Archive of Our Own

Many of the remnants broke off into twos after falling into despair, as wreaking havoc always felt more exhilarating as a team than alone. One of the pairs was one everyone expected, the yakuza heir and his loyal bodyguard. Yet, a third party being kept incredibly close to Kuzuryu came as a surprise to the others. None of the other remnants said anything for three reasons 1) they didn't care if that person was with someone else as long as it wasn't them, 2) the yakuza and mechanic seemed content 3) some of them simply did not care enough to notice. 

Souda, a talented mechanic, driven by his anxiety and fears, was now collared up like a dog. Connected to his black, spiked neon yellow collar was a lovely silver chain, the other end gripped in the calloused hand of Kuzuryu. It shouldn't have worked; their relationship, the way they helped each other before despair corrupted them and during, but oh how nicely it served. 

Kuzuryu was now supreme, Peko his second in command, and Souda, a valuable player, kept tightly at his side. The three of them made a terrifying team that no one dared to defy if they valued their lives or the safety of their loved ones. However, it wasn’t a walk in the park for Kuzuryu to become high and mighty when the world was still functioning. But, after the flames started to rise, he followed them.  

It was challenging to get the clan to follow Kuzuryu when he had first fallen into despair. Though, with Souda's help, it was as easy as slitting his own throat. Initially, the clan fought against Kuzuryu at his father’s command, the display of his son’s swirling eyes striking a newfound fear in him. His mother’s death was the reason for the bloody war to unfold between the clan and their supposed future heir. It was the sight of Peko’s sword slathered in his wife’s blood that Kuzuryu’s father had walked in on; she had been sliced to bits on their bed, limbs holding on by threads of flesh. After being subjected to unbearable torture, Kuzuryu’s mother was finally put out of her misery with a bullet from her son’s pistol. The golden, clan-marked bullet that lodged its way into her skull scarred her husband’s mind as he watched the life leave her horrified eyes. A scream erupted in his throat, one full of rage and horror, a real battle cry that sent shivers down Kuzuryu’s spine. This was the response Kuzuryu wanted, the pain of killing his mother, who was usually kind to him and Natsumi, singing them to sleep without their father’s knowledge because he claimed it would make them ”soft.” She was the one who had given Kuzuryu a kind heart against his will; in a way, he hated her for it, but he was also grateful he didn’t turn into some of the human scum he saw on the streets. 

The war lasted several days, all taking place inside the gates of the Kuzuryu manor. Blood scattered across the large lawn, turning the grass crimson rather than a healthy green; Kuzuryu imagined it would stain to remind him of this tragedy. On top of the steps is where he and Peko held their ground; back to back, they slaughtered hundreds of clansmen who dared charge them. Many men were skewered and shot before being thrown down the countless steps leading up to the mansion. In contrast, others were severely injured, only to be used later. The chances of an entire clan beating two people were very high; both Kuzuryu and Peko did not doubt that they would be able to conquer this army. They knew their skills were unmatched among the poor excuse for yakuza; the proof was in the endless amount of bodies being tossed down the stairs like trash. 

The days went by slowly as clan members fell in numbers; the remaining were injured or trying a more sneaky tactic to take down the heir. Though their tactics failed when Peko was sent out to hunt them down, there was no mercy in the way she slid her sword through their abdomen and left them for dead. The clansmen that were still alive were treated by a friend of Kuzuyru and Peko. They had to be supervised by the swordswomen in case she tried drugging them with some new disease she made. 

Screams constantly echoed in the yakuza’s ears; some were in pain, and others were in anger. The sounds irked him as he walked around the mansion grounds for the upth time that day. After days of nonstop fighting, Kuzuryu had expected the clan to realize their downfall; he assumed they would follow him as the new boss when he had killed his father, showing that he was more powerful and deserved their services. The thought of his father made Kuzuryu look up, his green orbs meeting his father’s dead ones. Blood tears dried on his cold, pale face while the rest was spread across the mansion walls. His father had started to smell after being outside for the entirety of the war. Kuzuryu scoffed at how weak the leader of the strongest yakuza clan turned out to be. 

The heir grabbed the long stake that punctured his father’s head. He clenched his fist the moment his face was leveled with the man who he had looked up to. A vile stench invaded his senses, causing Kuzuryu’s nose to flare and his eyes to sting with an onslaught of tears. Simply looking at his father made Kuzuryu’s stomach churn, reminding the young yakuza how harsh his father was on his mother for doing anything slightly wrong. The loud sound of her getting slapped never fell far behind his ferocious yelling. His father did the same to him and Natsumi the older they got; the yelling reached an exceedingly high level the more disappointing Kuzuryu became in his later years. When his father began getting violent with his children, their mother would call Peko to take them away and protect them. Peko was exceptional at her job early on, consoling other kids her age with a sword in hand. Kuzuryu was envious of her, still is, because she was always able to protect herself and others. Yet, he couldn’t even save his sister from an unsavory death. 

A sound similar to a growl ripped through Kuzuryu’s throat. He violently spit onto his father’s decapitated head and threw it on the filthy ground. The man who was supposed to be the best yakuza boss was pathetic; he was weak and quick to anger which left him beheaded. Kuzuryu regretted spending his life up to this point, idealizing him, trying to become him to make the man he called father happy. He knew that he had plenty of similarities with his father, his anger being the worst of them all. He cursed the pathetic man at his feet and walked away, vowing to be better than his father ever was, to prove his clan wrong. Despite Kuzuryu’s determination to bring the world to its knees, he knew that to do that, he would need his army. However, it was practically impossible when they were uncooperative. 

~

Souda stood in his cold garage, clothes covered in fresh blood that wasn’t his and remote control in hand. His parents, who were once full of love, now lay limp in metal chairs facing one another, blood dripping from their orifices onto their attire. The mechanic had created two electric chairs from scratch and bound his parents to them, instructing them to stay silent unless spoken to. Souda wanted to play a game, one full of questions with answers accustomed to his liking. Every time one of his parents answered a question wrong, he would electrocute them; the volts continued to increase after each incorrect answer. He asked them things such as, “What’s my favorite color? My favorite tool? Did you neglect me growing up? Did you protect me when I needed you? Why did I change so much?” . The more personal the questions became, the more unstable Souda grew; the louder the screams got, the more blood came spewing out of their mouths. He couldn’t remember asking his parents a final question after the constant assault of inquiries; he eventually lost count and cranked the notch too high. 

His parents had stopped screaming, and time felt slow as he watched their lifeless bodies twitch as high voltage shocks still racked through them. He stared blankly at the blood trickling all over his parent’s clothes and the cement at their bare feet. Something began to bubble in his chest the longer he stood in front of his parent’s dead bodies and acknowledged that it was he who had murdered them. Souda was ready to laugh, to embrace the despair that he could feel filling his chest like water, flooding his lungs as if he was drowning. It hurt, and he was ready to let them burst. Except for the laughter nor exhilaration came; instead, a wave of tears coursed through his body until he was sobbing uncontrollably.

The mechanic lingered in the cold garage, the sight of his parents causing him to freeze, to shake, to panic. Once Souda’s anxiety kicked in, the room appeared to be a lot less open, and the darkness of the garage was suddenly suffocating. His breathing heightened steadily the longer he took in precisely what he had done. His hands shook so violently that the thought to cut them off had crossed his mind multiple times. The odor of rust had never bugged the mechanic before. But, it being paired with a striking red and his parent’s deceased bodies did nothing except make him gag. Souda quickly ran out of the garage when the smell and scene became too much. After letting his guts out, the mechanic started walking; he had nowhere to go but staying home felt like a curse. 

 Souda’s hands continued to shake as he walked down the street, reminding him of how cowardly he was, how he wasn’t as good as the other remnants, how they had no problem bringing despair in the world and did it with smiles on their faces. He wanted to be like them, he wanted to be special too and bring despair to the world while laughing into the black sky, yet his past still held him by the throat. He wanted to kick the loser with large glasses and black hair, wanted to pretend he didn’t know him, tell him he was better off dead if he had nothing to contribute.

It’s all because of his hands that won’t stop shaking; if they would stop shaking, he could stop thinking, and if he stopped thinking, then the boy would disappear. It should just stop; why won’t it stop!

And that was when he bumped into a familiar face that sidetracked his panic. It was a face full of delicate features that had his heart-tugging on his tongue. He hadn’t seen that face in months, maybe a year, Souda couldn’t remember. The mechanic had spent so much of his life alone working on personal projects like turrets and bombs he had lost track of time, Though they were nothing except distractions so Souda could build up his courage. His first murder was his parents, similar to the other remnants, but his cowardice caused him to fall behind and falter. He knew just by looking at Kuzuryu that he was leagues ahead of him.

“You look like a fuckin mess.” 

Kuzuryu’s statement was followed by a full-body glace, the mechanic twitched under his unreadable gaze. However, he took the other’s emotionless face as a good sign, knowing that he was never good at hiding his disgust or anger. Souda took this time to admire how put together Kuzuryu was compared to him; he wore the same tidy suit he did during their time at Hope’s Peak academy. Not only did he dress the same, but he also looked the exact same; it was as if no time had passed for him. On the other hand, Souda could hardly recognize himself in the mirror, between the black roots consuming his scalp and the dirt littering his pale skin. 

An eyebrow raise from Kuzuryu brought out a weak yelp from the mechanic’s mouth; he hadn’t realized the yakuza was waiting for him to speak. 

“Y-yeah.”

Kuzuryu chuckled; it was short but full of amusement. Souda couldn’t even take offense to being laughed at because of how in awe he was. The mechanic had missed this aspect of life, human interaction; it made him feel real again and less alone. The young yakuza trying to hide his entertained smirk struck something in Souda, reminding him of a time where he saw the other cover a smile often. He hadn’t realized how much he missed him. 

“Well, if that’s all.”

The yakuza’s face fell as he began to walk past Souda. He was disappointed, Souda could tell, but how could he fix someone else’s disappointment? Panic fluttered in his chest like icky bugs crawling their way up to his esophagus, eating at the thousands of words begging to come out. The mechanic did the next best thing when his voice failed him. Reaching out to Kuzuryu seemed like the only way to keep him close; Souda didn’t account for the probability of a pistol being aimed at the center of his forehead. The yakuza’s eyes were hard, clearly distrusting of the mechanic and his bloodied clothes. Souda froze when his eyes met the trigger; his nerves were on edge, imminent to explode out of his body as he fought them to not shake. 

“Shoot me if you want.” 

Kuzuryu’s face didn’t change at the shaky words. Souda took a deep breath, praying he wouldn’t be dead in the next ten seconds. 

“I-I’ve been lost lately. I don’t know how to live in a hellscape like this unless I’m locking myself up in a dark room, ignoring it. I can barely feel anything other than the anxiety gnawing at me every day.” 

The mechanic paused and closed his eyes to prevent the other from seeing the tears threatening his eyes. 

“I feel broken because the rest of you get exhilaration from causing despair; you’re able to fill the hole Junko carved out of us. So if you want to put me out of my misery, then fine. I won’t mind because it’s you, Fuyuhiko.” 

It was quiet for a few moments, unsettling so. The pressure of the gun’s cool metal burned Souda’s filthy skin, while the thought of the gun going off ran his blood ice cold. His ears rang in anticipation of the loud “bang” to come. The mechanic was ready for the bullet to pierce his skull, killing him instantly; he was ready, so ready he almost craved the swift death. All he had to do was wait a few seconds longer and disregard his racing heart that sent bile to tear apart his insides. Yet, the release never came, the trigger never pulled. 

“No, not today. You could prove to be useful.”

The pressure of the pistol was suddenly relieved. Souda blinked his eyes open, disbelief evident on his face. The gun was quickly put back in its holster, revealing green orbs full of interest; interest in Souda. The thought made the mechanic’s heart tighten; someone wanting him was a rare occurrence but something he always desired. 

“How?” 

The simple word came out in a breathless whisper, for the situation Kazuichi was in mesmerized him, leaving him to care very little about the way he was being perceived. Kuzuryu let a wolf grin spread across his lips; while he simultaneously gripped Souda’s jaw with one hand, pulling him down to meet his magenta eyes properly. His tone was low when he spoke, almost as if he was mimicking Kazuichi’s whisper. The words flowed like a siren’s song, and Kazuichi was the sailor sinking in the depths of the water. 

“You said you were lost, so I’m gonna give you a purpose.” 

~

The walk to the Kuzuryu manor was relatively quiet, filled with nothing but their feet hitting the ground. The first thing Souda noticed walking through the large gate was the rancid smell of death; it was ten times worse than the smell his parents gave off. He immediately covered his nose with the palm of his hand, pausing to take in the horrendous scene before him. The mechanic had never seen so much blood in his entire life. In a way, the yakuza’s work was impressive, but at the same time, it had made Souda’s mouth go dry. 

Blood lathered the lawn and walls outside of the manor. The mechanic bit his lip thinking about what the inside must look like. However, the main attraction was the giant pile of bodies sitting tall at the bottom of the steps. The bodies appeared discarded the same way trash is, thrown together without a care. Souda couldn’t determine how many deceased yakuza may have been in the mound. Nevertheless, Kuzuryu had kept them for an extended amount of time, making them seem like his trophy. It was sickening, yet Souda couldn’t help but be amazed by the yakuza’s work.  

Kuzuryu waited patiently a couple of steps in front of the mechanic. He watched as the other processed his achievement, taking in the other’s wide orbs swirling with mixed emotions. The moment Souda’s bright, magenta eyes lit up in admiration caused a sense of pride to swell in Kuzuryu’s chest. 

“So you’re the boss now?”

Kuzuryu nodded simply. He could tell Souda was smiling under his hand by the way his eyes crinkled. 

“That’s pretty cool, huh?” 

“The spot was mine anyway. Besides, my old man didn’t deserve it anymore.”

The mechanic nodded in understandment, then focused his attention on the amber sky. Kuzuryu furrowed his eyebrows, knowing this mannerism from spending too much time with the other in a different life. The yakuza sighed, wanting the other to get on with whatever question he had lodged up in his mind. 

“What?”

Kuzuryu tried to hold back his annoyance but still ended up sounding rather harsh. The mechanic hummed back in question, unphased by the other’s outburst. The yakuza verbally groaned and took a few steps towards Souda. 

“You have a question, so just ask it already. Stop actin’ shy around me. We’re past that.”

Souda sputtered at that; he could feel his body heat up in embarrassment and knew that his cheeks must have been a direct show of that. The mechanic brought his free hand up behind his head and ruffled his hair, another mannerism for when he’s nervous. 

“You’re clan… what are you gonna do about them? Y'know if they’re all dead then-” 

“Not all of them are dead. Peko and I injured a lot of them, so I would be the heir of somethin’.” 

Kuzuryu turned on his heel and glanced over his shoulder. He gave a quick nod to the manor, a gesture for Souda to follow him. 

“Actually, that’s why you’re here.”

Souda trailed not too far behind the yakuza, deciding not to ask any more questions till Kuzuryu was ready to elaborate on his previous words. He was also too busy gaping at the height of the yakuza pile. Now that Souda was right next to the mound, he could genuinely admire the number of bodies thrown onto one another. If the mechanic had to guess the height of the mound, it would be around ten feet; give or take. 

After making it up the thousands of steps, Souda noticed another exciting trophy. A decapitated head rested upon a stake; dry blood covered its face and ragged hair. 

"You got some pretty interesting decorations."

"Thanks, that one’s my father."

Souda let out a startled laugh. Not quite expecting those words nor the deadpan face accompanying them. It made sense why that one was placed above the other’s, peering down on the clan it had once built. The mechanic shuddered under the lifeless gaze of a man formerly so full of power his presence would strike fear into people. The thought of his own son, his prized heir, murdering him in such a brutal way was tragic. Yet, Souda didn’t feel bad for the foul man; rather, he adored what Kuzuryu had done with the manor. 

When the two boys finally got into the manor, Souda wasn’t sure whether he was fortunate or unfortunate to be led to a part of the manor seemingly devoid of blood. The mechanic’s brain itched. He desperately wondered what a massacre between the yakuza would be like indoors. 

It didn’t take long for Kuzuryu to stop in front of a door and throw it open. He walked inside, and Souda followed like an obedient puppy. Surprisingly, the room was reasonably neat; with the bed made and the floor spotless, it looked as if it defied the hellscape outside. However, tons of papers and equipment used for guns sat on the desk, making it look cluttered. Cans and stained plates were also stacked on the nightstands on either side of the queen-sized bed. Was this Kuzuryu’s room? Souda asked himself, his heart squeezed painfully when the question forced itself onto the forefront of his brain. 

“Here, there’s a shower past the door right there. Make sure to fuckin clean yourself good. You smell and look like shit.”

Kuzuryu stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned his head away from the mechanic. He shifted his weight onto one foot before speaking again.  

“There should be some damn clothes that fit you somewhere in here. I’ll make sure your’s gets cleaned, and everything you need is in this room, so don’t go wandering the fuck around. Got it?” 

The yakuza gave Souda a pointed glare, leaving him to respond with a small “sure.” Kuzuryu had left after that, he didn’t say where he was going, but Souda was smart enough not to bug him by asking. The mechanic sighed; the feeling of air leaving his lungs felt good. Perhaps a shower would too. Souda didn’t remember the last time he had showered or practiced self-hygiene in general. Therefore, the mechanic searched the room for a few minutes, finding towels and washcloths in the bathroom, along with a pair of sweats and a white tee-shirt that would fit his lanky frame. He noticed the bathroom was stocked with multiple new toothbrushes, toothpaste, and things of similar value. 

Souda stripped himself of the heavy jumpsuit he wore. Taking it off felt freeing, like all the oil trapped in the suit was holding him down. It was as if the obsidian marks were shadows coming up from hell to drag him beneath the ground. Tossing the neon jumpsuit onto the bed, he made his way to the hot waterfall waiting for him. 

He stood underneath the showerhead that rained hot tears on him, staring straight up into its center so the water would bounce off his face. The dirt and oil were slowly removed from his skin, a black mass sliding to escape by the weep hole. Souda’s mind ran as fast as the water above him, thoughts crossing his brian at the pace of a hare. The mechanic felt as if he had lived half of his life in one disturbing day. He went from murdering his parents to puking his guts out afterward; to hating himself so intensely that he was prepared to die. To almost dying at the hands of an old friend he had longed for since they parted. 

The blood-soaked thoughts made Souda feel ill. He regretted wasting so much time locked up in a dark room, tinkering away as if the world wasn’t crumbling outside his door. Memories of his parents begging him to come out flooded his headspace; they did care for him. They were good parents who missed out on the little things that had ugly truths behind them. His parents were optimistic, overbearingly so, and it left no room for the darkness Souda had in him. It was the ruthless bullying and the endless need to be better that ruined Souda. The pushing, the shoving, the threats all crowded his mind, kicking his chest, so his breath came out in unsteady gasps. The bullies were the reason he changed, the reason he lost himself to a facade. His hair, teeth, eyes, confidence, and adoration were nothing but a lie to conceal himself. Souda studied magazines to find a way to fit in; he did everything by the books yet still failed the ultimate test. He was still a loser, a target no matter what he did to change. 

However, Souda regretted one thing more than the pity he had for himself; the adoration for a specific princess. His adoration turned into a cover for harassment; because she fit the description of a perfect woman, it was disgusting, and he knew it was wrong. Yet, he continued to obsess over her to hide from himself. It brought a different kind of despair to Souda, knowing that the kind princess who had put up with him for years was now preparing to kill the people she once talked so highly of. 

The mechanic choked down a sob and leaned back against the wet shower wall, letting the lukewarm water cascade down his body. His fake, magenta eyes snapped shut while his heart hammered upon his ribcage, causing his chest to sharply rise and fall. Souda stood in the shower till the water became freezing cold, till he couldn’t tell if it was the cold or his nerves making him shake like a tree with an axe stuck in its base. 

Souda waited till his shaking creased, and the air in his lungs was sure not to come rushing out. The sun had begun to set at this point, unfazed by the cries of people it was abandoning. The mechanic slugged out of the shower, unaware of the shift in the sky. He lazily brushed his teeth in the nude with a fresh-out-of-the-box toothbrush and a towel wrapped around his waist. The mess of black roots and faded hot pink hair even got some attention. Though it was tangled and split at the end, it made Souda realize how much his hair had grown. Staring at himself in the mirror showed him how filthy he really was; his hair had grown down to his shoulder blades, and his teeth were full of cavities. Thankfully he hadn’t looked in the mirror before cleaning off. Souda cringed slightly; he must have looked like a caveman. 

The mechanic walked out of the bathroom, wanting to get in a pair of clean clothes and fall face-first on the inviting bed. But, his need for rest was put on hold the moment he saw Kuzuryu sitting at the cluttered desk. His heart throbbed at the view; it felt so intimate, so homey. The other set his olive orbs on Souda as he heard the door open, resting his head on the palm of his hand and tilting it in examination. Kuzuryu gave the mechanic a quick once over, stopping at the blue towel at his waist before returning his gaze back to warm magenta. The yakuza eyes were hooded, and a relaxed smirk laid comfortably on his lips. Souda was overwhelmed with affection. It felt as if there was a spotlight hanging over him, cueing him to do something that may deserve the fondness radiating off of Kuzuryu.  

“You look refreshed.”

Souda forced a tired laugh. He did feel better after taking a shower, but the crying had mentally drained him.

“You have no idea.”

Silence ensued Souda’s words, and though it wasn’t awkward, the room still came across empty. The mechanic missed moments like this, sitting in the classroom talking with his friends and listening to them talk about their abnormal lives. He yearned for the rare times he and Kuzuryu would spend a few hours alone. This would typically happen when Kuzuryu agreed to help him study for an upcoming test. He always pretended to hate how Souda hung off him pleading for his assistance, yet enjoyed their shoulder-to-shoulder contact when together in his dorm. 

The mechanic desperately wanted to speak up, to create a space where they could ignore the world and its destruction, return to a happy life, and take action on unfamiliar emotions. Souda wished he hadn’t taken those moments for granted; he had reflected on so much but couldn’t go back and apologize to the people he hurt. Then there was the ordeal with Kuzuryu. Souda had learned so much about himself thanks to the other. The idea of confessing to the yakuza made him cower in fear, but the tingle on his lips fought on his heart’s behalf to conquer that fear. 

The mechanic could feel his cheeks getting hot at the mere memory of kissing Kuzuryu. Kissing him had been a whole new experience for Souda, a scary one that opened his mind. They were alone, hidden from the judgmental world, he couldn’t recall what led to the kiss either, but the feeling was imprinted on his skin. The kiss wasn’t slow and sweet like he imagined, although he believed his first couldn’t have gone any better. Souda remembered a pull on his collar smashing their lips together, how impatient Kazuryu was to shove his tongue down Souda’s throat, how their limbs tangled around one another in an attempt to get closer, and how their soft, needy moans interrupted the quiet air. Souda could swear he started levitating when Kuzuryu pushed him down onto the bed, directing his focus on a new part of his body… 

“Kazuichi, hurry up and get dressed.” 

The mechanic jumped and flailed his arms, gripping the towel around his waist to make sure he wouldn’t be exposed. His heartbeat reverberated throughout his eardrums; the mechanic prayed it couldn’t be heard outside his own head. He thanked the stars for how lucky he was that the yakuza couldn’t read his thoughts. If he could see the perverted thoughts Souda had been playing over his mind like a limited edition movie, Kuzuryu would probably have shot the other right then and there. 

At the yakuza’s command, Souda got dressed as quickly as possible to please him. Kuzuryu, however, did serve him a suspicious glare before turning in his seat. Souda gulped down his panic, feeling like a dog who got caught ripping apart the sofa. Now content in a pair of grey sweatpants, the mechanic was ready to hear whatever the other had to say, though he was even more ready for bed. 

Kuzuryu sat next to Souda once the other called for him, telling him he was done changing. The yakuza proceeded to reach into a black duffle bag that was next to the bed. The mechanic hadn’t even noticed and stared curiously while the blond dug through it. 

“I got you this. Peko is the one who cleaned your clothes. Make sure to thank her.” 

A box was dropped onto Souda’s lap; it was colorful and had tons of text in the form of bubble letters. Hair dye, more specifically Souda’s hot pink hair dye, he went out of his way to buy. The mechanic tightened his hands around the box; forever ago, this was the most important thing to him. Back then, Souda wouldn’t leave the house unless his hair was completely pink. He knows Kuzuryu got it because of his wildly visible black roots; they showed exactly how little Souda took care of himself. 

Another memory resurfaced as the mechanic caressed the corner of the box. One where the whole class decided to go out to a local fair, the sun shone over the city, and the trees were in full bloom. Souda, on the other hand, was extremely distressed. The centermost of his hair had begun to grow back, making his natural dark hair visible if blown in the wind. Stressfully enough, the mechanic had forgotten to buy new box dye. Panicking, he ended up roping Kuzuryu into his mess. The yakuza had left the dorms to get Souda’s damn dye; the other pestered him till he had two choices; get the dye or cause a crime scene. Clearly choosing the former, Kuzuryu came back with hot pink hair dye and continued to offer to dye the other’s roots. The yakuza regretted the moment he offered a helping hand the second Souda said he owned no gloves. After the small amount of black root was colored, Kuzuryu quickly started cursing and complaining that the dye wouldn’t come off his hands. He vowed to never go around any kind of dye again; their classmates also made the fair hell by making sure to mention his pink-stained hands every few minutes. Hiyoko’s snide comments about decorating them with pretty stickers and jewels never fail to set Kuzuryu’s face ablaze. Souda felt responsible for the entire situation; he kicked himself for it for a while. But Kuzuryu had never blamed him for the incident or turned the other’s remarks into rude comments toward the mechanic for being the reason for his stained hands. Souda never got around to genuinely thanking the other for helping him that day, for gently threading his hands through his knotted hair despite being frustrated, and taking all the punches Souda usually couldn’t. 

“Anyways, I’ll explain my shitty issue and my conditions for staying here.”

A surge in Souda caused him to open his mouth to protest. He didn’t want to go back to their reality of a hopeless, decaying world, not yet. This was the first time in months the mechanic had been able to feel something other than the anxiety and paranoia that infested his soul. The memories Kauzuryu evoked in the mechanic awoke a storm of mixed emotions of regret, selfishness, want, and reflection. The emotions made him feel more human; they took him out of reality and brought him peace for a few fleeting minutes.

“Save it. I can tell you’re tired, so let me get on with this so we can both rest.” 

The mechanic snapped his mouth shut, saddened to be brought back to a depressing reality. He opted to let his senses focus on Kuzuryu, who was here in the present.

Kuzuryu peered at his lap; a defeated sigh passed through his lips. He did look tired; Souda hadn’t picked up on it before. That was the pain of falling for someone so good at hiding their worries. He often wondered how to make up for the lateness of coming to their aid. 

“The clan doesn’t want me as a leader; they’re uncooperative. I killed my father and put his head on stake to show them my power over his, yet they still denied me. So I need your help to make them kneel before me as if I was their god.” 

Souda let the yakuza’s statement settle in his bones. He wanted the mechanic for this job. No, needed him. The request was a huge one, but he refused to disappoint Fuyuhiko. The other shed blood for what he wanted, and he was so close to achieving complete control. If Souda could be a bulldozer to knock down the final obstacle in Kuzuryu’s life, then he would be willing to try anything. 

“Mind control could work. If they’re uncooperative enough to deny you after killing your dad, then it might be the only option.” 

“Can you actually pull that off?”

Kuzuryu’s tone wasn’t mocking. In fact, he was quite curious about how far the ultimate mechanic’s talent soared. Souda proudly grinned, jabbing a thumb to his chest.

“Of course I can! Do you really think I spent all my time tinkering with lousy guns and bombs? I studied tons of fucked up shit. I spent like a week breaking into some shady laboratories for their blueprints about shit regarding things like mind control.”

“I see, so you’re confident?”

The tired expression on Kuzuryu’s face was gone, now replaced with a dark, sensual gleam. His tone held the same weight as his bewitched orbs, flowing like a silky melody packed with a message of intense interest. Souda was lost in the yakuza’s hypnosis, he knew it, but he didn’t care. 

“Damn right I am, mind control hasn’t been perfected, but I swear for you it will be.”

Souda’s voice lowered with each word spoken. His weak heart quivered from the pressure of enunciating the word “you,” the declaration to the other sent a pleasant sensation streaming through both their bodies. 

“Good boy, doin’ exactly what you’re supposed to.”

Kuzuryu reached his hand out towards Souda, resting it upon the other’s jaw. The mechanic held his breath when his face was pulled closer to Kuzuryu; their noses were just a few inches apart. The mechanic wanted to whine about the space; the yakuza was teasing him by keeping them far enough to see each other’s faces with a bit of blur. Souda could feel Kuzuryu’s breath ghost his lips and admired the way his eyes swirled in satisfaction and pleasure. If Souda leaned forward a tiny bit, then he would be able to capture the one thing he’s been starved of. He wanted to be reminded of Kuzuryu’s taste and bring the memory of their first kiss to come flowing back. Souda wished the yakuza would do something more with him and destroy all of his senses. But he didn’t want to move out of line and risk upsetting Kuzuryu, so he settled on doing nothing except crave the other. 

Souda did verbally whine when olive orbs pulled away, revealing a smug smirk. The whine earned a couple of strokes along his jawline. 

“Lights out.”

~ 

Several weeks passed before there was any real progress on creating a mind-control device. By this point, the wifi had gone out, leaving Souda no choice but going back home to gather the blueprints and tools he needed. He was escorted by Peko, who was silent for the most part but nevertheless good company. The mechanic made sure to steer clear of the garage; the smell reeking out of it was enough to tell him his parents were still there, rotting. 

Three months of nonstop work is what it took Souda to perfect the essence of mind control. In that time, the wifi, electricity, and water were ridden from the world, causing mass panic. Every city descended in darkness while the rivers rapidly turned a murky brown. Kuzuryu was particularly pissed when Akane and Nekomaru had wreaked the water pipes in one of their petty squabbles. Unlike some of the other remnants, the yakuza enjoyed being clean. 

Speaking of the remnants, Junko would be rather proud of how far they have come to sharing despair with the globe. The remnants were now the face of the apocalypse, the one’s society feared. They took their precious time figuring out what to do with their pitiful lives and how to appease the need to feel an indescribable pain of despair. 

Some of the remnants had done unspeakable things since the death of their hope. Sonia, for example, had gone back to her home country as a hellish princess, excited to showcase her more hidden capabilities. The princess’s beautiful country welcomed her with a grand parade topped with thousands of gifts, flowers, and food. The love in her people’s eyes was as bright as the fire she set upon their children. She presented the people of her kingdom with a gift of her own, a magnificent stage starring her eminent parents locked inside a guillotine. However, the guillotine’s blade was not traditional. Instead, it was replaced with a high-powered saw that sent the royal’s blood gushing onto the gobsmacked audience. Sonia’s despair was so soul-crushing that her people decided to save themselves by committing mass suicide in honor of the princess. 

To say the least, Sonia had been the stepping stone all the other remnants needed. She served an influence so strong, so brimming with emotion that the others desired. Sonia’s crazed smile dominated the media until it became nothing but static. 

 One by one, the remnants began changing the world drastically. Some were more subtle, like Mikan, whose rehabilitation center was a ruse to gather test subjects to inject with poison and disease. Then you had other remnants, such as Ibuki and Hiyoko. Their concerts were ear-splitting enough to cause anyone to lose their mind to self-destructive thoughts. Everything seemed to fall in line for the remnants as they moved forwards together. 

Succeeding the mechanic’s mastery of mind control, Souda had moved on to construct mascot helmets that resembled Monokuma heads which happen to be in fashion for the end of time. Once the helmets were forced on, they fastened around the wearer’s neck, reminiscent of an ankle monitor. If the helmet was taken off by another means other than the kill code, Souda created, the Monokuma head would blare an alarm, warning the wearer to cease. But, if ignored, the helmet would tighten till they were beheaded. 

Turning the clansmen into submissive soldiers was child’s play with the blueprints Souda had snatched. Combining the ideas of multiple inventors had given the mechanic the quantum leap he needed. Interior sensors read and manipulate the brainwaves of each wearer, compelling them to do what they were told. The building part of the machine was straightforward to Souda, although coding the helmet turned out to be very frustrating. The clansmen behind the Monokuma helmets are aware of every sinister thing their bloodied hands did. The fear in their shaking knees pleased the heir they once rejected. 

The revised Kuzuryu clan had a new mission, to kill whatever unfortunate soul they crossed. The yakuza heir ordered to kill without mercy, torturing and making the runners suffer was permitted. He was impressed with the mechanic’s handy work, deciding to reward Souda for keeping his promise. 

A night when the sky cried acid, and the agonizing screams on the disintegrating streets grew with the sound of the rain. Kuzuryu and Souda remained securely in the manor, in the room they shared frequently. The yakuza stood in front of the other, hands behind his back as he hid the prize he got for Souda. The mechanic anticipated the worst; the gift must be Kuzuryu bidding him farewell. He clenched his fists repeatedly; Souda didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be alone again. 

The mechanic sucked in a cold gasp when Kuzuryu pulled out a collar. He quietly relished the black leather strap and appreciated the stylistic choice of the neon yellow spikes circling around the band. Souda chewed on his lip, awaiting the heaviness on his neck.

The yakuza grinned up at Souda, knowing the other’s head must be spinning.

 Kuzuryu spoke while slipping the collar onto Souda’s neck. 

“You surprised me Kazuichi, achieving somethin’ scientists couldn’t was terribly attractive.”

There was the pounding in Souda’s thin chest, the one he still wasn’t used to whenever Kuzuryu praised him. It gave him the strange urge to rip out his dazed heart and offer it to the yakuza. Especially when the other’s hands clasped underneath the collar, constricting his windpipe like a hungry snake.

“And it was all for me . You really like spoiling me, don’t ya?”

Kuzuryu leisurely slid his thumbs over Souda’s adam’s apple, driving him insane. The mechanic’s stomach rippled eagerly, his skin burned for more contact, for the yakuza to consume all of him. Souda tilted his head back to show more of his throat, letting a shaky breath escape him as Kuzuryu applied more pressure. The harder Kuzuryu pressed on Souda’s throat, the more glorious his noises were. Kuzuryu hummed, satisfied with the soft moans leaving Souda’s divided lips.

A sudden “click” rushed the mechanic back to his current surroundings and halted the pleasure he was soaking in. He groaned over the absence of hands circling his neck; desire for the other flooded his chest. Kuzuryu was a tease and never allowed their intimate moments to escalate. It left Souda wondering if they craved the same relationship. 

Souda yearned for one kiss, one confirmation that Kuzuryu longed for him too.

It didn’t register in Souda’s mind that a silver chain had been fastened to his collar till the yakuza tugged on it. Kuzauryu’s following statement caused the mechanic’s heart to swell. 

“Keeping a dog like you around may be beneficial. You should serve me, give me your life in exchange for purpose.”

A yank on the collar's chain jerked Souda forward, his face now inches from Kuzuryu's smug one. The mechanic was dizzy from the sudden movement and the way Kuzuryu’s eye shined with excitement. Souda couldn’t believe he had done that. Yet again, the mechanic was wanted, this time indefinitely. They stood staring into one another's eyes, searching for assurance and an emotion never spoken. 

There was a flicker of change in Kuzuryu’s eyes, one more delicate than the yakuza usually showed. 

“Stay with me, Kazuichi.”

Kuzuryu’s voice fell. His breathy tone, sounding more desperate than anything. The yakuza subconsciously angled his head to the side, olive orbs on another boy’s lips. His own lips were in the perfect position to slide into the soft, pink ones he stared at. Souda remembered their mouths had fit together like a plugin and an outlet; no matter how different, they always worked. He could feel a faded itch on his hip bones, recalling the way Kuzuryu used to straddle him as the sun fell. Fuck, Souda just wanted to feel Fuyuhiko again, really feel him.

“That’s all I ever wanted; as your dog or slave, I just want to be next to you.”

“Even at the end of the world?”

Souda took a chance. He leaned considerably closer to the yakuza, uniting their breaths into one. The chain hanging from his neck rattled, causing a content sigh to leave his mouth; magenta eyes turned dark. He never imagined he would be claimed, nor did he think it would thrill him so much. This kind of relationship was far greater than the conventional one the old him dreamed of.  

“Especially then.”

Souda purred, a particular heat taking over his body. Kuzuryu laughed, assured of the other’s pledge. He gently placed a hand on the side of Souda’s warm face; the mechanic melted into the touch, keeping his tender gaze on the other. The sight set a missile straight to Kuzuryu’s bleeding heart; he couldn’t hold back his desire any longer. Since their Hope’s Peak Academy days, the yakuza had been steadily losing control, letting his emotions get the best of his logic. The single time he had lost control left him feeling disgusted. Yet, he could never bring himself to pull away from Kazuichi. The mechanic unknowingly had his own collar and chain wrapped around Kuzuryu’s neck; The thought was unpleasant to the yakuza. Despite not liking the idea of someone else, let alone an idiotic perverted boy, having a handle over him. Kuzuryu could not sever the chain from Kazuichi’s hands, no matter how many times he convinced himself it was the best thing to do. 

There were so many risks to falling for another boy. It was dangerous and could cost both of them their lives. Kuzuryu always had an alarm reverberating in his head whenever he stared at Kazuichi a second too long. Or the moments he let his eyes linger on the other’s lips or when his hands ached to touch any part of Kazuichi’s skin. There were so many risks, especially when alone. The need to taste Kazuichi took over Kuzuryu’s judgments for a second time. 

Now the risk was gone, their parents dead, the judgment of the world erased in ashes of those who were ignorant people. 

Kuzuryu could see the hunger oozing from Souda in the way his magenta orbs struggled to stay open with the yakuza so close. Kuzuryu made a decision observing the pink displayed on the other’s cheeks. He decided that he was tired of making Kuzuichi wait for something they both desired; he was ready to rip apart those risks. 

“Such a good, obedient boy. Maybe I should reward you better?”

Kuzuryu pulled Souda forward, sealing the gap between them. He licked Souda’s lips in a starved manner, not entirely going in the cavern but not letting up on the intensity either. The mechanic responded with a low hum while the other nipped on his bottom lip. A scorching sensation coursed through Souda’s veins; this is what he prayed would come after all those months of teasing. 

They parted, somewhat, a string of saliva connecting them. Kuzuryu wickedly smiled, a beautiful gleam in his olive eyes. 

“Ah, that’s not enough, is it?” 

Souda couldn’t get a single word out. He relished all the places Kuzuryu licked and bit, how his hands rested comfortably on his jaw and chain. The mechanic’s brain was so clouded the only form of sound that would pass through his swollen lips was a whine. The yakuza chuckled, and Souda absorbed the amused energy the laugh gave off. The mechanic closed his eyes, begging for more.  

Souda didn’t expect the floor to disappear underneath his feet or air to soar past his body as he fell onto his back. He now laid on a familiar soft fabric, magenta orbs wide open in shock. He met Kuzuryu’s gaze from above him, intimidating but also exhilarating. Anticipation pooled in Souda’s stomach; it was hot and torturous. Whatever Kuzuryu was planning to do to him, the mechanic hoped it would be hard and fast.  

“I didn’t think so.” 

Before Souda could process the yakuza’s complacent comment, the other was on him, jacket discarded. His knee was digging into Souda’s hip just like the first time. However, this time another knee sensually rubbed against his groin, causing him to cry out in pleasure. Souda threw his head back from the impact of finally being touched, and Kuzuryu took this opportunity to attack his throat. The yakuza diligently sucked the skin on Souda’s neck, knowing he bruised easily. Kuzuryu wanted to make an art piece on the mechanic’s pale skin, one covered in dark purple bruises due to satisfaction. 

Fuyuhiko loosely wrapped the chain attached to the collar over his shoulders, tying himself down to Kazuichi and the need to be inside him. The pressure in both of their hearts was enough to cause a nuclear explosion, taking the ruined boys to their limit. 

The rest of the night was filled with loud moans, names being yelled to counter the heavy rain, banging of the bed hitting the solid wall, and the sharp jingle of a chain syncing with two bodies. 

From then on out, the yakuza and mechanic were inseparable. Everywhere Kuzuryu went, there was a chain clutched in his hand, Souda barely a step behind him. They spread despair alongside Peko, who helped lead the mass of clansmen while enforcing fear in people by a single red-eyed glare. The pair of yakuza were astounding at killing, shooting, and slashing. Souda loved seeing them in action. He’d stare in awe whenever Peko got in a power stance, taking off at a pace so fast Souda could hardly see her as she sliced through flesh and bone like butter. She gracefully spun her body and sword to get the perfect angle, ones that caused suffering rather than immediate death. It was indeed a beautiful experience every time. Kuzuryu typically stayed at the center of the clansmen, barking orders while watching over their destruction. Though he did enjoy pulling out his pistol. Every time a runner would start to get a lead on his soldiers, the yakuza noticed, so he took matters into his own hands and shot them down. He always aimed for the leg, causing the hope in their chest to perish. This allowed the clansmen to quickly catch up and club the runner with nailed bats, crowbars, and knives. Souda had never seen Kuzuryu miss a shot. No matter how far, fast, or how much the runner zigzagged Kuzuryu was able to hit them, a couple of seconds and one shot is all it ever took. The tension from the moment the yakuza takes out his favored pistol and stares down its barrel never fails to make Souda hold his breath. It was like the whole world halted in those fateful moments, and the instant a golden bullet hit its target caused the earth to orbit once more. The ending product of someone crying out to be saved was stimulating. 

Although Souda didn’t play a massive part in physically causing mayhem to the survivors of despair, he was the most significant reason for the city’s collapse. At the manor, he spent countless hours expanding the yakuza’s arsenal. Bombs were what the mechanic spent a lot of his time on. It was a special request from Kuzuryu. He was required to make bombs that could bring skyscrapers crumbling to their feet, bombs that could be heard thousands of miles away and blasted so high that they would be considered fireworks. After Souda made enough explosives to appease the yakuza, they went on their deadly patrols to hunt people and destroy the city. However, the mechanic was encouraged to do work outside of the clan as well. Souda had several personal projects he was intent on finishing. He had completed the idea he was most proud of, a large machine resembling a humidifier. The device released large amounts of pollutants such as fossil fuels into the sky, quickly wreaking the ozone that was bound to die someday. The mechanic had often wondered what the end of the world would look like, and the blood bathed sky his machine fabricated was a nightmare come true.

Kuzuryu made sure to compliment the mechanic on the crimson sky he had produced. Praising him on how despair-inducing it was to take away the blue sky everyone adored. Souda used the other’s flattery as motivation to move forward with life and his creations. 

Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi weren’t a standard pairing, but they worked well side by side. Both boys were content with their roles, as was Peko, in their terrorizing trio. The yakuza and his bodyguard did the dirty work; getting blood on their clothes was nothing new to their criminally conditioned minds. Meanwhile, the mechanic provided the weapons the clan needed to function to finish the end times. It was as if the mechanic did the work while the yakuza played the game. 

Together they were able to crush an entire city and its people within a few years. 

The two boys felt lucky enough to live in a disintegrating world opposite the one they were born in. The yakuza and mechanic could intertwine without worry thanks to the ash dancing in the wind and the unbreathable air. 

Despair snuck up on Kuzuryu and Souda the most when they were kissing, fucking, becoming one. It was easy to live without prejudice, racism, transphobia, homophobia, and so much else that brought despair to specific groups of people in a world that was crumbling. People seemingly realized there were other, more important things to worry about than boys kissing boys. It tore through the lover’s hearts to think that the world had to go down in bright flames for them to be together without judgment, to know in a normal everyday life they would have been disowned and beaten by their fathers. They understood that the rise of despair had perhaps saved them from the endless torture of hiding themselves and their desires for one another. 

Though in this day and age, they could hold hands and watch as the sunset turned a blood-curdling red, watching violent orange flames lick the sky in an attempt to burn it as it does the earth. From the lone skyscraper in Tokyo, the couple witnessed the fiery force eagerly trying to burn everything into a single pile of ash.

Fuyuhiko stood on the rocky ledge, observing the recent devastation they caused. After scanning the view below them, his pricing olive orbs rested upon Kazuichi. The yakuza treasured Kazuichi’s magenta eyes that held a dreamy glint as he stood behind the ledge, gazing at the fires and explosions in the distance. Fuyuhiko extended his arm down to the mechanic’s hair, fondly petting the damaged pink strands.  

 “You’re strapped in for the ride, right?”

The yakuza’s question captured Kazuichi’s attention. He met the other’s eyes and basked in the sensation of Fuyuhiko fingers stroking the base of his scalp. The distraction of being petted left the mechanic answering the yakuza’s question in a dazed manner rather than the assured way he imagined would come from his mouth. 

“As long as I’m with you.”

Fuyuhiko tsked, amused. Smirking at Kazuichi, the yakuza spoke again, confident of his assertion. 

“I don’t plan on lettin’ you go anywhere.”

A tug on Kazuichi’s collar accompanied the claim. The mechanic bit his lip and flushed in response. 

Kazuichi took the pull on his neck as an invitation to join the yakuza on the ledge. Taking the other’s hand with his chain clutched in it made a surge of belonging swirl around Kazuichi’s chest. Fire rained before them, but their focus was on one another. They had no care for a world that wouldn’t accept them, nor a world that deserved to die. 

So the two boys kissed as the sun fell into the flames, ignoring the star as it was consumed by the world it once shone above.