Chapter Text
If Amane had taught Fuuta one thing, it was to have faith in being able to overcome God’s trials. Pray each and every day, then maybe your hopes will be fulfilled. As the bells tolled during the eighth prisoner’s interrogation, Fuuta repeated that mantra to himself relentlessly.
Fuuta already knew he was safe from whatever MILGRAM had planned for those voted unforgiven; that had been decided months ago. Or what felt like months prior, at the very least. He honestly wasn't very sure, as time in prison felt… different.
Regardless, despite his initial surprise and relief of being found forgiven, he did not care about it as much as he would have cared before. He was more worried about Amane’s verdict being any different than his.
If that happened, he would be fucking pissed.
His body started shaking as he thought of the possibility, his head spiralling as he waited for Amane to leave that interrogation room. Was Es kind to her, as Fuuta had wished for? He had faith in that they were, considering their recent attitude change… But he could only be so sure.
More questions started pouring in. What would the voices tell that person in her sleep and waking hours? What if the scale leaned unforgiven, considering the multiple wills inside Es? What if she was unforgiven? He didn’t want to consider that, but if it did happen… What would be the punishment? Would she be hurt? Die? Worse? Or…
“...I’m back,” a whispery voice announced, bringing Fuuta back from his anxious state. It belonged to that person; the person who had saved him.
Amane looked rough. She was staring at her feet, her body curved in reflection. Upon further inspection, Fuuta noticed her eyes were extremely puffy. Besides that, she was surprisingly calm. As if she had made peace with something in her soul..
“So,” Fuuta started, unsure of what to make of the situation, “how did it go?”
She glanced at him, almost afraid to look him in the eye. Still, she replied, “I… think it went well. Only time will be able to tell, though.”
Fuuta gave out a sigh of relief. At least it hadn’t been that bad. “I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he said, “we’re getting out of here no matter what.”
Amane finally looked him in the eye, a gleam of shy hopefulness in her expression. “Do you really believe that?”
He quickly nodded, giving a thumbs up. “Of course I do!”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Well…I mean, I’m nervous, sure,” he admitted, “but I know we’ll get out...”
“Are you sure?,” Amane interrupted him, her tone louder and more insistent, demanding enough to startle Fuuta.
“Y-yeah, geez!,” he complained. What was up with her? She looked desperate for validation, for some reason. He tried to think of a convincing enough follow-up to ease Amane’s anxiety.
“I wouldn’t be wearing this stuff if I didn’t have faith in it, now, would I?,” he argued.
He immediately realized that he had failed in his goal. He rubbed his neck as Amane directed her gaze towards her feet again.
Sighing, he extended his pinky finger to her.
Amane looked confused. “What are you…?,” she started, but got rapidly interrupted by Fuuta.
“A-a pinky promise!,” he said nervously, “that’s a thing at your age, right? We’ll make an oath that we are getting out of here.”
Finally less tense, Amane let out a soft smile. “So Es was right,” she whispered to herself.
Fuuta did not know what she meant. He insisted, “oi! Don’t leave me hanging.”}
As she intertwined her pinky finger with Fuuta’s, Amane looked pleased. Without letting go yet, she asked, “how will we find each other?”
“You’ll definitely find me,” Fuuta answered her with all the confidence he didn’t actually have, “we’ll get out of here, we will meet, and we’re gonna carve His teaching into their goddamn skulls, ‘k?”
Despite her shock, Amane chuckled, letting out the biggest smile at that point of the exchange. “Of course,” she affirmed.
Decisively, once Fuuta let go of Amane’s hand, he took a piece of paper lying on the floor and started writing on it. Amane looked at him with curiosity.
When he finished, he handed over the paper to her. She stared at it.
“...Pazuzu Soccer… April 19th?,” Amane read out loud, “what does it mean?”
“It’s my username,” Fuuta said. Amane still didn’t understand what he meant, so he clarified, “it’s… How I go online. Think of it like a stage name.”
Amane’s eyes glowed, “Fuuta, are you a celebrity?”
“No… Not exactly that…,” he said, embarrassed. He hadn’t considered that Amane might not be familiar with social media apps; she was twelve after all. And she didn’t really look like the type to lie about her age to make an account.
“It’s a lot to explain”, Fuuta argued, “just… look this up on Twitter and you’ll be able to contact me.”
“Twitter…?,” she asked, “what’s that?”
God, this was going to be a handful to explain.
---
After what felt like an eternity of him lecturing Amane about what Twitter was, how it worked, and internet safety tips he had learnt through the worst mediums possible, the religious leader seemed to have gotten the hang of it.
“...I think that’s all,” Fuuta ended. Amane nodded; she also looked tired from all the information that had been dumped on her. She saved the piece of paper with Fuuta’s username on her pocket.
Her expression was softer and calmer. She started laughing to herself, the reason unknown to Fuuta.
“W-what’s up?,” he asked.
“Sorry, it’s just…,” Amane started answering between laughs, “I just realized. Pazuzu Soccer is such a silly name…”
“O-oi! It’s cool, isn’t it?”
Amane tried to contain herself, but failed and continued laughing, tears starting to fall from her eyes. It was, admittedly, very contagious. Fuuta soon joined in.
That day was probably the day they laughed the most in prison. In between the glee, they still hadn’t forgotten about their pinky promise to each other.
Because a pinky promise was never to be broken.