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Where there should be a gun, only a butcher's knife waits for Akai.
Right.
They confiscated his weapons.
Oh well. Even declawed, he still has fangs. Just means he needs to get up close to get the kill.
Akai drops from his bed into a crouch. The knife's handle digs into his hand, unyielding, providing steady support in a hazy world.
He follows the edge of the bed, to where he can see light pass through the gap under the door. The sound of glass shattering, followed by a thud is what woke him, he's sure, but there's no footsteps, no shadow passing by. His intruder might be good.
But Akai knows he's better.
He sneaks up to the door, listening, waiting. There's faint breathing outside, too fast. Whoever it is, it's possible his attacker got caught up in the adrenaline rush. That should make it easier to surprise and dispatch them.
He takes cover behind the wall, and kicks the door open.
The living room lights blind him momentarily, too bright in the night. Akai blinks through the nausea, checks the windows he can see from his position - intact.
Good. He can still hear the breathing - irregular - but the sounds of the night remain distant, removed. He dashes to the other side of the door, surveilling the familiar living room outside.
As expected, all windows are shuttered, bolted shut from the inside. The intruder is trapped with him, then.
Ah, yes.
He's missed the hunt.
Though something seems off. He can't see them, but the source of noise doesn't appear to be moving. What are they waiting for? Data to download from his laptop? Poisoned gas to distribute in the room?
He can't smell anything strange, but beneath the scent of cigarette smoke and bourbon, it would be difficult to detect. He still puts a hand over his mouth, breathes as shallowly as he can manage.
Fine, fine. He'll go greet them already.
He sneaks around the too-comfortable sofa, takes cover behind his armchair, creeps up to the kitchen isle. Beyond its corner is the source of the noise, the source of another breath in his space.
He turns the corner, ready to dispatch the intruder-
-and barely manages to stop the knife in time. Stabs the ground next to an exposed neck.
There's a crumpled form on his floor in a sea of broken glass, blond hair covering their face.
Jodie?
No, that can't be.
Cold dread seizes his heart.
Jodie is dead.
His ears ring with the echo of a gunshot, drowning out all sounds but his own, stuttering heartbeat. It throbs in his head, too fast, too loud.
No. No. No.
Vertigo takes a hold of him, would have him join the body on the floor.
The knife drops from his hands, clutters onto the floor uselessly. He grips the cupboard's corner, trying to maintain his balance. Doesn't quite manage it, and missteps.
A sharp pain in his foot forces him back to the present.
That's a problem for later.
Breathe. Assess.
The person in his kitchen groans, a rather common sound in Akai's presence.
Furuya.
He's alive.
But for how long?
Akai rushes to kneel by Furuya's side, doesn't care about the glass shards that pierce easily through his socks, his sweatpants, as he cradles the limp body in his kitchen.
He checks the head the head the head-
It's wet.
His heart beats double-time, blood rushes in his head. But there's no exit wound, and his fingers come away clear.
Akai lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Beneath his touch Furuya is burning up, though. As if he needed any further indication that something's very, very wrong. Furuya would never let himself be seen this sweaty, flushed, exposed, if he could help it.
"Furuya. Furuya-kun."
Another groan, and finally, there's some resistance in Akai's arms. Furuya winces, furrows his brows. He blinks up at Akai, eyes unfocused, but awake, at least.
Alive.
"Stop shouting already. I'm right here."
Furuya's voice comes out too nasally. His airways must be obstructed.
Akai tilts his head a little, to put less strain on it. Let Furuya breathe more easily.
"Since when is your kitchen so tall?"
Not good. He's hallucinating. Or at least struggling with spatial awareness.
Akai manages to snatch Furuya's wrist in time, draws him close. He really doesn't need shards of glass stuck in his hands, in addition to whatever knocked him out.
Akai steadies him, lets him lean against himself. Isn't ready to let go of him, anytime soon.
He should assess the damage first, but he's curious.
"Furuya. What are you doing here?"
The agent frowns at him, seemingly confused. It takes him a moment to answer.
"You gave me the key?", he sneers. Curls in on himself protectively.
Except that's not what Akai is asking. Why is Furuya here, in the middle of the night, when-
"You're sick."
Maybe stating the obvious will get through to him, seeing as he seems to have trouble grasping the severity of his situation.
"So? It is Thursday. I promised."
He says it airily, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if it explains anything.
Yukiko-san had given Akai an earful for not taking care of himself properly, but even he knows to hole up and rest when he's sick. Not drive halfway across town on a paper-thin promise.
Surely, Furuya would have to understand that his own safety, his own health, comes first?
Right?
"I am fine. Get me to my car. I have inconvenienced you enough as it is."
Akai blinks. Furuya can barely move, and he wants to do what, exactly, in his car? Call for help? Suffer? Try to drive?
While he would like to assume this is a bout of temporary insanity brought on by the fever, if Akai looks back on their shared history, he isn't sure Furuya ever knew when to quit. Or what was good for him.
Damnit.
Alright.
"I'm driving you home."
He got to keep his car, at least, even if the gadgets were removed, his permits revoked. They'd told him to stick to travelling on foot, too, if he can. But for Furuya, he could make an exception.
"Who do I call to check up on you?"
At that, Furuya simply laughs at him.
Akai has never heard him do so, before.
It's not pretty.
Cold and hollow, the sound rings harshly in the night. Interrupted by coughs and sputters, Furuya's laughter is an ugly, broken thing, as far removed from joy as can be. It goes on for far too long.
This isn't funny.
Akai shivers. He'll be glad if he never has to hear that dreadful sound again.
"Just leave me be. I will survive, like always."
Up until that moment, Akai was pretty sure he'd lost it. But deep inside his chest, something stirs. A fragile little thing; it aches and splinters and breaks at the sight before him.
Furuya's bright smile is polished, his eyes like shining glass. It's too much.
Akai would be more inclined to believe him if Furuya wasn't shivering. If his nose wasn't running. If his eyes weren't red.
"No."
He might not know Furuya Rei. He barely knew Bourbon, and Amuro Tooru was actively out for his blood. He has no idea what happened to this man, to make him so furious at the world, yet so resigned to his fate. But the emotion that just shone through Furuya's carefully maintained image is all too familiar.
Survival isn't the prize it's made out to be. Not when-
Don't think about them. Someone needs to keep it together, and it won't be Furuya. You can do that, right? Not for yourself, but for him.
Yes.
A hypothesis forms, unbidden. The promise was just an excuse. Furuya came here because he had no other place to go to. No one to turn to.
That's fine. Akai understands. He doesn't have one either. Not anymore.
But he can give Furuya what he still has left: himself.
"I won't leave you alone."
He's the worst person for this; Akai barely knows how to take care of himself. The last time he looked after someone with a cold... he might still have been a teenager, taking care of Shuukichi.
But it beats suffering alone, surely.
"Great. That means I have a chance to die of food poisoning."
There's a shimmer of life in Furuya's eyes, before he closes them. A faint smile, as he rests his head against Akai's chest. Broken, but a little more human than the Venetian mask he's shown before.
Akai squeezes him, once, then picks him up without too much trouble. Shards of glass fall from their clothes, as he rises, holding Furuya close.
Alright.
First, he needs to clean up his guest.
Then, the flat.
Lastly, himself, if he has energy to spare.
And somewhere in-between, he'll need to call Yukiko-san. Maybe she will share the secret to her chicken noodle soup with him.