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Kotaro inhales once, and the smell of Akito's musk invades his senses. It's a sweet sort of scent, heavy and pungent, one which he's come to enjoy the more he lingers close to him. Akito almost always brushes him off when he gets too close, of course, but that's never stopped Kotaro from being clingy.
Kotaro inhales a second time. It's a sharp sound, like the air is being sucked in through his teeth. Akito's always been strong, Kotaro thinks. Whether it's his hands twisting or gripping or squeezing, or his arms which seem to lift even the heaviest of things with practiced ease. Despite that strength though, he's gentle. Even when he half heartedly shoves Kotaro, the placement of his hands seems intentional, like he knows just where to push so he'll stumble to the side rather than tumble to the ground.
The third time Kotaro inhales, he's sure he can taste blood. When a rush of metallic tasting liquid gushes into his mouth he swallows it back, trying not to gag as it coats his throat.
This is okay, he thinks. At least Akito is close to him, shamelessly taking what he wants. It's more than he's ever done, even with Kotaro's insistence. He knows he shouldn't be happy about something like this, but somewhere in his heart he's glad that Akito is the one who's killing him — and not anyone else.
Akito groans as his teeth tear into the lean flesh of Kotaro's shoulder. It's a low, haggard sound- one that could barely be recognized as coming from the same immensely talented singer who managed to surpass Rad Weekend. Kotaro's arms twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to shove Akito off of himself. If he did, he would only be a hypocrite.
Toya and Shiraishi and Azusawa will be back soon, he's sure. They've been gone for just about an hour, scavenging supplies from the shops not too far from here. Kotaro is almost glad he'll be dead by then; seeing the faces of his friends once they realize he's messed up the only job he's ever been given this badly would have been a fate worse than death. A screw up 'till the end, Kotaro thinks. At least he was consistent.
"Watch the entrance while we're gone," An had said, her smile still somehow managing to be bright while society itself crumbled around them. "If anything at all happens, press the buzzer on your walkie. We'll be back to help as soon as possible!"
It was a decent scheme. Even though no one said it, everyone knew Kotaro wasn't equipped to deal with an emergency situation on his own. Gangly and prone to sudden bouts of anxiety, letting him watch over such an important base of operations by himself would practically be suicide, but Kotaro wanted desperately to be of use, so reluctantly, Akito of all people agreed.
The plan was simple. Toya and the girls would go out to scavenge close by while he and Akito stayed back to guard Weekend Garage. Simple and straightforward. There hadn't been any close calls for a few days at least, so all they had to do was stay vigilant.
But then a window broke, and before Kotaro could do anything, Akito was sprinting towards the undead corpse -who somehow managed to break in- to immobilize it.
It all happened far too fast. Akito's blade catching in its sheath meant he was vulnerable for a mere second, but one second was all it took for the zombie's teeth to sink into his arm. All the while, Kotaro hadn't even moved from his spot on the floor.
While it takes days for the bodies of the infected to rot, the disease consumes your brain near-instantly. Kotaro couldn't think to do anything except frantically click the buzzer on his walkie talkie to alert the others. Now that Akito had been bitten, his hands were tied. He was totally and utterly useless in this situation, and he knows that better than anyone.
Maybe that's why he didn't run when Akito began stalking towards him. Kotaro deserved this, didn't he? If he had acted any faster- if he had acted at all, Akito wouldn't be dead right now. But all it took was awful luck and one pathetic mistake to far too easily take the life of Akito Shinonome.
Kotaro chokes, gurgling on the blood that gathers in his throat as Akito tears the flesh of his neck apart. It hurts. More than anything he's ever felt in his life, he's sure, but still, he doesn't pull away.
Months ago, when the world was still as they knew it, bustling and alive and normal, from behind the same counter in Weekend Garage Kotaro is stuck behind now, he asked Akito a question.
"Would you eat me?"
Akito looked up, face scrunched into an expression that told Kotaro he needed to elaborate.
"Like, cannibalism style!"
To Kotaro's dismay, the confused tension never eased from Akito's face.
"…is that a weird thing to ask?"
"Yes." Akito finally responded.
"W- Well then, just pretend I didn't say anything."
Kotaro said, turning 90 degrees to hide the flush crawling up his neck. Akito seemed to find it just a little amusing, how suddenly focused the brunette was on wiping the cup in his hands.
"Even if I were to eat you, you probably wouldn't taste too good anyways, considering you ain't got any muscle." He said after a moment- a lilt in his voice.
"Akitooo-!!"
Kotaro whined, lips pressing down into a pout as he turned back towards the other boy. Akito merely laughed it off then. Shoved Kotaro's arm lightly and told him to get back to work. The topic was never brought up again.
Not until now, that is.
Kotaro's not sure why he isn't braindead yet. He'd heard rumours of citizens who were immune to the bite of zombies somewhere- maybe they were true. If that were the case, if he were the one who were bitten and not Akito, perhaps he could have salvaged the situation.
He could have killed the straggler. And when Akito inevitably rushed to Kotaro's side, he would explain surprisedly that somehow, despite being bitten, he was okay. Akito would hug him and scold him for being careless, bandage his arm, and when Toya and Shiraishi and Azusawa returned, they would come back to find nothing more than a mildly injured Kotaro.
Instead, he stood there and watched as one bite took the life of the boy he loved in an instant. He really is an idiot.
A weak cry somehow manages to escape his damaged throat as Akito's teeth tear the muscle and skin from his body, as his mouth chews and swallows and consumes with a sickening sort of gluttony. His fingers twitch when Akito's hands press into his abdomen, mindlessly pulling at the ugly, stained, purple fabric of Kotaro's sweater, attempting to tear it away; to gain access to the untouched flesh underneath.
He wonders if he tastes any good, or if what Akito said- back then, just to tease him, ended up being true.
Kotaro sincerely hopes it's the former.