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Four years and six months prior to the events of I Will Follow You Into the Dark . . .
The florescent bars flickered, flashing light sporadically across the room. It swung slowly on its cables, hovering above the floor. Every so often it would knock against the overturned desk behind it, a soft clank that echoed against the stark white walls. Scattered about the floor were papers and computer parts, the papers rustling in the A/C. A patient chair lay on its side, IV pole bent and mangled beside it. Shattered glass covered the area surrounding it, along with specks of blood.
A trail of this liquid led to a man hunched over against the wall. He clutched at his bleeding forearm, his brown hair in a state of disarray. His eyes were closed, and he breathed heavily, the remains of his torn lab coat sagging off one shoulder.
In the center of the room knelt another man, hair bleached white with two dark stripes circling his head above his ears. He wore only a pair of faded sweatpants, and his arm was marked with bruises from dozens of needles. His hands trembled, as he pressed his face into his hands.
This was the scene Yahaba Shigeru saw when he walked into the lab at a brisk pace, several security guards on his tail.
“Kyoutani!”
The man on the floor didn’t look up, but Yahaba rushed forward anyway. He knelt in front of him, gently taking Kyoutani’s hands in his to pull them away. The security guards stepped over to the man against the wall, speaking to him in low tones. Yahaba ignored them, focusing all his attention on his friend before him. He took Kyoutani’s chin in his hand, lifting his head to look at his face.
Dark eyes stared back at him, deep-set and full of regret and pain. Kyoutani’s lips twitched in a hint of a grimace.
“Yahaba, I lost control. I—”
Yahaba cut him off, shaking his head quickly. “It’s okay,” he said, disregarding the mess around them, the signs that things were definitely not okay. “We won’t do this anymore. I promise. No more.”
Kyoutani’s face twisted, and he bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut as a tremor shook his frame. Reaching forward, he twisted his hands into Yahaba’s lab coat, clutching tightly as the tears returned through red, swollen eyes. Yahaba took the sides of his neck in his hands, brushing his thumbs along the firm lines of Kyoutani’s jaw. His heart ached, and he could feel his own eyes burning just to witness this breakdown of his dear friend. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against Kyoutani’s forehead.
“No more, I promise.”
I promise.
***
One year later.
Kunimi is bored. He usually is, but today is particularly boring. Without a home, there’s nothing to do. No books to read, no video games to play, no skateboard with which to terrorize walking pedestrians. There’s only the shelter, too stuffy, too noisy, and the alleyway beside it, already occupied with older boys playing baseball. Kunimi has no idea where they got the bat and ball they’re using, but he’s never really been into sports, so he doesn’t feel like getting up to ask and possibly join in.
Instead, he sits on the curb with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, staring off across the street. He doesn’t notice the boy walking over to him until he’s standing right in front of him; a pair of long legs and hands shoved into his pockets, and a curious face beneath a shallot-shaped head of hair.
“Kunimi-kun?”
Kunimi lifts his head, blinking up at the boy. He seems familiar, but he can’t place him exactly. Tilting his head, he narrows his eyes slightly.
“Yes?”
The boy lights up in relief, grinning as he plops himself down next to Kunimi. “Oh, thank goodness! I thought it was you, but I wasn’t completely sure.”
Kunimi stares at him, frantically trying to remember this kid. He studies the spikes of his hair, the dark slant of his eyes, the self-conscious way he folds his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around him.
A light bulb goes off.
“Kindaichi?” It has to be him. There’s no other person it could be. But Kunimi hasn’t seen Kindaichi since middle school. They’d played on the same volleyball team together but ended up going to different high schools. Kunimi remembers how Kindaichi had suggested they keep in touch after his graduation.
Oops.
“What are you doing here?” Kunimi asks, wondering if Kindaichi’s parents knew he was hanging around a homeless shelter full of what many people believed to be unsavory characters.
“Oh, um. The shelter I was staying at before grew too full, so they kicked me out. They said I could probably stay at this one, so I came to check it out.” Kindaichi rubs his ear absently.
He looks young, cheeks still not completely rid of their baby fat. Kunimi’s birthday just passed (he’s sixteen now, though he doesn’t feel much different than how he was at fifteen), so that means it’s still a couple months before Kindaichi turns fifteen.
Shit, he’s still a baby.
“By yourself?” Kunimi hears himself asking, though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t take an interest in people’s lives. The feelings that come associated with interest can grow inconvenient.
And that’s why you’re alone and have no friends, his mind whispers snidely.
He ignores it.
“Oh. Um, yeah. My parents died on the attack of July 10th,” Kindaichi mumbles, looking down at his knees now.
Kunimi feels a pang of sympathy. His own parents died then too. A lot of kids’ parents did. The kaiju had wandered outside the perimeter, destroying buildings and devouring all those it could reach. Kunimi remembers being shoved underneath a car, newly fifteen and yet too frightened to do anything but watch as his parents rushed back into their building to try and help more people escape. He saw how the kaiju swung its arm into the wall of the apartment complex, watched as the cement and glass and metal all came crashing down like it was nothing more than a Jenga tower.
He wonders if Kindaichi had to witness something like that too.
“That sucks,” he offers, and Kindaichi nods silently.
It’s been almost a year since the attack, but the memory still fills Kunimi with dread, and even now he feels sick to his stomach. He moves to stand, not sure what to do but not wanting to sit here and possibly cry in front of Kindaichi of all people. “The folks that run this place are pretty cool,” he says, sticking his hands into his pockets and looking off down the street. “They’ll probably find a place for you.”
He walks off then, having no idea where he’s going but just knowing that he can’t sit beside a piece of his peaceful, practically happy past when the whole world has gone to shit. It’s too much of a reminder of what he’s lost.
He doesn’t see Kindaichi again until two days later, when he steps outside the shelter after breakfast and sees him huddled on the curb, head in his knees. His shoulders are shaking, and Kunimi can tell right away that he’s crying.
Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kunimi asks, stepping forward and hating himself.
Kindaichi starts. He straightens and wipes at his face with the back of his hand, smearing snot and tears all over his cheeks. Kunimi sighs, pulling a napkin out of his pocket and handing it to him. Kindaichi takes it sheepishly, cleaning his face before crumpling the napkin in his fists.
“Someone stole my stuff,” he says softly. “I had everything . . . everything I had left in a suitcase, and I put it at the end of my futon and when I woke up it was gone.”
“Dumbass, you’re supposed to sleep on your suitcase,” Kunimi says, thinking that should’ve been obvious.
But Kindaichi bites his lip, and he looks like he’s about to cry again, so Kunimi quickly steps forward and crouches beside him.
“What did your suitcase look like?” he asks.
Kindaichi closes his eyes in thought. “Um, it was green with white flowers on it. And it has a keychain of a lotus on the zipper.”
Kunimi stares. “Seriously? That’s lame.”
Kindaichi’s shoulders slump. “It was my mom’s,” he murmurs, staring at the floor.
You’re an asshole, Kunimi’s brain supplies helpfully.
Grimacing inwardly, Kunimi stands with another sigh. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looks around. The streets are mostly empty, as it’s still fairly early in the day. That’s why it doesn’t take Kunimi long to spot a group of boys, the same ones who’d played baseball in the alley the other day, huddled around an open suitcase. They’re far enough away that Kunimi can’t see the details on the suitcase, but he figures by the way the boys are laughing and shoving the contents around that it’s stolen.
Squaring his shoulders, Kunimi strolls over, ignoring his mind telling him that he’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life.
“Hey,” he says casually, stopping in front of the group. He can see now that the suitcase is as Kindaichi described, right down to the lotus flower keychain. His heart thuds faster in his chest.
“Hey,” one of the boys says warily, looking up at Kunimi from his place on the curb. He’s wearing a backwards ball cap, and the ghost of his earlier sneer still lingers on his features.
Kunimi points to the suitcase between them. “That’s my friend’s shit.”
The boys exchange a look, and then Ball Cap turns back with a shrug. “So?”
“So, you’re going to give it back to him.”
Ball Cap stands, and he’s several centimeters taller than Kunimi. His arms are thick too, and he folds them over his chest to flex them impressively. Kunimi looks at them a moment, before tilting his head back to meet Ball Cap’s gaze.
“And what’ll you do if I don’t, puny?” Ball Cap asks.
Kunimi sighs, drawing his hands out of his pockets and flexing his fingers slowly. “Something unpleasant for both of us,” he says, glancing at Ball Cap’s friends as they stand to flank their apparent leader.
“Kunimi-kun, don’t!” Kindaichi calls from behind him.
Kunimi grits his teeth, turning to frown at the other boy. “Go back—”
He doesn’t have time to finish his command before a fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stagger backward. His face stings, and he whips around to glare at Ball Cap, who’s standing with his hands at his sides now, smirking at him.
“No, stay,” he says to Kindaichi. “You can watch while I beat up your pretty friend here. Maybe I’ll even let you go unharmed afterwards.”
“Don’t speak to him,” Kunimi says flatly, feeling white-hot anger course through him. Rushing forward, he swings his fist, colliding with Ball Cap with a grunt. His fist makes contact, though his knuckles sting as they slide across Ball Cap’s teeth.
The taller boy stumbles back, rubbing at his mouth. He spits out a tooth, blood dribbling over his lips. He scowls at Kunimi, gesturing then for his friends to come forward. One of them pulls a blade from his pocket, flipping it open. Kunimi crouches into a fighting stance. Ignoring Kindaichi’s horrified yelp behind him, he leaps away from the first slash of the knife, grabbing the boy’s arm instead and kicking him hard in the stomach. Knife Kid stumbles back with a groan, and Kunimi turns to the two others. They advance on him immediately, and while he lands a punch on one, Ball Cap grabs his arms, pinning them behind him. He kicks out at the Knife Kid as he recovers and steps forward, but the third one punches him across the face, dazing him.
He’s vaguely aware of something cold and sharp sliding into his stomach, and fresh pain blooms there, hot and throbbing. He’s released, and he falls to the ground onto his knees.
“Kunimi-kun!”
Kunimi hears Kindaichi’s voice as though from far away. There’s footsteps running away as well, but he doesn’t fully register this sound either. His hand clutches at the spot on his stomach that burns. Warm, wet blood seeps beneath his grasp, staining his shirt and his skin, before dripping to the ground.
An arm falls across his back.
“Kunimi-kun! We have to get you to a doctor!”
Stupid, we don’t have money for a doctor . . .
Despite having lived in a shelter for a while, Kindaichi smells nice, like fresh soap and syrup. Kunimi wonders if he’d had pancakes, as he leans into Kindaichi. He can feel the beat of Kindaichi’s heart, pounding quickly against his shoulder.
It’s beating too fast. He’s going to pass out.
He lifts his head, looking into Kindaichi’s worried face. “Calm down,” he says, his own voice masking the panic welling up in him. He presses more firmly against the wound in his stomach, wincing at the pain the pressure causes. “There’s a doctor who works for free a couple streets down. Help me get there.”
“Are you sure you should walk?” Kindaichi asks, even as he helps Kunimi to his feet.
Kunimi purses his lips. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Kindaichi bites his lip, but he carefully wraps his arm around Kunimi once more, nodding. “Okay, Kunimi-kun. Let’s go.”
***
Yahaba found the tiny abandoned corner store seven months previous, and in that time he did everything he could to make it a home for himself and Kyoutani. The money from the SSP ran out fairly quickly when Yahaba needed to buy medication for Kyoutani’s insomnia and paranoia. It was a dangerous cocktail to mix with the serum still running through his veins, but he managed to create something that allowed Kyoutani to sleep at night, at least. But when they received the notice that the funds would cease now that Kyoutani had left the SSP, Yahaba grew incensed. He went to Dr. Takeda, begging him to allow them to remain in the budget, but the man sadly informed Yahaba that it wasn’t possible.
They couldn’t continue to support a failed experiment.
So Yahaba left the lab, taking with him several boxes of medical supplies. Nobody reported the theft, which was just as well. Yahaba wasn’t about to go to prison. Not when Kyoutani needed him so desperately.
The first few months were difficult. After they couldn’t pay the rent on their apartment, they were evicted (which turned out to be a blessing when the kaiju attacked on July 10th and destroyed their former building). Yahaba and Kyoutani walked the streets late into the night, searching any place they could to find refuge. For two months they huddled beneath bridges and slept on benches in the park. But then Yahaba found the store in Block 12, a rougher part of the city. They huddled together in the dilapidated interior, sleeping fitfully through a night full of gunshots and sirens and screams. Come morning, however, Yahaba went about making the place livable. The two of them righted the shelves and cleaned out the broken glass and damaged goods. They boarded up the shattered windows and door and managed to trade some pills for a generator to help keep them cool in the summer and warm in the winter.
Yahaba started making himself known as a doctor. He treated ailments of any kind, with the stolen supplies from the lab. People paid what they could. More often than not they received warmer clothes for the winter and various canned foods. Whenever Yahaba began to run out of medical supplies, he would visit the base and speak to Sugawara Koushi, the head medical doctor. He would smuggle him a box of essentials whenever he could. (Yahaba would be forever grateful to him for that, and he often referred to the man as the one decent human being in the base.)
Once Kyoutani began to feel better and was able to function more normally, he would do odd jobs around the neighborhood: fixing plumbing, painting fences, cleaning littered parks, etc. Sometimes he wouldn’t have anything to do and would steal some food from open markets. It wasn’t something Yahaba liked, but he deemed it necessary every once in a while. Kyoutani was good at being quick, if not exactly subtle. After almost getting caught a few times, Yahaba decided to take up that task on top of his doctoring.
It wouldn’t do to have Kyoutani thrown in jail for stealing.
So it wasn’t the best life, and certainly not the kind of life Yahaba had wished for them, but they had each other and as their relationship continued to grow, he came to see that that was really all that mattered.
***
“Yahaba-san!”
Yahaba looks up from his newspaper, glancing toward the door. He’s sitting on top of the front counter, absently knocking his foot against Kyoutani’s shoulder. His lover is sitting against the counter on the floor, lightly napping. Yahaba stills his foot as he acknowledges the interruption, and Kyoutani lifts his head, blinking sleepily.
At the front of the shop stand two boys. The taller of the two couldn’t have been older than fourteen, and his arm is wrapped around a slightly shorter boy, older (but not by much), who’s nearly bent double at the waist. His hand is clutching a bloody wound in his side, and his face is pale and sporting several nasty bruises.
Yahaba hops off the counter quickly, nearly kicking Kyoutani in the face. The latter only grunts softly, moving to stand slowly, watching the newcomers through narrowed eyes. Yahaba hurries over to the two.
“What happened?” he asked, taking the injured boy from the tall one.
“He was stabbed!” the tall one exclaims loudly.
The injured one sighs. “It’s not that bad, Kindaichi. I told you to calm down.” His voice is void of emotion, though his voice is barely above a whisper and twinged with pain.
Kindaichi wrings his hands worriedly, as Yahaba leads the injured boy over to the counter. “Kyoutani, help me get him up here,” he says, waiting until Kyoutani is there to step back.
Effortlessly, Kyoutani picks up the boy and sets him gently on the counter. Yahaba grabs a pair of surgical gloves and some scissors, carefully cutting away the shirt from the wound. He’s able to tell right away that the knife hasn’t hit any major organs from the location of cut, but there’s a lot of blood. Quickly, Yahaba gathers some gauze and douses a couple pads with antiseptic.
“This is going to sting a lot,” he tells the boy, before pressing the soaking pads against the wound.
The boy grunts in response, but his placid expression doesn’t change aside from a slight tightening of his jaw. His fingers clutch the edges of the counter, though, leaving bloody prints.
“What’s your name?” Yahaba asks to distract the boy, as he gestures for Kyoutani to bring him a stitching needle and the surgical thread.
“Kunimi. Kunimi Akira,” the boy manages through gritted teeth.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kunimi,” Yahaba says, keeping his voice pleasant as he disinfects the needle. “And how did this happen exactly?”
“Some dumbass kids wanted to fight,” Kunimi says, as though it were a common thing.
Kindaichi squeaks softly behind Yahaba. “He was trying to get my things back for me. They stole it.”
Yahaba smiles, glancing between the two briefly before threading the needle. “Are the two of you brothers?”
Kunimi shakes his head.
“Former teammates,” Kindaichi supplies. He glances somewhat nervously at Kyoutani, but since the man is simply standing there with his arms crossed, brows lowered, he eventually turns back to Yahaba. “I didn’t even know he was staying in this block until I saw him the other day outside the shelter. We hadn’t seen each other in a year.”
Yahaba raises an eyebrow, lifting his head to look up at Kunimi’s face, his pursed lips. “And you took a knife for him anyway?”
Kunimi doesn’t reply, but he looks away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
Yahaba fights a smile, turning back to his task. He carefully stitches the wound, keeping up a pleasant conversation with Kindaichi as he does, as the other boy seems much more talkative than Kunimi. Kunimi doesn’t flinch at the needle, nor does he make any noise. Yahaba can’t help but be impressed, though it makes him sad as well.
What could this boy have gone through to barely react at all to pain?
He talks to Kindaichi about sports, relating well to his tales of playing volleyball with Kunimi in middle school. Once he finishes the stitches, he cleans up the area before covering it and wrapping it. When that’s done, he looks up into Kunimi’s face once more. “Make sure you keep this clean to avoid infection and return in two weeks so I can remove them.”
Kunimi nods, slowly sliding off the counter. Kindaichi is at his side in an instant, hovering worriedly, but Kunimi waves him back with a flick of his wrist.
“Thank you, Yahaba-san,” he says, and the words sound genuine.
The two turn to leave, and Yahaba starts to remove his gloves and clean up the area. Kyoutani jumps forward then with a sudden “hey!”
The boys freeze, and Yahaba turns with a faint frown. “What is it?” he asks.
Kyoutani points to Kunimi. “He has something in his back pocket.”
Kindaichi jolts in surprise, leaping back a step, but Kunimi simply meets Kyoutani’s accusatory gaze. “No, I don’t,” he says calmly, his face a complete mask. And Yahaba might’ve believed him if it wasn’t for his complete trust in Kyoutani and the nervous way Kindaichi continues to glance toward Kunimi’s backside.
Yahaba steps forward, holding out his hand. “Give it to me,” he says flatly.
Kunimi watches him, and Yahaba watches back, noting the intelligence behind those dark eyes, and the tightness around his mouth seems familiar somehow. After a few tense seconds, Kunimi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a couple bottles of medication. Yahaba raises his eyebrows, glancing behind him at the counter and noticing now that a few of the bottles that had been sitting there are missing.
He plucks them from Kunimi’s hand with a soft, impressed laugh. “That was excellent,” he admits. “I wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for Kyoutani’s sharp eyes. Have you stolen things before?”
Kunimi doesn’t reply, but the line of his lips grows tighter in what Yahaba takes as an admission of guilt. Kindaichi glances between them anxiously.
“Please don’t report him, Yahaba-san,” he begs. “He gave them back.”
“Do I look like a man who’d report a child for stealing?” Yahaba asks with another laugh, gesturing to the interior of the store around them. “No, I was thinking just the opposite really.” He looks back at Kunimi. “How would you like to work for me?”
This time, Kunimi frowns faintly. “Work for you?”
Yahaba nods, stepping back over to the counter to set the bottles of medication down. “I’m afraid a lot of my work results in little to no payment, and often I’m left to steal food or other things in order to keep Kyoutani and myself fed and clothed. It takes a lot of time out of my day, but Kyoutani is too conspicuous to do it himself. If you would, I’d like you to take up that task for me. In exchange, I can offer you both a place here. It’ll have more room for you than the shelters, and you won’t have to worry about thieves stealing your things.”
“This place is a dump,” Kunimi says, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Why would we want to live here?”
“Because I can guarantee that we will treat you better than anyone at the shelters will. We can protect you and give you medical help if you need it. It could be a home for the both of you . . . if you want it.”
Kunimi takes Kindaichi’s arm, backing toward the door. “Can you give us time to think about it?” he asks, his calculating eyes still fixed on Yahaba.
Yahaba nods. “Of course.”
Kunimi nods in return before taking Kindaichi and leaving. Kyoutani steps up to Yahaba then, nuzzling his head against Yahaba’s shoulder until Yahaba reaches up to pet his hair gently.
“Why did you offer them that?” he asks softly.
“Mm,” Yahaba hums, stroking his fingers through the short strands, before turning his head to kiss at Kyoutani’s temple. He moves back to the counter then to finish cleaning. “They’re sort of like us, don’t you think?”
Kyoutani snorts softly, following him. “I wouldn’t think you’d consider yourself as nervous and awkward as that shallot-head kid.”
Yahaba laughs. “Actually, I was thinking you were the shallot-head.”
Kyoutani frowns. “Hey.”
Yahaba takes his face in his hands, kissing his lips gently. “I think having some more people around could be good for us. For you. You need to make more friends.”
“That Yamaguchi kid is pretty nice,” Kyoutani says, scuffing his foot against the floor and not meeting Yahaba’s gaze.
Yahaba nods thoughtfully. “I like Tadashi-kun, but he wouldn’t leave his apartment complex to come here. He’s too attached to the people there. Kunimi and Kindaichi are just what we need. They’re strong, independent, and Kunimi is an excellent thief. They’ll be useful.”
“How will shallot-head be useful?” Kyoutani asks with another snort.
Yahaba smiles. “I’ll figure something out.”
Kyoutani falls quiet then, and Yahaba can see the anxiety as it starts to consume him. He watches how it darkens his features, deepens the lines of his face as he scowls down at the floor. Kyoutani’s forehead wrinkles, and his lips twitch.
“What if I hurt them? They’re just kids . . .”
Yahaba shakes his head immediately, reaching to take Kyoutani’s hands and hold them tightly. “You won’t hurt them,” he says firmly. “You’re not a monster. And you’re in better control now, remember? You won’t hurt them.”
I promise.
Kunimi and Kindaichi return three days later with suitcases. Yahaba puts them right to work, sending Kunimi out on runs to get food from the open markets while having Kindaichi work with Kyoutani on his small jobs around the neighborhood. At first the poor boy seems terrified of spending time with Kyoutani. But as time passes, he begins to understand that Kyoutani’s scowls are not out of anger, and his silence is not out of disdain. He grows more relaxed, and Kyoutani has to admit to Yahaba that he enjoys spending time with the boy. He’s easy to laugh and takes directions perfectly.
Kunimi is a tougher nut to crack, Yahaba finds. He’s not talkative in a different way than Kyoutani. His mind always appears to be working, trying to find an angle. He meets all of Yahaba’s praise with slight skepticism, and several times Yahaba catches him stuffing supplies into a backpack, as though he’s simply waiting for the moment when Yahaba will kick him and Kindaichi out. It takes time, but after a while Yahaba notices that the backpack gets taken out less and less often, until it lies forgotten completely in the far corner of the office they use as a bedroom.
Yahaba can’t help but grow fond of the boys, and he can tell Kyoutani has grown to like them as well. They get so wrapped up in their new life together, making adjustments, finding new routines, basking in the warmth of having what seems like an actual family, that Yahaba lets his guard down. He forgets about the bomb ticking away at the heart of Kyoutani.
And so he’s not prepared for the moment it finally explodes.
Yahaba jolts awake at the sound of an ear-splitting scream. He bolts upright, heart already pounding wildly in his chest. Beside him, Kyoutani is thrashing. His legs kick out, his foot connecting with Yahaba’s leg. He yelps softly, scrambling to his knees. He reaches out, but he isn’t sure if it’ll do any good to force Kyoutani to wake. So his hands hover over Kyoutani’s heaving chest, as he struggles to think of what to do.
“What’s going on?” Kindaichi’s sleepy voice reaches Yahaba, and he looks around to meet Kindaichi’s wide eyes. Kunimi sits up beside him, rubbing his eyes, before stiffening.
“Yahaba-san!” he calls out in alarm, pointing over Yahaba’s shoulder.
Yahaba turns just in time to see Kyoutani’s eyes, wild with panic and fury, before his hands come around Yahaba’s neck, and he falls backwards onto the floor with Kyoutani straddled on top of him.
“No more! I don’t want it anymore! Get it out of my head! I want it out!” Kyoutani shouts, spittle flying into Yahaba’s face, as his hands begin to squeeze.
Yahaba’s throat burns, and he scrambles for a hold on Kyoutani’s wrists, attempting to pull them away. He coughs, but when he tries to speak, no words make it past his constricted vocal cords. In his peripheral vision, he can see Kunimi moving closer. Before he can register what he’s doing, though, Kunimi swings a board of wood left over from the windows and smacks Kyoutani hard against the back of his head.
The board snaps, and Kyoutani releases Yahaba. He whirls around, teeth gnashing, and Kunimi’s eyes widen. He stumbles back, dropping the piece of board he’s still clinging to. He falls onto his ass, back against the wall, looking up as Kyoutani advances in a crawl that seems more animal than anything else. Yahaba hurries to his feet, rubbing his aching vocal cords to try and get his voice out with more than just a croak.
“Kentarou! Stop!” he manages to shout, though his voice is strained, and he coughs against the roughness of it.
He reaches Kyoutani and lays his hands on his shoulders, grabbing them and pulling him back away from Kunimi as best he can. “Kentarou, Kentarou, you’re safe. You’re safe,” he says, turning Kyoutani towards him, crouching down and grabbing his face in his hands. The dark eyes that stare back at him don’t appear human. They’re dilated and manic, and Kyoutani’s hands grab Yahaba’s arms, squeezing them. Yahaba grimaces at the pain, knowing he’ll have bruises later, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t look away.
“You’re safe, Kentarou. You’re safe,” he repeats, over and over, keeping his voice as calm and as soothing as he can.
Kunimi sits against the wall, watching the two of them silently, his fingers trembling against the floor. Kindaichi rushes over, kneeling beside Kunimi. His hand reaches out tentatively to brush against the back of Kunimi’s. Yahaba can hear him whisper softly, “are you okay?” can see the jerky nod that Kunimi gives in response, but Yahaba keeps his focus on Kyoutani, repeating the mantra, until the grip on his arms begins to relax.
“You’re safe. You’re safe.” Yahaba watches as that manic glow begins to fade from Kyoutani’s eyes. His shoulders sag, and in a blink he comes to and the look that stares back at Yahaba is one of recognition and relief.
“Sh-Shigeru?” he mumbles.
“Yes, yes, it’s me. I’m here, Ken,” Yahaba says quickly, swallowing the words that threatened to come up instead of his name.
It’s too early for that yet, isn’t it?
Kyoutani slumps forward, pressing his forehead against Yahaba’s shoulder. He’s heavy, but Yahaba simply sits back on his heels and allows the man to lean into him. He wraps his arms around Kyoutani in return, rubbing his back, feeling the fast beat of his heart, and stroking his hair. Turning his head, Yahaba glances over at Kunimi and Kindaichi, huddled together against the wall. They’re holding hands, clasping each other tightly. When Kunimi sees that Yahaba has noticed, he quickly draws away.
“What the hell was that?” Kunimi asks, with more inflection than Yahaba has ever heard him use.
Kyoutani trembles, and Yahaba tightens his grip around him. There’s a lump in his throat, growing larger by the second, and he has to swallow a couple times before he can answer. It’s painful, and he tries to cover his wince.
“He just . . . he gets nightmares sometimes. They’re usually not this bad. He takes medication . . .”
“Well, they don’t seem to be working very well,” Kunimi says flatly, moving to stand. He grabs Kindaichi’s arm to pull him up beside him. “We’re not going to stay here if that’s going to become a regular thing. He could’ve killed me. He almost killed you.”
Kyoutani flinches, pulling back to look at Yahaba. “Did I?” he asks softly. “Did I attack you?” He blinks, his eyes moving to Yahaba’s neck. With a shaking hand, he touches the bruises forming there gently.
“It’s fine,” Yahaba assures him softly. He turns to look up at Kunimi then. “It’s fine,” he repeats. “It won’t happen again. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”
I promise. I promise . . .
Kunimi narrows his eyes, but Kindaichi tugs on his sleeve.
“I don’t want to leave,” he says in a small voice. “This is the closest thing we have to a home, Kunimi-kun. I don’t want to live on the streets again.”
Kunimi sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. Kyoutani sits back on his heels, shoulders slumping further. He stares at his knees, his hands curled into fists as they press into the floor. Kunimi lowers his hands, pointing at Kyoutani.
“What happens if he does this again? Kindaichi is a limp noodle. He can’t defend himself.”
Kindaichi frowns. “Hey!”
Kunimi ignores him, lowering his finger to look Yahaba in the eye. His gaze is level and cold. Yahaba feels a shiver of apprehension, followed by a pang of regret. He brought these children in here. He’d been so sure that the medication was working. He felt so confident in Kyoutani’s improvement. He never thought this would happen. He should’ve taken the possibility into consideration. He should have at least made a plan in the event that something like this happened.
“I’m sorry,” Yahaba says, just as Kyoutani lifts his head and looks to Kunimi.
“I won’t do it again,” Kyoutani says with such firm conviction that everyone turns their gaze to him. He frowns up at Kunimi, slowly shaking his head as he meets his gaze. “I won’t do it again.”
Something in Kyoutani’s eyes must convince Kunimi he’s telling the truth, because he nods after a moment and gestures for Kindaichi to follow him back to their futons. Yahaba watches Kyoutani, wishing he knew what he was thinking.
“Ken?” he murmurs.
Kyoutani turns to him, and his lips quirk in a tiny smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching his hand forward.
Yahaba doesn’t hesitate to take it, but he feels unease twisting his stomach. And even as they return to their futons, and Yahaba curls himself around Kyoutani from behind, he can’t seem to relax. Kyoutani’s heart beat slows to an even pace, his breaths quiet and soft as he drifts to sleep, but Yahaba remains awake for a long time, worrying.
When he wakes up that morning, Kyoutani’s gone.
***
“Ken? Kentarou? Kentarou!”
Kunimi slowly opens one eye. The first things he sees are the empty futons across from his and Kindaichi’s. Once he blinks and clears his vision, he can see outside the open office door to where Yahaba is rushing around the store, calling for Kyoutani. Yawning, Kunimi moves to sit up, shoving Kindaichi’s arm off him. The boy beside him mumbles in his sleep, turns over, and continues to snore.
Pushing back the covers, Kunimi stands, padding out into the main part of the store in his bare feet. He looks around, noting that everything seems to be in its place, except . . . wait. Turning, he hurries back into the office, looking to where his backpack always sits in the corner, waiting to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.
It’s gone.
“Yahaba-san!” Kunimi shouts, standing where he is and waiting for Yahaba to come rushing into the room.
“What is it?” he asks breathlessly. He’s still wearing the pajama pants and faded t-shirt he wears to bed, and his feet are also bare. His hair is mussed from sleep, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes.
He looks like shit, but Kunimi doesn’t mention this. Instead, he points to where his backpack used to sit, knowing Yahaba will understand the implications of it missing just as well as he did.
Yahaba’s face pales further. He immediately runs to his own pack, drawing out some clothes to pull on, along with his shoes. Kunimi watches him silently. He knows he should be relieved that Kyoutani is gone. The man is a danger to himself and everyone around him. But watching Yahaba’s frantic motions and seeing the obvious concern in the tightness of his features causes something to clench in Kunimi’s chest.
He sort of reminds Kunimi of his father, as he shoved Kunimi beneath the car and told him to stay put. That look that says I’m terrified, but I’m going to do my best not to show it for your sake.
Kunimi steps forward to grab his own clothes. He changes quickly, though his movements are less jerky than Yahaba’s. As he sits to pull on his shoes, Yahaba pauses, looking over at him. Kunimi looks back plainly, and he watches the relief as it moves across Yahaba’s face.
“Wake Kindaichi,” he says. “He’ll have to watch the store.”
Kunimi nods and ties his shoelaces, before he turns to grab Kindaichi’s shoulder, giving it a rough shake. Kindaichi opens his eyes, blinking up at Kunimi in confusion.
“Kunimi-kun?” he says sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “What time is it?”
“Kyoutani-san is gone,” Kunimi says, deciding there’s no point in sugarcoating things.
Kindaichi is instantly wide-awake. He sits up quickly, knocking his forehead against Kunimi’s. Kunimi rears back with a frown, rubbing at it.
“Kyoutani-san is gone?” he asks incredulously.
“I just said that, didn’t I? You need to watch the store while Yahaba-san and I go looking for him,” Kunimi says, moving to stand.
Kindaichi pushes back the covers, untangling his long legs from them before jumping to his feet. “I want to help look too!”
Kunimi shakes his head. “Someone needs to stay here and make sure nothing gets stolen.” Pulling out his switchblade, Kunimi presses it into Kindaichi’s hand. “Can you do that?”
Kindaichi’s eyes fly wide. He stares down at the knife, and his Adam’s apple bobs quickly. He curls his fingers around the knife though and nods, lifting his gaze to meet Kunimi’s. There’s a flash of determination, a resolve to complete the task he’s been given, and Kunimi can’t help but feel impressed by the change.
“I’ll do my best,” Kindaichi says with a firm nod. “You can count on me, Kunimi-kun.”
Kunimi purses his lips, not sure why he feels the sudden urge to ruffle Kindaichi’s hair or something. Instead, he awkwardly pats his shoulder and stands. Yahaba is watching them, with that knowing look Kunimi hates because he can’t fully understand it. When Yahaba notices Kunimi’s gaze, he smiles wanly.
“Let’s go.”
They decide to split up once they’re outside, agreeing to meet back at the store in two hours. Yahaba says he’s heading toward the SSP base, and Kunimi nods, drawing his own conclusions from that. He’s suspected for a while now that something’s off about Kyoutani, and the fact that he’s heard about the new Super Soldiers that are being revealed soon makes him think that Kyoutani must’ve been one of the first. But something went wrong, obviously, and now Kyoutani’s living in an abandoned store with a man who knows a lot about medicine but never speaks of how he knows the things he knows.
Kunimi doesn’t really care about where Kyoutani and Yahaba are from, but he would’ve at least liked a warning about the nightmares. He shivers simply thinking about that wild look in Kyoutani’s eyes as he advanced on him the previous night. The rage emanated off him so strongly, Kunimi had felt it as though it were his own. Frankly, it’d terrified him.
He tries not to think of that now, as he turns toward the police station. Instead, he focuses his mind on how gentle Kyoutani is with Kindaichi. The man has the most intense resting bitch face ever, yet Kindaichi isn’t afraid of him. He hasn’t been for quite a long time. Kunimi has seen the way Kindaichi sticks by him, eats next to him, tells him funny stories of his time in middle school; all while Kyoutani listens intently. Sometimes he even smiles, and that causes Kindaichi to light up like a damn Christmas tree. Kunimi would be jealous if it wasn’t so sickeningly sweet. (Though he’s not sure why he’d be jealous. It’s just an inkling he has.) The two of them have grown close while working jobs together, and Kunimi knows how much Kindaichi looks up to him.
But that’s not the only reason why Kunimi is out here in the crisp autumn morning, heading for the last place in the world he wants to be. He thinks of how Kyoutani helped him improve his fighting skills, both with his fists and with a knife. He recalls Kyoutani’s surprising patience as they went through each step over and over until Kunimi could execute attacks perfectly. He can still hear Kyoutani’s grunts of satisfaction whenever Kunimi landed a good blow or threw a knife with perfect form and accuracy. They always caused warmth to spread through Kunimi’s chest, a sense of pride in himself that he hadn’t felt since his own father complimented his volleyball skills.
And then there’s the way Kyoutani and Yahaba conduct themselves around each other. Kunimi has seen the soft way Kyoutani watches Yahaba, even while the latter is doing the most mundane things. He’s seen Yahaba’s gentle hands as they rub the kinks from Kyoutani’s shoulders, the way Kyoutani leans into Yahaba whenever they’re sitting beside each other. They try to hide how grossly they’re in love from him and Kindaichi, but Kunimi sees it in all the little things they do around each other and for each other.
And for some reason he doesn’t find it as gross as he probably would have if they were literally anyone else.
“Yahaba-san and Kyoutani-san are kind of like our parents, don’t you think?” Kindaichi asked one day as the two of them sorted through that week’s “payments.”
Kunimi paused, his hand clutching a can of dried tomatoes. “Yeah, I guess,” he said after a moment, setting the can on the shelf in front of him. He didn’t want to admit that he’d often thought the same these past few months.
“I feel bad but . . . when I close my eyes and think of my family, I see them first,” Kindaichi admitted, fidgeting with a loose string at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”
Kunimi glanced over at him. “Huh.”
Kindaichi grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, we really are like a family, right? I’m really happy here. I didn’t think I’d be happy again after . . .”
Kunimi set another can on the shelf. “Yeah.”
Now Kunimi sighs at the memory, knowing exactly why he’s pushing past the doors of the police station and walking up to the first officer he sees, despite the unpleasant tingle in his stomach that’s telling him to get out immediately before they recognize him as a thief and lock him away.
“Can I help you kid?” a tall, bored looking man asks, blinking slowly as he looks at Kunimi. His name badge reads “Matsukawa, I.”
“Is there a guy who turned himself in this morning? Short with blonde hair and black stripes running around his head? Perpetual scowl?”
“You mean that guy?” Matsukawa asks, gesturing over his shoulder to the holding cell, where Kunimi can see Kyoutani sitting with his hands clasped together between his knees, as he stares down at them. “He just came in and asked to be put in the cell. He didn’t tell us why. We’re running his prints now.”
Kunimi looks from Kyoutani back up to the officer quickly. “You don’t need to do that,” he says quickly. “That’s my cousin. He’s . . . not mentally stable, if you know what I mean. He lost his family in the July 10th attack.”
Matsukawa nods sympathetically. “We haven’t charged him with anything,” he says. “So I guess you can take him if you want. If you could though, write down your address for me just in case the prints turn up anything.” He leads Kunimi over his desk, sliding a pad and a pen over to him.
Kunimi writes down his old address, hoping Matsukawa won’t look too closely at it, before walking over to the cell. He grasps the bars, looking in at Kyoutani as Matsukawa gets out his keys to unlock the cell.
“Hey,” Kunimi says, waiting for Kyoutani to look up at him. He does with a faint frown. Kunimi nods encouragingly. “Mom’s really worried about you. Let’s go home, okay?”
Kyoutani shakes his head, not moving even as Matsukawa opens the door. “It’s better this way,” he says quietly, scowling at the floor.
“Fuck that,” Kunimi says, releasing the bars and walking around to enter the cell. “You have a family now. And doing this is just going to make us all feel like shit. So come on. Let’s go.” He holds out his hand. When Kyoutani continues to hesitate, Kunimi sighs.
“Nobody’s angry with you. Least of all Mom,” he says pointedly, hoping Kyoutani is receiving his hidden meaning. He’s not sure what to do if this doesn’t work. “She really loves you. She’s worrying herself sick over you. So you gotta come home. Come on.”
He shakes his hand, and this time Kyoutani takes it, pulling himself to his feet. “Thanks,” he murmurs, but Kunimi ignores this, turning instead to Matsukawa.
“I’m really okay to take him?”
Matsukawa nods. “We’ll keep in touch, though.”
“Great,” Kunimi says, leading Kyoutani out of the cell. It feels a little like leading a child, Kyoutani shuffling along behind him with his head bowed, his grip on Kunimi’s hand slack. Kunimi clutches his hand tightly, however, and doesn’t loosen his grasp until they’re outside the station and well down the road back to the store.
“You’re not that smart, are you?” Kunimi asks, as he lets go of Kyoutani’s hand.
“I thought you were afraid of me,” Kyoutani admits with a glower, shoulders hunching, as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Kunimi lies smoothly, keeping his gaze forward. “Kindaichi is though. He lost his whole family, you know? And he sees you and Yahaba-san like his new parents. It’d really break his heart if you left us and Yahaba-san. It’d be liking losing his dad all over again.” He turns to look Kyoutani in the eye then, stopping them short on the path. “So don’t ever let this happen again.”
Kyoutani stares back at him, his frown softening after a moment. He nods then, once. And Kunimi nods in response, satisfied. They arrive at the store, and Kunimi is relieved to see that nothing appears disturbed. Kindaichi sits on the counter inside, his hand still clutching the switchblade. His eyes widen when he sees them, and he hops off the counter with a grin.
“You found him!” he says happily, rushing forward.
Kunimi steps back, as Kindaichi flings his arms around Kyoutani’s neck, hugging him tightly. Kunimi stifles a snicker at the look of complete and utter shock on Kyoutani’s face. Slowly, he lifts his arms to wrap around Kindaichi in return, patting it awkwardly.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Kindaichi says, as he pulls away. “We were really worried!”
Kyoutani coughs, glaring down at his shoes with his face twisted in what Kunimi now recognizes as his embarrassed scowl. Before he can make any sort of reply, however, Yahaba bursts through the door, stopping short mid-stride and almost tripping over his feet. Kyoutani whirls around, catching his arms before Yahaba can fall.
“You’re back?” Yahaba asks, his voice hoarse. The bruising on his neck is more noticeable in the light from the morning, and Kyoutani’s eyes flicker towards it guiltily.
“I-I was going to turn myself in,” he admits, his voice a low rumble. “I figured it’d be safer if I—” He stutters into silence, as Yahaba smacks him hard on the shoulder.
“What the hell? Are you an idiot?!”
Kyoutani blinks, his lips parting but no words coming out, as he stares at Yahaba’s face. Yahaba’s eyes are red, and they shimmer with tears. A couple leak out, trailing down his face, as he grabs Kyoutani’s head between his hands.
“Don’t you ever leave me again, do you understand? How can you possibly think that after all this time that I would find that acceptable?”
“But I’m a mon—”
Kunimi takes a step back, feeling like he’s intruding on something private, but unable to tear his gaze away. His heart pounds faster in his chest, as he watches Yahaba cut Kyoutani off with a firm kiss. Kindaichi squeaks beside him, covering his face with his hands.
Kunimi smirks. “Gross,” he says, not meaning it in the slightest.
Yahaba pulls away, lowering his hands to Kyoutani’s shoulders. He glances over at Kunimi and Kindaichi, before turning his gaze back to Kyoutani.
“I love you, Kyoutani Kentarou,” he says. “And this,” he gestures to the boys next to them, “we are your family. Don’t think for a second that we consider you a monster, because we don’t. That might be what the world thinks, and that might be what you hear inside your head, but it’s not the truth, understand?”
Kyoutani looks somewhat dazed, but he nods. Yahaba gestures for Kindaichi and Kunimi to approach then, wrapping his arms around each of them as they step up to flank his sides. Kindaichi hugs him and Kyoutani back in return, and Kunimi sighs.
“This is lame,” he says, even as he lifts his arms to join in the group hug.
“Kunimi-kun is the one who found Kyoutani-san!” Kindaichi says brightly, and Kunimi frowns at him.
Yahaba smiles. “How did you convince him to come with you? He’s a stubborn bastard.”
Kyoutani scowls. “Hey,” he protests.
Kunimi shrugs, stepping out of the hug as it dissolves. “I just told him the truth,” he said. “That a family needs all its members.” He slides his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the way his ears are burning as the three in front of him look at him with various expressions of affection.
Kindaichi beams. “Aww, Kunimi-kun! You really do care!”
“Shut up.” Kunimi says, his neck and ears definitely feeling as though they’re on fire now.
But as the rest of them laugh, Kunimi can’t help but relax and grin in response.