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”Okie dokie, everyone! Eeeeeeeeyes-on! I-bu-ki!”
The musician's voice pierces through the restaurant, hooking everyone's attention back on her. Fuyuhiko turns too, slowly. He's curious but doesn't want to appear overtly interested. The idea's stupid anyway.
Finishing his stale breakfast he regards the woman bouncing in the middle of the space, short hair bobbing to a beat only she can hear.
”Did you perhaps speak to Agent Hisa?” Sonia asks, polite smile on her face. She stands in front of Ibuki, palms pressed together at her front. The image of control, a mannered figure. Just like before Fuyuhiko muses. He can't blame her, can't judge or understand her.
They're all just surviving ( suffocating ) and Fuyuhiko doesn't think he has a right to comment on anyone's manner of keeping themselves sane.
”Ahaha! Yes yes yes, yes that I did!” Ibuki jumps up-up-up, on her tippy-toes for long enough to stall gravity just to crash back down on the melamine wrapped floor. Fake wood, it rings dull against her standard issued boots.
Beside him, he can feel Kazuichi's gasp rattle his arm laying on the table. He doesn't turn again to look, there is no need. The excitement that that idiot denied existing radiates off him like a furnace, warming Fuyuhiko's side with quick breaths that get caught in his hair strands.
”Spit it out already, you rainbow vomit looking spaz! I want to finish eating in peace!” Hiyoko quips, food long forgotten on her plate. Mahiru chides her, telling her to be patient. The whole room is waiting with bated breath for the verdict.
Ever since Ibuki had mentioned it a couple days prior, it had been the only thing on everyone's minds. A ray of normalcy after eight months of living in a world that they've made create, a normal that Fuyuhiko couldn't believe any of them felt they deserved. Stupid he thinks, leaning forward just the same.
”Weeeeeeell....” Ibuki fixes her eyes on one of the beams above them, smile wide and eyes blank. ”She said there are no funds for Christmas or New Year festivities, or for a party, or for gifts or more food or decorations-”
Of course. Why would there be any for them? The mood is a pricked balloon, lumpy with unsaid hope that is pouring out into the aggregated floorboards-
”But! In a stroke of genius, I, Ibuki Mioda, asked if we could celebrate anyway! Palm trees are the same as fir trees anyway, they're both made out of trees!” Ibuki's voice warbles, faint minor scale betraying her sadness.
”The lady speaks truth!” Gundham feels the need to interject, bringing one of his hamsters to point at Ibuki. ”I have seen it myself, the darkness in the plant's bark, honey of hell that they all possess-!”
”He gets it!” Ibuki laughs, anxiety induced laughter more on the easy going side now that someone has taken her news in stride. ”Hisa said the big Boss can't give us a free day on Tuesday Tuesday , but she'll talk to him to maybe let us finish earlier! So we can decorate and all that jazz! And since the next day's Christmas everyone gets half a day off work, no haggle on my part!” She hops on the spot, feet planting with a thud and shouts: ”How does that sound, everyone?!”
A round of cheers rises from the restaurant, louder in part due to Akane and Nekomaru's hearty shouts. Beside him, Kazuichi whistles his approval.
"Man, Agent Hisa is the best!" Kazuichi says.
Fuyuhiko would have to agree; he doesn't think Ibuki's request would have been heard by anyone else at the facility. He turns back towards the table he shares with Peko and Kazuichi. The latter is making the bench vibrate with the way he's tapping his leg in excitement, looking just about ready to delve into chatter. Fuyuhiko flicks him somewhere in the general direction of his thigh, swaddled in the heavy material of his jumpsuit, ”Oi, that tickles!”, and turns his attention to the swordswoman.
”What do you think about this?” Fuyuhiko asks, curious.
It's become somewhat of a routine; asking for her opinion before sharing his own. She'd confessed that it forced her to think of her own answer instead of following his lead. She looks pensive, trading a glance between Sonia and Ibuki talking lively in the middle of the room and him and Kazuichi, who's still rubbing at his thigh dramatically.
”I... am not certain.”
”Why's that?” Kazuichi pipes in.
Peko brings her hand up, playing with one of her braids almost absentmindedly. She steals a glance at Fuyuhiko.
”We've never celebrated.” Peko says, ”From what I've read, present giving is the core of the event. I was thinking about the difficulty of making such things here. If we had been given any indication about Ibuki's preferences, I could have prepared the rations given to me more strategically...”
”Ahh, you think too much!” Kazuichi laughs, ”The only thing you have to worry about at any festival is to have fun. Who cares about presents?”
Fuyuhiko thinks that makes sense, in a way, but before he can say such a figure all but zooms into their table.
”Souda! Souda!” Ibuki cheers, bouncing her hands close to her chest, ”Can you please help me? Please, please, please?”
”Y-yeah?” Kazuichi says, startled by her quickness, ”Sure, just tell me what you need and it'll be fixed in no time.”
He flashes her a smile and Ibuki beams at him right back.
”My guitar amp's all out of whack, and Ibuki can't play without it! There's no point if we can't be jamming to the loudspeaker, and then we can't enjoy the spirit of winter, and then, and then-”
”I'll take a look at it, want help with moving it to my workshop?”
”Ahh, yes, yessss! You're the best, I'm gonna drag it there right now!” Ibuki says in glee, then immediately runs to the exit. A faint ”yaaahoooooo~” is heard as far as the central island.
Kazuichi sags against the table, groaning into his arms.
”Maaaaan, I'll bring that thing back from the dead if I can, it's really important for Ibuki...”
Fuyuhiko taps him on the thigh again. Kazuichi babbles something incoherent, hidden under his splayed hair.
”Then what's with you, you sick or something?”
”Don't think so? But, man, I need to finish repairs on Hajime's solar panels, half the fridges in the restaurant have malfunctioned and we need to fix those before Teruteru skins me alive for spoiling the food, there's like a dozen other things that have to get done, and now Ibuki's gear before the party-”
”Hey.” Fuyuhiko softly interjects, ”You'll fix all of those things.” I know you can he doesn't say. He does believe it, though, Kazuichi's half the reason the islands are still standing.
He looks up from his crossed arms, flicker in his brown eyes, regarding Fuyuhiko with an emotion he can't place.
”Is there anything we can do to help?” Peko interjects.
Kazuichi shoots up from his slouch, shark teeth glinting. He flashes her a thumbs up, and rises all together.
”Nah, but I appreciate the offer.” Kazuichi says, waving at them, ”See you later!”
Later turns up to be much later than expected. Kazuichi makes it in time for the Christmas party, but leaves after about ten minutes, saying he needs to go back to work. Fuyuhiko wants to tell him to stay. He can't bring himself to say anything; what would be the reason? Personal preference? Stupid, is what the reason is.
Who's the coward now?
Although, Fuyuhiko does have a plan in place. For an event he's much more accustomed to.
—
Gundham, held up by Nidai's sturdy frame, had placed the garland of flowers at the top of the most imposing palm tree Mahiru had found on the beach, marking the end of their preparations for the new year. Cheers and shouts had begun to rise from the modest crowd, and then drowned almost completely by the strings of Ibuki's reconstructed guitar. The amplifier Souda had fixed in no time powered the loudspeakers on the delimited stage, all ensemble coming to life with the growls of the musician, and Fuyuhiko decided that that was as good as time as any to slip away.
He can hear the bass even from inside Rocketpunch market, thrumming through the tiles and into his bones. The clock is ticking and he's close to slapping himself for managing his time and rations and relations with Agent Yamamoto so well to make sure he got his hands on the half good type of alcohol, but forgetting fully about the glasses themselves. Idiot.
He rounds another isle, power walking with half his head turned to see properly with his remaining eye. Just useless junk, coils of rope, hiking gear and used carabiners and what looked like... the head of a pickaxe? The beat in the tiles changes as he switches isles again.
He only remembered about needing cups for drinking when Sonia had started giving juice in plastic cups around, and- Oh, utensils! Fuyuhiko rushes to the remaining items, spotting the red cups that the princess had brought to the party and ignoring them completely. He has his pride, damn it, he's not about to serve someone in those plastic atrocities.
Not just someone Fuyuhiko suddenly thinks, trying to convince himself the tingle in his hands is from the damn music vibrating his molecules and not from just the thought of his friend maybe, possibly, hopefully-
There's some bowls at the end of the metal shelf. Fuyuhiko pushes them aside, trying to find- There, perfect. A handful of short ceramic bowls right at the back. He stacks three of them inside each other, more whole and striking than the rest, and shoves them in his pants' pocket. He doesn't want them to crack against the glass bottle in his bag, after all.
He powers through the doors of the market and humid air hits him. The turn of the year is fast approaching, celebrations soon to follow despite the general mood of unease clouding over the entire world like the wrong-sized weighted blanket, and the air is so hot Fuyuhiko wants to scream.
Not hot in the way he remembers hot summer days to be, cloying of sweat and the desire to sleep through your responsibilities, but hot in the way a nice breeze follows through the ever present sand in his shoes, warm, pleasant -
Spring like, almost, and it's the end of fucking december.
Fuyuhiko's only thought as he bypasses the leafy palm trees surrounding Rocketpunch market is that he misses snow. He used to be indifferent to it, almost hate it when the roads would become slippery from the ice and his hands and feet remained freezing no matter how many layers he wore, but now? Now so far removed from home all they get is dry weather or rain, and rain, and more fucking rain with an abundance of tiny little crabs and insects that are intent to crawl up his fucking ass.
All the trees are full of the different decorations they could make from the scraps still left on the islands, a string of maybe functioning lights here and a scrunched up paper there, cut to shape or simply rolled into a sphere around round rocks or the pits of the drupes that still survive on the islands after world destruction. And it all looks so... alive, the possibility of snow dashed entirely from the lands being somewhere far southern than their former homes ever had been.
The green of the leaves still shine with the drops of water from their last downpour, that only seem to rise in their frequency and intensity as the days progress. Intensity that is also mirrored by Ibuki's music getting louder and louder as Fuyuhiko approaches the beach, the musician on a rock and roll streak. His classmates are milling around, some talking or trying to keep up with whatever dance competition Saionji had fabricated, shouting and laughing from the sidelines as she watches Teruteru trip on his short stubby legs and crashing head first into the sand. Fuyuhiko turns like an owl, trying to spot a beanie or an oily jumper or something in the crowd; Nekomaru almost bowls him over from singing too hard and still in his apology Fuyuhiko can't spot Kazuichi in the gathering. He turns to the bridge after convincing Nekomaru that he's perfectly fine, he didn't fall and no , he's not hurting anywhere, does this bastard think he's made of fucking glass -
”Mas- ah, excuse me-” rings a voice behind him, ”Fuyuhiko?”
Peko's emerged from the crowd soundlessly and with one look at what he's carrying she takes a few steps away, illusion of privacy. Fuyuhiko is glad, even though he has nothing to hide.
”Yeah?”
”I saw you leaving the party, and as such I believe now is the perfect moment for celebrations.” Peko's cheeks are red, and she's doing something with her mouth that's her still figuring out her smile. ”You missed the toast Byakuya made in the beginning.”
”I'll be coming back, you know,” Fuyuhiko says, but doesn't mention that he'll be doing that for Peko the most; he doesn't want her to focus on that and miss the celebration itself.
”I understand, but I still believe that might be after midnight,” Peko says, her smile growing wider, ”Happy New Years, Fuyuhiko.”
She sounds so genuine, pure emotion radiating off of her, and Fuyuhiko's getting a bit chocked up.
”Happy New Years to you too, Peko” he says, and nods at their classmates, ”These bastards not too annoying?”
”Nothing I can't handle, but-” she says determinedly and then stops abruptly, blush rising on her cheeks. Interesting pops up in Fuyuhiko's mind, so he nods his head to encourage her to continue.
”I believe I am having... fun.”
Her deadpan delivery punches a laugh out of the ex-yakuza so hard this time he does fall, and as always, Peko catches him. But this time it's not during a mission, or an altercation with other groups, or a screaming match between his parents that leaves him almost dead- and they're both alive, together, and Fuyuhiko presses closer to the woman and hugs her tighter, that emotion in his throat making him unable to say words that he hopes his touches convey all the same; Peko squeezes him in turn, puffing inconspicuously into his hair because the volume of her laugh is still startling, her rough calloused hands digging into his sides. They rock a bit, from side to side, on even footing.
”That's great” Fuyuhiko whispers into her shirt, left side pressed into her, ”I'm glad.”
”So am I.”
Peko parts away first, when the voice of Sonia calls out for her from the other side of the crowd.
”Sorry-” Peko starts apologising, but Fuyuhiko just shakes his head. He's seen how the two had gotten closer over the months, and he's certain that she'd made a true friend of her own. He understands.
”She has been very kind to me. I think I've started to enjoy her company...”
”I think that's been pretty clear since you've started carrying that drink she likes around,” Fuyuhiko teases, ”Tell her Happy New Years from me, will you?”
”Of course.” Peko nods, and the corners of her mouth twitch- ”Tell the same to Souda from me!”
”H-huh?” Fuyuhiko starts, but she's already gone, vanishing from sight.
He's only rooted in place by surprise for a couple of seconds, but they feel longer than when a million questions keep blaring in his head. He turns to leave, making a beeline for the bridge; had he been so obvious? But obvious in what , it's not like he's been parading his friendship with the mechanic around and he was certain most of them, save for Peko and Hinata, didn't actually know they got along great. Well, great is... A lot. Whatever. Thing is, most of their former classmates didn't really pay attention to Kazuichi, and probably didn't notice he wasn't present at the party, even though most of the electronics he himself had repaired.
Point stands, he thought he was being low key, but that's kind of ridiculous in hindsight when his best friend is a swordsmaster that has a frightening eye for detail from intel gathering since she was a child, and that knows him better than he knows himself. How could anything have escaped Peko Pekoyama's watchful gaze?
Is there anything to escape, anyway? Fuyuhiko muses, as he passes the central island and directs his steps to the third one. No he thinks, definitely not . His shoes thud over the wooden bridge, crunching occasionally on a sliver of sand. The imposing eye of the Foundation building watches him retreat from over the industrialised sector, rising over the land like a great lance.
There's only one place the mechanic could be at this time. He probably doesn't even realise their party for the new year has started Fuyuhiko thinks as he draws near to the glittering mountain that is the third island, home to their only working hospital and a gold mine of dismembered machinery and discarded junk. Junk to most people, save for Kazuichi who nearly had a heart attack when he had discovered that Electric Avenue existed in real life too, not just in the simulated program they had awoken from. True to his excitement, he had set up his workshop right in the middle of it, in one of the many big enough buildings left intact that could accommodate his projects.
It's like déjà-vu when Fuyuhiko enters the street and is again met with blaring, rock-metal-someone-yelling music reverberating off the narrow buildings from inside the open doors of the workshop. He doesn't understand how Kazuichi hasn't gone deaf yet. Fuyuhiko sighs, bracing himself for the assault on his ear drums as he kicks the doors to make space for himself, entering plastic bag first.
There he is.
And there truly Kazuichi is, working on something at one of the desks. He's sitting cross-legged on the spinning chair he had commandeered from the hotel lobby because the man needs his freedom of movement to sit in one place and actually pay full attention to something, and he's bobbing his head to the screeching coming from the radio. He's probably mouthing the lyrics Fuyuhiko thinks part fond and exasperated. Now, how to alert the man of his presence without the surprise killing him when the clang of the metal doors didn't even stir him?
There is no way, Fuyuhiko swiftly finds, as he crosses the entire length of the room and tries to catch the periphery of the mechanic, who sees something moving without processing it and screams right off his chair.
”Aaargh!?” Kazuichi shrieks from the floor. Fuyuhiko jolts in place, plastic crinkling.
”Turn that shit off!” he yells back.
”H-hah?”
Fuyuhiko stabs his unoccupied hand in the general direction of the radio. His ears are ringing. Kazuichi scrambles off the floor and lunges himself at the device, hitting the buttons. Silence plunges into the room like spilled liquid. The air is still vibrating with left over music, and Kazuichi is breathing so hard he looks like he's run a marathon. He's kneading at his back, having effectively thrown himself into cold concrete.
”You have to keep that lower for fuck's sake, you can't even notice anyone entering this damn place!” Fuyuhiko chides, refusing to admit to the pounding in his chest. Damned be his body's forever instinct of fight or flight at all sharp changes in his environment.
”F-forget that, w-why are you here?” Kazuichi is panting, ”Are, are we getting attacked?”
”What? No, you dumbass!”
Kazuichi slumps against the table in relief, right hand clutched around his chest. Fuyuhiko looks around, noticing for the first time the disorganised piles of tools he doesn't know all the names to. Kazuichi's work, what seems to be part of a fridge, is sitting fragmented on the desk.
”Do you even know what day it is?” Fuyuhiko can't help but ask.
”Uhh...” Kazuichi says, looking pleadingly at the other. Fuyuhiko doesn't budge, just rises his eyebrows in waiting. ”Like, the 26th?...27th. Yeah.”
”It's the 31st” Fuyuhiko can't help but sigh. Kazuichi always has a tendency to drown in his work, the days blending together.
”Agh, dammit, really?” he says, frowning at the pieces of metal around them.
”Yes, really. Peko says Happy New Years.” Fuyuhiko says, setting the bag on an empty portion of a desk. All of the tables are full to the brim with spare parts, close to the walls to make a larger space in the middle, and that just won't do. ”Now stop gawking and help me here.”
Fuyuhiko finds a metal crate underneath one of the tables, and starts pulling it out. When he starts emptying its contents onto the floor with no reply, he turns back only to find Kazuichi has settled back at his desk, screwdriver in hand.
”Oi, what the hell are you doing?” Fuyuhiko shouts, irritation spiking.
Kazuichi doesn't say anything, pondering on a couple different sets of bolts. Fuyuhiko rises from his crouch and gets close, just to smack the other across the head. Lightly.
”H-hey!”
”It's almost midnight, you know? Whatever you're working on will have to wait.”
Kazuichi just shakes his head, stubborn.
”Nah man, I have to finish this. It'll only be a second.”
”When's the last time you said that, four hours ago?” Fuyuhiko asks, knowing he's right when Kazuichi doesn't make eye contact. He rises his head and by accident spots a paper bag a little ways off, among robot parts. He wants to smack Kazuichi again. He goes to retrieve it, and by the guilty look of the other he's forgotten about it too. Just to be sure, he takes a sniff of it; it smells like any food left for long forgotten in a paper bag, but not for long enough to go bad, so he shoves it in Kazuichi's face.
”Man, I appreciate it, but I'll eat it when I'm done here-”
”It'll probably rot by the time you remember about it, you idiot! This isn't the time to waste food.”
”But-”
”Kazuichi, for fuck's sake!” Fuyuhiko cuts him again, the other startling. He fights to keep his voice down. ”Kazuichi, listen.” He sighs, pinching his brow. ”There's so much shit that has to be repaired, it'll take us years, hell , maybe our entire lives, to fix even a part. But if you collapse here from inanition the shit that we'd end up fixing would not even be half of it in the end, so just shut up and eat the damn food.”
Kazuichi just blinks at him for a few seconds, then hastily unwraps the meal and takes a big chomp out of it. Fuyuhiko can hear his stomach growling from up here. He nods at him, and turns back to the crate he'd found.
When it's completely empty, he shoves it more to the middle of the room and flips it upside down, creating an impromptu low table. He can hear Kazuichi swinging from side to side on his chair, humming his question.
”It's the end of the year.” Fuyuhiko says, in lieu of an explanation. He goes to grab the bag with the alcohol.
”Yeah, you're right. Thanks.” Kazuichi says, licking his hands off bread crumbs.
”The hell you're thanking me for?”
Kazuichi chuckles, a bit embarrassed.
”When I get in the zone to work, I don't think about anything else. Well, at the beginning, I guess. Then if I want to stop to grab water or food or whatever that's not the project itself, I can't. It's like I'm stuck working, you know? Like a loop, and it's pretty difficult to escape it. So, thanks for kicking me out of it this time, I was starving.”
Fuyuhiko has relocated the plastic bag on the crate, and he's leaning down to sit properly. He snickers quietly at the other.
”Your brain's a bitch.”
Kazuichi laughs, and jumps off the spinning chair, landing, thankfully, on his feet.
”Isn't that right, man” he says, ”Hold on a sec!”, and then goes in the partially walled off section in the back. Not for another project Fuyuhiko thinks, for his own good . He's relieved when the other comes back with two little pillows in hand and throws him one. He was used to sitting on hard surfaces in seiza, but it's nice to have cushion for his knees. Kazuichi settles cross-legged on the other side of the low crate, good mood vanishing when Fuyuhiko pulls the bottle of alcohol out of the bag and places it in front of him.
"Y-you s-stole it?!" Kazuichi whisper-shouts, eyebrows almost tangent with his hairline. He leans forward, chest to their makeshift table- "D-d-dude! You can't, dude , you can't, h-how even-"
His eyes nearly pop out of his head when Fuyuhiko pulls the ceramic cups out of his pocket and he has to keep in his laughter at the stupidly endearing display in front of him. Kazuichi looks very worried, after all.
"W-what if they, what if they-" Kazuichi's head snaps from left to right, looking frantic-
"Oi! Snap out of it, damnit!" Fuyuhiko stops him, "It's just us here. And I didn't steal it, I made a trade with Agent Yamamoto from Resources-"
”We're not even dating!” Kazuichi blurts, tremor in his shrill voice. In the span of a second Kazuichi turns beet red and becomes rigid like a statue. He's staring into Fuyuhiko's eye, mouth open. Fuyuhiko is staring back, because he heard something interrupting him, but his brain can't run the code of it's message-
”We're not what?” Fuyuhiko asks dumbly. Cold sweat is running down between his shoulder blades. He looks down at their makeshift table, at the little bottle of alcohol (that shit ain't even sake, just some decent booze he managed to trade his food ration with) and the wide ceramic cups, all stacked neatly to make it easier to... move them around...
There's three cups on the table. Stacked , the way wedding pairs drink from, one inside the other. He swears his heart stops for a second.
"S-stop-" Why am I fucking stuttering Fuyuhiko panics as he coughs in his fist to calm down. It doesn't work. "Tsk! Don't think stupid things!" He lurches forward and takes apart the assemble, pocketing one of the cups. "You idiot!" Fuyuhiko adds for good measure; insults coming easy to him. He steals a glance at Kazuichi.
The mechanic has ducked his head, long hair doing little to hide the embarrassment radiating off him. His fists are white knuckled on his crossed legs. He looks like a kicked puppy Fuyuhiko thinks, and that thing inside his chest rattles. He chooses to believe one of his arteries is clogged, or some shit, and ignores it.
"That's..." Fuyuhiko sighs. "The other one's for Peko. I want to celebrate with her too, you know. But you first."
Kazuichi stays silent, but Fuyuhiko sees his fists clenching against the fabric of his patched boiler suit. Ever since waking up from the Neo World Program, he can't stop seeing the man in front of him. Maybe observing would be a better word. He just does, and it hurts like an old ache.
"...why?" Kazuichi softly asks the floor.
"Because we're friends?" Fuyuhiko says and it comes out as a question. But it's not really, is it? He clears his throat, straightening his back in seiza. "Because we're Soul Friends. And I and Peko spent all our festivities together, she deserves to spend her first winter celebrations with people she chooses." And isn't forced to protect all the time his brain supplies.
Kazuichi is looking up at him through his long lashes and Fuyuhiko struggles a bit to meet his eyes. They're very round and he looks so cute both pop up in his stupid brain, stupid-
"Heh, sorry." Kazuichi sheepishly says, hand scratching the back of his neck.
"It's fine." I would have thought the same he doesn't add.
With a lopsided grin, Kazuichi reaches for one of the cups, the one with the dented rim, and holds it up with both hands. Fuyuhiko dutifully opens the small bottle and pours him his drink.
"It's not stupid, you know." He finds himself saying. Kazuichi doesn't respond as he reaches to pour Fuyuhiko the alcohol.
"I just wanna make it clear, I don't like letting things unfinished" Fuyuhiko continues. It's true, but why is it so difficult in front of his-
Kazuichi steals a glance at him, just enough not to spill the drink, and his breath catches in his throat.
-friend. His friend.
Yeah.
"I don't give a rat's ass who anyone decides to drool over. As long as they don't make my life harder, and they're both adults, it's fine." Fuyuhiko scrunches his brow, drink sloshing around his cup. "But honestly I'd rather be kept in the dark about Teruteru's interests, I already know too damn much."
Kazuichi laughs, whole face displaying his emotions and the happy sound dissolves the small lump in Fuyuhiko's throat into something light. Pleasant.
"Yeah dude, same. No offense to him, but whoa, too much info." Kazuichi's laugh lines crest his face as he raises his hand- "Cheers!"
"Cheers!" Fuyuhiko says in turn, holding the cup high.
They drink, Fuyuhiko downing the contents, burning his throat with the strong taste of it as Kazuichi sips at it like a cat, putting the cup down with a content sigh. It's not very good, the Foundation having much better things to repair than the alcohol business, but seeing Kazuichi like this, smiling and more relaxed than all the past weeks combined settles something inside Fuyuhiko's chest. It suits him, happiness.
He wants to kick himself for the thoughts. His legs are numb from the seiza. Metaphorically. He wants to kick his ass, metaphorically.
"Didn't think I'd hear ya say something like that." Kazuichi says, nonchalance betrayed by the way he doesn't quite meet his eye.
"Yeah, well." Fuyuhiko shrugs. "My old folks didn't give a fuck as long you shut up and obeyed their orders. Money and influence is all that mattered."
Is all that matters, even now. Among their destroyed world, the ability to make someone give over their supplies willingly has become an art. A scrap of bread will keep you alive for one more day; a rich man, if you will.
"Huh, thought the yakuza would be harsher about stuff like that."
"It depended on the person, I guess." That reminds him, "Actually, Natsumi's bodyguards were all gay."
"W-what?"
"Well it was either that or castrating them, didn't want them to try any funny business." Fuyuhiko chuckles silently. "Not like they could get away with anything anyway, that bitch was quick to throw hands." An image of Natsumi resurfaces between his broken memories, so sharp in its veracity it almost bowls him over. The pale freckles of her skin, a strand of hair flicked across his face, a fragment of a voice: "It'd be fucking pretty , you idiot!"
She had meant the fir tree. Fuyuhiko's head turns, fixes his eye on a window at the back of the workshop. Letting himself float, just for a moment, a sea of sensory memories that hurt for once good . He so rarely gets them now.
Natsumi had wanted them to celebrate the winter festivities of the western variety, once. Once overtly, because their parents had violently rejected the idea when told. A waste of time and resources for some foreign tradition, and why did she need to be concerned for such things when the turn of the year was a prime time to extort the vulnerable?
He understands now that what she'd wanted was for them to act like a family for just that once. They hadn't been allowed to shrines together, their parents too well known for the kannushi to grant them access even if they came there for non-business purposes. They did hold a party close to the New Year, but it was to strengthen the family bonds with the other yakuza. All these years later he thinks he understands. Natsumi had wanted something just for the four of them. Maybe she thought the otherness of a different tradition with no religious connection would make them gather around a table not to determine the most effective way to collect debts from their patrons for once .
It was a pretext, all wrapped up in a thin bow of hurtful words.
"For god's sake Fuyuhiko, they'd listen if you told them!"
They hadn't.
"Shit, 'Hiko, I'm sorry..." As her hand was scrubbing iodine into his cuts. He could only remember the sadness in her eyes; he'd wished he could have done more, but as always...
"Fuyuhiko?"
But as always, he was too late.
"...Sorry."
"No need, I get them too."
The ex-yakuza turns again, looks into eyes he'd seen for what feels like half his life, through the green outdoors to guts tangled in his arms. Somehow, he's still here. From dark eyes hidden under blood pink plastic to them nothing but , to dark again, uncovered. Full and clear of the disease of shame. Of the despair.
He reaches again to pour him a drink. His hands are trembling. Kazuichi doesn't say anything.
"It was good."
He passes him the bottle.
"From before?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad."
Fuyuhiko looks into the clear liquid in his cup; he sees gold, wisps of blonde hair.
"My sister wanted to celebrate Christmas. Wanted a big fucking tree, wanted to eat like a pig, wanted to spend all my money on presents." He has to laugh now, he sees it for what it was. "It never happened with our damn parents. Guess all she wanted was to pretend like we were a normal family for one day."
"I get that." Kazuichi says, tone a drop of wishfulness.
Fuyuhiko rises his head to study him, arm raised halfway up. He feels like Kazuichi will share another piece of himself, which is good (he won't admit it, but he likes knowing all the little parts that make up the mechanic; no , he won't dwell on the why , fuck off), and he's been having the feeling that Kazuichi doesn't like being the center of attention but wants people looking when he's talking. The whole "don't feel like talking to a brick wall" as Kazuichi had put it. Fuyuhiko rests his elbow on the crate that is their table and prompts:
"You didn't celebrate either?"
"Yeah? No, I mean, yes but not really. Ehh, it's complicated, I guess."
Fuyuhiko just hums, enraptured by the way Kazuichi's dark strands of hair move along his face. They couldn't find more dye, so he'd let his hair grow.
"We were too poor not to work around the time most people got time off. Heh, I remember when I was little, I'd get scared of the fireworks outside and hide under the table until they stopped. Got used to it obviously-" Kazuichi chuckles, teeth worrying at his bruised lips, "I even sneaked out once to see them! They were beautiful, but man, the noise! Thought I'd go deaf, and when I got back I-"
Kazuichi shuts his mouth suddenly, his teeth clicking together. Fuyuhiko sees the moment his face goes carefully blank, eyes fixing themselves somewhere close to his still full cup.
"I got scolded pretty bad." Kazuichi doesn't seem like he's breathing. "Had some orders for the next day, had to stay up all night to finish them."
Fuyuhiko flexes his arm carefully, putting his cup down with no sound. Kazuichi doesn't seem to notice.
"After work we'd get around the table to eat. Shit was pretty expensive, but all department stores had a sale after Christmas Eve for the stuff that didn't sell."
He's breathing shallowly, like the way you do before plunging into ice cold water. Or before a revelation, a confession that he'd somehow stumbled into and refused to back down from. Like he owes anyone an explanation, a punishment to himself to trudge ahead through the events past him committed.
"M-mom," his voice hitches, blinking as if to stave off tears, "mom would go to the store a few days later to get us some, some cake," blinking doesn't help, "S-she liked the simple strawberry one the best."
There's a moment of suspended disbelief where neither breath, but as the other shoe drops so does Kazuichi's ribcage on an aborted word that turns sob, erupting from his throat in a cacophony of rasps.
"M-m-" He tries and fails. Stuttering on the word makes him sob harder, whole frame shaking.
He's crying, he's crying and Fuyuhiko doesn't know what to do. Frozen to the spot like the defective version of human compassion he is as ragged cries fill the warehouse, scraping at his skin like the narrowest V gauge blade, excess skin being pushed up into his throat and clogging down all manner of speech.
Without thinking, Fuyuhiko places his palm atop of Kazuichi's trembling hand. He doesn't say anything. Kazuichi keeps shaking, choking on tears and snot.
Time passes, cooling the alcohol in the two forgotten cups.
When the cries have stopped and the trembling subsides, Fuyuhiko finds himself caressing the hand underneath his own with his thumb in small, circular movements.
”It's ok.” Fuyuhiko says in a hushed voice. ”You're going to be ok.”
The classic ”it's not your fault” almost escapes, but Fuyuhiko catches himself in time. How could he say such when he knows it is not true; he knows Kazuichi had killed both of his parents, just as he himself had done. But while for someone born yakuza it was almost expected, something so mundane he remembers some of his uncles inquiring about it like asking if there were enough of the expensive leaves left for the breakfast green tea, but for all the rest of them? He can't imagine how it feels yet he grasps the emotion anyway; he's certain ( almost certain, for he will never know the truth of it) that were he sane he would never have slashed his parents' throats.
Kazuichi had told him he had used gas, lit them on fire. It had been the first, and save this time, last time he had talked about them.
Fuyuhiko had never pressed for more. Agent Hisa was a big advocate of speaking up about their pasts, of talking in general (”I'm not psychic, so stand up and face me!” had become almost synonymous with her name at this point with the way she kept insisting to repeat it), but she had made it clear that she didn't believe in pressing them for information. Tall order with that fucking woman, but Fuyuhiko recognized her muted satisfaction when he'd come forward on his own volition. Being part of the team that managed them (kept them in check, like the Foundation believed that at any moment they were going to snap again), Hisa was also someone that had, surprisingly, proved that she cared the way Makoto Naegi had cared about them. Maybe it was all a front, her stern determination to guide them, to stand up for them in the face of the not very quietly disapproving people in the Foundation, but all the same she had earned Fuyuhiko's respect. He'd apparently adopted some of her beliefs, it seems.
So here he is, willing to receive as much, if not more, as he himself had given but not desperate to take . It's almost strange; he sharply remembers being taught the yakuza's propensity to remove information from someone unwilling (damn fuckers were always unwilling, as if that would have spared them their lives). They're still there, the instincts, sometimes itching to lash out right beneath his skin- but he's been trying his best to be better than that. Fuyuhiko privately fears that if he'd let even a breadth of them out it'd be like a dam breaking, tide washing the man he'd been trying to build and leaving only the monster behind. He doesn't- can't- won't allow himself to fall into despair again, and he knows Kazuichi feels the same way, the feelings of regret so strong they sometimes, like today, surface out into the open, pools of grief so vast anyone could drown in them.
Among Kazuichi's endless pockets lies, and is quickly snatched, a rag, more or less clean whose state becomes wholly irrelevant the moment the mechanic starts blowing his nose in it. Which is a bit of a challenge to do one handed. Fuyuhiko reasons, completely impartially, that if the other hasn't moved his hand it is not his place to do it first.
Kazuichi makes some sort of grunt as he throws the rag somewhere on the floor. His head is hung low in shame, shaking minutely from side to side.
”...Didn't even bury them.” Kazuichi rasps, voice raw.
Fuyuhiko feels his hand start shaking again, and wants to say something-
”'m sorry, 'm sorry for ruining this, when ya took time to come here, fuck, fuck I dunno what the hell I thought would happen if I s-said- said what I said when I can't even think about that in the first place without wanting to kill- it's been eating at me!” Kazuichi word vomits, voice rising, ”Ever since I remembered, I had to say it, but it sounds like I'm complaining, isn't it?! Like I'm complaining about remembering that I- that I- that I fucking killed the only people that ever loved me! What kind of a monster -”
”Bones can take almost three decades to rot!” Fuyuhiko yells over his voice.
The sentence is so out of left field it stops Kazuichi's spiral, and he looks up at Fuyuhiko in a weird mix of tear tracks and anger and utter confusion.
What the hell am I saying is all Fuyuhiko thinks in a panic, but he's ingrained in himself that almost obsessive stubbornness that pushes him to finish all the shit he's started, coherency and himself be damned, so there's nothing to do but continue. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts; they're from before , the time of his despair clouding over them like the grossest version of molasses, but unlike those memories, that appear differently to all of them, remnants of touch, of smell or sound flashing in rapid fire succession when they least expect, leaving him reeling and even more disgusted with himself, the memories of his past life are whole, and sharp like shards of glass.
Right.
Stages of decomposition.
He knows this. Obviously.
”It depends on the climate, actually. The more humid it is, the faster the process, and there's a whole other can of factors that can influence it, like manner of death, soil, insects, even the fucking sun-” Fuyuhiko swallows his nerves; Kazuichi is just looking at him- ”Right, so, a lot of things can influence how fast a body falls apart. But after that, the bones remain, and trust me, I've seen a lot of them back home, it takes years for those to break down, so-”
He suddenly remembers all the chemistry lessons he'd ever taken part in. Even the curriculum at Hope's Peak had a chapter on that, damn. He curses under his breath.
”So?” asks Kazuichi. His voice is flat.
”I, shit, uh-” Fuyuhiko says. Like the intelligent ex-murderer he is, he forgot about that. But there's no point in not saying it, it's the whole truth of the matter. ”What I said before, that shit usually applies... normally. Like with a natural cause of death. But, well, there's methods that dissolve whole bodies, like lye or acids, and depending on how strong they are they can break down bones and teeth in a couple of hours, but even so shards can remain-”
”Did you?” cuts Kazuichi, and stops right there, like that was a whole acceptable sentence.
”...Did I what?” Fuyuhiko says. He thinks he knows what he's being asked. He doesn't mind. It should scare him, probably. He's never told anyone this.
”Did you use... acid.” Kazuichi phrases it like an assertion, but it's definitely a question whose continuation Fuyuhiko feels is ”with your parents?”
Fuyuhiko, shamefully, has to think a bit about that. He doesn't think so, and he says just that. Kazuichi hums and looks down at their clasped hands, pained expression on his face. He looks like he wants to ask more, so Fuyuhiko stays silent.
”W-what about, what about something else?” Kazuichi softly asks downwards.
”Like fire?” Fuyuhiko ventures. He's right on track, Kazuichi nodding once.
”Well, contrary to popular belief, ya can't just get rid of someone in the open using some shitty sticks. Pyres have to be very big to actually cremate someone, but then you have to stoke the fire to burn it properly, and it can take like five hours, it's really inefficient. Not like that destroys the bones anyway, they just crack, you'd need some kind of acid or a big machine to pulverize them properly. Anyway, I've never seen civilians be able to maintain a fire big enough to not alert us or the authorities-”
”Never seen civilians ?” Kazuichi interrupts him again. His voice is almost amused though, and Fuyuhiko is hopeful. ”So what, all the unresolved fires were you guys just running around?”
”No, you idiot, we had contracts with half the crematories in the country.”
They stare at each other for a second, and then Kazuichi bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with his free hand. Fuyuhiko soon follows, part relieved and embarrassed.
”This is- Is so stupid!” Kazuichi giggles mid breath. ”How, how even did we- why are you telling me about the four steps to decomposition like you're talking about the weather?!”
”Five, there's five-” Kazuichi rises his brows at him judgmentally, ”Ok, that's besides the point. The point is, was, ugh-” His hand is flipped on the side as Kazuichi clasps it, enveloping his fingers. Fuyuhiko's heart starts beating a little faster. ”I meant that they're still there. Your parents.” He hears a hitch of breath; he's still looking at their hands. ”And you can still bury them.”
He can, if Future Foundation lets him. They all could, theoretically, if they wanted to. Fuyuhiko's thought about it, thought about going back to the mansion that was his home, see what time had done to it, what he had done to it. He had a... complicated relationship with his parents, it was to be expected, but he still feels like it is his duty to put them in the ground. He is the last of their family, after all.
”...Ya think Agent Hisa's tellin' the truth?”
”She better be.”
Kazuichi heaves a sigh.
”She could be lying, for all I know. Promise us a treat like we're fucking dogs needing to behave just to move the goal everytime we reach it. Like that we'd end up bones ourselves by the time they'd let us leave the islands.”
”Then, you really think we'll be stuck here. Forever.” Kazuichi sounds ready to cry again. ”I mean, not like we don't deserve it...”
”I don't think shit, you bastard!” It's an odd thing, trying to relay to someone that queasy feeling of hope churning in your stomach. ”I'm going off only on what they told us, that we could leave with the boats they use for supplies and shit to the main islands when we prove we won't go berserk after we're off. Hisa said we'd still need to have a team keeping us in check, and we'd need to return with the next cargo and so on and so forth- But!” Fuyuhiko looks up, determined. ”She said it might take a couple of years to show to the higher ups that we're in the clear, but she never said if , only when . She better not be fucking lying about that, or I swear I'd kick her ass-”
”Yo! Didn'tcha just say that we need to behave?! You jump at the throat of one of their agents they might put you down or something!”
Kazuichi's not wrong, per se, but he wants to keep teasing him.
”...A couple punches are basically a greeting nowadays?”
”Fuyuhiko!”
”Tsk, fine, fine!” Fuyuhiko chuckles a bit at the scandalised face in front of him. ”I'll just... write a letter or something to Naegi if the local Foundation's gonna act like a bitch. He said we could contact him with anything, I don't think he'll say no and no one here's gonna deny the symbol of hope himself.” He hopes, the kid looked pretty young last time he saw him. Not that that's any indication of how valued his opinion is, but still.
”Man, I hope you're right...” says Kazuichi, looking dejected.
He suddenly removes his hand, yet Fuyuhiko doesn't have time to mourn its loss as the mechanic takes off his glasses and sighs, revealing his shiny, wet eyelashes and red-rimmed eyes. Fuyuhiko's not staring, no, he's just... at a loss for words. Right. At the aftermath of Kazuichi's breakdown (how did snot end up on his damned lenses??).
Kazuichi bunches up his sleeve, trying to wipe off the mess so he can properly see again, but since his jumpsuit is even more unwashed than himself all he manages is to smear the tears across the glass in a thin patina of flake white. A disheartened sound whooshes out of his chest, frustration and exhaustion dripping down his frame; Fuyuhiko doesn't think and moves to take Kazuichi's glasses. He doesn't quite reach the edge of them as he wanted, damned be his impaired depth perception, and grabs them right in the middle, cringing- ”Shit, sorry, sorry-”
”H-hey! What are you-” Kazuichi starts, and stops, as Fuyuhiko uses the slightly loose sleeve of his dress shirt to start cleaning his glasses. They're, well, relatively dry, so he takes care not to scrub too forcefully. It's pretty difficult nowadays, close to impossible for them so far away from the world, to get medical aid of any kind. They have to make due with the basics portioned to them, so Fuyuhiko doesn't want to scratch them any more than they already are. He feels himself blush, it's almost, almost intimate , right? He knows even Peko, with the forced obedience she was raised in and still difficult to shake off but trying , learning to determine her boundaries (mainly to him, learning to say no ), even that Peko of before wouldn't have allowed him to fiddle with her glasses. And he doesn't know how blind Kazuichi is, but that doesn't even matter when he's holding the very thing that makes the other see - but he couldn't let him cover the damn glass in motor oil! Or whatever fucking grease Kazuichi's been rolling around in, smelling not pungent but something close to familiar- damn bastard should be grateful, he's just doing him a favour!
Like hell I am Fuyuhiko chastises himself, his fingers starting to prickle with heat. He works at the glasses carefully, catching the light just right to make sure the surfaces are clean, dabs at the moisture, trapping it between the cotton of his cuff and sleeve.
He hands them back to Kazuichi, staring him down, daring him to say something-
Kazuichi just takes them and puts them back on with both hands, looking down. Testing if I did a good job flashes in Fuyuhiko's mind, and he suddenly desperately needs to know the answer, but how fucking hard can cleaning two small lenses be, God, why did I do that, why do I care-
His breath gets punched right through his solar plexus when Kazuichi, casual as ever, plops his left hand back onto his own right. His whole body is both rigid in surprise and lax, almost pliant in the face of the other. So he doesn't do much but follow as Kazuichi grabs his hand properly, twining their fingers together in what must be a desperate need of physical contact. Kazuichi doesn't even think about what he's doing, Fuyuhiko reasons, the touch just being something that he himself had started not twenty minutes ago to calm him down. It's a grounding basic, really, to reinforce contact with the physical plan, Fuyuhiko is just the only one here-
His train of thought is cut short when his hand gets squeezed, just a little, and he looks up, trying to school his emotions but failing horribly if the small shy sound Kazuichi greets him with is any indication. He's smiling a little shakily at him, sharp ends of teeth wavering in and out of existence beneath his chapped lips. He still looks like a mess, hair disheveled and tear tracks tacky on his cheeks, but more contained, less like he's going to break into a million pieces at the slightest current and more like the cracks are still there but he can hold himself together and Fuyuhiko doesn't know what the fuck he's saying in his head but he knows he doesn't want this moment to end, doesn't want to exit this little bubble of weirdness and complete chaos and safety he's cocooned himself in, threaded the silver spoons of familiarity right through the man in front of him and into his skin. A chrysalis of sugar that he wants to taste, taste, taste and never let go of until there's nothing but the lull of the sea and their two breaths overlapping.
”...Thank you” says Kazuichi, voice a whisper between their bodies.
”No need to.”
”I want to! And I want... and I want to go” he takes a big breath, and his dark eyes are pinning him down, ”I want to go back, I mean.” He shudders, cold of the confession, yet he squeezes Fuyuhiko's hand harder, like an anchor, ”I need to bury my parents. I have to.”
Fuyuhiko just nods; he understands. Kazuichi's lips purse upwards, just a bit.
”And if ya say bones don't break down so easily, I gotta trust you, right?”
”Tsk, damn right you do! Not like I'd be lying about that-”
”Come with me.” Kazuichi's voice cuts him off for what feels like the millionth time that night, but this time Fuyuhiko is left speechless. Does he mean...?
Of course he does, judging by the way his blurted words are making Kazuichi look more worried by the second. But there's no reason to worry. Fuyuhiko reaches forward with his left hand, which his parents would have called rude (he doesn't give a shit), and rises his forgotten cup of alcohol high.
”'Course I will.”
Kazuichi reaches for his own cup as well, and he's smiling, that wobbly thing of his that betrays how vulnerable he feels yet he keeps going anyway, rising the cup-
”Promise?” He asks, uncertainty and hope all at once.
Fuyuhiko must have eaten a thousand little needles, or butterflies or something with enough force to shake his entire core for the way his stomach does a weird little swoop in the face of Kazuichi's words.
”It's a promise,” he says, drinking for what feels like a new beginning.
And it is, for the both of them.