Chapter Text
Mikumo stirred hours later, caught between warmth and weight. Their body was sore, humming with the aftershocks of earlier, but the exhaustion had dulled to a kind of quiet buzz. They blinked, vision hazy, and realized they were still pinned in the middle—Hitoshi’s arm heavy at their waist, Tenko’s breath tickling the back of their neck. Both men were dead asleep, but even in slumber, they seemed to find one another. Hitoshi had shifted closer, his face buried against Tenko’s shoulder, Tenko’s arm draped lazily across them both.
A smile tugged faintly at Mikumo’s lips. They hummed low in their throat, a sound too soft to stir either of them, and carefully began the slow work of untangling themselves. Hitoshi’s fingers twitched as though reaching for them even in sleep, but his grip loosened when Mikumo pressed a kiss against his temple. Tenko only shifted with a groggy murmur, leaning deeper into the warmth beside him.
Freed, Mikumo slipped off the bed, padding barefoot to the dresser to tug on a skintight shirt with an open back and a pair of Tenko’s baggy pants. Their gaze lingered on the pile of blankets, on the tangle of limbs left behind. The memory of the night pressed sharp and sweet at the back of their throat—too much to name, too much to sit with. They exhaled, reaching into their discarded pants for the crumpled carton of faux cigarettes, and rolled one between their fingers as they crept for the door.
The building was hushed. A rare stillness. No music rattling the walls, no laughter spilling down the hall, no muted arguments or late-night pacing. For a place that pulsed so alive by day, the silence felt almost unreal.
Mikumo descended the stairs slowly, careful with each step. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound until they reached the front door.
The back light was on. Mikumo paused, staring too long at the switch, as though the quiet glow was a message left for them. Then they pushed the door open. Cool air swept in, carrying the damp smell of spring on asphalt. On the bench sat Twice, hunched in his hoodie, muttering fractured words into the night. His head lifted at the creak of the hinges, eyes catching the glow of the bulb.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Eve’s voice was soft, half a hum, as they sparked a small flame from their throat to light the faux cigarette and tucked it between their teeth.
Twice blinked at them, then barked a laugh that sounded too sharp for the quiet street. “Couldn’t sleep? Ha! Haven’t slept in years. Well—sometimes. Depends which me you ask.” He tugged his hood lower, as if the fabric could muffle the contradictions already spilling out of him.
Eve exhaled smoke that lacked the nicotine bite, watching it curl in the porch light. “Mm. Guess I’m in good company, then.”
“Good company,” Twice echoed, his grin twitching crooked, too wide. Then, softer, almost as if he surprised himself: “Better company than my head, that’s for sure.” He patted the space beside him on the bench, fingers drumming restless against the wood as he took in their outfit. “Sit? Or are you just here to light up the night and make the rest of us insomniacs look bad?”
Eve huffed a tired laugh, stepping into the glow. “Depends. You planning on staying awake?”
“Me? Nah,” Twice said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he glanced toward the sleeping house. “But the other guy? Probably. He’s got a mouth on him.” His eyes flicked back up, tired but bright. “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep him quiet. For you.”
Eve lowered themself onto the bench, faux cigarette glowing faint at their lips. Twice shifted instantly, scooting over though he’d already been curled up tight like a ball of nerves. His hands fluttered, restless, pulling his hood down, yanking it back up again.
“Didn’t think I’d run into anyone else,” Eve murmured. “Place feels… dead when it’s sleeping.”
“Dead!” Twice barked with a sudden laugh, too loud for the quiet street. He slapped his knee, then hunched, voice dropping to a mutter. “Don’t say dead, don’t like dead, dead’s bad—” He caught himself, forcing a grin as he jabbed a thumb at his chest. “But hey, at least I’m not! Not yet. Not tonight!”
Eve blinked, then exhaled a ribbon of smoke that wasn’t smoke. “Figures. I can’t die. Don’t worry, I won’t let you either. You don’t need to hide yourself from me.”
“Liar,” he snapped fast, eyes narrowing. Then, just as quick, his shoulders slumped, his expression crumpling into something raw. “Sorry. I shouldn’t call you that. I just—people always say that, and then they leave anyway.” His fingers tugged hard at his sleeves, twisting fabric until the seams creaked.
“I can’t lie. I’ve been there before. People want to put you in a corner and act as if you’re some type of monster when you bite.” Mikumo said quietly, flicking the ash and drawing another heavy breath.
Twice froze. His mouth opened, closed, then curved into a grin sharp and aching at once. “Ha! You get it. You get it, don’t you?” He leaned in too close, eyes wild with both hope and warning. “But maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just saying that to be nice. Which is worse? Which is better? Hell if I know!”
Eve didn’t flinch, just met his stare. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
For a beat, Twice sat very still. Then he barked another laugh, softer this time, and nudged their shoulder with his elbow. “Guess we’re both insomniacs, corner-creatures. Partners in crime. Or partners in not-sleeping. Same difference.”
Eve blinked, offering only a faint hum. Twice caught the pause, grinning sharper now. He leaned back, stretching his arms like the bench was suddenly a throne. “Don’t worry, Eve, I won’t hog the title. You can be the sexy one. I’ll settle for charming.” His grin cracked sharp again. “Unless you’d rather swap.”
Eve didn’t acknowledge the flirting, letting it fall into the night air like smoke. They exhaled a soft sigh. “So. How long have you known Giran?”
Twice froze mid-stretch, blinked, then barked a laugh that cracked too sharp for the quiet. “Giran? Hah… depends which version you want. The polite one, the scary one, the one who yells at me for… well, everything?” His fingers twitched against his knees. “I’ve… known him forever. Forever-ish. Too long sometimes.”
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, grin faltering into a twitch of uncertainty. “You know how it is… you meet someone, they don’t call you a freak, you kinda… stick around. Stupid loyalty, I guess. Or insanity. Maybe both.”
Eve hummed, letting the words settle, watching the way Twice’s eyes darted like he expected the street itself to bite him. “And… does he know all the versions of you?”
Twice barked another laugh, this one short, jagged. “Ha! Oh, he knows some. Not all. Not the fun ones. Or the sad ones. Or the ones that… yeah.” He swallowed, shrugging like it hurt less to admit half-truths. “Giran sees pieces, like everyone does. But never the full mess. Not that he’d… you know.”
A pause hung over them, the porch light illuminating the restless shadows on Twice’s face. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relaxed, and the grin returned, softer this time. “Anyway… that’s me. Enough about boring me. What about you, Eve? How long have you been… awake to all this mess?”
Eve murmured, voice low, almost swallowed by the night. “Since I was born. Life hasn’t been great to us, has it?” Their hand toyed with the faux cigarette, ignoring the soft grumble of their stomach.
Twice tilted his head, eyes narrowing under the porch light. “Hm. Life’s… tricky. Messy. A real pain sometimes, yeah. But hey—pain’s got style points if you survive it.”
Eve flicked the ash idly, letting a thin plume curl toward the ceiling of the porch. “Want to go for a walk? Stretch those long legs of yours?”
Twice blinked, grin twitching sideways, part amused, part wary. “Stretch my legs, huh? Trying to get me into trouble before the sun even thinks about showing its face?”
Eve just exhaled, stepping off the bench. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to watch the sunrise with someone who gets it. Can you keep up?”
Twice shook his head, tugging his hoodie down, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I can keep up. Don’t you worry.”
Twice glanced sideways as he stepped off the bench, the porch light stretching long shadows behind them. “So… um… what kind of boys do you… like? Or girls! Or… friends, I guess,” he muttered, voice uneven, hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “I—uh, I mean… just making conversation.”
Eve didn’t answer immediately, eyes forward, letting the faux cigarette bob lightly between their fingers. But as they picked up their pace, Twice matched it instinctively, long legs trying to keep up without looking too eager. “I can’t say I have an exact type. I like all kinds.” Eve slowed, taking another long drag and blowing the smoke away from him. “You know what they say, people who walk fast are often unsettled with their lives. Angry, depressed or however the saying goes.”
Twice came to a screeching halt, clasping a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Ha! Yeah… yeah, that’s me,” he admitted, voice pitching a little too high. He shuffled on his feet, hoodie sleeves tugged tight over his hands. “Unsettled, angry, depressed… pick your poison!”
Eve smirked, exhaling smoke that curled lazily around his nervous energy. “Pick one,” they murmured, tone teasing but calm, “or all of them. You seem… complicated enough to manage.”
Twice flinched at the observation, a brief flash of panic sparking in his eyes. “I—uh—don’t know if I manage anything,” he muttered, kicking at the curb with a half-hearted stomp. Then, just as quickly, he laughed again, sharp and brittle. “But hey, at least I try, right? Right!”
Eve’s lips quirked faintly, the faux cigarette swinging gently between their fingers. “Trying counts,” they said softly, not bothering to hide the amusement in their voice. “Even if it’s messy.”
Twice paused, leaning forward slightly, like the air itself might carry away his jittering thoughts. “Messy… ha… yeah, that’s me too. Messy, loud, can’t sleep, can’t… can’t—ugh!” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then peeked out, grinning too wide, too sharp. “Sorry. I talk too much, huh?”
“Not at all,” Eve said quietly, smoke curling around them. “Just… honest.”
Twice’s grin softened, and he let out a small sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally. “Honest’s good,” he admitted, almost to himself. “I… I like honest. Even when it’s scary.”
Eve flicked the faux cigarette lightly, ash scattering on the pavement. “Scary’s fine too,” they said, voice low, letting him settle into the rhythm of the walk without pressing further.
Twice shuffled along the sidewalk, hoodie pulled tight around his ears, hands twisting the hem into knots. Eve’s faux cigarette bobbed in rhythm with each step, smoke trailing lazily behind them.
“So… um…” Twice started, voice small and jittery, “do you… like being out at night like this? Or… is it weird? Creepy?” He flinched at his own words, muttering under his breath, “Creepy, of course it’s creepy cause you’re a girl.”
Eve let out a soft hum, eyes on the street ahead. “Depends. Quiet streets like this… peaceful. Makes you notice things.” They gestured vaguely at the houses, the way the moonlight reflected off windows, the soft creak of a stray branch. “Not a lot of people notice anymore.”
Twice’s grin wavered, tight and nervous, then returned sharper, brittle. “I notice things! Sometimes too much. Like… like, every little thing!” He gestured wildly at the cracked pavement and streetlights, then shrunk back as if afraid he’d overstepped. “Not that you care—sorry, I’m… yeah.”
Eve didn’t comment immediately, letting him stumble through his words. They took another drag, smoke curling in the cool air. “I do,” they said finally, voice low and calm. “I notice. And sometimes noticing is enough.”
Twice froze, one foot hovering over a crack in the sidewalk. Then he laughed—too loud, too sharp—covering his sudden silence. “I like that! Someone notices without freaking out!” He paused, letting the grin soften into something fragile, almost human. “I—uh—don’t get that much. People see me… but they don’t really see me, if that makes sense.”
Eve let the words hang, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. “Makes perfect sense,” they murmured. “It’s rare, isn’t it? Being really seen.”
Twice’s shoulders slumped, energy dropping as quickly as it had spiked. “Yeah… rare,” he muttered, voice thin, and then, as if to fight it off, he barked a laugh again, hopping over a stray leaf. “But! Doesn’t mean it’s bad! Seeing is… good. Right?”
“Right,” Eve replied simply, their eyes forward, letting him find the answer in the rhythm of their walk as they lit another ‘cigarette’ of disappointment.
Twice’s fingers twitched in his hoodie sleeves. “I… I don’t usually talk to people like this,” he admitted, quieter now, almost hesitant. “Most people… they get tired of the… me. All the… switching and—ugh!” He clapped a hand over his face, then peeked through his fingers. “Sorry. Can’t help it sometimes.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Eve said softly. “It’s a part of you. I won’t notice the parts that you don’t want me to.”
Twice froze, startled, then blinked rapidly. “You… wouldn’t?” His voice cracked in the night air. “Not even a little? Wow… that’s… nice. Not many… like… like that. Nice.” He exhaled a shaky laugh and fell quiet for a moment, shuffling along with his hands in his pockets.
Eve glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at their lips. “You’re not as jagged as you think,” they murmured. “Just… a little worn at the edges.”
Twice’s grin returned, softer, shaky. “Worn… ha! Yeah, okay. I’ll take that. Better than jagged. Better than… worse things.” His steps slowed, and for a beat he let himself walk beside them without the jittering, without the sharp shifts. Just… Two people walking in the quiet of a sleeping neighborhood, noticing each other.
The streetlight above them flickered, casting long shadows, and Twice’s head tilted up, taking it all in. “You know… it’s weird. I don’t usually… talk like this. Not to anyone. But… this… this is nice. Weird, but nice.”
Eve drew another drag, smoke curling toward him. Conversations like this were awkward, but important. “Good. Weird can be good,” they said, voice low and calm, letting him settle into the rhythm of the words.
Twice nodded, hands still twitching in his sleeves, grin quirking wide again. “Yeah… okay. Weird good. I can do weird good.” His energy lifted slightly, still jittery, still nervous, but steadier than when they’d started.
Eve allowed themselves a small smile, smoke curling up into the night sky. “Then we’ll just keep walking,” they murmured. “See where the night takes us.”
Twice grinned, following beside them, long strides slowing to match their pace, fidgeting and muttering, letting the quiet street soak into him, letting someone finally… just notice.
The street smelled faintly of smoke and fried food, beer and piss stained alleyways— red neon bouncing off cracked pavement and flickering over the corners of late-night shops. Small clusters of figures leaned against walls, murmuring, hands tucked into jackets or flashing tiny knives in the dark. Eve walked with a casual gait, shoulders loose, head tipped slightly, as if they belonged to every shadow and none at all.
Twice fell into step immediately beside them as they passed another group, hood tugged over his hair, hands fumbling with the drawstrings. “Uh… nice neighborhood, huh?” His voice pitched a little too high, then too low, then hurried, as if speaking too fast could keep him invisible. “I mean… I’ve been in worse. It’s been a long time!”
Eve flicked the faux cigarette lightly, smoke curling lazily toward a flickering neon sign. “You seem… anxious,” they murmured, voice calm but carrying a note of amusement.
Twice glanced sideways, eyes darting to Eve’s relaxed stride. “Me? Nervous? Nah… I just… enjoy… um… scenery! Yeah, scenery,” he blurted. His hands twisted in his hoodie pocket. “And company. Good company. Right?”
Eve hummed, shoulders brushing his. “You’re doing fine. Just… keep moving.”
Twice laughed, sharp and uneven, then fell into a mutter. “Where should we go? It’s not a spot for someone like you.” His fingers danced nervously along his hood, tugging it lower, then yanking it back up. “Not that I’m… you know… complaining. Totally fine!”
They passed another cluster of figures leaning against a shuttered store. The group barely paid them any mind. Twice froze, eyes wide, then instinctively shifted closer to Eve. Eve didn’t slow, didn’t flinch, letting Twice feel the brush of safety along his side. “See?” Eve said quietly, almost to themselves. “You’ve got nothing to fear.”
Twice swallowed, tugging at his sleeves. “I’m not afraid for me— its a fucking riot over here!” He shot Eve a sheepish glance. “I…talk to myself a lot. Mostly to tell myself not to die. Not that I’m—uh—annoying.”
Eve’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Keep talking. I like the sound of you alive.”
Twice let out a short, breathless laugh, bouncing on his heels. “Alive! Yeah… thanks. Your voice is like… armor or something. Keeps the bad stuff out.”
They passed another cluster, the low hum of distant music vibrating through the cracked asphalt. Twice stiffened, then exhaled sharply. Eve’s pace never faltered, guiding them past the danger with ease, almost as if the shadows bowed to them. Twice’s fingers brushed theirs briefly—an unspoken acknowledgement, a tether to safety.
He swallowed, then jerked his hood back just enough to meet Eve’s eyes. “Hey… you wanna… maybe grab something? I know this little place down the block—24-hour. Coffee, fries, maybe a pie? They’ve got… stuff. Good stuff.”
Eve arched a brow, curious but calm. He must have heard them stomach grumbling. “You want to stop? Now?”
Twice nodded, words tumbling out too fast. “Yeah, yeah! I know a place another block from here. Safe-ish. And warm. And snacks!” He kicked at a loose pebble on the curb, trying to seem casual. “You can pick though. I’ll… uh… follow. Totally follow.”
Eve hummed, letting the faint curl of smoke drift from their lips. “Lead the way, then.”
Twice practically bounced, taking the lead with a nervous enthusiasm that somehow seemed larger than his frame. Eve followed easily, hands tucked into their pockets, letting the rhythm of his nervous pace guide them. The red neon of the street softened behind them, replaced by the steady yellow glow of the chain diner sign ahead.
The bell over the door chimed softly as they stepped inside. Warm air hit them first—coffee, frying oil, and the faint sweetness of baked goods. A lone balding night clerk glanced up, barely hiding a yawn, then returned to scribbling in a ledger. Eve wrinkled their nose, the man smelled of eggs. What an odd quirk— strange for middle management hell.
Twice tapped their shoulder, immediately gravitating toward a booth by the window, slumping against the seat like he might vanish if he sat too stiffly. “Okay… okay, see? Safe. Warm. Not a gang in sight.” He glanced at Eve, eyes wide and earnest. “Well… unless you count the night clerk. But he seems… harmless enough.”
Eve took the seat across from him, watching the way Twice’s shoulders eased, the jittery energy softening as he scanned the menu board. “He’s definitely not a gang. A waffle hour cult leader probably. You come here often?” they asked casually, leaning back.
Twice laughed, a little brittle but lighter than before. “Nope. First time in… forever. I mean… not counting when I was younger. Or—well, I was usually… alone. Not that I mind company. Definitely don’t mind now. Not at all.” He waved a hand vaguely at Eve, then froze, fingers tapping against the table. “You… don’t have to say anything. Just… just being here’s… enough.”
Eve’s lips curved faintly. “I get that.”
Twice let out a shaky laugh, leaning back and letting his energy spill into the quiet of the diner. “Good. Cause… I dunno. I think I needed this. Needed someone… not judging me for being… me. For all the me’s that show up sometimes.”
Eve tilted their head, curious. “All of them?”
Twice’s grin wavered, then sharpened, half-mischievous, half-raw. “Most. Sometimes… they’re exhausting. But yeah. That’s the fun of it, I guess. And… you? You’re… steady. Like… a good cup of coffee at 3 a.m.”
Eve hummed low, letting the sound fill the quiet space. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Twice’s grin softened, edges rounding into something warmer. “It’s supposed to be.”
The two of them sat there for a beat, the diner’s hum and sizzle around them like a protective cocoon. Outside, the city continued its restless sleep, but inside, for once, the world felt smaller, quieter, and just a little less fractured. Eve drew in a breath, lamenting the scent of burned, watered down coffee. It smelled too much like their old home here. Greasier. But similar enough.
The clerk finally roused from his ledger, blinking slowly behind tired eyes, twirling a pen between his stubby hands. “Evening… or morning, I guess. What’ll it be?” His voice was rough, but there was a faint humor buried under the exhaustion.
Twice straightened in the booth, chest puffing just slightly, trying to look as composed as he could. “Uh—yeah! Coffee. And uh… the pie. Apple. Please. And, uh… maybe a water.” He waved a hand vaguely, as if the gesture could mask the tilt in his voice.
”And for the… lady?” The clerk nodded, shifting his gaze to their nearly flat chest and softened jawline rather than their tattoos on full display.
“Coffee’s fine.” Eve hummed. The man was off without another word. They watched Twice carefully, noting the way he leaned forward, chin tucked, as he fiddled with the stack of napkins and various ketchups, hot sauces, syrups and jams beside them. Their eyes drifted around the diner, cataloguing the other patrons. Most were slouched in booths or pressed against the counter—homeless, quiet, trying to pass the night. Strange quirks, yet ordinary. A few night-shift workers, uniform creased and damp with the residue of labor, drained their cups and nursed late-night sandwiches. Near the window, a couple of high schoolers whispered, earbuds dangling, daring each other to linger too long.
The clerk returned quickly, taking off and leaving a set of menus in his wake. Eve took the steaming cup Twice set down in front of them and lifted it with deliberate slowness. The mug radiated warmth, but the scowl that creased their features suggested betrayal. “Fuck me,” they muttered, voice low, nose wrinkling as if the coffee had personally wronged them. Worse than Glacier’s if it was even possible. Then, with a resigned exhale, they took a long sip. The bitter liquid slid down their throat, and they made a small, disgruntled sound, letting the warmth settle anyway.
Twice’s grin flickered. “The coffee sucks, huh?” He laughed lightly, a little too sharp, eyes darting to the other patrons, then back to Eve. “I—uh—don’t usually… front this much. But, you know. Foreign territory.” He twisted a napkin in his grip, grinning again, this time a touch less forced.
Eve tilted their head, steam wafting from their drinks towards the dank ceiling. “You’re fronting. But it’s a good version of you. Just shy.” Their tone was detached, but not unkind, like they were stating a fact and letting him decide if it mattered.
Twice froze for a second, then barked a short laugh, a little louder this time. “Yeah! Exactly. Fronting. Perfect word. That’s—uh—that’s me. Totally me. Definitely not a mess underneath. Nope. Not at all.”
Eve’s eyes drifted back to the diner, noting the subtle rhythms of the night. The way the fry cook moved lazily behind the counter, humming an old tune. The way the high schoolers fidgeted, nudging each other with quiet laughter. The women and men at the tables, each lost in their own orbit, each claiming a tiny patch of the world until sunrise.
They sipped again, this time slower, letting the bitter warmth fill the silence between them. Twice fidgeted with the edge of the table, scanning the diner, occasionally flicking glances at Eve, searching for some signal of approval—or at least acknowledgment.
Finally, the clerk dropped a small tray of pie, and water onto the table. “Here. Eat quickly. Streets aren’t as quiet as they look.”
Twice nodded eagerly, trying to seem unconcerned, though his fingers curled tightly around the cup. “Of course. Always careful. Definitely.” The clerk gave him an odd look, muttering about ‘damn tweakers’ as he left.
Eve took another sip, eyes flicking to the few other patrons one last time. “This place… it’s alive in its own way. Even now.” Their voice was soft, reflective, letting the observation linger like smoke in the air.
“Yeah… alive.” Twice chuckled, a little breathless. Eve let the words settle between them, fingers tapping lightly against the mug, letting the night stretch just a little longer before words became necessary again.
Twice unwrapped the cloth bind, nudging a fork closer to Eve as he began to dig in. Twice leaned back, spoon in hand, dumping three creamers into his coffee with a flourish before stirring. “Ah… that’s the stuff. Sweet enough to make the night feel less… nighty, you know?” He grinned, settling comfortably against the booth.
Eve took a slow sip of their coffee, letting the bitter warmth anchor them. “Better,” they said, voice low and even.
Twice tilted his head, eyes playful. “So… how old are you? Age is just a number, but, uh… curiosity kills, right?” His tone was casual, teasing, but there was an ease in the way he said it—like he’d asked it a thousand times before and meant nothing by it beyond conversation.
Eve raised an eyebrow, letting the question hang for a moment. “Age,” they said finally, eyes flicking toward the window, “is just a measurement of time. Doesn’t always measure experience—or patience.”
Twice chuckled, swirling his coffee. “Fair. Fair. Experience over numbers. I like that. I’m somewhere between too young and too old myself, depends on the day. Thirty.” He smirked, eyes glinting in the soft diner light. “Complicated, but not boring.”
He scooped a bite of pie onto his fork and, without hesitation, nudged it toward Eve, pressing it gently into their hand. “Try this. You’ve got to taste it—apple’s got secrets.”
Eve stared for a beat, then let their fingers curl around the fork. Should they tell him? The warmth from his hand lingered as they took the bite, eyes narrowing in thought, lips twitching faintly at the flavor. The archive shivered at the saliva lingering there. Clay mixed with the taste of apple, earthy and sweet. “Not bad,” they admitted quietly, the faintest hum escaping.
Twice’s grin widened, relaxed now, easy. “See? I’m full of surprises. Not all of them scary.”
Eve’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. “Full of contradictions.” Explaining their quirk would come later. Allow him to have this. Not here. At home.
“Exactly. Better than boring, right?” Twice leaned back further, hands resting casually on the table. “Safe is overrated. Might as well make the night interesting.”
The hum of the diner wrapped around them, a quiet rhythm of coffee cups and murmured conversations. Twice dug into his pie with confident ease, glancing up at Eve every so often, comfortable in the silence as much as the conversation.
—“Mikumo,” Akashi hummed awkwardly behind their eyes. “I feel… weird.”
Eve paid him little acknowledgement, stifling the churning of their stomach. It was the pie. Or the bitter coffee. Nothing odd.
The bell over the door jingled again, cutting through the low hum of the diner. Eve and Twice barely looked up at first, finishing the last bites of pie and swirls of bitter coffee.
But the moment the group of men slid in, the air shifted. Their shoes scraped across the tile, murmurs and laughs low and rough. Most of the patrons barely glanced, accustomed to the occasional late-night intrusion. The clerk at the front twitched faintly, allowing them to seat themselves.
Twice stiffened subtly, catching the far away look in their gaze. His fingers brushing briefly against Eve’s hand—a silent tether, a promise of presence. Eve’s gaze drifted toward the new arrivals, noting their posture, the way one of them lingered at the edge of the booth area, eyes scanning the room with thinly veiled interest as they settled into the table beside them.
The man at the front, taller than the rest, leaned casually against the table, smirk sharp under the red light from the window. His frame was wiry, though not lacking in muscle. His scarred knuckles grazed over his buzzed taper fade, his clothes a similar red to those in his group. Eve knew a neighborhood gang when they saw one.
The scent of copper heavy on their pallet at the stench of the man’s quirk. Nauseating. His gaze slid over Eve from head to toe, stopping just long enough to let his amusement settle. “Hey, short stack,” he drawled, voice rough and low. “What’s a young thing like you doing out here? You wanna after party with a real man?”
Eve froze for a beat, lips tightening around their coffee as they exhaled slowly. Their eyes flicked to Twice, who had already straightened in his seat, jaw firm, hands flexing around his fork as if ready to rise without needing to.
Twice’s grin was gone. His voice, calm but sharp, cut through the diner’s muffled quiet like a knife. “You want something? Or just announcing yourself?”
”Come on, Daichi,” the clerk grumbled beside him, as he set a fresh pot of coffee onto the group’s table. “They came together. The lady’s obviously not interested.”
The gang member’s smirk didn’t waver, ignoring the challenge mid-hunt. “Come on, doll. Don’t make me prick you.” He gestured toward Eve with a flick of his wrist, “it’ll feel good after.” His hand trailed over Eve’s wrist, too forceful of a grip. “Look at you, shaking. Tense. All nerves. Funny thing… I like it that way, makes it easier to handle you.”
Eve’s expression remained unreadable, cool as ice. “I think I’m good,” they said softly, almost bored as they set their mug down. But the weight in their tone suggested far more than the words, with a brush of their hand, they pried the man's finger off and stood. It wasn’t him. They knew these types. Dealt with them often. “Ready to go, Aniki?”
The man, Daichi, if the egg-scented clerk was referring to him by name, shifted. Almost surprised at the ease that Eve had released his grip. Twice rose from his seat, extending his hand to Eve who gladly took it. He settled a stack of bills on the table before they made their way to the door.
The bell over the diner door clinked as they stepped into the night. The air was damp, electric. Twice tugged his hood lower, chatter easy on his tongue, but his eyes kept cutting to the dark mouth of the alley across the street.
It hissed like boiling oil. Needles erupted the instant it kissed skin, puncturing tender flesh, burrowing like barbed wire dragged under their cheek and jaw. Pain exploded — pins hammered into nerves. Their mouth opened on a scream that refused to come out, strangled, swallowed by the Archive itself.
The Archive pulled before they could stop it. Daichi’s quirk latched into their pores, burrowing deep, threading itself through their bloodstream like thorns shredding veins from the inside. Eve’s stomach lurched.
—“Mikumo!” Akashi’s voice cracked, swallowed in static. The Archive flickered. In. Out. In. Out.
No no no.
The world slowed to a crawl, intestines twisting like rope too tight, rolling, rolling. Too fast. Too slow. Their knees hit the wet concrete with a crack.
“Ni…san,” Eve choked, voice bubbling. “I don’t— I don’t f-feel good.” Blood slicked their tongue, warm and cloying, copper flooding their teeth. They gagged, coughed, and vomited it in torrents, red pooling hot and steaming beneath their trembling palms.
Twice and his doubles froze mid-swing. The sound of retching, wet and ragged, made every head snap toward Eve.
Their lashes clumped with tears, vision fractured, throat raw as they wailed. “Nii-san… Aka-ni. Nii-san!”
“Crying for your big brother?” Daichi sneered, winding back to spit again.
Twice was faster — his fist cracked against Daichi’s jaw, slamming him back onto the pavement.
“What the fuck,” another gang member whispered, knife trembling.
Eve’s hands sank into their own blood, hot and slippery. The stench of iron was suffocating. Their body spasmed as the puddle thickened. It should have clotted, but instead it bubbled. Veins of white threaded through the crimson, curling, splitting — not scabs, but roots.
Flowers forced their way up through the gore, asphodels pale and flecked red, petals sticky with clots. Their bloom was too fast, obscene, bending open with soft wet pops.
A laugh creaked out of Eve, contorted, half-sob, half-choke. And as the flowers tore fully open, their centers burst — not pollen, but threads of blood. Red cords whipped outward, seizing the air, spinning themselves into the suggestion of ribs, of spines, of something trying to rise.
Thunder cracked overhead, splitting the night in two. The streetlight flickered with the storm’s pulse, shadows jerking over the concrete.
The threads writhed, weaving bones into existence. A ribcage arched up from the pool, vertebrae clicking wetly into place, jawbone yawning wide as if choking on its own birth. The skeleton swayed, half-grown, red cords lashing and tightening until sinew began to bind.
The jaw gnashed open — skinless, grinning, teeth clattering together like glass. A howl ripped through it, but it wasn’t breath — it was the storm above. Lightning stuttered in the clouds, and weather manipulation broke loose, the sky itself dragged down through the tether between him and Eve. Rain sheeted down, sudden and merciless. Every drop hissed against the pavement, steaming in the heat of blood.
The being’s jaw unhinged, clicking into place as white muscle wove itself into the marrow split— eyes. Eve could only watch, shaking, tears cutting hot streaks through the spat blood on their face. The cord in their chest burned, tugged taut, as the skeleton leaned forward. Threads whirled faster, binding muscle to bone, layering wet slabs of tissue until the shape of a man clawed its way free.
And then — before the flesh sealed fully, before the skin could soften it into human — a voice shrieked through the unfinished throat. It was raw, flayed sound: “Mikumo!”
The word split Daichi’s laughter in half. His knees buckled, bile spewing from his mouth as he vomited hard onto the pavement, clawing at himself as if the sound alone had torn him open. Around him, gang members bolted, curses and panic strangled in their throats. They fled down alleys, boots splashing, desperate to escape the storm and the body unraveling in blood and bloom.
Only Daichi remained, retching, eyes wild. His nails tore at the concrete as he pressed himself flat, spitting up threads of red-tinged saliva that hardened into needles before shattering in the rain.
The figure straightened, threads retracting, flesh knitting shut. Wet hair fell forward draping down onto bare shoulders, clinging to a face far too familiar. Pale, sharp. Eyes luminous with terror and relief both.
Akashi.
Still tethered by the red cord trembling from Eve’s chest.
Twice staggered back a step, doubles flickering in and out of existence around him like broken film reels. His mask slipped sideways, mouth hanging open.
“What… the fuck just happened?” he rasped, but no one answered. Not the gang, not Daichi, not even the thing that had torn itself out of Eve’s chest.
Eve’s knees gave first. They folded, chest heaving, breath stuttering sharp and shallow until it scraped like glass in their throat. Their fingers clawed at their shirt, trying to tug it looser, as if fabric alone was choking them.
Too much. Too close. Too fast.
Threads still clung to Akashi’s wrists like wet veins, retracting one by one into the trembling cord at his chest. His teeth clicked wrong as he drew his first breath, jaw cracking before it reset with a wet sound.
Akashi stared at his own hands, rain dripping down his knuckles, skin pale and perfect where blood had pooled moments ago. The pavement beneath him gleamed clean — no trace of gore, no trace of flowers — as though the storm had devoured the evidence.
His lips parted. Trembling. A laugh almost escaped — joy, relief, disbelief — but it died in his throat at the sound of Eve’s choking gasp.
He turned. Saw the way their body shuddered, breath breaking in staccato bursts. Their pupils wide, skin slick. Not bleeding, but drowning on dry land. “…Mikumo,” he whispered. The name cracked.
Then he moved. Not running, not stumbling, but with the same kind of pull that had dragged him out of their chest in the first place.
He dropped to his knees in front of them, palms hovering for a beat before daring contact. One hand braced at the back of their neck, the other catching their trembling wrist. His own breath shook, too fast, but he forced it steady, lowering himself until their foreheads almost touched.
“Hey. Hey—look at me. Listen.” His voice was rough, breaking in odd places, but firm enough to push through the noise. “Breathe with me. Just—just copy me, okay?”
Rain ticked against their skin, thunder rolling far above. Twice sat frozen at the edge of it all, hands twitching uselessly, caught between reaching out and staying the hell back.
For the first time since crawling free, Akashi didn’t look at his own hands, didn’t marvel at the body he should’ve had. His eyes were fixed only on Eve, wide and wet. He opened his mouth, flexing his jaw. Beneath skin, his blood soared with power. But power wasn’t what the kid needed. Voice, in the language they understood.
His hands carted through wisps of sopping wet curls, forcing Eve’s head to turn up toward him. Their lip wobbled, the same way it always did when they were kids. Those pleading eyes, his weakness. He leaned, tender skin brushing against clothes as his arms wrapped around them.
Warmth radiated off him in waves, but his skin was too smooth, too unmarred, like a mannequin breathing. His arms wrapped around them with a strength that didn’t tremble, yet his jaw trembled like a child’s. None of this should have been possible.
Akashi forced himself to draw a breath, the night air slick and starch against new lungs. Perhaps it was the five long years, the need to protect, to be there that he displaced his own desires. It had never been this quiet. He could no longer hear the others, no Slice, no Mummy, no Chimera to commentate in their shared space.
(Lyrics are Lonely day by system of the down)
And yet as he drew breath, the archive pulsed beneath him, steady in his thundering heart. Guitar strings, heavy bass and drums trilled through the abandoned alleyways. “Such a lonely day, and it's mine. The most loneliest day of my life. Such a lonely day should be banned, It's a day that I can't stand.”
“Y-you c-can’t. I n-need you.” Eve whimpered into his shoulder, hot tears spilling down his collar bone.
“The most loneliest day of my life. The most loneliest day of my life.” That’s what this was. This panic. The tether, the winding string fused between their ribcages, pulled taught as their chests etched in and out in tandem. His heart, maybe theirs was outside of Mikumo’s body. “Such a lonely day shouldn't exist, It's a day that I'll never miss. Such a lonely day, and it's mine. The most loneliest day of my life.”
Akashi vaulted them both to their bare feet, the motion as easy as breathing. Their steps matched, he led, they followed. His fingertips intertwined with theirs, a shared waltz. The grueling days of practice worn through their veins.
Eve’s lips parted, the lyrics passing through them both as if strung together by fate, or legion. “And if you go, I wanna go with you. And if you die, I wanna die with you. Take your hand and walk away.” The world slipped into the background as Eve stared into those eyes made flesh, for the first time in what had been years. Only minutes. “The most loneliest day of my life. The most loneliest day of my life. The most loneliest day of my life. Life—“
Akashi should have held contempt. Hatred for that betrayal. And yet he stood taller, without illness plaguing his core. Power at will. “Such a lonely day, and it's mine.” Maybe fate wasn’t fantasy. “It's a day that I'm glad I survived.”
Rain ticked against their skin, thunder rolling far above. Twice sat frozen at the edge of it all, hands twitching uselessly, caught between reaching out and staying the hell back.
For the first time since crawling free, Akashi didn’t look at his own hands, didn’t marvel at the body he should’ve had. His eyes were fixed only on Eve, wide and wet, and he whispered again, softer this time, a vow meant only for them: “I’m going to live for you. For us. T-thank you, Mikumo. I’m not going anywhere.”
Daichi scrambled to his feet, slick with rain and bile, shaking and clawing at the pavement as if the world itself had betrayed him. His first instinct was to run, but before he could take a step, Akashi’s back erupted in motion — twin serpentine hydras unfurling like living shadows, scales slick with water and storm. Their claws latched onto Daichi’s ankle, dragging him backward across the wet asphalt with a wet, tearing rattle.
Akashi’s eyes widened as he processed the reality of his own body. Nude. Entirely. The storm had stripped him bare, left him reborn and exposed. A faint blush of disbelief colored his pale skin as he glanced at the struggling gang member beneath the hydra’s relentless grip. Without hesitation, one of the dragons’ mouths snapped down, swallowing chunks of fabric and flesh in a flash, leaving Daichi flailing, his screams swallowed by the storm.
With deft, casual movements, Akashi stripped Daichi’s clothes, tossing them to himself. The hydra coiled around the man, constricting and tearing, dragging him into the wet darkness at the edge of the alley. Blood and rain spattered the pavement, steam rising in thin curls.
Twice froze mid-step, hoodie sleeves twitching, mask hanging askew. His doubles shimmered and flickered around him, unsure, hesitant. Could he fight this? Should he even try? The man — Akashi — was no man. He was the storm, the hydra, the archive made flesh. The mechanics of the fight no longer mattered; the act itself was godlike.
Eve, knees still weak, trembled beside him. Their body was wet, shivering, wrapped in the remnants of pie and coffee, tears streaking down their face. The night had broken them. Akashi turned, and in one fluid motion, swept Eve up into his arms. They curled against his chest, small and brittle, like a child again. Their sobs shook them both, mingling with the rain, until they sank into exhausted sleep, the tethered string taut and humming faintly between their ribcages.
Akashi’s arms tightened slightly around Eve, adjusting them so their head rested against his shoulder. Their small body trembled, chest heaving in rapid, uneven bursts. Rain soaked strands of hair stuck to their pale face, tears and leftover streaks of pie mingling with the water. Slowly, exhaustion began to pull them under, their sobs dwindling into quiet, uneven breaths.
Twice knelt a few steps away, still masked and twitching, watching the scene unfold like he couldn’t quite believe it. Akashi glanced down at him, rain dripping from his hair onto the pavement. The hydra wings along his back shivered faintly with residual storm energy, though the worst of the chaos had already passed as they dissipated with a sickening crack, forming back into his spine.
“Look,” Akashi began, voice calm but rough with lingering adrenaline, “I’m their older brother. I have no fucking clue how I’m here. Mikumo’s gotta calm down. Get some sleep and food. They can explain later.”
Twice blinked, mask slipping slightly as he tried to parse the words. “Y-you… you’re real? I mean… that—” His hand twitched toward Eve, then recoiled. “That… that came out of them? You… I don’t—”
“Yeah, I get it,” Akashi interrupted, running a hand down his face, exhaling in a long, wet breath. “I don’t know how it works either. But I’m here now. We don’t have to figure it out tonight. Just… keep them safe for a few more minutes while they sleep.”
Twice’s doubles shimmered uncertainly, flickering at the edges of perception. The way Eve called for him, the gentle touches. The song. He swallowed, voice soft and rough under the mask. “Safe… right. They… they’re safe with you.”
Akashi’s lips curved faintly, one corner twitching in what almost looked like a grin. “Yeah. I’m gonna make sure of it.” He glanced down at the still-shaking, soaked figure in his arms. “They’re not going anywhere for a while. You can trust me on that.”
Twice hesitated, then sank to the pavement beside them, shoulders slackening for the first time since the fight began. He tugged at the edge of his hoodie, trying to look casual while every muscle in his body hummed with lingering tension. “I… I think… I think they need someone like you,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else. He wasn’t sure if it was about Eve or himself anymore. “Someone who… won’t break. Or leave.”
Akashi adjusted his grip on Eve, letting them settle more fully against his chest, their breathing finally slowing into the shallow rhythm of sleep. His eyes flicked to Twice again. “Good. Then we’ll just focus on keeping that. Nothing else tonight.”
Twice let out a shaky laugh, almost like relief escaping through the mask. “Yeah… okay. Keeping safe. Got it.” His doubles dissipated, blending into the shadows as if understanding.
The three of them stayed there for a long moment. Rain dripped from Akashi’s hair, pooled in puddles around their feet, and the faint light of dawn bled along the horizon, washing the alley in soft gold. Eve slept completely now, small and fragile in Akashi’s arms, tethered to him by a red cord that hummed faintly beneath his chest. Twice watched quietly, letting the tension leak out, caught between awe and a strange, uneasy relief.
Finally, Akashi straightened slightly, glancing at Twice, and nodding once. “Alright. Let’s get inside. Feed them. Let them rest. We can handle the questions later.”
Twice nodded, a little stiff, a little unsure, but obedient. He stepped forward, guiding Akashi through the wet alleyways, glancing down at Eve’s sleeping form with a soft, careful vigilance. The storm had passed, leaving them soaked, exhausted, and alive — and, for the first time in what felt like forever, together.
By the time they reached the bar, the three of them were soaked, shivering, and utterly spent. Eve slept against Akashi’s chest, their chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm, tethered, safe. Twice trailed behind, mask in hand, still trying to process the violent ballet they’d just survived. The faint light of dawn painted the wet streets in soft gold, promising a momentary reprieve — a calm before whatever storms would inevitably come next.
Akashi stepped through the door, the quiet of the building pressing against him. Rain dripped from his hair and coat, puddling faintly at his feet. He toed the door closed behind him, muffling the faint city sounds outside.
The hallway was still. Too still.
He moved deliberately up the stairs to Tenko’s room, chest still holding Mikumo close. The small figure was limp, exhausted, tethered to him by the red cord that hummed faintly beneath his skin.
Akashi nudged the door open with his foot. His eyes caught the sight of the two tangled together, bodies half-hidden under blankets, the faint glow of early sun painting the room in soft gold.
“Oh, darling, guess who’s back from the DEAD!” he boomed, voice carrying a strange mix of mirth and triumph.
The sound was enough to snap Tenko and Hitoshi upright. Their eyes shot wide, panic flooding their faces as they saw Akashi standing there, soaked, pale, and holding Mikumo as if they weighed nothing at all.
Mikumo stirred slightly against him, half-buried in sleep, eyes fluttering open in confusion. Akashi’s grin softened as he lowered his voice, a gentle undertone beneath the chaos: “Fuck. My bad… it’s okay. You’re home.”
Hitoshi froze, fingers gripping the sheets. Tenko blinked rapidly, torn between shock and disbelief. Akashi’s clothes were strange, unfamiliar—but the presence, the authority, and the sheer impossibility of it all rooted them to the spot.
Mikumo’s small voice whispered, barely audible: “Nisan…?”
Akashi’s eyes softened. “Yeah.” He shifted slightly, settling Mikumo onto the bed. The red cord pulsed faintly, a tether and a promise both at once.
Hitoshi’s chest tightened, his fingers clutching the sheets as if letting go would make Akashi vanish. His mind raced: This… this can’t be real. He’s here. He’s actually here. Every rational thought screamed, but his body refused to move. He could only stare, wide-eyed, as the impossible stood before him—pale, soaked, impossibly strong, and holding Mikumo with a tenderness that cut through the storm of fear he’d carried for so long.
Tenko’s reaction was more frantic. He stumbled backward, knocking against the wall, eyes darting from Akashi to Mikumo and back again. “W-what… how…?” His voice broke, disbelief heavy in every syllable. The words refused to form fully, as if the mind itself was short-circuiting under the weight of the impossible.
Akashi’s gaze softened, calm amid the chaos. He tilted Mikumo slightly, brushing damp hair from their face, letting them rest against his chest. Their small hand twitched against his chest, and Akashi pressed a finger gently to his lips. “They need sleep.”
Hitoshi swallowed hard, voice barely audible. “I… I thought… I thought you-you—” His words choked off as Akashi’s presence radiated calm, yet unshakable strength. The man—or whatever he had become—was here. And nothing could reach Mikumo as long as he was.
Tenko’s knees buckled slightly, but he didn’t sit. He stayed on the balls of his feet, eyes fixed on Akashi, trying to parse the impossible figure. “You… you’re real. This… this isn’t—”
Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed, his stare piercing Akashi’s slew of greys, red, yellow and greens. The eyes were different, and yet his hold left no room for fear or lies. “How?” The question came cold off his tongue.
Akashi yanked Tenko’s computer chair over, settling into the cushion despite the weeping of damp against leather. “Quirk. A new one.”
Tenko seemed to come back to rationality beside Hitoshi, pulling another hoodie over his bare torso. “There isn’t quirks like that. So. Which ones is it?”
Akashi drew a breath, smoothing his bangs out of his face. He hadn’t even found an opportunity to look in a mirror, but. He understood just how… strange all of this was. “Tenko,” the name foreign on his tongue if not for the years spent inside his siblings mind. “Remember that rule that bastard set during our little excursions?”
Tenko raised a brow, finding Hitoshi’s hand beneath the blanket. He took a deep breath, his mind racing. Which one? There were plenty, especially when Mikumo was Izuku.
Sensing his confusion, Akashi continued. “Izuku wasn’t allowed to take quirks of similar variety within quick succession. Particularly emitters. There wasn’t an issue that night because they already had similar or direct copies of the four of us. For the gang leaders, it amplified their original quirks.”
Tenko’s eyes darted between the three of them. Hitoshi, lost as his thumb traced soothing circles onto his palm beneath the covers, Mikumo dead asleep at Akashi’s chest. And Akashi, with that stare that leveled gangs even in the triple digits. “Which one’s?”
Akashi sighed, brushing back a loose strand of curls from Mikumo’s face. He understood the question. “The vampire’s quirk unsettled the archive, it was still being processed. If I had to guess, the blood in Mikumo’s veins isn’t just their own.” Maybe if Akashi had been born with a variety of All For One, their father would have spent more time discussing quirks with him. Alas, he was stuck to connect the dots, having grown used to Mikumo’s muttering over the years. “They went on a walk with the new recruit. Twice. His quirk is doubling.”
“Doubling..?” Hitoshi murmured. His mind trailed to his math teacher, pro hero ectoplasm. “So like clones?”
“Sort of..?” Akashi’s frown creased at the corners. “They ran into some trouble with a roach. I’m pretty sure it had to do with his quirk. Some sort of saliva or blood quirk? It forms needles. The archive is just a giant cauldron. Quirks that have stewed longer are stronger, but there is always one onion in the mix.”
Tenko groaned, “so it’s mutated. The three quirks fused into a pipe bomb— and the trigger was activated.”
Akashi winced, “they… needed me. I heard them scream my name, and then everything sort of cut out? A television shutting off maybe? I can still hear them vaguely but it’s so much quieter.”
Hitoshi’s jaw clenched at that. His thumb stilled against Tenko’s palm, eyes flicking from Mikumo’s sleeping face to Akashi’s. “So you’re saying… they built you?” His voice cracked in the middle, low and sharp. “That’s what this is? Some kind of… freak accident? A quirk-born hallucination?”
Akashi tilted his head just slightly, the motion more reptilian than human. His mismatched eyes glinted in the dim light. “I’m saying they called me,” he said softly. “And I answered.”
Tenko swallowed, hoodie bunched tight around his fists. He felt Hitoshi’s pulse jumping against his palm under the blanket. “You’re here,” he said, almost to himself. “I don’t care how. You’re here. And that’s not supposed to be possible.”
Akashi leaned back in the chair, metal joints creaking. Damp curls stuck to his forehead, rain dripping down to his collarbone. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was even, but the edge underneath was undeniable. “I died, Tenko. You killed me, and I stayed dead. That’s how it’s supposed to work. But they—” his gaze flicked down to Mikumo’s sleeping face, “—they don’t know how to let go. And apparently neither do I.”
The room was still. Mikumo shifted faintly, a soft sound catching in their throat. Akashi’s hand drifted down automatically, brushing their shoulder with the ease of long practice, quieting them without even thinking about it.
Hitoshi watched the movement, throat tight. “You’re… quieter,” he murmured. “When you talk about it. Like it’s far away.”
Akashi gave a single, humorless laugh. “It is far away. The Archive’s like… a radio I can’t quite tune anymore. It’s like a reception feed, but static and whispers. I can tap into legion and my original stolen quirks. Though I’m not where I’m supposed to be.” His gaze lifted to meet Hitoshi’s again, steady and unblinking. “But I’m here. Right now. That’s all that matters.”
Tenko’s eyes darted between them, calculating. “So you don’t know how long you can stay.”
Akashi’s mouth twisted faintly. “No. But I know what I’m here for.” He glanced down at Mikumo again, his expression softening just enough to show the crack in his armor. “And I’m not leaving until they’re safe.”
The air was heavy, like a storm with no rain. They all knew what he implied. Hitoshi’s shoulders loosened just a fraction. He shifted closer to Tenko without thinking, his hand brushing against the other boy’s under the blanket again. “Then we figure it out,” he said quietly. “Together. We’ve been doing that since the start.”
Akashi’s eyes flicked up to meet his, unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded once. “Good. Because they’re going to need you when they wake up.”
Tenko’s hands curled into fists in the fabric of his hoodie. He nodded too, jaw set, eyes fixed on Mikumo’s sleeping form. “We all will.”
Akashi sat back in the chair, rainwater still dripping onto the floorboards. His shoulders slumped just slightly, the tiniest crack of exhaustion visible under the strange clothes and mismatched eyes. For a moment, despite everything, he looked like an older brother again — not a hydra, not a storm, not a revenant. Just Akashi.
Mikumo jerked upright with a strangled gasp, curls plastered damp against their forehead. Their wide eyes darted between the three faces in front of them, voice breaking into a stammer. “I-I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to! I—!”
Akashi’s hand was already smoothing through their hair, grounding. His tone was maddeningly casual, almost a smirk curling on his lips.
“So, Tenko,” he drawled, “how much you wanna bet Kurogiri shits himself when he sees me?”
For a heartbeat the room was silent. Then Tenko choked, a laugh bursting sharp and ugly from his throat. “Oh, you’re on. I bet he goes straight for your jugular.”
“Optimist,” Akashi muttered, brushing Mikumo’s curls back again, his mismatched eyes softening just slightly.
Mikumo blinked rapidly, scrubbing at their eyes with the heels of their hands. The panic trembled out of them in uneven waves, until their gaze finally settled on the three figures—Akashi beneath them in the chair, Tenko at the head of the bed, Hitoshi tense at his side. For a moment, it almost looked… normal.
And then Hitoshi saw it.
His lungs seized, he crossed the room in a flash, his hand shooting to Mikumo’s wrist as if to anchor them. “Wait—” His voice cracked into raw air.
Tenko followed his line of sight—and his knees nearly gave.
A cord. Red, luminous, unmistakable. Stretching from Mikumo’s chest to Akashi’s. It pulsed faintly in the dimness like a heartbeat, alive, tethering the two together in a way neither boy had words for.
“What…” Tenko’s throat rasped as he stumbled back half a step, knocking his ankles against the foot board. His eyes were wide, caught between horror and awe. “What the fuck is that?”
Mikumo froze. Their own hand hovered in the air, reaching instinctively toward the glowing line as though they could touch it. “I—I don’t know,” they whispered, terrified and small. “It’s a part of… of…”
Hitoshi’s violet eyes cut sharply to Akashi, suspicion sharpened into something almost desperate. “You see it too. Don’t you?”
Akashi leaned back in the chair, mismatched eyes flicking between them, then down at the thread that hummed against his chest like an anchor. His mouth pressed into a grim line.
“Yeah,” he said at last, voice lower, heavier. “I see it. And trust me—this isn’t something you can just cut.”
The thread thrummed once, harder, as if it were listening. Akashi caught it between his fingers, the glow bleeding crimson against his skin. It wasn’t smooth—it pulsed like something wet and alive, warm as blood.
Mikumo gasped, their whole body flinching. Pain flickered across their face as if Akashi had plucked at a nerve, and he dropped it instantly. Their breath hitched. “It hurts—when you touch it.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. The cord hung there between them, alive, humming, defiant.
Akashi’s mismatched eyes stayed locked on it, jaw tight. “Then we don’t touch it,” he said flatly. His hand curled back into a fist. “Not unless you’re ready for whatever happens when it snaps.”
Mikumo’s breath hitched, words tumbling in a fevered rush before they could stop themselves. “So what happens if the cord is cut? Does Aka-ni die? Again—do I die? Is he gone? Is the quirk severed? If I test it again, if I use the quirk on a less desirable quirk and the thread is snapped then it should answer the question. But it’s pure measurement. It has to be someone I know the body of—or does it? I can—”
Their rambling broke off with a sharp inhale as Akashi’s hand pressed gently but firmly across their lips. His gaze softened, but his voice was steel.
“You are not,” he said, each word deliberate, “using that again. Not until we know more. I didn’t exactly see how I ended up here. But Twice did. Maybe he’s got more insight than either of us.”
For a moment, only the sound of their breathing filled the room—the faint, shivering hum of the red cord between them. Mikumo trembled beneath his touch, eyes wide, but the muttering stilled.
Tenko shifted uncomfortably against the headboard, fingers tightening around the fabric of the blanket. “Twice,” he muttered. “I haven’t even talked to him yet. We’re supposed to trust him with this?”
Akashi didn’t look away from Mikumo as he answered. “I don’t trust easily. But he immediately protected Mikumo. And. I trust what he saw. That’s different.”
Hitoshi’s jaw flexed, the faintest grind of his teeth audible in the hush. His violet eyes burned, fixed on Akashi’s hand still hovering too close to Mikumo’s mouth. “You’re asking us to take your word on this,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous. “You—who just walked in out of nowhere, carrying them like some… revenant.”
Mikumo flinched at his tone, shrinking into Akashi’s chest despite themselves. The red cord pulsed once, faintly in time with their heartbeat, as if it could feel the tension rising.
Akashi finally tore his gaze from Mikumo, lifting his head to meet Hitoshi’s stare. The corners of his mouth twitched into something too sharp to be called a smile. “I’m not asking,” he said simply. “I’m telling you what I know. What you do with it—that’s your choice.”
Tenko swallowed, his fingers flexing against the blanket as though he could claw at the thought. His voice was rough, caught somewhere between challenge and resignation. “And if you’re wrong?”
Akashi leaned back in the chair, mismatched eyes glinting in the dim light. “Then I’m the one who pays the price. Not Mikumo.”
The cord between them thrummed again, faint but insistent, and Mikumo finally broke the silence in a whisper. “Please… stop fighting.”
Hitoshi’s voice cut through the air, steadier than he felt. “Well, we don’t know until we ask. It’s not worth risking you both.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes darting from the cord to Mikumo’s trembling form. “I… Kitty. The babies—are they okay?”
Akashi’s gaze flicked to him, then down to Mikumo, fingers brushing dangerously close to their stomach. “They’re fine,” he said with certainty.
The world tilted. A sharp crack, too fast to think about—Mikumo’s own hand striking his away. Pain exploded behind their eyes, white-hot, thrumming through their skull. Their body doubled in on itself, clutching at their temples.
And then it was gone.
They blinked, tears threatening at the corners of their eyes, chest heaving. “I—sorry. They’re fine. I—” The words tumbled out broken, shame choking them. They didn’t know why they’d done it. Why their body had rebelled.
Akashi stayed still, mismatched eyes unreadable, as if he understood something Mikumo didn’t.
The words wilted to silence.
Hitoshi was already there, pressing his forehead lightly to Mikumo’s temple, grounding them. His voice was low, urgent but soft. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. Just breathe, Kitty. Just breathe.”
Hitoshi’s forehead stayed pressed against Mikumo’s temple, his whisper low, steady, anchoring. Mikumo’s breaths hitched, but they followed his lead, fragile rhythm slowly evening out.
Silence stretched long, only broken by the hum of rain still sliding down the window.
Tenko exhaled through his nose, scratching absently at the side of his neck. His gaze flicked over all three of them, lingering on the faint red tether still humming between chestbones, then away again. He hummed—soft, deliberate, the closest thing he could manage to reassurance without making it worse.
“Alright,” he said finally, his voice gruff but not unkind. “First things first. You two need to shower before you get sick. We’ll find you some warm clothes, and—” his eyes landed on Mikumo, softer for just a breath, “Miku’s got to eat.”
The weight shifted. Practical. Grounding.
Then his gaze cut back to Akashi, tracing his rain-soaked form, the faint awkwardness in the way he still sat there like he wasn’t sure what belonged to him. “You…” Tenko hesitated, brow furrowing, “you need to eat too?”
Akashi blinked, caught off guard. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, a faint blush creeping into his too-perfect cheeks. “Yeah. I’ve… got a stomach. And, uh—food would be nice.” His lips twitched into something between a smirk and a wince. “I’ve got five years to make up for… haha.”
Tenko’s mouth quirked like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite. “Well. Lucky for you, we’ve got leftovers. And no one tell Kurogiri yet, I want to see the look on his face.”