Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the first Main Game is over, they’re given only a brief moment of reprieve before being shepherded to the next floor. Like animals, Sou thinks bitterly, as he walks alongside a group of strangers he could hardly call acquaintances, now short of two people.

They’re keeping their distance from him— understandably so, Sou stuffing his hands into his pockets and lowering his face into his scarf. He’d done no favors to himself by challenging Miss Sara Chidouin, and surely earned himself a top spot on the collective shit-list.

Said girl was in the arms of one Keiji Shinogi, the larger man holding her in a firm princess carry. He’s diligent, and if Sou didn’t know any better, he’d say that Keiji looks like the responsible, quintessential police officer he presents himself to be. 

The hush laugh that leaves Sou is borderline hysterical. Keiji Shinogi is not what he seems.

Neither is Sara, who everyone dotes on, who everyone has now placed on a pedestal, their shining, fearless leader. Sou practically wants to tear his hair out in frustration.

He was the one who unlocked the laptop. He was the one who exposed Sara and Kai’s alignment with their kidnappers. So why? Why was no one listening to him? 

Sou’s drained, mentally and emotionally, and when they’re finally familiarized with the next floor’s lobby, Sou is the first to break away from the group to their rooms.

The door behind him closes with a loud slam, and with it saps away every bit of adrenaline that kept him standing. He nearly falls forward, hand catching himself on the carpeted floor as he makes his way towards the bathroom in a rushed, gut-wrenching stumble. The illogical part of his brain, the paranoia that clung to his back and would rake its nails up his neck taunted him for letting himself unravel like this.

The other part of him running on anxiety-fueled autopilot can only focus on dry heaving into the toilet, lanky arms reaching for purchase. He retches futilely, because he hadn’t dared to touch the assortment of food Sue Miley had offered before the Main Game, much less eaten anything before he was kidnapped.

When he had last remembered to eat or what last meal he had skipped didn’t matter anyways, since the cause of his nausea was something far beyond that, far beyond anything he’d ever seen before.

It’s the smell of blood that gets to Sou the most, the way Joe Tazuna’s body had hunched over with a gurgled gasp when the several tubes had stabbed into his body. The sight is burned into his memory, alongside the high-pitched wails of a high school girl and the frantic clicking of a button. Sou had tried to look away, but he can still see the scene play out over and over from behind his screwed up eyes.

He digs his knuckles painfully into the cool, tiled floor and reminds himself that he’s alive. 

When the static retreats, when he feels less like his head is at the other side of the room, Sou brings himself off to the sink and douses his face in cold water. Even in the darkness of the tiny bathroom everything is far too suffocating and raw. The space is filled only with the sounds of deliberate breathing, and Sou’s eyes shakily trace down his panic-stricken reflection in the mirror to the scarf draped across his neck.

You’re alive thanks to me. Hiyori’s laugh is soft in his ear, and his heart jumps to his throat at the sound. Don’t you think some gratitude is in order, my lovely Shin? 

Shin whips his head around, because the voice is so teasingly smooth, so distinctly Hiyori, that he expects the green-haired man to tower behind him, hands clasped behind his back and head leaning forward like he always did when he’d try to startle Shin for his attention.

No one’s there, of course, and a heavy feeling of ambivalence— of nauseating relief and shame and longing sinks to the pit of his stomach, prickling under his skin.

It sounded just like Hiyori, from the smile in his tone to the mirth that would light up his voice when Shin would react in fear, like he was privy to a joke Shin wasn’t in on. He pivots from the thought immediately, pressing his palms to his eyes with a groan. To miss that— surely people would think he was insane.

But would it be so crazy to miss Hiyori? Time— long nights spent alone in their far too lonesome apartment had long ebbed away at the rose-tinted gaze Shin had of their relationship, but he could never deny that Sou Hiyori was an essential part of Shin Tsukimi. 

Hiyori had been his only friend. His only friend who had left Shin’s life just as quickly as he had appeared, and left behind the broken pieces of a person in his wake. When Hiyori would talk about how the world wouldn’t hesitate to trample Shin’s naivety with a grin, Shin was convinced that he surely couldn’t survive with Hiyori.

“But that wouldn’t happen as long as I’m here to protect you, right Shin?” Hiyori would reassure with the brightest of smiles. And Shin would sheepishly grin back, because when Hiyori smiled at him it seemed like the whole room would uplift with his brilliant light. Shin hadn’t done anything to deserve basking in its warmth, heart fluttering and face a warm blush to match. 

He adjusts the scarf adorning his neck. No, Hiyori wasn’t the kind of person you could simply shake off. 

Shin wanders out from the bathroom. The room he’d been granted was enveloped in a warm light, and across the massive bed he swears he can see the blurry silhouette of Hiyori in the pitch black windows. He climbs into bed, curling in on himself to nurse his still-aching stomach.

The feeling of nausea is gone, displaced by a pain that’s far more deep-rooted and familiar.

If Hiyori was here, if Hiyori could be here, he wouldn’t falter. Because Hiyori wouldn’t sink into a panic attack at the thought of reentering a room full of people who hated him, or be tormented by the final words of a high school boy he had just sent to his death. Shin clenches his jaw, but doesn’t dare to let his tears fall. The hallucination watches him with judging eyes, smirking. It has gone silent, every patronizing remark and condescending word written on its face.

Hiyori was self-assured, confident, always in control. In a twisted game of ex-detectives and murderers and 15.5 percents, Sou Hiyori could flourish where Shin Tsukimi had been doomed to die.

Shin buries his face into his scarf, and in his bleary gaze he wishes for the ghost of Sou Hiyori to move.

Chapter Text

Sou trends through the lobby to the dining area, footsteps light as he steps through the unusually quiet room. It took a bit of trial and error, but Sou has come to learn the optimal time to grab food undisturbed.

He takes a tentative peek into the empty room, satisfied that his thought process had been correct. It was better if he just limited any interactions he had with the others, lest he accidentally contradict his newly developed “amnesia.” He was certain that Reko was going to knock a real concussion into him when they found him “attacked,” but the adults of the group either didn’t care or were truly incompetent to think forcing Kanna on him was their best course of action. Irresponsible and useless.

Sou leans forward to search through the cabinets, surprised at how well-stocked their kidnappers had kept the pantry. They were stuck for three days before the Sub-Game, but the kitchen’s abundance of cans, produce, and snacks made it seem like they could host feasts for all three meals of the day if they really wanted to.

Hiyori may have been an amazing chef, but Shin didn’t inherit any cooking expertise with the name, so he pushes all of the fancy ingredients aside, eyes lighting up when he spots several ramen cups in the very back.

If living alone taught him anything, it taught him to cut as many corners as possible when it came to food. The keurig coffee machine on the counter was way more fancy than anything Sou had ever owned, but he had seen Keiji use it excessively enough to know that it was already prepared. With the press of a few buttons, clear hot water pours into his cup. 

A nice and quick dinner.

“That’s a sad looking dinner, meow.”

Sou’s heart leaps in his chest, the man whipping his head around to notice one Gin Ibushi behind him, sitting at a table. Unimpressed.

Sou can feel his agitation growing. “They should really put a bell on you,” he mutters. So much for a peaceful meal.

If Gin was waiting here, then it was only a matter of time before someone else came by to keep him company. It was rare to see the younger boy alone. “Have you just been watching me the whole time? Where are any of your babysitters?”

“I’m not a baby!” Gin’s face is covered by a mask, but even Sou can see that he’s pouting underneath. “Big sis Sara and Mr. Policeman said they’d make me dinner after they finished the Hide and Seek attraction, but...” He places his chin on the table, kicking his legs back and forth impatiently. 

“They’re fine, if that’s what you’re worried about,” interrupts Sou. He’s already tuning out of the conversation, pointedly sitting down on the far end of the table. “Miss Sara isn’t one to die so easily.”

He hated to admit it, but the high schooler was reliable in every attraction they had done together. When Sou had been too slow to react, Sara was the one who had seized his arm, grip tight and unapologetic as she pulled him down to duck into their minecart. The monster had screeched past their heads, and only when the adrenaline had worn off had Sou realized that Sara may have just saved his life. For the time being, anyway.

Sou harshly jabs his chopsticks into the noodles.

He leans his elbow on the counter, deep in thought as the kitchen falls into an uneasy silence. It’s only when Gin’s stomach growls does Sou pause.

The younger boy shifts in the corner of his eye, pressing his plush cat closer to himself. He says nothing. Sou turns his cup away. 

It’s not your responsibility. He tells himself, pointedly ignoring Gin and taking another bite. No one’s expecting you to take care of him. 

But it happens again. And again. Gin doesn’t say a word, and on the third time Sou can’t stay quiet.

“You don’t have to wait for their permission to eat, you know.” Sou says. “It’s their fault for taking so long anyways.”

“I don’t want to ruin my appetite if big sis Sara is making food!” Gin protests. He frowns, resting his head in his cat-mittened hands. “Plus... Mom always makes the best meals, so I’ve never cooked before, meow.”

“Well nine isn’t a bad age to learn,” shrugs Sou. 

“I’m twelve years old, woof! You’d better not forget it, loner!” 

“Twelve? Nine? Makes no difference to me— anyone can make a good cup of ramen. I’ve even done all of the hard work for you.” He gestures to the coffee machine.

Gin makes a face. “Mom says that if I eat too many noodles then I’ll become one, woof! If that happened, I’d become a lanky-noodle goblin like you.”

“...Lanky-noodle goblin?” Sou echoes. 

“Mr. Policeman called you that, meow. He also said that if you tried messing with me, he’d snap you in half like a noodle too!” Gin held up two curled mittens, as if he was holding dry linguine— or Sou’s poor spine, and split it violently.

“ Oh did he? ” Sou pulls his scarf higher, grinning to hide his unnerved face. What kind of imagination did Keiji even have? He’d have some choice words for the ex-detective later.

Gin stubbornly crosses his arms and actually harrumphs, and Sou pinches the bridge of his nose as another muffled gurgle sounds through the air. 

Spending most of his time with Kanna, who’s generally very placid and obedient, Gin’s snark puts him at a loss for words.

“Look,” he finally says. “You don’t need to eat any noodles, okay?” He makes his way to the stove, snatching an obnoxiously pink apron hanging nearby. “Just watch.”

Sou figures that Gin is probably a picky eater, so he settles on making a light soup he spotted earlier. Miso soup was his favorite meal, and if he was going to pull his weight around to cook, it was going to be for something he actually liked. 

He begins stirring the water in the pot, and from the corner of his vision he spots the smaller boy hop from his seat to lean on the counter. Gin’s eyes dart between him and the pot, as though he was trying to sniff out any devious scheme Sou may have been planning.

Either Sou passed this test or hunger won out, because Gin abruptly jumps up, bumping into his side.

“I want to add the packets, woof!” He announces, eagerly reaching forward to pour the powder base into the pot. Sou yelps when Gin’s cape whips dangerously close to the open flame, and the man had to spend a considerable amount of time convincing Gin to take off his cat-mittens, but the two eventually fall into an easy rhythm. Sou is mostly silent as Gin prattles on about ingredients to add.

Boiling water can hardly be called cooking, but Sou doesn’t pay that any mind. He moves his scarf to the side as he maneuvers around the kitchen. He’d really missed cooking with company. The lack of a teasing face adorned in an apron and wonderfully prepared meals was one of the many things that made his empty apartment that much heavier.

The kitchen air is light and warm with the billowing aroma of miso and the friendly chatter of a young, carefree child. Sou can’t help but feel nostalgic for the idealized version of something he never really had.

—

Gin’s smiling from ear to ear when they’re done, staying true to his word and taking only a small amount of soup. It looks much better than the wrapping advertised, now bursting with tofu and different vegetables found from the pantry.

“I want to see when big sis Sara and Mr. Policeman try it, woof!” He’s practically bouncing in place, beaming with pride. “Do you think it’s good enough, loner?”

“If they don’t like it,” scoffs Sou, “they’d be crazy.”

“It has to be perfect,” Gin declares. “Because once they love it, then I can give it to Mom! When I see Mom again, I want to show her that I’m the best chef, meow!” 

He squeezes Mew-chan in his arms, much to the amusement of Sou. “I’ll make her a hundred, a thousand yummy meals so she can eat when she comes home tired, woof!”

The gravity of their situation, the if you make it out alive lingers in the back of Sou’s mind, but he allows himself to get swept away by Gin’s enthusiasm.

“At least try it yourself first.”

“That means you too, woof! Maybe you aren’t so bad after all, loner!”

Sou chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets sheepishly. The younger boy brings up a hand to pull down his mask, beginning to take small sips. 

He knew he was only receiving such praise because Gin surely didn’t know any better, but it didn’t wane the pleasant warmth in his chest.

So he doesn’t think twice when he reaches forward to pat Gin on the head, hand resting right between his hood’s ears. 

The fabric feels soft and plush against his palm. It reminds him of the cats that would linger around his apartment, who’d press their heads to the back of his hand when he’d kneel down to feed them. 

In a way he guesses Gin is no different, incredibly small and naive and looking for the tiniest hint of comfort and validity. Someone who would trust with his whole heart, and follow anyone who’d help him to the ends of the earth. 

It’s not until Gin smiles back, leaning into his hand, that Sou realizes what he’s done.

The spell breaks.

He quickly withdraws his hand like he’d been burned and turns away, already yanking the apron from his waist.

Ever oblivious, Gin only tilts his head. 

“... Is something wrong, loner?” 

“No.” Sou answers abruptly, leveling his voice. He should really go. He has to go. “I helped you, didn’t I? That means we’re done. My job here is done.”

Gin lowers his head, an uncomfortable weight hanging over the room. 

“Y-You could at least try some, meow...” Gin’s not making eye contact. “You looked like you really wanted to try it, woof...”

“Well, you thought wrong.” he says curtly. Sou ignores a pang of guilt, determined to build back his frigid exterior. “Besides, I have more important things to tend to. This has wasted enough of my time.”

It came out harsher than he meant it to and Gin falls completely silent. Sou nearly falters in his stride.

But the last thing he needed was another child to start depending on him too.

Sou disappears from the doorway, and Gin can only watch, hands holding onto a meal that had begun to run cold.

Chapter Text

Sou has slept just over 4 hours in the past two nights.

He knows this because he’d been restless upon arriving, and on the second night he’d spent the majority of his time staring at the analog clock that hung over his door and pacing in his newly-shared room, now occupied by a child. 

When Kanna had knocked on his door to begin her duty of “watching him,” she had insisted on sleeping on the stiff arm chair at the corner of the room, to Sou’s incredibility. They had spent a good chunk of the night arguing, insisting the other take the bed, until Sou finally walked right over to the corner of the room and planted himself like a tree onto the cushion.

He wasn’t the strongest in their group— far from it, but even Kanna was no match for his dead weight, no matter how much she had pushed on his back or pulled on the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Kanna had reluctantly laid down on the bed, arms folded, declaring that she would stay up until Sou stopped being so stubborn and switched. 

When her soft snores filled the air only minutes later, Sou couldn’t help but grin to himself in brief triumph.

So that’s why Sou had been unable to get comfortable. He’d spent the night soaking in his neuroticism, counting and recounting his and Kanna’s Clear Chips and running by every ideal attraction pairing possible until the sun rose.

Like how the rise of the moon brought along the most turbulent of tides, Sou’s mind had always been a storm in itself. “ It’s what makes you so fascinating,” he had been told a lifetime ago, like he was some kind of lab mouse meant to be provoked and scrutinized.

Kanna had asked him if he was okay before leaving their room, and had tugged on his jacket and asked again before leaving to follow Reko into the kitchen. 

Sou had wiped the drowsiness from his eyes, steeled his face, and did what liars did best. 

Such a question didn’t really matter when they had three days to play along with the kidnappers’ games. When your kidnappers told you to jump, the only appropriate answer was “how high?” 

Deceiving Kanna was simple enough, but his exhaustion must have been obvious to Keiji’s ever perceptive eye. When Sou had arrived at the Quick Draw attraction looking like one strong breeze could knock him over, Keiji had begrudgingly taken the initiative.

Sou didn’t mind. He’d basically led the entire group by the hand during the first Main Game, so it was only fair that Keiji helped him out this one time. He’d chosen him for this attraction for a reason. 

Keiji may have been an ex -police officer, but having gone through the academy must’ve meant that he had fast reflexes. He couldn’t imagine how many situations Keiji had been in where he’d have to keep a level-head, assess a situation in a moment or draw his weapon when he needed to. He was a capable man, perfect for Quick Draw— clearly indicative by his 9.5 percentage.

Plus, Keiji was powerful. Incredibly so. If there was some kind of physical confrontation included in the game, he’d certainly want Keiji on his side.

With his big, powerful arms. Muscles that could certainly break him in half if he really wanted them to. 

That particular intrusive thought had left Sou a mess the night before, holding his heated face in his darkened room.

Sou snaps out of his thoughts, harshly pulled back and waking up to the peril of now as the life-sized puppet slashes at Keiji with its sword, its path illuminated in a brilliant blaze. 

The room is dimly lit except for its grand stage, the kabuki-themed backdrop looking as though it were ripped straight from an old movie. The crowd, filled to the brim with strangely painted dolls don’t even cheer when Keiji’s opponent wins the turn.

Keiji stumbles back on the platform, bringing up a curled first to wipe at his mouth as the puppet jeers and returns to its default stance. It stands tall, like some kind of TV series samurai, despite the wear of its wooden limbs at transparent strings. It just needs to lose one last round.

From the low vantage of his seat, Sou decides to make a bold move and leans forward.

“Keiji,” He shouts in a whisper, side-eying the audience members around him. They’re stoic, paying no mind to his transgression.

“ Not a great time right now, Sou.” Keiji’s eyes darted over to momentarily acknowledge him. He’s still making an effort to school his expression to its typically relaxed demeanor, but even from afar Sou can spot the cracks in his facade. 

The puppet’s sword casts a foreboding red glow against Keiji’s sweat-slickened face. Sou can’t find it in him to blame him.

He needs to make this quick. “No, I—I think I know what he’s going to pull next. I have a premonition.”

For what Sou lacks in strength he makes up for in strategy. He’s long become accustomed to understanding the importance of keeping a sharp eye and lying in wait. 

The doll’s subtle tell in its sleight of hand. The way all three dolls had returned to the same position, robotic and consistent, reaching behind them to grab— 

“It’s a gun.” He blurts out.

Keiji freezes at his words, hands twitching yet unmoving at his side. Why wasn’t he reacting?

“It’s going to be a gun,” Sou repeats, white knuckles gripping the stage as the doll readies itself. “You need to grab the gun! Keiji! ”

Sou’s face falls when the doll strikes first, precise and instantaneous. It knocks Keiji to the ground, disarming the larger man with a crash. The blade stops inches from his face.

The buzzer blaring at Keiji’s final mistake is accompanied by the uproarious laughter of the crowd, and Sou winces at the assault on his ears.

From where he’s seated, there’s no way he can see Keiji shaking, bringing a hand up to rest on his face.

Keiji’s distress is barely visible amidst the chaos, and Sou’s lagging mind is still lingering on the hows when the dolls suddenly grab on his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Keiji, everyone's staring at him, he realizes. 

A wave of exhaustion washes over his body in protest as Sou is led forward. He feels like he’s being shoved from every direction, in a sea of dolls, catching himself with every sway of the current. Sou blinks away the haze. 

“Shit—” If Sou wasn’t mentally present before he certainly was now, being ushered forward like the next in line to the guillotine.

Keiji’s gone and it’s just him on stage— the final act. He tries to hide how stricken his expression must’ve been as he sizes up his opponent, posed to strike him from where he stands.

Sou just needs to focus. He digs the heels of his palms into his skull and closes his eyes for a little too long, if only to wake himself up for a moment. It’s his first mistake. 

One .

The flaming doll’s swipe is deliberately far enough to cause him no harm, even alongside Sou’s delayed reaction.

The path of fire licks at his clothes. The heat momentarily stings at his wrists and serves as a reminder of just how painful his death would be if he doesn’t get this right. Panic rising. 

He thinks about how unfair it was for the doll to not even give him the courtesy of being ready, but stops the thought when he realizes the Death Game was just a big, unfair ‘fuck you’ to him anyways.

Two .

Sou sees the doll’s tell, but swears as his useless hands fumble to grab the crowbar mere seconds too late.

The puppet’s next strike is wild, far less forgiving, a frenzy of flames dancing in front of his face. 

The force catches Sou by surprise, and he can only watch as it hooks into the crook of his weapon, securing itself and flinging it from his grip.

The crowbar skids across the stage, disappearing from the spotlight that engulfs him before dropping into the crowd with a dull clank. 

And with it goes every composed thought in Sou’s head.

Even in the vast space they were in, Sou suddenly feels like there isn’t enough air to breathe. 

One of his three weapons is gone . 

There are a million threads before him— to run or to fight or to crumble with his head in his hands and die but when he searches for the right choice, his brain goes absolutely blank with panic. 

He had pushed his body to its breaking point and now he was going to die for it. 

He’s unraveling.

Three .

“Sou!” A bark pierces through the quiet air like an order, and the electricity of it all jolts down his spine. 

He whips his head around to see Keiji, hand at the edge of the stage in a white-knuckled grip. 

The blond man looks disheveled, and quite frankly pissed, unrecognizable to the ever composed “okie-dokie” man he had walked alongside earlier in the Rubble Corridor. 

“GET A GRIP!”

Sou’s panic reaches a crescendo. He feels possessed when he pivots on his foot, fingers locking onto the handle of the knife. 

Sou thrusts it forward, two hands clasping onto the weapon like a lifeline. His whole body is trembling, and only one thought rings ever clear throughout his mind.

I don’t want to die. 

A buzzer sounds from far away. 

The buzzer that breaks the tension is one of victory, as the crowd erupts once more into cheer and applause. The doll falls apart right before his eyes, extinguished pieces of wood bowling over onto the ground at his feet.

It’s almost comedic how confetti begins to rain down from the ceiling, as if it were just one big show. Bright colors, dancing in the stale air, fluttering downwards. Did they expect him to give a bow?

Sou falls too, like a marionette with its strings cut, upright on his knees. 

“... Haha...” Sou’s panting, taking in big gasps of air, but hardly minds with the wave of relief washing over him.

I'm not dead. The thought alone nearly knocks him over. He catches himself with an unsteady arm.

“...Ahaha... we did it...!” Sou’s vision swims. He looks for Keiji in the crowd, but in the ocean of fluorescent dots he can’t quite manage to pinpoint dirty blond hair. It’s nauseating to keep up. 

“...ah...” A blurry silhouette approaches from the corner of his vision, but Sou finds it too exhausting to keep his eyes open any longer. 

Keiji’s too late to react when Sou collapses.

—

Shin remembers when he’d pushed himself to this point before. He’d put his head down for only a moment on his work desk, but had fallen asleep and slowly cracked open his eyes to Hiyori’s amused face, the blue light emitting from his computer casting shadows onto the man’s sharp features.

It was a good memory, he recalls, because even though he’d been caught blasting the heat again , lulled to rest by the warmth of their apartment and the tiredness in his bones, Hiyori hadn’t chided him. For a man of so many words, he’d for once been absolutely quiet.

There was no need for words, when Shin already knew what the man wanted to say. What he had always told him before.

Shin... you can’t even take care of yourself.

The thought digs under his skin in the worst way, but Shin can’t find it in him to care when Hiyori’s warm hand rested on his forehead, lithe fingers lightly caressing his hair.

Shin’s eyes had fluttered closed, allowing himself to melt away.

He didn’t mind feeling useless if it meant someone would comfort him. 

The hand that’s holding his forehead now is calloused, far too big to be anyone he can discern. The heat that surrounds him is far less soft and intimate, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him upright. 

He stays like this, adrift, until the unknown hand reaches down to start slapping him on the cheek. 

Sou’s hands instinctively fly up to pry the invasive hands away, and the unintelligible mumbling doesn’t even sound like it's from him as he’s easily bat away.

His eyes wildly blink open to Keiji’s face, creased in mild concern. The brightness of the room peeks out behind blond bangs, deepening the dark circles that line his eyes.

Sou shrugs himself out of Keiji’s grasp, face heating at just how much the man was in his personal bubble. He scoots away, snatching up his beanie from the ground and firmly planting it on his head.

To Sou’s surprise, Keiji simply lets him go. Aloof as ever, the larger man moves to lean his head back, staring outwards to the empty hall. There’s no snide remark, no scathing insult to anticipate. 

Sou buries himself deeper into his hat. The world still feels like it’s upside down in a way, even aside from his waning dizziness.

They sit there in silence, covered in confetti and leaning against the back wall of the stage before Keiji finally speaks up.

“... Good job. It was a close call, but you managed to win the day back there.” We would have both died horrible deaths otherwise goes unsaid.

“No thanks to you.” Sou snorts. “You don’t get to judge how well I did.”

“Wahaha... I suppose not.”

Sou pulls closer into himself, resting his cheek against his knees. He shoots Keiji a dirty look from across his self-established boundary. Was this really a laughing matter?

“How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy. Absolutely stellar!” Sou gestures to the empty hall, voice echoing into its vastness. “We’ve survived this attraction, haven’t we? Onto the next one.” 

Another attraction, another sleepless night. Onto the next cycle of hell.

“You don’t have to get smart with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The lie is effortless. “I’m fine.”

“People who are fine don’t just fall over like that, Sou.” 

“Well, I guess I’m not all people.” Sou catches the flicker of annoyance at Keiji’s clenched mouth, and he breaks out his cheekiest smile. “Since when did my wellbeing become any of your business?”

It’s like Keiji’s tired of looking at him, the way he turns away to rest a hand on his neck. 

“...You know, if you put half the energy you had put into lying during the Main Game toward helping us, we’d be able to go a long way.”

He wants to roll his eyes, to bite back that yes, he’d been helpful during the Main Game when he revealed Sara and Kai’s connection to their kidnappers, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s just like Keiji to subtly try to catch him in his own web.

“You might’ve forgotten,” Sou says, “but I can’t seem to recall what happened during the Main Game.” His ‘latest’ injury wasn’t real, but he can still feel the ghost of the bump Nao had given him, even now.

“Guess that’s what happens when you get whacked on the noggin too many times— so sorry about that.”

“Hm,” Keiji snorts in disbelief. “Right. Keep your secrets.”

Sou’s content to end the conversation right there, satisfied that he and Keiji would never see eye to eye in a meaningful way. 

Keiji would hate him for being a liar, Sou would hate him for being underhanded, and that’s the way things would stay. Hypocrites that they were, and would forever be. 

But his next comment strikes a nerve, a little too close to home, like it was a comment not just meant for Sou Hiyori. 

“Just don’t be surprised when you find yourself alone and helpless.”

Poor, poor Shin. 

“Now wait just a damn minute—” Sou turns his whole body to glare, bristling, hands digging into the ground. “Who are you to tell me that, of all people?”

“Sou—“

What gave Keiji the right, to act like he was deserving of all of this?

“Don’t think that nobody notices how you sleaze up to Miss Sara, trying to hide behind her charisma to stay alive." He spits. "‘ Rely on me‘ this, ‘ cause you’re cute’ that . I see right through you.”

“ Sou —”

I'm just trying to survive. 

“Must be nice to feel so safe and secure being Miss Sara’s right hand man.” He holds his chest and sneers. “Tell me Keiji— how many secrets is our dear Mr. Policeman keeping from everyone? ”

The temptation to tell Keiji that he knows the truth of his ex-occupation is so palpable that Sou has to hold himself in from blurting it out. 

To expose the papers would surely mean to drag himself down too, but a morbidly curious part of him wonders how Keiji would act when everyone would turn against him, when the votes would tally up and the walls would close in around him.

Alone and helpless? He had no idea what he was capable of. He feels lightheaded with power. 

Sou knows he can damn Keiji Shinogi straight to hell , but he has no intentions of going there with him, so he waits for the man’s response with bated breath. 

“Sou, breathe.”

“What, are you trying to mother me now? I’m breathing just fine, actually, thank you very—“

Keiji reaches across the gap, and Sou visibly startles when the man clasps a hand on his shoulder. “ Slower . You’re hyperventilating.”

Sou’s eyes flicker from Keiji’s hand to his face, burying himself deeper into his clothing. A part of him wants to flinch away, to lash out like an injured animal would when someone’s hand traced a little too close to its scars. 

But the presence at his side is grounding and he can’t find any trace of insincerity in Keiji’s words. 

So Sou follows Keiji’s exaggerated breaths, watching the rise and fall of the other man’s chest, and following its rhythm until he feels more like himself. 

He wonders how many times Keiji had done this before, how many times on the job he’s had to help someone in this same way, in their worst moments. Did it come naturally to him? 

Satisfied, Keiji rises to his feet. He towers over him, and Sou suddenly becomes aware of just how small he must look in comparison. Like a lanky-noodle goblin… or whatever Gin had said.

“A what?” Keiji’s eyes crinkle in amusement, and Sou mentally punches himself. Did he seriously just say that out loud? 

“Look,” the taller man offers an outstretched hand, and Sou’s eyes trace up the length of his forearm. “I don’t like the way you act, Sou. You’ve proven yourself time and time again to be nothing but an uncooperative liar.”

“But you seem to hold something important to all of us— knowledge to break this game.” Keiji says. “Kanna thought you were worth keeping alive during the Main Game because of it. Even despite your manipulation.”

“Do right by her decision and take care of yourself, yeah? She’s depending on you too, and you’re going to be nothing but deadweight if you don’t pull yourself together. You’re not the only one unable to rest through this.”

“You’re on our side, aren’t you? You’d best do well to start acting like it.”

Keiji’s words ring true and the hand offered is one of peace, an uneasy olive branch between two enemies. Bathed in the stage lights, Keiji stands tall, and the hand looks as though it were reaching to save him. 

And isn’t that what he wanted all along?

But nothing good is ever what it seems for Shin Tsukimi, and the last person to offer him such warmth had left him in pieces, mangled and broken and utterly beyond recognition. He wouldn’t be able to withstand that damage. Not again.

Sou, albeit shakily, chooses to stand on his own. 

“We’re all trying to stay alive, that might be true, but I’ll make it through this Death Game my own way.” Sou says. He builds up that barrier once more, brick by brick. “We can agree to disagree, can’t we? Thanks for helping me and all, but I think that’s only fair considering I saved us both. No debts or favors owed between us."

Keiji has nothing left to say, and Sou scoffs. He brushes past him to leave.

Keiji’s the protector and Sou’s the villain. That was what the world wanted to see, and Sou would do anything to uphold that order if it meant he’d be able to live to see another day. 

They walk off the stage, and continue to fulfill the roles they were meant to play.