some kinda freak show

Title: Replacement Mother Phenomenon
Chapter: 2 - Antithesis
Fandom: The Hundred Line -Last Defense Academy-
Characters: Aotsuki Eito, Kirifuji Nozomi
Relationships: Aotsuki Eito/Kirifuji Nozomi
Rating: Explicit
Length: ~11.6k
Summary: With no available Commanders and Nozomi's rejection symptoms leaving her on death's door, Takumi presents another solution: have Nozomi drink Eito's cryptoglobin.

It goes poorly.
Status: Complete 2/2
Notes: Chapter two of this fuckass thing. I like it a lot.

Chapter 1 linked here.

Eito opened his eyes to the bright sterile nothingness of a hospital.

 

A blurry white ceiling greeted him, alongside a set of equally blurry white sheets. His head hurt. His mouth felt tacky, like he hadn’t had anything to drink for several hours. It was as if his brain was moving through a vast ocean of molasses and dragging his body behind it.

With a surety only brought from numerous past experiences, Eito concluded with a near clinical distance that he’d been sedated.

He blinked again. A second, a third, a fourth time, and then the world began to sharpen. Sharpen far more than it normally should. So they’d taken his glasses off. He shouldn’t be surprised. Nobody but Eito knew they weren’t built for prescription purposes. Nobody except for Takumi, at any rate, which…

Wait.

This… wasn’t a hospital.

Eito sat up instantly, ignoring residual fog and the mild head rush of blood lurching out of place. Something metal clinked on his left wrist. This wasn’t a hospital. It was a small, metal box of a room, walls and floor painted white, adorned with little else besides a couch (white), locker (white), coffee table (white), bedside table (white) and a desk (who could’ve guessed? white). He looked upwards. An industrial style fan spun lazily. A fluorescent bulb illuminated the whole space, giving it a familiar sense of sterile cleanliness. He’d only been here for two days before Takumi sentenced Eito to be gawked at like a zoo animal for the crime of seeing humanity for what it really was.

This was Eito’s dorm room. And he was handcuffed to the bed with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

Quickly, Eito began assessing his situation. Any change in circumstances was better than the wretched cage those ogres stuck him in, and Eito was quite apt at making the most out of some truly awful states of affairs.

He tested the handcuff first. Seamless, lacking a lock, practically skin-tight to his wrist and with the residual bruising to prove it. Not a regular handcuff. Cryptoglobin suppressing technology, most likely. Dislocation would do little in helping to slide it off. Unfortunate. He supposed he could live one-handed, but wielding his class weapon would be difficult with a single usable limb.

The bed itself came next. He leaned over the side as far as his bound wrist would let him. Stainless steel if he were forced to assume, in the average shape of an average dorm room bed-frame. It was welded to the floor. Not bolted, welded. The welding looked new, however, and evidence of prior boltage could be seen in four small pockmarks in the floor near each leg. A sense of unease snagged Eito’s chest. It appeared his ‘fellow classmates’ were more intelligent than he’d hoped.

Eito did his best to ignore the dread as he examined the bedside table. As industrial and white the rest of his furnishings (it was still his room, even if he’d spent most of his time in the cage), its drawers were welded tight by the same experienced hand as the bed. Not good. He couldn’t reach anywhere else, even with the naturally large arm-spam his height granted him. At the very least his glasses were on the table. Not his gloves, though.

Forcing panic under a mask of logic, Eito returned his glasses to their rightful place on his brow, exhaling slightly as his vision blurred to a bearable level. If any monsters came in, he would be ready. He’d look more in control than he felt. That was his singular advantage; whatever Takumi spouted about his previous hundred days had the rest of those malformed cattle treating him like he was about to slip free of his bonds at any moment, akin to a world-class stage magician at their height of fame. It made them wary of him, yes, but if they believed him capable of more than he realistically was, they’d overcompensate. They’d slip up. Make mistakes. Overlook a key factor in their hyper-vigilance and grant his means of escape.

… Is what Eito would normally think. As it was, escape from here was looking more dismal than from the cage. Unless he could procure some sort of file. Or blade, he supposed, if it came to that. Humanity would be so cruel as to force him to mutilate himself.

Hm.

Eito’s eyes slid over to the desk. Situated to his right, past the side table, approximately a meter away from the bed. Its drawer wasn’t welded shut. Likely because they’d made sure it was out of his range of motion.

But what if he could increase his reach? As it was, his fingers just barely brushed against the drawer’s handle. A little bit further and he could open it and hide something inside. A file or a blade, if he could get his hands on either. Yes, that might work. He didn’t doubt that the bed and his person would be searched— Omokage was a disgusting wretch whose perversions would no-doubt encourage a thorough examination of Eito’s insides— but his captors were unlikely to check a location they hadn’t bothered Eito-proofing.

It was extraordinarily simple: Eito would swipe something usable from his captors, dislocate his left arm, use the extra reach to stash it away in the desk for future use, and reset the limb so as to not raise suspicion. Perfect. Excellent. Exactly the break he needed.

He smirked. Perhaps he should be thankful to his forebears. For all her terrible deeds, his mother had taught him how to set a dislocated s—

 

Eito froze. His eyes widened.

 

No.

 

No, his mother had not taught him how to set a dislocated shoulder.

 

And his mother did not look like that.

 

What…

 

What the hell was that?

 

A cold sweat chilled Eito’s neck. The dread he’d ignored returned tenfold, a sickening pit in his stomach whose depths he had no hope of comprehending. Swallowing, an ungloved hand rose to his throat with agonizing slowness, apprehensive of what it might find. Fingers closed around a bandage. A bandage, and, next to it, the undeniable impression of teeth-marks.

Memory slammed with the force of a tidal wave. Him, rudely awoken by Yakushiji and handcuffed to the bars of the cage, one hand per cuff. Shizuhara unlocking the cage, entering it and holding a knife to his throat. Takumi walking in besides her, carrying the half-decomposing corpse of Kirifuji as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Takumi setting Kirifuji’s oozing form next to him. Shizuhara cutting his throat. Kirifuji, lurching alive like a zombie from the grave, crawling forward, grabbing him, wrapping her leaking pus-soaked limbs around his neck and hovering over him and—

And then. And then. And then.

Eito’s form shook. He swallowed hard, hand not bound by cuffs clutching the skin-tight black nightshirt they’d changed him into. And then she drank from him. And then he saw things. He saw things that were not real.

Birthday parties. Hospital beds. Cryptoglobin. Car accidents. Hospital beds. Cryptoglobin. Birthday parties. Hospital beds. Cryptoglobin. Beauty. Kindness. Pain. Despair. Death.

He saw a woman that looked beautiful and kind kiss him softly goodnight as she said she loved him. He saw a woman that looked beautiful and kind stick needles in him as she said she loved him. He saw a woman that looked beautiful and kind grow weaker and weaker as she said she loved him.

He saw a woman that looked beautiful and kind hanging from the ceiling by a noose, face purple and bloated and oozing, reading the note in his hands that said she loved him.

He saw his own life too. Monsters. Hospital beds. Books. Arson. Hospital beds. Books. Monsters. Hospital beds. Books. Death. Pain. Terror. Acceptance. Resolution.

He saw a monster that looked terrible and cruel kiss him softly goodnight as she said she loved him. He saw a monster that looked terrible and cruel force pills down his throat as she said she loved him. He saw a monster that looked terrible and cruel grow weaker and weaker as she said she hated him.

He saw a monster that looked terrible and cruel finally die in a puddle of growing red, pinkish insides matching the grotesque twitching of her outsides, gasping out burbles that said she hated him.

Eito stared at nothing. Events transpired after that terrible transfusion, but they weren’t important. He said something, Kirifuji punched him, Shizuhara knocked him out, and now he was here. If strained, he vaguely recalled being surrounded by monsters he could, in retrospect, assign to the Special Defense Unit, and then being terrified out of his wits before a needle went into his neck. That would explain the tacky mouth. It was mildly embarrassing, to be as old as he was and still get sedated. But those memories weren’t important now. Not compared to feelings that awoke like the dead, threatening to drag him into the despairing depths of their metaphorical underworld.

A longing appeared in his chest. As if requiring a trigger, a deep, painful sense of isolation suddenly made itself known within Eito’s very self, so natural and at home, nestled as if it was there his entire life and he simply hadn’t noticed. Lurking just out of sight, just out of periphery. It brought fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt and teeth clenching to the point of pain.

Hunger. It was hungry for something. It was a hunger that encased his entire form, his entire expanse of skin, rather than the normal location of one’s stomach. Eito was suddenly certain that if the hunger wasn’t sated, he wouldn’t be himself anymore. That the hunger would consume him inside out like a parasitic wasp whose larvae had been implanted into a host. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be feeling things like that. Whatever happened with Kirifuji had… changed him. She’d left an impression on him, and if his spotted memories of the day(?) prior were any indication, he’d changed her in turn.

It was a notion of the purest revulsion. For any human to taint Eito so intimately as to affect his very memories was a nightmare in and of itself, but Kirifuji? She was the worst of the worst. Her blind devotion towards humanity’s goals couldn’t be more opposed to everything Eito’s eyes stood for if she tried. And her— ugh— her blindness towards her own mother… Eito felt sick at the mere thought of it. It was plainly obvious the wretch had used her own spawn to forward personal gains, yet Kirifuji herself was downright in love with that monster. Disgusting. He had suspicions, but he never could've anticipated the sheer extent of her repulsiveness. And now his blood was hers. Awful. What a nightmare.

Clinically, Eito pushed the terrible longing Kirifuji forced upon him to the back of his mind; the same box he kept his deepest and most hateful desires while in the presence of humans. It wasn’t ignoring his feelings per se, just keeping them in check. Keeping them far, far away from any prying eyes that might meddle with his righteous destiny. To fake it until he made it, one might say. Eito was good at faking it. In his own way. Sometimes. Mostly.

It was… passable enough.

His heart rate began to ease. Control was regained, if ever slightly. He’d deal with whatever she’d done to him at a later date. For now, Eito would do what he always did best and plan. He’d get out of this terrible school and make his way towards the Commanders, and then—

 

A rattle rang from the doorknob.

 

Whatever effort he’d put into calming himself vanished in an instant. The sensation of hollowness returned tenfold, causing Eito’s molars to grind painfully. That was how he knew, seconds before the door itself had opened, who exactly was on the other side.

Nozomi Kirifuji waltzed in with all her terribly disgusting beauty as if she owned the place, holding a hospital style tray laden with soft, easy to swallow mush, and completely ignored her supposed charge to set the tray on Eito’s desk and take a seat in Eito’s chair.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

She looked no different to his righteous eyes. Kirifuji’s form still writhed like maggots beneath her purple attire, though she’d added a face-mask and gloves to it. Eito was supremely grateful for the consistency of her appearance. The strange… ease he felt around her notwithstanding. If she’d somehow managed to warp his sight… he didn’t know what he’d do. His eyes were his everything; his purpose, his reason for being, his destiny. At least Kirifuji taking his blood hadn’t affected his eyes. Still, Eito stared warily, a fox wondering if an alley cat would strike back. For her part, Kirifuji seemed intent on glaring a hole through his couch.

Well. This was getting nowhere. An opportunity was an opportunity, even one as terrible as this.

… And that sudden vacancy in his heart was growing by the minute.

Eito cleared his throat with a cough.

“A-hem. While your odious presence is not appreciated under the best circumstances, is there a reason you’ve decided to curse me with it by just sitting and doing nothing productive with yourself, Kirifuji? I hoped to have some time to myself, considering our last interaction left me borderline hospitalized.”

Kirifuji didn’t reply. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, smoothing it unnecessarily. After a few moments, she glanced at Eito, flinched, then went back to visually flaying the couch.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she eventually said. Her voice was strained. The mask muffled its screech.

“And yet you brought food? Curious.” Did she feel him wake up? Had taking his cryptoglobin given Kirifuji an intuition on his state at any given time? That would be bad. That would be very, very bad. “Wouldn’t broths or an intravenous glucose drip be more effective? I’m sure you’d know, given your experience caring for your mother and all.”

The skirt crumpled under Kirifuji’s grip. From this distance Eito could see her whole body shaking. But there was no outward denial or insistence that he shouldn’t know that, so his assumption regarding the blurred memories being mutual was likely correct. Logically, if the memories were mutual, the longing must be too. Good. He could use that. Maybe. Hopefully. He needed to probe further.

“It sure is fascinating how emotional stress can leave someone on the edge of death like that, isn’t it?”

Kirifuji’s head snapped towards him, braid lashing like the tail of an angry cat. “Would you prefer if we stuck a tube down your throat?!” she spat. “Or would you freak out because a ‘monster’ put something inside you and end up aspirating on it?!”

Dead silence returned. Kirifuji’s asymmetric eyes widened grotesquely. She averted them, back hunched and pointedly not looking at Eito anymore, but the posture made her distress evident. Her regret was nearly as palpable as her noxious odor.

Well, there it was. Definitive proof of what he’d suspected. The two of them had relived each other’s lives. He’d witnessed Kirifuji’s life, and she witnessed his. The details were fuzzy, but the longer she lingered, the more foreign memories began to fill the cracks of his subconsciousness, settling snugly as if they’d always been there.

Sweat dripped down Eito’s back. If his fingers clenched his shirt any harder it would tear.

Knowing Kirifuji had seen him at his very worst was sickening. He hated his childhood. He hated how weak he was, afraid of everything and convinced he still needed to be ‘cured’. He hated how long it took for him to accept his condition for what it was. How long it took to accept his sight not as a curse, but as a blessing; that it was his duty to strike humanity down as the only one who could see the world for what it was.

But the parasite she’d left in him thrummed with solidarity. It thrummed pleasantly to itself, nauseatingly content that someone else finally understood, if in a backwards sort of way.

Eito crushed it beneath his heel and kicked it to the recesses of his mind.

“Kirifuji…” he said slowly. The words came like pulled teeth. “Why are you here?”

She didn’t reply. Not instantly. Not at first. It was an age when she spoke.

“I. I don’t know,” Kirifuji eventually said, softly.

Eito snorted. “I think you do. I think you feel pity for me and sorry for yourself, and that you’re killing two birds with one stone by playing doctor with someone who hates you.”

Kirifuji flinched. “No. No, that’s not true Eito, that’s not—“

“Oh? You flinched. I don’t think I believe you.”

“That’s—! I don’t know! I don’t!”

“You’ll have to do better than that. Try again.”

“…”

“Mhm?” Eito leaned forward. “Did you say something? I didn’t hear you properly.”

Kirifuji huffed and turned away. “I didn’t say anything. I’m not playing your game, Eito.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I am. Now stop it.”

Eito sighed. “How unfortunate. I think you’ll regret not saying anything. Because I think I do know why you’re here.”

Kirifuji paused. Her eyes finally met his, wary and on edge.

“And why’s that?”

Eito smiled.

It wasn’t a nice smile.

“I think you want me to like you.”

She froze.

Bingo.

“I think you want— no, need someone to like you. Someone to really like you and your repulsive ‘good girl’ act. To appreciate everything you've painstakingly sacrificed for those around you. You want to get pat on the head and told that you did a good job fixing everything. Aren’t I right, Kirifuji?”

The girl in question didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes bulged, jagged and serrated teeth surely dumbfounded behind the mask. Good! She deserved to feel terrible! Eito pressed his advantage.

He gestured towards the gloves and mask she wore. His tone turned acidic; venom rendered by year after year of hate. “Why else would you be wearing those? You want me to like you. To be grateful you’ve done the bare minimum to accommodate my disorder. Because that would make you ‘good’ to me. What, do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I’m so easy as to get buttered up by basic courtesy? That I should think any more of a human who uses unethically gained knowledge to sate her own pathetic emotional needs?”

Eito leaned as far as the handcuff would allow. The longing twitched, but he was too caught up in his own hate to squash it down again. His smile, already unkind, turned terribly, terribly cruel.

“You make me sick, Kirifuji, and nothing you ever could do will change that. I will never give you the satisfaction of liking you.”

The girl was stunned. She did nothing but stare openly at Eito’s proclamation. He’d struck a nerve so raw she couldn’t even attempt defending herself.

Eito let himself glow with satisfaction. Sure, the longing seemed almost sad, in a way, though nothing could taint his good mood at Kirifuji being utterly gutted for what she was worth. Finally. Her and her stupid mother complex were long overdue for a knocking of several pegs.

Of course, humans were dreadfully known for their tenacity. All too soon he witnessed Kirifuji drag herself towards standing, doing her best to lord over him, a cat attempting to intimidate a fox. Her gall was impressive, Eito had to concede. If inherently pathetic.

“Are you sure you want to try again? It won’t end well for y—“

“Shut. Up.”

Kirifuji spat those words as if they were poison. Eito cringed despite himself. The angrier they were, the more monstrous they sounded.

“No, I don’t think I w—“

“Do you think I wanted to do that with you?”

She bowled right past him. Fists tightened, nails that surely would’ve dug into flesh if not guarded by a protective layer of leather. Her eyes were positively sick with rage. Ah. Perhaps he’d pushed his luck too far.

“Do you think I wanted to go through— through— through whatever the hell that was with you?! You of all people?! Anyone would have been better! Shouma! Gaku! Hell, even… even Takumi! Anyone besides such a— such a misanthropic psychotic asshole who couldn’t cope with being broken and wound up with some weird delusional savior complex! They aren’t crazy! You’re insane and you’re stuck in my head, giving me all these awful— these awful impulses that weren’t there before!

“I didn’t have a choice! I wasn’t even able to stand on my own! Why are you blaming me for everything? You still could’ve at least said no!”

Eito bristled and very much wanted to snap that no, being held at knife point didn’t make him consent either, but the girl was beyond reasoning and continued her tirade.

“They grabbed me and didn’t tell me anything! I didn’t know what was happening! They just, they just showed up in my room and took me! Takumi made me do it! I didn’t want you! I was fine with dying! I—“

Kirifuji’s voice cracked. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I accepted I was going to die. I accepted it! I don’t— I don’t know why he didn’t make me feed on anyone else, I don’t know why he thought you wouldn’t mess things up again! You always mess things up! People try and try and try and you’re always, always, always—“

She cut herself off with a scream. Eito reflexively attempted to cover his ears, but his hand was caught by the handcuff. Kirifuji noticed and laughed bitterly.

 

A choked laugh. A defeated laugh.

 

The laugh of one who’d come to a terrible decision— one they’d surely regret— yet was not dissuaded from its path by a hair.

 

“You’re always such a pain.”

 

She moved faster than Eito could react.

 

Kirifuji lunged forward, gloved hand flashing and aimed directly at Eito’s face. Eito, suspecting a repeat of her earlier violence against him, raised an arm to defend himself, only to find clinking metal cutting it short. Shit, the handcuff—

Suddenly his vision sharpened. The girl stumbled back out of his reach, glasses clutched in a palm seemingly debating on if it should break them.

She panted heavily. Sight unhindered, Eito could see flesh twitch unnaturally beneath the ogre's clothing, pulsing rhythmically to the beat of an unseen heart. Her upper face— the only skin exposed— had contorted with a hateful mixture of indignation and fear. Eito felt his hackles rise.

“What the hell was that for? What, are you trying to blind me?!”

Kirifuji’s eyes narrowed. “We—“ She swallowed. After a moment, she’d seemingly steadied herself. “We both know that’s not what these are for.”

Oh, that bitch.

Escape be damned, he was going to kill her.

“Wow. That’s a new low. Cruel, much? Not even my parents tried making my symptoms worse as a punishment.”

Eito waited for her to take the bait. Unfortunately for him, she did not.

“You know, I’m the one who fixed these.” Kirifuji was hollow. She turned over Eito’s glasses in her hands. “You’re right. I felt bad for what happened. I thought that, maybe, I could make things right. Give you a chance you never got. Not fix you, but…” She laughed again. Just as bitter, just as sad. “I thought I could help. Make you… not happier, but less… angry? Less hateful of everything?”

“Are you even listening?” Eito snapped. “I hate you, Kirifuji. H-a-t-e. Do I have to spell it out for you? Read the definition? Are you seriously that dense as to not know the meaning of a four letter word?”

But Kirifuji wasn’t listening. She sat the glasses onto the desk, then straightened, pinching the edge of her left glove between her fingers. “But I understand now. Whatever anyone does for you, you’ll find a way to throw it back in their face. Any kindness is rejected without fail.”

Kirifuji ripped the black leather off in an uneven, jagged motion. Exposed tendons pulsed wildly, intertwining excessive growths of keratin and bone. It dribbled onto the pristine white of the dorm room floor, tainting it forever. Eito swallowed and wished he hadn’t. The air had grown thick with miasma.

“And that’s the messed up part, isn’t it? None of those doctors or your mom wanted to hurt you. They wanted to help. You just couldn’t tell.”

The other glove came away, just as unsteady as the first. Eito’s lips pulled into a rictus of repulsion. He wanted to snap, Oh, that’s rich coming from the one who couldn’t tell her own mother was hurting her, but her stupid plan was working. He hadn’t seen a human fully unobfuscated in years, and suddenly being forced to witness it, in all its impossible, disgusting vulgarity—! He trembled. A deep, animal terror was welling up and shutting his brain down.

A deep, animal yearning was welling up and shutting his brain down.

“But I thought— I still thought that I could do something! I thought I could make it better, do what Mom couldn’t, do what— what all of them couldn’t!” A wheeze that might’ve been something more pierced him. The mask came off, exposing line after line of jagged glass pretending to be a mouth. Kirifuji threw her hands up. Droplets splattered everywhere. “Like I could somehow, just. Manifest results other people spent their whole lives striving for while getting nothing! Like that’s not insanity! The actual definition of insanity!”

Eito’s personhood was shrinking into itself. It curled into a small little ball and was running away and the longing was worming itself into where he should be. He— no, no, he refused, he wouldn’t let it do that, he wasn’t this easy to just— just—!

“But at least I try. I have always tried. Even when— when everything seemed hopeless, I… I at least did that.” Her posture sank. She shook. She looked terribly lost. Then she seemingly regained herself, glass-shard maw gnashing. “But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, does it? You’ll see anyone you disagree with as a monster. So, fine. Fine!”

The jacket came off. Twitching, pulsing, crawling worms beneath that thin white undershirt. Kirifuji’s malformed digits started to unbutton it.

His terror screamed. The longing salivated. Eito was shaking. His chest hurt.

The shirt fell away, revealing more sickening flesh. A long, jagged scar ran across the torso, and the terrible resonance of his blood was convinced that’s where they’d once been joined before something cut them in half.

Ah. Ahh.

The monster giggled hysterically. It was crying. He wanted to cover his ears but couldn’t. He wanted to be whole but couldn’t.

“I’m a monster, right? I’m just a monster to you! A hideous, disgusting monster who deserves to die for the crime of existing, right? Right, Eito?”

 

It stepped closer.

 

“Right?”

 

Another step. Something squelched.

 

“Aren’t I right?”

 

Its tendrils spread wide, wide and open and terrible and inviting.

 

“You’ll tell me if I’m not. You know better.”

 

It was disgusting. His blood sang for it. It was crying.

 

“You’ll tell me if I’m right.”

 

He didn’t want it. His blood sang for it. It was crying.

 

“Please?”

 

He wanted to look away. He couldn’t look away. It was crying.

 

“Please, Eito…”

 

He was alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be whole.

 

“Please… just…”

 

His blood wanted… He wanted… His blood wanted… He wanted… His blood wanted… He…

 

“Tell me that I’m right…”

 

He…

 

Eito blinked slowly.

 

His head felt fuzzy.

 

He looked up at the thing. Nozomi. That was Nozomi. Right. His thoughts were underwater. Under a pool of their blood. It was strangely calm under there. Like a blanket. A weighted one. He liked those. She looked hideous, but the fear had vanished. That probably wasn’t good. Something bad would happen if he didn’t do something. He didn’t know what, but it would.

 

“Nozomi, I don’t think we’re in our right minds. I think we need to stop.”

 

The words were far away. It was like someone else took control of Eito’s mouth and said it for him. But Nozomi heard him all the same. She stopped moving forward. She stood there, topless and repulsive, that scar calling to him and salt staining her cheeks. Then she nodded. Slowly, like a puppet. She turned unsteadily and shuffled back to the chair, collapsing limply onto it, looking at nowhere.

Eito suddenly felt very tired. He leaned back into his bed, head cushioned by the pillow. A white ceiling greeted him. White and blank. White and nothing. Maybe he was still in the hospital. Maybe he’d wake up soon. Maybe it was all just a dream.

No. Nothing would be that simple.

“… Do you feel it too?”

Nozomi spoke softly. So, so softly Eito could barely discern it from the natural distortion of her voice. She sounded tired. He felt tired.

He debated saying nothing. But exhaustion won out. He couldn’t keep fighting it. How could you fight against your own blood?

“Yes,” Eito said. “I feel like if I’m not around you, I’ll die.”

It was strange to admit it. Yet it felt right. The thing in his chest was Nozomi. There was no other explanation for it. She’d dug part of him out and replaced himself with her. Part of her was in him, part of him was in her.

It felt right, but that didn’t make it any less gross.

She snorted the most dejected snort Eito had ever heard in his life. “It really is that bad, huh,” Nozomi whispered.

Yes. It was.

“I… I felt you. When you woke up. It felt like… a part of me was… coming back online. Like I’d slept wrong and cut off the circulation of my hand and then the blood was rushing back to it.”

Hm. Not inaccurate. Eito was unsure of how else he’d describe the weird rush being around Nozomi brought. Despite her gross appearance, he felt fine now. It was less being next to a person, but rather an extension of himself.

“And that’s crazy, isn’t it? That I’d want to be around you? That you’d want to be around me? But it’s true.”

Terribly crazy. Unfathomably crazy. Maybe being around humans this long made Eito finally lose his mind.

“Eito… I…”

Yes?

“I’m sorry. I’m. Sorry.”

Eito blinked. It was slow, under all the blood. He turned his head through it, inch by inch by inch, until he faced her. Ugly as ever. Sloughing meat and tangled mold in a bra and skirt. She looked pretty. Nozomi was inside him and he was inside her. The resonance told him he couldn’t change that. Obviously. The resonance didn’t want him to even try changing it, and Eito found it hard to remember why he would.

Something in his brain had popped. Like a balloon. Or a tumor. Pop. Pop. Pop. Too bad, so sad. It popped and left him stuck like this, having to deal with whatever this was for however long it lasted.

Eito was very, very tired.

Deep, deep down, he’d longed for something like this since forever. To be in the presence of a human being and not hate it. To not be afraid it would split its jaws open wide and eat him alive. To not be afraid it would break him completely and utterly.

That part of Eito hungered for as long as he could know. It starved since the day he looked up at his mother and screamed because he knew she’d eat him. He never could let any of the monsters touch him because they’d hurt him. But Nozomi was different. The resonance was convinced of it.

It didn’t matter if she looked that way, because he knew she wouldn’t.

He knew Nozomi wouldn’t do that.

They shared the same blood, after all.

“Nozomi?” he said. She perked. Huh. His voice was higher than usual. That was weird. “Can you come over here?”

She didn’t move. She just looked at him. Oh, right. There wasn’t room. He shuffled closer to the wall, handcuffed arm bent at a slightly awkward angle, but nothing too bad. He tapped the now open half of the bed.

“Here. Nozomi.”

She still didn’t move. Sharp glass bit onto raw-looking lips until pus oozed out. Eito found himself getting mad. “I made room. Come over here. Nozomi.”

Nozomi deliberated. She stood, finally, unsteadily, then stepped over. The mattress dipped under the weight of her palms. She stopped again. Eito frowned.

“Why are you so bad at this? Just come over here.”

Nozomi stared wide eyed. She swallowed and the bob of her throat looked really gross. Eito was grimacing. But he knew her blood was his blood so it would be fine.

“I—“ She licked her lips. Ew. “Didn’t you want to stop?” Nozomi asked. She sounded breathy, far away. “Eito, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he said without thinking. “I do. Now stop being stupid.”

She looked aghast. But Nozomi did stop being stupid and finally crawled onto the bed with him. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled the covers back too, slipping beneath. White sheets fell atop them both. Nozomi laid stiffly beside him, making sure none of her grossness touched Eito’s skin. He blinked. The white fluorescent bulb whined. Eito breathed and Nozomi breathed and neither of them moved that much at all.

 

…

 

It was warm.

 

…

 

He didn’t want to throw up. Weird. She smelled bad but he didn’t feel sick. He felt… he didn’t know. He felt that it was close, but not quite. Something was missing. It wasn’t right yet. But he didn’t know what wasn’t there, what was making it not right.

He glared at the white ceiling above. What was it? What was he missing? So close to it feeling right, to him feeling right, but he couldn’t think right enough to figure it out. Frustration bubbled. He hated when he got like this. Normally he’d know already, but, but now, he just couldn’t and that, it, that, it was, it, it, it—

“Eito…?”

Eito’s eyes closed and then opened. His neck slid and then he was looking at Nozomi’s sad squishy face that looked really weird and really conflicted.

“What?”

Her throat bobbed. Swallowing. Swallowing.

“Can…”

Nozomi’s hand reached tentatively towards Eito’s chest.

“Can I touch you?”

Oh.

Yes.

That’s what was missing. Touch.

“Yes,” Eito said before he could say no. “Here.”

He pulled up the thin black nightshirt until it was bunched underneath his arms. It was a bit awkward with one hand, but he managed. He half expected to find a scar on his stomach that matched Nozomi’s and was mildly disappointed when he didn't. Whatever.

Nozomi didn’t touch him at first. She had a nasty habit of being too cautious when caution wasn’t needed and too bold when it was. But Eito knew that about her because she was inside him. So he waited. Her hand flexed, ugly meaty ligaments sliding and dribbling but he didn’t mind right now. Then, finally, finally, finally, his other half bridged the gap of two inches. She reached, shaking and panting, and placed her palm flat against Eito’s bare stomach.

 

Something clicked.

 

A key, slotting into place. A half, whole once more. A blacksmith’s puzzle, each ring and curve made to slide together just so, seemingly impossible to pry apart unless one intimately knew every piece.

A lover, a sister, a mother, a twin, all at once and none at all. Eito felt everything and nothing. He felt a hand on his stomach. He felt a stomach under his hand. His blood sang and Nozomi’s blood sang too, melting together in a beautiful resonant harmony— tenor soprano bass alto and, and—! and it beat like a snare like a battlement like the beep beep beep of a heart rate monitor and the drip drip drip of a blood bag, everything and nothing, everything and nothing, heat building heat pooling warmth sliding down his spine past his chest past his stomach past her hand that was his hand and lower lower lower lower—

A soft moan that might’ve been a whimper, might’ve been a sob, eased past Eito’s lips. He shook like a leaf in the wind and he was sure that if he shook any more he would snap off the branch and go flying away and never come back.

Nozomi’s eyes stared right into his. They looked glassy. His eyes felt glassy. Her ugly mouth panted at the same time he panted. A feedback loop, the smarter part of himself sneered from where it’d hidden. You’ll keep at this until one of you drops dead. Eito didn’t understand. It scoffed, then receded back into nothing.

That was fine. It meant he could keep looking at Nozomi.

His free hand was moving. It dragged, tentative and unsure, until he’d puppeted it to the best of his ability to rest behind the small of Nozomi’s back. She tilted her head dimly, but that confusion turned to raised brows and a soft “Oh!” as he pressed her gross wet sticky slimy warm warm warm warm warm body against his and then he said “Oh!” too.

“N— Nozomi—“

“Haaah… Hahh…”

She’d wrapped both arms around his torso to the best of her ability, one jammed between his side and the bed and the other above. Her face squished against his stomach, his chest, and then he felt it slide slide slide but then something wet and sharp closed around his nipple and started to suck. Eito whimpered. It— it wasn’t— oh, was it weird or was it not? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell anything anymore. Their blood was closer than it’d ever been. He was wholer than he’d ever been.

He didn’t know if he was happy or if he was about to die.

Nozomi’s mouth was hungry. It pulled his skin— hard but not enough to hurt, just enough to feel almost good, he thought, maybe it was good? Maybe? His hand slid further and slipped beneath the wire of her bra. It fumbled, blind and jolted from how much he kept panting and whimpering and screwing up his coordination, but eventually the hooks snapped open and she was free too. She squished further against Eito’s skin and then she bit the sensitive nub and Eito yelped and his cock twitched.

“Mn, mnnh, No… Nozo…”

She didn’t let up. A slimy tongue swirled playfully, almost teasing, then went right back to sucking. The rest of her began moving against him, slick and wet and oozing and warm. She— right, he should help her more. Both of them were on their sides now; Nozomi latched like a suckling babe and Eito trying to remember how skirts worked. He managed, somewhat. The white fabric slid past her hips but got caught on her thighs because her thighs were spread wide and trying to grind against Eito’s leg.

He gave up with the skirt. Instead, Eito grabbed a tangle of Nozomi’s hair and pressed her closer to his chest. She moaned, high pitched and ear-splitting, tightening her vice around Eito like she’d die without it. A shock of pleasure zipped along his spine as one of Nozomi’s knees forced his legs apart. He gasped. Her own journey towards self-pleasure inadvertently provided Eito with the same; Nozomi’s knee rubbing sweet nothings against his member as she herself rutted desperately like a heat-addled dog.

It was clumsy. It was ineffective. It was human. For an extended period they ineffectively clung to each other like ticks, cryptoglobin resonance rendering any thoughts greater than ‘warm’ ‘good’ ‘nice’ and ‘now’ away in a slow broil.

But eventually frustration came.

Skin chafed, pleasure plateaued, and nothing either did let it get any higher, let them feel any better.

It was Nozomi who pulled off first.

She disengaged from Eito’s nipple with a wet pop that sent the boy whimpering. Fresh air stung raw blood oozing from around it. A soft whine of despair left at the loss of contact. He tried to pull her back, but she grabbed his hand instead, extra fingernails digging painfully into his wrist in ways that had his cock twitch with every jolt.

“No. We aren’t getting any… anywhere. We gotta…”

Nozomi trailed off. Her eyes burned. She looked at him with avid hunger, as if Eito were a prime cut in a restaurant that she’d spent years on the wait list for. Blood stained glass teeth. She looked unsteady. She looked beautiful. She looked like him.

“E— Eito, lay— hah— lay down on your back.”

One misshapen hand pressed gently against his collarbone. She barely needed to push; Eito did what he was told near instantly.

From the corner of his eye he saw Nozomi finally get rid of that stupid skirt and those stupid leggings. They slid off the bed, out of sight, out of world, and then Nozomi’s beautiful ugly Eito body was straddling his hips and the meaty inner part of her was hovering right above his clothed erection.

She stared at Eito, panting open mouthed, his blood mixed with drool all down the front of a misshapen chest pockmarked with boils. Her eyes were purple, but the longer he stared, the more they looked blue. He wondered if his blue eyes looked more purple. Maybe their eyes were the same color now.

That thought brought a moan to his throat and a twitch to his dick. Hips bucked upwards, but didn’t get far, Nozomi positioned as she was.

A laugh. It hurt but the hurt was nice. The hurt was good. “No, I think— I think I know what we can try. Just let me handle it, okay?”

She was ugly. She was beautiful. Both were undisputed facts. They didn’t contradict each other, they simply were both true. Eito nodded. He didn’t think he could talk right now. If he did, he wouldn’t sound smart enough at all and would just embarrass himself.

Nozomi’s bloody maw smiled like a thousand blazing stars. So proud of herself. She liked it when she could make others feel good. She wanted to make Eito feel good. That was nice. He wanted to feel good. If he didn’t feel good soon he might go crazy.

Eito didn’t resist as his other half threw his left leg over her shoulder. Luckily, he was tall enough that it could rest comfortably without his knee bending painfully. He watched her situate herself over the painfully tight tent in his skin-tight black leggings, straddling his other leg with a look of utter focus on her squishy face.

Then, he saw two splayed fingers slide down the length of their scar, one on each side, like a pair of scissors opening it again. The fingers slid down down down even further, past pubic mound and then into the wiry white nest of hair that guarded her most intimate parts. He watched with bated breath.

She laughed again. Smug? She sounded smug.

“Hey, Eito.”

He wasn’t looking at her face. He was utterly transfixed as the tips of her fingers came together just so, then pressed down even further, past the lips of her. her. her.

“Do you like it?”

They slid down even more. They didn’t go inside, no, he would’ve heard if they did, and smelled it too. He was about to ask what she was doing when the digits suddenly spread apart, opening like a pair of forceps, labial lips spread wide and wet and dripping and disgusting and Eito’s mouth went dry with mind melting want.

“I think you do.”

He did. He did like it. He wanted it right now.

Nozomi didn’t say anything. She was probably smirking, but Eito wasn’t looking at the ugly no-mans-land of her face. He was entranced as her body sank with the slowness of a scale judging the weight of one’s soul, teetering and tottering and spread wide and open and then slamming directly atop his clothed cock.

“Ah—!”

His hips tried to buck, but Nozomi held him down, straddling his dick and pinning him in place with the same frantic movements as she ground against him. Long, slow, and torturous at first; her slimy fluids dragging along his shaft, soaking the thin cloth with each pull until it no longer chafed. She whimpered with each drag, flexing and clenching and twitching and Eito keening higher than he’d ever done before.

Then her pace quickened. Both of Nozomi’s arms wrapped around his left leg like an anchor. She used the extra leverage to find one spot and grind there hard. That spot just so happened to be the very tip of Eito’s cock, and soon he could barely see anymore, barely hear anymore, barely see past the overstimulated tears obscuring his vision and the high-pitched wails obscuring his hearing.

Distantly, he knew from the rumble of his own chest that the wailing came from him, but that was future Eito mortification to unpack, not present Eito’s. Present Eito panted and sobbed and whined and shook as everything in his core tightened and tightened and tightened until a single moment more would snap him in half, snap him in pieces and leave him somewhere he didn’t know if he’d ever come back from. 

A cliff stretched before him, yawning and ominous.

 

Eito screamed Nozomi’s name as he leapt over its edge.

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

Eito opened his eyes to the bright sterile nothingness of a hospital.

 

He felt. Tired. And sticky. And… warm. He blinked slowly. Eugh. Eito’s nose wrinkled. A human had been there. Was there? He blinked again. His eyesight slowly sharpened, mind gradually coming back online as if he’d been forced through a power cycle.

Wait.

Eito blinked a third time.

Uhm.

A fourth.

Uh…? ?

He wasn’t in a hospital.

He was in his dorm.

He wasn’t alone in his dorm.

That in his… in his bed…

 

There…

 

There was…

 

Curled against his side, arm loosely draped across his hip, breathing softly in her sleep, was Nozomi Kirifuji, naked as the day she’d been born, idly sucking his nipple and getting awful gross disgusting fluids everywhere.

 

A weak, nauseated groan pushed itself past Eito’s throat. It was constricted so tightly that no other sound could come out.

Th— that’s right, she tried to scare him but then she stopped and then he asked her to come over and then they… they…

Hhhaahh… Aah…

Nozomi stirred. Lashes fluttered, tickling Eito’s blemished, impure skin. Lips parted. A small string of drool hung as she gradually began to wake.

“Mngh? W… what…?”

Periwinkle eyes cracked open, and Nozomi froze. Eito— currently suppressing an oncoming panic attack— had also frozen, leaving them in a mutual state of stiffness; two deer in front of oncoming headlights. It was so gross, he was covered in sweat and tears and gunk and his leggings were sticky with drying cum and he felt bad and it was so much, just so, so much—

A hitched breath. A cry. Nozomi’s presence suddenly vanished. The sheets vanished too, for that matter. She’d jumped back from the bed, stumbling and tangled by white fabric while babbling apologies. “Oh— oh God, Eito, I’m so sorry,” Nozomi wheezed. “I didn’t realize that— I— you said you wanted and— no, no, that doesn’t make that any— oh, oh God!”

A muffled thump sounded from her direction. Eito wasn’t looking. He was barely listening. He’d raised his free hand to grab a shirt that should’ve been there, only to discover it awkwardly bunched beneath his arms. With a vexed noise he pulled the fabric down and ignored how the sweat soaking it stung the wounds on his chest. The discomfort was slammed into submission. No. No! He would not fall into distress. He would not. He refused! He refused, completely and utterly, to behave like an idiot under these circumstances!

Hiccuped burbled from the floor, despairful and terrified, half incoherent from deflections and the tell-tale signs of an oncoming collapse. Eito closed his eyes. It was fine. He was fine. He was fine. The stench could be ignored for now. Nozomi could be ignored for now. He just needed to get back into control.

He just needed to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

In—

one. two. three.

Out—

one. two. three.

Then again.

And again

And again.

Blood eased. The panic receded. Not completely, but to a more manageable level; a volcano in dormancy, a rifle’s safety flipped. Soon enough, Eito regained enough control to re-enter the world proper. He braced himself. Eito moved into an upright position, pointedly ignoring old semen chaffing the soft inner skin of his thighs with a mild shudder. Sore, tired, and gross. A terrible combination for one’s mood.

Nozomi’s sobbing had quieted; heavy gasps of utmost despair transitioning to the soft sniveling of a child desperately trying to not be overheard. It was pathetic. It was relatable. It was human. Eito swallowed. His lips quivered, turning to a frown.

He should ignore her. It was her fault they ended up in this situation; connected on a level that should’ve been impossible, if not for the reality-bending properties of a substance nobody seemed to truly understand.

Except, deep down, he knew their bonding wasn’t her fault, just as he knew it wasn’t his. He was intimately aware she wanted this even less than he did. Nozomi Kirifuji had made her peace with the hounds of death, only to find herself unwillingly yanked from the snap of its jaws. He knew how lost she felt, tossing and turning between betrayal and gratitude, not knowing which was the right thing to feel, or if she was allowed to feel anything at all. He was as aware of it as much as he was aware of his own self.

And, worst of all, he knew their bond would never dissipate for as long as either of them lived.

Alas, Eito didn’t plan on dying. He still had goals to achieve. Goals like exterminating humanity, for example, which he very well couldn’t reach as a shriveled up husk. And he didn’t feel like killing Nozomi either. Whatever bond that had been forced upon them made the thought of killing the girl as repulsive as her appearance.

Eito sighed. It was a very deep and very long sigh.

Well.

He may as well get this over with.

Traitorously, loathingly, Eito found his head turning towards her, expression grave yet determined, iron filings drawn to a lodestone. His mouth felt as if a bonfire rendered all moisture from it, but he forced himself to speak anyway.

“Nozomi,” he croaked. “Are you alright?”

The crying stopped. She’d wrapped herself in a cocoon of white so only her face remained exposed. Already hideous under the best of circumstances, Nozomi’s blubbering left her skin bloated and greasy. She sniffled and looked up at Eito with the distinct air of a drowned kitten.

“No…”

He supposed that response was obvious in retrospect, but humans liked it when someone else stated the obvious. Ugh. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this? Eito wasn’t good with social interaction, period. Life tended to turn out that way when one was the only sane man in a world of misshapen freaks. Some skills were simply never needed. But they, at the very least, still needed to be emulated. 

That was where the benefits of being an active reader came in.

Humanity may be a genetic abomination hell-bent on a preventable destruction at its own hand, but the written word was something even Eito could appreciate. The filthy ogres loved to document whatever happened around them, be it in their tangible surroundings or the creations of their own minds. Histories were his favorite by far, but he'd found solace in discovering the intricacies of peer to peer socialization second-hand. They liked being told there was a positive angle to every negative one. Even— no, especially if there was literally no positive angles to be had. Very delusional of them.

So, drawing upon nearly a decade of positive, revolting human literature, Eito willed himself to offer a true, genuinely uplifting message to the girl he suddenly found himself very invested in helping not die. He cleared his throat, fixed his posture, upturned his expression to that of a sunny grin, then opened his mouth and said:

"Well, look on the bright side. At least you've come out of this terrible, horrible, disgusting experience without any lasting injuries beyond the psychological! I can't say the same for myself. That is something, isn't it?"

Nozomi stared blankly.

Eito stared back.

Nozomi's brows furrowed.

Eito smiled. Normally.

Nozomi's face contorted. She was frowning.

Eito kept smiling. Very normally.

…

This was taking too long. The corner of Eito's lip twitched.

…

He hoped his attempt wasn't as bad as it was rapidly beginning to seem. He truly hoped. He didn't have another consolation in him.

…

Oh! She was opening her mouth. Good, good. That was a good sign, right?

“What?”

Fuck.

“Are you. Are you trying to comfort me?” Nozomi asked. She looked mildly disgusted. Well! At least she wasn't crying anymore. The sheer shock at Eito's miserable attempt of boosting moral had done the job instead. If at the cost of his pride.

“You're not crying anymore,” Eito said, stating the obvious in an equally miserable attempt at saving face. “I say it worked.”

Now she just looked offended. Eito threw his hands up in defeat. So much for saving face.

“What else do you want from me?” he snapped. “I'm not exactly good at this sort of thing, as your little sabbatical into my childhood should've told you. What, did you want a— a soliloquy? A poem? A feel-good motivational speech about 'the virtues of every night precluding the coming dawn'!?”

“Nnno, no, I never—” Nozomi coughed, looking to the side. Her face squirmed. She now appeared almost… bashful?

“I just didn't expect you to care about me,” she said, mumbling into the sheet.

Eito scoffed. Wasn't that the truth. “I didn't either,” he stated. He sighed, then pinched the brow of his nose. “Unfortunately for us both, I do now. As repulsive as you are, we're connected. I can't change that. I don't think I'd want to if I could. So I may as well make the best of it by ensuring you don't kill yourself because you think you went too far with me.” A pause. “You did behave abominably, for the record. But I'd rather you not die over it.”

It was strange to admit aloud, but something in the boy's chest felt lighter. A weight he hadn't been aware of was lifted. The little bit of Nozomi nestled by his soul preened smugly, a spoiled cat finally getting its deserved bowl of cream.

Nozomi Kirifuji once again stared as if Eito were the one with anatomy that wasn't biologically possible. Her face continued to squirm, though not unpleasantly. If anything, he was getting used to her gross-but-somehow-not-too-gross features. It was almost… cute. In the same way an inbred pet was cute. Like a Persian, or an Exotic Shorthair.

 

Then, she did the unthinkable.

 

Nozomi started to laugh.

 

Not the hollow, pained laughs of before; someone who'd lost their self-assurance and could do nothing but laugh in the face of it all. A genuine, real, joyous laugh. Radiant, as bright as the stars Eito never saw until he woke up on that very first day, the day he was given his chance, the day before Takumi had so rudely taken it from him. Nozomi's laughter twinkled and stung like minuscule shards of glass. He found himself staring, mouth ever-so slightly parted, simply witnessing it all.

Ah, their oneness thought. This is what makes it worth it, does it not?

Despite himself, Eito found himself agreeing. His heart hurt, yes, but there was something more beneath the hurt. A promise of unity and acceptance that'd never been possible before. Of— and he hesitated to give it voice, even within the recesses of his own mind— not being alone for the first time in his life.

It was a terrifying thought. But Eito didn't think he was afraid anymore.

So if his cheeks were ever-so dusted pink by the time Nozomi's laughter finally subsided, Eito made a very conscious effort to ignore it.

“W— well,” Eito began, averting his gaze to the white couch on the other side of the room, “Given that you're no longer an active risk to yourself, do you think you could make yourself useful now?”

Nozomi tensed. Not the same tension as when she first arrived in the room, but a defensive edge stiffening beneath the sheet nonetheless. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you trying at?”

Well, if she was going to be obnoxious, he could be obnoxious too. He rolled his eyes and made sure she could see it.

“I would like a shower,” Eito stated. “If you could be so kind as to unlatch me, I would greatly appreciate it. Both of us are filthy and if I have to spend an entire day covered in semen I will kill myself.” He emphasized by shaking the handcuff. “Unless you intend to leave me like this for Omokage to discover. Or Shizuhara. Or Yakushiji. Or Taku—“

Nozomi stood indignantly, so fast she didn't bother keeping the cloth wrapped around her nude body. Hm. Interesting. “You—” she said hotly, fists clenched, seemingly intent on giving Eito a verbal lashing, but then the heat drained from her voice as surly as the receding tides. An almost fond tone replaced it, but surely Eito was looking too deeply. “That is… fair. Just, give me a moment, I don't know where my…”

“If you're looking for your jacket,” Eito interjected, "it's behind the chair. A meter or so behind you. To your left.”

Nozomi colored. At least that's what the boy thought she did, seeing as her fleshy face pulsed faster before transitioning towards a deep maroon. Mumbling a thanks, she picked the purple cloth up and rummaged through its pockets. Moments later, she returned to the bed, a small, white device similar to an electronic car-key in tow.

“Just so you're aware, there's sensors rigged up around the perimeter of the dorm. If you leave without permission the bomb in your chest will explode.” Nozomi stated it matter-of-factly. It wasn't a threat— just the truth. She held the fob to the handcuff and it disengaged with a soft beep, freeing Eito's hand.

“Charming. I suppose this ‘permission’ is more than wearing a pair of cryptoglobin suppressing handcuffs?” Eito rubbed his wrist experimentally. It was bruised, and skin touching the edge of the cuff bore the signs of chafing, but nothing had been forced out of place.

“Mhm. They thought you might try to cut a piece of the bed away and leave with the cuff still attached. Ta… Takumi's in charge of the detonator permissions.” She leaned back and looked elsewhere, trying to put the fob back into a jacket that she was absolutely not wearing. Ah. Definitely a blush. She looked at Eito dubiously, then turned away, grabbing the jacket and unceremoniously shoving it and the fob into Eito's desk drawer.

It… it was the first time anyone who knew his true nature had so casually turned their back to him. No glances over the shoulder. No tensed fists anticipating a fight. It wasn't complete trust— Eito doubted any human could fully trust one who knew the true extent of their vileness— but it was something Eito hadn't experienced since early childhood.

Not since before his parents stopped seeing him as their scared little boy…

And started seeing a threat.

 

Well.

 

They weren't wrong, in the end.

 

He didn't object when Nozomi gently pulled him out of the bed by his sleeve. Nor when slick fingers shoved down his soiled briefs and leggings as Eito set about removing his shirt.

That awful, too-small feeling was returning, but it didn't feel as bad now. He didn't care about the nudity. He just wanted to be clean.

At some point Nozomi's hand was intertwined with his, pulling him towards the bathroom. She let go after they were inside. He stood listlessly in the corner as she turned the shower on and waited for the water to warm up.

 

“I want a bath.”

 

He didn't know why he said that. He hadn't had a bath since he was… he didn't even know. But their dorm room showers doubled as bathtubs, and for some reason he wanted a bath after seeing one was possible.

Nozomi glanced questioningly at him. Her lips parted, and Eito felt a childish rage bubble at her asking 'if he was sure' again. She thankfully decided against it. Nozomi just nodded and plugged the drain, then turned a knob so water spouted from the tub's faucet rather than the shower head.

Steam filled the air as water filled the tub. Had Eito been wearing his glasses, they'd be completely fogged by now. Though he supposed he didn't need them at the moment. Nozomi didn't look terrible enough to warrant blurring his sight.

She hummed as she tested the water, adjusting the knob until the temperature was just right. It was a nice tune; he remembered his mother humming it during his cryptoglobin transfusions. Oh. Wait. Haha. That wasn't his memory. It was Nozomi's. It probably wasn't good that they were blurring this much this fast. At least he could still tell what was what and who was who. Usually.

Satisfied, the girl nodded. “Right. The water's ready if you want to get in now, Eito.” She gestured at the tub. The waterline was significantly lower than he'd expected. “I need to get a few things ready first.”

He frowned, but didn't know why he was frowning. He did what Nozomi told him though, and unsteadily closed the distance to the tub, each step distant as if done through liter after liter of cryptoglobin. He looked over his shoulder. Nozomi was digging through one of the cabinets. Eito turned back to the tub and dipped a toe in the water.

Hot, but not too hot. Good. He clamored inside and accidentally knocked an elbow against the porcelain in the process. Ow. He was too tall to fit normally, so he curled into a ball, arms wrapped around shins, watching Nozomi pull a third bottle from the cabinet.

Now he had a reason for frowning. The water barely came up to his chest. His knees stuck out and everything above his nipples was cold.

“I'm back. There was only shampoo, conditioner, and an exfoliation scrub, but that should be fine, right?”

Nozomi had let her hair down. Still wavy from the braid, a cascade of pale white mold framing a lumpy chest all the way down to her hips. Penicillin came from mold. That was a good mold, one that didn't kill, but saved. Maybe Nozomi was a type of penicillin. Maybe she was something important and safe that emerged from the rot that was humanity to save it.

The scar was just as inviting as ever, but mostly obscured by three bottles, a small bucket, and a washcloth bulging from her arms. Nozomi tilted her head questioningly. Ah, right. Eito finally remembered to nod. “That's fine,” he said. He fidgeted in the water. He sounded quiet to his own ears.

Nozomi let out a pleased hum, first depositing her burden on an indented shelf above the tub, then gently easing herself inside. The water displaced around her, finally raising to Eito's shoulders. So she anticipated joining him. The thought made their oneness twitch contentedly.

She leaned close, repositioning until she was kneeling in the water. “Could you turn your back to me, Eito?” his other half whispered. “I'd like to wash your hair.”

If their oneness was content before, now it positively beamed.

A lump developed in his throat. He suddenly found it very difficult to speak. It wasn't bad— not the fear of a monster that normally rendered him unable to vocalize, but a fluttering sensation in his chest. A hummingbird trapped in a cage, desperately trying to find a way out.

Eito didn't trust himself to say anything. He just nodded. His face felt hot and it wasn't only from the temperature of the water.

After a few moments he was fully situated, facing one end of the bathtub with Nozomi's warmth behind him. His legs had a little more room at least. He couldn't fully extend them (183 centimeters was no joke; he'd always been tall, and the benefits of height rarely outweighed its inconveniences), but at least his knees were fully submerged. Out of the corner of his eye Eito saw the girl pull one of the bottles from the shelf. Silicon-free shampoo. He liked that type, if he remembered correctly. He supposed that made sense. It was technically his bathroom.

He swallowed thickly. Even… even if he… wanted… this… even if he… trusted? Nozomi… this was more physical contact than he'd had…

He didn't want to think about that.

Instead, Eito closed his eyes and tried to convince his brain that the slime he felt on his scalp was shampoo, not Nozomi. She rubbed it in gently, extra nails snagging hair in ways that might've registered as scary before, but now seemed almost ticklish. His breath hitched as she pulled away. He almost turned back in a wordless question for why she'd left, when warm liquid poured atop his head. Then the hands returned, bringing the shampoo to a proper lather. They scrubbed and scritched and rubbed and felt so, so very…

He kept his eyes closed. It wasn't bad. It really, genuinely wasn't bad, and the part of Eito that spent its days hypervigilant for any stray monster contact was confused by suddenly being out of a job. He could… relax. It was Nozomi, and she wouldn't do anything. It was his other half, and he wouldn't do anything. It was fine. He was fine. He was safe.

A tension omnipresent for seventeen years melted under the quiet ministrations of a trusted hand.

Eito didn't know when he started crying. All he knew was that there was too much water on his face to be explained by the gentle rinsing of hair. Nozomi had swapped to a leave-in conditioner by then, donning the washcloth and scrubbing layers of dead, gross skin accumulated from weeks of imprisonment. Sirei didn't bother letting him shower. He just hosed Eito down in the courtyard.

Soft whispers of encouragement came from a face hooked over the crook of his neck, his traitorous body suffusing the warmth of Nozomi's stomach pressed flush to his back. He was shaking. He drank her contact like a man dying of thirst. Saline dripped and dripped and dripped until he couldn't see even if he opened his eyes, everything in the world around him fuzzy and warm and filling a void that would've eaten him alive had there been no intervention.

Eventually the cloth pulled away from Eito's shoulders. She wordlessly pressed it underwater, across the length of his stomach and down further more, eventually reaching the junction between his legs. Eito tensed. But Nozomi didn't take advantage— simply scrubbing with the same deliberate motions as everywhere else, then abandoning it for another part in need of exfoliation.

If later pressed, Eito wouldn't be able to place why he reacted the way he did.

A dam broke. The walls surrounding Eito's very soul collapsed; a bulwark built year after year to endure a terrifying world of awful hateful beings crumbling as if it were made of sand. A terrible wail— high pitched and vulnerable— clawed past vocal chords at its sudden absence.

The sobbing rebounded tenfold. Heaving and hiccuping, bleary and blubbering, an utterly embarrassing and utterly raw piece of the human condition ripped out of Eito's chest until his throat was ragged and raw. He sobbed and heaved and choked and died and lived and died again because nothing would ever change and he could never change and he would always be alone and always be hated and fundamentally broken.

Nozomi didn't say anything. She just wrapped both arms around his waist and held Eito as he cried his heart out.

He was grateful she didn't ask questions. He didn't know what he'd say if she did.

 

Eventually, Eito's tears would stop.

 

Eventually, they would drain the tub and rinse any leftover filth with a quick shower, neither straying from the other's touch for too long. Eventually, they would dry off, leave the bathroom, and change Eito's sheets at his firm insistence before crawling inside, without bothering to reattach the handcuff.

Eventually, tomorrow would come. Eventually, Sirei's obnoxious morning announcement would wake them just moments before a firm knock on the door, before Takumi and Shizuhara would tear down the paper walls of their ill-gotten sanctuary.

Eventually, there would be arguments. Eventually, there would be fighting. Eventually, many, many things would happen, irrevocably changing the fate of humanity forever, all spurred by the decision of one who never could've possibly known the true extent of its consequence.

 

But that didn't matter right now.

 

For now, all that mattered lay within the confines of a small bathtub, two halves too big to fit forced inside regardless, headless of anything beyond. All that mattered was the mutual filling of a hollow that could be filled no other way. All that mattered was here, and now.

 

Eito was whole again. Nozomi was whole again.

 

Nothing else mattered, and that was fine.