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The sea was deceptively calm that midday. Waves lapped gently against the sides of the boat, their rhythmic rise and fall a stark contrast to the storm brewing on deck. The sun hung high, casting its golden light over the expanse of water, glinting like scattered diamonds on the surface. The air was warm, thick with salt, but the tension between Bison and Kant cut through it like a blade.
“Jump.”
Kant’s eyes darted from the necklace glinting faintly in the water to Bison’s face. There was no mercy in his gaze, only cold calculation. It was a look Kant had become too familiar with in this current moment, though it didn’t make it any easier to stomach. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out the distant roar of the tide.
(There was a time where Bison’s words could make him do anything, and now all Kant wants to do is to curl up and disappear.)
“I don’t have all day,” Bison snapped, his voice devoid of patience.
Kant hesitated, the memories rising unbidden: water closing over his head, screams muffled by the sea, the crushing weight of it all. But there was no room for weakness here. Not now. Not with Babe’s life tangled in the balance, and not with Bison standing over him, demanding proof of his worth.
“You know I’m not good with the water,” Kant whispered, his voice breaking. (A futile plea.)
“Should have thought of that before you lied to me,” Bison shot back. His words hit like gunfire, each syllable piercing through the fragile barrier of composure Kant clung to. “You played me. You played Fadel. What did you expect? Mercy?”
The accusation struck a nerve, and Kant flinched. His lips parted as though to argue, but no words came. How could he deny it? How could he explain that everything he did, every lie he spun, was for Babe? (But also for himself. Survival had a selfish streak, and he wasn’t above it.)
The necklace gleamed again, mocking him as it dipped below the surface. Kant’s chest heaved as he stared at the rippling water. His mind raced, a chaotic jumble of desperation, regret, and hope. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. (If he could just get that damn necklace, maybe—just maybe—Bison would forgive him.)
Bison’s words echoed in his head, sharp and unforgiving. “You played me. You played Fadel. What did you expect? Mercy?” But Kant wasn’t looking for mercy. He was looking for a chance, a chance to prove he wasn’t just a liar or a coward. He could fix this. He had to fix this.
He inhaled sharply, the salty air stinging his lungs. His gaze flicked to Bison’s face, searching for something—anything—that might soften the edges of his anger. But Bison’s expression grew angry, manic, furious. Kant’s red rimmed, wide-eyes meeting nothing but fire and ice behind Bison’s.
Kant swallowed hard. (This wasn’t about survival anymore. It was about redemption.)
With a sudden burst of motion, Kant stepped toward the edge of the boat. His legs trembled beneath him, but he forced them to move. For Babe. For Bison. For himself. He could make this right. He could show Bison he wasn’t as worthless as he seemed.
So Kant jumped.
The cold hit him first, a shock that stole the breath from his lungs. It felt as though the sea had opened its jaws to devour him whole. He kicked out instinctively, his limbs fighting against the weight of the water that pulled him under, disorienting him. The surface above rippled like a taunt, the necklace sinking faster than he could track.
Panic clawed at his throat, but Kant shoved it down, forcing his body to move. But the ropes continued to cut into his arms, an icy numbness threatening to take him over. Kant continued to struggle against his restraints with frantic urgency, as pressure built in his chest, his lungs screaming for air. The world narrowed to the silver glint of the necklace just out of reach.
And then the memories came.
He was no longer in the sea. He was back in the plane. His mother was holding his hand tightly, her nails biting into his skin. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, though her voice trembled. The cabin lights flickered erratically, casting their faces in fragmented shadow. Beside her, his father’s jaw was clenched, his eyes darting to the flight attendant strapped into her seat. (The same seat she’d been in when she told them to brace.)
“Listen to me,” his father’s voice cut through the rising din, low and steady. “Kant, you’re going to close your eyes. You’re going to think of the biggest wave at the beach. Remember? When you tried to jump over them?”
Kant nodded, his chest tight. His father’s hands were on his shoulders now, firm, grounding. “When it comes, you have to jump. You have to swim over it, and get back to the top.”
“I…” Kant’s voice cracked. “I don’t want…”
“I know,” his mother whispered. Her hand cupped his cheek, her tears hot against his skin. “But you have to. For us. For Babe.”
The memory fragmented as the plane tilted violently, throwing trays and unsecured belongings into the aisle. The roar of the engines swallowed their voices. Kant shut his eyes tight, just as his father told him to, but it didn’t stop the screaming. It didn’t stop the impact. It didn’t stop his mother’s hand slipping away from his. It didn’t stop the water from taking everything from him that day.
The water was colder now, biting at his skin, dragging him down into the black. He tried to kick, to propel himself upward, but his limbs were leaden. The crushing weight of the sea pressed against his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. The surface was a distant blur of light. Unreachable.
He wondered if this was what they felt. His mother, his father. If their final moments were this desperate, this cold, this lonely. He wondered if they knew he was alive, if they’d died believing he’d somehow made it, and wasted it with desperate decisions.
“Mom,” he thought, the word bubbling away into nothing. He could see her, somehow, her arms stretched toward him, but they never quite reached. Her face dissolved into the murk, leaving him alone. (Always alone.)
He reached for the necklace again, wrestling with his own body and its restraints, his fingers trembling as they brushed the edge. It slipped further, like it knew he wasn’t worthy. He kicked harder, his lungs screaming for air, but his resolve wouldn’t falter. Not until he had it. Not until he made it right. (For his parents. For Babe. For Bison.)
Kant’s strength gave out before his will did. His chest convulsed, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and the water rushed in, filling his very core. His vision narrowed, the edges blackening, until all he could see was the glint of the necklace drifting further and further away.
On the boat, Bison paced the deck, his irritation curdling into unease. He peered over the edge, his eyes scanning the water for any sign of Kant. A minute passed. Then two. The unease began to curdle into something nastier than fear.
“Shit,” Bison hissed, the sharpness of his voice masking the tremor beneath. His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. Every second stretched longer than the last, and the water remained still. Too still.
(This was what he wanted. Right?)
Despite the ache in his injured side, he dove right in.
(Fadel wasn’t wrong when he said that Bison was a complete fool for love.)
The cold was sharp, a slap to the face while it gnawed at his wounds, but Bison pushed it right to the back of his mind. He swam down with determined strokes, his eyes scouring the murky depths. And then he saw it: a pale silhouette, unmoving, framed by an almost eerie glow of the sun filtering through the water.
Kant.
Bison’s heart pounded as he surged downward, the pressure building in his ears. He wrapped an arm around Kant’s limp body, his own lungs burning as he kicked upward with every ounce of strength he had. The surface seemed impossibly far, but he refused to let go.
(Fadel always said he was impossibly stubborn too.)
They broke through the water with a gasp, Bison’s arms trembling from the effort, his side screaming in protest. All while Kant stayed deathly still, his head bowed down in the water, his skin greyish and clammy.
It took everything in Bison to get both of them back on the boat. Bison collapsed beside Kant, taking a moment to feel the evening air bite into his skin. Kant remained still, unnervingly motionless, almost like a...
(Corpse.)
“No, no, no,” Bison muttered, panic lacing his voice as he scrambled on top of Kant. Frantically checking for a pulse — thready, barely there. Bison presses his hands against Kant’s chest, pushing down with measured force. “Breathe, damn it,” his voice cracking under all of the emotion threatening to spill out.
He was counting the compressions in his head. One, two, three—the rhythm was brutal, his palms grinding against Kant’s sternum. Every press felt like a battle, his strength waning but his desperation mounting. The resistance beneath his hands terrified him. The fragile give of ribs threatened to snap with every thrust, and the thought seized him.
What if I break him? What if he’s already broken? What if this is the last thing I do to him?
Bison’s breath came in ragged bursts, matching the rhythm of his efforts. The wet sound of water spilling from Kant’s lips was his only clue that he wasn’t too late, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until Kant’s chest moved on its own. His mind raced through every memory of violence he’d committed, the weight of lives taken by his hands. But this? This was the first time he’d ever fought so hard to keep someone alive.
“Don’t you dare give up,” Bison muttered, his voice breaking. He leaned down, forcing air into Kant’s lungs again, tasting the salt of the sea mixed with his own desperation. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me like this.” “You fucking owe me and Fadel, you fucking owe, Babe!”
His hands returned to Kant’s chest, pressing harder, his body trembling with the effort. The moonlight cast a faint glow over Kant’s pale, motionless face, and for a horrifying moment, Bison thought of every corpse he’d left behind. But Kant wasn’t a mark, wasn’t a mistake to erase. Kant was... something more. Something he wasn’t ready to lose.
The seconds stretched into an eternity, each one a knife twisting deeper into Bison’s gut. He growled through clenched teeth, the sound primal, raw. “You think this is how it ends? After everything? After me dragging you out of that goddamned water?” He shook his head, his vision blurring. “No. You don’t get to do this. Not to me. Not after everything you’ve done. It doesn’t get to be this easy.”
His voice cracked, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet night. He pressed down again, harder, ignoring the faint crunch beneath his palms that sent nausea rolling through him. “Come on, Kant,” he whispered, his words barely audible now, his energy draining. “Come back.”
“Come on, you stubborn idiot,” Bison growled, his voice cracking as he tilted Kant’s head back, forcing air into his lungs. The seconds dragged into eternity. His own breath came in sharp gasps, mixing with the cold sting of the salt air.
And then, a cough. A splutter. Water spilled from Kant’s lips as his body convulsed, violent and raw. His chest heaved, his arms flailing as though he were still in the water, drowning all over again.
Bison’s relief was short-lived. Kant thrashed, his eyes wide and unfocused, his screams splitting the night. “Mom! Dad! Please help me!” His hands clawed at the air, at Bison’s shoulders, his nails raking against skin in a desperate attempt to anchor himself.
“Kant! It’s me,” Bison said, his voice rising as he struggled to hold Kant down. Bison's strength was sapped, while Kant’s panic only fueled his flailing limbs. “You’re safe! You’re not in the water anymore!”
But Kant didn’t hear him. He screamed again, his body jerking violently, his fear transforming into a raw, animalistic fight to survive. Kant screams again, lost to everything around him. “Please help me! I’m scared! Someone please help me! Mom! Dad!” Bison’s grip faltered for a moment, as Kant’s surges forward. His head met Bison’s jaw, the impact jarring.
“Damn it, Kant, stop!” Bison shouted, his voice cracking under the strain. He wrapped his arms around Kant, pinning him to the deck as the fight drained from his limbs. Kant’s cries softened into broken sobs, his chest heaving against Bison’s, mumbling in a delirious cadence before slumping forward.
Getting to his parent's beach house was a blur of motion and dim light. Bison’s hands shook as he stripped Kant of his soaked clothes, replacing them with dry ones he found in the corner of the sparsely furnished room. Kant’s skin was alarmingly cold, his lips tinged blue. His breathing was watery and wheezing. Bruises marred Kant’s chest, dark and angry, a testament to Bison’s desperation. Through it all, a fever had set in leaving Kant’s body wracked with tremors.
Bison sat beside Kant’s shivering frame, his fingers ghosting over the mottled, heated skin. (I did this to him. I had to.)
Kant’s fever raged, his breaths shallow and uneven. His face was pale, his body wracked with tremors that left him fragile, vulnerable. Bison wiped a damp cloth over his forehead, his movements careful, almost reverent. (If only Fadel could see him now.)
“You idiot,” Bison murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hand lingered against Kant’s temple, brushing away a stray lock of damp hair. “Was it worth it? Whatever it is you’re trying to prove?”
There was no answer, only the faint whimper that escaped Kant’s lips as his body shifted. His chest rose and fell with uneven effort, the bruises stark against his skin. His expression twisted, as if he were caught in the grips of something far more harrowing than the fever burning through him.
Kant’s breathing hitched, and then his lips parted with a broken murmur, words slipping out in incoherent fragments. “Mom... Dad... no... please...” His body tensed, his fists clenching weakly at the blanket beneath him. Bison leaned closer, his own heart pounding as he watched the minute struggles play out.
In Kant’s mind, the nightmare was relentless. He was back in the plane, the cabin tilting wildly as screams filled the air. His mother’s hand gripped his tightly, her voice trembling as she whispered reassurances he couldn’t hear over the roar of impending disaster. He could feel the heat of the flames licking at the edges of the cabin, see his father’s wide, terrified eyes as he braced for the crash.
The scene shifted abruptly, leaving Kant gasping as he found himself back in the murky waters of the sea. His younger self flailed against the waves, his body too small, too fragile to fight the tide. He screamed for help, his voice swallowed by the roaring surf. His chest burned as he sank deeper, the saltwater stinging his eyes as he searched desperately for something—anything—to hold onto.
Then he was in the garage, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. His hands shook as he tried to pack up the stolen parts, his fingers slipping on the cold metal. Before he could even make a run for it, the police burst through the doors, their voices loud and commanding. Kant froze, his breath hitching as he felt the cold steel of handcuffs bite into his wrists. All he could think of was Babe, abandoned at home. His baby brother’s tear-filled eyes with nothing but disappointment burned into Kant's mind and worst fears.
Kant sinks into the next jarring scene, Captain Christ stood before him, his grin sharp and cruel. “You think you’re in control? You think you’re more than what you are?” His voice dripped with disdain as he reached into Kant’s pocket, pulling out the last of the money Kant had hidden. “You’re here because you have nothing else left.”
The words cut deep, slicing through Kant as the image dissolved into Babe’s face, older now, his features hardened by the struggles Kant had tried so desperately to shield him from. “You said you’d take care of me,” Babe whispered, his voice cracking. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”
Before Kant gets to say anything, Bison appears. His face was cold, distant, his eyes filled with something unrecognizable. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice like ice. “You lied to all of us.” Bison turned, walking away as Kant reached out, his hands trembling. “Wait! Please, don’t go!” Kant screamed, but the void swallowed his voice.
The void shifted again, and Kant was thrown back in the water, the crushing weight of it pressing down on him. His limbs were heavy, his lungs screaming for air. He reached for the surface, but it was too far, too unreachable. His vision blurred as the edges darkened, the shadows closing in.
Bison watched helplessly as Kant’s body twitched and convulsed, his murmurs turning into broken cries. “No... don’t... please...” The words were faint, but the pain in them was sharp enough to make Bison flinch. He reached out, his hand brushing against Kant’s damp forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “You’re safe now. It’s just a dream.”
But Kant didn’t hear him. His cries grew louder, more desperate, his body jerking against the bed. “Someone please help me… Bison… Please…” Bison gritted his teeth, his chest tightening as he watched the torment play out. “Kant,” he said again, louder this time, shaking him gently. “Wake up. It’s not real.”
Kant’s eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Tears streamed down his face, his lips trembling as he whispered, “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”
Bison’s hand moved to Kant’s shoulder, grounding him as best as he could. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said softly, his own voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
Kant’s wild gaze locked onto Bison’s, his tears blurring the edges, his mind still addled with panic. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken fears and regrets. Bison’s thumb brushed against the damp skin of Kant’s cheek, a gesture so tender it surprised them both.
“Just rest,” Bison murmured, his voice softer now. “I’ll be here.”
Kant’s body relaxed slightly, his breathing evening out as he drifted back into a restless sleep. But Bison stayed where he was, his hand never leaving Kant’s shoulder, as though his touch alone could keep the nightmares at bay.
By the time the sun rose, spilling soft light through the shutters, Kant stirred. His fever had broken, leaving his skin clammy but his breath steadier. He blinked against the light, disoriented, the events of the night before crashing over him in fragmented waves—the water, the suffocating dark, the necklace slipping out of reach. His chest ached, not just from the bruises left by Bison's desperate compressions but from the memories clawing their way back into focus.
Beside him, Bison was slumped in the chair, his head resting awkwardly on one hand, the other lying limply on the bed near Kant’s. His face was pale, exhaustion etched into the lines around his mouth and eyes. It was a stark contrast to the Bison Kant was used to—bright, roguish, teasing, in control. Now, he just looked... worn down. (And maybe that hurt more than anything else.)
Kant’s throat tightened as he watched Bison—the faint rise and fall of his shoulders, the furrow still lingering between his brows even in sleep. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers trembling as they brushed against Bison’s hand. The contact was light, barely there, but it was enough to rouse him.
Bison jerked awake, his eyes snapping open with a start. For a moment, he looked disoriented, his gaze darting around the room before settling on Kant. His breath hitched, relief washing over his features like a tide.
“You’re awake,” Bison said, his voice rough with fatigue. His hand instinctively tightened around Kant’s. “Thank God.”
Kant managed a weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess I’m harder to get rid of than you thought.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the attempt at humor hung in the air between them.
Bison exhaled shakily, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his tone quieter, almost vulnerable. He glanced at Kant, his jaw tightening as if to steel himself. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“What?” Kant rasped, his lips twitching weakly. “Listen to you?”
Bison’s mouth twitched, but there was no humor in his eyes. He looked at Kant for a long moment, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. “Since when did you ever start listening to me?” he muttered, his voice cracking just slightly.
Kant’s chest tightened, and he let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cough. “Maybe I’m learning.”
Bison shook his head, a mix of exasperation and relief crossing his face. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’re such a pathetic love-struck fool for me, huh?”
“I might have learned from the best,” Kant murmured, his voice barely audible but laced with a fragile warmth. His gaze softened, his eyes tracing the faint redness around Bison’s eyes, the puffiness that betrayed how little sleep he’d gotten. “You look like hell.”
“You don’t look much better,” Bison shot back, though there was no bite to his words. His hand lingered on Kant’s shoulder, the weight of it grounding. “Just... rest. You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”
Kant didn’t argue. Instead, he let his head sink back into the pillow, his body too weak to do much else. But as his eyes fluttered shut, a single thought lingered in his mind: Maybe there was still a chance—a chance to make things right, to start over, to find something better. Maybe.