The skin tears, and it's enough to make Akutagawa's eyes water. The pain overrides the pleasure once Akutagawa has finished, but in his post-orgasm haze, he doesn't seem to mind. Not yet, at least. Instead, he looks down at the boy kneeling before him and leans over, untangling his fingers from his hair and then brushing the blood over his lips with the pad of his thumb.

Akutagawa doesn't particularly find things beautiful. He can acknowledge that things are aesthetically pleasing, but they never really speak to him. This feels different. This feels, a little, like living might. The only thing that could possibly make it better is if the blood had been Jade's own.

Nonetheless, when he speaks, it is simply to ask, "What the hell does that mean?"