#dkwtd

"Cheaper to give out a mask mandate and move the vulnerable away from the city." Shun takes a pensive drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. Aren sniffs, wrinkling his nose.

"That smells even worse than the fire powder."

Shun chuckles, cigarette crackling. "My lungs are screwed anyway."

"I guess." Aren looks up at the craters and bullet holes littering the university building. Jaunty music played on off-tune guitars and random objects can be heard in the distance. A glass shatters as a trumpet-sounding instrument reaches a high note, accompanied by the rattling of a windchime. 

The library retains its structure for the most part, tucked amongst taller edifices guarding its knowledge. Shun's sneakers squeak as he climbs the short set of stairs, extracting a keyring from his pocket. 

"How'd you get a key? You've only been going here for a day," Aren asks as he moseys past Shun, who holds the door open for him. The lights aren't even on.

"Nepotism." Shun puts out his cigarette before entering the building. "I should read up on bio before I go tomorrow. I don't remember a single thing. Maybe you should, too, mister 'you-need-to-relieve-your-erection-or-you'll-pass-out'."

Aren makes a noncommittal hum, turning away to hide his embarrassment. "Sounds boring."

Even though the contents of the vast shelves are uninteresting to Aren, he can't help but take in a shocked breath at the sheer amount of information, all labeled and stored neatly. The carpeted floor has been recently cleaned, and walls have been painted with a fresh coat of maroon, still cold to the touch. It's quite the far cry away from the outdated library at PK Academy.

"The professor's surname is Saiki," Shun says after a moment.

"There's what, like a thousand people named Saiki in Japan? Just a coincidence," Aren says without thinking, still taking in the filtrated smell of books, much cleaner than the streets outside. He follows Shun to the nonfiction section, walking down the aisle until the spines of the books are covered in cells and plants and anatomy and other things having to do with biology. Shun grabs a book off of the shelf and points at the cover. 

"Pop quiz! What is this?" 

"Ahm. Uh." It just looks like a jumble of blue-white scribbles. Like lightning, but this is biology, so it has to be in his body. Wait, his body has electricity in it! "Electricity!"

"Close. Super close." Shun tilts the book, egging him on for the answer.

"Veins. Blood vessels. Brain."

"Brain?" Shun nods his head.

"Nerves."

"Boom." Shun shoves the singed book into his arms. "You need to stay smart since you're not going to do post-secondary."

Aren's knees bend a bit under the weight of the large volume, whose subject seems to be only the nervous system. How can so many words be written on just a smaller part of the human body? "You're getting stronger. Eating more?"

"Of course." Shun chews on the inside of his cheek as he browses the dense shelves. "If I reverted my body to the way it was a year ago, I'd keel over from this air alone." 

Aren heaves the thick book back into its place. "It's already been a year, huh."

"D-don't reminisce about that," Shun stutters. "I don't want to think about it."

"What, are you still not over him?" Aren puts his hands in his pockets, responding carelessly.

"I won't take you to ramen later."

"Come on. Fine, I won't say shit." Aren adjusts his square glasses, shifting in the uncomfortable silence. Shun drags a hand across several of the broad spines, but his eyes gloss over the titles all the same. He's thinking about it.

"I still see him sometimes," Shun mutters after a moment, hunched over. His hand falls limp at his side, gazing wearily at the text in front of him.

"Do you need more pills?" Aren asks. "I can drop by the pharmacy."

"No, that's not what I mean." Aren draws closer to hear Shun's pained murmurs. "They help, but they don't fully take away those visions. It slips, on occasion." 

Aren leans against the bookshelf, crossing his arms. "Is he doing well, at least?"

"I don't know. He just looks at me."

"Mm. Well, he *was* a looker."

"You're not allowed to make those jokes," Shun says with a small smile.

He shrugs. "If you don't laugh about it, you get mad about it. Then, you hurt someone."

-

The door to the apartment snaps shut. The clinks of keys jingling against each other echo throughout the dead silent apartment as Shun and Aren step out of their shoes. Aren stretches, yawning obnoxiously. "Mm. I'm tired."

"I couldn't tell." Shun collapses into an armchair by the tall windows to their balcony, overlooking the shattered city. That final attack a few months ago has absolutely devastated the once prosperous capital. White phosphorus poured into every crevice, planes speeding above. It was indefensible, carpet-bombing a well established nation like that. A civil war between loyalists and radicals doesn't excuse it. Shun lights himself another cigarette.

"Aren, why do you think America's allies turned against them?" It doesn't make any sense to him. Time and time again, that country has waged war for such small reasons, and Europe remained indifferent. Why was this the droplet that caused the mug to overflow? Why did they side with the communists? His father could probably explain it him, but he's not been able to speak to him for just as long, too busy being a statesman. Aren is silent for a moment, thinking. 

"When a dude has a really big gun and starts shooting innocent people, even his friends would be scared."

"But those friends stood to make a lot of money from that death."

"They don't have the big gun, though. Nothing stopping that dude from taking all of the money for himself."

Shun sighs, smoke billowing from his nostrils. Orange light crackles in his face. Buildings are still spontaneously combusting from the thermal weaponry. Large pillars of smoke stretch upward in place of skyscrapers. "That didn't stop them from burying us in debt."

"Weren't Russia and China going to pay that off for us?"

"Only half. Eighty billion *United States dollars*." Shun intonates the currency with disdain, and he takes a nervous drag. "Have you heard anything from Teruhashi?"

"Nope." Aren collapses onto the sofa. "She's gone off the grid."

"That's fair," Shun mutters. "She doesn't want to be used again. I wonder how Saiko's dealing with that."

"Probably complaining about being a peasant," Aren chuckles, and Shun lets out an amused giggle.

"Imagine! That spotless skin, wrinkling up from sun damage."

"Tch. Maybe it's a good thing they let him off easy."

Shun raises an eyebrow. "Guillotine Anarchist Guy has had a change of heart."

"You know what, yeah." Aren snatches Shun's cigarette to take a short drag before putting it back in his mouth. Shun blinks. "This rehabilitation thing, it ain't so bad. He's off being a rice farmer instead of dead or being tortured. It's a net positive."

Shun wrinkles his nose, offended at the used cigarette in his mouth. "You could've asked."

-

The walk to campus is fairly short and uneventful. Shun's shoes tap against the concrete, echoing throughout the eerily quiet city. The occasional construction noise rings in the distance.

The chairs in the lecture hall are a bit uncomfortable. Only two other students have arrived on time, and the front desk is empty. Shun clenches his fist, sweating, waiting with bated breath for the professor to stride inside. Professor Saiki. Professor Saiki. It sounds so strange.

The chamber gradually fills up with students, weary-eyed and tired. Then, the professor walks through the open door in a stained lab-coat, a portfolio tucked underneath his arm. He's blonde. And that lengthy hairdo. He turns to face his class with a clinical look.

That is. That's. "I am Doctor— Professor— Saiki Kuusuke, and this will be a boring class. The labs are completely decimated, there is only enough electricity for lights, and the air conditioning is shot. So, pictures will have to do."

Where is the air?! It seems to escape his attempts at deep breathing, not wanting to cause a scene, but it can't be helped. Shun lowers his head in an attempt to keep the blood flowing to it. His vision blurs, the sound of the professor's disinterested drone fading in and out. This can't be stopped. He's going to...

-

"He's..." Mister Saiki trails off, staring at nothing. His wife bursts into tears, thrusting her head into his chest. He tries to keep it together for her, but his voice cracks. "I was going to apologize. Being in this house alone was making me think... wasn't that the whole point of him leaving us? But he's..."

Missus Saiki drops the coffee jelly clutched in her trembling hand. The glass dish shatters against the doorframe, shards shooting out in all directions, and the soft jelly it was holding takes the shape of the ground it falls onto. She had thought that it was her son who was at the door. No, it was news of his death.

Her sorrow is suffocating. Shun tries to remain there, to be as stoic as the boy that once lived, but his body tells him otherwise. Like a hunger, an uncontrollable will to run fills the recesses of his mind, lacing every conscious thought until it overwhelms him. Shun shoves past Aren and runs, as fast as he can, away from the grieving Saiki home.

-

"You're Shun." A silhouette leans over him, darkening his vision. He can feel that demeaning presence above him. It makes his skin crawl. His body is too weak to flee from that immediate danger. 

The professor tries to sit him up, but Shun forces him off; shove that *filth* away! "'Shun'?! Don't call me that! Get your hands off of me!"

"Whoa. Hey. I'm just trying to help. Your blood pressure is low. I have electrolytes." Kuusuke offers him an opaque bottle. No. No, that's poison or hallucinogenics or something. He's going to try and kidnap him! His hands hook under Shun's back and legs, and Kuusuke lifts him up with a grunt of effort. 

Shun pushes against his face, flailing around in his firm grip. "HELP! HELP!"

"I am!" Kuusuke responds, annoyed. No, he isn't! This is just a tactic of manipulating the passersby into thinking so! He's about to be trapped in a dungeon of sorts! In a test tube as an experiment, yet nobody is helping! He can still hear that suppressed chuckle as thousands are martyred at his hands. He can still see that sadistic smile. Torturing his brother, torturing Shun— this man is not capable of reconciliation! A trail of blood follows him wherever he walks, as it does his whole family. How is he here? A professor? What is his ploy?

Kuusuke finally drops him onto some cold tile in a bright place. This stench— it's the bathroom. Shun hears the metallic clink of that water bottle next to him, followed by the crinkling of a wrapper being thrown onto the ground. "There. The faster you pull yourself together, the faster you may get back to class."

Then, he leaves. Just like that. Shun breathes heavily, shoulders tense and sweating. He... left? He could've sworn he was going to do something to him, something nasty. Shun clutches at his aching chest, catching his breath. He's gone.

-

The lecture is as boring as promised, even with the low resolution pictures of cells being projected onto the silver screen. The students filter out once it is done, some stealing glances at Shun as they leave, causing him to look away with an embarrassed flush.

"Mister Kaidou, can you hang back?" He hears the professor call. So, he's learned his surname. It's not like he has a choice anyway. His arms and legs are disobeying him, with their sudden jitters and constant trembling. The professor draws nearer once the chamber is empty, more cautious this time. "We must converse. Do you agree?"

"H-hasn't everything already been said?" Shun stammers, nervous even with the earlier gesture of goodwill. Kuusuke shakes his head.

"My captivity has changed me. They treated me like a citizen despite my heinous actions against this country. Being a professor here is part of my rehabilitation program. They concluded that, if I have students to care about, it will help my empathy develop from its inadequate state."

"How's that going?" Shun asks, skeptical.

"I *helped* you." He says it with a tone of disbelief. "I can say that I wouldn't have done so two years ago."

"And... this is all because of the program?"

"No," Kuusuke admits. "There also just isn't a point to being a terrible person if my brother isn't alive to balance it out. So, I think that we should start a new relationship together, without the burdens of our past."

"Your past, you mean."

"My past." Kuusuke averts his staring eyes. "Yes. Yes, you haven't done many things wrong. You treated my brother quite well in the past. I *really* do regret getting in between you two. That is why I plan to fix that."

"'Fix'?" Shun wrinkles his nose bridge, confused. "How can you fix that? He's dead. Are you going to..."

"Resurrect him?" Kuusuke fixes his coat. "Yes. And you're quite clever, so I am asking for you to assist me."

"Hm." He rubs his eyes, tired of staring at the bright screen in the dim laboratory. "I would do the same."

"It's hard to believe that," Shun admits. The monitor's blue light reflects off of the glassware stacked beside him, and it dims as Kuusuke minimizes the window he was working on.

"Why?"

"Did you know that Saiko had a camera in that room?"

The silhouette in front of him goes eerily still. "No."

"I had to space that footage out over months; it was that hard to stomach what you did to him. It was daily, as well. You tormented him for every hour of every day for three months. Do you think he'll remember that when he comes back? Or would the drugs have made those memories too hazy for him to discern?"

Kuusuke doesn't respond. The computer tower whirs in the silence, fans filtering air through and from the vents.

"Is. Is he even going to be sane once he comes back?"

"Madame Teruhashi probably helped in that regard." He stands, dragging his keys from his desk. "We need his body first."

Shun sighs as he follows him out. "You have gas?"

"I'm the government's special man," Kuusuke replies with a smirk.

-

"It isn't at his grave." Shun bites his painted nails as Kuusuke turns the small car in the wrong direction. He glances at Shun with a furrowed brow.

"His body isn't at his grave?" He makes a U-turn. "Where is it, then?"

"A cold storage unit in the next prefecture."

"I know the place you mean. He's in one piece, then." Kuusuke breathes a sigh of relief. "I thought I had to reconstruct him from his ashes. Good job."

Good job? Kuusuke holds his shoulder in approval before returning it to the gear shift, and Shun bites his nails harder. He feels *proud* of himself. He shouldn't feel that way, not when those words are leaving that perverted mouth. If anything, he should feel the opposite way, helping this sadistic torturer. Keeping Kusuo preserved like that— it wasn't foresight. It was his inability to let go and a willingness to suspend Kusuo's spirit to this plane he so desperately wanted to leave. Why is he glad about this? He's no better than the man next to him.

Ah, so he should just play along if they are so similar. Don't worry about any of that pesky morality business. They both want him back, so they'll get him back.

The handle to the cold door is heavy, solid metal separating the two climates. Kuusuke helps him open it upon witnessing Shun's inadequate strength.

"I use this one, too," he remarks, glancing at the label. "Unit three."

The blast of frigid air expected from the chamber's opening doesn't come. Shun steps inside. Room temperature. Kuusuke picks up a jar with a rotten bit of flesh in it, vaguely resembling an organ. "Damn. They're all spoiled now."

"No power," Shun mutters to himself, staring at the freezer in the back of the room.

"That should've fared better," Kuusuke comments, averting his attention to the appliance. "The larger blackout only started about a week ago."

Shun heaves the freezer open and sticks his hand in it. Still cold. Good, that's good. Kuusuke walks up behind him, mouth hanging open. "Kusuo."

"He's not really there," Shun says quickly, aware of the emotions behind that illegible face. "That isn't him."

"It feels like it," Kuusuke whispers, outstretching his hand. Kusuo's body lies propped up in the preservative box, head lulling to the side, eyes staring forward without a single sign of life. A deep blotch of crimson is present on the right side of his face, flushed against the gray of his bloodless flesh. "For so long, all I had were memories."

Shun slaps his hand away before it can make contact with Kusuo's chest. "Don't do weird stuff to it."

"I'm not!" Kuusuke exclaims, offended. "What do you take me for, an animal?!"

"Exactly."

He falters. Shun can see the shame in his typically uptight body language, even with that characteristic smirk stuck to his face.

-

"You're helping that piece of shit?!"

Shun recoils at Aren's sudden volume. "N-no! We're just... collaborating! A temporary alliance!"

"Fuck that, you're helping him!" Aren clenches his fist, but he stays glued to the counter he is leaning on. A vein in his temple is threatening to burst. A pot boils next to him, and various soup ingredients and spices are strewn throughout the kitchen. Shun's grip tightens around the strap of his book bag, stepping back toward the apartment entrance. Aren glares for a moment longer before letting out a long exhale. "Talk."

Shun shifts uncomfortably. "It's important."

"What. What is important." He's trying to keep his tone measured. 

Shun chews his lip. He doesn't know how Aren would react. He *shot* Kusuo and showed little remorse afterward. He probably hates him. And to tell him that Kusuo is coming back? Shun glances at Aren's trembling fists. He was always jealous of Kusuo, Shun suspected. With their strange relationship up in the air, the outcome is entirely unpredictable. A neutral response, then. "It. It just is."

"That crazy piece of shit has caused both of us so much pain, and you're fucking helping him for no good reason." He gestures to his inanimate leg, and his tone is low. Dangerous. "Get out."

"But I'm the one that—"

"Get the *fuck* out!" A plate narrowly misses Shun's head, shattering against the wall behind him, and he books it.

-

"Clocking back in?" Kuusuke's office chair rattles as he turns to face him. "Oh. You look a little worse for wear."

Shun tries to fix his pale, disheveled hair as he shuffles into the laboratory. A table has been moved to the center of the room, lit up by a standing spotlight. The cadaver lies on top, tubes and cables stretching to and fro. Monitors are stacked atop steel carts, one of which shows a flat line. Kuusuke stands, cradling the brain scanner. "I wonder..."

"Wonder?" Shun asks, letting his bag fall off of his shoulder and onto the tiled floor.

"If there is brain activity, even though he seems dead."

"After so much time?" He doubts it. Kuusuke tucks the device around Kusuo's head.

"I thought I felt a heartbeat," Kuusuke mutters. 

Shun steps closer, eyes narrow. He places a hand on Kusuo's chest, only to feel a stone cold sensation. No movement at all. It sends a chill down his spine, and he quickly withdraws. "How?"

"It was just the one. I am uncertain of its reality." Kuusuke sits back down at his computer, a silhouette against the bright rectangle in front of him. The room seems even darker with this large spotlight in the middle, to the point of void creeping along the outer edges. Even in that void, the stowed glassware glistens brilliantly. "Kaidou, come here."

Shun leans back, craning his head to look at the screen. A window with what looks like a top view of the brain is maximized on the large monitor. The diagram is mostly blue— dead— but in the back is a splotch of yellow. His eyes widen. "Is that..."

"Brain activity." Kuusuke scoffs with disbelief. He points at the screen, mouth agape as Shun hunches over the desk to observe. "I... I have no explanation."

"Me neither," he breathes.

Kuusuke rubs his eyes and massages his temples. "I can't be brilliant without sleep."

Shun straightens up. "Sleep, then."

The professor blinks up at him. "You don't want to continue? You came back here for that reason, did you not? This will be easier than I initially thought."

"I came here to sleep," Shun corrects him. 

Kuusuke glances at the book bag behind near the entrance with a look of concern. "Do you have everything you need in there?"

"Just books." Shun quiets his voice as he gets more and more embarrassed. "I had to get out... quickly."

"How do you manage that?"

"I got kicked out of my own apartment," Shun murmurs.

Kuusuke sighs as he lifts himself from his office chair. "I will be back with an assortment of home essentials."

-

Aren grips the edges of the bathroom sink, knuckles white as he stares at himself in the cracked mirror.

He shouldn't have done that. 

His heart sinks further at the recollection of Shun's frightened stare, pinprick pupils refusing to recognize the danger before him as human. Aren presses his bulging eyes down, his very cranium aching with self-restraint.

That visceral reaction to a mere mention of Kuusuke was entirely uncontrollable. The rage coursed through his veins, caused him to shake as he resisted the urge to punch the poor, defenseless boy in front of him.

Aren stumbles out of the bathroom, missing the light switch. He can taste the alcohol in his own breath. This stupor he'll thrust himself into will be inescapable. This way, he can't hurt Shun.

-

Shun startles a bit once the door opens back up, not expecting Kuusuke to keep his word. He lifts his head up from the makeshift pillow of hardcover textbooks. The professor's silhouette remains criminally foreboding, even as he struggles to balance toothbrushes, deodorant, and other items upon the blankets he carries. A couple of boxes fall to the floor as Kuusuke heaves it all onto an empty table.

"Hm? Clothes?" Shun lifts a white tee from the pile.

"What else would you wear? A hollow barrel with belts strapped to it?"

Shun suppresses a chuckle, denying Kuusuke the satisfaction of laughter. He remains serious. "I guess not."

The professor hands him a corner of the blanket. "Is the material to your liking?"

"Does that even matter?" Shun mumbles. It's very soft, reminiscent of mink.

Kuusuke furrows his brows, confused. "Obviously. Sleep is important."

Shun continues to rub his fingers on the comforting fabric. "No, I mean... would you even get a different blanket if I didn't like this one?"

"Yes." Kuusuke blinks. "Maybe. But I knew you would like that one. It's the same one Kusuo had."

"The... *same*?" Shun glances at it, pulling it closer.

"Correct." Kuusuke scratches his head as watches Shun fail to *discreetly* smell it. "Ahm. It's getting late. I will go."

"Why do you have this?" Shun asks as he drapes himself in it.

The professor hesitates to pick up his bag, debating whether to tell the truth or not. "I took it with me when I adjourned to London."

Shun scrunches his nose at him, remembering the video taken from the airport terminal, a loud slap echoing in his mind, digitally compressed by social media. The man averts his eyes.

"It wasn't of his own volition."

-

Three days apart should've cooled things down by now. Shun grips the railing of the stairwell of the apartment building as he forces himself up. He can't have been that mad, right? He rests his hands upon his knees, trying to catch his breath. A little disagreement like that can't tear down a relationship of so many years. Despite these rationalizations, he shivers. That plate was thrown with enough force to kill him. He'd never seen Aren that angry, that hateful.

But he's okay now, right? Surely. The doorknob rattles underneath Shun's unstable hand, and he swallows hard. Aren wouldn't hurt him on purpose. 

On *purpose*. Shun shakes the doubt out of his system before unlocking the door to his apartment and shoving it open.

There isn't a single light on. The ominous void seems to pulsate just outside of the light cast from the hallway. Shun wipes his forehead. The wooden floor creaks as he steps out of his shoes, yet everything else stays eerily quiet. There is no movement within the apartment at all, not a single vibration. The only affirmation of the residence's reality is the hard floor pressing against the bottoms of Shun's feet.

There should be a lantern around here. Shun stretches a hand out in front of him in order to not bruise himself on some invisible kitchen countertop. He feels around the vague memory of the designated lantern location before finding purchase upon the object in question.

A shift, perhaps of fabric, behind him. Shun whips around, leaning against the counter and holding up the luminous object, making visible the pile of blankets and pillows on the sofa. They rise and fall, muffled, slow breaths coming from beneath them. He's sleeping. At midday, with the blackout blinds down.

"Aren?" He asks in a quiet voice, still afraid to wake the slumbering beast. No reaction. Shun places the dim lantern on the coffee table, and Aren remains none the wiser. He extracts a scalpel from his bag. The white light reflects off of its sterilized surface, soon to be coated in red. Shun leans over Aren, scrunching his nose at the distinct smell of alcohol practically radiating off of the man below.

Shun gulps, blade trembling as he slowly peels away each layer of blanket that Aren has coated himself in. It's okay. Remember what Kuusuke said.

"His organs are too decayed to resuscitate him at the moment. That and the blood in most of his blood vessels has congealed and grown almost solid. The only artery still somewhat flowing is the carotid." Kuusuke stares at the computer screen, and Shun follows his gaze as he explains. "We need to clear his blood vessels of that useless trash and put in new blood, and we need to replace his organs with properly preserved, donated ones."

"Great. Simple." Shun kicks the floor, uncertain. "How do we get that?"

Kuusuke turns in his chair to stare at him. "There probably aren't many left in Japan due to the war and power outage. We'll have to harvest them fresh."

"Harvest...?"

"Correct." His expression is unfazed at the prospect of murdering people in their sleep by taking away their vital organs. However, he furrows a brow, looking almost worried. "You can find a liver and kidney. Those don't kill. I'll find a way to do the rest."

"Right." Shun narrows his eyes at the floor, thinking about it before shaking his head. "No. No! Kusuo wouldn't want anyone to die because of him."

Kuusuke blinks up at him. "Unfortunately, organ fabrication technology is far ahead of our time and budget."

Shun scrounges his mind for an alternative. "He can heal, right? We can just increase his heartbeat to make him conscious again and then he'll regenerate his body back healthy."

"That is highly improbable. He's been dead for over a year, I doubt his body can even sustain psychic powers at this point. That would overload his brain and kill him for good."

Aren would understand... right? He wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't mind losing an organ or two. He probably hates Shun, anyway. He probably doesn't care at all, seeing as he has drowned himself in liquor. Is giving Kusuo a liquor-filled liver a good idea? The scalpel shudders lower, pressing against Aren's loose T-shirt as Shun holds a chloroform-saturated towel above his face.

This is okay. Yeah, this is okay. Aren looks peaceful here, deep in slumber. He'll stay peaceful. The towel hovers over Aren's nostrils. It's alright.

Shit, no, it isn't. Shun throws the blade to the floor, breathing heavily. No, no, no. It makes a loud noise upon coming into contact with the kitchen counter, metal clashing against the hard surface. Aren's eyebrows twitch as he regains consciousness, and Shun sprints out of his apartment as fast as he can. 

"Shun?" Aren calls, to no response.

-

"I can't do it. I can't do it," Shun mutters to himself, legs burning with overexertion. He struggles to breathe as he holds his side, feeling as though a knife has been forced through him. Stopping at the gate to the university campus, he takes a breather, leaning on his trembling knees.

"Hiya!" Shun's head shoots up at a girl's loud voice, seemingly addressing him. "Do you go here?"

She leans on the tall fence, hand on her hip as she waits for a response. Her hair is bleached blonde, makeup heavy and long nails painted with an assortment of patterns. Shun nods his head, panting.

"Awesome! Let us in, we're looking for someone." She walks up next to him, glancing at the gate with an expectant look only to receive nothing. "Well?"

"What?" Shun says in between breaths. "Why would I let you in— hff— if you don't go here?"

"Like I said, we're looking for someone." She takes on a more defensive tone.

Curiosity gets the best of him. "Who?" 

A blonde boy peeks out from behind her, eyes wide. "Pink hair, purple eyes, nonchalant demeanor, average height, lightweight, blood type: O negative, star sign: Leo, big willy, masochist, possible psychic, name: Saiki Ku—."

"Shut up!" The girl says behind her teeth, clapping a hand over the boy's mouth. She turns back to Shun, apologetic. "Sorry about that. His name is Saiki Kusuo. At least we think it is."

"Right." Shun wipes the sweat from his forehead. What? How could these random people know who Kusuo is? Especially the boy. He knew him intimately enough to ascertain that he has a so-called 'big willy'? Even Shun doesn't know that. "Who are you?"

"My name—" The girl tightens her grip over his mouth. "I'm Aiura Mikoto. I do fortune telling and shit. This is Akechi Touma, formerly Asumi. You don't know an Asumi?"

Shun shakes his head, straightening up. "No, Kusuo has never mentioned him."

"'Kusuo'? So you know him? Can you lead us to him?"

"Uhm. Uh. No." Shun wipes even more sweat from his forehead. These two look so excited to meet him. How is he going to break the news?

Aiura narrows her eyes. "Why not?"

"He's a *little* dead." Great response. They'll get that.

"A little dead," Aiura repeats. "How can someone be just a *little* dead?"

She doesn't get it. "Uh, like. If you're super dead but come back a little bit."

"It would just be dead, then." Aiura realizes what she's saying. "He's fucking dead?!"

Shun shrugs, attempting to keep it cool despite his memories coming flooding back. "Yeah. Psh. You know, war does that."

"That doesn't make any sense!" She raps her nails on the fence, nervous. "I saw a huge aura coming from this building!"

"Maybe, you're looking for someone else, then."

"No, he fits the description perfectly! Initials: SK, pink hair, really powerful. How many other people in Japan fit that description, especially now?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Shun mutters. "I watched him die."

He can still see the fountain of blood pouring from the side of Kusuo's head as the bullet leaves as quickly as it entered. Helpless as he watches what little light is left in them dissipate. The dead weight collapsing onto him, begging for a final embrace. The sheer agony coursing through his aching heart as he breathes his last breath. Covered in his blood, covered in *him*.

"That is not possible!" The blonde boy, Akechi, pipes up. "Saiki Kusuo had the same powers as a cleric and so many other things! He could have simply healed himself or stopped the bullet with telekinesis! He told me he was invincible! We were such good friends! He wouldn't leave, just like that. No, he wouldn't die so easily, not when he's invincible. He said so. He said he couldn't die. He said he wouldn't let anyone die again..."

"But he did," Shun murmurs. He sniffles. This sight is so pathetic. He sees himself in this boy, the same, broken self outwardly present a year ago, grief overwhelming him. He opens the gate before he begins to cry. He's already done enough of that.