CW (!):graphic violence, blood, trauma themes, threat of sexual violence (past), dissociation.
Also contains: 0.8 seconds of devastating softness (handle with care).
Hikari fumbled with the cheap phone—slippery with rain and something darker—as Kuro's words sliced through the alley's heavy silence:
"Tell him I will find him... if he doesn't find me first."
She lifted the device. Tried to speak. But he wasn't done.
"Tell that senile fool downtown," Kuro rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, "either he finds me, or I find him."
Hideo's voice shrieked from the speaker before she could echo it. Hikari flinched.
"Tell him..." she whispered, her voice thin as paper, eyes darting to Kuro for guidance.
He met her stare, crimson gaze glacial. "...to rot in hell. End it."
She repeated it. Dead calm.
Hideo's roar wasn't just rage—it was the sound of a man realizing his pawn had become a blade in Kuro's hand. His girl. His humiliation. The scream choked off as Hikari clicked END.
Silence, thick and suffocating.
Then Kuro lifted a trembling hand—not to strike, not to claim—just a faint wave. Come here.
Hikari moved slowly, knees sinking into the wet grit beside him. He'd shifted off the corpse, but the stench of blood and death clung to the air like tar. With shaking, slick fingers, he pulled a brick of a phone from his pants pocket—old, battered, T9 keys worn smooth. Thumb scrolled. Stopped at "J."
"I'll call him..." he breathed, voice fraying. "But... first..."
His hand rose toward her torn shirt.
Hikari froze. Every muscle locked. 〖Don't touch me don't touch me don't—〗
But his fingers didn't grab. Didn't rip. They fumbled clumsily at the small, rain-slick buttons near her collarbone. Buttoning. Closing what had been violated.
〖Why? After killing for me... why this?〗 Her thoughts screamed.
He didn't look at her face. His gaze stayed lowered, ashamed—ashamed of the blood on his hands, the delay that let her sweater tear, the limits of his protection. His knuckles brushed her jawline by accident, sticky with gore. She didn't flinch. Just watched, hollow-eyed, as he fixed the last button, patted her collar into place with a trembling tap.
"...B-better," he mumbled.
Then he collapsed.
Not sideways. Not gracefully. Forward—into her.
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