Chapter Text
"What?" you snap, kicking the dark-haired boy in the shins none too lightly. "Stop glaring at me."
"I'm not glaring," Endo says defensively. He turns his head to make a point.
Chika scoffs. "You are. Stop it."
Of course, Endo's expression mellows instantly, taking up that heartsick smile he reserves only for his favorite inferno. A few things you've come to understand in the past two years:
1) Endo is infatuated with Chika. Does that mean he loves the guy? Yes? No? Maybe? Does it matter, if he'll do the same things regardless of the answer?
2) Endo hates you. The second one is more important. It might be an exaggeration, considering Endo hasn't tried to kill you yet. For reference, you don't doubt he would kill someone he hated. You also don't know anyone he hates that much, aside from you.
That almost sums up the dynamic between the three of you. Chika yawns, stretching his limbs until he hears the crack of a joint. Satisfied, he says, "Festus, come with me."
3) Chika is the only one who calls you Festus. Others know you as Hephaestus, God of the Forge. Endo calls you by your real name, because he doesn't think you deserve the respect of a title. Jealous bastard.
You follow his request. Endo starts, before Chika waves a dismissive hand, not even sparing a glance back. He must have heard the extra set of footsteps. "I said Festus."
No wonder Endo hates you.
"What do you want?"
Chika says, "You haven't fought with me in ages. Thought you'd be itching to punch me. You find a new toy?"
You raise an eyebrow. "That's 'cause I haven't been around."
"Let's go, then." He's prepared, body tensed up.
"Right now?"
A nod. "Right now."
"You're a bore," you mumble. "Not now. I have something."
"No you don't," Chika reminds you. "You have no friends."
"Right. Because I keep killing them," you deadpan. Stubborn brat he is, Chika's leg shoots out, a low sweep at your ankle. He's testing your balance, your senses. Instinctively, you jump back, landing hard. Your heel scrapes the pavement.
The edge of his elbow whistles past your ear. Your knee comes up toward his ribs, but Chika catches it with a gleeful laugh and tries to spin you onto your back. You twist out of it and stumble for footing, planting your feet.
He grins. "That's it. Don't hold back."
The next hit is yours, a solid punch across his jaw that only emphasizes the curve of his mouth. Red blooms across his delicate skin.
"Y'know anyone who can replace me?" Chika pants, blocking your follow-up hit.
"You talk too much." You lunge, shoulder low, driving forward with all your weight, and slam into Chika's midsection. He grunts, barely budging.
He shoves you back. You stumble, catch yourself, and he's already there again. When God made Chika, why did he have to gift him unfairly? He throws a hook that you dodge, then another, then a third. You aren't so lucky on that one. It clips your cheek. Your head snaps to the side. Pain flares. You taste blood.
You laugh, spitting on the pavement. "You call that a punch?"
Chika doesn't answer. He throws a kick instead, aiming for your thigh. It connects hard. You stagger, leg screaming, but you don't stop. You never stop.
You dive in and tackle him. Your elbow hits his gut and this time he goes down. You crash into the pavement together, scrambling for control. He goes for your ribs; you sink your fingers into his hoodie, drag him back, and slam your forehead into his.
Crack.
"FUCK!" Chika swears, reeling back. Blood now pours from his nose. He's laughing as he wipes it away. "That's new."
"Fucking masochist."
You bring your knee into his side and you feel the tremor in his body as you grab his lapels and flip him onto his back. Your fist draws back. Just as you swing, Chika catches your wrist mid-air.
His eyes are burning. "Not yet."
And he headbutts you back.
Stars explode in your vision. You fall off him with a gasp. The sky spins above.
You hear him laugh again as he stomps toward you.
He grabs your collar, hauls you halfway up, and then slams you back down. Good grief, the pavement does mean to kill you. You feel every ridge scraping your spine.
"You're too slow today," Chika says, climbing atop your torso. "You're letting yourself go."
You narrow your eyes. "You're one to talk." You drive your forehead into his again. This time it's him who reels. You twist, roll, then throw him off. Chika hits the concrete with a satisfying thud. You’'e both up again in seconds, though with a little more sway.
You rush him again—jab, jab, feint, uppercut. Chika doubles over. You're about to land another hit when he grabs your shirt, yanks you forward, and bites your shoulder.
"FUCKING HELL? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"
Now, Chika's wheezing. When he laughs, blood trickles down his chin. "You bring out the worst in me."
You shove him hard. "Good."
You both crash against a wall, limbs tangled. Your fist is numb. Technique's gone out of the window, replaced by adrenaline. He lands a punch to your ribs. You feel something shift. Maybe a crack.
You rake your hand through his hair, yank it, and try to break his skull on the brick behind him. Chika snarls, legs coming up to kick you. You catch his calf and twist. He pushes you back by the throat.
Chika's lips are split and swollen. His cheekbone's already purple. Blood runs from his nose. You're no better, really. The wounds on your knuckles are open again and your eye must be swelling. He licks his mouth, savoring the metallic taste. The fight isn't over in terms of having declared a clear win or a loss; that doesn't matter, though, because Chika's had enough fun for today. "We need to do this more often."
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "Endo'll gladly do it."
There's the rare whine in his voice as he complains, "Endo would flinch if he hurt me."
And even though you're wrecked, even though you'll wake up with every part of your body aching, you both start laughing. Oh, you really are sick in the head. You must've caught it from him and his guard dog.
Well, it's understandable. There's no one else either of you can fight like this. No one else who gives as good as they take. At least, no one else that you know of.
Why do you do it?
Chika gives up when he's had his fun. And you? You'll keep responding until you finally beat him. Until you've finally tamed the fire. After all, it's what made you this way. Might as well come full circle.
"Takiishi?" you hear Endo call. "You guys done yet?"
"Stop fussing."
Endo flips you off. "Can you go on another one of your little spiritual journeys? This one was too short."
You agree, "Yeah, this one was pretty short. They were too weak."
"So go mouth off Shishitoren," he suggests. "Maybe you'll actually get beaten up."
"Shishitoren?" You purse your lips, trying to place the name. Shishitoren. Oh! The cute waiter you were trying to talk up was from Shishitoren, you think. He said he'd left to support his family. It was obvious from his appearance that he had a strong build and could hold his own in a fight. Interesting. Maybe you could get him to pin you down.
"Jesus, you sure are horny for a slap," Endo drawls. "Wipe your face. You're drooling."
"Am not," you say. You raise a hand to your chin to check. The liquidy sensation is blood, not saliva.
He shrugs. "Freak."
You wrench yourself free from Chika's hold and pull out your phone. "Okay. Let's go fight Shishitoren."
"They're not going to be in one place right now," Chika says, combing a strand of his long hair. "Do it some other time."
You feel a faint patter on the back of your palm. Looking closely, you find the first sightings of rain. Even though Endo's already groaning rainwater is basically piss, you tilt your head back and let the droplets gather on your tongue. You love rain. It's what extinguishes a fire.
From the corner of your eye, you see Chika's blood mixing with the rainwater, turning a pale pink until it all fades away.