Archive of Our Own

Your first impression of Chishiya was that he’d make a great ally. He’s smart, ruthless, and, admittedly, quite attractive. So you teamed up with him.

But then, just ten minutes later, he’d tried to sacrifice you without as much as blinking.

Your second impression of Chishiya was that you hate him.

You survived, of course. Completely because of your own competence and a dose of luck.

And yes, these are games where players compete for their own survival. 

So what? You’re allowed to be pissed at someone for attempting to kill you.

You’re allowed to be pissed when after the game was over, he’d simply shrugged with that damned smirk of his and told you: “You’re alive, aren’t you? ~♪”

Bastard.

So imagine your dismay when you found your way to the Beach, discovered it was a cult you couldn’t leave, and this guy was one of the executives.

At least you had power and warm water again. A steady source of good food.

Worse, the first few games you played, he somehow always ended up assigned to your team. He seems to find amusement in watching you. He finds even more amusement when you end up in situations where you have to work together with him, and in your paranoia that follows.

He hasn’t tried to use you as bait again, even though he has had no problems using anyone else in front of you.

It infuriates you that his attention is more on your reaction than on the poor souls that die in his name.

Their deaths help you too, but this is a world where people compete in death games. Sometimes you just have no choice. 

You still spitefully hate him though.

Today, you’re finally approaching a venue without him. If you’d known that simply calling him out would make that happen, you’d have done so much earlier.

Instead of a clever remark or his smug assholery, he’d only tilted his head and asked you: “Do you not want me there?”

“I don’t!” You’d been frustrated at his eternally calm state. “With you there I need to constantly be on my watch to make sure you won’t push me under the bus. And if we end up in a high level, one player survives diamonds game I don’t stand a chance against you.”

“I see.” He’d considered you with those eyes as cold and empty as the void of space before turning around to leave without saying anything else. As if whatever entertainment you provided him meant nothing to him.

You should’ve been relieved, but it’d only aggravated you more.

But at least you got what you wanted: A game without him. A game where you can focus on surviving instead of having to keep an eye on the man the Beach forced you to ally with.

It’s unfortunate, you think as the driver follows the signs onto a carnival, that this is the game Chishiya isn’t here to play. He’d be disgruntled with the location. Even more so when you step out in front of a fortune teller’s tent. He’d roll his eyes at that. You can almost imagine the kind of snarky comment he’d make.

But he isn’t here, which is what you wanted, so you really should stop thinking about him.

The air is cloyed with the smell of incense, which makes you oddly nostalgic. While the scent is extreme, the Borderlands doesn’t exactly smell nice. The artificial smell reminds you of the old world.

The tent itself is shrouded in shadow, small flickering flames from candles its only light source, just enough to illuminate an antique table holding a mystical crystal sphere surrounded by concoctions in small vials. The liquid is unlike anything you’d seen in the real world, more at home in a fantasy book than the darkness of the Borderlands. Hues of blue swirl around even though nothing is moving them, glitters catching the light of the flames.

You are startled when the voice of the announcer sounds from your phone, but unsurprised by the declaration of a heart's game.

“Game: Lotus Eater. Difficulty: Ace of Hearts.” Damn it. That means you’ll have to play again tomorrow. “Duration: Four hours. Please take a vial and drink its contents. There is no variation between the vials or its contents. Clear condition: leave the venue within three minutes of its effect ending. The vials are not allowed to leave the venue.”

An ominous feeling leaves the hair on your arms upright. Just an ace. You remind yourself. Even in the Borderlands, the games tend to follow real world logic.

Still, you heavily dislike the idea of drinking what looks like a magical potion.

You down it anyway.

It tastes… clinical. Clean. Like expensive detergent but the option with the least amount of scent. By all rights, the taste should make you gag, but you don’t. Instead it’s… pleasant.

That’s because it isn’t a taste, you realise. It’s a smell. 

The ground beneath you is soft as you nestle your face against the pillow-

Wait.

Pillow?

You open your eyes. When did they close?

You’re not in the fortune teller’s tent anymore. You’re in a bedroom.

The only light source comes from behind you, morning light seeping through the windows (how do you know it’s morning light?), illuminating the room enough to show you a bare, unfamiliar bedroom. 

That’s not entirely fair. There are some trinkets strewn on shelves, hidden between medical journals.

Your trinkets. Trinkets that you’ve gathered and kept over the years.

You spot some of your own clothes as well, caressly tossed over the back of a chair. There are other clothes too, neatly folded next to them as if spitefully making a point.

Wait. If someone else’s clothes are here-

It’s only now you realise that there is a warm weight pressed against your back.

What the fuck.

You almost jump up immediately, pushing whoever is behind you off, but you stop yourself.

This is a game.

First you should make sense of your surroundings.

You shift the slightest, hoping-

Yes. You’re wearing clothes. Minimal clothes, just your underpants and a shirt where an arm that doesn't belong to you is slipped beneath, but you’re not naked. Relief floods your body, even if you’d wish for more clothes.

Focus.

You read the words on the backs of the journals, closing your eyes before reading them again. 

They stay the exact same. Shouldn’t they change if this was a dream?

Don’t be stupid. Of course this is a dream or a hallucination. Your last memory literally was of you drinking a very suspicious liquid.

Still, it’s so real. You can feel each finger of the hand on your stomach, the softness off the mattress beneath you, you can hear the signs of Tokyo’s nightlife outsi-

Wait.

No way.

You bolt upright, letting the body slide off of you as you practically jump from the bed, making your way towards the window. 

No way.

You stare outside after you’ve opened the curtains.

It’s still early, but the cars filling the road beneath your apartment window don’t care, nor do the pedestrians on the sidewalk, busy as this part of Tokyo always is. 

As it used to be, before the fireworks. Before everyone disappeared.

You ignore your name gruffly said behind you as you stare outside in astonishment.

People.

So many people.

People in suits. People in casual wear. People who are clearly not afraid of their VISA ending nor of the next game.

…Are you back in the real world? Did you do it?

This is a game. You remind yourself. A heart’s game. With a suspicious long duration of four hours.

Is that the point? To give you a glimpse of the real world before cruelly snagging it away?

“What are you doing.”

You stiffen. The male voice behind you sounds grumpy. More unnervingly, it sounds familiar.

You take a deep breath before turning around. 

On the bed lies a very familiar figure. Chishiya’s eyes aren’t as empty as you’re used to. The signs are miniscule, but there is some chagrin in there. More unbelievably, the edges around his eyes are softened. 

Even when that chagrin turns into a frown, that softening stays.

Your breath catches. 

He was who you were entangled with moments ago? Chishiya? The same man who’d tried to let the game kill you without hesitation?

He says your name in a low voice. When you don’t react, he sits up, blankets pooling around his bare chest. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You snort. “Really?” You’re not sure whether you’re asking him or the gamemakers. At least the other games you’ve played made sense. This? Waking up in a bed in the real world with Chishiya spooning you?

His lazy movements as he gets up are at least familiar, unlike the hints of emotions peeking through his eyes. 

“Was it a nightmare?” He sounds, for once, puzzled. As if he does not think he’s right, but it’s the most reasonable answer.

This time you laugh. “A nightmare? You could say that.” The Borderlands certainly are. And this? You don’t trust it not to be. It is a game after all.

You’re surprised when, instead of stopping in front of you, he awkwardly moves his arms around you in a hug, silently pressing his face into your hair at the side of your head.

“Don’t touch me!” You immediately, instinctively, push him off, those empty eyes from when he’d dropped you like nothing burned in your mind.

His frown deepens. “If you don’t want your usual support, tell me what you want me to do instead.”

“What if I want you to leave?” You’re too used to your usual banter with Chishiya. Too used to him taking all of your barbs.

Something unpleasant passes through this Chishiya’s eyes, and the softness disappears along with the other emotions, finally leaving only that blank face you’re used to. 

“Put some clothes on. We’re going to the hospital.”

Like hell you are. Four hours in the real world? That gift won’t be spent in some emergency room. “Absolutely not.”

His words are slow as his eyes stay sharply on your face. “Your behaviour suggests that either you’ve got a sudden, severe neurological issue or you’re not my wife. Given the unlikelyhood of the latter, we’re going to the hospital.”

Wife?

“Wife?”

His gaze tightens, dropping pointedly down to your hand before meeting your face again, studying you the same way you’ve seen him study games.

Your gaze drops down.

There is a simple but unmistakable wedding band on your ring finger.

Your eyes fly to Chishiya’s hand, which he holds up for you to see. Or rather, it’s the matching wedding band he wants you to see.

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

Chishiya? Are you supposed to believe that you’d ever marry Chishiya? “Am I supposed to believe that?” You accuse him. You accuse the gamemasters. “You tried to kill me. Seriously, whoever made this game. Anyone else would be more believable. I’ve made it clear I hate him.”

That can’t be a pained look on Chishiya’s face. He’s heartless. Your words have never even breached his shell before. He takes a deep breath, before he speaks again, his words a tad too controlled calm. “You’re the only thing in my life I have even just a smother of care for. There’s a whole list of unspeakable things I’d do before even thinking about hurting you.” There is a genuine emotion in his voice you refuse to recognise as love. 

It makes you speechless.

This… well…

No one has ever told you anything close to that. No matter how much you wished them to.

You don’t even know Chishiya’s given name.

“So tell me what you think is going on, and then let me help you.” His voice is soothing, as if he’s trying to coax a wild animal. As if he’s trying to manipulate you.

Fine. Fine. What does it matter? He’s very unlikely to be real, no matter how little this feels like a dream. The game didn’t give you rules, so it won’t earn you a laser through the head.

“It’s just another game.” You tell him. “Ace of Hearts. Lotus Eater. I drank that stupid potion and now I’m hallucinating.”

His eyes turn calculating. “You’re talking about the Borderlands.” His hand comes up to press on the spot between your shoulder and your neck, causing you to stiffen. You’re about to push him off again when you realise he’s feeling your pulse. “Yet you’re clearly alive.” He removed his hand himself.

What? What does he know that you don’t? Obviously you’re alive. You’ve fought hard for that. Is he claiming the Borderlands are purgatory?

“Chishiya.” You demand. “Tell me what that means.”

His eyes turn cold. “It means the latter is becoming more probable. You are not my wife.”

With a shock, you realise that Chishiya hasn’t looked at you with eyes that cold in a while, and to be looked at that way now, seconds after that unmistakable adoration in his voice… it causes something bitter to coil up in your gut.

Pushing that realisation away for later, you chastise yourself. This is Chishiya. He’s absurdly competent. You definitely do not want to be his enemy.

“So tell me.” He leans in slightly, not taking his eyes off of yours for a moment. “Who are you?”

 You give him your name. Why wouldn’t you? He’d called you by your own given name earlier, so maybe the fact that you’re still a version of his wife will placate him. Sure enough, the coldness melts a little.

“Interesting. So I’m to believe you’re an alternate version of my wife?” He doesn’t move away. “How do I get her back?”

Well. You’d assumed this to be a hallucination, but of course the man in front of you would act like he’s real. If this is real however, how would he get her back? “The game is called Lotus Eater.” You repeat. “The duration is four hours. I receive a game clear if I leave the venue within three minutes of the effect of the potion ending.”

“So you’re stuck in my wife’s body for four hours.” His voice sounds uncharacteristic, as if he won’t accept any other outcome.

His wife’s body? You hadn’t thought about it like that. You glance at a scratch you got yesterday on your shoulder. It’s not there.

Weird. Yet your body doesn’t feel alien. Shouldn’t it?

No. Because this is a hallucination. That’s much more reasonable than this being an alternate dimension like Chishiya’s suggesting.

Who is taking all of this quite easily. “Why would you believe that over neurological damage?”

He leans backwards slightly, finally moving out of your personal space. “What was the date when people disappeared from Tokyo?”

“My question first.” You’re not in the mood for cryptic Chishiya.

“It’s part of the answer.” Those cold eyes are definitely less cold now, is that a hint of fondness?

You sigh. “July 7th.”

“July 7th of last year a meteorite hit Shibuya Crossing.” What? The fireworks? “I was at the hospital at the time. That was quite a long shift. Months after, it became noticeable that patients who underwent a cardiac arrest started to report surprisingly similar dreams. While not public knowledge, I have enough connections in the neurology department that I know about Kano Gamon’s government-funded studies. Which has confirmed the existence of the Borderlands.” He tilts his head. “Fascinating study. The idea of having to play games to survive is interesting. If the afterlife is real, why wouldn’t your story be true? You’re not good enough of a liar to not genuinely believe what you’re saying.”

Chishiya just told you he believes the afterlife to be real. That you’re currently quite dead. That’s not the part that surprises you most however. “Wait. You are a doctor?”

His lips curl up in amusement. “I am. Is that such a surprise?”

“You don’t care for anyone. You don’t look twice at anyone who’s injured.” You realise your mistake as you look at Chishiya’s amused eyes. You don’t have to care to be a doctor, do you?

Indeed. “Why would your version of me? Even if he has any interest in helping people, it would put a target on his back. I’m purely a doctor for the mental stimulation.”

Lie. You’re not sure why you’re convinced that that’s a lie, but (unfortunately) Chishiya’s insistence of existing in your perimeter means you do somewhat know him. “Liar.”

That amuses this Chishiya more. “So you do somewhat know me, yet you claimed he tried to kill you. I’m assuming that wasn’t recent, as you don’t seem to hate me.”

Hold up. “I do hate you.”

Something complicated happens in his eyes, his amused smile stiffening for just the blink of an eye before it turns into a smirk. “Liar.”

“You tried to sacrifice me. First game we met, just after agreeing to team up. I hate you for that.”

“Liar ~♪”

You roll your eyes. So maybe, just maybe, the hate you try to spitefully hold on to isn’t as strong anymore as it once was. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve started to… tolerate his habit of appearing and disappearing into your room like a cat. 

Just tolerate.

“You’re useful in the games.” You give in just a millimetre. “When I don’t have to keep an eye on whether you’ll stab my back. Which is always.”

Instead of the admittance you expected him to see it as, Chishiya frowns. He likely still sees that, but his focus is on something else. His earlier emotions already were a shock. Still, you’re startled again when he sounds concerned. “You should. I might love my wife but I can’t claim he loves you. We both know how I, or he, would play games.”

“Exactly.” It’s not like him to tell you something so obvious.

Nor is it like him to step back. To, instead of subtly trying to get more information out of you, simply offer: “You have four hours in a Tokyo that’s not abandoned. What do you want to do?”

You expected it to be exhilarating to be around ordinary people again. You were wrong. 

It’s… much. Your head keeps analysing anyone for the dangers they could pose. You’re on high alert, immediately trying to assess the danger at every loud or unexpected sound.

You’re in a metropolis. There are a lot of those. 

You just can’t convince your brain you’re not in active peril at the moment.

Chishiya notices. Of course he does. This time you don’t push him off as one of his hands leaves his pockets to rest on the small of your back, silently guiding you to less busy streets. You don’t even ask where you are going, your own plans abandoned with how stressed even just the roads are making you.

He leads you to an unassuming cafe, tucked in between other buildings, but you realise why the moment you step inside:

There are secluded booths. And you’re thankful for them.

Chishiya glances at you as you take a seat that has your back to the wall, but doesn’t comment on it as you sit down. “They have some board games available to use.” He tells you as he sits down opposite of you. “This is where my wife takes me when she insists we go out of the house.”

You ignore the implications of that as you read through the menu, of this being a place his wife takes him for dates, only looking up when Chishiya taps a certain item. 

“Considering you currently have her tastebuds, that’s her favourite item on the menu.”

…It does sound good. You ignore Chishiya’s smug smirk as you awkwardly place your order with the server.

You’ve only been gone for a few weeks. Why does normalcy feel so off?

The meal is delicious. Yet another sense that feels terrifyingly real for a supposed hallucination. If you’re wrong and this is an alternate reality, if you do make it home one day, you’ll certainly return. 

Chishiya seems to want to make sure you do make it. He tells you about his knowledge of the Borderlands, about the dealers, the second stage and the game theory. He also tells you about himself, insistent that you remember he’s a doctor, which can be invaluable in the world you were forced into. But he also tells you about some notable patients, his parents you instantly dislike and even the Mona Lisa.

When you ask him why, he’s nonchalant in knowing you don’t think he’s real. “I can offer you valuable knowledge, but that means nothing if you return and think it’s just an effect of the drug. My personal information is something you can confirm that you couldn’t have learned subconsciously anywhere else.”

Clever man. But you knew that already. “That’s not the why I meant.” You point at him with your chopsticks. “You seem overly vested in my survival. We both know you don’t care for people, apparently except your wife. You don’t help people. I’m not your wife, even if I’m similar.”

“I don’t. You’re not.” He agrees. “Yet you’re quite similar to her.” His eyes soften into something fond again. “And she’d be mad at me if I didn’t help you.”

That’s enough of an answer to leave you satisfied.

You go straight back to his apartment after your meal is finished, your small taste of normal society having been more than enough. 

“Can you teach me some first aid?” You ask him in an attempt to distract yourself from the people on the street around you.

You almost regret your request as Chishiya, expectedly, turns out to be a ruthless teacher. He rolls his eyes or makes dry comments when you don’t know concepts he considers basic and calmly explains how you just killed yourself when you misremember something or make a mistake.

But you do learn some things. “You only know a few basics.” Chishiya warns you. “And barely at that. You should prioritise getting to your Chishiya as soon as possible if you get hurt.”

“That assumes he’d help.” You point out, not managing to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

This Chishiya keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You’re not even used to being looked at like you matter. 

It’s… nice. It makes you forget you hate him. It makes you jealous of this version of you, that has someone who cares for her like that, who hasn’t had to go through the horrors of the Borderlands.

“He would.” Chishiya states matter of factly. “You said he keeps showing up around you. That means he has at least some interest in you. He’ll help you in return for a favour.”

That’s… You’d never really thought much about why Chishiya keeps turning up around you. Why he keeps joining games with you. You just assumed messing with you brings him some amusement.

“I’m deeply in love with my wife. She is with me as well.” He tells you as the clock ticks closer to the four hour mark. You wonder what it’d be like, a life with Chishiya Shuntaro.

Oddly enough, you think, if he loves you, he’d be a stable presence. Reliable. Someone you could trust. “She’s really happy.” It’s said with a slight hint of disbelief, as if Chishiya isn’t sure how he could be a source of that.

As you look at him, his blonde hair, the mole beneath his eye, his normally empty eyes filled with adoration, you can see how.

The world warps around you as the clean scent of the apartment makes place for a cloying incense. His eyes are the last thing lingering as you come back to your world.

It’s with some unease you realise you believe it to have been a different world instead of an hallucination.

Real.

As real as the dirt under your cheek. You must’ve fallen after you drank the vial. You get up, your limbs stiff and cramped from the awkward position, brushing the dirt away from your skin and clothes.

Three minutes, you remind yourself, glancing at the vials resting tantalisingly on the table.

It’d be a nice death. Much better than any of the others the Borderlands have to offer. You wouldn’t even notice the laser, enjoying a better world in the companion of someone who can pretend he cares about you.

The Borderlands mean a rough road ahead, if Chishiya was right about the second stage. You’d have to survive so much more.

But that would never be a choice you’d make. You want to live. You’ve already survived numerous games. What’s some more?

You walk out of the tent without looking at the other Beach member who came with you. You do wait for him in the car, but three minutes later, a laser appears above the tent. You don’t hear a single sound as the man died.

You do understand him. It would just never be you.

You wonder if the Beach has assumed you dead while you drive back, as the game took longer than any game you’ve played before.

When you step out of the car, you notice a figure wearing white on the roof of the Beach.

They're gone after you close the door behind you and look up again.

Chishiya? Would he truly wait to see if you’re alive?

That might’ve been your hallucination of today.

Mahiru, the executive tasked for the day to collect the returning members’ collected cards, is indeed surprised to see you, as he was getting ready to leave for his room. 

You don’t spot Chishiya anywhere else. 

You shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’re well aware your Chishiya is different from the one you just met. Your alternate version had the luxury of meeting him when their lives weren’t on the line.

He tried to kill you. You remind yourself, the voice in the back of your head calling you a hypocrite louder than ever. You fail to remember how empty his eyes had looked when he tried to sacrifice your life.

You ignore the fact that he doesn’t show up around you the next day. You ignore the tinge in your chest when he doesn’t show up at your assigned car for your game, the Ace of Hearts only having earned you a single game.

It’s for the best, really. You do waste energy making sure he won’t betray you. And one thing you can admit to yourself that right now, his presence would distract you. 

The Two of Spades you play means you only have a single day of respite before you have to play again. Like yesterday, you spot the figure in white on the roof as you make it back, exhausted.

He does not search you out during that day either.

Why? Did he take you asking him to stop joining your games as a sign to stay away completely? That is what you wanted, isn’t it?

Yet you can’t get the other Chishiya’s soft eyes filled with adoration out of your head.

So the morning of your game, you search him out instead, ploffing down next to him during breakfast.

His eyes are nothing like the other him as he glances at you, just for a moment before he looks back at his food and continues to eat without a word.

Except that’s not entirely true. His eyes aren’t a complete void. A few days ago, you wouldn’t have recognised it, but having seen the other Chishiya’s unguarded fondness, you see the miniscule flicker of the same emotion in his eyes.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” You complain as you start on your own food.

“That implies I’ve given thought to you. I don’t.” Your chest constricts at his harsh words, and you have to remind yourself that it’s a lie. He waited to see whether you came back from your games alive. That means something. 

Just like that flicker in his eyes.

“Rude, ‘Shiya.” You enjoy the deep breath he, like always, releases at the nickname. “There was no one doing commentary during the last game. It was boring.”

This time, his glance at you lasts longer, as if there is something he’s trying to read on your face.

He stays silent, eating the last of his meal before getting up.

Like is his habit, he leaves without a word. 

For the first time, it leaves you feeling dejected, your hand clenching and unclenching around your chopsticks.

Had you hurt him when you told him you didn’t want him with you during the games? You didn’t know he could be hurt like that. Or had he simply decided you weren’t worth it after how often you threw barbs at him?

You really, really, shouldn’t have wished for a higher numbered game. Your hands are trembling as they attempt to bandage the large gash on your side, the pain making it almost impossible to concentrate. Other Chishiya’s advice seems to work, but you know a bandage made from your jacket isn’t a cure.

You need proper treatment. Stitches at the very least. What if something vital has been hit?

You don’t know how to tell.

It’s a miracle you make it back to the beach with no accidents, being forced to drive as the sole survivor.

You don’t even check the roof for the figure as you stumble into the Beach, desperately hoping you won’t come across any militant.

The bodies hidden at the Beach don’t only belong to traitors. Optics are considered important here, so you can’t have anyone majorly visibly injured. 

That’d lower morale.

You do not want to become one of those bodies. So you ignore the pain worsening with each step, forcing yourself to survive.

You get a few side glances as you make your way through the hallways, but no militants. You know why, the mirror of the car had already shown you paling. You don't want to check whether blood has seeped through your makeshift bandage.

You don’t knock when you’re finally in front of Chishiya’s door, closing it immediately behind you before basically falling against it in need of support, heavily breathing.

“I distinctly remember being berated on multiple occasions for not knocking. Yet here we are.” Does he sound annoyed? You can’t tell. 

“‘Shiya.” You breathe. “I- Help me.”

He comes to stand in front of you. You completely miss the well-hidden concern in his voice, but you don’t miss his cold words. “And how do you expect me to do that? I’m no-”

“Cut the crap.” You snap at him. “I know you’re a doctor.” That actually manages to make him blink. You break the silence with a “Please,” that stumbles from your lips.

“You’ll owe me a favour.” Chishiya says, too slow for your liking. “You’ll tell me how you know of my profession. And you’ll tell me in detail about the Ace of Hearts.”

You barely listen to his words, just nodding.

He surprises you when his arm slides around you, supporting you as he wordlessly gets you to his couch. He puts his hair in a low ponytail, attractive in a way that causes your pain-hazed brain to latch onto it as a distraction. 

It’s only when he puts plastic gloves on that you realise an open medical kit lies ready on the coffee table.

Had he prepared that for you?

His face is one of pure concentration as he starts to work, cutting away the bandage clinically. You barely notice the sting, hidden by the overwhelming agony from your wound, of the painkiller he injects, something invaluable in a post-apocalyptic world.

Your breathing stabilises as the agonising pain starts to dull to a thrumming one. 

You ignore his hands as he works, eyes firmly on his face, the distraction of your attraction to the man almost working. 

It feels like hours pass before he finally pulls away. “You’ll live.” He tells you curtly. “Assuming you won’t act like a moron.”

Lacking the energy for words, you just smile gratefully at him. Do you imagine his eyes softening?

He forces you to drink some pills, and you don’t remember much after that.

It’s late in the day when he mercilessly wakes you up, ignoring your protests. Only to force more pills on you.

“We should have some time to chat while we wait for them to work.” His voice is calm, soothing. Is that his doctor voice? “How did you know my profession?”

You, still half asleep, grumble. “You told me.”

“It’s impolite to lie.” His voice has a playful lilt to it now. “You did agree to tell me.”

“You did.” Your head starts to become more clearer, with the unfortunate result that your pain becomes more insistent. You should probably elaborate. “Other-you did.”

“Oh? Other-me?”

You nod.

“I’m assuming this was during your Ace of Hearts.”

“Did you use your executive privilege to find out what the difficulty was?”

He lets out an amused breath, which is enough confirmation. “You’ve been acting differently since. Instead of avoiding me, you searched for me. And you did with those open eyes. Where has your hate gone? What happened during your game?”

“Hayato. Needed a heart transplant, but the hospital prioritised nepotism. He died.” You whisper, before listing the details you were told of another case. And another. Chishiya doesn’t outwardly react at all. 

“Those have been some of my past patients, yes. I’m assuming you’ll tell me how you learned?”

“That proves it wasn’t a hallucination.” You breathe. “It was actually real. How could I know otherwise?”

“Context.” He says your name, and once again you wouldn’t have recognised that flicker of fondness if you hadn’t seen it so open on his other selves face.

“The game made me drink a potion.” You tell him. “I woke up in the body of myself from a different reality.” Chishiya stays silent, his eyes searching your face for what you assume to be any hint of a lie. “In your arms. We were married.”

That gets a reaction. He actually, visibly, stiffens. Then he scoffs. “Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You ignore his attitude, continuing to tell him about the Ace of Hearts. 

“I see. So there is this other version of me that loves another version of you, and you assumed that means I love you too.” His words are mocking as he leans closer. “I don’t.”

It doesn’t hurt. Your words are, in a stark contrast, vulnerable as you for once don’t lie to yourself. “Of course not. That’s way too early. But you could. I could love you. If we give it time.”

“You were very clear that you don’t want me with you.”

Oh. So, for once, he had taken something the wrong way. 

“‘Shiya, I thought you were a sociopath.” You honestly tell the man. “You keep whatever’s in your chest hidden so well I couldn’t see it until I saw it on the face of a you that didn’t hide for me.”

“I do barely experience emotions.” He looks away.

“I don’t care. You do. That makes all the difference.”

He looks back at you. “You know I’m not a good person. You know I have the blood of people on my hands. You know I’m manipulative, vain and selfish. I will never apologise for attempting to sacrifice you in our first game together.”

“I know.” You agree. “Yet it was so difficult to keep on hating you. I just- I want you anyway. I want you to look at me with fondness in your eyes, or adoration. I want to be the only one you look at that way. I want to look at you that way.”

He sighs, but not out of exasperation. His hand comes up to check your pulse, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

“You’d want me.” His voice is low. “In a world we have to compete in games for our survival, even though I’ve proven to you that I’m untrustworthy.”

“Yes.” You make sure there is no hesitation in neither your voice or body. “I do.”

“Then you’re a fool.” His eyes are fond as they rest on you. “But fine. I suppose you’re mine, then. And I’ll be yours.” His hand retracts, only to put a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “We’ll see how this farce ends.”

“I’m not completely a fool.” You tell him. “I didn’t mention it on purpose, but the other-you told me how to leave the Borderlands. Now it’ll be strategic to keep me at your side.”

Chishiya actually laughs at that. It’s short, barely longer than a chuckle, but still a laugh. “Clever girl.” He does not ask you for the specifics. “I have no choice then.”

Exhaustion starts to take you as you murmur: "I don't know your given name."

"Shuntaro." He freely gives.

"Shuntaro." You repeat, tasting it like something precious before you drift back into sleep as the pills do their work.

When you wake up, you’re no longer on the couch, the softness of his mattress beneath you instead. As you look to the side, you notice that on the nightstand is a plate with your favourite food the Beach has to offer, a cup of water and some more pills.

In spite of your pain, you smile. You’re sure that this will work out just fine.