Archive of Our Own ^beta

Whatever Shin was expecting at the end of his closing shift, it definitely wasn't a rain-soaked, bleeding Mafuyu collapsing outside their door.

“Oh, my God.” The bag of ten-yen coins he’d been counting clattered to the floor as he rushed to let the boy in. “Mafuyu? Hang on, I’m coming!”

Mafuyu’s thoughts were weak, but his whole mind was a whirlwind of panic and pain and helpless fury that made Shin’s skull throb as he approached. He shouldered his way past the too-slow sliding doors and dropped to his knees beside the kid, raindrops settling in his hair. “What the hell happened? Where are you hurt?” 

Mafuyu blinked up at him, eyes struggling to focus. “Shin,” he croaked, and only when Shin could see his lips form around his name did he realise Mafuyu’s mask had been torn off, lines of still-weeping blood slashed across his cheek. Safe, his thoughts sang, and Shin could make out a chorus of Shin’s here I’m safe before pain clouded the signal once more.

Shit. Looking closer, Shin could see more bloodstained tears in Mafuyu’s clothes than he dared to count, and the skin exposed by the rips was bruised a deep, swollen purple. “I’m gonna lift you up, okay? Mafuyu, listen to me, you're gonna be alright.”

With as much tenderness as he could manage, Shin scooped Mafuyu up off the ground and hurried back inside. He could already feel warm blood soaking into the front of his shirt; Mafuyu’s thoughts were fading fast. Shin hissed a curse. “Don't die, don’t die, please don’t die, just hold on, please–”

Shin? came Sakamoto’s thoughts, floating from upstairs. What's going on?

Shin gritted his teeth, taking the stairs two at a time. “Mr. Sakamoto! Mafuyu’s hurt bad!” he called, and Sakamoto’s mind rippled into steely determination. By the time Shin burst through the bathroom door, a fold-out gurney was already waiting for them, freshly-sterilised surgical tools glimmering in Sakamoto’s hands.

Shin set Mafuyu down, wincing as the boy’s body contorted in pain. His hands trembled as he removed the sopping-wet, ruined clothes, revealing the true extent of the injuries. Mafuyu’s breath came in short, broken gasps, crimson wounds twisting with each movement. 

Sakamoto apologised to Mafuyu as he cleaned the wounds at breakneck speed, the alcohol swabs causing a renewed string of pained thoughts to swell forth. He threaded a needle with expert precision while Shin emptied a syringe full of painkillers into Mafuyu’s arm. “You're okay now, Mr. Sakamoto’s gonna patch you up,” Shin murmured, as Sakamoto slid the needle under Mafuyu’s skin.

Hurts, Mafuyu was thinking. Gonna get sick.

“Everything's clean,” Shin reassured. Sakamoto tied off the first row of stitches in Mafuyu’s side, deftly moving to the next gash, and thought about a box of masks in the cupboard under the sink. Shin found it quickly and plucked one from the middle, then brandished it in front of Mafuyu’s heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Here.” He fitted the mask over Mafuyu’s face, tucking the loops over his ears. “Feel better?”

Though the painkillers were starting to take effect, the relief that washed over Mafuyu’s mind was palpable. A few heartbeats later, his thoughts faded away into the blankness of medicated sleep.

Shin helped Sakamoto treat the last few injuries and bandage the worst of them in focused silence. He towelled the grime off Mafuyu’s face, unblinking, and then Sakamoto was carrying Mafuyu to Shin’s room and thinking about how Shin needed to wash his apron–and sure enough, when he looked down at himself, all he could see was Mafuyu’s blood, the fabric sticky against his chest.

“On it,” Shin muttered, turning back towards his room. He’d need to clean himself up before Aoi and Hana got home. Sakamoto rested his hand on Shin’s shoulder as they passed each other, just for a moment, and Shin didn't need to read his mind to know what that meant.

Sakamoto had set a towel underneath where Mafuyu laid on Shin’s bed, and for now, he seemed to still be under the effects of the painkillers–Shin couldn't hear anything from his mind, not even echoes of dreams. Shin pulled off the bloodied apron and dragged his feet all the way to the laundry room.

Shin let the cold water numb his hands. He hadn't heard any other minds around when he'd gone outside, he was sure of it. The kid was soaked through with the rain–how far had he walked to get here? Nothing about Mafuyu’s injuries suggested any kind of customised weapon, either. No leads to follow, nothing he could use, nothing he could do to help. 

And–where was Natsuki?

There was no chance in hell that Natsuki would just let something like this happen to Mafuyu. Not without fighting like hell to take the attackers down, or calling for backup if things went too far. So where the hell was that bastard?

The water in the basin was already salmon-pink. Shin scrubbed the rest of the stain out and watched the water swirl and disappear down the drain.

From downstairs, Shin could hear Sakamoto thinking of which gun he should pick from the hidden shelves–one he could hide perfectly, but still be powerful enough to scare off attackers. Shin closed the bedroom door behind him, chose one of his own guns and sat down next to his bed. He leant his weight against the wall, absentmindedly wiping dust from the barrel with his fingertips.

Mafuyu was still breathing. He was alive–that was what mattered most right now. In about an hour, he’d wake up, and they could question him as best they could before he'd need another dose of painkillers.

Shin tipped his chin back, closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly. He’d be able to figure everything out from Mafuyu’s thoughts, anyway. He just needed to listen out for any hostile minds near the store. If Shin’s faith in Natsuki was well-founded, Sakamoto would have no trouble incapacitating any weakened stragglers looking to finish Mafuyu off.

So, he listened. After a short while, Aoi and Hana’s thoughts came into range, and he could hear Sakamoto’s mood lift when he spotted them approaching. He tuned them out as they settled back in for the evening, straining to pick up even the slightest thread of malice in the area, but as the time slipped by, nothing out of the ordinary came through.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Mafuyu’s mind clawed its way up from unconsciousness. Fleeting fragments of violent scenes flashed across to Shin, and he caught glimpses of what Mafuyu’s ordeal must have been: pinned down, gun pressed to the back of his head, searing pain on all sides; screaming Natsuki’s name, mask in tatters, dirty hands pressing over his mouth–and then, Shin was shaking him awake, out of the nightmare, tears gathering in the corners of his glazed eyes.

Mafuyu didn’t recognise Shin straight away, but his thoughts were sluggish, and he could catch the boy’s arm before he could swing a fist at Shin’s face. “Hey, Mafuyu, calm down,” he said. “It’s me, Shin. You’re at Mr. Sakamoto’s. You’re safe here.”

Shin? thought Mafuyu, going slack again. Shin drew back, settling into a crouch beside the bed, at eye-level with the kid. Mafuyu tried to speak, but his voice was mangled and raspy, devolving into coughs that wracked his battered frame painfully enough for Shin to feel it, too. On cue, Sakamoto opened the door, bearing a tall glass of cold water in one hand and pain tablets in the other. Mafuyu took both gratefully.

“Don’t try to talk,” said Shin. “You’ll only hurt yourself more. Just think instead.”

Mafuyu nodded. Okay, he thought, the word rising softly above the muted pain. 

“Can you show Shin what happened?” Sakamoto coaxed.

Shin watched the memory start to unfold, messily and torn at the edges, before Mafuyu could conjure the words. We were ambushed, he thought. They got past Natsuki’s security measures somehow. 

Shin shifted, dread rising. “Where’s Natsuki?”

A wall of awful, gut-wrenching agony slammed down on Shin’s mind, hard, and he fell backwards with the force of it. The darkness swallowing Mafuyu whole clouded Shin’s vision, and he had to press a hand to his chest to make sure his own heart hadn’t been torn out. “What the…?”

Sakamoto asked what was wrong, but Shin couldn’t hear him. A chorus of My fault my fault my fault looped and twisted inside his skull, and the scenes from Mafuyu’s dream played out once more in vivid colour–gun to his head, screaming for Natsuki, the filthy hand over his mouth, choking on dirt and blood, bullets grazing his side and screaming but not from the pain–and Sakamoto’s hand was on Shin’s shoulder again, bringing him back to reality.

Shin blinked up at Sakamoto. His mind was still, calm, reaching for Shin’s–a lifeline that Shin gladly took hold of, grounding himself in the ex-assassin’s stability. Vaguely, he was aware of his heart throwing itself against his ribcage, and a tremor in his limbs when he righted himself.

Burying his face in his hands, Mafuyu gasped out something that sounded like I’m sorry, but Sakamoto shook his head. “Don’t apologise,” he said quietly. “Try to make the words clear so Shin can understand.”

Mafuyu heaved a shuddering breath, nodding into his palms. Slowly, with effort, he tamped down the raw anguish enough for Shin to let himself hear again. Even still, Shin had to concentrate to make the words out.

They went for me first, thought Mafuyu. There were so many of them. When I took down one, it was like another three joined the fight, and the way they moved wasn't human. I tried but I couldn’t stop them all, I couldn’t help Natsuki, and then they had me, and–and unless Natsuki stopped fighting they were gonna kill me in front of him. Mafuyu bowed his head, staring at the rumpled sheets. If he even moved, they’d hurt me. He had to stay still. I tried to get outta their grip and shout at him to fight back, but nothing worked… My idiot big brother didn’t even move when they–

Mafuyu’s thoughts were cut off with a haunting echo of lifeless eyes.

Shin’s heart dropped through the floor, jaw slack.

Natsuki was–

No. No. He couldn’t be. 

And yet, the memories were engulfing Mafuyu once more. Natsuki, hands above his head, weapons on the ground, invisibility suit shredded, mouthing everything’s gonna be okay; dirty hands over Mafuyu’s mouth, pinning him to the ground, gun to his head, bleeding into the dirt and trying to shout at his brother to move, to fight back, to run and save himself–but Natsuki kept still, not even moving an inch as a cloaked, masked figure ran him through from behind–and then he was crumpling to the ground, and Mafuyu was screaming, gunshots crackling over his head, and then he was kicking the owner of the soiled hands with all his might and reaching for his brother, lifeless and silent on the ground, until rough arms yanked him backwards and all of a sudden there was pain unlike anything he’d ever felt–then, darkness.

Shin couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn't–

When I woke up, thought Mafuyu with the last of his self-control, they’d left me in a ditch in an alley. Thought I was dead and dumped my body and ran.

Sakamoto turned to Shin, questioning what he’d seen. He blinked hard, tried to stammer out even a fraction of the situation, but his tongue lay heavy as lead in his mouth. Mafuyu was stifling strangled sobs with his hands, eyes squeezed shut, grief tangling with Shin’s own until he couldn't tell where one mind began and the other ended.

Something soft brushed across his cheek, and when he turned his gaze towards the voice, Sakamoto was inspecting a handkerchief. Shin’s hands found his face, and his fingertips came away damp. His eyes found Sakamoto’s, and he tried to say something, tried to speak Natsuki's name, but his throat closed over the words. 

“Shin, look at me,” said Sakamoto. He crouched down to Shin’s level, pocketing the handkerchief. “Just breathe.”

How can I? Shin thought to himself, bitterness clawing at the back of his tongue. Why would I, when he won’t ever again? But, perhaps selfishly, he looked up all the same.  

Sakamoto’s voice was gentle against the broken-glass edges of Shin’s mind. “It's about Natsuki, isn't it?”

All Shin could do was nod. On the bed, Mafuyu slumped to his side, his thoughts fading as the medication and the wounds caught up with him, but Shin’s bones still felt leaden. 

“Are we in danger?” Sakamoto asked, concern for Aoi and Hana–and the injured Mafuyu–dancing at the forefront of his mind.

Shin shook his head. With effort, he managed to wrestle his vocal cords under some form of control. “Whoever attacked him thinks he’s dead, too.” God, he sounded pathetic. He tried to swallow the broken-glass rasp, throat stinging.

Sakamoto rocked back to his feet. “So we’re safe for now. We can focus on treating Mafuyu, okay?” It’s best if he stays here for a while, he added mentally, even if his attackers think he’s dead.

Shin let his gaze drop back to the floor. “We’ll find them.” It wasn’t a question. 

“We will.”

“They’ll pay.”

Sakamoto paused, letting his thoughts slide away from Shin’s clairvoyance. “They will,” he said. The door made no sound as it shut behind him.

I’m sorry, Mr. Sakamoto, Shin thought. I’m going to have to break the family rules.

The next time Mafuyu stirred, it was to the kind of dreams that made Shin want to scrub his skin off. Unfolding himself from his spot against the wall, knees protesting, he cast a glance at the kid. Mafuyu’s breaths were short and sharp, eyes wide, paralysed.

“I’ll run you a bath,” Shin said, careful not to come too close. Mafuyu’s mind was verging on physically painful to be in such close range of, and his nightmare had only made that barbed-wire feeling cut deeper. At the thought of being able to wash up, though, some of the sharpness retreated.

Once Mafuyu was satisfied with a clean change of clothes, he let Shin piggyback him to the bathroom, reluctantly allowing him to help with the bandages. As Shin trudged back to check if any blood had seeped through to the sheets, he was stopped short by Aoi, hovering in front of the doorway.

She was feeling something that Shin couldn’t put a name to. Not pity–this was warmer, softer. Whatever it was, he couldn’t get himself to look her in the eye. 

“Hey, Shin,” she said quietly, taking a step closer. “Hana's sleeping, but I wanted to check on you.”

“Mrs. Sakamoto–”

Before Shin could even think of anything to say, she’d closed the distance between them and thrown her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to his back, and then she was drawing away, a hand lingering on his arm as he stood stock-still.

Half-smiling, Aoi patted his arm lightly. “We’re all here for you,” she said. “Family helps each other out. You want a hand with those sheets?”

“Ah–thanks.” 

Together, they peeled back the top sheet, and Aoi inspected it, clicking her tongue. “I’ll go give this a soak.” She bundled the fabric into her arms with expert precision, turned, and almost smacked straight into Sakamoto.

“Sorry.” Sakamoto steadied Aoi on her way past. Shin, is Mafuyu okay in the bathroom?

“Yeah, just gotta help redo the bandages when he’s done.” 

I can take care of them.

“Oh, it's no trouble, I can do them.”

Sakamoto frowned. “Shin,” he said aloud.

Shin finally flicked his eyes to meet Sakamoto’s. “What?” he muttered, a little harshly.

“You need to rest. It’s getting late.” And process… this. Sakamoto scratched his shoulder. With how injured Mafuyu is, he’ll need the bed for now. Sorry. “I’ll get you a futon.”

Shin moved to step past Sakamoto. “I know where it is, I can–”

Sakamoto imagined kicking Shin squarely in the solar plexus.

Shin blanched, withdrawing from Sakamoto’s mind a little. “Okay–fine! I’ll just sit here and do nothing!”

A flash of contentment from Sakamoto. “Thanks.” Can I count on you to sit and rest?

Shin huffed. So that's how you're gonna do this, huh. Screw Sakamoto, because it was working. “Sure,” he conceded, pacing back to his spot against the wall and sinking to his haunches, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Sakamoto gave him a thumbs-up, and left Shin there, alone with the shadows.

As soon as the darkness settled over him, that heart-stopping vertigo snatched the wind from Shin’s lungs again, and he had to fight to restrain a strangled sob. Clasping his fingers over his mouth, hot tears stinging his eyelids, Natsuki's empty, sea-floor eyes staring through him, tainting the room rust-red.

You bastard. Shin bit his palm, hard enough to taste iron. You fucking idiot. He was getting blood all over his face, but he didn't care. Warm and metallic on his lips, like he’d never felt. Wishing it was Natsuki's instead.

Outside his window, the rain picked up, drumming urgently on the glass, and Shin smeared blood on his knees, now, as he collapsed into himself. Maybe if I pretend I’m sleeping, Mr. Sakamoto won’t see the newest mess I’ve made.

A sliver of light poked at Shin’s feet as Sakamoto returned with the futon. You still awake? he sent out. Shin stayed as still as he could, begging for his eyelids not to overflow and shoulders not to quiver.

With a mental shrug, Sakamoto laid out the futon, smoothing out the blankets. It's okay if you don’t wanna talk, he thought. Just get some rest. I’ll go look after Mafuyu now, okay?

Shin held on until he was sure Sakamoto couldn't hear him. An ugly sound clawed its way from his throat, and Shin pressed his bloody palm tighter against his teeth until his jaw ached. Salt mixed with iron underneath his fingers, heavy on his tongue. 

He’d need to wash his face before he could crawl into the sanctuary of the blankets. He couldn't go now; Sakamoto was busy with Mafuyu’s bandages in the bathroom. But when Sakamoto brought him back to the bed, he’d see Shin still glued to the wall, and Shin knew he would worry and try to get him to stand, and then he'd see the blood all over his face and then he'd know he couldn't even trust Shin to follow the most basic of orders–

Just get some rest. Shin couldn't even do that. How could Sakamoto ever see him as a worthy partner if he was going to keep being so damn wretched? He wiped uselessly at the tears staining his cheeks, swallowing hard, the blood burning as it went down. His palm throbbed with white-hot pain, and Shin wondered if his teeth would have scraped bone if he’d tried harder.

Mafuyu’s thoughts still made Shin wince as they approached, but tempered with the familiarity of routine and clean bandages, he could separate himself without effort. As Sakamoto lowered him back onto the bed, Shin squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hoping Sakamoto wouldn't see the blood.

Sakamoto’s shadow eclipsed his body. Shin, need anything? A snack?

Shin said nothing, holding bimself tense, spring-coiled to run.

A light sigh, and Shin felt his heart wring itself out in his chest; then, he realised he hadn't sensed any sparks of annoyance. I won’t come closer, don’t worry. Just want to make sure you're alright.

Traitorous shoulders shaking, Shin drew breath deep into his lungs. “I’m okay,” he managed. “Not hungry.”

“No problem.” There's leftovers in the fridge if you change your mind later. Uh, yakisoba, I think.

“Cool,” Shin said to the ground.

“Goodnight, Shin.”

“Mhm.” 

Above him, Mafuyu twisted himself into the sheets. Shin, bled his thoughts. I know you can hear me. 

Opening one eye, Shin tilted his head towards Mafuyu. He could filter out the worst of the pain and rot, but each fully-formed word still speared through him. “Yeah?”

Mafuyu’s mind rippled. He was gonna teach me how to make crepes. 

Whatever was left intact of Shin’s strength split and shattered. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. What else was there to say? He’d never got to try Natsuki’s crepes, anyway; and now, neither of them ever would again. 

You know, he’d just call me an idiot and tell me to learn to make them myself. Mafuyu’s shoulders spasmed. But I was always shit at cooking. And I don’t think I could stomach crepes anymore.

The dried blood on Shin’s face protested when new tears interrupted its flaking, silent and steady. He couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, resigning himself to the burning eyesockets it brought. 

A flicker of discomfort pulled Mafuyu–and, by extension, Shin–out of the yawning chasm of grief. When are you gonna wash off the blood? It stinks.

Shin unfolded his arms, gazing blankly at the mess he’d made of his hands. Ugly toothmarks warped the flesh, surrounding skin already mottling yellow-blue, palms patchworked with red. He’d long since adjusted to the scent of iron and the taste of salt; but Mafuyu was adjusting his mask, tightening it over his nose, so Shin stood wordlessly and half-stumbled to the bathroom.

At the sink, the soapy water swirled into an unpleasant shade as it trickled through his fingers, and Natsuki’s hollow eyes stared up at him from the surface of the water. Shuddering, he scrubbed at his cheeks until the reflections darkened enough to blur back into bubbles. 

From what Shin could hear, Aoi was already asleep; Sakamoto wasn’t far off, his thoughts humming slowly, turning through plans to find Natsuki’s killers. Hana was deep in a dream about summer, the imagined taste of strawberry ice-cream sweet and overpowering. And, by the time Shin had finally sprawled on the futon, a quiet Thanks was all Mafuyu could manage before he, too, sank into unconsciousness, exhausted from the pain. 

Shin laid there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, letting time wash over him. The bones in his skull ached with longing–for sleep, for Natsuki. Neither came.

Jolted from his haze by a particularly violent burst of blood from Mafuyu’s dreams, Shin knew sleep wouldn't come for him tonight. He stood fast enough to make his head spin and set to digging through his drawers as quietly as he could, retrieving his long-forgotten lighter and an old box of cigarettes. 

Shin slipped Natsuki’s gloves over his hands, wincing as they dragged over his ruined palm. He flexed his fingers, soaking in the way the fabric bunched at his joints, warming quickly against his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was Natsuki's hand wrapping snugly around his own.

When Shin opened his eyes, he’d crushed the box of cigarettes between his fingers. 

Stopping short of cursing out loud, he tore open the crumpled cardboard, picking through the mess for any left intact. Luck was on his side, and he gingerly lifted one that was only a little squashed from the remains of its brethren, clamping it between his lips to keep it safe.

He slipped out of the window without a sound, scaling the side of the building with care until he was perched on the roof, damping his clairvoyance until his own thoughts were all he could hear. At last, he flicked open the lid of his lighter. Thumbing over the switch once, twice, Shin huffed in annoyance when it didn't light. Again, and again, more useless clicking. Pressure built in his chest, scraping at his sternum. Was it out of fuel? It had been more than a year since he’d used it, but he was sure it’d been working fine the last time. Baring his teeth, he kept trying, almost cracking the casing with the force of his attempts. 

Shin’s hand shook. “Come on, stupid fucking–” 

Finally, a spark, then the flame came to life, and Shin gained a spot in the centre of his vision as thanks for watching the damned thing so closely. Grumbling, he lit his cigarette, smoke acrid down his throat, almost choking him.

Soon enough, he fell back into muscle memory, breathing easily. His muscles relaxed out of instinct, but the cigarette hadn't yet done anything to ease Shin’s mind. Sighing a cloud of ash, he lowered himself down until he was flat on his back, squinting up at the night sky.

Little by little, constellations emerged from the inky expanse, glittering in his peripheral vision. Shivering in the night air, Shin took another burning breath, pretending the tears collecting in his eyes were only from the smoke. One hand resting on his stomach, he took the cigarette in the other and let his arm flop uselessly to the side. 

He’d never given much thought to what could happen after death. When he was an assassin, it wasn't his job to be concerned with anything but the act of killing, after all. Was there a Heaven or a Hell, or anything at all? Maybe Natsuki was already blinking down at him from a distant speck in a faraway galaxy. Maybe Natsuki could have laid beside him, pointing out planets and nebulae, and Shin wouldn't need to suffocate on the dying embers of his cigarette. 

By the time Shin snuffed out its spent remains, he was no warmer than a corpse.

—

Shin slipped back through the window with the first light of dawn. Mafuyu was muttering in his sleep, mask askew, brow pinched in pain. Delicately, doing his best not to touch Mafuyu’s face with his ash-powdered fingertips, Shin pulled the mask back to its proper position, watching as his expression relaxed almost-imperceptibly.

He still had a couple of hours until Sakamoto would wake up; he could use them to pull himself together in time to help open the store. 

Slumping back down to the futon, Shin opened his clenched fists and stared at the gloves. He traced his eyes along every mark, thumbing over the raised panels on the wrists, scraping a fingernail over the coil until the sensation resonated through the bones of his hand and into his shoulder.

He hadn't felt this kind of bloodlust in years.

Shin peeled off the gloves before he could put a hole in the floor, laying them reverently by his side. Although he’d swallowed it all by now, the taste of iron still haunted his mouth, overpowering the scent of smoke.

As birdsong seeped through the glass, Shin heard Sakamoto start to stir. As much as he wanted to crawl under the blanket and stay there until the seasons changed, he needed to go and work. Between tending to Mafuyu’s injuries and Lu’s inevitable lateness, it would be up to Shin to mind the store. Tucking his clothes and apron under his arm, he made his way to the bathroom to change and freshen up.

Shin almost didn’t recognise the reflection in the mirror as himself. He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction and tried his best to drag a comb through the tangled, dishevelled mess of his hair, wincing as the knots pulled at his scalp. Dark circles yawned beneath eyes that were bloodshot and shining with tears he didn’t realise were still leaking through, and his skin was pale, sallow. He pulled the apron over his head, fighting the shake in his hands to fasten it around his back, and gave his face a customary splash with blessedly-cool tap water. Now, he just looked tired. He’d be able to greet customers without frightening them away, at least.

Just as he reached for the doorknob, Shin heard Sakamoto think, Shin? What are you doing up?

Shin steeled himself, only freezing for a millisecond before opening the door. “Morning, Mr. Sakamoto,” he mumbled, trying to sound like he’d just woken up. “Getting ready for work.”

Sakamoto took off his glasses, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. You should take the day off, he thought, and Shin bristled. 

“Thanks, but I need to watch the store.” Shin tried to slip past Sakamoto, but even with his eyes closed, the ex-assassin moved to block his path. “Lu’s always late, and Mafuyu–”

Why don’t you help him today?

Shin stalled, mouth half-open. “Me?”

Sakamoto replaced his glasses, nodding. “I’ll work this morning. Lu and Heisuke can close.” 

“But I– how can I–” Shin knew how to treat wounds, sure, but Mafuyu? Shin wasn’t the right person for the job. He was a poor substitute for Natsuki; he didn’t have the same deft fingers, that exasperated-yet-caring manner. The two brothers spoke a language that was entirely alien to Shin. There was no way Mafuyu would accept it, he was certain. 

A light tap on his head. I’m trusting you with this, Shin. 

Shin’s eyes widened as Sakamoto left him standing there, struck dumb. Did he really trust Shin with something like this? How could he even hope to question that? Shin knew that Sakamoto’s mind was made up; he’d probably get annoyed at Shin if he kept insisting on working. 

He leant a hand on the wall, steading himself, teeth gritted. How the fuck am I meant to do this?  

Aoi’s voice floated through, forcing him back to reality. “Hana, sweetie, come have breakfast.” 

Shin looked down. Hana was standing in front of him, looking up at him through her sleep-mussed fringe. “Morning, Shin,” she beamed, and Shin tried his best to smile back.

“Morning, Hana.” He crouched down to her height, combing his fingers through the messy strands to straighten them. “Sleep alright?”

“Mhm. I dreamed about ice cream.”

“Maybe I’ll get you some later,” Shin whispered conspiratorially, and she giggled. 

Aoi called for Hana again from the kitchen. “Coming!” she called back. Then. before Shin knew what was happening, she’d sprung forwards, small arms squeezing him as hard as she could manage. “I’m sorry you’re sad,” she said over his shoulder. “Next time you get me an ice cream, you should get one for yourself, too.”

She gave him a little wave as she followed Aoi’s voice to the kitchen. Shin stood, swayed. Walked slowly to his room, folded his legs beneath him as he sat. Hid his face in the crook of his elbow, and wept.

He could hear that Mafuyu was awake. Shin didn’t want to face him just yet. He didn’t know if he ever could. Nothing he could do or say could bring Natsuki back; no amount of bandaging or antiseptic or scarring could heal this. 

Mafuyu stayed quiet while Shin collected himself. When he finally looked up from his misery, Mafuyu silently asked him for water and to look at the bullet-graze in his side. Shin said nothing as he held the glass for Mafuyu to drink from, or as he peeled the dressing from his flank, inspecting the area for infection. It was starting to heal normally, but Shin dabbed some antiseptic over it anyway, soothing Mafuyu’s worry in spite of the sting.

For a few hours, that was their routine. Water, redress, attempt to stomach food, bathroom, and back to sleep. Aside from Mafuyu’s mental requests, neither spoke a word. Shin didn’t know what he should say, anyway. If he opened his mouth, he’d just feel even more like a fraud. 

By lunchtime, Shin could pick up on Lu’s thoughts as she came close enough for him to hear. He knew Sakamoto would tell her what had happened, and he prayed that she would just leave him alone. He didn’t want to break down in front of anyone else today.

Sure enough, Shin heard Lu’s mind flutter into shock. Shin pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to block out her memories of Natsuki that were surfacing at the news. 

The sound of footsteps scaling the stairs and approaching the room made Shin’s stomach turn. Knuckles rapped on his door, and Mafuyu tugged the sheets over his head, pretending to be asleep.

“Shin, you there? Can I come in?” Lu asked from the other side of the door. Shin could tell that she just wanted to help, but between his own despair, Mafuyu’s pain, and everyone else’s tip-toeing, the way Lu’s thoughts sliced all his grief open anew was not something he had the strength to soldier for much longer.

“Shin?” came her voice again, tone matching the worry in her mind. “You okay?”

Shin supposed he had to say something, let her fuss over him, so she'd go back down to the shop and leave him be. “Come in,” he said, dropping his wrists. His eyes blurred with stars and spirals from pressing them too hard, and he didn't see the bright pink braid coming towards him until he was being crushed like a soda can.

“Lu, I can’t breathe,” he managed, ribs protesting against her vice-like arms.

“Oh–sorry.” She drew back, apologising mentally, dark eyes already starting to glisten with tears. I don't know what to say what do I do he looks so sad what can I do chanted her mind, and she gripped both his shoulders tight enough for her nails to dig into his skin. “Take as much time as you need,” she said, shaking him a little. “You need anything at all, you tell me or Heisuke. Or Taro. Promise?”

Shin nodded, not meeting her eyes; in response, she hugged him again, not as bone-crushing this time. “I gotta go work, sorry. Do you want anything before I go? Should I make instant ramen for you?”

“I’m good, but thanks,” he mumbled. “Go help Mr. Sakamoto.”

“If you're sure.” Maybe I should make some anyway. I’ll ask Taro. He’ll know what to do. She stood, dusting off her apron. “Rest, okay?”

Shin gave her a tired thumbs up as she left, letting his shoulders droop with a sigh. Once she was back downstairs, he could block her thoughts out better. He considered spending ten minutes reading action potentials to knock out his clairvoyance just so he could have some peace and quiet in his mind. But, then again, he’d end up with a migraine, and it would be unfair on Sakamoto to have to take care of him through that, too.

Later, Heisuke approached with Piisuke, and Shin covered his ears as though it would help block the waves of shock and pity and memories of Natsuki from reaching Shin’s brain. Luckily, Heisuke seemed to understand that he didn't want company, instead sending Piisuke up to deposit a decent-sized bucket of fairy floss outside the door.

Piisuke’s mind was exceptionally clear for an animal, and Shin could pick up threads of confusion and concern from the parrot. Braving the outside world for a moment, Shin reached an arm out to give Piisuke a scratch behind his crest, earning himself a pleased chirp, and to retrieve the candy. 

“Mafuyu,” Shin said, cracking open the lid. “Want some fairy floss?”

With a grunt, Mafuyu turned so he was facing Shin’s offering of pure, bright-coloured spun sugar. “Thanks,” he said, pinching some from the top. 

Shin took a handful for himself, tufts crystalline and soft against his good palm, trying to ignore the fact that this was the first time he’d spoken to Mafuyu all day. It melted in his mouth, the sweetness a welcome change against his tongue, spreading momentary relief through his veins. He’d need to thank Heisuke for the gift when he felt like facing people again. 

The rest of the day passed agonisingly slowly. It still didn't feel right for Shin to speak, but he pulled himself together enough to ask aloud whether the way he was applying the dressings was comfortable. Mafuyu’s mind would be quick to answer, anyway.

Lu and Heisuke left for the day, thoughts heavy, as Sakamoto closed the shutters and wondered about asking Heisuke to help survey the area for any clues. Aoi returned with Hana, and Sakamoto invited Shin to eat together, but Shin felt his stomach twist at the notion, so two bowls of rice and grilled vegetables were left respectfully outside the door. 

Hungry, Mafuyu thought, watching as Shin brought the food inside.

“Here.” Shin stacked pillows behind Mafuyu’s back so he could push himself into a mostly-upright position. “Want me to help with…?”

Mafuyu opened and closed his hand experimentally. “I think I’ll manage,” he said, taking the chopsticks from Shin and steadying the bowl against his chest. Though his grip was weak, his hand didn't falter as he brought portion after portion to his mouth. Shin couldn't feel any pain from the motion, so he resigned himself to picking at his own meal.

Everything was made and seasoned perfectly, as usual; something about the Sakamotos’ cooking always stirred a certain sense of comfort within Shin. But even still, he had no appetite, and he felt like he was chewing his mouthfuls for eternity before he could bring himself to swallow. Mafuyu had already picked his bowl clean; Shin was still struggling, barely half gone.

The rice was stone-cold by the time Shin could finally force himself to finish it. Feeling uncomfortably bloated, he collected the empty bowls, figuring he may as well go wash them up if he'd taken so long. The family was splayed on the couch, reflections from the TV dancing in their eyes, and Sakamoto sent a mild Was it enough for both of you? his way, glancing over his shoulder.

Shin nodded, shooting him a half-smile, scrubbing stray grains of rice from the dishes. He stacked them precariously in the drainer, wiped his wrinkled fingertips on an abstract-patterned tea towel, and slunk back to his room.

Sleep eluded Shin one night more. He tossed, turned, ended up half-laying on the floor with a blanket wrapped around his ankle, unable to separate his own nightmares from Mafuyu’s. Before long, he found himself on the roof again, gloved hands cupped behind his head, wishing he hadn't crushed the cigarette box yesterday. 

“Fuck you,” he whispered to the sky. Arms of galaxies shimmered back at him impassively, and Shin felt the muscles of his face tighten. “Fuck you,” he spat, lips drawn back in a snarl. “Fuck you for leaving me. Invisible fucking idiot bastard.”

Only the distant call of a solitary owl answered him. Shin closed his eyes, aching from deep in his bones. 

I miss you, he didn’t say aloud.

The stars offered him no comfort as they hung in the sky like they always had. The owl’s call came to a close, its last notes reverberating through the still air, leaving Shin alone with the silence.

“Come back,” he pleaded, hating how plaintive he sounded. “Please.”

Shin held his breath until his lungs could burst; held it like the last of his hope that Mafuyu was wrong, that Natsuki was still out there somewhere, invisible in the shadows, fighting his way back to them. Because that would be just like Natsuki, right? Getting them all on the edge of their seats, barging back in with a triumphant smirk, teasing them for daring to worry. 

Exhaling sharper than a punctured lung, Shin closed his eyes in defeat. The images of a lifeless Natsuki swam behind his eyelids, taunting him, goading him to tears. 

He brought his bite-marked hand up to his mouth again, brushing knuckles over lips. He didn’t have the energy anymore to take off the glove, open his mouth and sink his teeth in like he wanted to. Instead, he let the weight of the smooth black fabric settle there, forcing him to breathe through his nose. The air felt terribly soft against the tips of his fingers.

The next morning, he didn’t bother coming back in through the window. Morning sun at his back, he let his footsteps echo in tune with the robins; he left the convenience store with a new pack of cigarettes buried shamefully in his pocket.

—

Mafuyu’s injuries soon healed enough for him to walk on his own. Over the days, his hands grew red, skin flaking on his knuckles and palms, his mind emanating prickly waves of Don’t say it don’t say a word don’t even try it until Shin swapped the bar of soap at the bathroom sink with something gentler. 

The family was still carefully avoiding speaking Natsuki’s name. Sakamoto’s mind still hummed about him in the background, frustrated over dead-ends, but he didn't deign to tell Shin about his search aloud. 

The rational part of Shin’s mind supposed that it was for the best; sometimes, the barest whisper of a reminder about Natsuki was enough to send him to the edge. But the rest of him resented how Natsuki’s name became taboo if only for Shin’s sake. He knew he needed to move on. He couldn't even start trying to, if he couldn't even hold himself together at the sound of the weapons maker’s name.

Mafuyu hated the smell of cigarette smoke. Shin invested in a pack of mints, and kept smoking.

A small vase of white lilies had made its way to the kitchen table, and Shin shot a resentful glare towards their delicate petals every time he passed them. Their perfume made Shin feel like throwing up.

Lu started coming to work on time. Granted, it took a day or two of complaining and dozing off at the register before she adjusted, but Shin found it in him to say thank-you in person, to which she half-smiled and pulled him in for a half-hug. Later, Piisuke warbled happily at the sight of Shin; Heisuke clapped him on the back, grinned ear-to-ear, and deposited a wholly inappropriate amount of fairy floss into Shin’s unprepared arms, almost tipping him backwards. 

“How’re you holding up, yo?” Heisuke asked, in what was probably considered a quiet voice by Heisuke’s standards.

Shin ignored the feeling of a knife twisting deep into his heart. “Better,” he answered, and it was only mostly a lie. “Thanks for covering for me.”

“It’s no problem, really,” said Heisuke. Piisuke squawked in agreement, bobbing his yellow-feathered head. “Do you think you’ll come back soon?” Not like I don’t want you to take the time you need, yo! Just curious!

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it that way,” Shin said, desperately trying to keep the buckets of candy from falling. “It’ll be soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.” He couldn’t bear being useless any longer, especially since Mafuyu was recovering quickly. At this rate, with nothing to do but sit with his own thoughts, Shin felt like he would go mad with grief before the week’s end.

“Well, take care of yourself, yo! Give me or Piisuke a shout if you need anything, got it?”

“Sure. Thanks, Heisuke. See you.”

Sakamoto finished closing the shutters, waving goodbye to Heisuke. Hey, Shin, he thought. Feel up to family dinner tonight? Aoi’s making hotpot.

Admittedly, hotpot sounded divine. Shin’s stomach growled right on cue, just barely outweighing his apprehension. “Okay.”

Sakamoto didn't say anything aloud, but the warm glow of satisfaction–and was that pride?– was felt keenly by Shin. He wobbled up the stairs, just managing to kick open his door to dump the copious amounts of sugar onto his futon, nudged Mafuyu, and sidled his way to his spot at the table.

Apart from an excited shout of “Shin!” from Hana, no fuss was made over Shin’s long-overdue presence. They ate quietly–the hotpot tasted just as good as it smelt–and listened to Hana’s recounting of her day at school. 

This was so normal, so domestic, that Shin found himself wishing Natsuki could eat with him–and, oh, if that didn't open the wound fresh all over again, spilling blood in a waterfall down his spine. One chopstick slipped from his fingers, and he only realised it was gone when he heard it clatter cheerily across the floor. Shin dived after it, avoiding the worried eyes and minds as they snapped towards him.

“Sorry,” Shin muttered as he resurfaced. Mafuyu kicked him under the table, bringing him back to the present. He didn't remember finishing his bowl, but it sat mostly-emptied before him, so he hurriedly polished off the scraps and excused himself, chair scraping as he stood.

He shut the bedroom door behind him and beelined straight for his window, leaping out and rolling as he hit the ground, and then he was running, full speed, shockwaves shooting through his legs, not caring if his heart gave out. He ran, eyes blurred, no clue which paths he was bolting down, only that he needed to push his body to its breaking point to get away.

When he finally collapsed, legs giving out beneath him, the side of his face was pressed into dew-laden grass, chest heaving, stars clustering in rings around his centre of vision. Gasping, he rolled himself onto his back, shirt soaked through with sweat, sticking to the skin of his rising-and-falling ribs.

Of course his legs would take him here. Shin fought the roiling nausea at the realisation.

He’d ended up in middle of the park right by Natsuki’s place.

“Shit,” he panted. He couldn't hear anyone’s thoughts in his range, thank fuck. Why here? Shin didn't want to be anywhere near anything that could remind him of Natsuki. He was struggling so hard to breathe that his organs were being shaken back into place, delivering him from the threat of being sick.

Time stretched as Shin fought his own instincts and steadied his breathing, forcing his vision to clear. No traces of daylight remained in the sky; the stars hung there, taunting him from their tapestry, fading in and out of focus.

“Give him back,” Shin demanded of them. “I’ll do anything, just give him back, damn you.” His fists found damp clumps of grass and pulled, taking the soil with them. “You can have me instead, I don’t care, just give him back.”

The night sky ridiculed him with its indifference. Shin tightened his fists until he smelt the earthy freshness of crushed grass, blades deforming in his grip. “Please,” he tried again, letting tears spring forth and track down the sides of his cheekbones. “Please.”

After moments that felt like hours, Shin drew his knees to his chest and let himself tip to the side, wishing he could bury himself beneath the soil. He couldn't hear anyone searching for him nearby; he tried not to feel disappointed. The rest of the family still needed to eat, anyway, and they shouldn't feel the need to spare the effort it would surely take to rescue Shin from his misery.

For now, he was alone in his own head. After so long with his powers, these rare moments gave him only brief respite before lapsing into discomfort. Right now, Shin didn't want to face himself alone; lip curling, he could do nothing but tremble as the weight of the world without Natsuki bore down on him.

Half-sunken into the yawning agony, the sudden sound of someone’s mind at the fringes of Shin’s perception had his hackles raising, attention drawing itself into focus with force of habit. He stayed still, frozen, stretching his limits to listen.

–nobody’s there, where is he? Where the fuck is he? Oh, God, there's blood everywhere, and it’s days old, please let him be alive, if they killed my little brother too I’ll find a way to fucking destroy them–

Shin pressed his hands to his mouth, eyes wide, terrified.

Those thoughts– that mind–

He’d know them anywhere. 

It wasn't possible– it couldn't be. How could–

“Seba?” Shin choked out.

What was that? That voice–Shin? Shin! Fucking clairvoyant, where are you? 

Shin couldn't answer; his throat wouldn’t obey him. He couldn't blink, couldn't breathe, couldn't move a muscle as he heard Natsuki’s mind close the distance, fast, like he was running.

Shin couldn't hear any footsteps, though.

Shin, is that–oh, you look like shit. Natsuki’s mind was barely a few feet above him, now, like he was leaning down to inspect Shin where he lay–but there was no body to accompany the thoughts, no slender hands to cup Shin’s head and soothe him. What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Mafuyu?

Shin squeezed his eyes shut so tight that the muscles cramped. Unconsciously, his throat opened enough for a strangled sob to escape. What the fuck was going on? He could hear Natsuki–his thoughts, not his real voice. Couldn't see him, or feel him–was he hallucinating? Had he gone for so long without sleep that he’d gone mad? 

I’m talking to you, idiot! snapped his hallucination of Natsuki’s thoughts. I know you heard me before. Just my luck that the only person who I can actually talk to is a complete moron. Hey, are you actually injured? My hands are just going through you, I can't tell from this angle–

“Stop,” Shin whimpered. He covered his ears like it'd help. “Stop.”

Shin. The hallucination seemed genuinely concerned. Shin, breathe. It’s me. It’s Natsuki. 

“Stop it!” Shin growled, baring his teeth. “This isn't real. I just–I just need to sleep, that’s it, don’t fucking taunt me like this–”

Shin–

“You're dead!” Shin snapped. “There's no way you could actually be–I’m just hearing things.” He laughed into his clammy palms, short and sharp and humourless. “I really have gone insane.”

I know I’m dead, Shin, but you're not imagining this. I’m just as confused as you.

That made Shin’s panic stutter for a second. A hallucination probably wouldn't know it shouldn't exist. “But–how?”

A weak flash of annoyance. How the fuck should I know? I just woke up somewhere dark, and I couldn't fully see myself, so I thought I’d survived and my suit was malfunctioning somehow, but then I phased through a wall, so…

“So you're… what? A ghost?” Shin really shouldn't be believing the still-probably-not-real Natsuki so easily, but the thoughts were entirely Natsuki’s, intonation and flow exactly matching what he’d committed to memory. 

I guess. A mental sigh. Please don't go back to freaking out. I need to know if my brother’s okay.

Right. “He’s fine,” said Shin. “He got hurt pretty bad, and whoever attacked you guys left him for dead, but he survived and got to Sakamoto’s, so we patched him up.”

Palpable, spine-melting relief emanated from ghost-Natsuki’s mind. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Is he still there? I wanna see him.

“Yeah, he is.”

Let's go, then. Why are you even out here? It’s a long walk to yours. Shin? Hey, are you listening?

Something ugly reared its head in the pit of Shin’s stomach, clawing underneath his skin. “This is really it, huh?”

What do you mean?

“You really are dead. You're not coming back.”

Natsuki struggled to put something coherent together. Yeah, he settled on simply, then, Sorry.

“You’re a cruel bastard, you know.” Shin hauled himself into a sitting position, back hunched, soil-speckled hands splayed uselessly in his lap. “How do you want me to get over you now?”

I can't do anything about being fucking dead, dumbass.

“I saw what happened to you,” Shin said. “In Mafuyu’s mind. I watched you die. But I still hoped you were out there, that you were alive like Mafuyu was.” Tear stains tracked wet lines through the dirt on his palms. “And now I know for sure that you're dead, you're fucking haunting me.”

I’m not haunting you.

“What the fuck should I call it, then?!”

Shin, you're the only one I can talk to. Please don't take that away from me. 

Shin scoffed. “What, no other ghosts around?”

No, thought Natsuki. 

That made Shin lift his head in surprise. “Really? None?”

A sudden needle of desperate loneliness prickled at Shin’s clairvoyance. I’m the only one.

That was… odd. Shin shook himself, damping down his anger as best he could. This ghost-Natsuki might not last forever; the laws of life and death were being suspended so they could talk again, and they could revert to normal at any second. He shouldn't be so ungrateful for this second chance of sorts.

“Okay.” Shin tried to hide a sniffle. “Let’s go.”

Are you okay walking? You still don't look great.

“Shut up, Seba, I’m fine,” Shin bit back, swaying as he stood. “Just call me ugly if you're gonna think like that.”

I was not thinking that, you numbskull.

Ghost-Natsuki was right–he was thinking the opposite, in fact. Shin felt heat flush his face, and his heart clenched painfully when he turned to dig an elbow into Natsuki’s side and found only empty space waiting for him.

Guilt surged from where Natsuki’s ghost was keeping pace beside him. I’m sorry, he thought, each word drawn from somewhere so wretched that Shin almost stumbled. I’m so sorry. 

“Not your fault,” Shin responded bluntly. 

Natsuki’s mind went quiet, no new sentences forming for Shin to listen to. For a long stretch of road, he walked in silence, legs twinging uncomfortably from his earlier sprint. If it weren’t for the faint buzz of pain radiating from the ghost, Shin would have been afraid that he’d disappeared already, that he really was just hallucinating this all.

I don't regret how I died, Natsuki finally thought, each word heavy and slow.

Shin pressed his lips together, saying nothing, but tilted his head to listen just the same.

I’m sorry for leaving you behind. I really am. Shin caught a half-blurred dream of Natsuki’s arms around Shin before he caught it and swept it away. But if I’d tried to fight them, they would have killed Mafuyu.

“I know.” Shin’s body ached. “I should have been there. I could’ve stopped all this from happening.”

There’s no way you could have known. Don’t beat yourself up. They slipped under my radar, too.

“How the hell did they do that, anyway? You've got better security than half the JAA’s offices.”

I don't know. Some kind of advanced tech? They looked like they were from a lab or something.

Shin forgot how to walk for a moment, tripping forwards, skinning his knee through the leg of his pants and grazing his wrists on the pavement. “They what?”

Shin, you idiot, you're bleeding.

“I don't give a shit. What did you say about those guys? A lab?”

Don't fall over again–fuck, I wish I could actually touch you, do you even know how to stand?

“Natsuki!”

Fucking– yeah, their cloaks had a similar weave to a lab coat. And they were all wearing the same thing, like a uniform, with their faces covered. Maybe they wanted my weapons. Some were missing when I looked just before.

A lab. Of course. It just had to be another lab. Shin wished he’d never have to even hear the word ‘lab’ for the rest of his life. But still, this was good intel. “We’re gonna find them,” he vowed, finally with Natsuki as a witness. “I promise we'll fuck their shit up. They’ll pay for what they did to you and Mafuyu.”

Shin felt something like a frown from ghost-Natsuki. I thought you didn't kill anymore.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Shin started walking again, a touch faster than before. “We’ll see.”

It won’t bring me back, you know.

“Not right now, Seba.”

They lapsed back into silence for almost the whole trek back to the store; Natsuki with his own death weighing heavy on his mind, Shin with the sense that somehow, this was worse than if Natsuki hadn't come back like this at all.

When they approached the block before Sakamoto’s, Shin slowed his pace a little. “Do you want me to tell them? About… this?”

Natsuki considered it. I don't know.

Shin rolled his shoulders, working out a knot in his neck. “They probably wouldn't believe me.”

Shin, you can read minds, and Nagumo can shape-shift. I don’t think ghosts are too far-fetched.

“But you're the only ghost I’ve ever heard. Funny coincidence that I start hearing ghosts' thoughts a week after you die.” He craned his neck as the store came into view, distance closing between him and the building. 

Okay, that's fair. I don’t know why there aren't any others. Natsuki pondered that fact–in doing so, allowing a glimpse into the devastating intensity of his feelings for Shin, soul-consuming enough that it felt blasphemous to try putting a name to–before Natsuki slammed his mental wall back down. Lucky us, he thought, with something that could have been a chuckle. Me, the only ghost, and you, the only one who can hear ghosts.

Shin tried not to tremble at what he’d just seen. “That's not funny.”

Sorry. I thought it was poetic.

“Can you please just shut up. I’m trying to hear if anyone’s awake.”

Okay, okay, fine. Natsuki backed off, trying to clear his mind. The low, pin-prickling buzz retreated about ten feet away, then, out of nowhere, built and built until Shin’s own head was throbbing.

Ow, Natsuki groaned mentally.

“What's wrong?”

Feels like a headache. Some choice swear-words followed.

“So ghosts can get headaches now?”

No response from Natsuki. After a couple of agonising seconds, the pain retreated, back to the low-level buzz of before. Shin returned his gaze to the store. He couldn't see any lights on inside; it was past midnight, so things seemed normal on that front. He crept around the side, fingers finding familiar dips in the walls as he climbed his way to the windowsill and let himself in.

How am I gonna get up there? Natsuki thought from the ground.

Shin rolled his eyes, resisting the grim urge to remind Natsuki that he was a ghost out of care not to wake the whole family. From what he could hear, Natsuki was figuring it out, anyway.

Back in his room, now, Mafuyu stirred as soon as Shin’s feet touched the ground. Where did you go? Mafuyu thought groggily, last traces of a nightmare slipping away as he woke.

“Go back to sleep,” Shin whispered.

Ghost-Natsuki seemed to have made it into the room, too. Mafuyu, he thought, almost forgetting his brother couldn't hear him. Mafuyu, I’m sorry. Live well without me, okay? 

He’s okay, he directed to Shin, the tension in his mind melting away. His wish to collapse into Shin’s arms was not lost on the clairvoyant. He's okay. 

Shin nodded, hoping Natsuki could see the motion. Wishing he could hold Natsuki, too. Then, hearing Sakamoto start to wake, adrenaline curled in his veins, nails digging into the pads of his fingers.

Shin, Sakamoto thought at him, if that’s you, come meet me in the kitchen.

This was it; Shin was fucked. Sakamoto could shield his thoughts well, but Shin knew instinctively that he was far less than impressed with his disappearing act after dinner. 

He’s not gonna be mad, Natsuki thought.

How would you know, Shin thought to himself glumly. He wondered if he could just jump straight back out of the window and run far enough away that he could start a new life under a new name just to avoid Sakamoto’s disappointment.

Stop looking like a kicked puppy and go talk to him, idiot.

Shin glowered in the general direction of Natsuki’s brainwaves and made his way towards the kitchen. Sakamoto was sitting at the table, chair turned sideways, the side of his face crinkled from where the pillowcase had indented. In the vase, the lilies had started to rot.

Take a seat, Sakamoto thought.

Shin sat.

You okay?

“Yeah.”

Listen, Shin–

“Sorry,” Shin blurted. “I shouldn't have run. I’m really sorry for causing you trouble again–”

Sakamoto leaned forwards, and Shin shrank back. That's not it.

It wasn't?

Shin, I think we’ve found a lead on who attacked the Seba brothers.

Shin started. “You…”

Remember Horiguchi? Piisuke spotted a few of his more loyal scientists, dressed like Mafuyu said.

“Another lab, then.”

Right. Piisuke didn't see where they came from or went, and the sighting wasn’t near your lab, but it's something.

Shin felt Natsuki's presence come up behind him. Oh, has he figured it out? Wait, you can't answer. Sorry. Keep going, don't mind me.

“Thanks.” Shin bounced his knee. “When are we gonna–”

He cut himself off abruptly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

Someone was on the roof.

He couldn't hear their thoughts well; it was like trying to listen through aquarium glass. Sakamoto understood without Shin needing to speak. 

It's them, Natsuki confirmed, rising through the roof to check. Get down–!

“Shit!” Shin dove to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed as the ceiling caved in. Sakamoto grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the sink and launched them at the first intruder’s neck faster than Shin’s eye could follow, and the cloaked figure collapsed, unconscious, carotid artery instantly compressed. Another dropped down after their fallen comrade, and like the first, Shin could barely hear a flicker from their mind. But a flicker was enough to parry the blows and kick them ‘round the head, leaving them sprawling on the floor.

Mafuyu! Natsuki’s mind cried out.

Need to get Hana and Aoi to safety, thought Sakamoto, delivering a barrage of blows to yet another opponent.

Gloves, Shin thought feebly. Need to get my gloves. “I’ll get Mafuyu!” he called, using his future-reading to manoeuvre behind a fourth assassin and slam their face against the countertop. These guys’ thought patterns were strange, almost machine-like; if he ignored the strain of actually reaching the movement potentials through the glass-bubble surface, Shin could counter their attacks with little struggle. 

From his room, Shin could hear Natsuki’s thoughts screaming Shin’s name. Throwing the downed attacker full-force into the path of another before they could shoot, Shin fled back the way he’d come, skidding through the bedroom door just in time to knock away the blade slicing down at Mafuyu’s head. 

“They found me,” Mafuyu gasped, eyes wide, blood drained from his face. “Shin, they’re gonna make sure I’m dead this time.”

Shin pulled on his gloves, delivering a punch to this assailant’s gut strong enough to send him crashing through the window, a symphony of broken glass accompanying the thump of their unconscious body against the ground. “Come on,” Shin said, beckoning for Mafuyu to get on his back, pushing away the agony burning in his hand. “You need to get to safety.”

“I can fight.”

“You’re still injured.” Shin stepped to the side of two bullets, hand wrapping around the gunman’s arm with the speed of a striking snake and crushing his wristbones like the core of an apple. “You’ll rip your stitches.”

“I–” Mafuyu’s voice wavered as Shin whipped around to immobilse another laboratory bastard, the motion causing a pinch of pain to bleed through his thoughts. “I don’t care. They killed my brother. I need to–”

“I know!” Shin snarled, taking down one that was trying to get to the Sakamotos. “We’ll destroy them together, I promise, but don’t be an idiot–you’re in no shape to fight! I won't let you die, too!”

Shin, there’s more outside, Natsuki told him. I can see five.

Shin took a moment to make sure the rest were safe; Aoi was holding Hana to her shoulder, sheltering behind Sakamoto, who was backed almost into a corner by two attackers–but a quick flick of the wrist left a charging cable wrapped around necks, binding them together as they toppled to the floor.

Satisfied that Sakamoto was handling it just fine, Shin dashed to the broken window, told Mafuyu to hang on, and pounced down on the nearest lab bastard, a heel to the skull instantly knocking them out. Mafuyu yelped as Shin’s impact with the ground upset his wounds, and Shin winced, throwing a short apology over his shoulder between breaths.

The next one thought intensely about skewering him with some kind of dagger-syringe contraption, which Shin could hear surprisingly clearly through whatever brain wave-blocking properties their face-coverings possessed; looking as intently into their future movements as he could, he landed four quick, powerful blows in succession before the strange weapon could even be drawn.

Worry from Natsuki. Shin, your arms–

“I’m fine,” Shin panted. Only three more to go.  

“Who are you talking to?” Mafuyu asked, voice strained.

Shin cursed himself, the fleeting distraction of realising he’d responded to Natsuki’s ghost out loud quickly becoming a snowballing mistake. The remaining three attackers used his moment of disorientation against him, grazing Shin’s shoulder with a gunshot before he could jerk away, and rushing at him with the force of charging bulls, throwing Mafuyu from his back and pinning them both to the ground.

“Mafuyu!” Shin cried out, at the same time Natsuki’s thoughts rang out with a panicked Shin!

Shin struggled against the wire-trap hands around his throat, overloaded from Mafuyu’s frantic mind–equal parts terror and repulsion–and Natsuki’s sudden skull-splitting headache. He felt dizzy, scrabbling uselessly at his enemy’s arms, barely making a dent even using the gloves. Each kick to the underbelly made his legs feel leaden; sounds faded away, leaving only a distant ringing in his ears, and all he could do was watch in horrified slow-motion from the corner of his eye as–

–As a pillowcase came down over the head of Mafuyu’s attacker.

Mr. Sakamoto–!

The pressure was abruptly lifted from Shin’s neck, and he rolled to his side, hacking and wheezing, blood rushing back to his head. Mafuyu mirrored him, wiping his sleeve over his neck in a desperate attempt to scrub away where he’d been pinned. Sakamoto was standing over the limp forms of two of the lab bastards, holding the third aloft by the throat. Sakamoto had ripped this one’s headgear off, exposing his face and his thoughts.

“Where’s your base?” Sakamoto growled through his teeth, squeezing harder. 

The red-faced enemy gasped like a fish, memories springing unbidden to the forefront of his mind for Shin to see. Mostly, all he caught was the inside of the lab–dark, dimly-lit, decorated with giant cylinders of bubbling liquid and wires draped over twitching bodies on tables–but just before he lost consciousness, Shin saw the blurry exterior of the mysterious lab, entrance hidden behind a vending machine.

“Got it,” Shin coughed, and Sakamoto let the guy drop in an unceremonious heap, dusting his hands on his pyjamas. He scooped Mafuyu off the glass shard-laden ground and offered an arm to Shin, which he took gratefully. His head spun as he stood, and he had to lean against Sakamoto until his vision cleared.

Shin could hear Natsuki’s ghost flitting right by his head. Mafuyu– Shin– oh, fuck– are you both okay? Fuck!

“We’re fine,” Shin reassured him, hoping it would sound like he was talking to Sakamoto. The words sliced at his throat, and he massaged his neck gingerly. “The entrance is– agh–it’s behind a weird vending machine.”

Sakamoto committed that to memory. “Can you hear any more of them?”

That was the last of them, Natsuki thought, but Shin listened anyway. When he heard nothing, he shook his head.

Sakamoto nudged one of the fallen foes with his foot. “How did they know Mafuyu was here?”

Shin shrugged helplessly. He crouched down to inspect the unconscious bastards, peeling off the headgear of another one.

He made a startled noise, beckoning for Sakamoto to come see.

This one’s face looked identical to the one Sakamoto throttled the information out of.

Swiftly, Shin unmasked the others; all the same. Hairline, bone structure, everything identical. He frowned, adrenaline wearing off, tongue-biting pain emanating from his hands and shoulder, head starting to pulse.

“Clones?” Sakamoto mused. Whatever. Let’s go clean up inside. I’ll call someone to take these guys away…

Not even two steps after Sakamoto, Shin doubled over, skull feeling as though it could explode into pieces. Shit, shit, this can't be happening. He’d relied too much on his future-seeing, too many minutes, and his head was splitting, and everyone's thoughts were fading–including Natsuki’s–

Shin groaned, low and anguished. Somehow, glass was crunching against the side of his face, and he couldn't hear Natsuki anymore.

Too many pairs of hands tried to lift him, and he lashed out blindly, closed fist sailing uselessly through the air. The sound of his own laboured breathing was alien to him, scraping in his chest as gravity inverted itself, ice-cold sweat beading on his forehead. With each blink, the out-of-focus scene changed, jumping metres at a time, until he inexplicably found himself cushioned by a mattress, Sakamoto’s distant voice encouraging him to swallow the pills on his lips.

The bones of his skull constricted as he fought to swallow, splattering too-bright colours into the corners of his eyes. Sakamoto’s disembodied voice came again, praising him–did he do something right?–while gentle hands hovered over the burning in his shoulder. Shin must have blacked out, then, because when he next opened his eyes, coming back to his senses, it was almost daylight, and– and–

Shin could have laughed, could have wept. He could hear Natsuki again.

Shin? You awake? 

“Natsuki,” Shin said hoarsely, dry lips cracking around his name, drinking in the sweet salvation of being able to hear the ghost’s thoughts once more.

Thank fuck. Natsuki tried, completely unsuccessfully, to block out how worried he’d been. You looked like you were dying.

Shin sighed reflexively. “Felt like it.” He allowed himself a heartbeat to close his eyes and revel in the glory that was having a skull that didn't want to cave in on itself. “Are the others safe? Did any more of those clone-guys come?”

They're all fine. Sakamoto took out the last of them, and the floaters cleaned everything up.

“Good.” Shin stretched, arching his back, pins-and-needles awakening underneath where the gloves had been. He couldn't stop the prickle of heat that rose to his cheeks when he heard what Natsuki was thinking about him in that moment.

A knock at the door. “Shin, was that you? Are you awake?”

It was Aoi. Shin cleared his throat. “Come in.”

She beamed when she saw him sitting up. “There you are.” Is that migraine gone yet? He needs food. Her face remained perfectly calm as she laid the back of her hand flat against his forehead, humming in approval. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” 

Aoi clapped her hands. “Good, good.” I wonder if Sakamoto is gonna–  

She cut her thoughts off hastily, eyes wide. Shin cocked his head. “What's Sakamoto doing?”

Oops. “Nothing! Uhm, maybe he can come see you soon, okay? I’ll go let everyone know you're awake!”

With that, Aoi whirled out of the room like a panicked bird. “What the hell was that?” he wondered aloud.

I don't know. I stayed with you while you were asleep, so I haven't heard anything they might have talked about.

“You… The whole time?”

Mhm.

Shin was brutally reminded, then, that Natsuki was dead. They could talk in this fucked-up way, but for how long? Shin would never feel Natsuki’s arms around him again. Every fibre of his being was rotting, decaying, flaking away without him there, straight-faced but bright-eyed by his side.

“Fuck, I miss you,” Shin breathed.

A sombre pause. I’m right here.

“You know that's not what I meant.”

I know.

Shin swung his legs around, perching on the side of the bed. “I need a smoke.”

No, you don't.

“Fuck you.”

How about you go find out what's going on with Sakamoto instead of wallowing?

“Bastard,” Shin muttered under his breath, but he complied anyway. Casting a longing gaze to his cigarette box, he pushed the door open, hand tracking across the wall to balance himself. He could hear distant voices and thoughts coming from the store–Sakamoto and Heisuke. Shin felt like he was getting a preemptive headache, but he pressed on, curiosity prevailing.

“Hey, Mr. Sakamoto, Heisuke,” he tried, the words still coming out more mangled than he'd prefer.

“Shin, you're awake, yo!” Heisuke cuffed him on his uninjured shoulder, Piisuke chirping happily from atop his head. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don't think about it, his mind chattered, and Shin’s brow furrowed. He glanced at Sakamoto, who was keeping his mind carefully blank.

“What's going on?” Shin said slowly. 

DON’T think about it, thought Heisuke, who laughed nervously. “Nothing, ahaha! Just glad you're okay!” 

Shin glared at Piisuke. The parrot squawked, and Shin gleaned a memory of a flight, gliding over the city, spotting the vending machine hiding the lab’s entrance.

Ah. “So you guys found it.”

Heisuke's mind imploded in astonishment. How'd he figure that out?! I wasn't thinking about it at all! “Did’ya go digging in my brain?!”

Shin scoffed, a spasm of hollowness carving into his chest. “Of course I didn't. Piisuke was thinking about it.”

“Piisuke,” Heisuke chided. The bird trilled apologetically.

Shin scowled. “I’m going.”

No, you're not , Sakamoto’s mind hummed. When Shin looked down, a hand was encircling his wrist in an iron grip. “You’ll just get yourself killed.”

“What? No, I won’t.” Shin tried to wrench his hand from Sakamoto’s grip, but he only held on tighter. 

He’s right, Natsuki chimed in. Shin wished he could punch him in his probably-very-smug, ghostly face.

“Go back upstairs and rest,” Sakamoto said. “When you're fully recovered, we’ll go together, okay?”

Frustrated, Shin tried pulling away again. “Let me go.”

Sakamoto stared through him. “Okay?” he repeated, more forcefully.

Shin stopped himself from his eyes. “Okay,” he huffed.

The fingers around his wrist unclamped, and Shin shook out his arm, stalking back the way he came.

You're not seriously thinking about going alone, are you? Natsuki sighed mentally as Shin used every inch of his restraint not to slam the door like a petulant child. What an idiot.

“You don't get to lecture me on how I pay back those fuckers for killing you.”

Shin, I appreciate the sentiment, really. But I’d prefer for you to just move on and live happily.

“How the fuck,” Shin hissed, “am I supposed to do that.”

I can see that this is killing you from the inside out, idiot clairvoyant. I don't want to be the reason why you're miserable for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know how to be anything else without you,” Shin confessed.

For a moment, Shin saw through Natsuki’s eyes: ghostly hands cupping his face, transparent fingers quivering as they passed through his cheek. Instinctively, Shin brought a hand up to touch the side of his jaw, expecting to feel Natsuki's hand there–but all he felt beneath his fingers was his own flushed skin.

He couldn’t bear this anymore. Gaze hardening, Shin snatched his gloves from the foot of the bed, pulling them on with more force than strictly necessary. Sorry, Mr. Sakamoto, he thought as he balanced on the windowsill, crumbs of shattered glass crunching beneath him. I have to do this myself.

Natsuki’s mind glowered. You can’t seriously be doing this.

“Fucking watch me, Seba.” Shin let himself plunge to the ground, moonlight drenching his path. He’d seen in perfect bird’s-eye view the way to the lab’s entrance, the memory guiding him as he sped to his goal.

Behind him, Natsuki’s ghost trailed, trying to convince him to turn back. You’re gonna get killed, he was thinking as loud as he could, hurting Shin’s head. Shin, please! Just go back, wait for Sakamoto, please, I won’t watch you die– fucking idiot, listen to me!

Shin paid him no heed, as much as it pained him; his feet pounded against the pavement, darting left and right, all his willpower lending itself to destroying the laboratory and all the assholes inside. Closer and closer, heart beating faster and faster, hard enough that it could burst from his chest.

Almost there– just a little further–

So exceptional was his one-track focus that he barely registered Natsuki’s mind suddenly being afflicted with another crushing, ghostly headache. Shin , he tried to call out, falling behind. Shin, something’s not– I don’t feel– Shin!

At the pure fear imbued with Natsuki’s thoughts, Shin skidded to a stop. “Seba, what’s wrong?”

Something’s wrong, everything just feels wrong– I feel like I’m dying again. His thoughts reminded Shin of how a voice sounds on the verge of tears; his gut twisted with adrenaline. Brief silence from Natsuki’s mind–when Shin tried to listen closer, it felt as though he was being sucked into the centre of a whirlpool, and he withdrew his powers back to surface-level.

Shin, I’m scared.

Shin swore under his breath, chilled to the bone. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, nervousness rising. “Listen to me. You’ll be fine. You’re already dead–” he almost choked on the words, “–so how much worse can it get, really?”

No reply from Natsuki; all Shin could pick up on was dizzying pain and that awful sensation of spinning, dragging them down together, sending him stumbling with the force of the vertigo.

Natsuki’s consciousness flickered. Shin’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Natsuki,” he warned. “Don’t you dare fucking leave me right now.”

I’m… sorry, Natsuki’s mind murmured. On your… own now.

“No, no, you're not going anywhere, you're staying right the fuck here, you ghost bastard–”

Shin, I–

Gone. Natsuki’s mind had simply winked out of existence without a trace, as though he’d never been there at all.

Shin screamed, hoarse and guttural and wretched.

He couldn’t fall apart here. As he let the tears blind him, Shin felt something coil dangerously in his chest, equal parts hollow and denser than the core of a sun. Flexing his wrists, he stormed towards the entrance to his reckoning, flinging the vending machine aside as if it weighed no more than a shoebox. He didn't give a shit about how his arms exploded with the movement. All he wanted was to destroy the place that had taken Natsuki away from him.

Cloaked, hooded lab grunts greeted him with the friendliness of an assault rifle. Shin had seen it coming, eyes glowing with power. He tossed them aside like ragdolls– I thought you didn't kill anymore, Natsuki’s voice echoed in his mind–and at the last instant, Shin altered the course of his fists, aiming just below the jugular; not enough to kill instantly, but Shin didn't cast a thought to how long it would take them to bleed out, either.

The laboratory was dimly-lit and smelled damp, mildewy, spiced with unknown volatile chemicals. Shin passed by rows and rows of ominous fluid-filled cylinders–the same ones he’d seen in one of their minds before–the bubbling liquid inside tinged a gruesomely opaque blood-red. More cloaked figures charged him, and he knocked one straight into a cylinder, smashing the glass and spilling the putrid substance all across the floor.

The one he’d thrown through the contraption laid still, a shard of the thick glass protruding from his back. Underneath him lay some kind of abomination, like a half-baked human, with the same features as the clones–but sickly, underdeveloped. Shin snarled, pinning another attacker by the throat, squeezing until he gurgled, ramming him through each cylinder one-by-one until a tsunami of gelatinous red engulfed what was left of the floor.

More lab-grown bastards had been advancing, but now were swept off their feet by the bloody tide. Shin waded through it, gutting attackers left and right, reloading his gun, smashing as much machinery and equipment as he could. Tubes, monitors, bones, wires, veins–all of it disintegrated under his touch.

He’d been using his powers too long. His head hurt. Shin ignored it, barely blinking as a knife slashed clean through his clothes, his own blood running down his flank to join the mess on the floor.

The flow of clones didn't let up. Shin was bleeding heavily, now, half-limping as he kicked one off him, spinning to knock another off their feet, holding yet another’s face beneath the liquid until they stopped moving. He’d long since run out of bullets, and his arms were mangled, but he kept moving forward, two steps for every step backwards he stumbled. 

As he dodged a bubbling flask swinging down towards him, he caught a glimpse of a cluster of lab workers around a table, a blank monitor hanging behind them. Ducking around a swinging blade, Shin could see a body on the table, head covered by some sort of space helmet-like covering. The grunts were ripping out wires from the body’s arms and neck, spurts of blood arcing through the air. Shin refocused his trajectory to that table. If they had some kind of test subject to use as a human experiment–Shin’s blood boiled.

Another attacker loomed above him as he tried to dart towards the table. “Going somewhere?” the voice lilted playfully, syringe flashing from the edges of Shin’s vision. Gasping for air, Shin lurched out of its path, narrowly avoiding being stuck with it. His powers were wavering, body screaming; he couldn't keep up for much longer. He needed to get rid of this asshole, fast.

Shin got a proper look at the guy’s face between jabs. Same as all the others, but with an eerie brightness in his eyes, laugh-lines creasing as he cackled. His attacks left no openings, and Shin was being forced backwards, struggling to keep his foothold on the slippery surface. 

His mind-reading phased out at the worst possible moment, and Shin tumbled, injured shoulder cracking against the blood-slick tiles. Sorry, Natsuki, he thought numbly, watching through one drooping eye as the needle descended. Guess I’ll see you soon.

Death didn't come for him, though. Sakamoto did instead.

A hand was offered down to him, clean and warm and bloodless. “Shin, when we get home, you're grounded.”

Shin let himself be pulled to his feet, but pulled away when Sakamoto tried to loop his arm around his broad shoulders. “Can't yet,” he mumbled, lips numb. “Someone back there. Experiment.” He still needed to save them, make sure they wouldn't be trapped when Shin destroyed the place that took Natsuki from him.

He didn't give Sakamoto a chance to reply. Shin hobbled to the table, now free from enemies, almost collapsing against the side of it, whole body shaking. He blinked, once, twice.

The prone figure had a wound in his stomach, one that couldn't be more than a week old–but from what he could see through the tattered fabric of his shirt, it hadn't healed at all. 

And– and Shin knew these hands.

Was this–?

Frantically, Shin clawed at the strange helmet fixed firmly over the test subject’s head. His fingers couldn't find purchase, slick with blood, and Shin’s heart drummed in his neck, fingernails bending under the force of lifting the device off–and then Sakamoto was towering over him, brushing Shin’s desperate hands away, pulling the helmet cleanly off with a pop, and–

“Natsuki!”

Dead, dead, dead, sang Shin’s mind. Moles under his closed eyes, hair tangled and stained with blood, skin too-pale. His body. Hooked up to some sick science experiment, defiled by these monsters. An inhuman sound tore itself from Shin’s lungs, and he fell forwards, head coming to rest on Natsuki’s chest.

The fabric beneath Shin’s face dampened with tears. All his strength drained away, body going numb. 

Beneath him, he felt something flutter.

Shin started, eyes shooting wide open. Could that be what he thought it was? He held his breath, pressing his ear against Natsuki’s bony ribs. 

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

It was weak, but he could hear it. Shin could hear Natsuki’s heartbeat.

“He’s alive,” Shin wept, clinging to Natsuki like a lifeline. “He's–he’s alive.”

Sakamoto whipped around from where he was inspecting the monitor. “Alive?”

Shin nodded wordlessly, holding Natsuki tighter. Now he was so close, he could see the faint rise and fall to Natsuki’s chest, hear the whisper-soft sound of his breathing. You utter bastard, Shin thought, halting another sob from escaping. You fucking idiot. You’re alive.

Sakamoto reached to lift Natsuki from the table, and Shin almost growled out of instinct. “Shin,” Sakamoto said gently, “his wounds are still serious. We need to get him to a hospital. Let me take him.”

Reluctantly, Shin allowed Sakamoto to sling Natsuki’s limp body over his shoulder, surrendering himself as well to being lifted by the scruff of his neck and bundled under one arm. The battle haze was dissipating, and Shin lost consciousness for the blink of an eye, his whole body spent and burning, skull determined to crush his brain.

Another blink, and they were back in the open air. Shin wrestled his vocal cords under control, wheezing, “The lab–”

Sakamoto gave him a gentle squeeze. “Later. Natsuki’s more important.”

He was right, of course. “Yeah,” Shin whispered, lapsing back into unconsciousness once more. The darkness was sweet on the back of his tongue, cradling him, reaching gentle talons into his eyesockets and humming a soundless lullaby into his bones.

—

He awoke, groggy, to the vestiges of a nightmare about Natsuki’s mind disappearing from Shin’s perception, a drip hooked into his arm, and the sound of two heart monitors chipping quietly.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the room to stop spinning, for what could have easily been hours. “Natsuki?” he finally tried, tongue heavy in his mouth. His clairvoyance returned slowly with his speech, and to his side, he heard Sakamoto stir.

You awake, sleepyhead? Telepathy working again?

Shin licked his lips, discovering they were cracked and stinging. “Yeah. How long has it been?”

“Only about a day.” They operated on Natsuki. We just have to wait and see if he'll pull through.

Shin could have passed out again from relief. Natsuki was alive. “Where is he?”

Sakamoto stood, pulling back the curtain to the other side of Shin’s hospital bed. I thought you wouldn’t want to be separated, so…

There. He was right there. “Natsuki,” Shin breathed, trying to reach for him, only for the line in his arm to tug him back painfully. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Eyes closed, breathing evenly, blood flowing beneath skin, asleep, peaceful. Nothing like the visions he’d seen in his dreams, and in Mafuyu’s.

Natsuki was too deep in medicated sleep for dreams, but Shin could hear the background hum of his slow, unconscious brainwaves loud and clear. He didn't even realise he was crying until Sakamoto offered him an embroidered handkerchief. With a thank-you, Shin took it and wiped his eyes, exhaling shakily.

Try not to get your hopes up too much, Sakamoto thought tactfully. The doctors still don’t know if he’ll wake up. He was very badly injured.

“I know.” Shin held faith in Natsuki’s stubborn perseverance anyway. He was a stubborn bastard, and would probably wake up just to yell at Shin for attacking the lab while injured. Even just that thought, that brief daydream of Natsuki’s voice scolding him, was enough to set off Shin’s tears again. God, he needed to hear Natsuki’s real voice again. Shin needed to touch him, feel his shape under his fingers, make sure he’s real, and living and breathing, and that Shin won't lose him a third time.

The rest of the family visited him in the following hours, one after another. Aoi and Hana came together, squeezing his hand and delivering a remarkably well-restrained hug to the side of his face in short succession; then it was Lu, who admonished him loudly for his stunt, but Shin could tell she was overwhelmingly glad that he was okay. Heisuke was next, and he carefully extricated Piisuke from inside his jacket, both happy to see him up and about.

Finally, Mafuyu shuffled in. He went straight to Natsuki’s side, hovering with barely-contained relief. He made eye contact with Shin from across the beds, struggling to find the right words to match what he was feeling.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to get out. “Thank you.” Idiot brother how dare you make me worry about you when you were alive all this time I'm gonna kill you again as soon as you wake up– wait, no– I’ll beat you up, at least, I promise. And then you're gonna show me how to make your stupid crepes.

Shin smiled weakly back at the boy, finding himself a touch overwhelmed by Mafuyu’s thoughts. The pain meds in his IV bag were doing a reasonable job at dulling the pain, but he constantly felt like his senses were subdued, like he was vulnerable to another attack at any moment. With varying success, he repeated to himself that Sakamoto had taken care of everyone at the lab, and Shin himself had destroyed all the machines they were using to make the clones. Still, Shin knew this discomfort wouldn't leave him until he watched the lab burn to the ground with his own eyes.

Shin recovered soon enough to be unhooked from his drip and discharged, bandages wrapped professionally around every wound until any visible skin disappeared underneath the soft white fabric. He didn't go home, though, back to the store. He stayed right there, at Natsuki’s side.

Sakamoto had bargained with the hospital staff to let Shin and Mafuyu visit and stay whenever and as long as they liked. Long days at Natsuki’s bedside were spent in near-silence, broken by the occasional retelling of certain elements of Shin’s rampage at the lab, at Mafuyu’s request. 

And when Mafuyu went home–his and Natsuki’s house, cleaned and polished like nothing had ever happened–Shin would lay his head on Natsuki's chest, feel it rising and falling, listening to the heart beating beneath–and talk. Beg him to wake up, berate him for being an absolute fool of a man.

“I know what you tried to say, before,” Shin said to him, on a day where he was the only other one in the room. “When your thoughts disappeared. I know you were trying to say you loved me.”

Silence, except for the heart monitor. Natsuki’s eyelids remained serenely closed. Shin ran his fingers along the cool skin of Natsuki’s hand, committing the shapes of the bones and tendons beneath to memory once again. “I love you too, idiot,” he whispered. “So hurry and wake up so you can say it back properly.”

Sakamoto brought him packed lunches periodically, reminding him to get some fresh air. He peeled himself from Natsuki’s bedside reluctantly, entrusting him to Mafuyu, and paced aimlessly up and down the hospital's halls. 

Somehow, he found his way to a small garden, sunlight harsh on his skin. He fiddled with the half-wilting leaves of one plant, convincing himself that he wasn't dreaming, this was real, and Natsuki wasn’t dead, just sleeping–only sleeping–all he had to do was wake up.

Why wasn't he waking up?

Mafuyu shared his sentiment, and Shin tried to reassure him, but it came out sounding like an empty promise. Shin would hear minuscule changes in Natsuki’s brain waves, fluctuating in short bursts, yet he stayed resolutely asleep. Doctors told them to keep holding on, but thought he'd be beyond hope if he didn't stir within the week. Shin didn't tell Mafuyu that; after the boy went home, he balled his fists in the bedsheets and glared at the still-comatose Natsuki.

“Seba,” he said forcefully. “Wake up.”

Of course, that did nothing. Shin sighed, taking Natsuki’s hand in his, interlocking their fingers as best he could. “You fucking jerk. I finally got you back. The least you could do is wake up. Stop being lazy.”

Still nothing. Shin knew talking was pointless; Natsuki couldn't hear him. He kept talking anyway. “You're probably staying under this long just to spite me.” He huffed a laugh. “I really miss you. So damn much, it hurts. I didn't know love could hurt like this.”

Something sparked in Natsuki’s brain waves, and Shin jumped, inspecting his face for any signs of wakefulness. Against his hopes, it faded back out, leaving Shin to hold back frustrated tears. “You're seriously getting on my nerves,” Shin told him, giving his hand a light shake. “Please, Natsuki. Just give me something. Anything, just to show me you're still in there.”

Natsuki remained as unmoving as ever under Shin’s unblinking gaze. Giving up on watching for his eyelids to flutter, Shin laid his head down on the side of the bed, keeping their hands entwined, and let himself drift off.

He was three-quarters of the way to falling properly asleep, senses fading, when Natsuki’s fingers twitched in his hand.

Shin was alert instantly, snapping upright. Natsuki’s brain waves were spiking, activity finally awakening, and Shin felt adrenaline spill into his stomach. “Natsuki?” he pressed. Under his breath, Shin whispered pleas, watching his face carefully for any signs of life.

The fingers entwined with his twitched again, and Natsuki’s brain activity spiked even higher. “Come on, come on, come on.” Shin tightened his grip, on the edge of his seat. “Please wake up.”

An excruciating few moments tricked by, and Shin gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Please.

Natsuki’s brow spasmed. Shin held his hand tighter. “You can do it, come on, it's not that hard. Just open your eyes. I’m here.”

A flutter of the eyelids, and all at once, dark eyes were blinking up at him, hazy and unfocused but open. “Natsuki,” Shin almost sobbed. “I’m here. Right here. Can you see me?”

Those beautiful eyes locked onto Shin’s, and he grinned, lifting Natsuki’s hand to his cheek. “That's it, you idiot. You’re back. I’m here.”

Natsuki tried to speak, lips moving to make Shin’s name, and he coughed, clearing his throat from weeks of disuse. “Shin,” he finally wheezed, his fingers curling on their own to cup Shin’s cheek.

Shin's eyes filled shamelessly with tears. “Hi,” he said rather dumbly, and promptly launched himself at Natsuki, throwing his arms around his neck.

Weak arms snaked around his waist in return, and Natsuki breathed deeply into the embrace. After a long while and not long enough, Shin pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist, laughing unbidden.

The first real words out of Natsuki’s mouth were, “So you do care about me.”

Shin cuffed him lightly in the shoulder, trying to contain his tears. “Dumb bastard. Of course I do. Who do you think I am?”

Beautiful, Natsuki thought, and then his hands were in Shin’s hair, and Shin’s mouth was on Natsuki’s, kissing him hungrily like a man starved, and Natsuki’s lips were sweet against his own, something he thought he’d never taste again. And Natsuki was kissing him back just as fiercely, as though Shin was more important, more essential than air. 

“You're alive,” Shin panted when he came up for air. He wasn't dreaming.

Natsuki pulled him back down. “I love you,” he breathed across Shin’s lips, and Shin could have melted away into atoms right then and there, drowning in the expanse of Natsuki’s surging emotion.  “I love you,” he said again, muffled but still crystal-clear in Shin’s mind.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Shin rocked back, wiping his mouth, his whole body overheating. Below him, Natsuki’s cheeks were dusted with pink, too, lying breathless and blissful against his pillow. “Hello?” Shin called to the person knocking.

A nurse entered. “Just checking up on Mr. Seba, we saw his heart rate go up–oh, my word.” He scribbled something down on his notepad, backing away. “I’ll get the doctor!”

Natsuki had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face that Shin wanted to kiss away, but he held himself back, moving aside as doctors and nurses flooded the room. While they interrogated Natsuki and adjusted his medicines, Shin called Sakamoto and Mafuyu to tell them the news.

Mafuyu was there in a split second, almost knocking over the medical team on their way out. He threw himself into Natsuki’s arms, his mind consumed with sheer joy, burying himself into his brother’s embrace.

“Hey,” said Natsuki, smiling at Mafuyu.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, stupid big brother,” Mafuyu sniffed, going in for another hug. Natsuki obliged, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately.

Shin came back around to Natsuki’s side, and he slipped his hand into Shin’s again, grip weak but resolute. This is real. He’s alive, and awake, and real, Shin reminded himself. 

Days whirled past, and slowly but surely, Natsuki grew stronger, able to stay awake for hours at a time, even managing to walk and eat normally. Shin clung to him like a limpet–not that Natsuki seemed to mind–afraid that he’d start to disappear before his eyes, fading into transparency and nonexistence. Natsuki flicked him square in the forehead–“Would a ghost be able to do this?”–and then kissed where he’d inflicted the small hurt, sealing reality with his lips.

“I’m going to destroy the lab,” Shin finally said, breaking the comfortable silence they were laying in.

Natsuki’s dark eyes surveyed him. “Good,” he said, running a thumb over Shin’s cheekbone, thinking about the weight that would be lifted from his back seeing it gone.

Shin blinked up at Natsuki. “Wanna come with me when I do?”

Natsuki snorted, lips twitching up at the corners. “Fuck, yes.”

I won't let any trace of it survive, Shin thought, pressing his lips softly against Natsuki’s palm. I’m gonna make sure to protect you this time.

At Natsuki’s insistence that he sleep in a proper bed, Shin began to begrudgingly return to Sakamoto’s for the nights. He joined the rest of the family for dinners, quiet but present, hesitantly accepting of their company.

The first night Shin spent back home, Sakamoto held out the helmet-contraption. Shin flinched back from it, visions of Natsuki’s too-still body flashing in his mind. 

Sorry, thought Sakamoto. “This is how they found us,” he said aloud. “I picked the electronics apart. They were somehow separating Natsuki’s soul from his body, and watching what he saw.” The man who made all those clones of himself had defected from the spy division years ago. Everyone thought he’d been killed.

The fire in Shin’s belly rekindled. That monster was just using Natsuki for his sick little science experiment, toying with Shin, planning attacks on their family. He deserved to–

Shin shook his head, wrenching himself out of the dangerous spiral. “You’ll destroy that thing,” he said, not so much a question as it was a statement.

“Of course.”

“And the lab?”

Sakamoto considered it. In his mind, he recalled the various chemical components he’d seen on shelves. 

Shin liked where this was going. “Natsuki wants to be there when we blow it up,” he said, and Sakamoto made a noise of affirmation.

Natsuki kept improving, leaps and bounds, soon steady enough on his feet to walk without using Shin as a crutch. He and Mafuyu would play-fight, throwing easy swings at each other, both relearning their defences after spending so much time healing.

On the day when Natsuki was finally discharged, Shin took him by the hand and led him to the lab’s entrance, the decrepit vending machine still buckled a few feet away from where Shin wrenched it from the ground. Sakamoto clambered out through the corridor as they arrived, giving Shin a nod.

“Stand back,” Shin said, drawing his gun. Sakamoto had hand-rigged the place with what he could find, ensuring no corner would be spared. Shin stared down the cold metal of the handgun, aiming towards a puddle of leaking fuel just at the edge of the natural light, and fired.

Muffled booms shook the earth, and Shin retreated to where Natsuki and Sakamoto stood to watch the show. Inside, a fire was already raging, painting the mouldy, rapidly-crumbling walls with gleaming orange and yellow.

Beside him, Natsuki slipped his hand into Shin’s, and exhaled a long, slow breath. Shin held him tight, soaking in his warmth.

It was over. 

Natsuki recovered even swifter once the lab was safely reduced to a smouldering pile of ashes. Shin finally tossed the rotten lilies straight into the trash. The Sakamotos threw them a party, nothing too grand–but sharing a proper, home-cooked meal with Natsuki was more than Shin could have ever asked for, after everything that went down. Lu and Heisuke flicked folded napkins at each other across the table, and Mafuyu rolled his eyes at how gross they were being–and Natsuki laughed, music to Shin’s ears, sending an awed shiver up his spine.

And further forward still, when Shin awoke from nightmares too vivid to tell apart from reality, believing Natsuki dead again, he’d stumble onto his doorstep, hand poised to knock; and Natsuki would already be there, ready and waiting for Shin to topple into his arms, playfully griping about ripping his stitches if this kept up. But Shin could always tell that Natsuki didn’t really mind.