Archive of Our Own ^beta

Souda was really glad Teruteru was dead.

Wait, that came out really wrong.

What he meant by that was simply that he didn't think Teruteru would be able to handle this motive. Starvation until a murder? Souda can't even imagine the devastation on the short chef's face if he was here with them right now. Probably similar to Akane's, but Kazuichi isn't sure who'd be more devastated between them.

A soft creaking sound came from the floorboards of Kazuichi’s “crummy room” as he paced them slowly, and he continued pacing despite feeling like he had heavy weights tied around his ankles. Every step made him feel unstable, anxious, like the wood beneath him would rot and crumble at any step, and send him falling through.

But he still paced the room and took those chances.

When he went into thought, he couldn't help but pace, and thinking was keeping his mind off of his aching, hungry body. It gave him a good reason to drag his feet up and down his room while ignoring his legs sending constant, insistent pain signals up to his brain, commanding him to sit back down. Signals he was actively ignoring with thoughts of his dead classmates.

Not because it was less painful, but because it was impossible to stop thinking about them, and resisting would just hurt more. So he let himself think.

Now that Souda thought about it, Teruteru might have been worse off in this motive. Food wasn't just a pleasure or sustenance to him, it was his talent. He knew how insane someone could go when they couldn't indulge in the thing they were so accustomed to, the thing they did better than anything else in the world.

Artists, if he could truly call himself that, had their muse. Machines, food, medicine, martial arts, photography, traditional dancing. Didn't matter what it was, it was important to them. So important that if they couldn't engage in said activities, they'd go insane. At the very least, they need to rant about them just to be involved somehow.

If Souda wasn't terrified of going near Hajime right now, he would have no doubt talked his ear off about every single blueprint he was imagining, every mechanical gear that was turning in his screw loose brain.

(Man, he missed Hajime.)

Maybe Teruteru would miss food so much he'd start talking about food.

Tender, fall-off-the-bone ribs, glazed in sticky and tangy sauce, every rib caramelized to perfection. Savory, spicy, indulgent in every bite of meat, juice dripping down your chin, and the rich flavor filling your mouth. Buttery, roasted garlic bread with a smear of fresh herbs and parsley, crispy on the outside, and fluffy on the inside. Every bite is a combination of blissful textures that warmed you to the core.

A charcuterie board, a display of colors, flavors and textures all arranged together meticulously in a mélange of beauty. Creamy cheese wheels with aged rinds, and softened cut cubes. Luscious and gorgeous, standing tall in the middle of spread wedges of chorizo and summer sausages, slotted between folded slices of prosciutto. Rose arranged salami and pepperoni, flowering with petals reaching for you, begging to be devoured. Sweet figs, apricots and strawberries add splashes of sweetness in the board, alongside a jar of decadent, gooey honey that's begging to be slathered on a cracker, and enjoyed in a dance of sweet and salty on your tongue.

The mixture of western and fancy cuisine ringing as familiar and comforting, yet an exquisite and once in a lifetime experience.

...

Souda swallowed the pool of saliva forming in his throat. Teruteru would make them all go fucking crazy if he was here to spin poetry about the food he was desperate to create.

Crazy.

Hell, that's how he felt right now with absolutely nothing to tinker with.

Sure, he could have fucked with the elevator controls, but if he broke it he'd cut off the ability to reach his classmates! Particularly Hajime and Miss Sonia, as well as anyone who was in the Strawberry House when he decided to mess with their only means of transportation between the two fluorescent buildings. And while Kazuichi did truly believe in his skills enough to fix anything he broke, he required tools for that, and his lucky wrench and bitten fingernails just wouldn't cut it. The thought of jeopardizing them scared him into keeping his hands unaccompanied, no matter how out of his element he felt.

He wished he could do anything regarding his talent. Take apart the statue in an effort to see what was inside, even if it was nothing but stone and dust. Take out the panels of the buttons connected to either Grape or Strawberry Tower, rewire the cords and circuits with his bare hands. Fuck, he'd even like to go in the Final Dead Room just for a chance there was any kind of mechanisms! There had to be right?

Or better yet, an exit. Chiaki had told him it wasn't worth risking their lives…but if they were going to die of starvation anyways, maybe…

Kazuichi snapped out of these thoughts by raising his hand and biting into it, the upper row of his sharp teeth pinching the skin between his metacarpal and proximal knuckles. Not enough to bleed, just enough to leave indentation lines, and pull him from the spiraling thoughts.

He shouldn't think about it. Because thinking led to doing. And he did not want to do anything with that room. Not really.

Who knew what was behind there?! It could be a complete trap! Just a sick mind game to lure them all to their deaths! Chiaki was right, and much, much smarter than him, so he could listen.

...

Kazuichi pulled his hand from his mouth as he suddenly stopped walking, the wood beneath him groaning as he applied weight to the balls of his heels. The sole of his sneaker dug into the arch of his foot, leaving an irritated red mark in his skin, a hint he needed new shoes. But it wasn't like he could just pop into the shoe shop on the island.

Especially not now.

Pink eyes glared down at his hand, lips set in a frown as he examined the calluses on the edges of his fingers, dotted along his fist and thinning against the top of his palm. They were the hands of a mechanic, adorned in shades of red, purple and pink depending on its stage of healing. They were the hands of hard labor. Anyone who looked at them would assume he had a hard life, but it wasn't like that. He loved his calluses. They were proof of his commitment to his talent, a testament of his dedication to his craft that had formed over years of practice.

Which was why he was upset they were starting to slowly, but surely, heal.

Kazuichi raised his ring finger and pressed on the nodule on it. Just enough pressure to see the purple outline go white, and feel the squish of softened tissue beneath his pad. When he let go the lump remained white a moment longer before turning pink, then red, then purple, starting with a dot in the middle that spread out like a stain, soaking and spreading its colors outward.

Give it a few more days, and the callus would be pure white, all blood flow drained from his hands as starvation began to fully take its hold on his weakening body. It would still be awhile until he reached that state, however. No, first he'd go through a LOT more before his hands went pale. Lethargic behavior, irritability, mood swings, confusion and disorientation. Check, check, check, and double check.

Next, the stomach pangs would disappear, and instead he'd be left with a terrible feeling of emptiness that persisted every second he was conscious. It would become more unbearable than the pain because the emptiness would be so vivid, and impossible to ignore. He wasn't there just yet, luckily.

As the limited fat stores in his body began to deplete to nothing with every single session of Monokuma's rigorous Tai Chi, every step taken, he would become weaker. Soon walking would grow too difficult, then talking, then breathing. Painfully, slowly, he would die in a heap on the ground of this very room, from dehydration before starvation mind you, but Souda imagined there wasn't a huge difference between the feeling.

Just the rate of time in which he suffered.

Kazuichi morbidly wondered who'd go first. He wouldn't, he was far too used to surviving days on limited food. So he started to pick away at his classmates' psyche in his mind, considering their body weight that was proportional to their fat deposits, but he quickly stopped thinking when he grew close to deciding who'd be found dead in their room first.

He didn't want to know.

This wasn't usually his kind of thing. The kind of ramblings his brain was producing were more akin to Mikan's territory, but the nurse was gone. Hajime once said she only felt needed when people were sick, and during the disease motive, she proved that. To think someone as caring and loving as her could do what she did, sick or not, sane or not. She had worked so hard to care for everyone in the hospital. How did she go from dabbing cold clothes on feverish foreheads to hanging and taping up the bodies of her classmates?

Souda wondered if she'd be worried about everyone now. He wondered if she would be here, running from person to person, sobbing from stress as she agonized over their decreasing physical health. Or would she even care about them anymore after they executed her? Would she wish for them to have water out of a willingness to keep them alive longer, or to prolong their deaths to be more painful and torturous?

Perhaps dehydration would be better. At least he wouldn't have to wait weeks for them all to wither away into skeletons in that instance.

Although he would KILL for a glass of water right n-

Souda's fist clenched tightly, his teeth biting into the inside of his cheek almost hard enough to bleed, but not quite. He didn't mean that either. It just came out wrong. Again.

He wouldn't hurt anyone to get out of here. He felt sick at the very thought of taking one of his classmates' lives, and then standing at the podium, being treated as an ally, as an equal, when he was just a wolf in sheep's clothing. He can't stand the thought of Hajime calling for his support, believing it's us against them, but it was really him against them all along.

Souda wouldn't win.

The last three hadn't, so why would someone as cowardly as him? He didn't even want to win because if he did, his entire class's blood would stain his hands, and drip down his calluses-

A wave of nausea, strong and hot, curdled in Souda's stomach and bubbled to his throat, but the mechanic's hand flew to grip his mouth, pinkie pressing painfully into his jawbone as he did so.

His imagination was too vivid. He had a mind like a faulty and old machine. Once it got going, all engines revving and steam pouring from every orifice, it wouldn't fully cool off even when it was powered down. His brain would boil under the heated metal of his skull, turning his mind into a hot chamber with no fresh air to cease the simmer of his cranium. It would shake and shift, bolts and screws flying in every direction, sending jabs of pain through every spot they managed to ricochet against. But worse yet, the machine in his mind left an imprint.

Dripping crude oil and gas, thick and slick down his skull, staining the porcelain in his bones and leaving the sharp, metallic vinegar smell wafting through his nose and mouth. Traveling down his neckbone and dipping into the soft cartilage of his spine.

It felt so real.

Kazuichi got so caught up in his fantasies, good or bad, that sometimes he forgot they were just that, fantasies.

Good ones uplifted him, deluded him, but like a double edged sword, it hurt twice as bad when reality came crashing down. When he smiled at Miss Sonia, and expected a smile back, but was met with an uncomfortable press of her lips. When he strutted to the central island, and was shocked by the Monobeast standing menacingly in front of the bridge.

When he walked into a despairingly empty dining room.

It was terrible, rising so high just to fall so far.

But the bad fantasies were worse because they made him so goddamn paranoid.

Whenever Souda looked at someone after indulging in a horrible, invasive and intrusive thought, it made him feel convicted. Even now, after just imagining being the blackened, he suddenly felt terrible, like he had actually done it. Didn't matter who, just the act was bad enough. He was a murderer of a classmate regardless.

You're being delusional. He told himself. You didn't kill anyone.

But he could feel their eyes.

Harsh, burning, untrusting.

Nekomaru's metallic glare was hard as the steel on his new body, yellow eyes flashing like they wanted to incinerate him.

Akane's eyes were as sharp as her nails, desperate to claw him to pieces where he stood on his podium, hungry to repay the damage he did tenfold.

Chiaki's expression was exhausted, drained of life, seeing Souda fall into the same weakness the others had fallen into before him. They'd warned him, didn't they? So why didn't he listen? They must find him as incompetent as he is heartless.

Gundham's heterochromic gaze was piercing, yet almost smug, as if pleased to know he was right about Kazuichi's poor character all along, yet still disappointed because his correct assumption still led to a regretful death.

Miss Sonia looked at him with so much contempt, her eyes slicing through him, demanding and cold. She clearly shared Gundham's opinions on his character, and now more than ever, her eyes scorched him with hatred as cold as ice.

Nagito looked interested, but his dull eyes expressed disappointment. Souda couldn't even satisfy him, the one person on this godforsaken island that could see the good in the class trials, and endless cycle of murder and execution. Kazuichi disappointed him because it was a sloppy, messy, and barely covered murder. He was discovered in seconds, and he cracked under pressure.

Hajime…Hajime didn't look angry.

He looked horrified.

Pained, like it was him who Souda killed. Like Souda had deceived him with his cowardly act only to pull the rug from under his feet. Hajime was shaking because he had to reveal the truth, even when it condemned his best friend to death. Somehow, the agony shining through his glassy green eyes was worse than anger.

But the worst of it was Fuyuhiko.

His golden eye was hotter than the sun, searing his skin, burning through his flesh. Yet, the emotion he projected was more than anger, more than rage.

It was betrayal.

His face screamed, ‘How could you? How DARE you?’ It ached worse than the hunger, worse than his legs, worse than his own sharp teeth cutting into the meat of his cheek. His mind spiraled downwards into the deepest tenebrous corners of his psyche. Monokuma’s shrill voice bounced off the walls of the trial room, the votes were cast quickly, and the lottery machine jingled and chimed joyously as it announced his fate.

Souda bit harder, metallic flavor coating his taste buds. His heart pounded so fast it may rupture, and burst into a gory mess in his chest, spraying viscera onto his ribcage.

He would be executed.

He couldn't help but notice the theme of the executions. They always related to their talents. It was their final kick in the stomach before their deaths. He had no doubt a machine would bring his end. The pulsing pipes and copper wires of the machines he loved so much would kill him. Squishing, pummeling, incinerating, slicing, tearing, disemboweling, dismembering-

Thud.

A sound that wasn't loud, but close. That's what snapped him out of his disassociated, unwilling daydream.

Thank fuck.

Souda's head spun towards where the sound originated. Just outside his door, in the hallway.

Part of having the short end of the stick, otherwise known as being stuck with the crummy room, was hearing everything outside the room. Napping was hard when he could hear people coming, going, pacing just outside his door. Most times he was too tired to barge outside, and give the person a piece of his mind for costing him some much needed rest. However, he was already up this time, and that didn't sound like footsteps, more like a hard object falling.

So yes, it was worth investigating.

Souda slid his sneakers towards the door, taking a moment to shift his weight so he could hear them creak beneath him. What he once found unsteady and unnerving was now grounding, oddly enough.

Falling through the floorboards would be preferable, actually. Now that he had his thoughts back on possibilities of escape that didn't result in death, he was beginning to consider tearing them up. If he had the strength to do so or not was the real question.

He took deep breaths, and absentmindedly dug his pierced tongue into the cut in his cheek, jagged and uneven thanks to his teeth. The wound gushed, fresh blood coating his tongue, and the taste…

It took his mind off of everything that hurt, honestly.

Blood usually tasted horrible.

Blood usually made him panic.

But it tasted like a drop from the miracle mountain of goddamn wonders right now. He almost wanted to bite again, bite harder, then worry his tongue against the incision and drink his fill. He was so busy indulging, he almost forgot about the sound outside, until-

Thud!

It happened again. A little louder, a little closer. That kicked him into first gear, and allowed him to finally close his still shaking hands around the doorknob and-

-find himself unable to open it fully, due to a blockage on the other side that stopped the door once he'd only pushed open a smidge.

“The fuck?!” He cried with a bit more force than necessary, irritation filling him as he glared out at what he could see of the hallway. Just a lot of pink and red fucking strawberries. Maybe that added to the agitation because then he shoved against the weight of the door, also with more force than necessary, and heard a hissing sound, followed by-

“Fucking WATCH IT!!”

“AHHHHH!!" Souda shot away, heart hammering in his chest after the scream sounded from whatever, or rather, whoever he just slammed the door into.

“Jesus Kazuichi!” Said the person again, pained and disgruntled. Once the mechanic realized who it was, he immediately rushed back with all the energy a starving person could muster to stick his head through the slightly wider crack.

“Fuyuhiko?!”

There, kneeling in the hallway in front of Souda's room was Mr. Baby Gangsta himself, one hand on the ground for stability, and the other on his shoulder. Which Souda definitely just bruised. He pushed the door up against Fuyuhiko again, (Gently. Don't slam it this time.) and managed to wiggle his body out into the hallway before rushing to kneel beside him.

“Fuyu-” Souda's vocal chords froze in his throat the moment he fully took in the yakuza's state.

Fuyuhiko looked gaunt, damn near shrunken. His usually pink and rosy cheeks were pale- shallow even. His skin looked ghostly, and almost tight over his face, especially around his eyes. His lips were chapped and cracked, no longer a vibrant peach color, and Souda felt sure the skin could be ripped off like a crumbled bandage with some light picking. His very body looked thin, muscle structure seemed caved, and his suit looked somehow bigger on him around the arms and shoulders. His slouched posture didn't help, it made him look smaller.

But his eye was the worst part. Shrunken back in his skull, surrounded by heavy bags that could be seen even under his eyepatch. Outlining his exhausted retinas that looked glossy and glazed over like a mirror, lacking focus and luster.

Fuyuhiko looked like he was at death's door.

Not to bring up the dead again, but Souda really wished Mikan was here right now, even if she was a few gears short of a clock. At least she'd know what to do, at least she may have some idea of how to save Fuyuhiko.

All Kazuichi could do was panic.

“Fuyuhiko-” He sputtered, looking stricken.

Fuyuhiko's glossy golden eye snapped in his direction, narrowed stubbornly. “Say my name one more goddamn time, and I'll elbow your kidney.”

Souda's hand snapped down to his side, protectively pressing just under his sternum. Fuyuhiko rolled his eye towards the ceiling.

“That's not where they are, dumbass. Further back, either side of the spinal cord.” He corrected, and Kazuichi began to remove his hand, but then his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at himself, then back at Fuyuhiko.

“Hey! You can't even reach those from there!” He retorted. Fuyuhiko let out a guffaw, halfway exasperated and halfway amused. It turned into a dry cough that expelled from his parched throat, and had him doubling over on the spot.

“Hey hey!!” Kazuichi cried as he leapt forward, one arm wrapping around Fuyuhiko’s front, and the other pressing against the small of his back so he didn't fall fully forwards or backwards. “Careful!”

Fuyuhiko looked like he wanted to cuss him out, and he tried to twist his body out of Kazuichi's hold, but the pink haired man decided to pretend he didn't take the hint and held on tighter. This forced him to ride out his coughing fit within Souda's arms, and he felt weirdly not disgusted by the saliva flying onto the arm of his jumpsuit. Suppose it was hard to be grossed out by germs when the person spewing them looked like he was teetering on a precipice.

Souda was gross anyways after days without showering. Not like he hadn't done it before, even with showers available. Point was, his concern overrode any possible repulsion. He didn't loosen his hold until Fuyuhiko stopped coughing, and the mechanic watched his head lull back in exhaustion to look up at him.

He must have been making quite the face because Fuyuhiko immediately narrowed his eye defensively, and scrunched his nose. “Quit it with the puppy face. I'm fine.”

He was lying through his teeth. And Kazuichi wanted to call him on his bullshit.

So he did.

“You're not, man! Seriously, did you fall in the hallway?”

“I-”

“Twice?!”

“Let me talk, dammit! Why demand questions if you won't let me give answers?!” Fuyuhiko insisted, raising his hand in a frustrated gesture.

“Because you'll lie! You were on your way to your room, and you fell down. I heard it! Jesus dude, how long have you felt this we-MMF!!” Souda's words were cut off when a hand came up and gripped his face, squeezing his cheeks together harsh enough to pucker his lips. Pain sparked on the meat of his inner cheek as the taste of blood returned, dizzying and potent.

“Don't. Fucking. Say it.”

Fuyuhiko looked furious with him, that golden orb regaining some light, just enough to blind him. Too familiar to the eyes that regarded him with betrayal in a distant fantasy. 'How could you? How DARE you?!’

Kazuichi jerked his head, and Fuyuhiko's fingers slipped towards his jaw, his pierced tongue darting out-

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Fuyuhiko roared as he yanked his hand back, fingers spread and his knuckles pale. “Did you seriously lick my hand?!”

He could have smiled, or maybe reprimanded Fuyuhiko for being grossed out by his spit when the reverse wasn't the same. Instead he just stared with a deep frown, and did nothing to stop Fuyuhiko from wiping his hand off on the front of his own jumpsuit, even if the touch made his skin feel like static beneath his clothes. “Seriously, you're so childish, making fun of me and shit. Kicking me while I'm down to feed your own-”

Souda's hand snapped up, his calloused fingers wrapping around Fuyuhiko’s, pinkie curled against his wrist. The rest curled around Fuyuhiko's own in a tight hold, pushing it against his chest, and tensing every single muscle in his arm like a rubber band. His other hand pressed harder against the small of Fuyuhiko's back. Irritation flared and roared like flames, stroking the most aching parts of Souda's mind.

“I am not making fun of you,” He was not a selfish person, he cared! “I'm worried about you, dammit!! Is that so hard to believe after seeing you nearly die twice?! You're worrying, Fuyuhiko!!”

His voice carried down the hall far more than he wanted it to, and the echo made Kazuichi pause. Now that the words were out, he felt a mild wave of regret for opening his mouth. The display was a bit too vulnerable for a killing game.

Although, this was more of a starving game at this point and time, wasn't it?

A killing game pitted them all against each other, and no one was truly trustworthy. What was the saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…? And time and time again, they'd been fooled.

Kazuichi wanted to believe in his classmates. God, he wanted to believe them every. Single. Time. A body would turn up, and the stupidest goddamn part of him hoped Monokuma had broken his own rules, and offed one of them. But that hope was crushed repeatedly, and each time it hurt a little more. Yet he kept hoping, and trusting that none of them were killers.

But when they were on those podiums there was always a snake in the grass. One who would reveal themselves eventually, and turn the tables. Always one unknown opponent in the killing game, someone who stood on different ground than them, someone who was thinking only of their own survival, and avoiding their own suffering.

But here in the Funhouse, things felt different.

They were all suffering here. Even the traitor, whether it was actually Hajime or not. They were all on equal standing, (except Nekomaru maybe, because he was a robot) and that made it easier to trust everyone. It made it easier to care, to show he cared without worrying about being taken advantage of. What did he even have to give in these walls besides his own life? Was anyone even strong enough to kill him if they wanted to?

The mechanic learned long ago that wearing your heart on your sleeve painted a target on your back. His crush on Sonia didn't even fall into the category of wearing his heart on the outside. Infatuation, admiration, ardor. He felt all those things, but even those feelings were guarded, fearing betrayal.

Sonia could lie to him, which made her untrustworthy. Hajime could be lying to them right now, which made him terrifying. Nagito was usually honest, sometimes to a fault, but had harmful intentions, which made him unpredictable.

Fuyuhiko?

Fuyuhiko didn't sugarcoat, did he? And that made him…

Unknown.

The blonde in question was staring up at him, palm still pressed firmly against his chest. His dull eye had cleared even more since Kazuichi first saw him, and Souda could feel the scrutinization of his gaze as the cogs turned in his mind.

“...Your heart is beating really fast.” Fuyuhiko commented in a voice that was uncharacteristically soft. It was strange, different compared to how he was speaking to him up until now, but it somehow sounded suited him.

Kazuichi took a moment to rouse attention from his head to his body, and found that, yes, his heart was beating fast.

“You don't look much better than me,” Fuyuhiko mumbled. “You look like you're either about to pass out, or cry.”

Kazuichi's lips pursed, but he decided not to comment. He didn't know what he looked like, and he didn't really want to. It'd just freak him out. “You should go to bed.”

“Why? So I can wake up feeling the exact same, but with my back hurting worse?” Fuyuhiko grumbled, the softness in his tone sharpening at the edges with frustration.

“Your back?” Souda echoed, eyebrow raising.

“You have the same bed as me. Your back doesn't hurt?” Fuyuhiko pointed out almost accusingly.

Souda frowned, choosing not to answer. Instead he changed the trajectory of the conversation away from him. “Sleeping with a bad back is better than falling over every few steps.”

“Fuck you.”

“And weren't you heading to your room anyways?”

“Not to sleep.”

Souda huffed, a sharp exhale leaving his nose like a pouty dog. This back and forth was going nowhere. He wanted Fuyuhiko to rest, but at the same time the blonde was right. Sleep would do nothing to fix the hunger and exhaustion fully, even if he did sleep 10 hours or more a day. It didn't help that the crummy rooms didn't have a way to shut off the lights.

Narrowing his eyes, he glared down into Fuyuhiko's singular one. A silent staring contest, a chance to let his opinion prevail through sheer power of will.

...

Souda blinked, then cursed in defeat as he jerked his head to the side, and broke eye contact. He wasn't going to win. He turned his head back towards the gangster-

-and found the blonde smirking at him, smugness painted on his face, and directed at him. “Gotcha.”

Souda's eyes widened, surprised Fuyuhiko had been thinking the same thing he was. “N…Not fair! You only have one eye! That gives you an edge!”

Fuyuhiko's face twisted in a pale, stretched scowl. “That's not how that works, dumbass!”

“Does too! Do over, now!” Souda insisted, leaning forward.

“Fine!” With a scoff, Fuyuhiko leaned in until their noses were nearly touching.

...

Then they both laughed, and lost immediately. Short, breathless chest laughs that made them chortle in adjacent rhythm with each other. It wasn't hilarious enough for a belly laugh, but hey.

It was kind of funny.

“Jesus, does starvation cause delirium?” Fuyuhiko chuckled, and Souda finally took his hand off of his back. Now pressing it against the floor, he began to rise from the kneeling position.

“Yep. Although it'll take a few more days for it to fully set in,” He explained, finally fully standing so he could offer his hand to Fuyuhiko, still kneeling on the ground. “Come on. If you won't sleep, let's at least go chill in the lounge. I'm bored as hell. I'll wear you out so you won't even notice the shitty bed when you go to sleep.”

Fuyuhiko looked at Kazuichi’s hand for a moment, as if debating trying to stand on his own. Kazuichi pictured himself in his shoes. He was likely trying to picture what was more embarrassing. Accepting his help of all people, or trying to stand alone, and risk falling like a stack of cards in front of, once again, him of all people.

Well. Fuyuhiko chose the former because a moment later, the yakuza's regrettably colder hand was in his own. Souda gripped it tight, using less strength than he thought he'd need to pull Fuyuhiko to his feet.

“Yeah, why not. Maybe listening to your rambling will bore me into sleeping peacefully.” Fuyuhiko mused. Souda jerked his hand from the blonde's like he'd been burned, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“Hey!! You got a weird fuckin’ way of saying thank you!!”

Fuyuhiko smirked, and if Souda didn't know any better, he'd say the yakuza looked more lively than he did when he found him on the floor. “Actually, that was a totally normal way of calling you a chatterbox. I'll let you know when I'm saying thank you.”

Souda raised a hand to scratch the part of his skull that rested just underneath his beanie, scalp dry and hair brittle as hell from not showering for days. “Yeah, yeah. Okay...” He grumbled, deciding to not take “chatterbox” as an insult, even if it was.

...

“Soooooo, are you gonna say it?”

“Nope.”

“WHAT?!”

The stomach pangs would disappear, and instead he'd be left with a terrible feeling of emptiness that persisted every second he was conscious. It would become more unbearable than the pain. He wasn't there just yet. That was part of the long recount of symptoms for starvation that he'd mulled over yesterday.

Yesterday. He'd said that yesterday.

Today, he was living through his prediction.

Empty.

He felt empty.

Damn near as hollow inside as a radio he had gutted and left an empty shell. An empty space inside that collapsed in on itself, but still was empty. Like a vacuum compressing into a vacuum. With every single shuddering movement of his exhausted limbs, the emptiness grew worse.

And worse.

And worse.

Monokuma’s grating voice was even worse than it was yesterday. He directed another sadistic and unnecessary exercise session with an abnormal amount of glee, throwing harsh commands towards every single one of his victims.

His knees were up high enough goddammit!!

Something that had been tedious last time had grown unbearable after another day of no food, and little to no rest. Starvation and sleep deprivation weren't anything new to the mechanic, but he'd never gone this long without both. Where there was absence of one, he managed to find another to fill the gap temporarily, but in this case, his body was completely and agonizingly devoid of either source of sustenance.

Fuyuhiko was right, sleeping in those crummy rooms was impossible, and sleeping in the lounge wasn't any easier with his vision being assaulted by a constant rotating wallpaper of florescent fucking fruit. Maybe he could have handled it. Maybe these past three(?) days wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the lack of distractions, a rigorous exercise routine, no water or showers, and the constant headache that pounded against the crown of his skull, and jabbed behind his retinas persistently. But with all of that on top of the already gnawing hunger and thirst?

No fucking way.

But Souda kept moving his knees as high as they could fucking go, and arms swinging wildly as he executed the sloppiest Tai Chi anyone could imagine. As his body moved, so did his mind, desperate for an escape from the emptiness and pain, emptiness and pain, emptiness and fear and pain and emptiness and-

Despair.

Yesterday he'd had some hope of finding escape.

Today, he had even less.

Tomorrow?

...

By the time Monokuma had finally ended the session, almost every classmate in the tower collapsed to the ground, sweating precious water weight, and mourning the burnt and recent scarcity of calories. Kazuichi could hear their bodies hit the ground, along with the sharp shallow breaths that echoed in near unison through the tower. It was a miracle he could stay upright on his trembling legs through biting into his already mauled inner cheek, and clenching his fists.

He didn't want to fall as well. If he did, it would mean it was really over for them. He wasn't strong, he wasn't tough, but he had experience with this, which made him the most likely to withstand this motive. So if he hit the floor, it would dash and scatter his feeble aspirations to the wind that they'd all survive this, unbeknownst to the collapsed students around him.

He couldn't let that happen. He had to be strong for once.

He just had to.

So even when his knees threatened to shift, his shins felt like they were splintering, and every single tendon in his legs felt frayed and pulled apart, he stayed standing. He placed his hands on his hips, hoping it made him look more confident as he fought to catch his breath, forcing each inhale and exhale to be slow so he didn't wheeze and draw attention to himself. Because as much as he would love to put his hands on his knees, kneel over and cough up a lung or two, he didn't think his body could handle it. He'd fall face first in no time in front of everyone.

Speaking of everyone…

Souda's eyes began to scan the room, blinking away dizziness so he could focus on his classmates' current states. Everywhere he looked, he saw what he felt.

Pain.

Chiaki, shockingly, was already gone and free from Souda's sympathetic eyes, but it didn't lesson what he did see.

Akane was on her knees, her hand pressed discreetly over her stomach, and face twisted in a grimace of need. A visible plea on her face for anything, anything to eat, and the desperation was palatable.

Nekomaru knelt in front of her, his strong steel hands on her shoulders as if trying to make her get a hold of herself in her delirium. While Kazuichi couldn't see his face, he could imagine the concern across his metallic features. Nekomaru may not be hungry, but he was still suffering like the rest of them, still lacked a place to charge. He just handled it better due to the lack of physical systems.

Souda turned his head, and saw Sonia was standing a few feet away, her legs shaking as she struggled to keep a straight posture in her ruby heels. For a moment, Souda actually turned his body like he wanted to walk over and offer her a hand.

That is, until Gundham sped past him with a dramatic flutter of his scarf. He was at Sonia's side in seconds, arms outstretched to catch her dainty form as she collapsed into his arms. Through her pained expression, she was able to give Gundham the sweetest smile of pure gratitude. Her lips even moved, saying something that sounded like, “I don't know what I'd do without you, Tanaka.”

Souda didn't look long enough to see Gundham's reaction, and ignored the sting of rejection in his chest.

Instead he looked at Hajime, who was kneeling on the floor with a hand over his chest as he took deep breaths, trying to steady his burning lungs. Seeing him in pain almost made Souda walk over, apologize for distrusting him and help him to his feet. But doing that would mean Kazuichi was ready to be around him again, and he just wasn't. It'd be cruel to extend a hand, and then retract it the moment Hajime could stand again.

He wouldn't do that to him. He still didn't want Hajime to remain on the ground.

Luckily, or maybe conversely unluckily, he didn't.

In the mechanic's hesitation, a certain luckster stepped forward, jacket somehow looking baggier on his skinny body as he crossed the room to Hajime, and held out his hand with a smile that communicated nothing but genuine concern. Still, even when he was acting normal, it was hard to trust him. Afterall, he was the one who accused Hajime, yet was helping him like he'd been nothing but a saint.

Hajime himself looked skeptical, raising his chin to look up at Nagito and frown.

...

After a moment, he sighed and took his hand off of his chest to grip Nagito's, and let him drag him to his feet. Given Nagito's weakened state, that didn't go smoothly. Souda flinched as they both nearly fell over, and Hajime's other hand shot up to grip Nagito's bicep so he could balance them back on their feet. He looked alarmed, but Nagito let out a carefree laugh, and gave Hajime's hand a squeeze. He could probably drop dead right now, and keep smiling…

What a weirdo.

Souda turned his head away, leaving Hajime to deal with the island psychopath, and directed his gaze to the last person in the room.

Fuyuhiko.

He wasn't expecting him to look any better than yesterday. Thankfully, he didn't get his hopes up because while Fuyuhiko seemed to be standing well at the moment, he was sure it was from pure force of willpower.

Because he looked like absolute shit.

Same exact description as yesterday but deeper circles, paler face, and somehow, a more gaunt expression than what he had in the hallway. If he had been at death's door before, he was in the entryway today.

It made sense. Fuyuhiko was the smallest person here, and Souda was sure a yakuza of one of the most rich and feared clans in the world wouldn't be used to starvation. When he recalled their time together in the dining room, when Fuyuhiko finally joined them after Peko's death, Souda could remember how much the little man ate. He almost rivaled Akane with his portion sizes, even if he was a far more polite eater.

Of course he wouldn't be handling this motive well.

Judging by the way Fuyuhiko's hands were trembling in his pockets, and the way he hadn't moved a single damn step towards the exit, walking may be damn near impossible for him right now. So that raised the question, how do you convince a stubborn yakuza to let you carry him to bed?

A part of Souda told him being around Fuyuhiko alone was a bad idea, but that paranoid voice was squashed real damn quick for once. If Fuyuhiko wanted to kill him, he would have done it yesterday in the lounge. Not to mention, there was no way Fuyuhiko was strong enough to not only kill him, but also hide the body and cover up the murder so he'd get away with it. No doubt Fuyuhiko was strong, even with his size, but right now?

He should be more worried about Souda killing-

...

His tongue dug into his cut, a thin healing layer of muscle keeping him from tasting anymore of his own blood. He wasn't afraid to start biting again if the intrusive thoughts didn't back off, holding his own cheek hostage. He would never become a killer, and he would especially not kill any of his classmates. Not even to save his own skin. Souda hated himself for even considering it.

Back to what mattered. How was he gonna-

!!

Souda's heart stuttered in his chest when Fuyuhiko's head suddenly snapped towards him, his singular golden eye locking onto his own as if he had somehow known Souda was staring at him. For an embarrassingly long time. The blonde's brows furrowed at him, almost like he wanted to give him some kind of threat for being a creep, but instead he jerked his head at the wall adjacent to him, a clear indication he wanted him to walk over.

Kazuichi was sure that's how he meant it, but he still quickly looked over his shoulder, wondering if Fuyuhiko was looking past him at someone and gesturing for that person to come over. All he saw was everyone else leaving in groups of two, leaning on each other for support as they headed back to their rooms for some much needed rest. When he looked back, he saw Fuyuhiko staring at him with a deadpan look that said, “Yes. You. Dumbass.”

Shit.

Souda felt heat roll up the back of his neck as he walked over, raising his hand to grip his beanie, and run his thumb across the soft stitched material. “S-Sorry, wasn't sure if-”

“Shut up.”

Shocked by the hostility, Souda's face must have scrunched because Fuyuhiko’s next words came out in a far softer tone, almost a whisper. “Just…wait a minute.”

His eyes flickered to look behind Kazuichi at their classmates' retreating backs. He turned his body slightly to look over his own shoulder, but none of the students stared back at them, likely too tired and frustrated to deal with them.

Or Souda, anyways.

Fuyuhiko didn't say anything, so he didn't either. Not when all their classmates left the Grape Hall, or even a bit after that. Not until they heard the distant sound of the elevator.

Souda took that as an opportunity to speak. “Let me-”

“Help me to my room,” Fuyuhiko cut him off, pulling his hands out of his pockets and balling them in fists at his sides, as if frustrated by having to even ask for, or more like demand, Kazuichi's help. The order gagged the mechanic, leaving him slack jawed, and his eyebrows raised high. Then, Fuyuhiko crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head away, a visible blush rising on his otherwise pale cheeks. “...Please."

That's what made Souda snap out of his shock, and slowly begin to smile the widest he had in days. When Fuyuhiko saw his sharp grin, the blush deepened and he uncrossed his arms, instead raising one in an agitated gesture with a single finger extended at the mechanic. “HEY! Wipe that dumb fucking grin off your face! You wanna fucking try me?!” He threatened in a voice that was probably serious, but for once, Kazuichi actually wasn't scared.

“Aw come on man, I'm proud of you! Can't I be a little happy you're depending on someone like me for a change?” Kazuichi laughed, hand raising to gesture to himself.

“Ugh. Don't say that, you sound like Nagito.” Fuyuhiko grumbled with a sneer on his face, and that sobered Souda up enough to almost make him lose his grin.

Almost.

“I didn't mean it like that!! I just mean, I'm not the kind of person someone would trust to help them to their room, y'know?” He explained, the heat on the back of his neck rising in temperature significantly. Fuyuhiko’s frown deepened, looking a bit more agitated. “Y-Y'know! Because I'm-because I'm-”

He tried to elaborate. He really did. But Fuyuhiko’s frown became a scowl, and it was clear Kazuichi was pissing him off, so he cleared his throat and just held out his arm for Fuyuhiko to take. “So, back to your room?”

Fuyuhiko glanced between his arm and his face, the scowl lessening to just a displeased frown. Then he sighed and reached out, hooking one arm underneath Souda's and squeezing his forearm with both hands. He didn't speak when he started walking, so Souda kept pace. Both of them were too tired to walk fast, or talk at the same time as they made their way to the elevator. Once they were inside and just standing, Souda's pink eyes flickered over to Fuyuhiko, and the arm he was holding onto for support.

Almost felt like he was escorting his date to prom. Except they weren't wearing suits, they were starving, and in a tower of terror. Also it was Fuyuhiko, who wouldn't be caught DEAD going to prom with him. He could clearly have anyone he wanted, so he’d never choose him of course.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened, but Fuyuhiko didn't move. He was staring ahead, blankly, his pupils looking cloudy and unfocused.

“Fuyuhiko?” He said softly, but the blonde didn't react. Reaching out, he placed his hand over one of the hands Fuyuhiko loosely gripped his arm with. His skin felt cold. “Fuyu-”

!!

Fuyuhiko's eye rolled up in his head, making his retinas seem fully white as his legs folded, and his body tilted like a sinking ship. Souda's other arm shot out and grabbed him before he hit the floor, fingers curling in his suit so he could haul the yakuza against his chest.

“Fuyuhiko?! Fuyuhiko?!” His cries echoed through the elevator as the mechanic scrambled to keep him upright. While the blonde was incredibly light, Souda was even weaker than yesterday, and felt his own body tip over as well.

BANG!!

With a loud clang, his kneecaps collided with the elevator floor in a dead drop. He didn't even feel the pain as he wrapped one arm tight around the the other's middle, and his other hand supported his head. Fingers curled against the short, fuzzy blonde hair that sent pinpricks of heat across his skin.

Yet, Fuyuhiko still felt so cold.

“Fuyu?! Fuyuhiko?! HIKO!!” Souda was using about every name under the sun that was associated with Fuyuhiko, giving him short, jerky shakes to try and rouse the unconscious teen. But he was out.

He almost looked dead like this. Souda thought for one terrifying, heart stopping second. His heart ached in his chest for more reasons than he could possibly count. Fuyuhiko couldn’t die like this! Not after they fought SO hard to keep him alive! Not after he was finally warming up to them, and considered them friends, maybe even Kazuichi as a friend!

Was last night their last real moment together? Souda had known it would be inevitable if there was no murder, but he thought they had more time! He thought Fuyuhiko had more time, but perhaps he had overestimated how much the blonde teen's body could take. He recalled a moment from last night, sitting across from the yakuza, in the terribly bright green lounge-

“Wait, so you’ve NEVER gone a day without eating?”

“Why would I? I had private chefs who prepared tables worth of food for my entire clan, and cooked me a meal whenever I demanded one.”

Fuyuhiko had never skipped a meal before, which Souda had envied last night. Now he realized that his more frugal childhood had given him an unfair advantage over his friend. His friend. Fuck, fuck Fuyuhiko was his friend! He cared about this asshole, and he was about to die in his fucking arms, and-

Harsh, burning, untrusting.

Fuck. They were going to think HE did this. They were going to think he killed Fuyuhiko in cold blood. He would walk to them with Fuyuhiko's body, (so light, too light) and their eyes would glare daggers through him as the body discovery announcement made his skull ring. They would investigate, but it would be more of an interrogation, and without Mikan to confirm the cause of death was starvation, they’d believe he killed Fuyuhiko. Then they’d vote him as the blackened, no matter what he said, and they would be dead WRONG. Then they would all-

Oh god, they’d all be executed.

And it would be Souda's fault because he couldn’t convince them to trust him.

His heart plummeted through his body and through the ground, sinking to the center of the soul, and pushing hot, burning magma back up into his throat from the core of his body. Steam rose from the heat and filled his eyes, tears dripping down his cheekbones without him blinking them free, and the mechanic's hand trembled as it rose to Fuyuhiko's face, calloused thumb tracing the freckled cheek of the unconscious yakuza.

“Hiko,” He choked out through his steadily closing throat, and if he wasn’t so delirious with fear, guilt and mourning, he may have wondered when he started using such an affectionate nickname for him. “Please, please don’t do this.” He begged as if the teen could hear him somehow, as if Fuyuhiko would open his eyes and be okay somehow. Just like the first time, and the second time.

He’d be okay. He had to be. He was just scaring the shit out of him, right? The hand on Fuyuhiko's cheek was trembling, sliding further down his face, towards his neck. He had to be okay. He had to be okay.

His lungs stilled, and his fingers finally reached the blonde's neck. They pressed into a spot underneath his jaw, and tried to cease their shaking so he could focus on the possibility of a pulse. He didn’t feel anything, so he moved his fingers a bit further down Fuyuhiko's throat, closer to his collarbone.

Nothing.

“Please, fuck PLEASE Fuyuhiko-” He sobbed, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks as he let out a single plea. He held his breath again as he moved his fingers closer to the middle of Fuyuhiko's throat, closer to his Adam's apple, and pressing on the side of his thyroid.

“PLEASE!!”

...

......

...........

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Three beats. A bit fainter than they should be, a bit more spaced out than what could probably be considered healthy, but it was there. A pulse, a steady pulse. Souda hadn't been sure if he hallucinated the first, so he'd held his breath until the second, and then the third for good measure.

It was real. A real fucking pulse. Fuyuhiko was just unconscious from exhaustion and malnutrition. He was alive.

Souda was so relieved he leaned his head down against Fuyuhiko's chest, and started fully sobbing as hard as he could. He didn't notice how the elevator doors had closed, and he was now sitting in the unmoving silver box with his friend's unconscious body in his arms, tears steadily soaking the yakuza's suit jacket and tie.

Kazuichi wouldn’t have been able to handle losing Fuyuhiko. He couldn’t handle losing another friend. Losing their five other classmates was bad enough, but losing Fuyuhiko would have been his greatest loss so far. He would have completely broken down, he would have simply ceased to function. Realizing this made him confront the fact that if he couldn’t handle losing Fuyuhiko now, he wouldn’t be able to lose him later, or ever.

In fact, he didn't want to lose anyone.

But that was inevitable as long as they stayed here.

...

That ugly, dark thought began to rear its head again.

The thought that had begun to grow from the moment the hunger became hard to ignore.

The thought he tried to pace away in his room for various hours nearly every day now.

It grew from just a seed, but its roots began to spread and burrow themselves in the creases of his mind wherever it found weakness. Over the past several days, it had grown bigger and bigger, filling his mind with its poisonous flora and malicious vines, sprouting flowers of doubt that became an ever growing garden of despair. The thought used to sicken him, and a part of him was nauseous in this very moment, but when he stared down at Fuyuhiko's body, and watched his chest rise and fall with steady but shallow breaths…

He found himself welcoming it, and suddenly, the sick feeling grew dull and unnoticeable. It was then, when he finally stopped fighting it, that the thought became an idea.

There is one possible way out of here.

Kazuichi lifted his head, and while his tears did not fully dry, he found himself finding it far easier to suppress the sobs and little gasps that had been erupting from his lips freely just moments ago. A strange and familiar, yet distant feeling took him over, spreading through him like a vine and wrapping around his body and soul.

The one place no one had checked yet.

The tendrils curled and sprawled across his chest, winding around his ribcage to squeeze his lungs against his heart, sandwiching it between them as if commanding it to stop pounding. It didn't, but the message was well received. Panic and fear didn't matter right now, not when he had a goal in mind, and the means to obtain it.

He needed to get everyone out of here.

With hands that still trembled but did not waver, Souda carefully moved Fuyuhiko closer to the elevator walls. He gently pressed him up against them in a seated position, letting the unconscious yakuza's head loll onto his shoulder gently. He could drop him off in the Strawberry House…but he felt skeptical of leaving him out in the open like that. And when Fuyuhiko came to, he'd probably be pissed at him for just leaving his sleeping form in the lobby.

He'd probably curse his memory if he never came back.

So Souda left him there, and after one final look towards his friend, the mechanic stood and walked to the elevator doors. Tears that threatened to spill over were forced back with harsh blinks as he pressed the Strawberry House button. The doors opened since they were already there, and Kazuichi stepped out, listening to the elevator doors shut behind him. Just across from him, staring him in the face, was the last possible solution to getting everyone out of here without a murder.

The Final Dead Room.

It's something his cowardly brain had feared since the moment he saw the clown inspired, creepy door in the midst of a neon colored room of strawberries. It had given off a horrible energy, and Monokuma's explanation of it made the aura it gave off far worse. It was a death sentence, that was a damn fact…but it promised a reward for clearing the game. Answers, privileges…

An escape.

It had to be how Monokuma brought them in, and it had to be how they'd leave.

Kazuichi was sure of it.

So he had to go in there, and get everyone out before any of them starved, or snapped and killed one of their own. But to be specific, he had to complete the challenge inside, and get them out because Fuyuhiko wasn't going to live to see tomorrow if he didn't do this.

Souda's feet moved as soon as he re-registered his purpose in doing this, and weirdly enough, he felt like he was seeing himself approach that door in slow motion. His feet made no sound against the hard floor of the Strawberry House lobby, or maybe they did but he couldn't hear it past the ringing in his ears. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides again and again, as if squeezing an invisible stress ball. His jaw tightened, his throat bobbed, his eyebrows knitted together and crinkled between his eyes.

He was a wound up spring ready to pop, a pipe with a horrible flaw about to burst, an engine with a gas leak set to blow at any second.

He went in slow motion, and as he did, he began to have second thoughts. What if he died in there? What good would that do for the morale of his classmates? Who would look after Fuyuhiko in his last moments?

Stop acting like this is about them. You're scared to die. Why? You don't matter to any of them anyways.

His own voice spit his thoughts at him inside his mind, not unlike a parasite in his head. The vines curled tighter around him for his cowardly thought process, a punishment for looking back at a path that no longer existed. It was true, he was scared to die, or maybe he was afraid of what he'd miss out on if he was gone.

Why? The only thing you'd miss is the death of your classmates because of your own cowardice.

His teeth tightened, digging into each other in sharp crisscrosses, but he kept walking. So he either died in there, or he found an exit. But what if he found no exit at all? What if he risked his life for nothing?

What if there's food? What if there's a clue to how to get out of here? What if there's a fucking rocket in there? Who fucking cares, just get moving. His thoughts grew nastier, meaner, sarcastic in a voice that sounded so cruel, yet still distantly familiar. He'd never sounded so uncaring, not that he could recall. It was like his inner thoughts didn't care about anything, like telling him to go to the Final Dead Room wasn't for his friends or him, it was just because. That's it, just because.

But Souda kept walking. His classmates wouldn't like this. His friends wouldn't want him to think like this. They wouldn't want him to do this just because it was their final option. If Hajime were here-

You abandoned Hajime. He doesn't give two shits about an untrusting, selfish fuck like you. Stop looking for excuses, you want this. You know you do. Go on. Prove yourself, redeem yourself, or do them a favor and disappear completely.

That horrible thought made Souda feel like he was sinking through the floorboards. They probably wouldn't notice his absence much if he died, would they? They missed Togami's leadership, Teruteru's cooking, Mahiru's firm stance, Pekoyama's cool attitude, Ibuki's optimism, Mikan's care and medical knowledge…they even missed Hiyoko, since she was finally growing warmer towards them, and was starting to become a genuine friend.

But him? He barely helped anyone at all. He didn't contribute in investigations or trials. He didn't provide emotional support, or help them find escape routes really. If he was gone, would they really…?

Souda's hand slipped into his jumpsuit pocket, his fingers finding the cool metal of his wrench, and he slowly pulled it out so he could hold it tightly in his palm. Even its coolness against his too warm skin, even the slow stroke of his thumb pad across its spine wasn't enough to soothe him. He was almost there, and he couldn't stop shaking.

He didn't want to die.

You won't, if you try really hard.

He wanted to get his friends out.

Then do it.

He didn't want Fuyuhiko to die.

Then do it.

His hand moved as if something was possessing him, and he watched it happen as if he was witnessing a horror movie, reaching out for the door handle with the hand not holding his wrench. He wasn't prepared for what would be in there, but did that really matter? Not in the face of what was at stake. His life versus the rest of his classmates…it was kind of a no brainer, wasn't it?

As scared as he was about what lay beyond this door, he feared the slow degradation of his own body until his final moments much more. As terrified as he felt to imagine what could await him inside, the memory of how he felt before he knew Fuyuhiko was just asleep was so much worse. The tendrils around him, dark and sweltering, burning under his skin, moved his hand against the handle.

Click.

Souda opened it. Light shined on his face, and he saw a flash of gray walls, and something white and pink turning to face him-

“KAZUICHI!!”

Souda's spine straightened from shock, and he turned his head to look behind him, but he could only see a flash of black and yellow before-

“OOF!!”

A pair of arms wrapped tight around his middle, yanking him backwards, and he had such a tight grip on the handle that the Final Dead Door slammed shut just before his fingers slipped from the door knob, and his wrench clattered to the floor. His world tilted as he twisted in mid air, the floor came up to meet him quickly, and dull throbs of pain radiated through his body once he collided with the harsh and unforgiving tile-

-with a body pinning him down to top it off, heavy but not heavy enough to crush him. Before Souda could open his mouth to protest being interrupted, or maybe explain himself for breaking their promise, a harsh grip covered his arm and-

“AAAH!! UNCLE, UNCLE!!” Kazuichi cried while slamming his free palm against the floor. His arm was twisted behind his back to its absolute limits, shocks of pain curling from his bicep to his shoulder, making him twist his body to follow, as if scared it'd be broken if he didn't do so.

“Damn right uncle, you fucking BASTARD!!”

Wait a minute-!

Souda twisted his body fully, his hip raising slightly from the floor, and some pressure being alleviated from his arm as he propped himself up with his elbow. The sight he was met with was the very pissed face of the very awake Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu. His lips were set in a furious sneer, his teeth exposed and bared like a dog about to bite. Kazuichi couldn't even see the top half of his face past the shadow covering it…outside of a single blazing golden eye glaring down at him with wrath he was sure he hadn't seen before now.

Man, if looks could kill, Kazuichi would have better chances of surviving the Final Dead Room.

“F-Fuyu-you're awake! You-OW OW OW OW, EASY EASY!!”

Fuyuhiko twisted his arm painfully, making it even harder to endure the stretch of his muscles, and the uncomfortable bend of his bones. His wrist was twisted far closer to his spine than he would have cared for.

“Don't you fucking Fuyu me!! You were going to go in there!” The yakuza hissed venomously, his voice less accusing and more judgmental. There was no point accusing what was true. Despite this, Souda began to open his mouth, only to be once again cut off by, “Don't you even think about denying it!”

The pinkette's pained gaze fell away from his face to instead look behind them at the now closed Final Dead Room doors. He…was going to go in there, wasn't he? He had done it with little hesitation, but with his mind a bit more clear, he couldn't help but feel a bit horrified by his actions.

It had seemed like the only option.

It had seemed like what was right.

It had seemed like what he was meant to do.

To save everyone, prove himself, to escape a slower death. Now he could acknowledge how he felt put under a spell. Like there was a darker version of him whispering in his ear, telling him to hurry up, and go inside the room.

What…happened to-

“OWOWOW- FUYUHIKO YOU ARE GONNA BREAK MY ARM!!” Kazuichi cried, tears of pain beginning to well in his eyes.

“Oh, so NOW you care about your well being?!” Fuyuhiko said in an outraged, gritted teeth hiss, but he did lessen his hold just a bit at least.

“Fuyuhiko it's not like that, I was trying to-”

“I know exactly what you were trying to do.”

The cold tone in the yakuza's voice made Souda feel incredibly tense, as if he was under strict interrogation in some wooden chair in a restricted access warehouse by a port. Weirdly specific.

“Y-You…You do?” He choked out, and the grip on his arm tightened.

“Of course I do. Isn't it obvious? Ya see me pass out, and suddenly decide I'm not strong enough to make it another day, so it's time to resort to drastic measures so I don't up and DIE, RIGHT?!” Fuyuhiko yells at him accusingly, and Souda's jaw drops so fast it clicks against the floor. How did he-

Wait, wait no!

“Fuyuhiko, it's not like that! I just wanted to get us out of here! You didn't have much longer, and-”

“So you admit it.”

Souda's spine shuddered from his stretched shoulder blades to the curve of his spine where the blonde teenager sat down on him, pressing him against the floor. Fuyuhiko's voice was so cold, as cold as his skin, yet his anger was so warm it left a slick feeling against Soudas exposed skin. “No! I mean yes, but no, and also- OKOKOK PLEASE STOP FUCK-!!”

With one last twist, Fuyuhiko luckily dropped Souda's arm so it could fall limp at his side, throbbing as blood flow rushed back into it. His forehead dropped against the ground in relief.

“You're a fucking coward, Kazuichi Souda.”

The words sent a spike through Kazuichi's heart, going right through his chest and into the floor to anchor him there. He already knew that, but it hurt to hear it. Somehow, it hurt much more coming from Fuyuhiko. He didn't even know what to say to the sudden insult, so he just laid there, and slowly dragged his arms up above his head to stretch them out, rubbing his fingers against the bicep that throbbed painfully under the jumpsuit.

Fuyuhiko kept talking. “Suicide is cowardly. If you died in there, that's how you would be remembered. A fucking coward. Did you think for one fucking second how we would feel?!”

Kazuichi’s fingers began to tremble as his forehead pressed harder against the floor. “Fuyuhiko, stop it…”

But either the yakuza didn't hear, or didn't care. He kept going. “No, you didn't because you only think about yourself! You probably just wanted to play the hero, to get us all out of here so you looked good in front of Sonia. So she'd jump into your arms like you were her knight, or some shit!”

He could feel his eyes begin to sting again, a soreness overtaking the nerves as tears rose. “I-Its not like that, please stop-”

Fuyuhiko didn't, his hands now pressing against Souda's shoulder blades as he leaned down closer to the mechanic's ear, to yell more directly into his eardrums. “We agreed we weren't going to go in there. Would you want anyone else to break that promise? If you feel like it, why shouldn't I? Huh?! According to you, I'm near death anyways, so why don't I just hop in there, and-”

“STOP IT!!” Kazuichi sat up suddenly, his body twisting to throw Fuyuhiko off of him, and he heard the smaller teen's body hit the ground with a dull thud. He rolled over on top of him, grabbing his shoulders to shove him against the pink tile. “It's not LIKE THAT!! I don't give a FUCK about any of that right now!! I just couldn't stand to sit by and do nothing but watch you die, Fuyuhiko!! I don't want you to go in there, I don't want ANYONE to go in there, I just didn't know what else to DO!!”

Fuyuhiko's golden eye was wide, and staring up at him with indistinguishable emotion…but still, emotion. Something dripped onto his cheek. A single teardrop.

Then another. And another.

Souda didn't even feel the tears dripping down his face, all he could feel was the heat under his skin, and the burn in his empty stomach. “You scared me! You just, you just passed out, and I couldn't find a pulse at first. Do you know that?! You looked bad enough yesterday, but today you seriously looked at the end of your ROPE!! Then you just fall in my arms, and you looked- I thought you were-”

Kazuichi chokes on his words, unable to complete the horrible sentence. He barely registers the hand sliding up his forearm, to his bicep, his shoulder, and finally trailing along his jawbone, and the bottom of his cheek. “I don't think you're weak, I think you're HUMAN! A human who's going to DIE soon if something isn't done, and I CAN'T LET THAT HAPPEN!!”

“Kazu…”

The soft whisper doesn't register either, nor does the swipe of the yakuza's cool thumb to clear his oncoming tears. “Even if I died, it was worth the risk, worth the chance to at least find enough food to save you! To give you one more day! Even if we never find an escape and all die here, you can't die before me. You aren't fucking allowed to, you aren't allowed to FUCKING-”

!!

The coolness of Fuyuhiko's fingers against his lips stopped him from speaking further, and he found himself blinking down at the pained expression of the blonde teen. “Don't talk like that. Please. You…you sound like…” Fuyuhiko trailed off…but it wasn't hard to guess who he was relating him to.

Pekoyama.

...

Fuck, he really was an idiot, wasn't he? Of course he would be infuriated by Kazuichi trying to sacrifice his life for Fuyuhiko's. Realizing that made him understand why Fuyuhiko had yelled at him like that. Why he had been so damn angry with him, and caused such an abrasive confrontation to stop him from entering the Final Dead Doom. This knowledge pacified him quickly, and when Fuyuhiko's fingers left his lips, he didn't try to continue his thoughts.

He didn't need to hear that.

So they just stared at each other, Fuyuhiko's hand not withdrawing from his face, pressing back to his cheek to clear another path of tears. He curled his pointer finger towards the other side, and wiped away more tears with his knuckle.

“I'm…I'm so-”

“Don't. You aren't forgiven.” Fuyuhiko hissed at him, and Kazuichi felt himself deflate.

“I…Yeah, I know. That makes sense-”

“Don't confuse my words again, idiot. You aren't forgiven yet because you aren't actually sorry for trying to go in there,” Fuyuhiko's eye flashed, serious and incredibly sharp. “But you will be.”

...

Souda glanced away from his intense stare as he let go of his shoulders, and sat up properly while crawling off of his body. “Jeez, you are so scary sometimes, y'know that?” He mumbled under his breath as he watched him sit up from the corner of his eye.

“Good,” A hand curled around his jumpsuit's front, pale fingers digging into the material around his zipper as he was suddenly yanked closer to Fuyuhiko, and found himself nearly nose to nose with him. “Because I am a hell of a lot scarier than what's in that room, even in this state. So if you fucking dare to go in there again, you better hope you die because if you come out, you'll wish you had.” He spat in Souda's face, voice dropping an octave as he let his tone communicate a larger threat than his words.

Not that his words needed any help intimidating Souda, since he felt his heart drop through his ass just staring into Fuyuhiko's golden eye that could blind him from its intensity. “Yep! Yep okay, message read loud and clear! No more Final Dead Room, promise!!”

“Tsk,” Fuyuhiko let go with the flick of his wrist, turning his head away as well. “Your promises don't mean jack shit to me, since you broke the first one already. I'm gonna make sure you fulfill this one though.”

Souda's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he raised a hand to fix his zipper. “Huh? What's that mean?”

He glanced at him, frowning as if the answer was obvious, and meaning was easily communicated. “It means you're never leaving my side again, and rooming with me. Obviously.”

...

...

...

“HUH?!”

The walk upstairs was quiet. Mostly due to how winded it left them to go up the flight of stairs, but it was also because of how incredibly awkward the situation was. It wasn't every day you found yourself in a circumstance like this, was it? So maybe being so short on breath when they reached the stairs was a good thing, since Souda wasn't sure what he'd say anyways. What do you say to a friend you've scorned by breaking a mutual promise, and insulting their honor while behaving like someone dear they lost recently Nothing wasn't the right answer, but Souda wasn't coming up with any better alternatives.

He also couldn't help but notice that Fuyuhiko was leaning against the wall with a single hand, lagging slightly behind him on the stairs. He was clearly refusing to ask for help, or even look in Souda's direction to indicate he needed any. Was he now afraid to rely on Souda for anything because of how the mechanic had gone overboard in protecting him?

Fuck. Shit, that was bad. Souda wanted to help him, he wanted to be a shoulder to lean on as long as he could stay standing dammit! Fuyuhiko said he would forgive him when he was genuinely sorry, which meant forgiveness should surely come one day…but had his thoughtless and panicked actions actually caused a terrible rift in their budding friendship? If they died soon…he didn't want this terrible cloud of awkwardness and devastation to be the last thing that hung between them.

Kazuichi was trying to find something to say, trying to find anything to say-

“WOOOOAH THERE!!”

-When a sudden loud, BOOMING voice filled the air, coming from the very top of the steps. The startle that ran through Souda's body caused him to jump backwards onto Fuyuhiko, and send them both toppling down the stairs.

“Oh! Sorry! Just got excited to find you two!”

Standing just a bit away, rubbing the back of his metallic neck was Nekomaru. His robotic grin was spread wide, and his yellow eyes glowed affectionately down at Souda and Fuyuhiko. Seeing their state, he visibly deflated. “Jeez…you two kind of look like shit.” He said with a slightly softer tone, lowering his hand.

“Thanks. I wonder why.” Fuyuhiko hissed in a sarcastic tone, raising a single hand to push Souda away from him since the pinkette hadn't backed away from his field of view.

“Well, it's obviously because your bodies are compromised! Your calorie intake is nonexistent, and you're CLEARLY exhausted after not sleeping well for days! Sleep is just as important as food, believe it or not!” Nekomaru stated arrogantly, as if Fuyuhiko had genuinely been clueless. Souda glanced back at him, and saw the other boy looking back with an agitated frown. He just shrugged, trying to communicate that he had no clue why he was like this.

“Anyways,” Nekomaru's voice brought their attention back to the robot in question, who was rubbing a single pinkie against the spot his ear used to be. Until he seemingly realized he didn't have an ear, and lowered his fist back to his waist. “I was gonna come looking for you two, since neither of you were in your rooms. I'm glad to see you were both taking a stroll! It's important to keep your blood flow moving, and bodies motivated! But the reason I was looking for you-”

He reached out, taking a single step down the stairs to grab both Fuyuhiko and Souda by their biceps, and effortlessly pull them to the top of the steps like they weighed less than stuffed animals. Once they were on their feet, Nekomaru leaned down a bit, grinning down at them and directly in their face. “I want you both to take my room!”

. . .

“What?” Fuyuhiko and Souda said at the same time, echoing a voice filled with confusion and shock.

“Yeah, you heard me! Ya see, I originally took the room out of fairness, cause I won the game and stuff. But after a while I realized…that when I shut down, a bed doesn't really matter! My muscles don't get sore, on the account of them being made of metal, so whether I shut down on the floor or a bed, it doesn't matter! Plus, I don't feel temperature anymore, so air circulation, smair smirculation, am I right?!”

Nekomaru patted both of them on the opposite shoulder, pushing them together after Souda's arm bumped Fuyuhiko’s. “Why wouldn't I let you guys take it if it makes no difference to me? Normally I'd never protest a fair game we all agreed to, but this is a special circumstance! And the beds big enough to hold me, so why should you two play a game to decide who gets it when you can just share?!”

Souda's jaw dropped. Was Nekomaru seriously suggesting they-

“Sounds fine to me. Thanks Nekomaru, but are you sure you don't benefit from the standard room at all?” Fuyuhiko questioned before Souda could voice his own concerns.

The robotic man withdrew, raising a single finger to rub underneath his, once again, nonexistent nose. “Yeah. After two nights, I've realized it really doesn't change a thing, y'know? So it's all yours! I'm sure two good friends like you won't have a problem with it! Anyways, I'll just grab one of your rooms so I'm not out in the open! Get some good rest, and feel better you two, seriously!”

Then he raised a single hand, and waved at them with a beaming grin. He spun around, and began to walk away with loud steps, the squeak of his metallic limbs leaving the two teens while they stood at the top of the steps.

. . .

“Um, so wh-”

“Come on.” Fuyuhiko stepped forward, shoving his hands in his pockets, and beginning to walk towards the hallway just as Nekomaru closed the door to one of their rooms, safe and secure.

“Wha-hey!!” Souda broke into a slight jog after him, catching up so he could fall into step at his side. Almost immediately he began to regret speeding up because it left him with no air left to question the yakuza. Why was he so casual about sharing a room? Wasn't he worried about sleeping so close to someone who could-

“Stop thinking so loud.”

The mechanic's head swiveled up from the ground, and towards the boy who now stood in front of the door of the standard room, reaching a hand for the doorknob and turning it so he could enter the bedroom.

How did Fuyu-

Nevermind, of course he read him like a book, everyone always said he was so predictable. Like a scorned puppy, Souda trailed after Fuyuhiko into the room, deciding there was no point in arguing against sharing when Fuyuhiko had shut that argument down previously just moments ago. The second he had protested sharing the crummy room, Fuyuhiko had given him a glare that silenced all further protests, and that had been enough.

Man…the standard room hadn't seemed like too much when they were first investigating, but after getting the full Crummy Room Experience(TM), it was practically a 5 star hotel. The air was so much less stuffy, the floors so much less unstable, and God there was a bed. Honestly, even the floor seemed more comfortable in comparison to the shitty cots he had used the last two days. The only downside was the damn strawberry on the carpet, (Seriously, he was never going to eat this fucking fruit again) and the overly bright neon colors. But it paled in comparison to the discomfort of his previous dorm still.

Fuck, he missed his cottage, as much as he hated to admit it. Souda turned his gaze away from the room's decor, and instead looked at the yakuza-

-who was actively pulling off his jacket, and placing it on the chair nearby, draping it over the back.

“Wh-Wh-Wh- Are you getting-”

“I'm just taking off my jacket, tie and shoes. Dumbass.” Fuyuhiko hissed at him over his shoulder, and Souda found his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“W-Well, I had assumed- I mean most people-”

“Do I look like most people, Kazuichi?” Fuyuhiko added while hooking his fingers in his tie, loosening it against his chest before he began to undo it around his neck.

“...No…” Souda turned away after his mumble. He didn't want to see whatever smug look, or annoyed rolled eye he'd get from the blonde for his assumptions, and painful admittance of his overzealous behavior. At least he was feeling better.

Well, may as well take his shoes off as well. Souda walked to the bed, sitting down against it, and bringing a single leg up-

Ah.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit him as soon as his body registered sitting down. As if the action of fully relaxing caused his adrenaline to fully subside, and reveal just how exhausted he was. His leg slipped back down off his knee, both feet now planted firmly on the ground as he braced his hands on the bed just to stay sitting up. Waves of dizziness washed over him, blurring his vision, tilting his world left and right, back and forth like a pendulum as he strained to find balance. He felt like those little rods his dad used to level his work, with a vial of water and air bubble in the middle between two marked lines. He was the air bubble, teeter tottering back and forth, searching for a center, trying to align himself between those necessary marks.

Shit…shit he felt himself beginning to…fall backwa-

“Kazu!”

Just when his eyes began to slide towards the ceiling, a hand curled behind his head, and Souda felt himself being sat up again as his world refocused slowly. With it, Fuyuhiko's face in front of his came into focus. “Dammit, I knew you'd come crashing down eventually. The tough guy act wasn't gonna stay up forever.” The yakuza grumbled, fingers still curled in his pink hair.

“Tough…what?” Kazuichi echoed softly, but he didn't get a further explanation. Instead, Fuyuhiko removed his hand from his head, and slowly sunk to his knees in front of Souda. “Wh–H-Hiko?!” He stammered, flinching a bit when the blonde's fingers grabbed his ankle and lifted it so he could hook his other hand around the heel of his shoe.

“Relax. If you need to sleep, fine. But get more comfortable first.” He insisted, pulling off the first shoe, and then doing the same to the other. His words had a harsh tone, but his actions carried kindness, and consideration that warmed Souda to his core. It was unbelievable, witnessing the Ultimate Yakuza on his knees, removing his shoes carefully…it felt like a sight that wasn't reserved for someone like him.

Fuyuhiko hadn’t forgiven him yet, he was clearly still mad, but he cared anyway and it made him feel so…

Seen.

With both shoes gone, Fuyuhiko braced a hand on the bed and began to stand. Souda found himself reaching out to grab his bicep, and press a hand against his back to help him. Fuyuhiko didn't stop him. When the blonde fully stood, he turned to face Kazuichi-

-and both his hands went to the mechanic's zipper, beginning to pull it down. On impulse, Souda removed his hand from his back to grab the yakuza's own, halting his movements. “What are you-?!”

“Come on, you aren't seriously gonna sleep in this stuffy jumpsuit, are you? Just take it off.” Fuyuhiko grumbled at him, clearly frustrated by being stopped.

“Wh-you're in a suit!!” Kazuichi blanched.

“So? You want me to take it off as well?”

“Yes!” Silence fell, and Fuyuhiko raised a single eyebrow, waiting for Kazuichi to realize what he said. Eventually he did, and heat rose in Kazuichi’s face immediately. “I didn't mean-!”

“Yeah, yeah. At least unzip it to the waist, and pull your arms out,” Fuyuhiko offered as an alternative to whatever backtrack Kazuichi was preparing. Defeated, his grip loosens on the blonde's hand, Fuyuhiko taking that opportunity to continue the zipper's descent. That made Souda's grip tighten once again. “What now?” He groaned, Souda damn near sputters out his next words.

“I can do it myself, y'know!” He reminded, feeling rather ridiculous the moment he says it. Then something in Fuyuhiko’s eye softens him immensely, like taffy underneath the warm glow of the sun. He doesn't speak, but Souda finds he doesn't have to.

“It's…do you feel…?” Souda trails off, hyper aware of the purse of the yakuzas pale lips and the tense of his jawbone.

Fuyuhiko was guilty.

“Fuyu, you know you don't have to-”

“I do,” His interruption is punctuated with him stepping closer, raising a single knee and pressing it on the mattress between Souda's legs to balance himself. “You've done so much for me, Souda. Too much. At least let me do this small, this fucking miniscule thing for you.” He says, and its fucking pleading by all descriptions that could be deemed appropriate for Fuyuhiko's words.

It's not small. Souda wants to say. It's more than just taking off shoes, unzipping a jumpsuit, its service. Service a fucking yakuza shouldn't be giving to him of all people. But there's no convincing Fuyuhiko once he's made up his mind like this, he's as stubborn as he is passionate…and Souda does feel he owes him. If not for breaking the promise about the Final Dead Room, for reminding him so intensely of Peko.

So underneath Fuyuhiko's watchful gaze, Kazuichi lets his fingers go limp. They slide down the other boy's pale wrist, tracing faint freckles all the way down his arm until his hand fully drops down onto his own knee.

A silent approval.

He received silent gratitude in the form of Fuyuhiko sighing softly through his nose. He tugged on his zipper, letting it slide down his chest, down his midsection, until it reached his stomach, and got caught in the crease of his jumpsuits material. Wordlessly, he placed his other hand on Souda's shoulder and pushed him back, the mechanic going willingly, curving his spine backwards and pressing an elbow against the bed to support himself. Fuyuhiko gripped the jumpsuit and pulled it taut until the zipper wasn't caught anymore, and could be easily pulled down to its lowest point, just below his belly button. Underneath was only his white tank top.

Fuyuhiko reached out to pull the flaps of his jumpsuit apart with less hesitation than Kazuichi would have expected from him in a moment like this. It was quiet, no words shared, but their eyes rarely left each other, and that alone created an air of intimacy that they couldn't comfortably share in the lobby when tensions had run too high to see past them. Tensions were high now, but softer. No longer eyes with spiked edges, and sharp bolts that dug into skin, words that sliced like knives, and grabbing, twisting hands.

They were too angry then, and maybe they still were. Fuyuhiko at Souda's sudden actions, Souda at Fuyuhikos jarring words. But that anger was allowed to be left at the door, slipped off like their shoes inside the unfamiliar but secure walls of this pastel room. It was too bright, too annoyingly colorful, but the only color Souda could focus on was the melted gold of Fuyuhiko's eye, staring into his own pink rosy stare.

Fuyuhiko's hands moved under the jumpsuit flaps, running his palms against the white tank top that covered his chest until he reached his shoulders, and he could properly pull the yellow material off his shoulder blades. His cold fingers made Kazuichi's skin prickle with goosebumps, each one leaving a distinctive mark against his flesh, traveling to his spine as the jumpsuit was pushed further down his arms.

It hung around his forearms. Souda made to pull his arms free, since that was clearly the next step, but with his eyes locked onto Fuyuhiko's, he could see the way his eyebrows knitted together in displeasure. So he relaxed again, still propped with his elbows on the mattress, and the blonde's expression relaxed once again. Now free to continue, Fuyuhiko reached out to take his wrist and lift just one of them, making Souda shift his full weight onto the other while he gently maneuvered the first arm out of his sleeve.

That's when he chose to speak.

“I didn't mean it. What I said about you,” It catches Souda off guard, but it doesn't startle him. Fuyuhiko's voice is too soft. “You aren't a coward.” The blonde continues, just to clarify, and Souda was grateful because he hadn't been sure that's what he meant.

“You don't have to-”

“No. Let me talk,” Souda's lips snap shut, and remain shut as Fuyuhiko lowered his uncovered arm down to the mattress. He reached for the other one, so Souda shifts his weight to his other side. “I was angry. I thought…I thought someone was going to die for me again, someone I had begun to really care about-”

Souda's eyes widened, but Fuyuhiko's narrowed, as if daring him to interrupt. So he didn't.

“I know you weren't seeing me as weak…but you saw me as vulnerable. I don't need your word Souda, because I won't believe it anyways. But I'm going to let you know something," The other arm was pulled out a bit quicker, though not rougher. When he let it go, he raised both hands to grip Souda's shoulders tightly while leaning even closer until their chests were mere inches apart. “I'm not letting you die. Under any circumstances. The protection of a yakuza is very serious, so you better fucking take it seriously…got it?”

. . .

Souda nodded slowly, mouth feeling dry suddenly. The single motion was enough for Fuyuhiko to relax and begin to pull away-

-but Souda's hand came up to press against his back, keeping him from growing any further away. Fuyuhiko paused, and then shuffled closer again, taking his previous position again.

“Your eye patch-” Souda gets the courage to say, but almost immediately regrets it when Fuyuhiko's nose crinkles. Almost. He still voices his request. “Can I take it off?”

As expected, Fuyuhiko looks even more upset, but Souda doesn't back down. The blonde's reaction only spurred him on to pursue what he wants further. “Please?”

Fuyuhiko looks compelled to ask why. But he knows the answer. So instead he considers it, and silently stews between either answer's possibility…before he settles on a decision. “Only if you take off your beanie.”

That makes Souda frown, almost pouting. He doesn't really like showing his untamed rats nest on his head…but he supposes it would only be fair. “Yeah…okay.” He agrees-

-and as soon as the words leave his lips, Fuyuhiko is grabbing his hat and yanking it off, revealing the utter chaos that lies beneath it.

. . .

“Pfff-”

“Don't laugh!!” The smile forming on Fuyuhiko's face leaves the mechanic's cheeks flushing all the way to his ears, and the yakuza holds Souda's beanie in his hand like a prize. It's both embarrassing and relieving to see him smile again, even if it's at his expense. “You didn't have to pull it off like that!” He huffed, and Fuyuhiko tossed his precious beanie onto the other side of the bed.

“Didn't want you backing out of it. I don't regret a damn thing.” He admitted, and Souda exhaled through his nose.

“Yeah yeah, your turn-” He mumbled while reaching up, but Fuyuhiko leaned far away, almost fully getting off the bed. Immediate disappointment struck Souda like a waft of cold air.

“H-Hey! Don't back out now!” He complained, but he knew deep down he was more upset by the loss of Fuyuhiko's closeness rather than not having his end of the deal fulfilled. He was upset about that too, though.

“I'm not you, jackass!” Fuyuhiko hissed in retaliation, raising a hand to shake it at him. “I'm just…can I turn the lights off?” He adds, a bit softer as he reached up to run his hand down the still fully buttoned white shirt.

Souda’s knee jerk reaction was to say that was unfair, but he understood. So he nodded, and moved to scoot himself to the middle of the bed while Fuyuhiko stumbled over to the light switch. When it was turned off, Souda could have cried in relief. Darkness after literally days straight of being constantly assaulted with bright lights and strobe colors that could give him a seizure if he just turned in a few circles was a blessing.

Fuyuhiko seemed to agree, since there was an immediate groan from the other side of the room before the footsteps approached the bed, and when Souda's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Fuyuhiko’s silhouette at the edge of the mattress. It dipped slightly under his weight, and Souda reached out to find him as the blonde approached, pawing blindly until he found his shoulder, and helped Fuyuhiko find the space to sit beside him, both of them facing each other.

“So…it's really okay if I…?”

“Can you see me?”

Souda paused, squinting at the space in front of him. He could only see the yakuza's outline, and a faint golden glimmer from his eye. “Not really.”

“Then yes.”

He kind of wanted to complain still, since Fuyuhiko saw his rats nest hair in broad light. But he supposed his unkempt hair was far different than a traumatic battle scar that had only just healed. So Souda was as gentle and careful as he could be, as if tending to a delicate and sensitive machine's inner mechanisms. He gently took hold of the underside of Fuyuhiko’s eyepatch, and with the hushed hitch of the blonde's breath, he pulled it off.

. . .

“It's pretty anticlimactic when I can't see, Fuyu.” Souda said, and it eased the tension just enough to make the gangster laugh weakly.

“Yeah, that's the point, dumbass.” He mumbles, before the bed creaks and his outline shifts to lay down against one of the pillows, not bothering with the comforter. Souda begins to follow suit, but pauses just before his head hits the pillow.

Fuyuhiko notices. “Yeah?”

“Can…I mean, is it okay if…” Souda trails off, voice growing progressively quieter, and he can hear the smile in Fuyuhiko’s next words.

“What, you wanna cuddle?”

This fucking-!!

“I am not a pervert!!” Souda defends himself immediately, and he has more to say honestly, but then he feels a cold hand reach out and grip his shoulder, pulling him closer, and Souda reflexively hunches over. And thus, because of Fuyuhiko purposefully pulling him down, Souda ends up with his face pressed into Fuyuhiko's chest, nose buried in his collarbone, and his hair tickling his chin.

It's a good thing the lights are off because if they were on, Fuyuhiko wouldn't be able to distinguish between his skin and his hair.

Souda's arms are stiff, pulling it towards his chest like he's defending his body in Tae-Kwon-Do. Just like when he took lessons at twelve years old until his dad stopped taking him because he got too busy.

Fuyuhiko doesn't have the same problem.

He can feel one arm around his shoulders, and one hand on the back of his head, holding him snug. For a moment, all Kazuichi can think about is how casual Fuyuhiko is taking this. Did he normally pull people into his bed or something?! While that makes sense, it strikes a chord in Souda…for some reason. He is ready to continue thinking this until Fuyuhiko speaks up again.

“This…is what you were going to ask right? Actually don't answer, because if I jumped the gun and am wrong, you're getting your ass beat. So shut up.”

Is he…embarrassed? Well, that settles it. This is new for him too. That makes Kazuichi smile, and his eyes half lid as he waits for a moment…

Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump-

Rapid, and stronger. Thank god. “Nah…this is better than what I wanted. I was gonna suggest we fall asleep with my hand on your throat so I can feel your pulse-”

“What?”

Souda's eyes snap opened, and his head pulls away from Fuyuhiko's chest in a sudden panic. “I'm not-its because it tells me you're-in the elevator-”

The hand on his face presses down, pushing Souda's face back into Fuyuhiko's chest. A muffled chuckle leaves the yakuza that rattles his lungs against Kazuichi’s blushing cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I get it. You're kind of a softie when you take the time to get to know you, huh?”

Kazuichi decides to take it as a compliment because otherwise, he's gonna get pissed. So instead of complaining, he shuts his eyes fully, and finally wraps his arm loosely around Fuyuhiko's waist while the other stays curled against his chest. “Goodnight Fuyu.” He mumbles a bit grumpily, and he faintly feels Fuyuhiko running his hand through his dirty, knotted hair gently.

“Yeah, g'night Kuzu.”

Even though things aren't fixed, and they will probably all die, and Fuyuhiko smells like sweat and B.O (But weirdly not in a really bad way), Souda feels weirdly at peace. And he stays at peace, his head finally silent, as he falls asleep.

Hours later, Souda and Fuyuhiko wake up in a tangled mess of limbs to the sound of a clock faintly ringing in the distance.