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Eito supposes that what he considers their first is not the same as what Takumi does. Takumi describes it to him, sometimes, in whispered admissions, when he thinks that Eito is not listening or not capable of listening to him as he used to. Takumi’s voice gets caught in his throat, tightly wound, “I never thought that you would betray us, betray me. They all went down. They all died in front of me, like Karua– like Kirifuji had.” He pauses, swallowing the memory. “I killed you, I drove my blade through your heart, right here,” he traces the soft ridges of Eito’s chest over his jacket, fixing his fingertips over his heart as easily as if he was an anatomical model, not a living thing. “You were dead. I killed you.”
Takumi holds Eito like he truly is a doll – tentatively wrapping his arms around him, and then squeezing too tight, all feigned hesitation and trepidation gone, holding him in an uncomfortable, selfish way that would be so unnatural for their Team Leader to touch anyone else. But Eito isn’t anyone else – he’s a traitor, for sins he committed in a life he has not lived. Takumi clings to Eito, and they all let him do it. Eito knew these humans were monstrous, immoral eyesores, but even so, he hadn’t expected that after one day of freedom, he would be locked in a cage, lobotomized, and only released from his house arrest as their deranged leader’s living plaything.
Eito can’t stop Takumi from showing up outside his cage at all hours of every day. He thinks about moving back into his room on the roof – as if he would be permitted such a luxury unless Takumi thought it was his own idea – but at least in the Courtyard, Takumi has to walk most of the way across the school to see him. On his way to the Courtyard, he’s often stopped by the others. Sometimes his visits are cut short by someone wandering into the Courtyard, and Takumi flusters, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t by coming to see Eito. Eito stares at the writhing mass of gore that is Takumi as if he were something kinder, and Takumi believes him, entirely gullible. Or maybe it’s that Takumi believes in himself, in his own ability to incapacitate Eito, in his own flawlessness, his own blamelessness. If their rooms were right next to each other on the roof, Takumi would come by even more.
What Eito remembers is this: swinging his scythe down on Sirei’s body to heave him into two perfect halves, just as the gymnasium door creaked open. He aborted the fatal blow at the last moment, but it didn’t matter. Takumi looked at him with barely contained fury, a simmering rage present in his usually dopey eyes. From one look at that monster, Eito could tell he was different than he was the day before. Eito hadn’t considered Takumi a threat on the first day; but something about the way he charged towards him in the gym on the second day made him sweat a little.
Eito tried the usual placating words, and they were ineffective. Takumi was already transformed in his Class Armor before him, slashing at him with his sword like an executioner. His sword had taken on an unusual blue hue, like the waves of the sea. He would’ve thought Takumi’s sword would be red, like his fluorescent hair, the only real distinguishable feature on a body that looked like rotting meat; like a carcass left out in an alleyway to rot for weeks on end, a constantly shifting, writhing, amorphous mass of flesh. Eito fought back, but it was like Takumi knew his every move. He hated to admit that in their Class Armor, Takumi was possibly stronger than him. Eito slashed at Takumi with his scythe in large swings, his movements slighted at the last possible second, every time.
Eito gave up and grabbed Takumi by the back of the neck and slammed him down on the ground with the weight of his own body. He threw himself on top of Takumi, slamming Takumi’s hand with the blunt edge of his scythe until his sword was thrown out of his grip.
As if he couldn’t defeat an unarmed Takumi – he let go of his scythe, let it clatter down on the dirty floor besides them, polluted with sweaty human footsteps. He grabbed Takumi by the collar of his hoodie and punched him in the face. There was a crack underneath his fist, the sound of some bone threatening to break, probably Takumi’s nose, not that Eito could really tell where it was supposed to be on his hideous face. Takumi gasped, struggling for breath. Eito hit him again, and again. Takumi struggled to take in an unnatural, broken breath. Blood gurgled in his throat and he spit it up. His foul blood splashed against Eito’s righteous face.
He hadn’t planned to kill Takumi this early on, thought that he would have to be patient, thought that things would have gone according to plan, that it would have been easier to avoid him. He grabbed Takumi by the neck, driving his thumb and index into his trachea, choking him.
Eito was just starting to see the light go out of Takumi’s jaundiced eyes when a blinding pain burned through his body, radiating from his neck. He fell to the floor on top of Takumi. He squinted in the direction of his assailant, only to see Sirei holding a baton.
It's over. Eito lowered his head like an animal ready to be euthanized, staring blearily at the horrific sight that was Takumi, his repulsive form the last thing that he would ever see.
“Kill me…” Eito demanded.
Takumi refused.
Eito is very good, and he is very smart. He is patient. Eito is going to kill Takumi, sooner rather than later. Everything will be worth it.
“I know you can’t swim,” Takumi says, shyly. Eito has never told him this in his one brief life of imprisonment. “I thought it would be good to have a swimming lesson. Y-You know, just in case you end up needing to know how to swim, on explorations… or in a defensive battle, or something?”
It’s a repulsive thought, being trapped in a body of water that has been thoroughly contaminated, soaked in and emulsified by Takumi’s rotten, dead stench, but it could be worth it. Eito swallows down the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks about Takumi’s proposal – a private swimming lesson, no doubt the type of activity he had imagined as a date idea with one of the girls. Nozomi, probably, though she already knows how to swim, because she isn’t quite as incompetent as Takumi’s fantasy. Eito fills in the damsel role in her absence.
Eito’s in a school swimsuit that Takumi had picked out for him, navy shorts that cling tightly to his hips. Eito is disgusted to see Takumi is wearing the same swimsuit. His stomach lurches. Takumi grabs him by the hand and gently tugs him into the water. Takumi’s fingertips sear like scalding acid; they threaten to disintegrate his flesh. He can hear the sizzling of his own skin threatening to give underneath the heft of Takumi’s touch.
Takumi guides Eito into the water with his bare skin touching his, carelessly oozing putrid fluids all over his clean skin. His tendrils curl around Eito’s arms, weighing him down, suppressing him. Eito truly can’t swim. He’s not sure why his past self – his alleged, imagined self, really, an idea of him constructed by Takumi’s own fragmented, self-serving memories – would have told Takumi something so vulnerable about himself. For the sake of pity, he supposes, though he wishes he had garnered pity over something that wasn’t true.
“Come on, Eito,” Takumi’s voice softens. He tries to appease Eito, as if he’s an invalid. “Take another step forward, it’s okay. I got you.”
“Aha… Takumi, do you even know CPR?”
“Eito, I promise, I won’t let you drown. Just take a step. Go down one stair to start.” Eito doesn’t move. “Seriously, don’t worry so much. You’re so tall, you’ll be able to stand for a while.”
“I worry about you, Takumi. I doubt you could drag us both out of here alive if I started to drown.”
“I would save your life if it came to that,” Takumi smiles at the thought of his own selflessness. “Water makes you weightless. You’re not that much heavier than me in here.”
It’s like he planned the whole thing…. Eito’s face burns in humiliation. It’s not Takumi’s heartfelt promise that gets him. It’s the way that Takumi is explaining water and weight to Eito, as if his mind is full of nothing more than cotton. He really thinks Eito is that stupid. And Eito should be that stupid – he certainly took the shocks that were supposed to guarantee it, the hair-sizzling, skin-burning electricity that coursed through his entire body and forced him to convulse until he lost track of time itself. Eito should be dull and meek. He acts like it for the others. Alone with Takumi, his words sometimes have a bite to them, though Takumi doesn’t suspect a thing. Takumi looks at Eito as if he’s a kitten he declawed himself.
Eito takes a step forward, and then another, submerging himself up to his knees. He gasps when he sees globs of Takumi’s red flesh floating around his legs, threateningly close to him, a hairsbreadth from slithering up his legs.
Takumi pulls Eito by the hand, tugging him further into the pool. Eito stumbles. He loses his footing, his feet slipping out from underneath him as they slide off the slimy pool tiles. Suddenly he’s falling, desperately trying to grab onto the closest thing he can to stabilize himself. The scent of decay floods his senses and he hears the wet squelch of raw meat. He opens his eyes to see that he has both his arms wrapped around Takumi’s shoulders. He clings to him like his life depends on it, like his legs are useless and can’t be trusted to hold him up.
Takumi’s eyes are wide and focused on him, his pupils dilating from where his eye sockets droop and sag on his face. He blushes as much as a monster like him can blush. He’s so disgusting, it just gets worse every time Eito looks at him. Eito’s got him in a chokehold more than an embrace. He wants to let go – he’s going to be sick if he doesn’t – but he needs Takumi to lead him back into shallower waters. Eito blinks away the water droplets that stick to his eyelashes, and he casts a pleading look at Takumi. Takumi isn’t even looking at him, he’s looking down at where Eito’s chest presses up against his. Eito can’t take it anymore. Takumi needs to die!
Eito digs his inner elbows into the sides of Takumi’s neck. Takumi wheezes, “Aotsuki—” Eito pushes him forward with his body, throwing them both underwater. There’s a series of loud splashes as Takumi struggles to get back up and Eito fights to keep him down. Eito holds his breath but filthy water still forces its way up his nose. He’s drowning Takumi, but he’s effectively drowning himself as well. Eito tightens both of his arms around Takumi’s neck and squeezes hard. It’s not enough. Takumi surfaces, spitting up water and gasping for air, bringing Eito with him. Eito clings to Takumi’s shoulder with one hand and grabs Takumi’s hair with the other. Eito forces Takumi’s head back underwater, his fingers tangled in his greasy hair. He holds his own head above water by lifting himself up with his feet pressed against Takumi’s thighs.
Takumi is losing this fight. He’s given up on treating Eito gently and is scratching desperately at his hands, his wrists, his arms, any inch of Eito’s skin he can dig into. At first his nails burn Eito’s skin, but his scratches are losing some of their ferocity.
Takumi’s nails dislodge from Eito’s arms, and then Eito is being lifted in the air from behind, a horrific tendril wrapped around his waist, a limb far too muscular to be Takumi’s. It's Moko, probably. She holds Eito up with one arm and Takumi in the other. “Boys, it’s not safe to swim without a lifeguard on duty. You should have called for Moko!”
Takumi tries to speak and succeeds only in choking on the water stuck in his throat. Moko lowers them both on the tile floor outside of the pool, a safe distance from the water. She patiently gives Takumi an opportunity to speak. He holds up a hand, then he hunches over and dry heaves. Water and bile are violently rejected by his body. The liquid splashes on the ground and forms a disgusting puddle by his side.
Eventually, Takumi says, “You’re not a lifeguard, you’re a wrestler.”
“These things are closer together than you think!” Moko winks.
After Takumi stops throwing up, Moko leaves them to recover. Takumi and Eito sit next to each other on the pool chairs, a towel around each of their shoulders. Eito dries his hair with his towel, watching how Takumi’s entire body heaves with his heavy breaths, how unsteady he is. Takumi doesn’t say anything. He sniffles and then coughs up another mouthful of water. He spits it out on the ground, luckily on the side of the chair that is not facing Eito.
Eito shivers, shaking with disgust all the way to his toes. “Are you cold?” Takumi asks.
Eito should probably say something back if he wants to maintain any sense of plausible deniability about his second failed murder attempt. He gathers his composure.
“I’m so, so sorry, Takumi, I don’t know where it all went wrong,” Eito clutches his chest, wincing in pain. “I started to drown, and I got so scared I just couldn’t let go of you.”
“It’s okay…” Takumi sighs, but there’s no anger in it, only disappointment. “I know it was an accident. You wouldn’t do that – well, you couldn’t do that, after, um, what you went through.”
“I’m sorry, Takumi,” Eito says again, repentant. He doesn’t mean it.
“It’s okay, Aotsuki. Maybe this was a bit much for you, even with the way you are now. I should’ve known better.”
Eito stares at him. He sees that Takumi isn’t really looking at him but looking through him, imagining the other Eitos he’s known. The Eito who he trusted, his closest confidante, and the Eito he thinks that he’s tortured out of existence. Eito sits next to him entirely as he has always been, the only real person there.
Eito dodges at the last possible second. The invader’s claw cleaves straight through Takumi’s chest, impaling him. Takumi coughs up a torrent of blood before he loses his balance and falls to his knees. He crumples near-dead on the floor. Takumi is bleeding out fast, a pool of red surrounding him.
Yes, the Revive-o-Matic will come – unless Takumi is beyond revival. Eito is about to lift his scythe over Takumi’s dying body to drain his hemoanima, when he hears the scattered footsteps of the other filthy humans running over to assist. Fuck. Fuck! There isn’t enough time.
Eito puts down his weapon and instead lowers himself onto the ground behind Takumi. He allows Takumi to sit up and rest his hideous head on his righteous shoulder. Takumi squints blearily, trying and failing to focus on him. “Ah… Eito… At least I saved you…”
Takumi takes his last breaths with his face pressed against Eito’s neck. He goes limp, slumped entirely against Eito. Eito doesn’t move until the others come and lift Takumi off of him. They consider him traumatized and carry Takumi to the Revive-o-Matic themselves.
Eito stares at the drying pool of blood. It’s not as satisfying as he expected. After all, he wasn’t the one to kill him.
After training camp, everyone is exhausted. A heap of grotesque humans groan over their sore muscles. They make a discordant cacophony, like nails scratching against a chalkboard. Eito has to stop himself from covering his ears with both hands. Takumi is lying on the beach in the heap of gutted monstrosities, where he belongs. Nozomi had suggested making a salve from medicinal plants to soothe their aches and pains, then promptly collapsed before she could go do it herself. Eito doesn’t mind moving around so much; he finds the ache to be a pleasant burn.
Eito forages from the nearby forest, coming back with a bundle of green leaves, some dewy and mossy, others pointed and abrasive under his fingers. Takumi lifts up his head when he sees Eito approach. He’s still bundled up on a beach blanket on the sand, laying limp.
“Here,” Eito says, offering him a small bowl. Inside the bowl, an assortment of crushed leaves form an ambiguous green liquid.
Takumi doesn’t even question it. He lifts the bowl to his face and drinks. “Thanks, Eito,” he says. “Can you help me get back to our tent?”
Eito offers Takumi his hand and suppresses the full-body shudder that contact with him induces. Goosebumps break out across his arms and legs, but he can handle it. He’s so close to getting rid of him once and for all. He practically drags Takumi back to the tent. Eito and Takumi were assigned to share. All tents were divided up by groups of two as a contingency plan for forcing Kurara and Nozomi to reconcile, if all else failed.
When Moko announced they’d be sharing a tent, Takumi had seemed embarrassed by this, objecting immediately while Eito stayed silent. “What do you think, Aotsuki?” Takumi had finally asked, expecting backup.
“I was so overjoyed by the opportunity to take our relationship to the next level that I was at a loss for words. I’m so happy to be here, love and peace!” Eito winks.
Takumi cringes. “You don’t have to put it like that... you make it sound weird.”
“What do you mean, Takumi? Two guys sharing a tent, what’s better than that?” Eito winks again, for good measure. “How else could I get closer to my best friend?”
“Just… Just stop talking, please. We can share a tent, it’s not a big deal.”
It’s laughable now, how easy to manipulate Takumi is. Eito gives him a little bit of attention, and Takumi stops thinking rationally.
Eito lifts the entrance to their tent, looking back over his shoulder. Takumi isn’t following. “I still feel a bit out of it,” Takumi tells him. “I think I need some more fresh air.”
“That’s okay, Takumi, you should feel better soon. When you’re ready for bed, I’ll just be in here, reading.” Eito lifts the E-Reader that Takumi had given him, and Takumi smiles at him, before he waves and zips the tent back up.
Eito sits inside their tent and waits until he hears the sound of Takumi’s body hit the ground to check on him. Takumi’s curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach, the side of his face pressed against the dirt. Disgusting. Filthy. Almost pathetic. Eito would feel bad if he was capable of feeling bad for a vile human, but instead he just feels bored.
“Eito… are you sure I’m going to be okay? I don’t – I don’t feel so good.” Takumi gags and swallows a mouthful of vomit. “I feel really sick, actually, there’s this stabbing pain in my s-stomach…”
He’s tired of this already. It’s not going how it’s supposed to – this hasn’t been a challenge at all. An anticlimactic end, such an uninteresting way for his greatest enemy to die at his hand. It’s easy as crushing an ant underneath his shoe. Takumi is the person he hates the most in this wretched world, so he shouldn’t die quite so easily, so impersonally.
“Give me a second,” Eito says, walking back into the dark forest.
It takes him maybe two minutes before he finds the herbs used as an antidote for this particular poison. He had read a book on the local flora of the Earth, though it didn’t always match up to what he saw. It’s luck; he’s never been so grateful for Special Fortunetelling in his life. Not because he’s going to use it to save Takumi, but because he’s granting himself the ability to deal him a crueler death, a more personal end.
Back outside the tent, Takumi is curled up in a ball, breathing shallowly. A small pool of vomit is next to his head. It looks like he’s frothing at the mouth. Not as much time left as Eito expected. “Takumi,” he says. Takumi shakes. He can’t say anything. Eito lifts up Takumi’s head by his chin, his skin slick with saliva and bile (ew, ew, ew, gross). He shoves the antidote into his mouth as quickly as he can. Takumi’s monstrous teeth brush against Eito’s fingers as he feeds him the herb. “Swallow.” He removes his fingers, but keeps holding Takumi up, so he doesn’t fall face-first on the dirt again. Takumi swallows.
“Wipe your face,” Eito instructs. Takumi slowly wipes his mouth clean with the sleeve of his hoodie. Drool sticks to the fabric, a strand of saliva connecting the sleeve to his lips. Disgusting. “Let’s go to bed.”
Takumi sleeps fitfully next to him on the other side of the two-person tent. Originally Eito imagined they were going to sleep on opposite ends, lying foot-to-head, but he has to monitor Takumi’s condition to make sure he doesn’t have to go back out there and find something else to treat him with. He feels… not quite regret, but frustration at himself for going through with all this, only to undo it in a moment of dissatisfaction.
Takumi keeps turning from side to side, his foul breath hitting Eito every time he shifts towards him. It seems like Takumi is having terrible dreams. Worse, they’re both still so sweaty from the training camp that the entire tent has gotten humid. Eito can’t sleep well either. Every time he closes his eyes, he imagines he’s in the mouth of a horrible beast, captured in its terrifying, drooling maw.
Takumi abruptly wakes in the middle of the night, his eyes wide open and shining like a beast’s. He looks at Eito like he entirely understands what he’s done.
Eito looks back at him. Dimly, he realizes that he’s scared.
Vile Takumi is definitely trying to get him drunk, and Eito has no good way of refusing. After failing to remove Takumi from where he’s stuck to his side, Eito takes the plastic cup Takumi’s been trying to force into his hand and downs it in one go. Eito’s throat burns. He’s never drank alcohol before. But he underestimated himself — he’s fine! He doesn’t feel different. Takumi leaves him. The brief moment of respite allows Eito to take in a few deep breaths of air that isn’t polluted by Takumi’s rotted stench.
Takumi comes back with two cups: one for Eito, and one for himself. Takumi offers the cup to Eito again. It’s fuller than last time and Eito can smell the liquor from a distance. The liquor is mixed with some dark fizzy soda that is not at all to his taste, probably one of Takumi’s favorites.
“I think I’ve had enough, Takumi, but thanks so much for thinking of me,” Eito says, deferential.
“Please?” Takumi begs. “Just one more?”
Eito doesn’t know why, but he drinks. Takumi beams at him like he’s made the right decision. Eito chokes a bit after swallowing, the burn in his throat intensifying, and Takumi gets even closer to him to pat him on the back.
“It’s okay, Aotsuki,” Takumi is saying, “Take it slow, you’ll be okay.” As if he wasn’t the one trying to get Eito drunk as quickly as possible. Eito dreads Takumi’s motive for this, but anything is better than going back to that chair and being brainwashed again. He can tolerate one more of Takumi’s attempted heart-to-hearts before he kills him. The condescension, on the other hand, is unwarranted.
“I don’t need to take it slow. I can take it. Can take anything far better than you can,” Eito insists, even though he feels a bit dizzy.
Takumi raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never drank in your life.”
“I feel fine!” Eito pushes Takumi away and ends up stumbling back towards him, off balance without his support.
. . .
Eito ends up drunker than he thought. The hallways spin around him like a sped-up carousel. A disgusting monster is holding him up with his arm wrapped around its shoulder, oozing viscera all over Eito’s white clothes. He pushes it away to try to stand on his own, and immediately falls face-first on the ground, his legs not working properly. The monster lifts him up by both arms and holds Eito closer to his side. It speaks, but the sound is more discordant than usual, so shrill that Eito can’t make out any words from the sounds of its steep pitch. Even though he can’t tell, he still knows deep down that it’s Takumi. “S-Stop, I’m going to be sick,” Eito gags, the threat imminent.
The monster steers him towards the boy’s bathroom on the 2nd floor, leading him towards one of the stalls and supporting his weight. Eito falls to his knees and crawls towards the toilet, retching heavily and releasing the contents of his stomach. He had four drinks on an empty stomach because he didn’t want to eat anything cooked by those monsters, and alcohol sterilizes at least some of their germs.
A monster lingers behind him, holding his hair back so it doesn’t fall in the toilet and get in the way while he vomits. Eito turns back to stare at the monster, and the room lurches violently, spinning like a rollercoaster, before his vision is consumed by darkness.
When Eito comes back to himself, he’s in his bed in all of his outside clothes with a monster’s arm slung across his body. Eito doesn’t remember how he got back to his room. The monster – Takumi – has his face so close to Eito’s that he can feel his every breath. The pupils of his impossibly large eyes dilate as he stares at Eito. He can tell Eito’s cognizant again. It’s like he was waiting for him to wake up.
“Can I kiss you?” Takumi asks, apropos of nothing.
Nononononononononono—
“I haven’t brushed my teeth, so we’d better not, haha,” Eito’s laugh is shallow.
“I don’t mind,” Takumi says.
Takumi cups his face gently, like he’s a baby dove, like he’s something delicate that only he can protect. Eito recoils, but Takumi follows after him. Takumi sees the distress swirling in his eyes but reads it entirely incorrectly. “It’s okay, I don’t care about the taste,” and then he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to Eito’s.
Takumi is kissing him, and Eito is not kissing back. Takumi melts at the contact regardless, resting a hand on Eito’s shoulder while the other strokes his cheek. Takumi attempts to ease his mouth open by gently digging his teeth into his lower lip, and Takumi’s teeth are so sharp that Eito gasps. Takumi’s tongue forces its way inside his mouth, immediately filling the gap. Eito’s mouth already tasted like vomit, but the taste of Takumi’s saliva is much worse. It’s like toxic waste is smeared against his tongue, across the roof of his mouth, down his throat. Eito gags, but Takumi still doesn’t stop. Eito has to grab Takumi’s face with both hands to push him away. He struggles to cover Takumi’s mouth with his palms in the same way one would muzzle a feral dog.
Takumi backs away, and Eito releases him, still eyeing him like he’s about to attack again at any moment. “Sorry, Aotsuki, I got too excited. I wanted to do that for a long time,” Takumi smiles shyly. “But before, you were so—”
Eito can’t take it anymore. He pushes Takumi back on the bed and throws himself on top of him, wrapping his hands around his throat. “What were you saying?” Eito asks. Takumi wheezes underneath him, unable to respond under the onslaught. “Tell me, Takumi, how broken I was, how much you hated me. As if you could ever hate me as much as I hate you.”
Eito can see in his eyes the moment when Takumi realizes. He goes from pitiful to vengeful, his gaze sharpening, the fight back alight inside him. Eito doesn’t allow him to act first. He rears his fist back and swings, punching Takumi in the face. For a moment, it’s almost nostalgic.
Eito doesn’t hesitate. “I hate you!” He punches him again. “I hate you!” Again. It’s not enough.
Eito grabs Takumi by the collar of his shirt and spits on his face. Takumi hardly struggles underneath him. Eito thinks he’s given up— but then, electricity sears through Eito’s entire body in excruciating sparks, and he falls on his back on the bed, whimpering. Cowardly Takumi tased him. Did he have that in his pocket the entire time? Was he just waiting to be able to use it?
Takumi straddles him, trying to hold his arms above his head, and Eito fights him off as much as he can as painful electric shocks still course through his body. He’s shaking, but he’s still able to grab Takumi’s throat again and tighten his grip until Takumi’s lurching forward in shock, fighting for oxygen.
Takumi’s white knight facade slips entirely. He gives up on restraining Eito, and starts choking him back, digging his fingers into both sides of his throat. Takumi’s on top of him, bearing his weight down on Eito through his hands. The loss of oxygen makes Eito feel somewhat delirious. It gives him a head rush. It almost feels good.
Eito’s vision blurs. He clenches his hand around Takumi’s trachea as hard as he can, crushing it in his grip. He can’t see clearly what expression Takumi makes when he finally dies, but he feels the life drain out of him as he finally stops fighting back. Eito smiles. When Takumi falls limp on top of him, he slams his forehead against Eito’s, spiting him even in death. Eito’s ears ring, and it all blends together to incapacitate him all at once – the alcohol, the loss of oxygen, and Takumi headbutting him with a skull that feels like it’s made of steel. Eito doesn’t have a second to think before he hears the Revive-o-Matic crashing through the window, and once again, he loses consciousness.
. . .
Eito wakes with a pounding headache. He springs up in bed immediately, only to slam his head on the metal bars behind him. He looks up in confusion and sees that one of his wrists is handcuffed to the bars of the cage. The cage. He’s back in the cage. Why, why?! He should be dead. Dying is much better than this. All that time he spent trying to kill Takumi only for him to spare him again. Takumi should have killed him himself. His throat is dry and sore. Distantly, he notices that his mouth still tastes like Takumi. It hurts when he swallows.
“Aotsuki, calm down.” Of course he’s here, always lurking, getting his grimy hands all over every aspect of Eito’s life. A manic restlessness bubbles up inside of him, threatening to escape. “You’re gonna be fine. There were some issues with your conditioning—” brainwashing, “but we’ll take you back one more time and make you better, and then you won’t have to be so unhappy all the time. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“No,” Eito shakes his head and thrashes as much as he can with his arm pulled back by his chained wrist. “No, no, no—”