconsciously twiddling with the bandage necklace around their neck. “I want to fuse with the Host again.”
Asylum pulls at the necklace before letting it fall back to their chest, the medical insignia hitting their shirt. “The Host is preoccupied at the moment,” they inform Anti, taking note of how the demon’s hands clenched to fists at his sides. They sense his discomfort, all of his negative emotions. Anti feels to be almost… depressed. They place their hands out placatingly. “How about you sit down, Anti?”
Anti growls softly, the glare deepens. “And why should I do that?” He demanded, voice sharp and deeply annoyed. But Asylum knows that he’s more upset than annoyed. Anti has been more upset than annoyed or angry for a long time.
“Because we want to help you,” they replied softly and point to the chair directly in front of their desk. They offer him a light and small smile and wait for his answer.
The demon glances at the chair, growls again and scoffs, sitting down a few seconds later and kicking his feet onto the desk. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and Asylum knows that’s the first sign of defense from a “patient”. “I am bored. I want to see how this turns out.”
Asylum smiles wider once Anti sits down and sits back into the chair further, meeting the demon’s gaze. Anti’s eyes are glowing softly, watching their movements. “Tell me about your day,” they suggested and they know that that surprises the demon. He had probably been expecting something else. “Mine has been interesting. I had a few patients here and there followed by someone I hadn’t been expecting.”
Anti purses his lips and crosses one foot over the other, eyebrows knitting together. He obviously had not been expecting a conversation. Or, one this casual, at least. “Huh,” the demon grunted, running the tip of his tongue along the rows of sharp fangs in his mouth. “I’ve had a boring day. Nothing of interest happened.”
The fusion hums as they listen, rolling a pen with one of his fingers across his desktop. They raise another hand, leaning his cheek against as though bored. Another hand taps the desk in a slow rhythm and the sound fills the room as they both fall silent. “Nothing at all?” They inquired, a bit of the bandage falling over their blind eye.
“Nope,” Anti replied, popping the p at the end of the word. His head leans back, hair falling backwards in the air beneath him. The stretching of his neck like this causes his neck wound to show more, to tear a bit and a fresh trail of blood travels down the skin of his adam’s apple.
“That’s strange,” Asylum remarked, pausing in the rolling of his pen, lifting his eye’s sight back to Anti’s face. The demon had lifted his head upon hearing these two words, chin resting on his chest almost uncomfortably. “I was told by a little bird that you cut yourself again.” No one had told them. They could just tell. The demon is currently wearing a sweatshirt and while a lot of the time he doesn’t care to show off his wonderful cuttings to the world, Asylum could tell that the ones on his wrist were far more personal, more of a secret to be kept. Schneeple had seen this kind of behaviour from many suicidal and depressed patients in the past and the Host can just sense the emotional turmoil warring in Anti’s mind currently. He also knew that Anti will cut occasionally to relieve himself of pain because he had shared a mind with the demon. All of this information added together made it pretty obvious, especially as they can smell the drying blood around Anti’s left wrist.
Anti’s eyes widen and his lips pull back from his fangs, giving him a defensive and feral appearance. His hand unconsciously darts to his left wrist to cover it further and that just fully confirms Asylum’s thoughts. “Who told you that?” he demanded in a low snarl, eyes flashing dangerously. His grip on his tightens and Asylum flinches for the demon because they know how painful that probably feels in the current moment.
You see, for Anti, neck wounds are for show of dominance and strength. To show that the demon is unphased by the pain of a cut in his neck, to make the person he hates most weaker and harder to talk. Wrist cuts, however, are to be hidden, kept as a secret because people see them as a weakness. He cuts his wrists for relief from the swirling storm of dark thoughts and emotions in his mind’s eye, to help calm and distract himself. No one aside from the Host and Schneeple knows of his self-destructive habit now.
Asylum straightens once more and clasps his hands together again, narrowing his eyes and he can see the fear in Anti’s eyes. “That does not matter,” they said to him, lowering their voice to try and get some sense into the demon. “What I want to know is why you are doing it again. I thought the Host had talked you out of it.”
Anti’s eyes narrow as well now and he draws his feet from the table, leans closer to the desk. “He had,” he hissed out, placing a hand on the desk and digging his nails into the wood surface. “But that was because….” he trails off, shuts his eyes tightly and growls in frustration, “..that was because he… he calmed me. Took the pain from me without using more pain.” His eyes open and they are more vulnerable, more pleading. Asylum’s shared heart twists and they can feel the Host becoming more emotional than Schneeple. More guilty. “I need that balance back. Please.” Then his eyes harden and his hands clench. “You better not speak of this to anyone else, Schneeple.”
“Our conversation doesn’t leave this room,” Asylum informed even as their voice shakes more as they become unbalanced. The Host is becoming sadder, more regretful. Schneeple is trying to hold onto him, trying to calm him. But he’s becoming too upset. They would break apart soon. “The Host had not known he helped you in that way.”
“I didn’t know how to tell him without making it sound stupid and weak,” Anti muttered, crossing his arms back over his chest and avoiding eye contact. He leans back from the desk once more, pointed ears twitched. He must hear the change in their voice. He doesn’t comment on it.
They hold their hands tightly together and they can feel themself splitting, falling apart. They don’t want to. They want to stay. But before they can do anymore about it they break.
The Host falls to the floor on one side of the chair and Schneeple on the other. Anti sits up again when this happens, eyes widening at the occurrence. The Host pushes to his feet quickly, pulling on the edge of the desk to get up easier. Schneeple groans, pushing up more slowly.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that I help you?” The Host asked, resting his hands on the table and leaning forward to better “see” Anti. The demon bites down on his bottom lip, sharp teeth dragging along the thin, pink skin. “I would have been with you more.”
Anti clears his throat and is struggling to look at the Host’s face, long nails dragging along his sleeved arm, pulling at the cloth. “Because that would have made me look weak,” the demon said softly, chewing on his bottom lip now. He looks very much like a toddler caught red handed with a pack of chewing gum when he’s not supposed to have it. He looks afraid and nervous and hopeful all simultaneously at once.
Schneeple rolls his eyes at the demon’s words but the Host is leaning even further over the desk’s edge, stomach pressing against it. He seems intent, focused on Anti’s negative emotions. Almost like he’s feeding off of them. And, if Schneeple remembers correctly, then yes, the Host does feed on different emotions. Negative emotions strengthen him more than positive, but positive comforts him better. It’s not like the Host likes this fact, however. Who would?
“No, Anti, it doesn’t,” the Host informed gently, walking around the table to stand beside the demon. He lays a hand on Anti’s shoulder and even though the weight is light the demon still flinches at the touch. The Host doesn’t remove his hand. “If I knew I would have fused with you more.”
Anti looks up at the Host with wide and confused eyes, slowly blinking in disbelief. “Seriously?” He asked and the Host nods slowly. A grin then breaks across the demon’s face but before he could say anything else Schneeple interjects:
“Hosty!” He exclaimed and the Host hesitates, removes his hand from Anti’s shoulder. He’s turning to face the doctor again(they are dating he should probably go back to him) but Anti grabs onto one of his wrists just as he’s standing, pulling him back.
“Let’s fuse then, Hosty,” Anti said and he uses the nickname Schneeple has for him. His hold around the Host’s wrist is tight, almost painfully so. “You haven’t fused with me for too long. Dance with me now.”
“You can’t force him to,” Schneeple snapped, taking a step forward and Anti growls, taking a step back, dragging the Host with him. “You can’t fuse if he doesn’t want to.”
Anti looks down at the Host’s face almost hopefully, biting down on his lip. “You want to fuse with me, don’t you?” He asked and his voice is small, fearful.
The Host sighs heavily and raises a hand when Schneeple looks to be about to attack. “Not yet, Anti,” he informed and the demon gains a heartbroken look. “I want to help you permanently.”
“You can if you fuse with me!” Anti pointed out desperately, moving his grasp from his wrist to his hand instead. He turns the Host to face him, a painfully torn look in his eyes. But the Host shakes his head and the demon’s lips begin to tremble.
“I want you to be able to be okay without me,” the Host said softly and the demon’s mouth closes, eyes narrow. The Host draws away from Anti, walks back to Schneeple. Anti watches with a pained look and his hand shakes, like he wants to reach back out and drag him back. “You can’t always depend on me for emotional support, Anti. Let us help you so you can be fully free.”
Schneeple grabs onto the Host’s hand and pulls him even closer, protective. He doesn’t want the Host to be stolen by the demon again. Anti west his lips, eyes wide and filled with the fear the doctor never thought he’d see in them.
“But… I’m afraid,” Anti said, voice dropping to a harsh whisper and Schneeple can barely hear him. “I don’t want to… to talk.”
“I know,” the Host assured and his voice is even softer than before, impossibly soft and soothing. It seems to help the demon, calm him in the slightest. “But you need to.”
Anti runs his hands together before lowering his head in defeat. He takes the seat once more and Schneeple meets where the Host’s eyes would be in great shock. “You…” the Host nods and pulls him along, urging him to dance.
Asylum, being a fusion of Schneeple and Host, is, in fact, a psychiatric doctor as opposed to a physical/illness doctor. They have mental patients- listen to their problems and prescribe medicine to help them with mental illnesses.
Also, they are blind in one eye but still love to read