Archive of Our Own

It starts fast. Too fast. So fast that the news doesn’t even have a chance to cover the first signs of a 'sickness' before they’re screaming 'emergency'. 

Karube’s out with Arisu and Chota in the worst possible place when it happens. Hanging around Shibuya Crossing, the three are trying to figure out something to do with the minimal amount of cash they have between them. Karube has his head dipped back, his face to the sun, drinking in the warmth as Arisu and Chota discuss ideas. They hear the echoes of screams first, then within minutes they’re in the thick of it. The dead come up out of Shibuya Station, just a few of them shambling into the street, bloodshot eyed and drooling mouths, then it’s utter chaos. 

It’s a crush of panic. The air fills with screams and shouting, the stampede of feet on concrete and tarmac, smashing into cars and shop windows. Arisu gets slammed into Karube’s side, knocking both of them off kilter. Karube grunts as he tries not to fall, grounding himself as he tries to keep Arisu upright. Chota yelps as someone stamps on his foot as they run past. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Karube shouts over the noise as Arisu and Chota crowd closer either side of him. To his left, he hears Chota’s hitching inhale, his fingers gripping painfully at his bicep. Glancing down at him, Karube watches him lift his free hand to point at something through the crowd. 

“Z-zombie!” Chota squawks. 

Karube looks to where he points. He doesn’t want to believe it, but there it is, someone biting a chunk out of some screaming woman’s arm. There’s a slosh of blood pouring to the ground, muscles and tendons stretched and shredded as the 'zombie' munches. The woman screams so loud that Karube’s ears ring, he doesn’t know how her vocal cords aren’t giving out under the wailing strain. Karube’s eyes lash across the crowd in horror. A trio of zombies are crouched over a body as they tear through someone’s stomach like tissue paper to rip their intestines out, spilling them across the road; another zombie biting into a man’s throat, spraying blood everywhere. 

Fisting a hand into the back of Chota’s shirt, Karube pulls and shoves him towards Arisu, then pushes them both to start moving. 

“Run!” he shouts, breaking them from their horrified stupor. 

Chota is sobbing as he runs, close to hyperventilating. Arisu has said nothing, but his face is a mask of silent terror. Karube has a grip on Chota’s arm and his other hand is in the middle of Arisu’s back to keep them both moving forward and not falling behind. His mind is a whirlwind of dissonant thoughts, trying to figure out what’s going on - what to do - where to go, in that order. 

What’s going on? Something fucked, clearly, but he can’t figure out more than that. He should’ve been keeping up with the news, now it was coming back to bite him in the ass - possibly literally at this rate. What to do? He can’t think straight enough to plan anything, not while he’s running and keeping track of the other two. They need a safe haven. Where to go? He racks his thoughts for anywhere still potentially safe. The bar he works at is nearby, closed for the day for his boss’ anniversary. He’s got the key, and the doors are sturdy. With nothing else coming to mind, he quickly decides it’s better than being out in the open. 

Just as he has the thought, Arisu skitters to a stop and Karube knocks into his back. Arisu throws an arm out to stop them moving any further. He’s about to snap at him to keep moving, then he notices the zombie shambling from around the corner in front of them. Karube can’t even tell if it’s a man or woman, it’s so covered in gore and grime. Chota pants, sobs, then wails at the sight of the zombie and the eye falling out of its socket. 

Karube does the only thing he can think to do. He kicks. His foot connects solidly with the zombie’s knee and he hears it crack as it bends backwards. The zombie topples over with a low groan. Even on the ground, it reaches a gnarled hand towards them. Karube doesn’t wait around to keep looking at it, just grabs at Arisu and Chota again and pushes them around the zombie in the direction of the street the bar is on. 

“Karube, where are we going?” Arisu pants, stumblingly jogging at his side. 

“The bar,” Karube answers, “You two keep an eye out while I get the door open, okay? - Chota, keep up!” 

Karube knows Arisu and Chota aren’t the most athletic, but they’re slowing down so much that it’s becoming frustrating on top of how tense Karube already is. Chota sobs, stumbles, so Karube reaches back to grab his wrist again and keeps pulling him along. A thought unfurls itself in Karube’s mind, whispering that he’s going to have to look after these two if they have any chance at surviving. He shakes the thought off, hurrying down the street, his free hand fumbling in his pocket for his keys. 

Arisu and Chota stand anxiously as Karube thumbs through the ring of keys, watching down the street from either side of him. He finally finds the right key and jams it into the keyhole. The three of them topple into the bar, Chota and Arisu shoving him from behind. Karube closes and re-locks the door behind them. Sighing, he leans against the door, finally able to catch his breath. He shakes his head to try and settle his thoughts. 

“Okay. We need a plan,” he says, looking towards Arisu. 

Karube wakes in a dim-lit room. He rubs his hands over his face, the dream-blurry memory of the bar and Arisu and Chota clinging at the edges of his mind. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he sighs. That was almost two months ago. He hasn’t seen Arisu or Chota since that day. It’d been his fault, he got separated from them, cornered by the dead. He’d been lucky to get out alive. As for Arisu and Chota, he doesn’t even know if they’re still alive, but he has to have hope. Arisu’s smart, he would’ve gotten Chota out of there, he’d keep going with their plan even if he had to leave Karube behind. They’d agreed to that. 

“You’re awake,” a voice comes from across the room. 

Niragi. 

Not the companion Karube had thought he’d been having, but he can’t find it in himself to complain too much since Niragi had saved his life that first day. Niragi hadn’t had to, and he has no problem reminding Karube of that. Still, since then, they’d be working together, both agreeing that it’s better to have someone to watch their own backs than to be wandering around alone. 

Truthfully, they hadn’t gotten along back then. Niragi’s abrasive and stubborn, Karube had been angry - the more productive cousin of worried. Karube hadn’t wanted to listen to him, more than once he’d almost run himself into trouble in desperate hope of finding his friends. Niragi should have ditched him weeks ago over it, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t. And Karube is grateful, even if he doesn’t say it. 

“What time is it?” Karube asks, sitting up on the shabby couch. 

Sitting with his back against the wall, a worn book hangs from Niragi’s hand, his thumb keeping his page. He lifts his free hand to the corner of the hanging blinds over the window and shifts it slightly aside. A streak of watery sunlight falls across his face. 

“A little after mid-morning,” he answers, “Looks like rain might be coming.” 

Karube frowns, “You should’ve woken me earlier.” 

Niragi huffs, letting go of the blind before noting his page number and closing his book. He tucks the book away into his bag and hangs his thin wrists over his drawn-up knees. His dark eyes set back on Karube. 

“You don’t sleep enough. How am I supposed to trust you to have my back if you’re exhausted?” 

Karube’s mouth twists, frowning. Niragi has a point. Karube’s been having nightmares, waking up breathless with his heart galloping. Gratefully, Niragi has never asked what they were about, but still showed a rare kindness in trying to make sure he was okay before Karube pushed him away and just buried the lingering horrors down. Last night is the closest he’s had to a decent night’s sleep in what feels like - and probably is - weeks, and still he’d been haunted by Arisu and Chota. 

Niragi can’t talk either though, Karube knows he has nightmares too and sometimes Karube thinks it’s not just about the zombies. 

Roughing a hand through his hair, Karube huffs out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. Arisu, Chota, they were somewhere safe, right? Did they have food? Clean water? Had they met anyone else or was it just the two of them? He can feel an anxiety-headache coming on from just letting the questions run wild through his mind. 

Niragi rolls up onto his feet, grabbing his bag to zip it closed. 

“We should find somewhere to set up stuff to gather water if it’s going to rain,” he says. 

Karube grimaces at the thought of how many hours it’s going to take to boil all that water if it’s more than a sprinkle, plus they’ll need to build a fire. They did it the last time it rained around a month ago and Niragi had ended up burning his hand when their set-up fell over. Even now, some patches on the heel of his right palm, some of his fingers, and part of his wrist are shiny pink. He’s only just started reusing his right hand more a few days earlier and hasn’t been wrapping it up anymore. 

Karube already knows if they get anything more than a drizzle, then he’ll be taking over the boiling so they don’t have another repeat of that. He can still remember the teariness in Niragi’s dark eyes and the scowl on his trembling mouth as Karube had tended-to and bandaged his hand. 

Getting up from the couch, he grabs his own backpack and pulls it on. His shoulders are starting to get sore from carrying the weight of it around every day. He runs his hand up the back of his neck. Sleeping on the couch certainly hadn’t helped the ache. 

“Let’s get going then,” Karube says with a sigh. 

He glances over to Niragi. He’s standing by a hall mirror as he ties his long hair up. His long pale fingers gather up the dark strands away from the back of his neck. Karube’s eyes lock on his nape, dragging over the slender column of his neck. He’d had tried to tell him that it would be a better idea for him to cut it shorter than risk a zombie getting a grip of it, but he hadn’t agreed, instead deciding on tying it up whenever they weren’t inside and locked away from danger. It’s no secret that Niragi’s attractive, not that Karube has made any kind of move since there’s more important things to be worried about, but he allows himself moments like these to subtly check him out. 

Niragi’s gaze shifts, meeting Karube’s eye in the reflection. Their gaze holds for a beat, then Karube looks away, swallowing as he readjusts the straps of his bag. Niragi’s hands fall from his hair, the length twisted up into a knot, and he picks up his bag to haul it on. 

“If we keep heading out of the city, I saw a building we could use. We could set up the containers on the roof, wait out the storm on the top floor. If we’re lucky, we might not even run into any zombies in there,” Niragi says as he walks towards the door. 

“Better to be sure instead of lucky,” Karube replies, plucking up his hatchet from where it had been propped against the couch while he slept. It’s a western-style as opposed to the typical blade-shaped Japanese-style. The handle fits comfortably in his hand and he swings it loosely at his side as he follows after Niragi. 

As they head out onto the street, they fall into their usual silence. It’s better to not talk while out on the streets, just in case. They knew well enough that zombies could come out of anywhere and any sound was going to draw them over. Walking along, they keep their eyes out for the dead, Niragi watching their left and Karube watching their right. 

Karube keeps his hatchet in hand as he walks, his fingers curled around the smooth wood, feeling more comfortable with weapon close in case he needs to use it. 

Niragi had once lamented the lack of firearms back during those first few days, now he carries a hammer at his hip. Despite his slim figure, he can get a good swing on the thing, Karube’s noticed. Once Karube had brought up maybe picking up a baseball bat, but Niragi had gone tense and quiet, his expression pinched as he avoided Karube’s eye. At the time, Karube had simply shrugged it off; so long as Niragi had his back, what did it matter what weapon he was using? 

The plan back when he was with Arisu and Chota was to make it out to the countryside, anywhere out of the bigger cities. Nagano or Niigata or Gifu, wherever had the least infected, wherever they could wait it out until some solution showed itself. Maybe it would be better on one of the islands, but none of them had a boat let alone knew how to drive a boat. 

Even after this long, Karube hadn’t managed to leave the city yet. 

In the beginning, he’d thought maybe he could find Arisu and Chota, that they might’ve still been somewhere in Tokyo. Niragi had wanted to go, but Karube had insisted until days became weeks without any sight of them and he finally relented to leave, clinging to hope that they’d made it out. Admittedly, he’s been dragging his feet, checking old haunts in case Arisu and Chota were holing up in one of them. 

Over the last week, he and Niragi have slowly been making their way towards the outskirts of the city, gathering stuff along the way: Food, water, tools, supplies. Niragi wants a car, but the roads are so clogged with abandoned vehicles that there’s hardly any room to fit a car through them. Karube agrees that he’ll look for something once they make it out of the city, where the roads might be clearer and they might actually be able to drive without getting blocked in. 

Sighing quietly, Karube takes a moment to lean his head back and look toward the sky. There’s thin white clouds streaking across the blue, further off in the distance, there’s a gathering of dark grey slinking quickly in towards the city. From the look of it, by late afternoon it’ll be pouring. He shuffles his hatchet in hand, refocuses. 

“Two up ahead,” Niragi says quietly with a nod towards a pair of zombies. 

One is closer to the entrance of an alley, the other is further in the street. Neither have noticed them yet. 

“You take left, I’ll take right,” Karube replies. 

Niragi nods, pulling the hammer from his waist. They move quick and quiet before they can catch the attention of the zombies. Karube twists the hatchet handle in his hand. Darting the last few steps, he lifts the hatchet and slams it down on the zombie’s head, splitting its skull just as it turns to look at him. Gooey black blood spills down the dead man’s face as he sinks to his knees with a dying wheeze. Karube pulls the hatchet blade from its head, grimacing at the blood left on it and flicking it off.

Niragi moves with careful near-silent steps. The zombie turns towards him and he swings the hammer, cracking the blunt head into the zombie’s eye socket. As the zombie topples, the hammer goes with it, stuck. Niragi cursed under his breath. He plants a foot on the zombie’s limp shoulder, wrenching the hammer out with a huff. After wiping the blood off on the zombie’s shirt, he hooks it back onto his hip and fixes the straps of his bag. 

With the zombies dealt with, they fall back into line beside each other and continue down the street. 

A few hours later, they’re standing under those same dark clouds as they set buckets and pots on the roof of a building. A cold breeze whistles around Karube, chilling across his forearms and hands, whispering along the back of his neck. He shivers under its touch. Niragi clangs another bucket down, then straightens, dusting his hands off. He sets his hands on his hips, dropping his head back. 

The first large drop of rain strikes him directly in the middle of his forehead. 

The rest comes quickly down in a pouring wave. Karube and Niragi shoot across the rooftop, launching through the door before they get too thoroughly soaked. They stop in the small stairway, closing the door against the wind and water spatter. Karube shakes raindrops off his button-up outer shirt, slicking them off his arms. Niragi swipes a hand across his face, long strands loosened from his knotted bun falling around his face. He brushes his hair back from his face, lips parted as he draws in breaths. 

Karube finds himself staring again. Stupid pretty mouth and his stupid pretty face with his stupid pretty piercings and his stupid pretty long hair. There’s a raindrop caught on the bow of his lips and all Karube can think about is pushing him into the wall and kissing it away. He thinks about loosening Niragi’s hair from the hair-tie and curling his fingers in the length and licking into his mouth to find that piercing until they’re both breathless. He can feel heat coiling up his neck. Clearing his throat, he looks away. 

“I’m going to take one more look around, make sure we didn’t miss anything,” he says, making a quick getaway down the stairs two at a time, his heavy bag jostling against his back. 

Niragi watches him leave, then sighs quietly and knuckles across his mouth to clear away the water clinging to his skin. 

Karube takes his time circling the rooms of each floor. In part because he doesn’t want to miss anything - an unlocked door to the outside, an open window, a zombie hidden somewhere they hadn’t noticed earlier - and in another part because it’s becoming difficult to deny that he might actually feel something for Niragi. 

He runs through his mind the possibilities why, to try and make sense of it himself: because Niragi had helped him that first day, saving his life; because he’s nice to look at; because he’s kind of funny even though everything else feels hopeless; because he’s around and Karube’s needy and it’s been months since someone’s touched him and he doesn’t get nearly enough time alone to deal with it himself. 

It’s the last one, he’s sure. He’s just pent up. He and Niragi have been sharing rooms, so there’s been little chance for more than few minutes of privacy at a time. Besides, he doesn’t even know if Niragi swings that way and he knows that he won’t last long by himself if they split up over Karube hitting on him when he’s not interested. 

Huffing a sigh, he pushes into another room. Storage. A bunch of tool-lined shelves and what looks like a small double-locker and a slightly rusting basin at the back. A drop grows fat under the tap and drips with a plink into the bottom of the basin. Zombie stuff might not have been particularly interesting to him back when the world was normal, but even he knows better than to just assume a room is clear without actually making sure. He heads in, tapping the flat side of the hatchet along one of the metal shelves. 

Peeking carefully around the ends of the sets of shelves, he sighs in relief to find nothing by dingy empty space. He crosses to the lockers and pulls on the door of one, then finds both are locked with dial padlocks. Someone else might’ve been able to figure out the code in time, carefully listening and turning the dial until it pops open. Karube simply doesn’t have the patience. Aiming, he lines up his hatchet and swings. The shackle breaks, leaving the lock hanging loosely. He does the same to the one on the other locker, then pries both padlocks off, tossing them into the nearby basin where they land with metallic clangs. 

Opening the first locker, he finds it full of useless cleaning products and supplies, someone’s spare uniform, an abandoned jacket. He closes it, moving over to the other locker. There’s much of the same in this one, a hanging jacket, a photo tucked in the door that he doesn’t look close at, a pair of boots in the bottom, and a crowbar propped in the corner. 

He eyes the crowbar, grabbing it. He weighs it in his hands, bouncing it in his palm. Niragi pops back into his thoughts, his takedown of the zombie earlier. The crowbar would be better than his hammer, and it has better reach too. Even if Niragi declines it, there’s no good reason to leave it behind. He shrugs his bag off to hang off one elbow, tucking his hatchet away in the side. 

Closing the locker, he heads back into the hallway. 

He gets through the last few rooms quickly, then heads back upstairs. 

Pushing through the door, he turns and locks it, testing the door with a few pulls on the knob. It holds tight and he relaxes. Good. He turns to look around the room, sliding his bag off to let it hang from one elbow, bumping off his hip as he walks further in. It’s a plain small apartment, barely more than a studio, a little bit messy as if someone left in hurry, which - considering how quickly everything happened the first day - they probably did. 

Across the room, Niragi is sat by the window, the thin curtain pulled back so he can look out into the downpour. Beside him, he’s stood a torch on its end, casting a beam of light towards the ceiling, dispersing dimly through the room. Karube sets his backpack down by the side of the small couch before moving to sit on the chair beside Niragi, looking towards the city. Large raindrops race down the glass and the dark clouds block out the sun, shading the city in a dull greyish hue. 

Sitting like this makes him think of the end of that first month. They hadn’t moved too far out of the city then. One day, a building had gone up in flames. It’d have been a waste of precious water to try and put it out, and there were no firefighters left in the city anyway. Niragi and Karube had sat up on the barricaded roof of the building they were staying in and watched it burn into the night, a bright pillar of light against the dark that zombies walked blindly into. By morning, the building had still been burning, crackling orange showing through the burst-out windows and lapping up the walls. 

Now it’s the opposite. The city has been snuffed out, it feels like evening already except there’s no stars, no moon. There’s no light in the city, it’s been turned into a colourless landscape for as far as Karube can see. He glances sidelong as Niragi, then to where he’s propped the crowbar by his side, the chisel end planted on the ground. Plucking it up, he holds out the crowbar to Niragi, the claw end towards him. Niragi eyes it, then lifts his brow. 

“What’s that?” 

“Well, it’s not a baseball bat,” he says with a quirk of a smile, still holding it out and wagging it slightly. His gaze turns slightly more serious, “Just take it. You won’t have to get up close as much as you do with that hammer.” 

After a beat, Niragi finally relents and takes it. He runs his fingers along the iron length, flicking his thumb along the chisel and claw ends to test their sharpness. Seeming to pass whatever arbitrary test he has in mind, he sets it aside against the wall, the curve of the claw head to the ground, and offers a short 'thanks' to which Karube nods shortly. 

Karube glances over his shoulder. There’s a bed pushed into the corner, a little bit bigger than a single. Small dining table, a couch that’s not even a full-size. Whoever had lived here must’ve been single, living alone. There’s not even any photos on the walls or shelves. Had whoever lived here taken them with them or had they just been that lonely? 

“Got an actual bed tonight, huh?” Karube says. Niragi looks back. 

“Yeah. Do you want it?” 

Karube shakes his head, “You take it.” 

Niragi doesn’t argue, just shrugs in a kind of 'suit yourself' way. 

It rains through the night, crackling with thunder and few flashes of lightning, and it doesn’t let up until almost midday. In a way, it’s peaceful. Karube sleeps easily through the night, then finds ways to entertain himself as they wait through the morning. He digs through the pantry in the kitchen, snacking as he circles around the small apartment. He tosses a bag of Calbee chips at Niragi as he passes by him. Niragi spends his time reading, leaned against the bed’s backboard, the pillow propped behind his back. The clouds eventually give way, letting the sunlight through. Niragi looks up as the drizzle turns into silence. He closes his book, putting it away. Getting up, he crosses to the window and looks out. The grey is gone, plain blue sky returning, white clouds disappearing into the far horizon. 

Heading up to the roof, they fall into routine. Karube starts on making a small fire while Niragi gathers up the buckets and pots of water. It’s maybe not the safest option to start a fire on the roof, but it’s better than being out in the open where they’re more at risk of getting snuck up on by the dead. Karube sets up the pot hanger, racking up one of their clean pots and filling it with rainwater. He drags a slightly damp chair over to the fireside, sitting down as he waits for the water to boil. 

Niragi swipes water off the top of the roof wall so he can lean his arms on it. He looks over the edge towards the street. There’s a handful of zombies milling around on the ground, all sopping wet as they slosh through puddles. One’s toppled over into a street-side garden and gotten itself stuck within the twine of branching plant-life. It swipes out at the legs of another zombie slowly shambling by it. 

A few minutes of quiet pass, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the low din of groaning zombie rising up from the ground. Karube leans off kilter onto the back legs of his seat and looks over at Niragi. 

“Anything interesting happening over there?” he asks. 

“Same as everyday. Zombies and a whole lot of nothing else,” Niragi replies, deadpanned, turning to face Karube and leaning back against the wall. He drops his head back, turning his face to the blue sky. Karube snorts a quiet huff of a laugh, knowing he should’ve seen that answer coming. 

A short yell suddenly breaks the peace and Karube flies out of his chair, the chair legs clatter against the roof as he crosses to Niragi’s side in moments. He leans his hands onto the damp wall-top, the gathered water cool against his palm as he stares over the edge down towards the street. 

“What the hell was that?” he asks. 

Niragi’s brows crease, equally confused. 

“Definitely not a zombie.” 

Straining their ears, they lean shoulder-to-shoulder as they scan across the ground level. They note the zombies scattered around and the otherwise bare street. There’s a clattering from the perpendicular side and both race over to it, leaning over the wall again. Someone’s knocked a set of bikes over. If it had been a zombie, they’d still be nearby and visible. Karube and Niragi dart away again, towards the next side, the one overlooking an alley. 

They find their answer there. A guy is cornered into the alley. One of his arms is weighed down with bags up to his elbow. He stumbles over discarded trash in the alley, bumps against a trash can. Another noisy clutter as it topples to the ground. Karube knows the zombies have heard it and are probably making their way over already, he doesn’t even have to go look. The guy jostles the alley-side door of the building next to them. It’s locked. He darts across to the door on their side, which Karube absolutely knows is also locked because he was the one to lock it. 

“What the fuck is he doing? He’s going to lead them right to him,” Karube snaps, his shoulders tense. He chews his bottom lip, he can’t just stand there and watch the guy die. He pushes away from the wall, jogging towards the wall as he calls back to Niragi: “Distract those zombies.” 

He scoops his hatchet up from the beside his seat, just in case, then shoots down the stairs. Darting down each floor, he skips over too many steps that he almost trips as he reaches the bottom floor and scrambles out into the hallway then he races towards the alley door. He unlocks the door and shoulders into it, shoving it open, breathing hard. 

“Hey!” he shouts at the guy, “Get in here!” 

Not even pausing to ask question, the guy darts over and almost knocks over Karube in the process of scrabbling inside. Karube yanks the door quickly closed and locks it tight again. Breaths still rough, he twists to look at the guy, puffing through his teeth as irritation flares into his eyes. 

“What the fuck were you doing out there? Trying to get yourself killed? Yelling, all that noise, you’re lucky we were around or you’d be dead meat,” he snaps, tensing his fingers around the handle of his hatchet. 

His eyes lock onto the guy, finally taking him in. He’s young, not a teenager but there’s no way he’s older than his early-twenties and still definitely a few years younger than Karube. His bleached-blonde curls fall in his face as he drags in breaths and he pushes it back from his eyes as he looks up to Karube. He’s got round, brown eyes like a puppy, and he smiles crookedly. Karube’s face stays stern. 

“I didn’t mean to. One of them grabbed me by the ankle, I didn’t even see it,” he replies breathlessly. His head perks. “Did you say 'we'? I didn’t know there were still people in the city. Living people, at least, plenty of dead ones. Oh, I’m Koma, by the way. Thanks for the save.” 

He tries to hold out a hand for Karube to shake, but the bags weighing down his arm makes him reconsider as he holds out the other, still smiling. Karube eyes it and doesn’t take it, moving past him with a huff and a shake of his head. He starts on his way back up the stairs and Koma follows quickly after him. The bags on his arms rustle with each step up. 

“What do you even have in there?” Karube says, looking back at him once the sound becomes frustrating. 

Koma adjusts the bag against his side, “Food.” 

“Really?” 

“Well, it’s pretty much the only reason to stay in the city, right? Lotta people left Tokyo without snatching all this up, bet they’re regretting it now.” He smiles again, “I’d be happy to share, you know?” 

Karube just turns back forward and keeps walking. 

“Cool axe. I only got my knife. It works in a pinch, but it’s not as good as that,” Koma rambles on, bounding up to walk alongside him, his pointy shoulder bumping into Karube’s bicep. 

Karube huffs. This guy is chatty. An annoyed part of him thinks he should’ve just left him to get eaten out there in the alley. He pushes open the door to the roof, taking in a breath of fresh air, the heat of the sun falling across his face. Across the roof, he hears Niragi sighs in relief and he glances over to see him lowering the crowbar. Walking over to the small fire, Niragi’s hooks the claw end onto the boiling pan’s handle and lifts it away from the flame. 

“We’re down a bucket, water included,” Niragi grumbles. 

“Hello,” comes Koma’s voice as he steps out onto the roof, “You must be the rest of the 'we' your buddy here mentioned.” 

There’s a tone to his words that makes Karube’s snap to him. Koma’s eyes are locked on Niragi, dragging over him, a flash of a smile drawn across his mouth. He crosses towards Niragi with long, bouncing strides. Niragi glances briefly past him to Karube, then back to the new guy. Koma’s hand flicks out as he introduces himself again. Unlike Karube, Niragi takes his proffered hand and shakes it, introducing himself and Karube too. 

Not bothering to keep listening, Karube steps around the pair to take his seat again and sets another prepared pot of water over the fire. 

Niragi’s gaze sets on Koma, trailing over him. Well, he’s not what Niragi had been expecting. He’s cute, and rather smiley despite the circumstances. His hair’s a couple shades lighter blonde than Karube’s and hangs in loose curls around his face. From his pocket, the handle of what looks to be a decently-sized kitchen knife sticks out. Koma thrusts his hand towards Niragi and, when he shakes it, Niragi notices thin pale scars on his fingers. 

Karube passes by them to sit. Niragi motions for Koma to take one of the spare seats and pull it up beside the fire with them. Koma does and the pair sit opposite from Karube on the other side of the flicking fire. 

“Is it just the two of you?” Koma asks as he sets his bag down beside his chair, carefully placing it away from the fire’s heat, “Did you know each other before this all happened? Or did you just get lucky to find each other?” 

“One of us got lucky,” Niragi says, a pointed look towards Karube, who just rolls his eyes, holding back a twinge of amusement. He looks back at Koma, “Are you by yourself?” 

“Oh, well, I was with my brother but …” he trails off, his eyes darkening as he glances down towards his hands, prodding the pad of his thumb at a scabbed-over cut on the side of his palm. He clicks his tongue, his smile quirking up at one side awkwardly, “He - uh - died.” 

Neither Niragi nor Karube ask how, just glance subtle towards each other. It’s easy to assume the outbreak is the cause and it seems harsh to try and get Koma to recount whatever had happened, especially when he’d just been so close to getting killed by zombies himself. 

“Do you have anyone else?” Karube asks bluntly. 

Koma blinks owlishly at him. 

“Um, I don’t know where anyone else went, or if they’re still alive,” he answers with a small shrug, still twiddling his hands. “It’s just me left.” He glances to their surroundings, the rooftop and the buckets and the small fire, “Have you guys been staying here?” 

Niragi and Karube share a brief look, wondering if they should say anything or keep things close to their chest. Koma’s just one guy, and one that’s alone too. He could barely stand to protect himself, what danger could he be? 

Niragi decides to answer. 

“Just for tonight. We’re on our way out of the city.” 

It’s Niragi’s choice to invite Koma to come with them. For whatever reason, he seems to find Koma amusing, an affection that’s seemed to grow since that first day. Karube still thinks he’s overly talkative and bordering on the side of annoying, but he keeps his mouth shut about it. A little over two weeks on and Karube’s hopes that Koma would at least be another person watching his back has been dashed; instead, it’s Karube constantly watching after Koma. He rushes ahead thoughtlessly, he’s chatty, he doesn’t pay close enough attention to his surroundings; his only useful quality comes in his apparent bloodhound-level nose at finding food. Karube will give him points for at least being quick at taking down zombies with that knife of his, but he still has no idea how Koma hasn’t gotten himself killed.

The most annoying part, though Karube wouldn’t allow himself to admit it out loud, is how close he is with Niragi. They’re not subtle, in fact he thinks that they’re barely try to hide it. Not the first time, but most notably, Karube had slipped into the place they were staying for the night and found them making out. For a moment, he’d stood and watched. 

One of Koma’s hands shoved up under Niragi’s shirt, flat against the side of his ribs, Niragi’s bare hip peaking from beneath the fabric; Niragi’s hand curled into Koma’s hair, his head dipped back as Koma attacks over his throat, his mouth parted around a quiet moan that barely meets Karube’s ear. 

Karube had walked himself back, quietly reopened the door a few inches and then slammed it loudly. Koma and Niragi had leapt away from each other and Karube hadn’t looked at them, pretending he had only just entered, dropping his bag and making himself comfortable on the couch as they neatened themselves up. For the rest of the night until they all went to their respective makeshift 'beds', Karube had stared at the slight reddish hickey on the side of Niragi’s neck, tension ticking a muscle in his jaw. 

They’ve at least left Tokyo now. They’d decided on heading towards Nagano first then Niigata, heading up through the Saitama Prefecture on Route 299. Finding a car had been easy enough, finding one that worked was a whole other issue. After some trial and error, they’d managed to find one with the keys still inside and taken off. 

Sleeping in the car wasn’t much of an option. It’s not large enough for any of them to be comfortable, so they take to camping instead. One last shopping stop in the city had them looking for a pretty hardy tent, one that it would be difficult for zombies to claw through in the night. They’d found a 3-person set up that could work, deciding it was easier to lug the one around as opposed to three tents in addition to the three sleeping bags. 

With the car pulled to the side of the road, they’d set up camp for the night in the nearby forest park. Koma sleeps the easiest out of all of them, apparently all that babbling takes it out of him and he knocks out earliest most nights. Tonight is no different. Karube had been able to hear him quietly snoring and had moved to the other side of their small fire, staring into the gaps between the trees for any stray movement. Behind him, there’s a quiet shush of a zipper opening and closing. Moments later, Niragi is sitting down on the log beside him. 

Firelight plays across his features as Karube glances sidelong at him. It glints and flickers off his piercings. His hair falls loosely around his face, brushing to his shoulders. As Niragi pushes his hair back, he spies the smudge of a hickey just under the curve of his jaw. Karube’s tongue flicks across his teeth. He can feel a kind of useless pettiness rising in his chest, his gaze turning back to the tree line as he speaks. 

“Thought you’d be sleeping with Koma.” 

There’s a sharpness in Karube’s tone, a jab. Niragi huffs. 

“Careful, you’re starting to sound jealous.” 

Karube’s mouth twists slightly. 

“Fuck off.” 

There’s a beat of tense silence. 

“It’s not like we’re trying to exclude you,” Niragi snaps hotly. Karube’s head  whips towards him, brows lifting. Niragi meets his eyes, steady, unwavering. “You really think we couldn’t have been more subtle if we weren’t trying to get your attention?” 

Karube’s mouth opens, as if to try to defend himself or shoot questions back but nothing comes out. Niragi rolls his eyes and looks back into the darkness of the forest. 

“You think I never noticed you staring? Even before Koma showed up?” 

Karube swallows, glances away. He drops his head back, roughing a hand through his short hair. 

“You never said anything,” he manages to say quietly. 

“I was waiting for you to make a move - and you didn’t.” 

Karube goes quiet again. With apparently nothing else to say, Niragi stands and walks back to the tent, zipping it open and disappearing inside, closing the zip behind him. Left alone in the silence, Karube’s shoulders droop and he drops his face into his hands, sighing roughly. What the fuck is he doing? He’s been feeling off ever since this started. Too busy worrying about his friends as if Arisu isn’t smart enough to survive and keep himself and Chota out of trouble; too twisted up in his own head to not make a move on Niragi where any other time he would’ve been too confident in himself.

Sighing again, he gets up, stamps out the fire and dampens the rest of the wood, and makes his way into the tent with his hatchet swinging loosely from his fingers. Koma sleeps on the furthest side, Niragi in the middle, and Karube’s sleeping bag waits on the other side near the opening. He zips the tent shut, shrugs his button-up over shirt off and tosses it along with his hatchet to the space beside his sleeping bag and flops down. 

Niragi’s not asleep, Karube can tell from his breathing but he hadn’t been able to make out his expression in the dark before lying down. 

Karube stares at the roof of the tent. He presses his lips together. Fuck it. He twists, leaning over Niragi, planting his hands either side of his head. Niragi’s breath hitches slightly as he leans in close to his face, almost nose-to-nose with him. Karube can just make out his dark pools of his eyes, staring widely back up at him. 

“I would’ve made a move if I’d known you were interested - but you could’ve moved first too.” 

With that, he rolls back off Niragi onto his own sleeping bag and turns away. He hears Niragi shudderingly breathe out, like he’d been holding it. His heart thumps around in his chest. He hears the cover of Niragi’s sleeping bag rustle as he shifts, then a hand curls into the sleeve of his tee shirt, yanking him onto his back. 

Before Karube can so much as think - let alone say - anything, Niragi’s leaning over him. His breath whispers over Karube’s cheek. It’s hard to say who moved first, but suddenly their mouths are pressed together and all at once it doesn’t matter who started it. Karube’s hand tangles into Niragi’s hair. Niragi’s weight collapses on top of him. A low moan tumbles from Niragi as Karube’s mouth leaves his and finds his neck. Karube decides if Koma could leave marks, then so could he. It’s just a shame it’s so dark that when he pulls back he can’t even see it. 

By morning, they fall back into routine as they tidy up their camp, Koma chatting the whole way as they take everything down and pack everything back into the car. Karube finds himself feeling lighter, like a weight’s been lifted, and a smile plays across his face. His eyes keep tracking towards Niragi, towards the new hickey on his neck. With no mirrors except the side ones on the car, Niragi hasn’t had a chance to see them, Karube’s or Koma’s. As he and Koma are loading bags into the boot, Koma pauses and his eyes flicker towards the new mark. His lips purse slightly. 

“I didn’t …” he starts, then trails off. His eyes flick towards Karube, who hides the way his mouth quirks in a slight smirk. Koma’s brows lift, surprised, then he grins. “Oh.” 

Niragi rolls his eyes, shoving another bag into the boot. There’s a flash of amusement in his dark eyes though. He nudges Koma back so he can swing the boot closed without pinching him. As he turns to go hop in the passenger side seat, Koma ducks around to the other side as Karube fiddles with the ring of keys. 

“I can drive, you know? If you’re still tired,” Koma says with a smile, swaying his weight as he stops by Karube, a fraction too close. Karube snorts. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive.” 

Koma pouts, “Why not?” 

“You don’t pay attention. We’ll probably miss our turn and end up in Yamanashi instead of Nagano. Do you even have a driver’s license?” 

Koma goes quiet then, embarrassed, “Well, almost.” 

Another huff of a laugh and Karube shoves their backpack of food and water into Koma’s arms, turning to hop into the driver’s seat. Koma puffs his cheek, then lets out a breath as he pulls open the backseat door, swinging the bag in to sit beside him. Karube starts the engine and pulls back onto the road. 

Koma goes back to his prattling for the duration of the ride. It fills the silence that a radio usually would. Sometimes it seems like he has an endless list of topics that he’s just picking through, trailing from one into the next with little pause. He stops only to snack or drink, passing stuff forward to Niragi or directly into Karube’s held-back hand. 

“There’s no way you’re saying chuhai is better than a highball,” Karube argues a handful of hours into their drive, slapping his hand on the wheel to punctuate his words. 

“I am. Whiskey’s gross and the only thing worse is beer,” Koma shoots back. 

Karube chokes on a disbelieving sound. 

“You’re insane!” 

“Isn’t a chuhai and a highball basically the same thing?” Niragi sighs out, leaning his shoulder into the passenger side door as if he could escape their bickering. He can hear the sharp intakes of breath from both of them and quickly cuts in before they can start, “Actually, never mind, I don’t want to be a part of this.” 

They eventually simmer down an hour or so later with Karube insisting that he’ll make Koma a drink with whiskey he’ll like as soon as they find an actual bar or liquor store. Koma huffs out a 'whatever' and lets the subject finally drop. He shifts the bag to the floor of the car behind Karube’s seat, leaning his back against the door and kicking his legs across the backseat behind Niragi. His chatting trails off and he takes to humming instead, murmurs of a quiet song that Karube can’t quite make out. He digs his hand through the bag, picking through their supplies. They’ve got another bag-and-a-half of food in the boot, but they know it’s not going to last. 

“Maybe we should pull over somewhere to gather more stuff,” Koma says, shuffling bags of chips and ramen snacks around. 

“We wouldn’t have to stop already if you didn’t eat so much,” Karube huffs, still a little fussed about the drinks argument. Koma ducks his head, a tinge of embarrassment across his face as he shuffles in the backseat. 

“I have a high metabolism,” he mumbles in excuse, shrugging. 

“We should at least pull over for gas, it’s still far to Nagano,” Niragi says, leaned over a map in his lap, running his fingertip along their route. 

“Fine, we’ll stop at the next gas station.” 

As it turns out, they don’t have to wait long and Karube is sliding the car in beside a gas pump, skirting around a seemingly abandoned car in the other space. He flicks the engine off, leaning his arms on the wheel as he looks at the station. It’s an old-looking place, a little dingy and on the smaller side. Karube’s not expecting to find much, but it’ll be better than nothing. 

Hopping out, he waves the other two towards the building as he gets the car filled up. They hadn’t managed to find any jerrycans, but so far they’d been lucky and not needed anything extra. Glancing over his shoulder, he watches Koma lope along beside Niragi with the bag swinging in his grip. A small smirk crosses Karube’s mouth as he rolls his eyes. Niragi carries along his crowbar by the claw hook and Karube has no doubt Koma has one of his knives tucked in his pocket. 

When he’s done with the gas, he heads into the shop with his hatchet hanging comfortably in hand, just in case he needs it. It’s dim inside, the sunlight not reaching far through the front windows. Niragi and Koma have apparently split up. Karube can see Niragi in one of the front-most shorter aisles. He’s trailing along slowly, the handles of a plastic bag looped in his elbow as he picks things off the sparsely-filled shelves. The hook of the crowbar hangs over his wrist. With his hair pulled up, those hickeys on his neck are even more obvious. 

Karube raps his knuckles on the shelf to get his attention. Niragi glances back at him, shoving another cup noodle into the bag. 

“Where’s Koma?” Karube asks, his gaze turning around. 

“I think he went to check in the back,” Niragi said. 

Straining his ears to try and hear him, Karube sighs. 

“I’ll go check on him, make sure he isn’t getting into trouble again.” 

A small smile pulls to his face. He steps further down the aisle towards Niragi, who glances at him, quirking a brow. Hand catching his chin, Karube leans in to kiss him. His fingers run down the side of Niragi’s neck, brushing over the hickey. Karube grins as he pulls back. 

“It’s a good look for you,” he teases, tapping his finger on the mark. 

Niragi rolls his eyes, amusement glinting, then shoves him away with a hand to his chest. Karube chuckles, winking at him as he steps out of the opening of the aisle. He sets the flat back of the hatchet on his shoulder as he walks down towards the back of the store. There’s a door to the back room cracked slightly open and Karube can hear Koma’s humming. 

Shaking his head, he pushes the door open as he walks in. Koma has pulled a short step ladder over to a tall set of shelves and is drumming his fingers on a shelf as he picks through boxes of stock. The noise he makes echoes around the backroom, breaking up the silence. Koma doesn’t even notice as Karube steps in. 

He also doesn’t notice the silently shuffling zombie coming up behind him. 

“Koma!” Karube shouts. 

Darting across the room, he shoulder Koma out of the way. The zombie grabs at him instead, dead rotting hand clawing into his shirt. Koma topples off the step ladder, clattering to the ground with a grunt of pain. Karube shoves back at the zombie, his hand slipping over its sloughing flesh and rot-damp clothes. He can’t get a good grip and it’s too close for him to get a good swing with his hatchet. Stumbling back, he trips over the leg of the step ladder. His back collides painfully with the shelf, the back of his head bouncing off one of the rows, pain flaring across his body. 

He feels teeth against his left wrist before he can do anything to stop it. 

With a shout, he plants his feet and shoves. Koma finally gets his feet under him, his knife whipped out before the blade of it disappears easily into the eye socket of the zombie. The dead slips the ground, twitching before going still. Koma slides the knife out with a sucking slosh, the glinting blade dripping with dark blood. 

Karube can feel himself shaking. He grips tight around the handle of his hatchet. Blood drips down his arm. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Not even looking at Koma, he turns and stumbles out of the backroom, almost directly into Niragi. 

“What the fuck happened?” Niragi says, his expression creased. “Karube?” 

“I need you to chop off my arm.” It’s tumbling out of Karube’s mouth before he can even actually think about it. It’s hollow and thin and Karube can’t get a full breath in. 

“W-what?” 

Karube shoves the hatchet towards him, into his chest. Niragi’s eyes fall to it, then to the bleeding wound on his wrist. His gaze flies back to Karube’s, disbelieving. He shakes his head slightly. 

“Karube, I - I can’t.” 

Koma topples out of the backroom, his eyes wide. Niragi looks to him, as if he can help or stop this. Koma looks from Niragi to the hatchet to the bite, feels his mouth dry. Before Koma can say anything, Karube reaches down and presses the hatchet into Niragi’s palm, squeezing around his fingers until they grip the handle, dragging his attention back. Niragi’s hands shake. 

“Niragi, I don’t want to die,” he pleads. He feels tears prickle at his eyes. “I don’t want to be one of those things. So chop off my arm or kill me. Please.” 

Niragi’s eyes search across Karube’s face. His throat feels tight. Karube squeezes his hand again, desperate. 

“Okay.” He takes a breath. “Fuck. Okay.” 

He grabs Karube’s uninjured wrist, pulling him towards the counter. Koma flits near them, confusion and panic across his features. Niragi brushes the counter clear. His tongue swipes across his mouth, his dark eyes whipping around as he thinks. Karube kneels, lying his arm flat across the counter. 

“Koma, there’s some medical stuff in the aisle there. Get me as many bandages as you can carry and rubbing alcohol - and give me your belt. Karube, give me your shirt,” he says quickly, his voice turned stern and serious as he takes control of the situation. Koma scrambles, he yanks his belt off and tosses it to Niragi before shooting down the aisle. Karube shucks his button-up off and passes it over. Niragi looks down at Karube’s arm, then digs around under the counter for scissors. He slices Karube’s shirt into strips, then starts to twists a makeshift tourniquet around Karube’s bicep. “I’m going to have to take it off at the elbow, it’ll be too hard to go through your forearm without breaking it first.” 

Karube grits his teeth against the pain from the tourniquet. Niragi pushes the belt towards him. 

“Bite on that. This is going to hurt,” he warns. 

“Just do it quick,” Karube answers, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He folds the belt in half, biting into it. Niragi nods, rubs his thumb gently over the unbitten side of Karube’s wrist, then holds his arm down. 

Koma finally scrabbles back to the counter, dropping an armful of bandages and bottles of rubbing alcohol. He blinks widely at them. There’s dewy tears gathered in his eyes that he quickly swipes away with a sniff. 

“Hold him, he needs to stay still,” Niragi says. 

Koma nods and hurries over, grabbing Karube’s shoulder and his bicep above the tourniquet, keeping a tight grip on him. Niragi grips his forearm, holding him still. He shifts the handle of the hatchet in his hand and he exhales. His eyes meet Karube’s, apologetic for what he’s about to do. Karube just nods shortly, understanding. 

The first swing makes Karube want to scream, a howl of pain muffled into the belt, his teeth stinging under the tension. The second makes black spots appear in his already blurring vision, dark blood glugging out of the wound. He passes out by the third, slumping into Koma and hearing only the start of his panicked babbling before everything goes black. 

Karube wakes slowly to the sound of a rumbling engine. He groans quietly. As he comes back to himself, he feels his arm throbbing with pain - or should he say stump? He starts to remember what had happened. The zombie, the bite, the pain of the hatchet blade meeting his flesh. His stomach turns over at the memory. Just remembering the pain makes him feel dizzy and sick. 

Someone’s hand is running through his hair. 

Slowly, his eyes blink open. Gaze flicking around, his blurry vision clears and he finds himself looking up at Niragi. He’s laid in Niragi’s lap in the backseat of the car. Niragi’s mouth is set in a grim line. Karube starts to shift, turning to try and look at his stump, but Niragi’s hand catches under his chin, stopping him. His thumb runs on his jaw, rasping on his stubble. 

“You don’t want to look,” he says. 

“Is it bad?” Karube croaks, his mouth and throat dry. 

“I did what I could, but I’m not a doctor. You lost a lot of blood.” Niragi looks paler than usual, dark circles under his eye. Karube’s dry tongue shifts inside his mouth. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“You’ve been in and out for about forty-five minutes, but this is the most lucid you’ve been. What do you remember?” 

“Not a lot after I passed out the first time.” 

“Some zombies started coming out of the forest after I finished …” he swallows thickly, gaze flicking pointedly towards Karube’s arm, “You weren’t fully awake then, but we managed to get you in the car. We’ve been driving ever since.” 

Karube blinks, then turns his gaze towards the front seat. Koma is driving. He’s quiet, not even humming. His arms are tense, his fingers gripping the wheel, the corners of his mouth downturned. Karube frowns slightly, he can’t recall another time he’s seen Koma not smiling. 

“I’m thirsty,” Karube murmurs. 

Niragi helps him sit up and Karube folds on himself, the movement making him feel dizzy. He steadies himself with his hand gripping the door pull, then tries to rub his other hand over his face, but instead he’s met by a jolt of pain as he shifts his stump. He takes a breath then exhales. 

Glancing sideways, he finally gets a look at it. Everything below his elbow is missing, what’s left of his arm is wrapped tightly in bandages. The wound throbs along with every thump of his heartbeat. His body freezes but his mind whirls, uncomprehending. Neurons fire through his brain, trying to bend his elbow, to move his left hand or his fingers. There’s nothing there to move. He swallows drily, feels his right hand tremble as he releases his grip on the door pull and swipes his palm over his mouth. 

Niragi holds a bottle of water out, the cap already removed. Karube takes it and chugs down half the bottle. Then he takes a breath, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, clutching the bottle until the thin plastic crunches. His tongue swipes across his mouth, wetting his lips. He needs something stronger. 

“We should pull over for the night,” Niragi says with a quiet sigh, his gaze turned out the window. 

Karube looks sideways at him. There’s specks of blood on his shirt, mostly unnoticeable except for on the white parts. It’s under his nails as well and Karube can see him picking at it, his hands trembling. Niragi looks towards Koma in the driver’s seat, he still hasn’t spoken.

“Koma?” Niragi says. 

“Right. Sorry. Pulling over,” Koma replies, mumbling. 

The car jostles as he turns from the smooth road to the crunch of leaf-and-branch-covered forest floor. Karube puffs out a breath, his shoulder knocking against the door. He can see Koma’s figure trembling slightly in the front seat as he shifts the car into park and turns the engine off. Silence surrounds them, choking the air. His eyes flick and briefly meet Karube’s in the rearview mirror, then he quickly looks away. His hands twitch on the wheel, then they slip off and he hops out of the car without a word. 

Niragi turns and gets out of the car as well, heading towards the back to pop the boot open. Karube finishes his water, then opens his door and swings his legs out. It takes him a moment to find his footing as he pushes himself out of the car, still feeling woozy and unsteady. He sets his hand on the side of the car, keeping himself upright. 

It’s left to Niragi and Koma to set up the tent and the campfire. Karube sits by the fire, feeling utterly useless and sore. He jabs at the flaming logs with a thin stick, sending orange sparks into the air. Nobody speaks. Karube is obviously exhausted, the blood loss still hitting him, but Niragi and Koma aren’t looking too great either. They look harrowed, weary. 

Niragi steps into the tent to roll out the sleeping bags. Koma lingers around the entrance, his chin ducked, picking at the bloodied hem of his too-big tank top with his blunt nails. He’s been making a point to not look at Karube. He’s still frowning. Karube sighs quietly, tosses his stick into the flames. He dusts his hand over his knee. 

“Koma,” he calls. 

Koma flinches, shoulders hunching up to his ears. Karube opens his mouth to say more, but then Koma’s turning and hurrying towards him, collapsing to his knees in front of him. His breathing is shaky and hitching. His blonde curls fall over his downturned face. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Karube. You were right, I don’t pay enough attention, an-and it’s all my fault you got bit.” He breaks off with a muffled sob, his hands pressing into the leaf-litter ground. “I’ll do better, I promise, I’ll stop talking so much and I - I’ll pay more attention. Please don’t hate me - you should hate me, but please don’t. I’m sorry.” 

Karube lets his eyes trace over Koma, over his trembling shoulders and limp-hanging curls, hearing the hiccups of sobs escaping him. He exhales a quiet breath. What good is being angry at Koma going to do? His arm is already gone, yelling at him or beating him down isn’t going to bring it back or make either of them feel better. 

Leaning slightly towards Koma, he lifts his hand and sets it on Koma’s head, ruffling his curls. Koma freezes, sniffling. 

“Calm down, I’ve already lost an arm, I don’t need a headache too.” He has to joke about it, otherwise it’ll break him - but the comment makes Koma sob. When he finally looks up, his face red and his puffy puppy-dog eyes are wet, lines of tears streaking down his cheeks. His mouth wobbles. It makes Karube remember just how young he is, he’s just some expectedly-dumb twenty-something-year-old in a shitty situation. He brushes Koma’s curls back from his face, sighing. “I don’t hate you. Just be more careful, take more notice of your surroundings - and no more wandering off by yourself, okay?” 

Another tear drips down Koma’s cheek as he nods quickly. 

“Such a baby,” Karube teases, swiping the tear away with his thumb.

Koma snuffles and fumbles his hand across his face, smearing the tear streaks across his red cheeks. 

Niragi chooses then to leave the tent, curving around the fire to sit down next to Karube on his good side. Koma shuffles back to give him room, sitting back and drawing his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapping loosely around them. Niragi crosses his legs, props a water bottle on the ground and twists the cap on a bottle of pills. Karube holds his hand, palm up, to Niragi. He tosses the given pills into his mouth, taking a sip from the water bottle Niragi passes him next. 

“I don’t know how much they’ll help, but they’re all we have,” Niragi says, then he sighs, rubbing a hand up the back of his neck, “Maybe we should check out a hospital the next time we go through a city.” 

“They’ll probably be crawling with zombies. No doubt hospitals were where all this started,” Karube says, worrying his teeth across his bottom lip. 

“We’ll just have to watch each other’s backs. With your arm, you’ll need the medical supplies, stuff to make sure you don’t get an infection - better stuff than what we could find in that gas station.” 

Karube’s mouth twists, knowing Niragi’s right. 

“Did you keep my axe?” 

“We didn’t have a chance to clean it off, but it’s in the boot,” Koma cuts in. 

Karube nods shortly. He’s still got one arm, he can still pull his weight, he has to or else he’ll be dragging Niragi and Koma down - and Arisu and Chota are still out there, and he’s going to find them. Inhale, then exhale. He just needs to adjust and adjust fast. He rolls his shoulder, feels a dull throb of pain up his bicep, and hisses a breath through his teeth. 

“Then that’s our new plan. We find a hospital first, then we keep moving through Nagano,” Karube says, a reignited determination painting across his features. 

It doesn’t take long for the exhaustion to hit them all after that’s decided. They eat a little, put the fire out, then pile one after the other into the tent. Niragi helps Karube down before flopping back onto his own sleeping bag. The three are left staring at the roof of the tent, silence filling the space between them. Despite how tired they are, none of them are able to easily fall asleep. 

“We got to it in time, right?” Koma whispers shakily. 

“We did,” Niragi says, determined. His hand finds Karube’s wrist in the dark, long fingers wrapping tightly around it. Karube looks at him. 

“You’d better not die on me, so you be more careful too, got it?” he says, the slight tremor in voice disguised by the sharpness of his tone. Karube smiles lightly, a warm feeling in his chest, and he shuffles his hand until he can intertwine his fingers with Niragi’s. 

“You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”