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Kudou sat on cement, his fingertips trembled, his eyes were wide with shock, and he didn't move. He didn't shift his position, didn't let his eyes scan the room, and when he finally raised a hand to run through his tousled hair the few people that watched him with concern flinched.
No one had ever seen their leader like this before.
They'd stopped running about 15 minutes ago. It was clear All for One was no longer chasing. Why would he? He'd gotten what he wanted after all. Yoichi was dead.
That's all the monster wanted to see anyways, death, pain, suffering. Nothing could make a psychopath happy so if he couldn't feel joy nobody could. That was All for One.
Kudou had stared into the eyes of a madman for a split second, but it might as well have been hours. There was this overwhelming fear that still made adrenaline pump through his blood. In that second he saw everything, what made All for One's mind tick, what mattered to him, why nothing did.
It wasn't that the man had nothing to lose, it was that he wasn't able to lose. It was terrifying. Kudou couldn't win, he might as well have been up against an all-powerful god.
But what terrified him more? Unlike All for One, Kudou had nothing anymore.
Everything that mattered to Kudou enough to make it worth keeping died with Yoichi. He didn't care if his quirk got taken, he didn't care if his life got taken. He didn't care if the people around him or all the oxygen in the room was whisked away in the blink of an eye. It didn't matter, because there was no hope anymore.
Now Kudou just sat. He sat in the basement of an abandoned building, a room filled with a handful of rebellion members and a despair that was all his. Everyone noticed, and everyone veered away. That was for the best.
Kudou didn't notice the footsteps that approached, again, not like they mattered. When he looked up he saw Bruce. Bruce, who'd been by his side longer than Yoichi, longer than the rebellion, and yet just like a stranger, had never seen Kudou like this.
Bruce looked nervous as his hand held out a rag to his friend. "You should clean up." Was all he said. He was probably right. Yoichi's blood still stained Kudou's face, the taste of iron lingered in his mouth. Kudou took the rag, but his hand fell to his side rather than raising the washcloth to his face.
Bruce didn't comment, nor did Kudou. The former simply walked away.
That blood remained on Kudou's face for an unhealthy amount of time. Even as Kudou and Bruce scouted the city to find a place to make a new homebase, even as they lead the group to the spot they found, even as they settled into whatever that trashed city building used to be. The rag remained unused in his pocket.
Disgustingly enough Kudou found his tongue running over his lips a lot. Everytime he did that awful taste re-entered his mouth. The dried stain on his lips made them crack and dry out. He could fix the issue. It was simple, but as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looming over a sink that probably hadn't been used in months if not years, he found himself hesitating.
The blood hadn't reached his clothes, once he wiped it from his skin that would be it. There would be no trace, no reminder, any evidence of Yoichi rinsing down the drain.
He couldn't do it.
He suddenly regretted casually tossing away white hairs that he found lingering on his clothes, throwing out old jackets that had a few too many rips to be usable, carelessly getting rid of the memories he'd stupidly thought he'd never have to just remember.
Now he had one thing left, and it was a biohazard.
Kudou fished the rag out of his pocket and turned the handle to the sink. He wet the cloth, squeezing out any excess water with his still shaky hands, and looked in the mirror. Was this the last time he'd ever see a piece of Yoichi? Would he live out however long he had left of his life like this? Would he forget?
Kudou re-wet his dried lips one more time. The sweet iron taste filling his mouth again.
He didn't want to say goodbye, nobody ever did. Cautiously he pressed the damp cloth to his cheek, it was cool, and nice, and clean.
Kudou exhaled. He cleared any trace of red from his face, around his cheek, his temple, his jaw, and over his lips.
There was so little to even wipe off that went Kudou ran the rag under the faucet again the water wasn't even tinted. He wiped his entire face one more time, just to be certain. Like he was checking that Yoichi was really gone. All that was left was clear, clean, skin.
His breath shuddered. That was it, that was the last of him. There was no more. There wasn't even a corpse.
Kudou was far from acceptance, he'd barely begun to grieve. He wasn't even out of denial yet.
Every other time he'd lost something he told himself to man up, to stop whining. This was a war, things were lost, people were lost. Kudou knew so, so much about loss. There was no time to grieve, you accept it and you move on.
But how was Kudou supposed to accept this? The only thing he could accept was he was utterly hopeless. There was nothing left to root for. It was over, the game was done, the timer ran out, and Kudou stood on the losing side.
Tears pricked in his eyes and he desperately moved to wipe them away. The tears were faster than he was and a few managed to slip down his cheeks. He gritted his teeth and tried to breath but only ended up hiccuping like a little kid. Shaky breaths replaced steady ones and Kudou only shook his head like he wouldn't allow this to happen.
But he couldn't help but feel. It's what made him who he was, it's what made him soft, soft enough for Yoichi to love.
Kudou's tongue ran between his lips again.
He only tasted salt.