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Even though one of Rin’s ‘jobs’ was technically to take photos of what tended to be pretty violent shots, it wasn’t like he actively sought out gore, not anymore. He never let it show, but more often than not, it brought back memories of what he’d witnessed returning to his base. But Rin’s preferences didn’t really matter when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through the usual Toshima ambient noise; he had no choice but to immediately ditch what he was doing and head towards the source of it, because surely, the only reason someone in Igra would be stupid enough to use a gun would be if they were facing the same undefeatable opponent Rin sought.
Rin was expecting a lot of things when he turned the corner to another dirty alley he knew like the back of his hand, but none of it prepared him for what was actually waiting for him here. For a moment, Rin couldn’t even process what he was seeing. No one was here except an older man slumped against the wall, a pistol in his hand and blood quickly spreading all over his white shirt. It couldn’t be Motomi, because Motomi hated pain and got sick at violence; he always managed to avoid the Executioners, and he wasn’t even in Igra, and he’d never try to start a fight with anyone, and the only possible explanation for this was that he was having another nightmare and any moment he’d see his friends’ bodies too and and–
Rin’s body was moving before his mind could accept what was happening, quickly closing the distance between them and only realizing he’d screamed something when Motomi’s eyes opened, blearily focusing on his face. “What happened?!” Rin’s voice was almost unrecognizable in its strain as he roughly sank to his knees and tried to inspect the wound-- his shirt was torn, and there was this hole through the upper left portion of his chest like he’d been stabbed all the way through with something much bigger than a knife-- there was so much blood coming out so fast he could barely even see if any of his organs had been impacted.
Motomi tried to speak, but instead started coughing, the sound even nastier than usual. “Shut up!” Rin instinctively cried out and started unbuttoning his shirt, doing his best to be careful despite how frantic he felt. Rin felt sick at the pained sound he made when he lowered the strap off of his shoulder. Now that Rin could see the wound more clearly, he just felt like even more of his first-aid training was eluding him-- what weapon could possibly produce a stab wound that looked like this?
Rin’s breathing came out in short gasps as he folded up Motomi’s shirt and pressed it down hard against the hole. He already knew Motomi was going to die-- he was bleeding so much it was pooling on the ground, getting onto Rin’s clothes and hands, so warm and vivid and completely hopeless. “Just calm down! You’re going to get through this,” he said despite Motomi doing nothing to provoke such words.
Motomi’s coughing subsided, and he offered Rin a shaky smile, his eyes already looking glassy. “It’s okay, Rin,” he rasped out. The fact that he’d say something like that without a hint of irony felt like another nail being pounded into his coffin; Rin pushed his full weight into the wound to try to stop the bleeding, but found all the strength leaving his hands at the look of anguish on Motomi’s face. Rin didn’t have any of the tools to try to remedy this nor the time to get him to a doctor, not when he was bleeding this much.
Rin limply slumped against Motomi, his body feverishly warm. “You fucking idiot. You weren’t supposed to get involved in this shit. What the hell were you thinking?” Rin’s voice was quiet and distant to his own ears. Truthfully, Rin didn’t know anything about Motomi the same way Motomi didn’t know anything about why Rin was here. It was foolish to make friends in a place like this; Motomi should have been a business deal and nothing more, but Rin had fucked up and let himself care too much yet again.
Now, all he could do was keep him company while he bled out. Was that kindness? He hadn’t been able to offer Kazui that, and it wasn’t even Rin’s fault Motomi had ended up like this, and yet, this somehow felt even worse. It didn’t take long for Motomi’s chest to stop moving, his blood matted in Rin’s hair, and it felt like something inside Rin shattered. Why had this happened? Rin already knew he’d never find out the answer; Motomi was the one that gave him information on the happenings here, and Rin certainly wasn’t going to seek out another info broker after this.
He felt so genuinely fucking sick. Rin had told himself he was trying to avoid getting too close to Motomi because he had no intention of leaving this city alive; Rin should have died long before Motomi ever kicked the bucket from sickness caused by his stupid smoking habit instead of the violence Rin knew too well. Rin surely wasn’t in Toshima to find a relationship, but he still hadn’t managed to learn the lesson his brother had tried to teach him about loving people-- Rin was achingly lonely and he cared, and Motomi had been the closest thing he had to a friend after he’d lost his team.
He knew he needed to get up-- if someone attacked him, he’d be vulnerable, and surely, the Executioners would be coming soon to dispose of corpses. But Rin couldn’t stop crying, burying his face in his bloody chest in some half-hearted attempt to muffle his involuntary sobs. He was so pathetic, because even though he knew he deserved to die and had every intention of seeing that through, he couldn’t stop himself from seeking out the relief brought through sexuality, those fleeting moments that brought temporary distraction from such a godawful world. Yeah, he’d let Motomi’s flirting with him go way too far, but he’d told himself it was fine, because neither of them were serious about it-- no, they were constantly ribbing on each other and had never once confessed to anything remotely intimate.
It was nothing like how he’d felt for Kazui, and yet, he was now quickly realizing it kind of was. He had tried to pretend he didn’t notice the times Motomi would look at him with something like tenderness in his eyes, tried to forget he ever fantasized about what it might be like, to be with someone who loved him and could hold a conversation with him and maybe keep a clear head about everything chaotic here-- oh, he was fucking stupid.
In his attempts to convince himself this wasn’t a serious relationship, he felt he’d almost taken Motomi for granted. The knowledge that he’d never again share a drink with him or bitch at him about his appearance or hear him say something surprisingly thoughtful about Rin’s camerawork made it undeniable that he actually cared. Yet again, Rin hadn’t said anything before it was too late, and he couldn’t even blame Shiki for it this time.
The grief was unbearable. He hadn’t even touched Kazui’s corpse-- how could he, when Shiki had been waiting to watch Rin’s reaction to the carnage-- but he was clinging to Motomi now even though it was surely making his own misery worse. He couldn’t stand this all-consuming loss and this terrible life that took every single good thing there was and mercilessly crushed it to nothing just for cruelty’s sake. He wanted to die. More than anything, Rin just wanted to fucking die.
It would be so easy, really; he was used to those moments where his stilettos seemed to practically be begging him to use them on himself, and now, he couldn’t imagine anything more pleasurable than slitting his own throat here and now. Even better, he could just use Motomi’s gun on himself before the Executioners finally showed up, and then, then Rin would finally be fucking freed from all this pointless suffering.
But he couldn’t. This only solidified his next move-- he had failed, again, to save someone, to say something that might have changed this outcome, which really just proved that he needed to be punished even more. Rin’s hands were violently shaking as he felt over Motomi’s pockets until he felt a notebook; he pulled it out and quickly flipped through it, confirming there were tidbits of information inside he could try to decipher later.
Rin got to his feet and quickly shoved the notebook in his bag. He knew he needed to leave, now, and still, his gaze lingered on Motomi for just a moment. The sight of him dead made him so sick he wanted to kill himself more than anything, and still, Rin forced himself to get back down and quickly put his shirt back on, in some hope that the Executioners would be less likely to violate his body if he was dressed.
That probably just hurt Rin more in the end, because touching his bloody body already losing its life’s warmth made him gag. “I’m sorry,” Rin mumbled without looking at him, pressing his sticky hands against the wall to help get himself back to his feet. “I’m sorry.” He left him there with a new resolve to carry out his final plans without getting anyone else involved with him and the suffering his existence always brought.