Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Takemitchy should have never given Chifuyu the spare key. 

Well, Chifuyu himself enjoys having it. He just knows that past a certain point he can be obnoxious as fuck, so if he were Takemitchy, he’d have regretted it the moment he handed it to him. It essentially gives him free access to the nicest house Chifuyu’s ever been allowed to roam, a fridge full of mostly bewilderingly good leftovers Takemitchy always makes, and Takemitchy’s entire collection of video games. He can also annoy his friend no matter the time of day, so that’s a plus. 

Right now, though, Chifuyu’s glad to have it. Takemitchy is dead weight on Hakkai’s back, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to put the key on the lock properly with all the blood making his hands slippery.

Oh. Chifuyu’s hands are shaking, too. Might be too much for him to manage. Angry takes the key from him without saying a word and opens the door wide to let everyone pass, and Chifuyu makes a mental note to thank him for it later. 

His feet feel oddly numb as he stumbles in, kicking off his shoes at the entrance as quick as he can before making a beeline to the staircase. Hakkai grunts a little when Takemitchy shifts, letting him down to the ground and holding him up by the side as he reaches to take off Takemitchy’s shoes too.

“Don’t!” Chifuyu barks out, maybe a bit louder than it’s warranted for, with the way Hakkai flinches. But he can’t help it; he’s so wired he’s buzzing, and the whole way back from the fight he’d bounced back and forth between complete tunnel vision and glancing around wildly to make sure that no one was following them or trying to finish what Izana started. He can’t go more than a minute without getting his eyes on Takemitchy, just to make sure the idiot hasn’t done something even more stupid like stop breathing, and it’s made him less aware than he usually is. He’s twitchy. He doesn’t like it. 

“Chifuyu, fuckin’ take a breath,” Angry says, grunting as he locks the door back up. “We know you’re the medic, just tell us how to help.”

Chifuyu takes a breath. Then another. Then he says, “Don’t take the shoe off. It’s probably one of the only things that’s stopping him from bleeding out, so it’s best to leave it on until the very last minute.” He goes to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants, but then notes the blood stains on it, and his vision goes a bit fuzzy at the edges. He blinks it away. 

Only it doesn’t work, because blinking doesn’t make the blood disappear. And it’s dripping on the floorboards, a small puddle of red, and he can taste metal on his mouth, only it’s fine since it’s not Chifuyu’s blood, or maybe it’s worse, maybe it’s Halloween again, maybe the ground isn’t polished wood at all but instead the gravel of an abandoned parking lot, and the muffled sounds in his ears are just how everyone had been yelling at each other — yelling in the fight, yelling to break promises, yelling when there was a blade, yelling when he was right in its path. And for a single, dizzying moment, Chifuyu can imagine it playing out in double: the knife hits Baji. The knife hits Takemitchy. Both bodies fall down. 

In the back of Chifuyu’s eyelids, there’s a gun, and Takemitchy’s jumping right in the middle of its path. 

When had he closed his eyes again?

Someone’s calling his name.

When he looks up, Angry’s face is much closer than it had been just a second ago. Or what feels like a second, but was probably longer. Chifuyu’s breaths rattle in his chest, but as long as he can feel them, he can count them.

“Chifuyu.” Angry bites his lip, not a trace of a scowl or frown in his expression, and it’s so disconcerting that it works to help Chifuyu swim up from the throes of panic, and focus on what’s actually happening around him now. His hands are clutching the sleeve of Angry’s torn Toman uniform, and though he doesn’t remember reaching out, his friend is warm and solid. He clutches a bit tighter, and Angry places his own hand on the back of Chifuyu’s neck and presses their foreheads together. “Breathe, asshole.”

His voice is gruff but kind, and Chifuyu breathes, counting shaking inhales and exhales until they’re not quite so shaky anymore. He nods, and Angry steps back to give him some space.

Hakkai passes Takemitchy’s weight over to Angry’s side, rolling his shoulder with a wince. It might be injured; Chifuyu’s mind had been decidedly elsewhere all throughout the fight with Kisaki and Izana, but now that he looks, he can see that though Takemitchy’s worse for wear, none of them are free of scrapes. Angry has half a dozen bruises bound to bloom on his face alone, a leg that he’s favoring, and a wrist hanging limply — probably strained. Hakkai has cuts bleeding from his mouth and eyebrows, not to mention the shoulder and what looks like a ring of bruises around his neck. Chifuyu himself aches all over, multiple cuts all around his mouth from when he’d been punched too hard, an ankle that might be more than just sprained, and probably a black eye or two for his trouble.

Takemitchy has a concussion, an eye swollen shut, a couple teeth missing, and a gunshot wound. 

That’s where the trouble begins.

Angry settles Takemitchy’s arm around his shoulders, and then looks back at him expectantly. “Chifuyu, talk to me. What does Takemitchy need?”

“What he needs,” Chifuyu laughs, feeling borderline hysterical, “what he needs is a hospital. ”

“And we can’t take him to one,” Angry urges him on, phrasing it like an open-ended question.

“And we can’t take him to one,” Chifuyu echoes. He walks further into the house, turning on lights as he does so, for the sake of something to do. He can feel himself trembling from head to toe, involuntary shivers running up and down his spine both from leftover adrenaline and panic. “We can’t take someone with a gunshot wound to a hospital in a country where the bearing of arms is illegal, and expect the cops to not get involved. Not to even mention the whole gang thing, but if the cops get involved, they’ll try and call Takemitchy’s mother, who’s not in the country, and I know that bitch deserves the charges of neglect she’d get but — if that happens she loses guardianship, and Takemitchy goes into the system, and he could go anywhere and—”

“And you’re spiraling,” Angry concludes, effectively making Chifuyu bite his tongue. Angry scowls, tightening his hold on Takemitchy and looking sideways. “Hakkai, just… make him take a breather or something. I’ll handle this.”

“Yeah, I,” Chifuyu says. Stops. His eyes slide over to Takemitchy before he catches himself, and the sight of blood, quick as it was, makes his stomach churn. “I need to not be here right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, man,” Hakkai says, slapping a hand on Chifuyu’s shoulder. He’s clumsy at this comfort thing, but he’s sincere, and a clumsy gesture from a guy like that means all the much more. “Just head to the kitchen while we deal with it, alright? It’s weird seeing you so freaked out.”

Chifuyu chuckles wetly. “Thanks.”

His head still feels staticky and weird, but he trusts himself enough to not lose hold of the thin control he’s gathered over his breathing and general capability of critical thought. If anything, it’s easier to focus on hindsight when he’s like this — his brain is trying its level best to find a distraction, and while Chifuyu has half a mind to think about the possible consequences of emotional repression, he can’t quite find it in himself to care. He’s in crisis mode right now. Chifuyu in crisis mode can, must, and will deal with it later.

God, it has been a day. He can’t even pretend he knows how he’s going to process everything eventually, because it was just so… much. From the news of Mikey’s sister’s death, and the impending declaration of war from Tenjiku, taking part in leading Toman into a fight without any of its founders for the first (and hopefully only) time, to the actual fighting, it’s gone past the point of being a snowball of events to just being a complete clusterfuck.

And he can’t stop thinking about it.

There was an almost picturesque quality to the scenery, in a way. Yokohama Bay is a sight to behold at any point of the year, but early spring keeps the air just this side of cool even with the sea breeze, and the water loses any and all grey-ish tones it carried throughout winter. Today was no different, and as Chifuyu had stepped out into the pier of containers, he’d blinked against the sun and thought, fleetingly, that awful things don’t happen on beautiful days. Never on beautiful days, like this. 

He runs a bloody hand through the sides of his hair, not wanting to get stains on where he dyes it. He thought he’d grown out of that sort of naivete when he was ten.

Chifuyu wasn’t even there for the worst parts. Sure, all of it was awful. Izana has — had — this frantic energy to him, a loose canon up until his very last second, the Heavenly Kings seemed like a series of last bosses that wouldn’t fucking end, and Kisaki had been there, standing on top and watching everything play out as he does in all of Chifuyu’s worst memories, and — no one else. Just them: Takemitchy, twenty-six and fourteen with a desperately brave look in his eyes; Hakkai, because he wouldn’t be anywhere else; Angry, seething and stumbling without his brother around; Inupi, an odd man out and loyal to a fault; and Chifuyu, who’d follow them all to the ends of the Earth. 

He’s seen Takemitchy get beaten up nearly to the point of no return more times than he’s comfortable with, but somehow, out on the pier, it seemed crueler. Crueler to see his partner pummelled by a childhood friend, crueler for the odds that were against them since the beginning, crueler with the absolute certainty that this was a fight they’d already lost.

And crueler to Chifuyu, too. A knife pointed at Angry, Inupi’s anguished look while facing down Koko, Kisaki’s touch on every damn thing. Everything’s a reminder. It’s always a reminder.

Chifuyu is more selfish than anyone gives him credit for. He hadn’t stepped in between Kakucho and Takemitchy for anyone else’s sake other than his own. They’d lost, and it was over, and it was fine, so long as no one died. As a medic, it’s a choice Chifuyu is familiar with: pull it out, or leave it in? Bleed to death, or live with it?

The answer to that is wait until help arrives. But since no one was coming, he’d take his chances with an open wound. Those can nearly always be stitched shut.

Then there was a gun pointed at Takemitchy’s head, and a gunshot ringing through the entire bay, and Chifuyu saw white. He’d seen blood spread through the concrete, a slow approach he’s become all too familiar with, and his hands shook, and something in his head whispered in Baji-san’s voice, You know, twice might be a coincidence.

Henceforth lies the curse of first division captains that loved Matsuno Chifuyu: they die young.

Only Takemitchy hadn’t died, because somehow he never does. Chifuyu has always feared one day he wouldn’t be so lucky, but every single time, Takemitchy has proven him wrong.  They won, somewhere between Kisaki killing Izana, fleeing, and Takemitchy going right after him. Chifuyu had wanted to follow, but Inupi stopped him with a light touch to the arm, mouth set in a tight line. 

“Chifuyu,” he’d said. “Count your wounded.”

What a grown up way to word it, Chifuyu had thought, dazed, squinting his eyes against the sun as he looked around. Takemitchy had been there before, and then he wasn’t. Mikey had, too, but he’d already left. Maybe they left together. They always do. But Takemitchy hadn’t dismissed Chifuyu, nor had he said any goodbyes, so he’d be staying right here until his partner got back, because that’s what it meant.

Chifuyu took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. There’d been broken bones and a couple dozen hairline fractures between another couple dozen bodies, some teeth knocked loose, some blood vessels burst, way too many bruised jaws, eyes and throats. There’s a pouch on Chifuyu’s uniform specifically designed by Mitsuya where he keeps his first aid supplies, and he was all out of antiseptic before he could even finish checking up everyone. He’d never had to prioritize before, nor treat so many people at once.

Chifuyu could never be an actual doctor, really. He doesn’t think he could stand it.

An hour later, he’d been sitting by the docks, pulling at his fingers and biting his lip with barely concealed anxiety. Angry had given up on barking at him to chill out and resumed to wallowing while sitting down with his very much not broken but extremely sprained limbs, and Hakkai was talking with his sister over the phone, a quiet murmur that did nothing to soothe Chifuyu’s nerves, because Takemitchy hadn’t come back yet, and even though he never said he wouldn’t, Chifuyu had forgotten to make him promise to do so.

“Hey,” came a voice from the edge of the walkway. He’d turned around immediately to see Mikey, expressionless but for the small, sad frown on his face, and Takemitchy, out cold on his back. From his wounds, blood dripped slowly to the ground, and the nausea made Chifuyu stumble as he made his way towards them.

Mikey hadn’t answered any of their questions. Where they had gone to, what exactly had happened, what they could expect — all they’d received was a blank stare, as if he couldn’t comprehend what they were even saying, and Chifuyu was too distracted to press further. 

“Kisaki is dead,” was all they’d gotten out of him. He’d carefully peeled Takemitchy away from himself, passing his limp body over to Hakkai, who immediately bent down to hoist him up. “Take care of Takemitchy for me.”

It wasn’t a request. It didn’t have to be, not when it was him. 

(To Chifuyu, and Chifuyu only, Mikey had whispered, head bent down right next to his ear, “Meeting you was one of the luckiest strokes Baji ever had, first division.”

It was high praise. It sounded like a goodbye. Chifuyu hadn’t felt much worthy of either.)

“Chifuyu,” Angry calls. He’s shouldering Takemitchy’s weight all by himself, now, just by the steps of the staircase. His eyes are burning. By his side, Hakkai has a hand on the small of his back, keeping him steady. “I just need you to tell me what to do first.”

Chifuyu closes his eyes. His skin feels too tight for his body. “Clean the wounds,” he says. “All of them, but the foot first. Try to see if there’s an exit wound from the bullet, and if there is, just bandage it like normal. And if there’s not…” He swallows, blinking his eyes open again, and looking at his friends straight on. “Then you’re gonna have to cut the wound open and take it out, otherwise he’ll get lead poisoning. If there’s any shrapnel at all, do that.” 

Angry pales so quickly Chifuyu thinks he might pass out, but he stands strong. “Okay.” Angry’s voice is strained. “So let’s hope we don’t have to.”

“If we do, then I’ll do it,” Chifuyu says.

“Chifuyu, man, not to burst your bubble, but you’re still shaking really bad,” Hakkai points out. Chifuyu clenches his hands into fists, and hates that he’s right.

“I’m the medic.” He doesn’t let his voice waver as he meets both their eyes. “I’m the most likely to not hurt him worse. Just give me a few to calm down, and if it comes down to it, I’ll be ready.”

“Oh, the bullet went right through,” comes an airy, slightly slurred voice from behind Angry. Chifuyu blinks, then blinks some more, and Takemitchy’s head, lolling on Angry’s shoulder, blinks right back.

“Takemitchy!” Hakkai’s eyes go wide. “How long have you been awake?”

“I wasn’t ever not,” Takemitchy says. More like mumbles; it comes off muffled, since he can’t seem to keep his head up properly.  “But I’m very tired and you guys seemed like you had everything handled.”

“You got shot,” Chifuyu says. It sounds flat even to his own ears.

“Oh, yeah, I’m in an unbelievable amount of pain right now.” Takemitchy sighs, slumping further into Angry’s back. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, though. Kisaki shot me and Naoto once. On the chest. That was kind of awful.” He kicks his injured foot out, still clad in a bloody sneaker, seemingly unaware of the three pairs of horrified stares that are fixed on him. “I can feel the bullet rolling around in my shoe. It’s very warm,” he whispers to Angry as if it’s a secret, but he’s loopy enough that everyone hears it.

“That’s,” Angry searches for a word, “good?”

“He’s delirious,” Chifuyu says. And he is, though probably not as delirious as the other two think; Naoto and Kisaki’s names being used in the same sentence makes red alarms start blaring in Chifuyu’s head, and they are going to have words about this later. For now, he just tells his friends, “Probably had a weird pain-induced dream or something. Just…”

“I’ll get him to the upstairs bathroom,” Angry assures, a determined frown on his face. "Hakkai, a hand?”

“I think I’m scared of streets now,” Takemitchy announces to the room at large, before nodding to himself. “And the cold. And — and ducks. You can’t trust them. Geese are evil, but ducks are sneaky.”

“Wait, really?” Hakkai asks. He seems genuinely interested, tilting his head like a curious kitten.

Takemitchy is starting to look like a bobblehead with all the nodding he’s doing. It’s also making him lightheaded, if the way he keeps bumping into the back of Angry’s head and then blinking confusedly is any indication. “Got mugged by a duck once. Or maybe it wasn’t a duck? Maybe it was someone wearing a duck costume. College parties are weird.” Suddenly he lifts his head up and looks around, eyes glassy, as if remembering something he’d forgotten. “Chifuyu!” he exclaims, zeroing in on him. Takemitchy beams. “Hi!”

“Hey, Takemitchy,” Chifuyu manages to answer, even with the tightness in his throat. He’s not sure his own smile is convincing, but hopefully Takemitchy is too out of it to notice. “You doin’ alright?”

“Are you? ” Takemitchy asks.

“Is anyone?” Angry mutters.

Takemitchy looks sad at that. “I think Kisaki’s not alright.”

Chifuyu exchanges a slow look with Hakkai and Angry. None of them knows what happened, so they’re not sure how much Takemitchy himself knows. He’s not sure news of Kisaki’s death would go over well, nor how his friend would react to it, when the fucker’s caused them all so much pain, and while Chifuyu could lie, it sounds like an exhausting option. So he opens his mouth and says, slowly, “Kisaki—”

“I didn’t kill him.”

Takemitchy’s voice sounds… odd. Chifuyu’s heard him passionate and he’s heard him angry; he’s heard him happy and surprised and terrified. He’s never heard him bitter. 

It makes him feel uneasy. Angry shifts the weight on his legs, tense, and the look he gives Chifuyu is clear to read: Do you think he’s telling the truth?

Chifuyu frowns. He can’t hold on to complex lines of thought as firmly as he’d like, so he’s not sure why the doubt bothers him so much, but he shakes his head no with as much conviction as he can. He’s never had any reason to not trust the things that come out of Takemitchy’s mouth, and nothing has changed enough to justify him starting to do so now. It’s not like Angry doesn’t mean well, too, because he’s the most straightforward guy Chifuyu knows; he just doesn’t know Takemitchy the way Chifuyu does.

“We know you didn’t,” Hakkai tells Takemitchy, trying and failing to hold a smile. “You wouldn’t let me, remember?”

“I wanted to, though,” Takemitchy says, wide eyes turning to bore straight through him. There’s a frantic energy to him, as if he’s begging to be believed. “I would have, I think. Only…” He shivers, a full-bodied thing that makes Angry grunt and tighten his hold on Takemitchy’s legs. He hunches up his shoulders, hands reaching up to hide his own face like a child who’s feeling ashamed. “I think I’m scared of streets now,” he repeats, and then says nothing more.

Chifuyu… would love to unpack that. Unfortunately, this entire conversation, if it can even be called that, has left him feeling like he’s just run a marathon, and he needs that breather right now or he’s pretty sure he’ll work himself up into a panic again. 

He doesn’t like the glazed look on Takemitchy’s eyes, or the feverish blush on his cheek. He doesn’t like the slurring words. He doesn’t like that all he can hear when he looks at him is a gunshot.

Something must show on his face, because Angry straightens his shoulders, nods, and starts, painstakingly, to make his way upstairs. It’s a wordless parting, with the three of them just exchanging glances over shoulders before moving. And it’s slow, with Takemitchy now properly awake and coherent enough to form sentences, but not enough to put one foot in front of the other. Chifuyu wants nothing more than to follow them, to take the matter into his own hands, because otherwise he won’t believe it’s real.

But he can’t do that right now. Not when he keeps trying and failing to inhale even breaths, when his hands are shaking so bad his entire body shakes with them. He pokes at a cut on his lip with his tongue and tastes metal, and it almost makes him hurl.

So as soon as his friends turn the corner on the second floor, Chifuyu takes a few steps back, then some more, and goes into the kitchen to grab himself some water and a snack. He washes his face in the kitchen sink, dish soap scrubbing the blood stains between his fingers, and lets the cold current coming from the tap soothe him somewhat. 

It’s like Mom says. When there’s an accident, you take the oxygen mask and put it on yourself first before you help anyone else.

After he’s done, he keeps his hands by the edge of the counter, crouches down to the floor, rests his forehead against the lower cupboard and tries to remember how to fucking breathe. It’s exhausting. Everything about this is exhausting, fight through aftermath, and Chifuyu is so tired. His chest feels tight enough to burst, and his hands are clammy and keep slipping from where he’s holding onto the sink, and there are tears falling down on his knees, since he’s keeping his head bowed. He can’t make sense of the crying or control it — it all just spills out of him, like a leaky faucet, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

Logically, he knows what it is. Research has shown that emotional tears contain higher levels of stress hormones than reflex or basal ones. It is, quite literally, the body trying to flush the excess sadness out in the only way it can. Usually, that’s why you feel better after crying. 

This doesn’t feel better at all. It just kind of hurts.

He closes his eyes and thinks about the oxygen mask. It’s a recurring advice between him and Mom, and he knows it’d been an inside joke between his parents before Dad passed. If something happens, put the mask on first. Calm yourself down, and then handle it. Mom has been working as an EMT for nearly a decade, and whenever they get together for dinner she talks about how half the situations she and her partner had been called up to could have been solved if the people involved had just thought of themselves first before trying to assess the situation as a whole. It’s something Chifuyu takes to heart, mostly because he almost always needs to. His life is made out of situations. He’s also mostly surrounded by self-sacrificial morons, so someone has to keep a level head. 

Takemitchy’s house is big and sturdy enough that from here, he can’t hear anything else going on upstairs. He resists the urge of getting up and checking on them, first because that’s fretting, and because at this point Angry’s probably so strung up that he’d drag Chifuyu out of the bathroom, wrap him up in a burrito of blankets, and throw him on the couch. He’s overprotective at the best of times, and coupled with Hakkai’s newly discovered mother-henning tendencies, Chifuyu would very much rather maintain his independence. 

Something buzzes in his pocket. Chifuyu blinks at the cupboard, which, of course, does not blink back. He feels the buzzing again, three times in quick succession, and his jaw slackens a bit.

He did not have his cellphone on him this entire time. Oh, he did not.

“Is this a fucking joke?” he whispers to himself, blindly reaching into the back pocket of his Toman uniform and fishing out his very much there flip-phone. It buzzes in his hand again, like a demanding cat, slightly warm from being on his person pretty much the entire day. “I will not cater to your whims,” Chifuyu tells the little fucker. It doesn’t answer either, and maybe he should stop expecting inanimate objects to do so, but at least it keeps his personal narrative interesting. 

He opens the phone to find a flurry of messages from Inupi, of all people. They range from dry, acronym-ridden messages about whatever had transpired with the other guys that had been in the fight after it was over to increasingly wordy ones asking, in no uncertain terms, Where the fuck are you, and what happened to Hanagaki?

The most recent one catches Chifuyu’s eye. Word on the street is he got blood on his hands now. 

His fingers are clammy enough that he can’t manage to click on the buttons properly for a couple long minutes. He sees the shame in Takemitchy’s face. Hears his small voice saying, I didn’t kill him, but I would have. 

Takemitchy doesn’t lie.

Chifuyu sucks his thumb into his mouth to clean it before taking a deep breath, holding onto the phone with both hands, and calling Inupi. 

It rings exactly once before he answers. “So you’re not dead,” is the greeting. Inupi sounds harried, as if he’s been running for a long time. “Or you are dead, in which case this is either someone who found your phone next to your body, or the killer. If it’s the killer, I’m not sure if I should threaten or thank you, because honestly, Matsuno has been stressing me the fuck out recently.”

“Always lovely to hear from you,” Chifuyu says cheerily. “How may I help, Inui-san?”

A rush of staticky breath makes him wince. “Hi, Matsuno-kun. Sorry about that. I am… very stressed.” Inupi does sound it, Chifuyu has to give it to him. It’s only been two hours since they last saw each other, and the guy sounds as if he’s seen a thousand horrors since then. “You know,” Inupi continues, testy, “since Mikey is still AWOL, and the guy who led fifty guys against four hundred and walked away victorious pulled a vanishing act too. And no one can find you either, which for some reason has everyone else running around like headless chickens.”

Chifuyu lightly hits his head against the cupboard, still crouched in the same position. He had absolutely, one hundred percent not thought about that. Since Mikey and Draken showed up at the fight, he thought it might have been fine to just take his friends and go lick his wounds for a while, but clearly not. He forgets, sometimes, that vice-captain of the first division is not just a formality.

One thing Inupi said kind of stands out. “What, Takemitchy’s already famous for that?” he drawls, only partly meaning the sarcasm. He lets go of the counter and slides down to sit on the floor. “It’s only been a couple hours. Not even a few, just a couple.”

“With those odds? A couple hours is all it takes,” Inupi says. He lowers his voice. “So is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Did Hanagaki Takemichi kill Kisaki Tetta?” Inupi enunciates. His tone is dry enough that he sounds bored. “Don’t play dumb, Matsuno.”

“I outrank you,” Chifuyu says, just to be difficult. Then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what happened, okay? I wasn’t there, just Mikey and Hina-chan. Takemitchy said he didn’t, though.”

“And you believe him?” Inupi asks. It feels like such an useless line of questioning it catches Chifuyu off-guard.

“Of course I do,” he answers, puzzled.

Inupi sighs. “Of course you do.” There’s a rustling noise, as if he’s straightening up. “Listen, where - where are you? Everyone scattered when the cops arrived, and Draken basically told me to fuck off when I asked if he needed something. Mitsuya and Angry are back at the hospital, Tachibana is with them, Mikey’s fucked off to who knows where, and I don’t—”

He trails off, but Chifuyu can read between the lines. Inupi’s always been an outlier at Toman, a member of two gangs at once; while most of those who get integrated into their ranks after losing a fight step away from whatever they’d been before, Inupi — and Koko, at some point — wore their Black Dragon heritage on their sleeves with as much pride as they put on their Toman uniforms. Like a serpent devouring its own tail, the gang that Mikey was supposed to inherit became part of his own anyways; then Inupi turned around, and named someone else as their leader. Some members of the first division are under Takemitchy’s command twice over. Chifuyu doesn’t forgive easily, so he won’t dress his words for Inupi’s sake, but the guy’s loyalty is pretty much worth gold. It latches on, and doesn’t let go.

But now Koko’s not in Toman anymore. Chifuyu doesn’t know the entire story, but he does know what someone who’s been left behind looks like, and with every day that passes, it gets harder and harder to hold on to any resentment towards Inupi. He can’t do it any more than he can resent himself. 

“We’re at Takemitchy’s,” Chifuyu says, and through the utter silence at the other end of the line, he can almost feel Inupi’s relief. “It’s big, clean, and there’s food. I’ll text you the address. The door’s open.”

“Alright,” Inupi says, quietly. He sniffs a bit, and Chifuyu pretends not to hear. “I think we have some — stuff to talk through, too.”

“When don’t we ever?” Chifuyu deadpans. “But yeah, sure. Honestly? Would love to make sense of what the fuck happened today. Too many subplots.”

“Yeah, the scriptwriters of the world need to chill,” Inupi replies, and it makes Chifuyu crack a smile. “I’m hanging up now. Text me, and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Got it.”

When the call ends, the only thing Chifuyu can hear is the echoing of his own breath. It’s not a difficult task anymore, he finds, inhaling deeply a few times in a row just to be sure. Something in his chest has settled, though he’s not fully sure why. Not like a talk with Inupi is a balm to his soul, but, well. People do need people. And it’s nice to not be treated like glass when you’re freaking out.

He types out the address with numb fingers that are slowly growing warm again, before picking himself up from the floor and padding over to the living room. His steps don’t make noise on the floorboards, muffled by the socks he’s wearing, and it makes him feel like half an intruder, half an apparition. The place is too big. The quiet is too overwhelming. He still doesn’t turn on the radio or television though, because while he wants a distraction, he doesn’t want it to the point of losing sight of his surroundings; if something goes on upstairs he needs to be able to hear it (even if it seems unlikely he even would) and he doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach daytime TV, not while he’s flinching at every other noise.

The couch’s comfortable, though. Takemitchy doesn’t make good use of it. Chifuyu curls up next to the armrest and pulls his legs up to his chest, closing his eyes and sighing. He wants the day to be over, but he knows nothing can end while he doesn’t have all the answers. He knows nothing will end if he doesn’t have them. There are so many fucking things to parse out: how did Kisaki die? Was Kisaki actually the other time jumper? Does Mikey now know about that? What did Takemitchy do? What will he do? Is it over?

What’s going to happen now?

Chifuyu tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, wishing it was see-through so he could keep an eye on his friends. He doesn’t like being alone like this, even though he needed it, and even though he isn’t really alone. He believes in things he can see and touch. Right now, the only thing around is Chifuyu himself, and an empty living room. 

He doesn’t like it. He wants them all to come down soon. 

(In the upstairs bathroom, Souya presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and groans. “Fuck, I wish Mitsuya-san was here. Or my brother. I bet they’d be better at this, blood’s fucking disgusting.”

“I think you’re doing pretty great,” Hakkai says earnestly. He’s perched up on the closed toilet seat, while Souya is kneeling in front of Takemitchy inside the bathtub. Takemitchy is half-dozing as he sits on the edge, pants ripped up to his thighs, and Souya uses the smaller showerhead to get most of the blood away from his legs before he can start patching him up properly.

“Hakkai, slap him,” Souya barks when Takemitchy’s head starts drooping. He knows you’re not supposed to let someone with blood loss fall asleep — or maybe it was a concussion? Whatever, he probably has that too — , but his hands are busy keeping Takemitchy upright.

Hakkai slaps him.

Takemitchy jerks, blinking hard. He looks around the bathroom, relaxing slightly when he notes who’s with him, but keeps trying to crane his head back. “Where’s Chifuyu?” he asks, sounding like a little kid who’s lost his favorite toy.

Souya grunts. “Downstairs. What, am I not enough for you?”

Suddenly there’s hands on his hair, and he’s so startled that he almost sprays water everywhere. He lifts his head to see Takemitchy frowning at him, eyes dazed but coherent enough. He’s also petting Souya’s hair in a surprising, weirdly careful manner.

“Don’t say something so sad, Angry-kun,” Takemitchy says. Then he seems content to keep doing whatever he’s doing, and Souya, for lack of a better response, just lets him.

Hakkai hums, chin leaning on his hand. “I also think most things are easier when they’re here,” he says, making Souya eye him warily, “but now I guess the babies of the family have it handled, right?”

Souya huffs out a breath. He thinks of his brother in the hospital, and Chifuyu downstairs, and Emma-chan dead, and whatever the fuck will happen to Toman from now on.

“Guess so,” he mutters, and goes back to work.)

Chifuyu must doze off at some point, because next thing he knows the doorbell is being rung incessantly, and it startled him so bad that he kicked off the couch and is now half-laying on the carpet, blinking dazedly at the TV set. His mouth feels like something crawled and died in it, and it’s only partly because of how hard it is to wash off the metallic taste of blood. 

The doorbell rings once again three times in quick succession, and somewhere in Chifuyu’s wrung-out mind, he remembers Inupi. As he stumbles his way towards the front door, he only feels a little bad when thinking about how long the guy’s probably been standing there; most of him wants to go back to the couch and sleep for a thousand years. God, he does not want to do this. He doesn’t want conversations or politics or technicalities or Inupi’s stupid face asking him questions about stuff. All of this is so dumb. He’s never really thought about it before, but now, knuckles split open and stinging as he swings the door open, everything just seems so stupid. 

The oldest person in this house, if you ignore Takemitchy’s whole thing, is Angry. Angry, who’s fifteen years old, two inches smaller than Chifuyu, who still has an odd baby tooth that just never fell off, and his mothers could never afford a dentist for. He’s the same age as Mikey. The same age as Draken and Mitsuya. All their leaders are still old enough to have baby teeth, and as dumb as the thought is, it kind of makes Chifuyu want to cry. 

He opens the door. Inupi’s half-lidded stare eyes him up and down, and if it weren’t for the scrapes all over his face and the ring of bruises on his neck, it’d be like nothing at all had happened, and this was just a regular meetup.

As if Chifuyu would ever willingly meet up with Inupi to hang out. He huffs to himself, opening the door wider but leaning against the frame instead of letting Inupi in. He narrows his eyes. “What’s the password?” Chifuyu asks.

Inupi barely blinks at him. “It’s a dumb strategy to ask that after you opened the door,” he comments. His hands are jammed into his pockets and his posture is relaxed, but Chifuyu can see right through his bullshit. “I could just knock you over and get in anyway. Or punch you, to make you stumble back. Or just talk so much that it gets distracting, and you start to wonder where I’m going with this, and then next thing you know I’m inside, and you’re the idiot.”

Chifuyu grabs the back of Inupi’s uniform before the guy can fully step in, staring straight ahead. “No the fuck you don’t.”

Inupi sighs, tilting his head up to the ceiling. His neck is sweaty and gross against the back of Chifuyu’s hand, but he doesn’t let go just for the sake of doing so. And not because he’s embarrassed by anything at all. 

“Almost got you,” Inupi says, smiling lazely. 

“Did not,” Chifuyu answers.

“Did too.”

“Did not. ”

“You’re a terrible host,” Inupi notes, instead of continuing, and it only makes Chifuyu a little disappointed. That almost made him feel something. He’s still got Inupi by the metaphorical scruff of his neck, and he’s kind of glad the Toman uniform is an overall, otherwise the fucker would have probably shuffled off the shirt by now. “Come on, Matsuno,” Inupi says, heaving a world-weary sigh. “Are you going to let me in, or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?”

“I don’t know what those words mean but I don’t like how they sound,” Chifuyu says. He lets go of Inupi’s collar, using his half-second of imbalance to push him forward into the edge of the genkan. “Take your boots off, wash your goddamn hands, and — I don’t know. Do whatever.”

Inupi snorts. “Terrible host,” he repeats, toeing off his shoes and dutifully making a beeline to wash his hands in the sink. Chifuyu watches him wearily, pointedly forcing down whatever approval he feels at the way Inupi scrubs himself up to the elbows, face, and the back of his neck. Blame Mom for making him so conscious of being clean so he won’t get sick for stupid reasons. And everyone here is injured anyway, so it’s really the best for Chifuyu’s peace of mind that they’re also the least gross they can be. 

There’s a few long minutes of silence, Chifuyu by the living room and Inupi by the kitchen counter, in which they both seem unwilling to say the first thing. Chifuyu doesn’t know where he’d even start. Inupi, as unruffled and calm as he makes himself to be, looks like a strong breeze would knock him over. He keeps worrying at a bruise on his left wrist, but he doesn’t seem pained as much as he seems… wistful. Over a ring of bruises.

Everyone Chifuyu knows is a fucking weirdo. 

The quiet isn’t tense, but it isn’t comfortable either. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a one-on-one conversation with Inupi, and considering that his most prominent memory of the guy is when he and Koko stood by while Taiju nearly beat Takemitchy to death, he can’t say he’s particularly fond of him. He knows, logically, that it’s not like that anymore. That Inupi saw something in Takemitchy that made him worthy of the mantle he values more than anything, and that Inupi’s never had any reason not to be loyal to him, and in turn, Toman. Logically, Chifuyu knows he can trust Inupi. That doesn’t mean he does.

Listen, he doesn’t hate him. He just doesn’t get him, and the things he does get leave a sour taste in his mouth. Like how Chifuyu had been so sure that after Koko was convinced to leave Toman for Inupi’s sake, Inupi would have followed him, but he never did. Instead, he tried to get him back. How they faced off in the fight against Tenjiku, both on opposite sides and just as unwilling as the other to step down. 

He gets things about Inupi. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror. It makes him nauseous. 

In the end, their stalemate silence is broken by a loud string of curses from upstairs, the sound of something hitting against a door, and then Angry’s wide, slightly panicked face as he grips the banister of the stairs as if his life depends on it. 

Chifuyu’s blood runs cold.

“What is it?” he asks, and there’s only the slightest tremor to his voice as he does so. His arms were already crossed over his chest, but his grip grows tighter as he stalks towards the steps, a chilly sort of certainty growing in his stomach. Dimly, he wonders if Takemitchy’s first aid kid has pliers in it. “Did it—”

“Shut the fuck up, sit the hell down, you still look pale as shit,” Angry says in one breath. Then he takes a deep one, running a hand through his hair, and even from a distance, Chifuyu can see how he’s trembling slightly. “Takemitchy was right, you don’t have to do anything. Hakkai just — he said he heard the front door open and another voice here, when I wasn’t paying attention, and I just…”

Panicked, Chifuyu’s mind concludes. Angry’s eternal frown is still there, but if you know him well, you can see just how frantic his eyes are. It makes him equal parts sad that just an unknown voice was enough to scare someone like Angry this bad, and relieved that he will not, in fact, have to perform mild surgery. 

Chifuyu lets out a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “It’s alright,” he says. “We’re okay. I invited someone over, that’s all.”

Angry stares at him, and then his gaze slowly slides over to Inupi, who manages to look both like a startled puppy and also like he couldn’t care less. “Uh,” Inupi says, tilting his head. “Hello.”

“Oh,” Angry says in turn. He stops white-knuckling the banister, but doesn’t completely relax. “You’re one of the Black Dragon guys.”

Inupi’s hand twitches where it’s laying on the kitchen counter. “I’m a Toman member,” he says, “but yes.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Chifuyu sighs, long-suffering, because yes, he’s been suffering for a long time. “You don’t know his name, do you?”

“Nope,” Angry says, popping the word. Inupi looks so affronted it’s almost funny.

Chifuyu runs his hands through his hair, ignoring the clumps and knots. Angry has always been categorically against putting in the effort into memorizing the names of anyone not in his division that wasn’t also his friend, and the familiarity of it is comforting. Smiley, on his part, is just plain terrible with faces — he can’t match them to all the names he knows, no matter how hard he tries. It’s infuriated Chifuyu more than once, because come on, it’s not possible for twin brothers to be that diametrically opposed, but Smiley always gives him an enigmatic grin and says, “Impossible is just another word for very unlikely.” 

“Angry, meet,” Chifuyu says grandly, “some guy.”

“Inupi,” says Inupi.

“You’re here,” Chifuyu prompts, trying not to look too warily at him. Far as Angry’s supposed to be concerned, Inupi is a friend, and friends are trustworthy. “I knew this day would come.”

Inupi pales slightly. “You did?”

“Yes. It’s Tuesday. I saw it on the calendar.”

Inupi blinks at him, and then heaves a sigh so deep Chifuyu is almost concerned he’ll choke on it. He doesn’t, though, instead electing to ignore him, which is honestly quite rude. “It’s nice to be properly introduced,” Inupi tells Angry. It’s much more polite than it’s warranted for, complete with a half-bow and all, considering that Chifuyu is pretty sure Inupi is at least a year older than him. Inupi’s a strange guy. Koko is even stranger, but he’s a predictable kind of strange, where Inupi is hard to get a read on. 

Angry lets out a long hum, which usually indicates that now he knows this guy isn’t a threat, he couldn’t care less. He lets himself look around the room from above once more, and, not seeing any other unexpected visitors, very pointedly thinks to himself before turning his head slowly to the left. “Alright. I think Hakkai’s calling me,” he says, blank-faced, even though there’s clearly been no sounds from anywhere upstairs.

“Is your name really Angry?” Inupi blurts out, as if he’d been holding it in for a very long time. He looks genuinely curious, Chifuyu wants to bash his head against a wall.

Angry doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

“No, it’s not,” Chifuyu says. “Angry, just — go do whatever it is you were doing. We’re fine.”

Inupi tilts his head in a silent question, but it’s kind of funny to not fill him in, so Chifuyu doesn’t. Angry doesn’t either, because he gets him. “Alright,” Angry says again. “Back to Takemitchy babysitting duty. Where the fuck are his pajamas?”

“Closet in his room, first drawer to the left,” Chifuyu answers immediately, and Inupi chokes.

“Why do you even know that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Chifuyu drawls. Then he sighs, tugging at his hair with a bit more force than necessary. “Angry-kun, he’s really…?” 

Angry’s face doesn’t soften, because it never does that, but his expression isn’t unkind. “Promise,” he says. “We got it covered, Chifuyu. Just watch yourself.”

Chifuyu half-smiles as Angry pads back towards the second floor hallway, and he can hear Hakkai bemoaning having been left alone for so long. He doesn’t particularly like this house, for all the things it represents, but he’s always liked the contained aspect of having a lot of people inside the same place. It makes him feel safe, in spite of himself. 

He looks towards Inupi, who’s looking down at what’s presumably his phone and frowning. It keeps buzzing, too, and Chifuyu has to wonder just how many contacts this guy has. Chifuyu himself only has his Mom, his landline number, and the Toman captains and vice-captains. Inupi’s was an addition brought forth by means of Takemitchy’s doe-eyes. He doesn’t even have Mikey’s, because apparently Mikey can’t be bothered to own a flip-phone.

“Care to share with the class?” Chifuyu asks.

Inupi looks pained for a second, before pocketing his phone and meeting Chifuyu’s eye. “We have some stuff we need to clear up. I think you know well enough what I mean.”

Yeah, Chifuyu thinks dimly. Whatever the fuck went down between Takemitchy and Kisaki, whatever the fuck Mikey is going to do, and whatever the fuck is going on with the gangs. He can only be glad Inupi doesn’t know about the time travel, which will save Chifuyu from an even bigger headache for the time being. 

“My mom says you should only have serious conversations over tea and snacks,” he says, “so I am going to make us some tea.”

Chifuyu makes tea. It keeps his hands busy.

“So you’re here,” Chifuyu prompts again, about ten minutes later. “Why’s that?”

Inupi gives him an unimpressed stare over his mug. “You did invite me.”

“What,” Chifuyu says flatly. He takes a small sip of his drink, which is still a bit too hot to be properly drunk, but he doesn’t care. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was less than twenty minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Wow,” Inupi says, as if he’s just reached a great revelation. “You’re insufferable.”

“It’s a gift,” Chifuyu replies, giving him a shit-eating grin. Inupi’s eye twitches. 

They’re sitting in the living room — Chifuyu on the couch, and Inupi on one of the armchairs that have likely never been used before. He’d dragged it over on grounds that he was too filthy to sit on such a nice couch, and it felt like a thinly veiled reprimand, but it didn’t sound like one, so Chifuyu let it go. He’s quite content to hog all the leg space to himself, leaning an elbow on the armrest as he blows the steam off his tea. Inupi sat ramrod straight for a couple minutes, but he’s either stopped caring about appearances or is tired enough that he doesn’t care to do so anymore; his shoulders are slumped, and he’s cross-legged on the seat as he cradles his mug — a Yu-Gi-Oh! themed one, because it seemed funny — between his hands. 

It’s late afternoon now, and the light coming through the window makes them cast a shadow over the other side of the room. Inupi’s scar could almost be a bruise, and Chifuyu lets his eyes roam over it curiously. He tends to do it with any wound he sees, even those he knows he can’t fix — this one is old, and has probably healed as much as it can. Burn marks are distinctive like that.

Chifuyu cracks his neck before downing the rest of his drink like a shot and setting the mug down on the floor by the couch. “Okay,” he says. “Do you want to go through this in chronological, alphabetical, or most-fucked-up to least-fucked up order?”

Inupi huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh. “All of those sounds like they suck.”

“Hey, pal, you were the one who wanted to chit-chat,” Chifuyu says. “I was content to just, you know, not do that.”

“I was…” Inupi presses his lips into a thin line. “I was worried. We’re — Toman is in a difficult position right now. And I know what happens from now on is not up to me, but I’d like to think I have the right to at least be concerned over it.” He lifts his gaze from the cup in his hands. “It’s my gang too, you know.”

He says it defiantly, as if waiting for Chifuyu to question him. He doesn’t. 

“I get that,” Chifuyu says instead, and Inupi blinks in surprise. “You’ve seen more than one gang fall apart. It’s probably not great.”

“That’s an understatement,” Inupi says drily. “But I’m also worried about — the members. The people. What’ll happen to them, what’s happening to them. I’m not…” He chuckles, self-deprecating. “I’m not used to doing that. It’s a bit fucked up, but I never usually care about whoever’s in a gang with me. Just — just Koko, but Koko’s different. I haven’t talked to anyone from the tenth generation of the Black Dragons since everything — and by that I mean when I was the leader, before I went to juvie, and after, when it was Taiju. It was always about the gang, not the people in it. But Toman’s… different.”

Chifuyu knows that well enough. Toman is nothing without its members. It’s nothing if it’s not believed in.

“How’s Hanagaki?” Inupi asks, and it’s Chifuyu’s turn to blink. “I heard what Angry said, I know he was injured,” he continues, seemingly unaware or simply uninterested in Chifuyu’s reaction, “but there’s already so many rumors about what happened that I really wanted to check for myself.”

All the wariness Chifuyu had been trying not to feel comes back with a vengeance, and his shoulders tighten. Rumors make the delinquent world go round, but he doesn’t like the idea of any of them being associated with Takemitchy. He can already guess what some of them are, and it pisses him off.

“You into gossip, Inui?” he asks, keeping his voice light. He uses Inupi’s name and nickname interchangeably for the most part, but now it feels like some given-name-calling is warranted. “Always have an ear out for word on the street, believe in anything that comes out of the gutter?”

Inupi barely flinches. He doesn’t even look guilty, and it pisses Chifuyu off even more. “Rumors are rumors,” he says. “They come and they go, and they’re usually lies with half a truth in them. But when the rumor is that someone you—” he falters, then, but his voice doesn’t waver when he continues, “someone you know might be involved in someone’s death, and that someone was seriously injured right in front of you before, you might want to stop being a coward and check for yourself what happened.”

Chifuyu stares at him. It’s a more sincere answer than he expected, and he knows Inupi is loyal, but not everything can boil down to loyalty. “Why?” he asks simply. “Why do you give a shit?”

Inupi gives him an odd look. “I know he means a lot to you,” he says, slowly, and Chifuyu tenses, “so I won’t accuse you of underestimating him. But Hanagaki isn’t just Toman’s first division captain. He’s the leader of the Black Dragons. What happens to him matters.” Inupi’s jaw clenches. “If I dare say it, it matters more than most things. For me, at least.”

“Because he’s the leader of the Black Dragons,” Chifuyu says bitterly. The back of his neck prickles.

“Because he saved my life,” Inupi says. His voice is so intense Chifuyu startles back slightly, and Inupi has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “And Koko’s, too, which matters more. He said he’d get him back to me, and he did.” Inupi smiles thinly. “No one’s ever done that, you know? Not keep their promises, but promise something in the first place. I was only the strongest until I met people who were stronger, and people stronger than you don’t owe you anything. You think I gave a shit about what happened to Taiju? Think he cared about what would happen to me? Haven’t seen the fucker since Christmas. But Hanagaki… fuck, man. He’s something else.”

In spite of himself, Chifuyu feels his lips twitch. “That he is.”

Inupi’s gaze is steady as he meets Chifuyu’s, the shadow of his scar making him look as old and haunted as Takemitchy sometimes does. “I think Hanagaki is the strongest,” he says. There’s nothing behind his words, no deep meaning to it; he says it like a fact. “He’s earned my respect, and he’s worthy of it. It’s hard to find people who can do both, with the lives we have. Everyone’s too eager to step over each other to crawl to the top.” His mouth twists, something flashing in his eyes. “But Hanagaki knows that it’s not about winning or losing. It’s about standing your ground.”

“Damn, Inupi,” Chifuyu says, after a beat. He forces himself to relax, fingers drumming lightly over the sides of his own mug. Sue him for being careful — everyone can play nice, but Chifyu knows liars, and liars don’t sound like that. “So you do care.”

“The same way he’s your captain, he’s my leader,” Inupi answers, simply. “If you’re his right hand man, I don’t mind being his left. I’m not that superstitious.”

From the kitchen, where he’d definitely been eavesdropping for the past five minutes — he tried to be inconspicuous while making his way downstairs, Chifuyu has to give it to him, but the guy doesn’t know what the word inconspicuous even means — Hakkai splutters a laugh. It’s a quiet sound; Hakkai does a lot of things quietly, but he’s learning how to take up space. He’s pouring tea into two mugs, probably to take upstairs and share with Angry, and the smell of peppermint fills the entire first floor with a comforting warmth. It’s always been Chifuyu’s favorite, and Takemitchy’s started keeping it around the house.

Chifuyu raises an eyebrow at Hakkai. “Got somethin’ to say?”

Hakkai hums, spilling a bit of the tea at being acknowledged, then trying to pretend he didn’t. “Inui’s sense of humor is almost as weird as his fashion sense,” he comments, setting the kettle down. “But don’t mind me! Go back to the boring grown up talk, I was never here.”

Chifuyu doesn’t feel the need to point out that Hakkai is technically three months older than him, so he doesn’t. Inupi watches him go back upstairs with a curious tilt to his head, which reminds Chifuyu that they never did properly explain to him what’s going on or even who’s in the house with them, and he only winces a little. Keeping people in the loop is exhausting. 

“So how is Hanagaki?” Inupi asks. “He looked rough when I last saw him, but…”

“But that’s how he always looks,” Chifuyu concludes, and sighs. “Angry’s already patched him up upstairs. I would’ve wanted to have a look at everything first, but my hands weren’t as steady as I’d like them to be.” Chifuyu shrugs, even though he feels like glaring at his own fingers. “So’s life.”

“He’s your friend,” Inupi says. “Doctors don’t operate on people they care about. It’s a rule that they don’t, actually, for that exact reason.” He gestures at the entirety of Chifuyu, which, hey, but also fair. “You’re not a bad medic for not being able to deal with it all right now. Honestly, it’s kind of impressive you’ve made it so far without losing it.”

“What is that?” Chifuyu asks.

“Uh,” Inupi says. “Empathy?”

“Stop doing that,” Chifuyu says. “It’s weird.”

“Sure, I’ll just turn it off,” Inupi drawls. “Sorry for trying to be a decent human being, vice-captain.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s the diagnosis, then, doc?” Inupi asks, leaning back on the seat. “Heard Hanagaki might have a bullet wound to call his, too, on top of the stab one. Not many guys get both and survive.”

Chifuyu rolls his eyes. “Moderate concussion, sprained wrist, mild lacerations throughout the body, foot he got shot in will be out of commission for at least three weeks, since it’s a clean wound.” He raises his eyebrows at Inupi, whose mockery of a laid-back attitude was gone the second Chifuyu started listing injuries. “Good enough for you?”

“My bad,” Inupi says, and he does sound it. He scratches the back of his neck. “I know how close you two are, everyone does. Sounds like you’re used to it, though.”

“Caring for that moron is a damn full-time job,” Chifuyu says. “I deserve financial compensation, but he just refuses to hire me as a personal nurse.”

Inupi gives him a close-lipped smile. Chifuyu tries not to sink into his seat. 

Something about the words make him queasy. I know how close you two are. Everyone does. Chifuyu isn’t enough of a bitter old man to think that caring about someone is a weakness, but it’s an uncomfortable realization, to know that if people want to hurt him, all they need to do is hurt Takemitchy first. He’s sure as all hell that the other way around is also true, but Takemitchy’s always been a bleeding heart. Chifuyu’s still learning to let his own wounds weep. 

He’s not an expert on bullets, but there’s a few things he knows. Upon contact with a human body, the blunt head compresses skin through sheer velocity until it rips. The splatter of blood doesn’t come from the severing of any particular vein, but from the sudden displacement of flesh — the closer the target, the more gruesome it is. When it goes through the body, a bullet will deform, ricochet, and splinter. To remove it completely you must find each shard and pull it free; it’s a kind of reconstruction, and the process can take hours. It’s a sort of miracle to have a bullet go clean through.

Once, when Chifuyu was very little, he’d been fascinated with bows and arrows. Dad had a few championship trophies from his time as a member of his high school’s kyūdō club, and since there hadn’t been any recordings of it — “Do you know how expensive it was to own a camera back then?” Dad used to tease, pinching the tip of Chifuyu’s nose. “It’s nothing like it is today! You have it easy!” — Chifuyu had demanded to see his dad do it himself, right there behind their apartment building. He’d learned in history class that this kind of archery had been practiced since feudal Japan, which was a long, long time ago, and, in eight-year-old Chifuyu’s eyes, basically meant that Dad was a samurai.

Dad had kept his bow on the back of his closet, because of course he did. Taking care of your equipment, he’d said, is also part of practice. The hassetsu — the eight steps of shooting — go a bit like this: ashibumi, placing the footing; dozokuri, forming the body; yugamae, readying the bow, which consists of another three parts — torikake, gripping of the bowstring with the right hand, tenouchi, the left hand being positioned for shooting on the bow's grip, and monomi, when the archer turns their head to gaze at the target. There are others, though Chifuyu remembers their names and not the specifics. But he remembers this: there’s a name for the sound of the bowstring hitting the bow after shooting an arrow, and it’s tsurune. 

Even years later, sometimes Chifuyu will be playing with the strings of a hoodie, or fiddling with a hair tie, and he’ll repeat the movements as well as he can recall them until he hears it. Tsurune. An arrow headed home. 

“Does it hurt?” He remembers asking Dad once, sitting cross legged on the narrow patch of grass behind their building. They didn’t have a target other than the smiley-face sticker Chifuyu pinned to the wall, and it’d made his dad smile, too. “When you’re hit with an arrow?”

“Kyūdō arrows aren’t weapons,” Dad had answered. He had a scar near his lip, and it always trembled when he was amused. “But if it’s Nasu no Yoichi who’s chasing you, then I’d guess so!”

Chifuyu had hummed. “And what do you do if it hits you?”

Dad hadn’t paused in his movements — step one, then step two, then three —, but he hadn’t answered for a long time. Just before he could ready the bow, he’d said, “My sensei used to say that the best way to get a broadhead arrow from someone is to push it through. Pulling it out makes it worse, and keeping it in doesn’t help.” He’d lifted the bow, up and up and up, before settling it back to eye-level, shoulders relaxed. “If you want the wound to heal, you have to finish the injury, in a way. But people don’t often shoot each other with arrows anymore, do we?”

They don’t, Chifuyu knows. But still, sometimes, he thinks of the broad arrowhead from the stories - from Nasu no Yoichi to Robin Hood, from ancient myths to modern stories - and kind of gets a part of what the cautionary tale means. Depending on the wound, the only way out is through.

Takemitchy is somewhere upstairs, probably out cold for the night. In the back of Chifuyu’s mind, The Ghost of Baji Keisuke has a dying Tamagotchi pet sitting on the bottom of a drawer, and the urgent, unbidden, unsurprisingly not cathartic need to never leave him the fuck alone. 

Chifuyu gives the metaphorical ghost a metaphorical glare, and focuses on Inupi again. He’s already resigned to the fact that eventually he’ll grow to miss Baji more than anything else he felt for him, but that doesn’t mean The Ghost of Baji Keisuke is particularly happy about that. 

He tends to use the full title, capital letters and all, these days. If you name a thing something else, you can pretend that it was never anything other than that. Chifuyu doesn’t really believe in ghosts, though. He guesses he just believed in Baji so much that it kind of… bled into the other parts of his life.

“So Takemitchy’s gonna be fine,” Chifuyu says, clearing his throat a little. “Anything else you want to know?”

Inupi sighs. “Only the billion yen question,” he replies. “What happened to Kisaki Tetta?”

“You know, that sounds like the title of a True Crime show episode,” Chifuyu says.

“Fuck off,” Inupi says. “The kid was an asshole, but the kid was also thirteen. Hate him all you want, but at least wait until his body grows cold.”

When put like that, it kind of makes Chifuyu feel like an asshole. Kisaki has been the bad guy in so many situations that he often forgets the guy’s the same age as Hina-chan’s baby brother.

Well. Used to be the same age. Or maybe it’s better to say he’ll be that age forever. 

It’s sad. Chifuyu can’t find it in himself to feel sad, but he knows it is. So he just nods mutely, feeling chastised under Inupi’s stare, and fiddles a bit with his fingers.

“I don’t know what happened,” he mutters after a while, still not looking up. “Takemitchy wasn’t really making sense by the time we got here, but he did say something about the streets.” Inupi inhales sharply at that, and Chifuyu startles, frowning. “What?”

“There was an accident near Yokohama a few hours ago,” Inupi says. His eyes are haunted. “A truck driver lost control after turning a corner. There was…” he falters. “One victim. A minor, they said.”

Chifuyu hisses. He hadn’t doubted that Takemitchy hadn’t killed Kisaki, but somehow, hearing it makes his heart pound. So in the end it was a lucky chance that the fucker died, and he knows they needed him out of the game to have a chance at playing it, but still. Chifuyu hadn’t wanted him to die. He doesn’t think Takemitchy wanted that, either, other than in the heat of the moment. Maybe he would have. But he would have also regretted it. 

“Mikey didn’t say anything about that,” Chifuyu wonders out loud. “I don’t know why.”

“Wait, backtrack,” Inupi says after a pause, eyes wide. “You saw Mikey after the fight?”

“He brought Takemitchy back,” Chifuyu answers. “You know he followed him after he took off, and he brought him back about an hour later. Takemitchy was out cold. And Mikey knew Kisaki was dead already, so I think he saw it happen and just didn’t say anything. I don’t…” He swallows. “I mean, I don’t blame him. He’s probably got other things in his mind.”

He has another funeral to plan, he thinks, but doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to think about Emma. 

Inupi huffs a mirthless laugh. His hair keeps falling into his eyes, but it’s not long enough to put up, and the dried up sweat in it makes it barely move no matter how much Inupi messes with it. If it were anyone else, Chifuyu would almost say it’s endearing, the way he keeps frowning at the strands. As it is, Chifuyu just feels heavy. 

“Mikey hasn’t shown face since, then,” Chifuyu says, and Inupi nods. Chifuyu groans, sliding down on the couch. “Man, this sucks. Not knowing where everyone is sucks. Not knowing what’s going to happen sucks. ”

“It does,” Inupi agrees easily. “But, well. Mikey’s AWOL, but so is everyone else, at least. With Izana and Kisaki out of the picture, no one from Tenjiku seems too eager to finish what they started. Not even their strongest. People scatter when the cops get involved, and a great deal of the Tenjiku members were above eighteen. It’s more dangerous for them to call attention to themselves, which at least is better for us.”

“Bet,” Chifuyu says. “So Mikey’s who knows where, like everyone else. Izana’s gone. We don’t know what’s going to happen at all.” He raises an eyebrow. “And where’s your man?”

Inupi blinks. “My man,” he echoes.

“Yeah,” Chifuyu says. “You know, Kokonoi? Dark hair, eyeliner, looks like he’d sell his own mother? That one?”

Unnervingly, Inupi doesn’t argue against the description. He does heave a sigh, though. “He’s following the trend, apparently. It’s not like we had time to talk afterwards.”

He’s looking at the bruises on his wrist again. From this close, Chifuyu can see what they look like. Some of them are shaped like fingerprints. Someone gripped him tight.

Chifuyu swallows. “But you have an idea what he’s going to do, later?”

Inupi eyes him suspiciously, as if he can’t figure out why Chifuyu’s asking, but he humors him. “Koko has never been a master at the art of hindsight.” He looks uncomfortable for a second, running a hand through his short bangs as if agitated. “He goes wherever his interests lead him. Most of the time, that means he goes wherever I do. He only ever left Toman because it was my life on the line, and maybe he thought that was something more. I don’t know. He’s a hard guy to read, even if you’ve known him forever.”

Chifuyu doesn’t quite agree with that. Koko seems simple enough to him. “He’s dangerous,” Chifuyu says bluntly. He braces his elbows on his knees, staring at Inupi intently. “He’s a money-maker, and he’s good at it. The moment he turns eighteen, if he doesn’t watch himself, he will be on the rader of some really fucked up people.”

On almost every single future Takemitchy has told him about, Koko has always had a hand somewhere in the mix when it came to funding. Kisaki might be gone as a mastermind, but Chifuyu’s not naive enough to underestimate anyone.

“You think I don’t know that?” Inupi asks. For some reason, he sounds very sad. “Koko makes money like he’s trying to save someone’s life. It’s been like that for years.” He sighs, taking a long sip of his tea. “He had a taste of that life with Tenjiku. But Izana and Kisaki are dead, the Heavenly Kings have no leader, and Toman is right on the brink of it. Will we keep going, or will we end on a high?” Inupi makes an all-encompassing gesture. “Threshold of revelation.”

Oddly enough, it sounds like something Takemitchy would say. Chifuyu kind of smiles.

“So where do you stand with this?” he asks. “You and Koko. If Toman doesn’t end, nothing changes. But if it does, what will the Black Dragons do? ‘Cause I’m sorry to burst your bubble, dude, but Takemitchy isn’t really the sort of guy who’d lead a gang all by himself.”

Or at least, past Takemitchy isn’t. Chifuyu knows him just as well as he knows future Takemitchy, and he loves and trusts them both with the same fierceness, but they are different. Not that they aren’t the same person, because they are, painfully so: the same wide eyes, the same stubbornness, the same stupid bravery and heart on their sleeves. But they are also fundamentally separate, because so are their experiences — and past Takemitchy isn’t as haunted, isn’t as cautious, isn’t as eager to break himself to save everyone because he doesn’t know why he’d have to. Keeping the future a secret from him is worth it, if only because of that.

Past Takemitchy is a kid. His future counterpart is only an adult in retrospect. Past Takemitchy remembers the things he was told when he was really just future Takemitchy here, because otherwise the blackouts would be worrying enough to justify a psych ward. And past Takemitchy is a kid.

So is Chifuyu. They’re the same age. Which is why Chifuyu is fully, keenly aware that his friend would not lead a gang by himself — maybe a few years from now, but not at fourteen.

Inupi takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if fending off a migraine. “I don’t know. Far as I’m concerned, I’m following Hanagaki’s lead. He decides to lead the eleventh generation of the Black Dragons? I’m game. He wants to disband? I won’t force him to keep going. I won’t forget what I owe him, either. If he ever needs me, I’ll be there. And as for Koko?” He rests his head on his hand, a despairing smile hidden behind his fingers. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m not sure. He tells me he’ll keep following me, but I know him. He’s not sure either.”

“But he’s loyal to you,” Chifuyu says, halfway to a question.

Inupi laughs, but it sounds bitter. “Oh, he is,” he says. “He’s loyal to me in a way he’ll never be to anyone else. I’ve never doubted it for a second. If anything, it’s the most reliable thing about him. Koko’s not the most trustworthy guy, but he’d die before betraying me. That I know.” Inupi’s hand tightens around his mug. “But that’s all there is. It’s not like he loves me. Or if he does, it’s not in a way I understand. It’s because I remind him of someone else.” He smiles. “I’m not naive, Chifuyu.”

“You want him to, though,” Chifuyu says. His chest feels tight. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Inupi’s smile dims a little, but doesn’t fully disappear. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

Chifuyu hums in response. That he can understand.

The shadows in the room are growing longer, the sun going down outside. He doesn’t know where to go from here. He can’t think about anything beyond his next breath, and the next. 

“What about you?” Inupi asks. It might be a minute or an hour later, Chifuyu’s hardly keeping count. “Toman ends, Toman doesn’t. What do you do?”

Chifuyu feels a sad little smile grow on his face, and he feels both too large and too small for his skin. “I was never loyal to Toman,” he says, and it’s not a lie. He’s just never said it out loud, but he’s known for years. “I was loyal to Baji. I trust Mikey, and I love my friends. I’m loyal to Takemitchy. Those are truths.” He eyes Inupi up and down. A part of him is reluctant to share any more than that, but Inupi hasn’t held back even for a second, and Chifuyu doesn’t like to owe anyone anything. “I became a delinquent,” he continues, “because I hated everyone. I hated the world. I was hurting, and it made me feel better to hurt other people too. I called myself the strongest, because if people believed it, then I could, too.” Chifuyu lets out a laugh, closing his eyes. “I was so fucking alone.”

Inupi lets out a soft hum of acknowledgement. It doesn’t sound like pity, and it doesn’t sound uncomfortable. He just sounds like he’s listening.

“Then there was Baji.” Someday, Chifuyu’s voice won’t catch when he says the same. That’s still far up ahead, though. “He hardly even knew me, but he just… fought for me. He chose to stay by my side, and then he chose it again and again until I did the same to him. I didn’t know people did that. I didn’t understand why they would.” He’s still smiling as he opens his eyes, and Inupi’s face almost looks… not quite fond, but not something else. “I’d choose him forever, if it were up to me. And when I joined Toman, the guys kept doing the same thing. That’s what it meant, man. To choose to stay beside people you trust. And I learned how to do it, too. Beat Takemitchy to it.”

“Is it that simple?” Inupi asks, quietly. It’s already dark out, and the air smells like rain. “You just choose?”

“Nothing is simple,” Chifuyu says. “It’s terrifying. You can reach out all you want, but you never know if someone’ll reach back. You have to throw in your lot with theirs and say, whatever happens, happens. And then you have to keep choosing to stay.”

Inupi is silent for a long, long time. Then he grins, and though it looks sad on his face, it makes him look as young as he is. “Well, then,” he says. “Looks like my little kouhai has a lot more figured out than I do.”

“I outrank you,” Chifuyu says without any heat. His eyes are itchy. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I think,” Inupi replies, looking at his hands, “I think there’s someone I need to go after. My turn, this time.”

Chifuyu gives him an answering smile, and they both ignore how teary-eyed the other is. “It’s going to rain soon,” he says. 

Inupi looks out the window. “Good,” he says, and something in his tone is heavy with meaning. “It better.”

About ten minutes later, Chifuyu is leaning against the open frame of the front door, arms crossed as he watches the rain pour in sheets around the street. Inupi was already out of sight by the time it started, but he’s probably caught in it. He hasn’t come back or called for rescue yet, but Chifuyu imagines he probably doesn’t care.

At the end of the day, he gets Inupi more than he’d like to. They both have people they’d run through a storm for.

Angry finds him there, and it’s a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t even fret over how Chifuyu will catch his death standing in the cold. He still looks distastefully at the drops of water splattered on the genkan, but stops right behind him without saying a word about it.

“Came and went without a word,” Angry notes. He doesn’t sound particularly bothered about it. “Got what he wanted?”

“I think we both did,” Chifuyu answers. He feels more settled than he did earlier. He still winces whenever he remembers the everything of today, but he’s… fine, for now. It’s not the sort of thing someone can get over in a single day, but he’s content with it for now. “How’s Takemitchy?”

Angry rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. It’s a childish gesture, and Chifuyu feels tired. “He’s out cold. Probably gonna sleep all the way into the morning, but I think there was something about concussions…”

“Someone has to wake him up every two hours,” Chifuyu recites dutifully. Mom always rained the fear of hell over concussions to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay over.”

“Good,” Angry says. He sounds relieved. “Not that I wouldn’t like to play nurse, but I already got a brother in the hospital. Visiting hours aren’t over for family, but Hakkai’s kind of bummed he won’t get to see Mitsuya. We’ll take the subway and Yuzuha said she’d pick him up at the station, the guy can barely keep his eyes open.”

Chifuyu hums. Part of him wishes they’d stay, too, if only so he can be sure they’re all fine for a little while longer. But understanding why they can’t is also a part of this, so he ruffles Angry’s hair, and pats Hakkai on the back a little too hard as they go, telling them to stay safe, or else. Angry glowers at him, and Hakkai gives him a sleepy smile.

“You stay safe too, Chifuyu,” he says, earnestly. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Of course I’ll stay safe,” Chifuyu replies, smiling lopsidedly. “Who’ll take care of my dumbass partner otherwise?”

It’s quiet when they go. Chifuyu moves just as silently, gathering the mugs and rinsing them on the kitchen sink, turning off the lights downstairs, and making his way up, towards Takemitchy’s room. Across the hallway is the door he knows leads to what’s his mother’s, if only in name. It usually makes Chifuyu’s stomach turn with anger, but he’s too drained to do so right now. He lets himself in, padding carefully alongside Takemitchy’s bed, and gives himself all of two minutes to check him over. Takemitchy’s on his back, mouth partly open, and breathing so deeply his whole body moves with it. The bruise on his nose is just a bruise, then. That’s good. A quick look under the covers tells Chifuyu that he hasn’t bled through any bandages either, which is also good.

The futon’s already set on the ground for him. He wonders if it was Angry or Hakkai — or if Takemitchy himself babbled about it, asking them to not forget. Either idea makes him feel warm. 

Chifuyu takes the alarm from the bedside table, and sets it to ring in two hours. It’s still early enough to be dinnertime, but he can’t imagine himself staying awake for a second longer. It’ll be enough of a sleepless night, anyways.

The Ghost of Baji Keisuke is silent but watchful, right there in the back of Chifuyu’s eyelids as he closes them. He’s fiddling with the Tamagotchi toy, tongue peeking from between his lips in concentration. Chifuyu loves him so much.

He sleeps. He doesn’t have any nightmares.

“So will icing it help at all?”

“Might help with the bruising, but that’s just palliative care,” Mom answers. “The main thing is to make sure he keeps waking up, and keep a close eye on him. Also, of all the foolish, irresponsible, stupid, moronic—”

Chifuyu sighs, letting the back of his head hit the wall softly as his mother’s voice grows louder over the phone, almost shrill enough to make his head pulse. It’s been aching for what feels like hours. “I know, Ma,” he mutters. “There’s no need.”

Something about his tone must throw her off, because the growing tirade ends almost immediately. She’s silent for a few long moments, and Chifuyu lets himself just enjoy the sound of breathing. The comfort of it is underrated, really. His mother’s breathing over the phone, Takemitchy’s rattling but deep breaths a few feet away on his bed, dead to the world. Chifuyu’s own, echoing in his head, too loud for this house that’s always empty. He doesn’t know how Takemitchy stands it.

He doesn’t want to think about the word death in the same sentence as Takemitchy ever, ever again. Chifuyu’s chest is tight enough to make his fingertips go numb.

Mom heaves a little sigh. “You don’t usually call anymore,” she says, finally. “You’re fourteen and you don’t call anymore when this kind of thing happens. Hell, you barely did when it started happening. I think it was just once — oh, what was it? Your friend had a head wound that was bleeding too much, and you wanted advice.” She breathes deeply again, and Chifuyu makes an effort to match it. “And even though I knew you knew what to do, I never asked why you called. Maybe I should have.”

Don’t sell yourself short, Chifuyu thinks absently as he watches Takemitchy’s fists clench in his sleep. She did ask; he’d told her that head wounds were tricky and he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t told her how terrified he’d been to see so much blood on Baji’s face back then, staining his teeth and matting his hair. Hadn’t said a word about how that night he holed up in the shared bathroom of their apartment and sobbed, wishing to every god out there that he’d never have to see something like that again.

Chifuyu doesn’t know if he believes in the gods, or even just a singular one. For supposedly omnipotent beings, the idea of them just seems too cruel.

“It was because I wanted to hear your voice,” Chifuyu says. “I called then because I was scared, and I wanted to hear your voice.”

Mom inhales like he just punched her, a staticky burst over the line. “Baby.”

He doesn’t even comment on the pet name. He just stares blankly at the dried stain of blood in Takemitchy’s hair — Angry and Hakkai clearly hadn’t bothered to wash all of him — and how part of it has stained his pillow, how his friend’s brow is furrowed like he’s in pain even as he sleeps. Chifuyu doesn’t let his eyes close for too long, because every time he does, it repeats again.

Bang.

There’s been plenty of moments in his life where Chifuyu has felt bone-chilling, paralyzing fear. All of them sort of pale in comparison to that.

“I was scared,” he whispers. “Ma, I was so scared. He almost — fuck. ”

Mom chuckles a little, voice suddenly louder as if she’s clutching the speaker close to her face. “That friend of yours sure has a gift,” she says, sounding teary but warm, and it thaws something in Chifuyu’s throat, “for scaring us Matsuno’s half to death and then getting up and smilin’ like nothing could ever hurt him.”

Chifuyu kind of forgets Mom and Takemitchy know each other. Takemitchy invited them over for Christmas dinner back in December, even though neither of them celebrated it, because he’d made “too much food” and “had enough to spare.” Which was bullshit, but Takemitchy’s a ridiculously good cook and Chifuyu’s not an idiot. Mom was instantly smitten — gross — by Takemitchy’s wide bambi eyes or whatever, and how awfully polite he is, Chifuyu, you could spare to learn a few things from him. 

And then she’d noticed the lack of shoes by the entrance, the lone coat hanging on the rack, and the table only being set for three, and got an odd glint in her eye. She’d made small talk throughout dinner as usual, praising Takemitchy for his tonkatsu and asking him questions that weren’t too prying, but all the while she had this saddened, melancholic tilt to her smile. Chifuyu isn’t anything special when it comes to reading people, but he is a specialist when it comes to reading her; it’s been just the two of them for years, after all. So he noticed, and didn’t say a thing. He never does. Sometimes he wishes he did.

(Takemichi noticed too, of course, because he’s good with things like that. He avoids adults in every timeline because they look at him and see a lonely child, and he doesn’t like to be reminded of how much he feels like one. 

Chifuyu’s mother looked more angry than sad, though. She looked like watching him reminded her of something else. But he hadn’t asked, because it wasn’t his business. Being a hero means saving everyone, but it also means that your responsibility lies where you know there’s something wrong, and there is something you can do to fix it. Takemichi can’t fix this. Most times, he thinks he can’t really fix anything.)

Later that night, when they made it home, Mom toed off her shoes and sat down on the floor, legs criss-crossed, her small stature making her look like a kid. She’d asked, “Does he remind you of anyone?”

“He doesn’t remind me of Dad,” Chifuyu replied. “Not everything is about that, Ma.”

Mom smiled sadly, as if that wasn’t quite what she’d wanted to say. “Maybe I’m projecting, but I don’t know,” she’d said. “Take good care of him, Chifuyu. That poor boy’s so alone.”

“No, he isn’t.” Chifuyu’s voice was sure. “He has me.”

And if he is then that makes two of us, he’d thought, as he watched her wish her goodnights and shuffle off to bed, bemoaning an early shift. He loves his mom. He loves her the way anyone loves the first thing they ever loved. He wouldn’t trade her for anything. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things about their relationship that feel like a shallow puddle, both of them staring at the surface of the water and seeing different things. There’s so much silence in their apartment where it feels like it shouldn’t.

Their relationship shouldn’t be made of distance. Chifuyu is so tired of not being brave enough to bridge the gap.

So now he’s leaning against the wall of Takemitchy’s room, and his mom is waiting for him to say something else to her over the line, and he’s hoping she’ll have an answer for him, any answer. It doesn’t have to fix anything, it just has to make him feel a little better. Because if things go the way he thinks they will, he’ll be losing a part of his best friend forever in a matter of days, and The Ghost of Baji Keisuke may yet find aid in making sure Chifuyu keeps his eyes peeled at night. 

Sometimes Chifuyu kicks himself for having loved him, because now he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s loved the memory so much already that it’s digging its thumbs into his eyes. 

Chifuyu tells Mom, “He’s not going to die, but I think I’m going to lose him anyway.”

All his stories are about being left, in the end. He doesn’t know what can comfort him, because one of the people he searches for comfort in is gone, and the other is the very thing he needs to be comforted for. He thinks of Mitsuya, and wonders if maybe he’ll lend a shoulder. Thinks of Mikey, and wonders if it ever gets better. 

Mom hums. She does that when she doesn’t know what to say — they’re long hums, and if she can’t make up any words quickly, she ends up humming a lullaby, the same she used to sing to Chifuyu when he was little. There’s no words, just the sound. Just some shifts of breath. 

And he can’t tell her about anything else. He can’t explain why he’ll lose Takemitchy, and how selfish it is to want him to stay, how much he loves all of his friends but none of them mean everything Takemitchy means to him, and how the worst thing of it all is that Takemitchy is still going to be right there, always, because they made a promise. It’s not fair to miss Takemitchy right in front of his face, and it already hurt enough through the short bursts of time when he left to gather intel in the future. Chifuyu can’t imagine doing that for twelve fucking years. 

“Chifuyu,” Mom says, “do you really have that little trust in him?”

He lets out a laugh. He can’t help it. His eyes are itching so much they ache. “I trust him more than anything,” he answers. “I know him better than anyone. So trust me, I know.”

“Trust him,” she says, voice light, “to not do the things you think he’s going to do.” Chifuyu doesn’t answer. Mom sighs. “It’s true that I don’t know him as well as you do, and I don’t know — I don’t know what the situation is.” Her tone isn’t accusing, but he winces anyways. “You’ve been hurt, baby. It hurts me to think about just how much you’ve been hurt, and you’re so young. Your dad, and Kei-kun, they were such bright lights in your life. You looked up to them so much, and you still do. Life is so damn unfair sometimes I can barely stand it. And I — I know I haven’t been the most perfect mother. I can’t afford to be there for you as much as I’d like to be, and I’ll always be ashamed of it.”

“What?” Chifuyu can’t help the way his voice cracks, because he has no clue where the hell this is coming from. “Ma, what are you talking about? You’re — you’re the best.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “Now, now. Don’t be so nice to me, I’ll get used to it.” There’s a pause, before she continues, “You remind me of… well, me. I raised myself, and then I raised your auntie, and the second I got into a public university I sued for guardianship over her and moved us both to Tokyo. Met your dad on the job, and had you before I even graduated. And I never complained, not a word, because all the hard things were worth it, just thinking of the good things. But I never learned how to ask for help, in the end. So it wasn’t like I knew how to teach you to do the same.”

Chifuyu’s throat is tight. He flicks his gaze over to Takemitchy, just to make sure the moron’s still asleep; he’s shifting a bit more and looks restless, but is still out cold. Chifuyu grips his phone tighter and glares at a dent in Takemitchy’s closet. “I’d ask for help if I needed it,” he argues, and hates that it feels like arguing. “I called you after — after Halloween, remember? And you picked me up from every single meeting with my friends for a month.” He swallows. “It — that helped. You help, Ma.”

“I do what I can,” she says. “You shouldn’t have to feel grateful about any of that. I’m your fucking mother, that’s my job.”

That startles a laugh out of him; she curses, but rarely with that much gusto. She laughs, too, and whatever odd tension they’d found themselves in washes away, like that puddle on the ground being cleared up by a hot day. Chifuyu pulls the sleeve of his hoodie up to rub at his eyes, ignoring the dampness of his cheeks for now. 

“I can,” he says, hesitantly, “try to be better about asking. If that’s what you want.”

“Damn straight,” Mom says. “The answer will always be yes, but I’m not a mind-reader, Chifuyu. We’re a team, aren’t we? Let’s help each other out.”

He tries to pretend like that doesn’t tug at something in his chest and pulls, and he mostly succeeds. “Alright,” he says. “I have to — I should go, now. I’ll be home for dinner. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mom says. Her next breath is a burst of static on his ear, and when she speaks next, it’s unusually quiet. “And about that Takemichi-kun. If you trust him as much as you say you do, baby, then trust him to prove you wrong.”

She hangs up first. Chifuyu lets his head thump against the wall, eyes closed tightly as he clutches his closed phone, and he does not cry. 

In theory, it’s easy. Chifuyu knows how to trust, and he knows how to trust well, but he doesn’t have a lot of practice in it; there aren’t that many people worth his trust. And people are different, so he has to trust each friend of his in different ways, and while it should make him something of an expert, it just makes him tread carefully. Far as he knows, his and Takemitchy’s trust has no bounds. He’s known that for months. 

But he finds, now, watching him as he sleeps, that he’s doubted that trust before. He doubted it that time he found Takemitchy with bloody fists in a playground while it rained, doubted it over any indication that his friend would rather keep him out of trouble than tell him the whole truth, and he doubts it now, waiting for what Takemitchy’s first words will say when he wakes up. Because for better or for worse, Kisaki is dead. A few people died, but most of them lived. For better or for worse, it’s over.

And Chifuyu doesn’t really want it to be.

Look at that. Chifuyu already misses Takemitchy, and Takemitchy is still right in front of him. These next twelve years are going to be hell. 

And there’s an odd part of his mind that’s sort of scared of what’ll happen if it isn’t really over. If Toman ends, which Chifuyu is getting more and more certain that might happen, then the fight against Tenjiku was the final conflict in Toman history. They’re ending on a high. Everyone’s as good as they’ll get, and everyone who knows the truth about the time travel can only be sure that they’ve done it. It’s fixed. They’ll get to live, now.

If they’re right, Takemitchy goes back to his future, and meets them all there, years into a happy aftermath. If they’re wrong, and Takemitchy figures out a way to go back, will he cause a ripple in the peace they’ve formed?

Chifuyu knows the answer without even thinking too long about it. Of course he won’t. He’ll keep quiet and try to do things all by himself, because he doesn’t want to be a bother. Chifuyu knows him well. 

Okay. Here goes nothing. He’ll make a promise: if Takemitchy comes back — and Chifuyu will know, because he’d know Takemitchy anywhere —, Chifuyu will not leave him the fuck alone. He’ll stick his nose where he isn’t called, and make it his business what wasn’t intended to be. Takemitchy’s not getting rid of him that easily.

In two years’ time, he’ll do his level best. That is, if he remembers it. That is, if nothing else changes. In two years’ time.

Chifuyu pads quietly to Takemitchy’s bedside, watching him with narrowed eyes. He’s not sure how much one is supposed to sleep after getting shot, even if he has half a mind to think about conserving energy after blood loss, but it’s been, like, eighteen hours, and Takemitchy hasn’t even stirred. His lack of movement would be concerning if it weren’t for his breaths, deep and calm.

Chifuyu narrows his eyes even more.

Deep, calm, measured breaths.

“Oh,” Chifuyu says drily. “You’re awake.”

Takemitchy’s brow furrows immediately. He blinks at the ceiling a handful of times, squinting. “Hrkl,” he says, eloquently. His voice sounds like gravel.

“Oh dear,” Chifuyu answers. 

And so Chifuyu The Nursemaid helps Takemitchy sit, props him up against some pillows on the headboard of the bed, and helps him slowly sip a cup of water, all the while glaring, because he has standards, and Takemitchy’s all sweaty and gross. The thought of a fever rises unbidden, and Chifuyu quickly presses his lips to his friend’s forehead to check his temperature, but finds nothing amiss. Takemitchy is so dazed that he doesn’t even seem to notice, which is just as well for him. Chifuyu doesn’t want anyone spreading rumors that he’s out there giving his homies forehead kisses. 

Takemitchy flops down against the pillows, looking exhausted, but less wan and delirious than he had yesterday. Chifuyu makes a mental note to thank Angry for it later; he has to thank Angry for a lot of things.

“So you’re alive,” Chifuyu prompts, dragging Takemitchy’s desk chair over and sitting down backwards on it, leaning on the backrest.

Takemitchy blinks at the ceiling again. “Rumors of my demise have been vastly overstated,” he says. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like it, too,” Chifuyu adds. 

“God, I hope all your teeth fall out except one, and then you get a toothache,” Takemitchy says, with much more vehemence than it’s strictly needed, but if he’s being wordy like this then he’s probably fine. Man, literature major. It never stops being funny.

This does stop being funny about half a second later, when the blood drains out of Takemitchy’s face so quickly that Chifuyu startles forward, thinking he’s about to pass the fuck out, but instead Takemitchy just clutches at Chifuyu’s wrists and looks at him with the most haunted expression Chifuyu has ever seen on him. His hands are freezing.

“Hey,” Chifuyu says. “Talk to me, partner.”

Takemitchy wheezes instead of answering, and Chifuyu, on reflex, karate-chops him on the back. He doesn’t think it helps, but it seems to get Takemitchy out of panicking by sheer surprise, so hey, it’s a win. He shoves Takemitchy to the side — carefully, he’s not an asshole — and flops down on the bed next to him, pointedly staring at the ceiling to give his friend time to collect his thoughts. He tries to pretend that being this close together doesn’t bring him some comfort, too. 

“I,” Takemitchy says. He says it about three more times before he manages to say the full sentence. “I don’t — how much time?”

Chifuyu doesn’t have to ask. “Less than a day, but it’s just before lunch now.”

“Oh,” Takemitchy says. When Chifuyu steals a glance at him, he’s staring at the ceiling too, red spots high on his cheeks. His tone is unreadable. “Okay. Uh. Just. Just tell me what we know, please.”

“No word from Mikey,” Chifuyu replies, knowing this’ll be the first thing Takemitchy worries about. “Few members of Tenjiku got arrested. No one in Toman did. No one’s seriously injured on our side, other than you, Mitsuya and Smiley, but they already were. No word from Draken. Inupi and Koko are fine. We’re all just… waiting.”

“Death count?” Takemitchy’s voice is hollow. 

Chifuyu can’t say he manages anything much more lively, either. “Last thing I heard, three. Izana, Kisaki, and — and Emma.”

Takemitchy turns his head slowly, face mushed against the pillow. His eyes are watery, which is perhaps the most normal response he’s had to anything so far. “Kaku-chan?”

The childhood friend. Chifuyu can only shrug; he heard that someone was moved from Yokohama Bay to the nearest hospital, and he assumes that the cops wouldn’t have fussed so much if they were dealing with only two dead delinquents instead of one dead and an alive one. “Dunno.”

That doesn’t seem to bring Takemitchy any comfort. Chifuyu wasn’t expecting it to. 

From here, he can look out the window, where the curtains are drawn open. Even so, not much sunlight comes through; there’s a storm inflating out north, a dark hole in gray clouds twirling, widening, white little specks of light getting turned on in all the buildings on the horizon. It’s getting dark before the sun goes down, and it’s going to keep raining. He thinks of Inupi, yesterday, saying that it better. He wonders what that meant to him. 

Chifuyu doesn’t have any particularly remarkable memories attached to rain. He can’t find anything that it reminds him of, but he has trouble doing that anyway. He didn’t always, but he does now. He’s flunking Japanese lit for a reason, and it’s because metaphors piss him the fuck off.

Similes died on October 31st, 2006. There’s nothing like death, just death. Nothing like grief, just grief. Yuzuru-sensei sneaks him a handful of sugar candy whenever he makes it through a week without skipping class. Sometimes that’s enough. 

Takemitchy follows Chifuyu’s gaze, and squints at whatever he sees. “Hm,” he says. “How bad was it this time?” Chifuyu stares at him. Takemitchy gives what could pass for a smile to someone who didn’t know him well. “You’re being quiet,” he explains. “Usually you’d be insulting me into next year by now, but you’re not. I like that you’re here,” he adds, as an afterthought, “but I scared you. I can tell.”

Chifuyu looks away, because having Takemitchy’s gaze boring into him that intently is too much even when it’s not a bad situation. “Moron,” Chifuyu says. His voice cracks as he does so, and he blinks furiously. “Stop getting concussed, you’ll get brain damage.”

“Too late,” Takemitchy replies, but there’s a smile in it. “Are you wearing my clothes?”

“No,” Chifuyu says. “This was my hoodie first, asshole, you were the one who stole it.”

Takemitchy says nothing for long enough that Chifuyu looks his way, wondering if he’s passed out again. But he hasn’t, and is just sitting there looking at Chifuyu with so much brimming in his eyes that it makes Chifuyu’s chest feel tight. He’s not great at reading people, but he’s great at reading his friend, and he knows what neither of them want to talk about before they even do so. 

Takemitchy is looking at Chifuyu as if he already misses him, too. 

(In a certain timeline — one of those after Baji’s death — Chifuyu left Takemichi a voicemail on his twenty-second birthday. They’d been on opposite sides of the country that time; it was one of the lonelier futures, where not everyone stuck around, but Takemichi and Chifuyu never managed to un-wrench themselves from each other in any case. As if they’d want to. 

The voicemail had gone a bit like this: Happy twenty-two, jerk. Don’t think you’re off the handle just because of the shit going on with Inupi, I want details. Not too many, though, he’s already done that, fuck off. Next time you see him, please knock out a few of his teeth on my behalf, by the way. I’ll explain when you call me back, so call me back. It’s pretty out in Hokkaido right now. There’s no snow anywhere, though. Miss you. You’d like it here. Every year we both get through alive is one I’m happy to see. Okay, sappy shit over, anyways.  Gotta go, Kazutora’s calling me. Call me the fuck back, partner.

Every single time, it’s a choice Takemichi makes. Every time he goes back, it’s from a future that only ever happened in retrospect, and you can’t remember things that don’t happen. Every single time, there’s something you lose, and you never get it back, ever again.)

“Hey, Chifuyu,” Takemitchy says. “You know you’re not less of a person just because people have left you, right?” When Chifuyu doesn’t answer immediately, Takemitchy squeezes the wrist he’d never let go of. “ Right? ”

Chifuyu rolls his eyes. “Of course I do, don’t be stupid. That’s not how being a person works.”

He watches both of their shadows on the wall across the room, so close together they’re almost a single one. The bedroom is dry and quiet and growing darker. 

“Chifuyu,” Takemitchy says again. “You’re going to be fine without me.”

“I don’t want to be fine without you, you absolute fucking asshole,” Chifuyu blurts out, shoulders hunching up to his ears. He crosses his arms and turns his head away, like a fussy toddler, but he feels like a fussy toddler right now, just completely helpless and screeching as things keep getting taken away from him. “I know. I know. I just — I’m sorry, can I be harsh?”

“Please do.”

“I don’t give a shit about what you have to do.” Chifuyu’s words catch in his throat, but he needs to clear it of them. “Sure, I want the future to be fine, but I just… it doesn’t feel fair. That you did so much stuff to fix the present and the future for us and you’re not even gonna be here to see what happens from now on, you’ll just see the aftermath. And I think it’s bullshit how you think that’s fucking fine or whatever. And I.” His voice does break and splinter, then. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Takemitchy says his name, quietly. He’s said it a lot since he woke up. Chifuyu lets out an angry hiccup that’s somewhere between a bitter laugh and a sob, and takes his friend’s hand. Takemitchy folds into himself around it, head resting on Chifuyu’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Takemitchy whispers. “I’m so sorry, Chifuyu, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, idiot,” Chifuyu says. “I just — you deserve to be home.”

And whether that home is right here, now, or twelve years past, then, is Takemitchy’s choice. Chifuyu has his cards laid out. He has The Ghost of Baji Keisuke watching them both intently, waiting for the next step. 

But it’s okay, Chifuyu argues with himself, since he already knows the answer. He’d wanted to say I want you to come home, home meaning this right here, home meaning Toman, home meaning his friends, but he finds, oddly, that the anticipation of Takemitchy leaving was worse than the actual notion of it. Chifuyu spends so much time expecting to be left behind that when it comes down to it, he’s… made his peace. At least, Takemitchy will leave and he will stay. Chifuyu is lucky to have someone who can do both. He knows Takemitchy won’t say the words out loud, but he doesn’t have to. It’s okay.

I’m better now, he wants to tell him. I’m braver now. Doesn’t this feel like the end of everything and we have to get it while we can?

A summer ago, he had Baji. But summer after summer has ended, balm after violence: it does him no good to pretend it didn’t. Violence has changed him. Violence has changed most things.

(At sixteen he is looking in the mirror. Takemitchy has been strangely quiet for the past few weeks. There is always a question. The mirror is not going to answer it.

Chifuyu’s therapist says that you tend to latch on to the people who’ve been hurt beside you. She says a support system must be bigger than one person. She says friendships come and go.

Chifuyu has made a promise.)

“Alright, partner,” Chifuyu says. His hand is still in Takemitchy’s, or maybe Takemitchy’s is in his. There’s not much difference. “The only way out is through, then.”

“I just always wanted everyone to live,” Takemitchy mumbles. It sounds like he’s talking to himself, but he’s looking at Chifuyu. “I want to live, too,” he adds, wide-eyed as if surprised, like he’s a little kid terrified of being told off for saying something wrong. 

And Chifuyu could never be as selfish as he wants to be, not hearing that from the least selfish person he knows. Sure, being left behind will hurt. It always does, like a burning house. But what can Chifuyu tell Takemitchy besides the fact that being on fire feels like being on fire? What can he tell him about the pain except that it was the most terrible pain he’s ever felt? The only way for Chifuyu to show Takemitchy how much it hurts would be for him to burn Takemitchy himself, and that he will never do.

This was always going to happen. Takemitchy’s days were numbered from the beginning, from even before he told Chifuyu anything. 

Grief really is about future absence. 

They don’t talk anymore. They stay there, and it starts to rain, pounding on the glass of the window, and it grows darker even before mid-afternoon. There’s a tiny spider crawling by the windowsill. Chifuyu feels the quiet like a physical thing, but not necessarily a bad one.

“This is nice,” Takemitchy murmurs, a few minutes or an hour later. His head has moved to lay down properly on Chifuyu’s shoulder, and his hair tickles his nose as Chifuyu rests his cheek on top of it.

“It is,” Chifuyu agrees softly. I’m already missing it.

They sit side by side, and they watch the rain fall. From time to time, the silence is pierced by an odd bird call. It’s this moment they’re both trying to explain, the fact that they’re both at ease with death, with solitude. Takemitchy draws a circle with his index finger on the wall, around the spider. The spider doesn’t move. He’s always trying to make something whole, an image capable of life apart from him. He and Chifuyu stay very quiet. Very quiet. It’s peaceful sitting here, not speaking, the air cool and charged, the day suddenly nighttime, shadows crossing over the walls. It’s still. Chifuyu kind of loves it. The love of moments is a love of endings.

Takemitchy falls asleep. Chifuyu doesn’t. 

Chifuyu stays.