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Neither one of them knew what was happening.
Neither one of them knew what was going to happen.
Neither one of them knew what to do.
The scenes outside sent adrenaline into the very cores of their beings.
Shun, handgun in each hand, shooting at something that was definitely not human. (Sure, they looked human, but to call them as such was a statement that could never ring true).
Kazuma, perched atop the building they sheltered in, gazing down a scope with intimidating precision.
Goro, shotguns raining down indiscriminately, taking down even the toughest of targets with an unnatural ease.
Ryuji, the strangest of all, his right arm replaced with a Gatling gun as he tore through his prey without so much as sweating.
In the midst of the chaos, sheltered away from the rest of the world, were Masayoshi and Tatsuo.
“R-Really, Ma-chan,” Tatsuo laughed awkwardly from his position on the floor. “I’m okay, promise!”
Masayoshi was crouched in front of Tatsuo with a frown on his face, a first-aid kit’s contents strewn across the floor as he grumbled and searched through the items.
While the scenery wasn’t exactly somewhere Masayoshi thought he’d ever find himself, he just had to make do. Gorgeous velvet sheets atop a soft mattress, gentle pink lighting, and the faint smell of sex that just couldn’t get washed away. Yeah, a love hotel wouldn’t have been his first choice of shelter. It wouldn’t have even made the top ten. Still, Masayoshi had to make do with what he had.
“What part of actively bleeding screams okay to you, Shinada-san?” The detective countered, kissing his teeth as he heard the maniacal laughter (and ensuing “Kiryu-chan! Did ya see that?!”) just outside the window. Trust that one-eyed freak to see this whole thing as a game.
Masayoshi had tried, really. He had tried so hard to keep everyone out of harm’s way. That was his duty, he felt, as a police officer. And yet, Tatsuo was before him, blood oozing steadily from his thigh. Guilt washed through the detective as shaking hands grabbed the scissors and began to cut away at Tatsuo’s jeans with a muttered apology.
“You know, usually some stuff comes first before I get strip-” Tatsuo’s verbalisation of his thoughts got cut short.
“Just shut up and let me patch you up, okay? And I’ll buy you some new jeans.”
Silence fell upon the room as Masayoshi got to work. How did this even happen? Yesterday, everything was fine. Yesterday, he and Tatsuo spent the day together, laughing at stupid jokes and sharing drinks. Yesterday… What good was it to be thinking about yesterday? It was now that mattered. It was the man sat before him that mattered. It had always been him. Since the two of them had met, it had always been Tatsuo.
Now wasn’t the time for that.
Masayoshi apologised as the cold alcohol wipe stung at the seams of the deep gash decorating Tatsuo’s thigh, congealed blood sticking to the tan skin and dark hairs adorning it. He was used to blood, being a detective. He was used to way worse than this, actually. So why was it hurting him so much to see?
“Uh.. Ma-chan… Are you okay? You’re crying,” Tatsuo’s hesitant voice spoke, looking at the detective with a forlorn expression. Was he? How can someone not even realise?
It was only after those soft words entered the air that Masayoshi felt a hiccup catch in his throat, pressing a hand to his mouth to silence the ensuing sobs that tore their way through his lungs. It had been years since he’d cried so hard. Fuck, this stupid zombie apocalypse was catching up to him.
“I was supposed to protect you, Shina- … Ta-chan. My one fucking job was to protect you, and I fucked it up,” the detective sobbed, throwing the wipe down to the floor as he heaved in breath after breath of ugly cries. “I can’t lose you. What if it was worse than this? What if-.”
“But it isn’t worse. If you didn’t push me out of the way, it would have been way worse! Heh, besides, it hurts me more to see you so sad,” Tatsuo interjected, a smile that he hoped was reassuring spread across his lips.
Masayoshi just stared. He stared and stared and stared for what felt like forever. Until whatever words he could possibly come up with died in the back of his mouth and made way for a choked sound of regret as he lunged towards Tatsuo. The embrace was bone crushing, like every fibre of Masayoshi’s being was trying to fuse with Tatsuo’s own. Like every atom in his body was trying to express the love and care he felt in his core. Those warm, athletic arms wrapped around Masayoshi made him feel safe. He could only hope that Tatsuo had the same feeling.
“You okay now?” The ex-baseball player whispered, his gentle breath tickling Masayoshi’s ear, “... I saw Dojima-kun in a dress earlier.”
The sheer absurdity of that sentence ripped Masayoshi from his depressing inner monologue, pulling his head away from Tatsuo’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “You what?”
“Yeah, Majima-san made him do it.” Tatsuo laughed. “He looked pretty good, actually. Then Majima-san must’ve said something, ‘cause Dojima-kun looked ready to kill him! I should ask about that…” Masayoshi couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, letting his forehead drop back down to Tatsuo’s shoulder.
Things would be okay, he thought.
Things would be okay, so long as he had Tatsuo by his side.