Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s 10:00 P.M. Naegi steps off the bus just in time to hear a sickening crack with a yell of pain. 

The bus drives off, leaving him confused at the stop. It certainly wasn’t any of his bones that suddenly fractured just now. Well, just to make sure, he gives himself a once over and smooths out his scrubs under his coat, but he knows that if it was him he’d be writhing on the ground in agony. His pain tolerance is far from anything to be proud of. 

It’s dark out, and he really should get home instead of standing there knowing he’s perfectly fine. He hopes to come by whoever broke a bone and try getting them any help they need. 

Then, he hears something like an awful, blunt hit against a hard wall. As he clutches the strap of his messenger bag across his chest for a little bit of comfort, he moves towards the sound. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have. 

He finds himself at the lip of a dim alleyway. A few people are slumped on the ground, bleeding and motionless, while two more people are fighting. Rather, one is at a significant advantage over the other, throwing punches and kicks and rapidly disarming their opponent who’s groaning in pain. Suddenly, one of two lanterns scarcely illuminating the alleyway is shot out. Glass shards fly everywhere and Naegi ducks, flinching away. Shadows overtake the corpses laying in pools of dark, sprawling red. He can barely see what’s happening now. 

He should leave but he can’t. 

His eyes manage to catch one of the brawlers grabbing a sizable shard of glass from the floor then slashing in the dark with a grunt. What follows is the sound of skin sliced open, then a garbled, choked shout. The shard, no longer just dusty glass, is discarded by the gloved hands of its bearer. Naegi watches it clatter on the concrete. 

When he hears boots click towards him, he casts his gaze up. Something strange and murky—he’s not sure if it’s regret, or dread, or something else—pools at the bottom of his stomach. 

“What are you doing here?” Kirigiri asks, just a little out of breath. She’s visible only thanks to the single lamp casting her in a backlight from behind. Her fingers are busy fixing the sleeves that are rolled up to her elbows. 

It takes him a long moment to find his voice, and boy, does he find it. “I was walking. Walking home from work. I got off late today because, like, I’m on the ER shifts this week because Hina’s out sick and I didn’t luck out like yesterday and the day before yesterday since there were a bunch of sick animals I needed to supervise today so I had to stay so late that I almost missed the last bus—”

“I see.” She cuts him off, terse. 

Naegi’s eyes flick back and forth from Kirigiri’s to the scene no doubt made by her. He fiddles with the strap of his messenger bag when he feels her gaze remain only on him. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Right,” he mumbles. Sure, it totally wasn’t his business to know what his girlfriend was doing to these faceless people in an alleyway some minutes from their home. But, he knows better than to say anything like that when pints of blood are decorating her clothes and arms. 

With some effort, Kirigiri takes a deep breath. Her brows remain furrowed and her jaw is still clenched. Naegi knows these are not good signs. “I’ll get going back home now,” he inserts in haste. “Well, ‘home’ as in your home, not mine, mine is—”

“—In the other direction. Yes, I know you’ll be staying at my home for the week. You let me know yesterday.” 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yes. I did.”

She sighs. “Look, don’t make dinner for me because I’m going to be out for a while longer.” Her eyes flick over him, as if he’s the one who survived a fight with glass and guns and now needs to be checked. “We can talk about this later. Just get home safely.”

Naegi only nods. Without another word, she disappears back into the darkness to take care of the bodies. 

He walks as fast as he can. His pace picks up to a jog at the sight of their street. Once inside, he changes into nightwear and goes right to bed, forgetting all about dinner. Kirigiri’s cat, Yura, quietly snuggles up to him. He flicks off the lights. 

It’s 10:29 P.M. He doesn’t know what he saw. He doesn’t know if he wants to know anymore.

They had first met when Kirigiri came into the veterinary clinic, with a carrier filled by a dark, crouched mass, for an appointment. Then, they met properly when Naegi called them into a room, opened the carrier with sweet coos, and got scratched terribly by Yura once she leapt out with a war cry. 

Kirigiri was quick to control her cat back into the carrier all while apologizing. Naegi was just trying not to bleed everywhere or let his eyes water from the stinging pain. He was no stranger to his animal patients launching a surprise attack on him, especially if it was their first time seeing him. 

He was, however, a stranger to an owner acting so quick and focused during such surprise attacks. Kirigiri grabbed the first aid kit off the wall, got right to cleaning and wrapping the three claw marks on his forearm. It’d been a while since Naegi was up on the exam bed in his own room. 

“It might need stitches,” she murmured while working. “But you’d be better off taking this up to an actual doctor who can do stitches for you.”

“You can’t do stitches?” 

“I’m a detective, not a doctor.”

Naegi shrugged. “If you can do this so easily, I just thought you could do anything. 

Her eyes raised to meet his. “Flattering.” 

“Wait, not like that—!”

“Anyways,” Kirigiri looped the bandages one last time around his arm. “This is the least I could do, yet the most I’m allowed to do, probably. I’ll rebook this appointment with someone else.”

He frowned a little. “Someone else?” She nodded pointedly towards his arm, yet he protests. “That doesn’t mean it will happen again! And, it’s easier to rebook under the same vet.” And, he wanted more cats to grow comfortable with him one day, not that he’d admit that at this moment. 

Kirigiri hesitated but not for long. “Fine. Is a week from now alright?”

“Sure. Same time, same vaccines.” 

It turned out to not be alright. Naegi fell ill over the next few days and only confessed it to himself, then his manager, the day before the appointment. His symptoms and that feisty little Yura all pointed to cat scratch fever. 

Kirigiri seemed to have reached the same conclusion, because that day she showed up at his door with a bag of readymade meals. “A coworker of yours said you’re sick. In case it was because of Yura, I thought I should help you out a little more.”

Naegi was torn between gratitude and mortification. He just woke up from a congested slumber on the couch and answered the door, looking so pitiful with his big baby blue blanket wrapped around him and his fish-themed pyjamas underneath. “You really didn’t have to,” he said as best he could with a sore throat. 

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.” 

“You said that last time.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

A little dazed, Naegi stared down at the plastic bag as he took it in his hands. “You’re so cool…” Damn his mouth for running like that while he’s sick. 

But Kirigiri only huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “Go in and eat. I’ll see you once you get well soon.”

One heatable dinner alone that night led to a surge of appreciation for a woman he barely knew and a very sniffly crying session at his dining table. This led to his executive decision of inviting her over for coffee once the appointment was finally over. It was the least he could do, he said. 

And, the most he might ever be able to do with someone as kind as her, which he didn’t say. 

Much to his surprise though, they talked a lot over coffee that evening. Then, they talked over many more coffees. They talked over phone calls, their jobs, grocery runs, and the dinners that Naegi would make, pack warm, knock on Kirigiri’s door, and get graciously invited in to eat together. Even Yura grew comfortable with him, slowly but surely, enough that he was allowed about five minutes of cuddling with her before she wriggled out of his arms. 

“So you’re literally dating the girl whose cat scratched you and got you sick for a week,” Asahina said, not quietly at all, as she and Naegi boarded the bus together to get home from work. 

“Well, not an entire week— What? We’re not dating!” 

She pouted. “But, her cat’s cute. And , you mentioned how busy her job is, yet she’s regularly spending time with you.”

He waved his hands in denial. “As a friend!”

Asahina only rolled her eyes.

To be honest, Naegi never knew when he and Kirigiri really started dating. They spent more time together, until sometimes their separate days would blend into one. Then, one night he pushed some long overdue words out of his throat: “I think I really like you.” They had a long talk that night. Before he knew it, he woke up the next morning in her arms.

Declaring themselves a couple wasn’t as life changing as he thought. Kirigiri was still busy as ever, but always made sure to keep her work and her love separated. Naegi maintained his job, with Yura remaining one of his patients, and managed to handle Asahina’s excitement for a decent few weeks after letting her know what happened. One notable moment, however, was when Naegi showed Asahina a photo of him, Kirigiri, and Yura, and she suddenly recognized Kirigiri as someone whom she went to university with. 

“I never knew her well. No one did,” She mused with a small frown. “Well, we did know that her father was the headmaster of some crazy prestigious private school and he was suddenly found dead. What was rumored was the death being an assassination, instead of a suicide like the local news and police said. But, no one had the guts to actually ask her about it. The semester after that, she graduated early and just…left. But, it seems like she’s doing well now, both in her career and health.” She then grinned and eyed Naegi. “Especially with you.” 

He’d think about that sometimes. He’d think about how, to present day, Kirigiri hasn’t told him any of this herself yet.

When Naegi wakes up, he’s alone in the bed, but not in the room. 

Kirigiri is toweling her hair dry. “You woke up before your alarm. I’m impressed.” She spots him awake through the mirror in front of the dresser. Her casual shirt and sweatpants let him know she’ll be staying home today but holed up in her study. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn. “When did you wake up?”

“About an hour ago.”

Naegi hums in acknowledgement. His eyes go to her shirt, which is entirely clean, slightly wrinkled from being fresh out of the dryer probably. Next, her sweats. They’re the soft grey ones he gifted her for her birthday last year after Yura landed a hairball on her only grey pair. They’re also pristine; no rips, dirt, or hairballs for that matter. Then, her bare hands. Marred with scars that Naegi doesn’t yet know everything about, but does know much more than any other person does. They’re as perfect and pure as they’ve always been to him. 

There is no trace of blood or grime on her person. Nothing like last night. 

Kirigiri did say they can talk about last night later, but has it been “later” enough? Again, does he even want to know what was behind that violence? That violence from the very person whom he loves and is loved by?

Charred bony fingers snap in front of him once. “Deep in thought or just sleepy?” Kirigiri asks. She tries to pat down stray strands of hair sticking out from his bed head. 

Surely, these same hands would never bring death to some faceless people in an alley. 

“Just sleepy.” Naegi takes her hand in his and keeps it on his cheek because he knows she’ll let him. 

He’s not trying to fool her. She can definitely see through any facade he ever tries putting up. In fact, she looks like she’s about to say something. If Naegi gets to save his breath and allow her to bring up the topic of last night then thank goodness she—

Her phone buzzes with a reminder. She sighs and mutters, “I’ve a client meeting soon. I can have breakfast with you at nine if you’re okay with waiting that long?”

“Of course. Nine’s early for you.” He smiles as best he can while she pecks his cheek and leaves for her study. 

It’s not like he’s going to have breakfast with a killer or something in a few hours.

So many days run by as normal, with absolutely no mention of that night, that Naegi is about to lose his mind. 

Kirigiri hasn’t said a thing about it. She’s been out of the house for all her investigative work, and it doesn’t help that Naegi isn’t staying at hers all the time. After being there for a week, he had opted to remain at his home for some time because she said she might be drawing out her work hours for her current case, and Naegi didn't want to be a burden, despite her insisting he’s never one. Of course, they’ve openly considered the notion of him properly moving in with her, but time and time again they reach the conclusion that neither of them are ready just yet. 

But, if she doesn’t bring it up, then should he be the one to do so? He has considered it several times, when they’re brushing their teeth in the morning, eating on the couch together, getting ready for bed, but he can’t even find the words for it.

Luckily for him, Asahina is back at work, well and healthy. He could use some help in this. When they’re eating lunch together, he jumps the gun. It can’t be that bad, right? 

“Hina.”

“Hm?” Her mouth is packed with food a minute into their break. 

“Hypothetically, if you saw your girlfriend kill someone, or a few someones,” Naegi begins slowly, “How would you ask her whether or not she killed a few someones?”

There’s a long silence before Asahina speaks. “Why would you need to ask her if you already saw it happen?” She blinks when Naegi groans and drops his face in his hands. “What?”

“Kiri would never kill someone, right?” He mumbles. 

“But, you’re only asking that because you saw her kill someone,” she guesses, and damn it she’s right. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, turning over the whole event in his head. “When I took over one of your evening shifts I was coming back home late by bus. I was dropped off at the bus stop near her home and I saw her just beating up someone.” The words alone begin to taste almost metallic on his tongue. “Breaking bones, triggering a gun, slashing with something sharp. And then, whoever she was hitting was dead, I think. And, there were like, two other people also dead before that.” 

Asahina has stopped eating by now. Naegi awkwardly continues, “Then she noticed me there and she had blood all over her, and she told me to go home and that we can talk about it later. But also, I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it and I don’t want to know.”

“I think you do want to know,” she says a little slowly. She starts eating again, much less hurried than usual. “You’ve clearly been thinking about it ever since it happened. I would, if I were you.”

“I don’t know how to bring it up,” he almost whines and picks at his own food. “She hasn’t brought it up either, but she’s busy anyways.”

“The longer you go without talking about it, the more uncomfortable both of you might become. You’re going to keep thinking about it until then.”

Naegi barely responds, giving nothing more than an apprehensive look at her. 

“You know, back in school, people joked that her looks could kill.” Asahina shrugs. “And, she probably graduated early for a reason, whether it was her father’s death or not. No one knew. Anyways, you should talk about it.”

He really should talk about it, but again, some days go by before he knows it. Not to mention, it’s for the same reasons. Each of their daily lives keep them occupied until they can find a decent bit of time in each other’s company, and suddenly the words shrivel up and wither away before Naegi can even get them out of his guts and into his mouth, let alone on the tip of his tongue. 

So, it has to be a coincidence that whatever Asahina had gone down with recently is contagious. On an early Friday morning, Naegi finds himself wide awake with a splitting headache and a stuffy nose. 

It’s no coincidence that when he’s ill he’s an unfortunate blabber. 

He’s been staying over at Kirigiri’s because the woman’s been out for a few days on investigation, and he was more than happy to take care of Yura. What he forgot is that Kirigiri had returned in the middle of the night. His tossing and turning right now has not only woken up Yura—who’s sauntered away to continue dozing elsewhere—but also Kirigiri.

“Naegi?” Her voice is hoarse from sleep. 

“Mhm.” His voice is worse. 

He feels a hand on his forehead and then a sigh. “You’re sick.” She’s already up and moving before he can whine out any weak protests. 

The next time he opens his eyes is no better. Somehow, he’s laying on the couch now, with a blanket each over its surface and him. His mind races with thoughts and slows to a sludge of incomprehensible words all at once. “Kiri?” He mumbles. 

“I’m right here.” He hears footsteps close in on him. The pounding headache, already back at full force, urges him to keep his eyes closed, but he wants to see her. 

A sharp clink of ceramic to glass reaches his ears. He must’ve given a start because Kirigiri offers a quiet “sorry,” and a hand, only gloved as usual, to his cheek. He squints open his eyes to a perfect, blood-free porcelain face of concern. “Can you sit up to eat?” Her voice is softer than he thought it would be. 

From his place on the couch, he can just barely smell the soup in the bowl set ahead of him. He tries to savor it as much as he can with his dulled senses. “Soup,” is all he mumbles. 

“Yes, soup,” Kirigiri agrees patiently. “You need to eat.” 

He sneezes three times in lieu of a response. 

The way that his pitiful noises of sickness are all that fill the room brings him a futile need to save face. Goodness, how could he, Makoto Naegi, be known amongst his friends, coworkers, and patients for his infectious optimism, yet look so miserable even with his girlfriend at his hip right now? 

Before he can put together something, anything, in his head to make conversation, a spoonful of soup enters his mouth. He gladly accepts. “Did you turn them into soup?” Half of his voice is gone. Whatever is left is scratchy and horrid, but it still sounds like him enough. His eyes stay on the spoon Kirigiri wields. 

She takes to humoring him. “Turn what into soup?”

“The people you killed.”

The spoon freezes. No, it’s Kirigiri who freezes, he now sees. He pouts. “Soup,” he pleads. 

“What?”

“I want soup.”

“No, before that.” An edge appears in her voice. 

He blinks blearily up at her. “The people you killed in that alleyway.”

Kirigiri stares at him. Her lips are parted like she’s fighting to say something, anything. Alas, she stands and goes to the kitchen, taking the bowl of soup with her, much to Naegi’s dismay. However, he can hardly protest when he can barely think, let alone think before speaking. 

When she returns with a new bowl and a new spoon, the haze of his illness allows him to only be disoriented. Though, after seeing that it’s oatmeal and berries, he perks up. 

Kirigiri feeds him a spoonful. “We’ll talk about that once you’re well.”

“About what?” 

The spoon freezes again. He takes the initiative and leans towards it himself with an open mouth. She sighs and continues feeding, “Just eat.”

There’s no mention of that soup, let alone the people theorized to be in the soup. In fact, Naegi does not remember this at all. He feels great, awesome, spectacular, absolutely fantastic to have recovered from whatever reduced him down to a sniffling, shivering, blubbering mess not so long ago! 

That is, until he settles into bed early tonight, tuckered out a little from his first day back at work. It’s not uncommon for him to sometimes seek out more sleep than his usual hours, but he certainly doesn’t expect Kirigiri to join him a few minutes after. Maybe she’s feeling lonely? He rolls over onto his side and holds her arm. His forehead naturally rests on her shoulder. Never does he fail to think that no matter how cold she might act, she’s too warm to resist. 

What leaves her lips only adds to the evening sun dimly illuminating their room. “Naegi?” 

“Hi,” he giggles into her arm, unknowing of her brief smile. Her sudden company in bed is a pleasant surprise after months of witnessing her going to sleep well past midnight and waking up well before dawn. 

“We need to talk.” Beside her, Naegi stiffens. “No, we’re not breaking up.”

He heaves a sigh and squeezes himself closer to her with a small smile. “Good.” 

“We need to talk about that night.”

He looks up at her, certain of what she’s talking about and uncertain if it’s something he wants to talk about. “That night.”

She shifts herself in the bed to be facing him. Now, he doesn’t really have an arm to hide his face in. “Yes, that night. The night where you were coming home from work and you ran into me.”

“Killing people.”

“Yes,” she sighs. 

He traces absent shapes and patterns on the plain white of Kirigiri’s shirt. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We do,” she mutters firmly. “And, I know you want to talk about it. You even thought I made your vegetable soup out of the corpses when you were sick.”

His hands fly to his face out of embarrassment. “Did I really?”

“Yes, probably just because you were as sick as a dog. But, from what you said, I could tell you’ve been thinking a lot about what happened.”

Naegi groans. So much for tact. 

Bare hands land on his and pull them away from his flushed visage. His eyes peek open to see the tiniest of smiles picking up her lips. “In hindsight, it was an entertaining thought you had. I didn’t even know how to respond.”

He sighs. Does that mean she doesn’t want to talk about it?  “I mean it, we don’t have to—”

“Stop thinking so much and just listen, will you?” 

He shuts his mouth and just listens. He doesn’t know how long it takes for all those words to leave her throat, greet his ears, and make a home in his head. 

He knows how long she’s been carrying all of this with just herself, but how long has it felt? How long has it felt living with the sheer need to know what happened to her father, whom she hated until it was too late? How has it felt having that determined fire burn in her chest when she finished her education early for the sake of pursuing the truth behind that man’s death, the truth outrunning her from the start? How has it felt having only herself to come to during the most helpless days and hopeful nights, when that fire would dwindle down to a meek matchstick near its end?

Yet, he knows how little time there really is to uncover every truth she wants to. It began with late nights running into early mornings, then taking on cases for clients, then turning to such violent interrogations on anyone who could’ve possibly been a part of orchestrating her father’s death, then coming home to Yura, and sometimes him too. It all couldn’t have felt like anything else less than the end of her world, he’s sure. 

“Let me help you.”

They’ve been laying in a thick river of silence after her confessions. Naegi’s arms are still wrapped around her from the hug where he’d tried to pour in all his soul to give her the strength he knows she’s been needing. 

Kirigiri has an arm over him too, until she doesn’t. She shifts away and looks at him properly for the first time tonight. “No. You don’t deserve such a burden.”

“It’s not a burden!”

“It is. You won’t understand.”

Naegi sits up and takes her hand. He can barely see her features in the dark. “But, I want to understand. I want to help you because you don’t have to do this all on your own.” He tries not to let his voice harden with something he can’t figure out. Frustration, because she’s kept this from him for so long? Or stress, because of the threats they could potentially face even in the safety of her home? Or worry, because she’s been working herself to the bone for years? Or guilt, because he never really knew how much she must be rotting away beneath that steel mask of sheer will?

“You’re pushing it. Getting you involved would be dangerous. Telling you is enough,” she says, low and tired, almost. 

“Telling me only after I saw, with my own two eyes, how you killed someone?” He scoffs. “If I didn’t walk by that alleyway, how much longer would you have hid this from me?”

“That’s none of your business.” She rips her hands away from his. “None of this is…right for you.”

Was this not right for him, or was he not right for this? Was he not right for her and the burdens she sentences herself to carry? In his hands now is a sore emptiness. Doubt bubbles up, building a lump in his throat. Something quiet, ugly, and deep in Naegi’s chest tells him that if she could’ve hidden herself any longer from him, she would. 

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Kirigiri doesn’t respond, doesn’t deny. 

With no more words left in him, he lays down with his back to her.

They go 26 hours without speaking properly. For how much he likes to say he’s bad at math, he’s keeping count well. It’s not that he’s ignoring her. Rather, he’s opening his mouth only to respond, not to talk. His throat already begins closing up at the thought of rambling to her as if anything is normal in the house. 

He might go back to his for tonight. Sleeping on the sofa in the living room, a floor directly beneath their shared bedroom, just to not sleep with her doesn’t feel right. 

However, it turns out that: “I’m going out tonight. I’ll return in a few hours.” 

Kirigiri is shrugging on a coat over her turtleneck while Naegi nurses his tea, sitting on the couch. He only nods, because he doesn’t know if she’s leaving, before he would’ve, to give them the space they both know they need, or if she’s leaving to do the things she has to do, the things that he’s been trying not to think about, no matter how much they plague his mind. 

He doesn’t know if he should be relieved, or upset, or worried, or something else. The front door creaks open, then closes after boots click onto stone, signaling Kirigiri’s leave. 

Their bed is free for him tonight; Chances are she won’t come back before he’s awake, not with this air between them. But, it might be a dick move to still sleep there instead of the living room. He stares into his mug, now empty of the tea, as he decides. Does it even matter if his eyes are still open and his thoughts keep running with no limits? Something tells him he won’t doze off so easily tonight. 

Naegi tries anyway, right now at his spot on the couch. He’ll wash that mug later, he’s set it on the coffee table, and he’s already in his pyjamas. He can do this. His fingers find the string of the only lamp lit. Once he pulls, the living room succumbs to darkness.

In his arms ends up Yura, purring like an engine, and in his mind is anxiety that keeps him awake and away from the safe recesses of sleep. He tugs the lamp on and checks the time on his phone. It’s been nearly an hour of running circles in his own head. He sighs against Yura’s fur. She butts her head to his nose. At least he can have this bundle of drowsy affection all to himself while Kirigiri isn’t here. 

Speaking of which, and he curses himself for it, the front door swings open right then, making way for heavy steps and a single sharp breath. “You’re still awake?” Kirigiri asks before shutting the door. The foyer is dark once again, not that Naegi looked up in the first place. 

He hugs the cat closer and mumbles, “Couldn’t sleep.” 

A pause. Then, “Might I ask for your help?” 

Since when did Kirigiri ask for help? He scoffs, to his immediate regret, but she doesn’t react. Favors, yes, are not uncommon, but help from the one person she’d never want to bother?

But, she hasn’t moved one beat from the unlit foyer. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t even heard her take off her boots yet. It brings his guts to swirl and swoop inside him out of concern for the one person he’d always want to be bothered by. 

“What do you need?” He sits up on the couch slowly. His arms leave Yura, who’s now up and alert. He doesn’t see the way she noses the air. 

“Just a t-shirt, please,” Kirigiri says. 

He knows better than to ask why. After staring a moment more at her outline, he disappears into their laundry closet to rummage around for one of her shirts, fresh and warm from the dryer.

As he goes to hand the shirt, he hears her trying to shoo Yura away from her. He realizes why once he’s close enough to smell blood. Yura gives up and prowls off somewhere upstairs by then. Naegi can only guess how many times this has happened before.   

With a frown, he stops a few paces away from where Kirigiri stands. When her hand reaches out from the dark like an entity of its own, he keeps the shirt away from her grasp, to his chest. “You’re bleeding.”

“No, I just have blood on me.”

“Whose?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Much to his dismay, Naegi is already bristling. He knows Kirigiri is, too. Her shirt wrinkles bit by bit under his grip. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he mutters, “I was wrong to demand that. But, right now I only need—” his lips quiver “—to know if you’re injured.” 

He hears a sigh that he’s not sure how to interpret, but before he can begin overthinking, Kirigiri steps out from the foyer. Light finally settles on her, only for his sight to zero in on the bloodied bandage over her left forearm. He’s about to yell, or cry, or both, but she takes his hand into hers and her mouth opens first. “I was also wrong in attempting to hide vital information about my life from you. I thought I was protecting you, but I didn’t realize how it would hurt your trust in me.” 

She glances down at her arm. “I believe I’ve taken care of this scratch, but you can check it if you—”

Naegi yanks her into the tightest hug he’s given in a while. “You’re so stupid.” His words fall muffled into her shoulder. All he smells is blood and a hint of their detergent, but that doesn’t matter because she’s here and she will still be. “Of course I’m going to check your stupid ‘scratch.’”

The next morning, Naegi happily makes them breakfast, sends Kirigiri off with her lunch, and finally faces the nightmare of what was once a turtleneck drenched in blood. Last night’s request for a fresh t-shirt was more needed than he realized; it was only after he tended to the wound that he noticed more red than white on the clothing that Kirigiri came home in. At least she assured him most of the blood on her person was her victims’. 

Tossing it with the rest of the clothes in the washing machine would’ve been a recipe for disaster, so he thought it would be fine to soak the turtleneck in the bathroom sink downstairs with a cup of detergent and some hydrogen peroxide mixed in cold water, and take care of it the next day. 

When Naegi steps into the bathroom that morning, he learns that what he did wasn’t as great of an idea as he’d thought. The turtleneck is now a faded pink and white. If only the pink wasn’t in huge, random blotches, it would’ve been a cuter look, he thinks as he holds it up with a pout. He scrubs and scrubs, but the pink remains. 

At some point, Yura comes in to look at the mess he’s made. He gives up entirely after a fifth time of having to stop her from trying to taste the mysterious water. 

On the other hand, Kirigiri’s coat is salvageable almost thanks to it being a rich, dark brown and made with cotton. Naegi had done most of the scrubbing on it last night itself before running it through a cycle of cold water. It’s safe to say that he was so satisfied with his progress on the coat he neglected the turtleneck for later. 

In all honesty, he might have been motivated by knowing the coat would be easier than the turtleneck to clean. (Not to mention, the relatively little amount of blood that got on his pyjama top when he hugged her without a care in the world was the easiest to wash off. Perhaps his sleepiness makes him selfish at worst?)

“Good as new, see?” Later that evening, once they’re both back at home from work, Naegi proudly holds up the coat which he had left to air dry before he went to his afternoon shift. 

Kirigiri hums as she inspects his work. They both know there are still faint bloodstains on the inside of the coat, but those go unmentioned. “Not bad at all. It’ll do just fine.”

“Maybe not for work though,” he says sheepishly and hangs the coat on the rack. 

“Still, it’s perfect for my investigations. So, how is my turtleneck?”

“Don’t ask.”