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npc contact.1
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Anyways, there's a growing frown on his face, and he'd made sure to keep his head down and eyes on the paper as he waits for the question, but he can't help but steal a glance at Komaeda before looking back down to write. ]
I'm not
I don't
13. Do you regret meeting me?
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rokkun
( he writes only his name before leaning up properly, turning in his chair to face the other, komaeda opens his arms... like he's asking for a hug. how does that answer if he regrets meeting him? it probably doesn't, but it is random of all things he could do at this moment. )
...
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Rokkun turns in his seat after Komaeda does, mirroring the gesture with some confusion, except with his arms not quite so outstretched and more reaching forward so he can give the hug instead of rec—-
"Arata-kun! Komaeda-kun!" The teacher has had ENOUGH of their shit. "If you're not going to pay attention to the lecture, go stand outside in the hall until class is over. Go on! Leave!" ]
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he grabs the textbook accordingly, along with the notebook with all their questions and answers inside, and he picks them up to press against his chest as he raises from his seat. he extends his prosthetic first, gripping rokkun's hand to help him, and he'll release as soon as he's up too.
cruel, sending them out there with the psychotic imps... guess that's where they're going. :) )
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What if that's why, when they're out the door, he isn't able to pull away in time when he feels a sharp pain in his leg, an invisible psychotic imp launching itself at him and tearing a chunk out of his thigh, blood spraying across the floor and the walls as the school collapses in on itself and transforms. ]
https://i.imgur.com/BPeK0FT.png
punished for having people near him because he's just that lucky, is what he thinks when he turns his head to look back to speak to him. instead, it's the color red mixed with the smell of blood that stands out before the school shifts into that dilapidated hell they're all accustomed to. komaeda's mind blanks out for a moment, frozen in place until he blinks right after — the fingers that held rokkun's hand twitch as he turns on his heel, taking a step back, but keeping his eyes on...
what? what will he see? rokkun's shadow? him? holds my head, not my hurt comfort meme. )
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He sees Shadow Rokkun... All black, featureless, hands that pass through one another because in this state, neither can touch one another. He doesn't leave, though, standing in front of Komaeda, head bowed, hands raised in front of his navel and staring down at them.
... ]
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this is a reminder that he shouldn't have gotten involved, he should have just kept his distance, he shouldn't have done anything. he's used to do this so he doesn't need to care, shouldn't care, but he can't stop his legs from running away from the incident — but that's because he's running to the bathroom right next to this classroom, and he's going to hit the glass with his prosthetic so he can come out of there, because he's not wasting any time. he ain't even supposed to be running, but you know, once he's back in the real world he's going to run to rokkun?
ROKKUN, HE'S HERE, HE'LL CARRY YOU. )
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The ground tips.
Komaeda finds himself back inside void Yogen. ]
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the ruckus outside is probably audible from the seat by the door of 3-B, which i'm saying amami sits in now because that makes it easier for him to excuse himself in the middle of class to check things out.
not that he'll get to see much once he steps into the hallway and the red in his peripheral catches his eye, turning his gaze to see a nauseating wound as the hallways crumble into uncanny versions of themselves. still, what he does see is important, because he's going to be seeing it again when the colours register in his mind, and he sees the silhouette of komaeda booking it down the hallway (again), and thanks to rika, he doesn't actually need to go anywhere to break his mirror shard, blinking back into awareness in front of the bloody scene. )
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Guess what's going to happen!! ]
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oh rokkun, there were things he wanted to know, things he wanted to do, whatever fake life he had planned komaeda was willing to listen. his type of hope also made komaeda curious, wondering where it would take him, and yet, the only thing komaeda continues to witness is their hands held together in some sick and twisted time loop.
he should let go, he'll do what he can to let go, he won't impose his existence on him if that's what it means to free him from his grasp. he tries again, a second time, getting to his feet. even during this unfortunate event, this unlucky scenario he's found himself in — talent is talent, and he's quick to turn his head when he's rushing past the ultimate within the void realm with him. )
Akira. Akira Fujioka, 3-C, bring him here!
( he's irritated, he's annoyed, but he rushes to the bathroom next door — he cracked the first mirror he saw before, so he goes for the middle to break that. once he's back into reality with a blink of his eyes, his hand tightening onto the other's own — )
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either way, he takes in komaeda's words seriously, and when he next breaks the mirror, shuts his eyes tight. turns on his heel, and bolts down to the other end of the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of class 3-C and slamming the door open. )
Akira Fujioka?!
( he don't know this kid, but he's just going to yell the name and hope someone responds. )
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In one, Komaeda and Amami open their eyes, lids leaden with sleep and the dappled summer sun that makes waking slow, enveloped by the smell of earth and grass upon which they lay under the shade of the wisteria. In between them lays Rokkun, eyes closed and breathing deep and steady, still asleep. He is whole and unharmed, his wrists bare and unmarked. It feels safe. It feels...
... ]
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He should let go. He should've let go, one hand to clamp over his throat and stem what blood he can, the other to grab at whatever is trying to burrow into his neck and fling it aside, but he only has one free hand and he weighs his options.
Blood spills down his front as he wrenches something off his neck, fingers digging deep until he can feel them puncture and give, hot and wet as his own blood that coats his hand. He sidesteps, the image of a """soccer ball""" in his mind as he brings his foot down hard and feels something crunch beneath his shoe— scoop, toss, leg sweeping and shin slamming something that hits the ground thirty feet away. The one on his arm skitters up his shoulder with needle claws, digging in so Rokkun can't shake it off but he doesn't mean to— he turns and drives the shoulder straight into the wall, gritting his teeth against the screech that sounds right against his ear.
His knees give. His breath gurgles through his throat. ]
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plant just a little despair so that the hopes of those who witness are able to grow from beneath the dirt into something amazing. that's why rokkun suffers through this, because he'll grow stronger, they all do, the extent of their hope makes it so.
he reaches forward, his attempt to catch the other with one arm around his waist once his knees give out so that he doesn't fall to the ground. it's painful to do so, especially since it's the arm he's previously stabbed himself with in order to help someone else, so komaeda trembles. people are so fragile around him, so he doesn't understand the idea of holding someone close like they're precious to you. it's the last thing on his mind as he holds him in concern and anticipation of what'll happen next, and if rokkun makes any hint that there's something near his ear, komaeda isn't against using his prosthetic to reach out to whatever it may be — if he feels anything, he'll squeeze without a care in the world, he's not thinking too much — really, his body is only responsive gestures towards what will cease the pain.
when he thinks about speaking, his words are caught in his throat, he thinks it's a waste of time too, he finds it unfair, but it's when he feels eyes behind him that he doesn't even make an effort to turn around. he knows that amami went and pulled akira from class, there's no way he didn't — ultimates like him are competent, they're able to get things done, they're what brings hope to this cruel world, sometimes bad things happen to strengthen others. )
Hurry up, Fujioka-kun! ( there's urgency in his voice, his eyes won't move from staring at the expression rokkun wears. ) Do what you did to all the others...
( if he connects the eyes of that mystery person within the science club room, and then the eyes during student council match — madison was sane enough, that's fine, just like that, or even the docile set of people that stood in wait. komaeda doesn't care. )
Save him, turn him into one of them, it doesn't matter what you do.
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when amami finally does look, finds himself thrown into the other side, cracks the surface of the glass again, the nausea rolls through his stomach all at once. even so, he's not one to hesitate — only falters a moment through the entire thing, and if akira hasn't already gotten moving, amami will make him.
taking akira's wrist, he pulls the other boy forward behind him — sharp and sudden and meant to get the point across more than actually take him anywhere, and he lets go as soon as he's made his point. knows better than to actually drag him into the midst of this mess if it's not where he's wanting to go. but with akira directly behind him, he makes to run back over to the other two. blood rushes in his ears, his vision tunnels, and all he sees is the sickening red that stains the scene. he swallows down his hesitation, doubts, fears, closes the distance, and if there's any other indication of movement on or near the other two, that's what he zeroes in on, focusing first on not having the situation get any worse. on not losing anything more. otherwise, he'll make to try and help komaeda, to hold rokkun up so they can get him... somewhere. the nurse's office, maybe, but really, anywhere is better than here.
he doesn't know what akira is meant to do in a situation like this, or what komaeda is talking about, but he knows they have to do something. )
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-—not dead yet! Don't you give up on him too early...!
[ What he did— does— with all the others, he could only do once they're dead, and Rokkun is still hanging on, with each heave of his chest and gurgle in his throat, the attempt to remain standing on his own feet even when his body won't obey.
The blood drips down Akira's wrist, thin threads trailing down his palm and the lengths of his fingers as he lifts his hand for Rokkun's face— it becomes real thread, solid, weaving in and out of the torn skin and cartilage of Rokkun's throat and closing it up, scabbing over in a matter of seconds.
Akira Fujioka is good at sewing. In a sense. ]
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( "-—not dead yet!" is what he says, and komaeda solidifies the idea into his mind understanding that's how it works. the person in the room that day must have already been dead, turned into one of those creatures during the deathmatch. he has to be dead, and to hear him say this reassures komaeda in ways that he never thought he'd have to experience. he's used to it... people dropping like flies, and maybe that's why he was ready to accept that he lost him too, another body added to the pile of corpses because of his existence.
he keeps his eyes on rokkun, not wanting to turn away from him — rushed steps that come closer, and it's the display of akira's hand, the blood that thickens into strands of string to weave itself into the make-up of his skin. it's an experience that komaeda's too acceptant of, but that's probably due to his own background of supernatural luck that anything can happen at this rate. it's pretty amazing what someone can do with blood, quite talented, if komaeda can think that at the moment as he blinks slowly to drink in the sight of what's happening.
is that all it takes? he wonders, as he watches the area scab over, and wanting to make sure this is real, komaeda lifts one hand to lightly brush his fingers over the scabbed location. his mouth parts wanting to speak, but nothing comes out, open, close, open, close... he isn't sure what he wants to say, but he follows with manners first. )
Thank you... Fujioka-kun.
( the gears in komaeda's mind are turning, slowly, and despite the situation they're in, he can't help but laugh even though he doesn't want to. a sort of defense mechanism as he looks at rokkun trying to keep him up so that he doesn't fall — with that chunk taken out of his leg, he doesn't seem so keen on letting go. )
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Thanks, Fujioka-kun.
( he doesn't know what led to all of this, or how things ended up here, but it looks like komaeda knew the right person to call for. right now, that's what's important — that, and making sure that rokkun is okay from here on out. he's still in a pretty rough state after all, even if his throat is no longer ripped wide open, so amami's going to make an effort to support some of the weight from the side his bad leg is on if rokkun will let him. )
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...I can't let him die, [ is what he mumbles, dropping to his knees to roll up Rokkun's pant leg, realizing the wound is too far up his thigh and that he's better off just pulling the scraps of fabric away from the wound and working with what he can see. ]
Can you two lay him down? It'll be easier.
[ The blood won't pool to the legs and undo the work Akira's trying to do, taking hold of his keychain to slice his wrist again so his own blood can run afresh, because if Rokkun bleeds out faster than Akira can stich the blood in, there isn't much he can do. Rokkun himself looks pale and in shock, but he can breathe again and he tries to lift his hand to touch his throat— his hand brushes against Komaeda's instead, who'd been touching that scab, and that's just as well because the scab is still raw and delicate, liable to fall apart. This is only a temporary measure, and although Akira works on stitching up Rokkun's leg and then arm, he cannot bring back missing flesh. That's something Rokkun's body will have to do on his own. ]
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for someone who can sew, in a sense, is right.
he settles down onto his knees, just a small distance away from rokkun and akira, and his hands rest in his lap because he doesn't know where else to put them. komaeda pauses, his eyes glancing down at rokkun's face, before drifting towards amami next, and then finally towards akira's handiwork with his blood. he takes a steady breath to bring himself back to normal, closing his eyes to settle in the darkness before he slowly opens them. )
...Everything that happens here, are we all capable enough to keep it between us?
( it might be too much to ask, but it's something sensitive. a moment of weakness, this newfound information that comes from akira's abilities, and amami being witness to it all. he doesn't know if rokkun's conscious enough to understand what's happening at the moment, and he should know better than to talk considering his position. )
This sort of hope is a rare experience, we should truly be grateful to watch it flourish in this manner.
( his words say one thing, but the way his eyes glance off to the side says another. not the best way to go about it, but komaeda does it to make sense of it, accept it. though his luck was probably the cause of what happened, it's the only thing he has to mask everything so far. )
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doubt flickers across his expression not at komaeda's initial request, which he'd more or less already decided for himself, and more upon the words that follow. amami's eyes shift to try to meet with the his but, upon failing to do so, he gives a short sigh, answering without hesitation. )
Don't worry — I won't say anything unnecessary.
( just what would he be accomplishing if he did... worrying rika? painting a target on the back of someone who he just watched save a life? there's really no reason for this to go beyond the four of them. )
But I do want some kind of explanation after all of this. ( after rokkun is safe, that is. )
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