Mᴜᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

“ Y–you make it sound so childish..! Ehh.. I.. I guess it sort of is…! Um.. okay, here, I went to t–the police station.. and the college… s–so a little ways away. “

And she’s fumbling with her bag, slipping it off; the fabric bulging with her collective goods.

     “ It is. Even if you call it scavenging, it sounds like it would be more of a treasure hunt when looking at who did it. ... You’d think both of those places would be ransacked by now. Guess you got lucky. ”

“ A—are you hurt—? Is.. is exhaustion the only thing? “

She shudders with relief, head bowing; gentle blonde locks brushing his own to clash colors. Tears are held back— she’s too much of a worrywart. But, in these times, who could blame her. Her hands still rest on him, dampening; soft ocean eyes flickering here and there, hoping not to find anything wrong with him.

“Y…you made it back, though. You’re s—safe. “

“ Exhaustion and a near heart attack. ”

The uncomfortable proximity of her face to his makes him want to sink into the ground and never come back. Red floods his cheeks, head turning so he can avoid watching her for any longer than he must. Geez, did she get concerned over everyone’s health to this extent? God help him if she does. 

“ T—Takumi! “

A cry above the rest; little legs carrying her forth. Trembling hands clutch his shoulders, her eyes wide and fearful. Gently, small and slender fingers brush his bangs away, vigilant for wounds.

“ What happened— are you hurt again? What’s wrong? W—wake up! Wake up, please please p—please… “

Figures it would be the biggest worrywart of the bunch to approach him.

The footsteps make the ringing in his ears worse, low groan that remains near inaudible escaping. Sticky bangs are drawn away, the only liquid having kept there being sweat (ah, if it had been blood though...).  

He is an oil spill; toxic and liable to smear tar on all that he comes in contact with. He is the nightmare that haunts ones dreams; the person you hide from, you pray doesn’t find you. He isn’t quite death, but suffering. And he takes pleasure in the fear in the others eyes.

“ What’s wrong, what’s with that look in your eyes? Ha—hahaha! Oh man, what a riot! You must be so scared right now, come on; you can admit it; you don’t have to hide your feelings— “

The knife finds it’s mark, lodging into the soft part of his shoulder. Pain mixed with subtle rage runs through his veins. The man pauses in his advance, seemingly stunned by the attack—

A smile. 

“ Come now, come now! Running with scissors, are we? “

The blade ripped from his shoulder, a grunt the only indication of his agony. Blood blackens his coat now, the slick substance coating the blade. A laugh, low and furious, makes itself known. The sound of a madman.

Inhuman. This thing has no right to be referred to with terms reserved for people like himself, breath hitching when the reaction is the opposite of the predicted. Who... Who the hell laughs when a knife embeds itself into their shoulder?! 

The option to admit is fear is null, already feeling degraded enough by his split-second choice to throw his only form of defense. Ah, how absolutely foolish of him. 

Heart lodges itself in his throat, feet shuffling further backwards. This can’t be the way he goes out. Not by the hands of a man thing that would think nothing of murder, one without remorse to stain their thoughts.

Run.

The voice of logic draws his attention away from Tetsuya, fingers burying themselves into his palms. One, two, three, four, five...

Closer, closer and closer he comes. Humor in his throat and malice in those cabochons of blood. Steps are bold, eyes glued on his prey, and he soon gestures at the blade at hand like it’s a toy.

“ Playing tough; are we? “

The pistol at his hip is revealed.

“ You’re joking, honey, you’re joking! You think I was talking about people? I’m talking about the rats you scurry around with. Always in packs, you vermin travel in them! If you’re not taking the lead in this dance, shall I? “

People like this are the type he has wished to avoid all along. Those who disregard morality in the midst of the apocalypse and every cell of blood freezes around his bones at the realization.

“ Nn-- ”

Stoic facials snap, fear flashing in his eyes as sight directs to the weapon on the stranger’s side. If he dies here, what the hell will he be able to say to them? Fists clench, blade looking to cut into anyone’s flesh by this point. 

Attention, he gives it all; even if it is to mock the ones he encounters. The king stands tall and confident— his subjects the flies that dart around in their endless haze. Another laugh, a hand coming up to brush through his bangs— and those crimson hues narrow.

Another step forward; casual.

“ The rat thinks he can analyze me— oh, oh this is rich! Look at your footing; look at your posture— you’re scared. Keep that tongue in check or I might just feed it to your family. Why don’t you make me, darling? “

It’s almost a mirror if he ignores the obvious personality differences and the way the world has changed them both. The switchblade dangles in his hand, two fingers gripping the handle as he chooses to drop his expression into one without emotion to manipulate it.

Another step backward; observing.

“ An empty threat from someone that clearly has a God complex. What makes you believe family has any room in these times? I won’t make you do anything to avoid dirtying my hands. ”

He turns full on, hands stuffed in his coat pockets for the time being— a wicked grin on pale lips; pale as the death that whispers out from between his teeth. Toxin are his words, his eyes a concoction of the devils elixir. A laugh, deep in his throat, threatening. Malice is not uncommon.

He steps off his throne; head cocked to the side.

“ I step on the rats, little boy. I don’t see many around here— so, no, I think I’ll play with you for a while; haha! You have a name, hm? ‘

Attention is the last thing he wishes for right now. Scowl grows on his face, grip on blade tightening and muscles tense in anticipation. Malevolence radiates from the one atop the pile, feet shifting back as his adversary steps forward. 

He clicks his tongue, ready to turn and run if it comes to it.

“ Tsk, nothing interesting— “

A bold man, tall and lean, standing in the middle of this trash heap; talking to himself— possibly— in loud tones. Raven locks long and braid brushing the ground; his coat to his calves and surprisingly clean. 

A tilt of his head, and red optics catch movement. Visage lights up, death in the form of a smile.

“ Nothing interesting, nothing at all! Except for the rat whose trying to scamper away. “

Spotted.

There’s a hint of recognition in his eyes, false red oculars glancing towards the one standing among his own kind. Talk about a loudmouth; who does that when in such a situation? Foolish move, though it seems judgement may be passed too early. 

     Let it be known that his trust in others still remains low.

    Especially when coming across those who look as if they could take him down in a snap. Not that Takumi wishes to admit that he’s weak, but the truth exists even with his denial. 

Independent— dependent— what mattered anymore? You have to rely on others sometimes to survive, you must strive out on your own at other times— anything, everything for survival. Except for defeat. 

“ …Please? “

A soft plea, tender and delicate as her eyes.

“ You need to eat, or you won’t get better. Just.. a little bit would be enough. “

If it must be that way, he’ll take the route of remaining solo for as long as he can. Alliances are for those that wish to suffer more when a person they’ve befriended winds up bleeding out on the ground. What’s the point of living like that?

“ ... ”

Stolid expression gives way to a sigh, hand raking through his hair. 

She wants to help him, aid him in his struggle upwards— but refrains from doing so; out of simple fear of rejection. 

“ Eat. “

She sees through his lie, as a liar herself— it’s quite easy to see through it. Still holding out the meal, she looks at him with a certain firmness in her eyes; but the soft sweetness is still there.

Independence on any subject (besides medical care apparently) are sacred. Complete and utter dependence is for those without a backbone (which, from prior displays, only seems to just now be sprouting in the other).

“ No. ”

She watches him still— the bread and water in either small hand. At these times, she’s learned that being docile all the time isn’t going to work— so, instead, she must be brave.

“ Um.. you should e—eat before you get up. Here, the breads still warm! “

And she holds out his portion, along with the water.

Bravery does nothing to wave his attitude to another side. He refrains from speaking in response, only gripping onto the closest solid object and pushing himself up further. 

“ Not hungry. ”