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Everything that the world was and was not collided in a brilliant moment of cacophonous silence that echoed and reverberated within Takemichi’s skull. It felt like reality itself were being crumpled like the plastic film on a frozen dinner—the way the floor simply fell out from beneath his feet, and how every color seemed to mute. A heavy beating filled his ears, a war-drum, hummingbird, battle-cry, sort of thing that just overtook everything else. The light that spilled in from arches of purples and blues seemed to wash away the crust of red that seemed to pool in his eyes, and Takemichi—for the life of him—couldn’t argue with how beautiful it looked.
The silence that wasn’t quiet fell over him like a blanket, a dusting of snow just thick enough to cover him from view. There was nothing for him to move for or against, his limbs deadened weight by his sides, and energy flagging.
The revolting taste of pennies that laced his teeth seemed to become weaker, the scent of sweat dissipating the longer he waited. The sun—or, er—the light (because it wasn’t daylight out, right?) before him held a shadow in the center, a protrusion that haloed around Takemichi’s face. It was annoying, aggravating, but also embarrassingly hilarious..
Of course the shadows fell thick and heavy over Takemichi, who was something that should and shouldn’t have existed—limbo as a man! He was a rock in the stream of time, he was a chip in the paint of the universe’s teacup; Takemichi was an abnormality, so of course the world would treat him like it.
He wanted to laugh, he really, really did.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
That was alright though, because worse had happened to him—worse would always happen to him. It was a cosmic joke! He would’ve laughed if he’d had any air left in his lungs to offer, but he would settle for a smile instead. After all, breathing real hard with the way Hina’s pendant was digging into his neck probably wouldn’t have boded well for the thin chain, which felt like it would snap if he so much as thought about gulping down air. So he would be just fine without it—thank you very much—because that little four leaf clover was something so dear he wouldn’t dare harm it.
It was a promise, not simply to Hina, fourteen years old and innocent, young, and alive, but for his Hina, the lady who’d been mowed down alongside her brother and died in a viscerally horrific way without a single soul to save her. It was to Her that Takemichi had made a promise sealed with clovers and gold, and it was one he would never break. Amidst every other problem—Draken, Akkun, Baji, Kazutora, Mikey, Chifuyu, Hakkai, Yuzuha, Taiju, Kisaki—Hina would always come first.
She was first, in a way. Chronologically—no, oh, god no!—but she was first to him: Takemichi’s chronology. It was Hina, it always was, always would be. And he’d been there! Seen it himself! He remembered the flash of a beauty mark and the featherlight laughter that rang a gorgeous orangey-pink as he descended onto unforgiving tracks—he remembered his last thought and it was her.
So he wouldn’t breathe, because doing so would break his emerald crusted promise, and breaking things was something he’d promised himself he’d make a concerted effort to stop doing.
So he smiled. The thought was a precious one that had gotten gummed up in his head ever since he’d brought it back.
The light that danced just out of reach started to look more warm than cold, and for some reason it sounded like joy. It smelled like a green field filled with hidden wishes, a wind that cried out to be heard, and a light that always avoided him. It felt like lunch periods on the roof, and late night bike rides. It felt like staying up too late standing by the phone receiver—stretching the cord just as far as it could go—howling with laughter as Takuya regaled him with the latest happening. It felt like small, soft palms rubbing against his own, like a second backpack swinging from his shoulders as he walked her home. The light looked like a flash of a polaroid, Akkun’s dad calling for funny faces while the boys and girl around him jostled elbows against one another to be in front of everyone else—happy to be manhandled, simply happy to be there—Takemichi took it with a smile that was all teeth.
He was dying.
And yet he smiled.
Blood stained his teeth, dribbling from between cracked lips and trailing down his chin. It cooled on his skin, painted him rusty and abused—face more blemish than clean. He had all his teeth though, and as the light started to fade, as the negative version of the camera flash started to burn out his vision, Takemichi kept his eyes on the shadow and beamed. He couldn’t remember where he was, what the year was, who this person was, but he wouldn’t let himself go out afraid. He was last time—or the first time? Prime?
(He was scared.)
(He was dying.)
When darkness finally overtook him as the thickets covered the sun, Takemichi reached out blindly into the night, trying desperately to grab a hold of the single photograph floating away. He grabbed it with every ounce of strength left in his body, pinching at the corner of the page. It was his life slipping away from him. He wanted his friends back.
(He wanted to live.)
And then darkness swallowed him, and all he knew was black.
Takemichi.
Takemichi.
Takemichi was going to fucking die.
Chifuyu could barely even think with the pain radiating up every bone in his leg, especially when Taiju grabbed Takemichi by the throat and lifted him into the air, Mitsuya’s prone form leaning against one of the pews. Koko and Inui looked on impassively while Hakkai and Yuzuha were both frozen to the floor in fear. Chifuyu was less than ten feet away from Taiju and Takemichi, but the thought of even shifting his leg made him want to vomit.
Takemichi was going to fucking die, and he was going to sit back and watch it happen. The only sound was the horrific sound of the blonde’s throat constricting as he tried to breathe, a gurgle or wheeze slipping out every few moments. His hands made muted collisions as he punched and beat at Taiju’s arm and head. The boy’s boots didn’t so much as graze the ground, the monster before him holding him too far up. His feet were swinging, twitching every which way as he choked.
Fear, something like a physical pain, grew in his lungs until it came spilling out in the form of a gut wrenching wail. (The last time he’d made that noise was when Baji died, and for some reason that thought made him scream harder.) Chifuyu couldn’t tell if he was forming words or if it was simply one single sound. It didn’t matter because Takemichi’s movements were getting slower, his hits going off-target and not even making a sound upon impact.
If it weren't for the malformed wheezes that sometimes slipped by, Chifuyu would’ve thought the boy dead already. He was so still, hands just barely staying latched to Taiju’s wrist. Breathing between screams, Chifuyu did not hear the sound of Mikey’s bike approaching.
When Takemichi’s hands fell to his sides, Chifuyu went silent. There was nothing he could do besides breathe and pray. Over the white-hot terror that scorched through his chest, Chifuyu raggedly pushed himself into a sitting position. He dry-heaved, but he stayed upright. He could do nothing but weep as Taiju’s smile grew.
He couldn’t understand why Taiju was still holding Takemichi, because the boy was quite obviously dead.
Chifuyu thought he was hallucinating when Takemichi’s hands reached out and clamped onto the older man’s face, and genuinely thought he was dying when Taiju began to scream. It took a moment of reflection before Chifuyu realized that Takemichi was digging his thumbs into his captor’s eyes. It took only a moment more before Takemichi was discarded like a burnt out cigarette—flung away and onto the ground.
Taiju stepped backwards, hands clamping over his eyes as blood dripped down his cheeks and towards his chin. He was still screaming, and Takemichi was still unmoving. Despite the tears that began to drip from his eyes, Chifuyu started dragging himself across the floor to his friend. It took an agonizingly long time, but when Mikey kicked in the cathedral door, when Taiju was being dragged out by his two lackeys, Chifuyu was wheezing with exertion. Takemichi’s eyes were open and staring the ceiling, though there was a gentle curl to his lips. The younger didn’t know what to do—what should he be doing? He couldn’t stop the quaking of his hands, or the nausea that climbed to the back of his throat every time he so much as thought about his leg.
Takemichi was smiling though—dazed, and breaths sounding like paper lunch bags—and that was good enough for the younger. He placed a single hand on Takemichi’s shoulder, which prompted the blonde to lazily roll his eyes in the boy’s direction. The one eye that wasn’t swollen shut was bright red, burst capillaries making him look possessed. (His eyes were still blue—the dark tint of a concussion dulling the tone.)
His lips parted, but no sound managed to leave his lips.
Chifuyu just grabbed him a little harder.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he hiccuped, tears making a small pool on the floor below him. “We’re gonna figure something out, okay?”
Takemichi didn’t seem to have understood a word Chifuyu uttered, but he looked warmly upon his friend. Whatever expression clung to his cheeks was foriegn. He seemed grateful.
That was all Chifuyu had to know; he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He couldn’t remember when the hands that were grabbing him suddenly belonged to Draken, nor did he realize Mikey was the one talking softly.
“Takemitchy,” Chiuyu whispered. “He saved us.”
Draken didn’t acknowledge him, just simply maneuvered the kid into a mostly standing position. Chifuyu used his new vantage point to get another look at Takemichi before Draken carted him off, but the sight he was faced with made him start to whimper again.
Mikey was there, kneeling by Takemichi’s body.
And Takemichi’s eyes were closed, smile washed off his face.
Chifuyu suddenly found it very hard to breathe.