Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Life sucks

One thing you know for sure? You hate Ishigami Senku.

For the last ten years, this arrogant, rude, self absorbed boy has made your life a living hell. Every year without fail, you’ve been partnered up or sat next to the eccentric boy with weird ass hair. You might say “Hey, get over it. Just ignore him.” But have you ever tried to study for an English exam with someone constantly muttering equations and that stupid catchphrase of his, “Get excited”? 

no?

Then sit down.

You pride yourself on your appearance and your grades. Queen bee of the school, president of the student Council - you’ve worked damn hard in all aspects to come top. You’re popular, you’re nice and you’re smart... Not to his freakishly high level, but still.

It’s no secret that you and Senku don’t get along. You’ve tried, tried so hard in the past to try and get along but that smug grin only ever makes you feel violent. He always abandons your group projects leaving you to do all the work, only ever interested in things to do with science, where he promptly takes control of EVERYTHING. 

What makes matters worse?... Your pen slips as a small explosion goes off rattling windows, followed by a quiet shout of “GASOLINE ACQUIRED!”... He’s your fucking neighbour.

 One day, you’re going to strangle that boy with his own lab coat.

You stomp into your living room where your older sister is channel hopping, a lit cigarette hanging from her lips.

The stench burns your nostrils as you disappear into the kitchen area. “I wanna move.” You growl flinging the fridge door open. Empty.

“Yeah yeah, you saythat every day Y/N.” Yumi drones. Slam.

“We have no food.” You inform your sister as you enter the livingroom again, in time to watch the ash of her cigarette drop onto the carpet. “At least use a fucking ashtray, Yumi.”

“Make me.” She smirks in return flipping her hair extensions over her shoulder before standing, announcing “I’m going to my boyfriends.”

“What?” you growl. “You need to buy food. It’s your turn.” You protest grabbing her arm. She sneers shoving you into the wall hard.

“Well wait for mum to get home.” Yumi grins blowing her smoke in your face, laughing as you cough before slipping out the door.

“But mums not gonna be home for three days...” you mutter to the empty apartment just as the electricity goes... Great.

You check the bare cupboards for anything edible, but you know its no use. Sighing you go back to your room pulling a small tin out from its hiding place.

“As soon as I’m old enough, I’m leaving this place.” You whisper opening the tin as your routinely check the amount inside to make sure it’s not been found. Every scrap of your earnings is in here, secret job pay, payments for artwork at school you’ve done, even the change from when your mums been to drunk to notice. You hesitate, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the tins edge.

Do I really need to eat?

Your stomach gives a sharp twang telling you that, yes. You do need food.

You sigh taking a 100 yen bill out reluctantly, squirreling your tin back into its hiding space and going to your usual corner shop.

“Fuck.” Shamefully, it didn’t occur to you until you tried to boil water that no electricity... Means no hot water.

You stare at the dry noodle cup like it had personally done you wrong. You could go knock on... No. Like hell are you asking for help from Mr Ego next door, you’d never hear the end of it.

You fill the small metal kettle and traipse down to the park, into a small alcove of trees where you light a small fire with practiced ease. You keep a look out as you wait for the water to boil. You extinguish the fire the moment the water comes to a boil and like a criminal, quickly scurry back into your home. With the meal done, scarfed down with no elegance whatsoever, you glance around the silent and dark apartment, not even a ticking of a clock for company.

With nothing else to do and wanting to save your phone battery, you cuddle under your blanket and pray that your weird neighbour stops laughing like the lead villain of some b-rated movie...waiting for tomorrow.

*******************************************

“He’s late.” You grumble

Surprise, surprise. He’s not turned up... Again.

Here you are, sat tapping your pen against the table as the clock ticks loudly in the empty classroom. You grit your teeth in anger, the English assignment remained sat untouched in front of you as you watch fifteen minutes go by. No guesses to who you were partnered with...

You slam your hands on the table so hard they sting as you stand. “That’s it.” You hiss storming down corridors, the look on your face is enough to send students scurrying and flattening into walls.

You notice one of those science geeks in a classroom and make a beeline.

“Hey Y/N-“ the kid starts and you promptly cut him off slamming your hands on his desk.

“Where. Is. He.” You snarl and the poor guy looks ready to piss himself.

“L-L-lab.”

I knew it.

You fly out the room. No more Mr Nice Guy, this is the last straw.

As soon as you see that smug looking vegetable perched against a nearby window, you see red. One of the other nerds turns and blanches. “Uh oh, she’s pissed.”

Senku barely has time to turn before you’re on him.

You grab his bony shoulders in a grip you hope hurts. “What happened to doing the English project?” you spit.

Ishigami for all his arrogance, picks at his ear. “Was that today? Oops.”

You’re about to wipe that stupid look off his dumb face when you hear, “what’s that green light?”

 You turn your head just as the light touches your skin and boom, it goes dark.

What the- you try to open your eyes.. Nothing. Wriggle your fingers? Toes? Why can’t you move? You try and call out but nothing happens... You try to scream, kick, punch, anything! But after trying everything you can think of for who knows how long, you sigh in defeat... It’s like floating in nothing, there’s no sound. No smells... No touch... At least it’s quiet....

“1, 2, 3, 4,”an all to familiar voice echoes...Fuck my life.

.....................................

“Four, five, six, seven, eight...Damn, almost lost consciousness again.”

You yawn, Is he still going? I must have passed out for a while.

“Seems to happen every 800,000 seconds or so... Heh. It’s about as regular as my bowel movements used to be.”

Every 9 days?! Eat some fibre you damn nerd!

“I need to think and count at the same time. Run parallel processes.”

Say what now?! Like hell you do!

“116,427,065,530 seconds.”

Please... No...

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...”

... What did I do to deserve this? You mentally put your head in your hands.

.....................................

“9,10...heh. Alright, I can make it past 800,000 seconds without all but losing consciousness now. Guess my minds finally adjusting.”

Yayyy...note heavy sarcasm. Damn, I wish he could hear me. I’d promptly tell him to button it.

“I have been frozen now for 117,354,889,550 seconds. So this is the 3,718th spring since I froze.”

Am I going to spend the rest of eternity listening to the internal monologue of the king of all nerds?

“Starting in spring is an absolute must if I want to survive.... Okay, no time like the present.”

... Here we go again...

“Come on, me. Get up....get up... Get. Up. Get up damn it! Get up! Get up!“

FOR GOD’S SAKE LET HIM GET UP! I CAN’T TAKE NO MORE OF THIS!-

Crack.

Was that?- suddenly all you can hear is cracking and popping sounds before light blinds you.

“No. Way.” You whisper your eyes wide. You lay there staring into the dirt completely gobsmacked. You were out. A stupid grin spreads across your face and you laugh. “I’m out.”

“Get...get your fat ass off of me.” You hear a familiar voice groan from below. You scramble to sit up causing more pieces of stone shell to clatter to the earth below as you look down to lock eyes with your only company for the last 3,700 years.

His Ruby eyes hold yours for a long while. You never thought you’d be happy to see this Nerd again, but maybe spending several thousand years listening to him made you miss seeing him... Just a little.

His eyes slide down.

“Huh. They’re 40% bigger now.”

SLAP. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: The game of survival

Two years before petrification

 “Hey Y/N, can I ask you something?” Yuzuriha asks, her cheeks blazing as she continues stitching your dance recital outfit.

“Yeah, ‘course Yuzuriha, what’s up? You coax with a smile, finishing the material form She’d asked for help with.

“Um... Where do you get your bras from? I mean- they always look really nice and they don’t... Ya know... give them a weird shape.” Yuzuriha mutters bright red.

Your cheeks heat in turn. Out the corner of your eye, you’re fairly certain Taiju just passed out.

You cough to hide your surprise, you weren’t expecting her to come out with that! “I just modify GU underwear. I’ve got pretty good at making my own lace. I can teach you? As for altering the shape-“

“She uses lots of stuffing. The lack of lumps means I’m guessing some kind of foam.” Senku butts in, while continuing to write his equations on the board.

“Excuse me, you damn nerd!” you shriek incredulously.

 Senku turns, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Y/N’s flat as a board.” He declares cockily

 Your jaw drops. “You and your sister were arguing really fucking loud outside my door the other week and you weren’t wearing a bra.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

you promptly throw a chair at him.

“I HATE YOU. YOU GOD DAMN PERVERTED NERD. DIE!”

Senku sits facing away from you, his cheek an alarming shade of red as he sorts through the stone shards. “I don’t care if you’re naked Y/N.”

“Keep staring at that tree or so help me god, I will stab you.” You snarl, wrenching vines and large leaves to cover yourself with.

Senku scoffs, “What are you stabbing me with? a stick?” but he dutifully stays put.

“Want the other cheek to match, Nerd?” you taunt.

“No ma’am.” Comes the too quick reply.

You continue wrapping yourself until you hear an impatient sigh. “Are you done yet, princess?”

“As best I can be.” You grumble doing a final check over as he stands.

“First. We need to make a shelter, food, water, tools are gonna be needed for-“ He starts listing off as you look up.

“GOOD GOD. Cover up!” you squeal, quickly covering your face. “Ahh! my eyes! I’m traumatised!"

“Heh, stop being dramatic.” You hear the smug smirk in his voice.

“No-one wants to see your tiny dick, Ishigami!” you complain, refusing to uncover your very red face.

You hear the cocky asshole sigh as he snaps off vines “It’s just skin. Completely natural.”

“I don’t care if it’s natural! Put it away!” you snap. “It’s gonna get caught on something and then you’ll be sorry!”

“Yeah yeah. For fucks sake woman, it’s gone.”

You hesitate to reopen your eyes. Sighing in relief when you see he really had covered up to which he rolls his eyes at. “As I was saying-“

“I know the plan.” You interrupt. “Wake up in spring. Establish a home base. Find out how to undo the petrification and why we were petrified in the first place.” You retell him and he raises an eyebrow.

“10 billion percent right... That was my plan as well.” He mutters, almost confused.

You laugh. “You’re right. It’s 10 billion percent your plan as I’ve been listening to you for the last 3,000 years.”

It’s now your turn to smirk as the guy gapes.

“... The whole time?”

“Hopefully, being in the stone age will help with those bowel movements.” you tell him smugly but instead of getting embarrassed— like a normal person that just found out you’d heard their every thought for thousands of years— This giant nerd begins theorising instead.

“Could it be because you were touching me at the time of petrification? I never heard you so it must have been a one way connection. Maybe because I kept my mind active? Rippling across to you like an echo? I wonder if it’s still possible now we’re no longer stone? This is exhilarating.” Senku rambles and you feel a headache coming on.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m going to see if there’s anyone else out here-“ you turn walking into the dense forest.

“Wait. You’re leaving? That’s 10 billion percent illogical! We should stick together! You don’t know what’s even out there!” Senku shouts after you.

You lift your hand up but don’t stop. “I’ve been listening to you for too long, I need a break. I’ll be back! See ya Nerd!”

You hear him shout after you but you ignore him. You know his plan by heart, so you’re not too worried about him. That big brain of his should keep him busy until you’ve gathered the things you’ve deemed necessary in the stone world.

First on your list? is herbs.

 You’d spent most of your life wanting to run away and live in the wilderness. You’d read every survival guide there is. Every trick, and skill was already at your disposal. You almost want to thank Yumi, your drunk mother and absent father for making you so desperate.

Almost.

You stop by a tree as it hits you that you may never see them again, and you don’t know if you should feel relieved or sad.

You shake your head violently, there’s no point dwelling on that now. You have work to do.

Time flies when you’re trying to survive.

It’s been two months. You’re back near where you started.

Now, you’re equipped with a knife of sharpened stone, Clothing consisting of various tan pelts made into strips for a skirt held together with rope, a tube top made from a darker brown pelt and underwear.

 You shift your huge animal skin bag on your back As you follow the river down. It’s adorned in various plants covering it from the amount of pockets you made to support them.

You eventually find Senku’s home base and you’re pleasantly surprised to see the startings of a shack in the trees. Mud pots semi full of edible vegetation. A haphazard spear and even a tiny fire that had long gone out.

 You find the self proclaimed scientist passed out next to it. He’s pale, filthy, sunburnt on his face and covered in bruises and scrapes.

 Thankfully, he’s managed to fashion himself some clothes and shoes out of what looks like deer hide.

Is that a dress?

You sigh when he doesn’t even stir with gentle kicking, lowering your bag with a thud.

“Idiot.” You grumble. “You’re not meant to work until you collapse.”

 Let’s get to work.

Senku hasn’t moved since you arrived nearly 2 days ago...You’re starting to worry.

 Seeing his sorry state, you actually felt bad for leaving him.

This is probably the most manual labour the guy has ever done.

You cleaned him up the best you could, applying a thick paste of shiso and ginger to his clearly sore muscles and wrapping him up in the furs you’d fashioned into a blanket.

You’d kept yourself busy, potting your herbs, sorting out your various tools you’d made, making a proper fire pit and finishing the roof of the shack as well as managing to hunt some rabbits.

You’re dishing up some basic rabbit soup? Stew? When you hear a weak but smug voice from behind you:

“Get bored of playing solo Y/N?”

You scoff, wiping the ecstatic grin off your face before turning to regard Senku with a frown.

 “You’re lucky I came when I did! What were you doing passed out in the open like that?! There are predators in these forests you know. For someone so logical and smart that was incredibly stupid.” You give him the telling off you’ve been waiting to give him since you’d arrived and found him.

“Were you worried about me, Princess?” Senku smirks and you immediately gape recovering quickly.

You scoff, “You wish! Ya god damned Nerd. Just annoyed that I couldn’t even relax when I arrived— had to take care of your comatose ass.”

Senku struggles to sit up against the log, his arms trembling but you make no move to help. Crossing your arms. Your patient then takes notice of the gloop covering his extremities.

“What is this?” he takes a whiff, “ginger?”

“And Shiso. They help with inflammation and muscle pain.” You supply off-handedly. A smug feeling of satisfaction rippling through you when his eyes widen.

“You touched me up in my sleep?”

... Nevermind.

“Just your arms, legs and neck! Don’t make it weird!” you shout back your face heating.

 You definitely weren’t going to mention the fact you cleaned up every scrape and cut as well.

 You shove the crude bowl you’d prepared into his hands with a wooden spoon and promptly give him your back. You mess about removing the rabbit pot from the fire and trade it to boil water.

You can feel Senku watching you as you grind up more ginger in your dodgy homemade pestle and mortar. You wrap the paste into shiso leaves, poking holes into the make-shift strainer and pop it into the cup before pouring in the boiling water.

You turn round to see Senku regarding you with a strange expression. “What?”

“You’re not actually bad at this.”

You raise a brow. “Thanks.. I think.” You awkwardly shrug “I read survival guides in my spare time...feels like I was preparing for this... my entire life.” You tell him looking up to the dark sky, remembering the little girl who used to sit alone crying in libraries, after being kicked out when your mum came home with strange, possibly violent men.

“Well it’s 10 billion percent useful,” Senku’s voice snaps you back to the present. “And I appreciate it, thank you.” He finishes softer.

“Did the great science nerd himself actually thank me? “ you goad with a grin

“Heh, and she ruins it.” Senku huffs, shaking his head.

“Can’t have you going soft on me” you smirk placing the cup next him as you sit. “Eat up. I only made one bowl and I’m starving.”

You close your eyes listening to the crackling fire, the animals and Senku’s eating.

“... Shit.” Senku grumbles placing the empty bowl down.

“What?” you ask looking at him as his face screws up.

“I need to piss.” He informs you and you laugh watching Senku’s impromptu re-enactment of Bambi as he tries to stand.

“Do you need help?” you ask amused as he stands stiff on trembling legs.

“No. I got it-“ He informs you taking a step only to collapse...

“This is 10 billion percent embarrassing.” Senku grumbles as you piggy back him towards the trees.

“Just focus on not pissing on me nerd.” You grunt as you try and readjust him. “How are you so heavy!? You’re skin and bones! What are you made of?” you huff and puff letting him slide down your back.

“Heh, not my fault you’re weak, princess.” You turn away before you catch a glimpse of something you never want to see again. It’s not long before he latches back on to you. “Take me back pony.”

“I am not your pony!” you snap as you cart him back.

“You’re gonna give me back problems!” you complain as you both settle back in front of the fire.

“Serves you right for abandoning me.” He grunts picking up his tea. He’s all attitude, but you can hear the slight hurt in his voice.

“I didn’t abandon you.” You tell him sharply, appalled. “I went to get things that weren’t on your list and search for other survivors.” You informed him confidently.

“And?” he asks with a sigh and you feel like he knows the answer already.

You busy yourself with serving yourself a portion of the now cool stew.

“... I got most of the things we’ll need, medicinal herbs, bamboo shoots, mental locations of different materials and the lay of the land...” You mumble, your hands tightening up on the bowl as your voice quietens to nothing.

 “We’re it.” You whisper into the silence. “... At least this side of Japan. There’s no buildings, no signs of civilisation, no people...” your throat goes tight. “... Just statues everywhere, some were broken beyond recognition, some were stuck in cliffs, the sea...”

“... I even found babies.” Your vision blurs and you bite your lip hard to keep the sobs in your throat. It suddenly feels like your mental state is hanging by a thread and you don’t know what will happen when it finally snaps.

“Heh, that just means we’re the first.” Senku announces smugly.

you look round at him and he smirks.

“Through science, I’ll work out how we de-petrified— and I’ll reverse the affects that’s afflicted man-kind for 3,700 years. I won’t stop until we’ve rebuilt civilisation from the ground up.”

You let out a watery laugh.

For first time in what feels like forever, you smile.

 “Yeah, get excited.”

(A little extra... Because I can’t help myself)

There’s a beat of silence.

A long, terrible beat.

Senku slowly turns to you. That smirk spreads. You know the one. The “I’ve just found new blackmail material and I’m going to abuse it until the sun explodes” smirk.

“Oh?”

His voice drops into that playful, theatrical purr.

“GET EXCITED? Isn’t that my catchphrase?”

You immediately regret everything.

“No. Shut up. It slipped out—”

“Mm-hmm, suuure. Got a little caught up in the moment, huh?” He leans in mockingly. “Can’t resist the thrill of SCIENCE, can you?”

“Ishigami, I swear—”

“Get excited~” he echoes in a singsong voice while walking away, arms behind his head. “Should I make a banner? A plaque? Maybe carve it into a monument…”

You groan into your hands. You will never live this down.

God, you can already see the future..

You light a fire properly?

“GET EXCITED, huh? Looks like you’re finally rubbing two brain cells together!”

You make a crude menstrual pad from scratch?

“Science is glorious. Get excited indeed.”

You stretch and yawn in the morning?

“Gettin’ excited just to exist? Bold of you to copy my entire brand.”

What have I done?!

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: We're All a Little Broken 

You’d think that was the start of a beautiful friendship, wouldn’t you?

And you’d be right!

... Shamefully, that beautiful friendship lasted all of two minutes and thirty-six seconds.

“We’re going to have to repopulate the Earth.”

Huh?

“We’ll be like Adam and Eve. Together, we’ll bring life back to this stone world,” he continues, smirking—way too proud of himself.

“Let’s restart humanity.”

Repopulate the Earth... Adam and Eve... Restart humanity...

“Excuse me?!” you scream, startling the boy next to you as you jump to your feet.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but even if we are the last humans on the planet, you can do a lot better than ‘Let’s repopulate the Earth together’!”

Senku, for all his genius, just sits there blinking. Dumbfounded. He gulps audibly, then opens and closes his mouth.

“I... I meant with science...”

“Oh.”

... Oh god.

You can feel the heat rushing to your face.

Can the Earth swallow you now? Please? 

You're never going to live this down. Day one of the apocalypse, and you’ve already screamed at the only other person alive because your brain went full rom-com panic mode.

“Of course you meant science, ha, hahaha,” you stammer, your voice way too high and strained to ever be considered natural.

“Well, logically speaking, that would be the best course of action." Senku informs you casually while poking at the dying fire.

"I mean, it could take years to find a solution to the petrification, and humanity would die out if we didn’t."

You’ve never backed away so fast in your life-nearly tripping over the pots as you point at him accusingly. “Absolutely not!” you panic.

“It’s a logical response. We’re opposite genders—” he starts.

“You—you and your thing can stay the fuck away!” you screech, scrambling up the ladder to the treehouse. “Stay down there and get eaten for all I care!”

“It’s only natural! We’re the only ones alive who can prevent human extinction!” he shouts after you.

“Eat shit and die, Ishigami!” you shout back, stomping into the hut. You wish you could slam a door or scream into a pillow—but of course, there’s no fucking door! You’re stuck in the stone world with the biggest perverted nerd on the planet!

Repopulate the planet?! Ha! Humanity can go extinct!

What you didn’t know was that, the second you disappeared into the shack-Senku burst into quiet laughter, his shoulders shaking.

“Too easy,” he sniggered.

“Come on, Princess, I really did mean with science,” Senku complains from his spot next to the fire, fanning the embers as he refires pottery.

You ignore him, hammering the last piece into the makeshift door on the other side of the clearing.

“You can’t ignore me forever, you know,” he calls, cocky as ever. “You’ll have to come over here for food and water eventually.”

To make a point, you stand up, grab a handful of berries, and pop one into your mouth as you stroll to the large, upside-down clay pot under the shack. You place a bamboo cup underneath the spout, pour water into the top chamber, and tilt the cup toward him so he can clearly see you down it.

Then you glance at the finished door.

How the hell are you supposed to get that thing up into the treehouse?

“You made a filtration system? I’m impressed,” he admits, clearly trying to win back points.

You side-eye him.

“Impressed at how stubborn you are,” he adds with a smirk.

Why that smug little—

“You need to make a pulley,” he offers coolly.

You pretend not to hear him, turning your back and examining the tree trunk like it's suddenly become fascinating.

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “I’m not going to touch you,” he mutters, voice low.

You don’t turn around—but you pause. You do need that ridiculous brain of his.

“Swear it.”

Another sigh, this one full of theatrical martyrdom. “I swear on science, I won’t touch you without your express permission. Happy, Princess?”

You hesitate.

“…How do I make a pulley?”

“No, no! Not like that! It needs to be central.”

“Higher, Princess.”

“That knot is too big,” Ishigami calls from his seat by the fire.

You sigh obnoxiously loud. “Thanks, you backseat driver! God, remind me never to drive you anywhere!”

“You wanted to know how to make one,” comes his instant reply, as smug as ever.

“And I regret asking,” you grunt, tying the pulley to the branch just above the little tree house and threading the rope through. You grab it to start pulling—only for your irritant to open his gob... again.

“Remember to pull slowly or you’ll smash the door.”

“I’m aware!” you snap, steam practically pouring from your ears.

Eventually, you manage to haul the door up and rig it with string for makeshift hinges. It’s not perfect, but you’re sure Mr. Know-It-All’s will have notes.

Still, pleased with your work, you stomp over to Leek Boy, who’s cleaning the newly made pots so he can glaze them with animal fat before the next firing.

“So, what’s the first step toward de-petrification?” you ask, returning with a fresh cup of water.

“First, we need to return to the place where we broke out of the stone. There must be some kind of clue as to why we revived when no one else has. Then we need to recreate those conditions—preferably with something small—to test if we can de-petrify—”

“I hope you’re not suggesting a baby,” you cut in flatly. “We do not have the facilities to raise a newborn.”

“Heh. Two high schoolers raising an infant in the Stone World?” He shakes his head. “That would be ten billion percent a bad idea. We don’t even have milk.”

He places the last pot in the fire and turns to look at you properly.

“I was thinking of a swallow. Birds were the first things to get petrified, before humanity. I was running tests on a petrified birdwhen you, interrupted me.”

“Hah! Like fuck you were! When I showed up, you were dangling out a window!” you immediately clap back. 

He pauses, deadpanning. “That was a brief moment. Big Oaf was finally confessing his love to Yuzuriha.”

“WHAT?!” you squeal, clutching your cheeks like a starstruck fangirl. Senku instinctively leans away and plugs his ears.

“No way! I thought those two were gonna dance around each other forever!” you laugh, genuinely delighted.

“Yeah, those two were ten billion percent oblivious,” Senku agrees, despite himself—smiling as he stands.

Together, you start walking back toward the place you broke free, swapping stories about Taiju and Yuzuriha as the forest rustles softly around you.

“…And then he decided to join the damn crafting club!”

“Oh no!” you wheeze, struggling to breathe through your laughter. You couldn’t picture big, bulky Taiju knitting or crafting dresses—the mental image is just too ludicrous.

“It gets 10 billion percent worse. He’d follow her home afterward to make sure she got back safe.” Senku stops at a tree to catch his breath.

“Ohhh, that’s so sweet—but also... kinda... stalker-ish.” You wince, pausing to wait for the scientist to catch up.

“That’s not the worst part. He’d drag me along, too, so it would be less awkward,” he sighs dramatically.

“That’s… that’s somehow worse,” you chuckle weakly, grabbing Senku’s elbow when he stumbles.

“Let’s not tell Yuzuriha how you two used to stalk her home every day.”

Senku glances at you, then down at his arm, as you keep walking—completely oblivious.

“I still think those two are endgame, though,” you sigh dreamily, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Endgame?” the panting boy asks as you hop across a stream. “Like in chess?”

“Huh? No? Maybe? I don’t know.” You screw up your face. “Endgame like... end goal. Like Elena and Damon from that American show, The Vampire Diaries.”

His blank stare tells you everything.

“Monica and Chandler from Friends?” you try. “Inuyasha and Kagome? Ban and Elaine? What on earth do you watch?”

“…I liked Doraemon.”

…That explains so much.

You facepalm. “That... that doesn’t help at all. I ship them—” You groan in frustration. “Ahhh, I mean I’m a big advocator of their relationship.”

You see his eyes light up.

“Heh, like a fangirl,” Senku concludes, stepping up the riverbank toward you.

“Wait. How do you know what a fangirl is but not—” You spin around, seeing the shit-eating grin.

“You fucking dick!” you snap in your native tongue, shoving him backwards—straight into the stream.

“Ah—!” SPLASH.

“I can understand you, you know!” Senku glowers from below.

You flip him the bird and walk off.

“You’re punishing me for shoving you, aren’t you,” you grumble as you try to assemble the stone shell that once covered you both.

“Eh?” Senku scratches his ear nonchalantly. “Of course not.” He then cracks his neck as your eyes narrow.

He’s definitely doing it for revenge.

“So why aren’t you helping, oh Intelligent One?” you ask sweetly, your tone dripping with condescension.

“I’m theorizing different methods for why we were petrified and how we broke out,” he explains, leaning against a nearby tree with a sigh.

“Well, feel free to share with the group—or at least think aloud,” you grumble, frustrated to be doing all the grunt work.

“Thought you’d had enough of listening to my voice?” the nerd shoots back with a smirk.

“I’ve been listening to you talk science mumbo jumbo since we were six. You haven’t stopped in nearly 4,000 years, so why start now? Plus, now you can actually hear my feedback.” You smirk back.

“Fine. Hypothesis number one,” he holds up a finger. “Aliens—”

“Next.”

“Why?”

“Because if aliens came all this way, surely they’d have invaded the planet after,” you inform him, pointing out what seems obvious to you.

Senku rolls his eyes but continues, “Hypothesis number two: a secret military base creating war weapons made the petrification ray and accidentally got themselves caught in the crossfire.”

“Better. But still pretty out there,” you shrug.

“Hypothesis number three,” he continues, “a super virus. Airborne, or maybe in the water supply?”

“But then why would the virus only affect humans and swallows? Other than socially, we share no genetic similarities that wouldn’t affect other animals too.”

He seems stunned by your analytical take. He opens his mouth again, but you beat him to it.

“Hypothesis number four: a powerful ancient artifact was accidentally triggered—maybe by humans, maybe by earthquakes. The first wave was weak, only affecting swallows. But then it grew in power and turned everyone to stone!” you theorize excitedly, even going so far as to mimic a mini explosion.

“…And fairies shat in my cereal this morning,” Senku deadpans.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my hypothesis?!”

“It’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Mankind documents everything—from wars to technological advancements. Anyone predating those records would’ve been living like we are right now.”

“Then explain Atlantis?”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off, mockingly pronouncing each syllable:

“Pi—ra—mids.”

You two share an intense stare-off. You lean in grinning. He’s glaring back like you just insulted Newton.

The silence stretches.

Then—

He sighs. “If—and only if—an ancient civilization was able to craft such a thing and then die out by some other catastrophic means, losing all records of their advancements… then I suppose it would be a possible hypothesis.”

He relents, and you jump up and dance in celebration.

“Ha! Suck it, Nerd!”

You throw your hands up, victorious. You just won against the super nerd, and you’ll be milking it all year.

Senku shakes his head. “This is why I never joined the debate club.”

“Get back to work,” he grumbles, but he can’t help the smirk that appears as you sulk, going back to your 3D puzzle.

“You’re not as dumb as you act sometimes, Princess.”

You flash him a smug grin. “Neither are you, Nerd.”

“There must be a rule—some hidden law that made all this possible. Science is all about working out these rules… This is an uncharted branch of science. Get excited, Senku.” You listen to his pep talk as you finally start finding pieces that fit.

“What caused it? Simple deterioration? Erosion?…” He muses. “If that were the case, the outside would’ve been the first to break down. But the petrified are like statues—stone all the way through.”

“But ours was like a shell. A husk. Only the outside was stone,” you pipe up.

“Yeah. We turned back into living cells underneath…” Senku continues to ponder aloud.

You flop dramatically onto your back. “This is impossible! It’s like there are pieces missing or something!” You sit back up—only to nearly headbutt your companion.

He’s way too close! 

“It’s the other way around!” he blurts, eyes gleaming. “The surface deteriorated and couldn’t revert back to living cells. That’s why there were holes in the shell! There must’ve been some X-factor at play!” He continues rambling, completely unaware of personal space.

“An outside factor? Like what?” you ask, scrambling to keep up as he bolts toward a nearby cave.

“Oh my god. What is that smell?!” you gag, covering your nose. The stench of ammonia is so strong it burns your eyes.

“Bat guano.”

“It’s bat shit. Oh, gross!” You immediately blanch.

“It’s nitric acid!” he corrects, grinning with scientific glee. Senku immediately yanks out a chunk of his own hair—stone still gripping it's fibres—and holds it out like a test strip.

“What are you doing?!” You jerk his hand away before the liquid can touch him.

“Conducting an experiment,” he says innocently.

“Are you nuts? Nitric acid is highly corrosive!” you snap.

“Relax. Natural nitric acid is way weaker than what you'd find in a lab—it won’t hurt,” he reassures you, and you reluctantly release his arm.

“Fine, but make sure you wash your hands right away after.” You grumble.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You both watch closely as the acid coats the stone-encased strands. After a few seconds, the stone crumbles—revealing healthy strands underneath.

“It worked!” You cheer. You both grin at one another. “I’ll go get a pot. You go wash your hands!” And you rush off.

When you return, Senku’s got his hands cupped collecting the drips. You place the pot under the drip allowing him to pour in what’s on his hands. 

“I told you to wash your hands! Why don’t you ever listen?” you scold, launching a bar of soap at the nerd’s head.

It smacks him square in the forehead before he catches it. “You made soap?”

“Yeah. Wood ash and animal fat. Added some herbs so it doesn’t smell like ass.”

He examines it with a nod. “Not bad, Princess. I would've used shells and seaweed—ten billion percent stronger—but this’ll do until we’ve got more manpower.”

Thanks for the backhanded compliment, nerd.

“Figured you’d wanna wait around, so I brought lunch. Aaaand…” You rummage in your bag, triumphantly pulling out a petrified swallow and a single feather. “Ta-da!”

You barely get to stretch your hands out before he snatches them away, eyes sparkling with excitement as he inspects the new test subjects.

“Why thank you, Y/N! That was really nice of you!” you mock in a chirpy voice. “You’re welcome, nerd!” But he’s already deep in science mode.

“We’re going to need brawn. Let’s revive Taiju first,” he announces suddenly.

“...Do you even know where he is?” you ask, peeling open bamboo drink containers and unwrapping leaf bundles of mushrooms and nuts.

“I’ve got a general idea. He was standing in front of the tree Yuzuriha was clinging to when we got petrified. Can’t be far.”

“Wouldn’t Yuzuriha be easier to find, then?” you counter. “Just find the tree. Plus, she’s super dexterous.”

“We need brawn. Neither of us are strong,” he says bluntly.

“And neither of us can do what she can either!” you shoot back.

“We need brawn,” he repeats, doubling down.

“We need dexterity,” you growl.

“Brawn.”

“Dexterity.”

“Princess, we can sew. We can’t lift statues.” The nerd points out. 

“...Fine, fine.” You raise your hands in surrender, and he grins in victory. “Only because you’re the brains. But if we can’t find him, we’re reviving Yuzuriha first.”

“Did you bring a shovel?” he asks innocently.

You sigh, already getting up to go fetch it. “I'll be back...”

“This is the seventh statue I’ve dug up to your two!” you pant, sweat covering your forehead and dripping down your back.

Senku takes a good look at you before standing. “Heh, give it here.”

You collapse against a tree root, watching Senku slowly dig around the arm protruding from the soil. It’s not long before his arms are shaking from exertion, but he doesn’t ask to swap again.

You close your eyes, appreciating the breeze that cools your heated skin—until you notice that Senku’s stopped digging.

You open one eye... then snap the other open when you see the softest expression consume his face.

“Hey, ya big oaf.”

“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” you coo from your place, smirking as he jolts.

“Fuck you, princess,” he grunts, continuing to dig out his childhood friend.

You approach, snatching the shovel from him. “I decline. Go get your revival fluid,” you order as you continue to dig out the guy’s legs.

Senku rushes into the cave to grab the pot and pours some of the potent liquid onto his friend—and waits.

And you wait...

And you both continue waiting...

You watch as a beetle crawls out of his mouth.

Gross.

“It didn’t work,” you point out.

“I can see that,” Senku replies monotonously from next to you.

“Maybe he needs more?” you question aloud.

“Maybe...” he responds quieter, his eyes far away.

We were too rash. Of course this wouldn’t be so easy.

“I’ll go get another pot and sort dinner. It’ll work. It worked for us, didn’t it?” You try to reassure him, but he doesn’t move.

“I was too eager. I’ll try some more statues.”

“Okay,” you nod, but he continues staring at the statue. “Maybe we should start with the bird? Or the feather?”

“Yeah, good idea,” he replies dismissively, his mind already trying to figure out what he’s missing.

“You want me to bring you anything?” you ask-and that seems to jerk him into action.

“My fire starter and a larger pot I can submerge the bird in,” Senku lists, beginning to gather wood.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a bit...”

You turn to start trudging back down to camp, but pause. You glance back at him—at the way his shoulders are drawn in tight as he starts building the fire.

“You gonna be okay?” you ask softly.

He seems to straighten up at the question. He turns to you with a sad smile that makes your heart clench unexpectedly.

“Yeah.”

Over the next few days, Senku doesn’t come back to the camp. You bring him food and water, but he works relentlessly—you don’t even think he’s sleeping.

As the days stretch into over a week, you’re at your wits’ end. He hasn’t even touched his lunch. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot. When you return to the cave to check on him, he seems to be scraping at the bird with a rock, his hands scratched up, burnt, and sore. There’s blood on the collar of his tunic—E=MC².

Your stomach flips. 

Please tell me that’s not his blood.

“Oi, nerd,” you call, but the scratching and scraping continue. Can he even hear you?

“You didn’t eat your lunch.” …Nothing. “I think it’s time to take a break,” you try again as you approach.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

You catch a better look at his eyes and suppress a gasp. This is a desperate man—completely fixated. He’s pale, and his eyes hold an expression of manic determination... It’s like you’re not even there to him.

It hurts like a physical blow.

I shouldn’t have left him alone.

You don’t hesitate. You do the only thing you can think of—you wrap your arms around his bony shoulders, hugging him from behind.

“Enough, Senku.”

The scraping stops.

“You need to stop,” you whisper into his shoulder.

The silence stretches, but you don’t let go. You hug him tighter and pray he doesn’t snap.

You feel his shoulders tremble—barely, but enough.

“Please come back with me,” you continue to whisper.

“Let me fix up your hands. Eat something. Rest.”

You feel him sag against you.

“We’ll work it out. Together. You’re not alone... I’m right here. I promise.”

You hold him for probably way too long, but he doesn’t stop you. Nor does he resist when you gently take his hand and lead him back to camp.

He doesn’t protest when you clean his hands, or when you rub in cream and wrap them. No smart remarks when you serve him dinner and herbal tea. No arguments when you urge him to bed.

Your heart aches as you lay there watching his back... until you fall asleep.

Patter. Patter. Patter.

What’s that noise? Rain...?

It’s still dark out. Sure enough, it’s raining—growing harder, pounding onto the roof, leaking through the cracks.

But more startling is...

Senku’s gone.

A sick twist clenches in your gut.

“Tell me he didn’t—”

You throw the door open. There’s no sign of your vegetable boy anywhere.

Fuck.

You forego the ladder, leaping to the sodden ground and sprinting toward the cave. You slip and slide on the damp terrain, clawing up the steep banks in your haste to reach the top.

As you suspected, he’s here.

Senku's drenched and covered in mud, desperately attempting to drag a petrified Taiju through the soaked ground.

You march forward, and Senku looks up.

You look fierce—wild—your hair plastered to your face, mud coating everything else.

“I need to get him under the drip—” he starts to explain, but you surprise him by grabbing Taiju’s legs.

“Let’s go. Before we get sick.”

You push the statue as Senku pulls, your feet slipping as you battle the weather together.

By the time you get Taiju into position, you’re both heaving in the putrid air. You no longer care that it burns.

“Can we go to bed now?” you ask weakly.

“Yeah.”

He agrees softly—shocking you—by taking your hand this time.

You help each other back down with minimal falling, both rinsing off the mud in the stream.

Because hey, by this point, you’re both soaked to the bone.

You peel off your dripping clothes when you get back to the shack.

Thankfully, this time, Senku has the decency to give you his back until you slip under the relatively dry furs.

He joins you after a few minutes.

“Touch me and I’ll chop it off,” you threaten, causing him to laugh.

“I already promised I wouldn’t.”

“You’re never telling anyone we slept together naked.”

Another laugh.

“I mean it! I’ll really stab you this time and tell Taiju you cried like a baby.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes.

“Not even Taiju,” you reaffirm.

“Especially not Taiju,” he confirms, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You smile into the blanket as you fall asleep—this time, for real.

Distantly, you think you hear a whisper:

“Thank you.”

But you’re already gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: When Science Cares

You yawn, snuggling further into the warmth and away from the light that persistently attacks your eyes through the gaps in the wood. You really didn’t want to get up after last nights escapades...

wait. 

Your eyes fly open. 

No.

 You realise with belated clarity that the soft warm thing you’re cuddling is SENKU. You freeze before launching yourself out the bedding, fully hyperventilating. You watch his form rise and fall with each breath from your place against the wall.

 He’s asleep. He’s still asleep. Thank god he’s a deep sleeper. You mentally thank the world.

 He’d have never let you live it down if he’d been awake to your cuddling. You silently pray he has no idea that you’d cuddled him like a stuffed toy, grabbing your mostly dry garments and high tailing it out of there. 

You’ve already worked up a good sweat when you hear  noises coming from the tree house. You come out of the building you’ve just placed more pottery in when Senku walks out yawning and stretching. His eyes find you watching him and you freeze like a deer in headlights. 

“G-g-good Morning!” you robotically greet with a stiff smile. He raises a brow. 

Please don’t know. 

“Heh, it’s actually about...” He looks up at the sun. “2pm, so afternoon. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Er-“ you panic, “-You needed sleep! Yeah.” You nod frantically and Senku squints. 

“Are you alright?” his voice is full of suspicion. 

“Me? Never better hahahaha” you laugh shrilly your grin brittle and false. 

“You’re acting 10 billion percent weird, princess.” He states as he gets closer. 

“Me? Weird? Never!” you tell him your voice unnaturally high and quickly wave him off.

“There’s food by the fire, help yourself!” he doesn’t look convinced but does as you say. 

You stand there stiffly waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Was he aware or? I should test it. 

“How’d you sleep?” you ask as you busy yourself with writing on a piece of wood. 

“Eh, like a rock, surprisingly. Even with your snoring” he answers smugly eating with the grace or a starving man. 

“I don’t snore!” You quickly retort, glaring as he smirks. 

“Heh, how would you know? You’re asleep.” He shrugs before looking at your newly crafted shack. “Moving out already?”

“Huh? No... That, um—” your cheeks blaze as you realize this could be awkward. You glance away from him because you can’t stand his eyes on you suddenly. Am I nervous?

You stand, clutching the wooden plaque you made, and gesture for him to follow.

He wipes his chin, gets up, and walks over as you fidget with the wood in your hands.

“It’s— it’s for you,” you say, your nerves showing in your voice.

He gives you a look—half suspicion, half confusion—but you just jerk your head toward the flap. Senku’s eyes linger on you, sharp and searching, but eventually he pushes it open and steps inside. You hover awkwardly at the entrance, heart in your throat.

“I thought I’d, um, gather more birds in case that one was a dud or you wanted to run multiple tests at once,” you say, voice quickening. “I made some pots from clay—there’s a few by the wall over there—and the bench is cedar, I think? Or pine? I’m not totally sure, but it holds weight. The shelves aren’t level, but they don’t wobble anymore, and I wove that rack out of vines and reeds so you can hang tools or whatever... I know it’s not state-of-the-art but it beats crouching by the cave…”

You trail off with a weak laugh when you realize he hasn’t moved. “...Do you like it?” you ask hesitantly.

He turns to you, eyes wide.

You grin sheepishly and hold up the plaque. It simply reads: ‘Lab.’

You’re fully expecting the gushing thanks, and giddy excitement and for a second you get it, his whole face lights up like it’s Christmas but then it’s like he catches himself and soon just regards you cooly like he’s trying to work out a puzzle. 

“What?” you ask when he keeps scrutinising you. 

“What do you want?”

“Huh?” and then it clicks. 

“What, because I do something nice I must be after something? I’m so glad you think so highly of me.” You spit venomously, completely appalled. 

You’re so angry that you just throw the plaque on the ground at his feet. You storm away from him snatching your bag from by the fire, literal steam coming from your ears before you whip back round, regarding him with a snarl. “You know what? Yeah, there was something I wanted.”

You storm across to jab him in the chest. “I want you to eat regularly, take breaks, sleep god damnit. Not drive yourself into the ground until I find you passed out somewhere again! I was worried. I spent all week building that so, so-“ 

you growl in frustration. “Do what you want. You clearly think I’m so shallow, so what’s the point.” You turn back around stalking into the forest. “I’m going to check the traps.”

You curse his name the entire time you’re gone. You’re still far too angry by the time you’re done, if the poor butchered bunnies was anything to go on. You take another lap before returning to the camp, gathering more clay, vines, and moss. 

He’s in his new lab when you return, he’d put up the plaque above the door but the sight of it doesn’t feel pleasant right now so you ignore it. 

You hang the rabbits and put away your supplies before filling a pot of water, placing it in the fire. You pull out the cattails you’d found a while back from your bag and a sizeable chunk of your soap throwing them into the pot to cook.

You notice Senku peer out but you ignore his existence skinning and fleshing the rabbits and stretching the fur up to dry. You had four already dried, so you start on your next project stirring the pot in between. You’re so focused on making thread with the vines, that you don’t notice at first when someone sits opposite. 

“You’re angry.” A statement. 

“No shit.” You grumble continuing your work. He seems nosy, peering into the pot. 

“I wasn’t trying to upset you Y/N, I’m used to things being transactional when it comes to me.” He tries to explain. “Nothings free in this world, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. It’s simple physics, newton’s 3rd law.” He runs his hand through his gravity defying hair. “You wouldn’t go to the grocery store and get your items for free and if you did it’s because the shop wants you to want more so you’ll return... I wasn’t calling you shallow.”

Its quiet after he finishes. 

Damn it. Why is it so hard to stay mad at you? 

You’re frustrated that you’re suddenly not angry anymore. He explained it in such a nerdy way, such a Senku way. Only he’d use physics to explain being a insensitive and ungrateful dick. 

You thread your bone needle and fashion a small pillow filled with moss and left over cattail. You don’t even realise how long you’ve been at it when Senku sighs and stands. 

“Oi, Nerd.” You hold out the pillow. “Good enough or do you want more filling?” you ask looking at him for the first time.

He takes it running his hand over the soft fur. “It’s good.”

“I’ll do it again,” you blurt continuing to the next pillow. “it’s what I do, I do things for others and I don’t want or expect anything in return. It’s just who I am.”

“I know.” Senku smirks softly and you raise a brow in question.

 “Whenever my pencil would break, there’d suddenly be a sharpener next to my work. If I was too lost in my calculations you’d tap the line we were on so I wouldn’t get caught out by the teacher. Forgot my books? Yours are already open in the middle of the desk. You even feed the homeless guy round the corner and you taught the old lady downstairs how to greet her grandchildren in English when they came to visit. Yeah, I 10 billion percent know what you’re like and I shouldn’t have expected less.”

Your jaw drops at all the little things he’d noticed you do. Most of the time, you’d done it so unconsciously that you hadn’t even realised you’d done it. 

“You stalking me now, Nerd?” you goad with a grin

“You intrigue me, so I pay attention and analyse. It’s what I do.” He tells you offhandedly.

“So I’m one of your experiments now, am I?” You raise a brow but he just shrugs. 

“All scientists want to explain anomalies, and you are the biggest I’ve found, but I’ll work it out, get excited.” He grins and you shake your head. 

“You’re such a weirdo!” you laugh as he goes back to work. 

You prepare the rabbit for dinner, stuffing it with your favourite herbs (shiso and myoga) and as many shiitake mushrooms as you can stuff inside. Sprinkling on some sea salt you wrap them up tight in hoba leaves and poke them into the hot coals. 

You chew mint leaves as you strain and wash the cattail pulp. You thickly spread it onto long leaves,  placing them on a spare shelf in Senku’s lab so they don’t fly away while they dry. 

“What are they exactly?” Senku pops up from behind you and you jump. 

“An experiment if you’d like. They’re hopefully going to be my feminine products” you tell him and rather than being grossed out, he seems intrigued.

“I remember reading something about Africa trying to make biodegradable pads using cattail, but I don’t remember if they were successful only that they had to get rid of their hydrophobic properties so I used soap to clean them and boiled them... I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s gotta be better than nothing.” 

“Heh, retting.” Senku supplies crossing his arms. “That’s the process you just used for the cattail fibres. I’d hypothesize that it’ll work. Good thinking Princess.” He pats your head before going back to his experimentation. 

That evening, dinner is a quiet affair. The rabbit is tender, smoky with a hint of citrusy hoba. The mushrooms melts on the tongue. Senku devours it with gusto, his usual snide remarks replaced by a thoughtful silence.

You don’t talk much either, chewing slowly, watching the way the firelight flickers across the corners of your little camp, glancing occasionally at Senku’s tired profile. He catches your eye once, then looks away—something odd passing over his face.

After the plates are scraped clean, Senku pokes at the fire with a stick. “I’ve been thinking about our nitric acid reserves. Though cave dwelling bats don’t tend to leave their roosting site, if they did we’d be out of our leading ingredient. If there’s a possibility of running out before we figure out how to revive Taiju... permanently. We’ll need to find another source. Or make our own.”

You nod, leaning back against the smooth log behind you, arms around your knees. “A back up in case the first is compromised. Depending on what else we need, it may be a very slow process to revive humanity...” 

“Where else can we get nitric acid?” you ask the scientist watching a bat streak through the evening sky. 

Senku seems to ponder for a moment, “Well there’s... Water sources near active volcanos, severe thunderstorms can accumulate it for a short period...”

“Any that don’t mean certain death?” you ask deadpan. 

“I suppose we could use drainage from organic matter? Or rapid ammonia oxidation?” He continues to think aloud. 

“Ew.”you screw up your face. “I’m not boiling my piss.” You tell him firmly.

Like hell am I doing that, it’s already bad enough we’re doing it with bat guano. 

“What about an industrial method using the Ostwald process?” you inquire. 

Senku looks up at you, blinking, clearly impressed. “You actually remembered the Ostwald process?”

“Nerd. I memorized it in middle school just to beat you on the chemistry exam. Which I did, by the way.”

His grin flashes, sharp and competitive. “Only because I had a cold that week. Otherwise, I would’ve annihilated you.”

“You were always such a sore loser,” you reply, rolling your eyes—but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

Senku rolls his eyes, “We’d need platinum for the Oswald process which would take years.”

“Why years? Is it hard to find?” you ask curiously and Senku picks at his ear before cracking his neck. 

“Heh, platinum is one of the rarest minerals on the planet, about 30 times harder to find in rocks than gold, another method would be sifting through river beds but that could take years to acquire enough.” He informs you. 

“Soo... Lets hope the bats don’t leave or migrate for winter?” you laugh weakly hoping you didn’t just jinx it. 

The wind picks up, rustling the trees, and fireflies begin to flicker in the long grass. One lands briefly on Senku’s arm, glowing faintly before taking off again. 

Mom loved the first seeing fireflies for the first time

A pause.

“You ever wonder if anyone else is awake yet?” you ask softly. “Anyone... worth waking up... Other than Taiju?”

Senku leans back beside you, staring into the dark trees. “All the time. I need more minds. More hands. But...” He sighs. “It’s not just about reviving people. It’s about who we choose to revive first.”

“And who we can trust,” you finish for him.

“Heh, if we’re not careful we’ll revive some evil, homicidal, sex crazed, wannabe tyrant.” he chuckles to himself. 

Your jaw drops. 

“That’s not funny!” you snap at him but his laughter only gets louder. 

“Get excited princess!” he’s full on cackling now like a crazy man. 

“I’m serious!!” You protest loudly, but he only seems to get louder...you’re starting to really worry about his mental state. 

Was he dropped as a baby? 

You shoot him one more disturbed look before leaving him to his cackling. A stiff wind tossing ash into the air causes you to shiver involuntary. It’s cold, even this close to the fire. You hide your hands under your legs to continue watching the luminous bugs float around even as goose bumps litter your skin. Your thoughts turn back to your family,

Will Mom be proud of me when I revive her? Would Yumi actually thank me? You scoff. Probably not. More likely to make me their servant and go searching for their boyfriends...

I could have saved the world, and neither of them would care... Unless I was rich... Maybe even then-

“Fireflies, you know? They’re not just cute little bugs flashing lights for fun. It’s a survival hack, a biological Morse code wired by evolution itself!”

You blink, the heaviness inside you faltering as his words bounced around the quiet night.

“They literally turn their bodies into tiny lanterns, signaling to mates or warning predators. But here’s the kicker — some species can actually synchronize their flashes, like a whole orchestra of light!” Senku’s eyes gleam with excitement, his hands chopping the air as he talked. “It’s like nature’s own scientific marvel, a living light show born from survival necessity! You think humans can just flick a switch like that? No, it takes millions of years of natural selection to get a perfect light show with zero energy wasted! That’s teamwork and coordination on a biological level. Science sex appeal, Princess!”

You blink again, then finally crack, bursting out laughing — a bright, loud sound that cut through your gloom like a flare.

“Only you could turn fireflies into some kind of natural symphony to marvel at when I’m stuck thinking about a thousand other things.”

Senku tilts his head, confused. “Wait, why are you laughing? Damn crazy woman.”

The buzz dies down and you eventually stop laughing, though the smile remains as you watch the flames dance. 

“Senku?” you ask, voice soft. He hums in response. You hesitate before speaking again. “You always call me ‘Princess’. Why?”

He smirks, not looking at you. “Because you’re bossy and think you know everything.”

You feel your eyebrows drop. Of course that’s the reason. 

“You’re describing yourself,” you shoot back.

“Exactly.”

You can’t hide the snort. “Guess that makes us both Princesses”. 

To your surprise he huffs a laugh, “I’d prefer Prince or better, Dr. Ishigami.” 

You stare at him long and hard “Keep dreaming, Nerd.” But there’s a subtle smile hinting in your eyes. 

The fire crackles between you. The shadows dance. For a while, it feels like nothing in the world matters—except the heat, the stars, and the strange little truce growing between two people who once only ever competed.

You eventually get up to check on your cattail pads drying in the lab. As you walk away, Senku’s voice follows you, casual, but quieter than usual:

“Thanks for the lab.”

You glance back over your shoulder. His eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion, but still fixed on you.

“I didn’t build it for thanks,” you say.

“I know,” he murmurs.

That night, as you lie curled beneath your furs, back to back, Senku’s breathing even and close, you think... 

Maybe this world isn’t as empty as it first seemed.

Maybe... I don’t have to survive it alone. 

Chapter Text

The fire pops in front of you as you jab a stick into the glowing embers, mostly for something to do that isn’t launching it at the insufferable scientist across from you.

Senku’s hunched over one of his ugly little soot-ink stones again, drawing what might be a chemical diagram or possibly a cursed goat—hard to tell with him. He hasn’t looked up in over twenty minutes. You’re bored. Dangerous things happen when you’re bored.

So you speak. Because why not stir the pot?

“You ever think maybe… not everyone got petrified?”

Senku doesn’t even blink. “Nope.”

Wow. Riveting.

You lean forward, arching a brow. “Not even one person? Somewhere? What if some weirdo was deep in a cave licking moss off the wall and the beam missed them?”

“The beam didn’t miss anything,” he says flatly. “The only living things affected were humans and swallows. If you weren’t one of those two and happened to be shielded behind, say, six feet of dense rock and lead insulation, congrats—you bought yourself a delay.”

You blink.“Wait. So, if I’d been a duck, I would’ve survived?”

“No, because ducks aren’t people. Focus.”

You throw a twig at him. “I am focusing, nerd. I’m just saying—what if someone did make it? What if there’s a bunker nut out there still eating expired beans and playing Uno with a corpse named Gerald?”

Senku finally glances up, mouth twitching. “Well, if Gerald had a strong enough WiFi signal, maybe they’ve been live-streaming this whole apocalypse on BunkerTok.”

You snort. “Bet Gerald’s got more emotional range than you.”

“Highly debatable. At least I don’t start fire conversations with doomsday fantasies.”

You roll your eyes and flop back on the moss, arms sprawled dramatically. The sky is clear tonight, stars dripping overhead like spilled sugar. “It just feels wrong, okay? That every person got hit. Every annoying kid, every loudmouth boss, every old lady who gave you the stink-eye in the queue. Froze mid-sentence. Poof. Statue.”

Senku shrugs one shoulder. “Welcome to the wonders of mass-scale science horror.”

You sigh. “I just think… I dunno. I want to believe someone got lucky. That maybe there’s one person out there who didn’t have to feel their whole body snap while their brain stayed awake. Even if they’re eating beans and talking to a volleyball now.”

His silence draws your eyes back to him. He’s watching the fire, not you, lips pressed into that thin line he uses when he’s thinking too hard or pretending not to care.

“You think I’m being dumb.”

He hums. “Statistically, yes.”

Ass.

“But,” he adds, glancing over at you now, eyes glinting in the firelight, “you’re not wrong to wonder. I’ve wondered it too.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Senku Ishigami? Admitting he doesn’t know something?”

He grins. “Don’t get used to it, Princess.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You act like one.”

You sit up, scowling. “You act like a walking Wi-Fi router with superiority issues but you don’t hear me complaining.”

He lifts a finger. “Actually, I hear you complain constantly.”

You launch a pine cone at his head. He doesn’t even duck.

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, brushing needles from his shoulder, “if someone did survive, they’re either thriving somewhere we haven’t reached yet… or they’re long dead.”

You sigh again. It’s not that you believe someone made it out. Not really. It’s just easier to imagine the world didn’t end with total silence. That someone, somewhere, got a head start. That not everyone had to break.

But of course, Nerd McLogic over there has to crush that with raw data and scientific detachment. As always.

Still. You’d be lying if the tiniest flicker of hope didn’t glow a little warmer now that he said he’d wondered too.

“…You think Gerald’s winning that Uno game?” you mutter after a long pause.

Senku raises an eyebrow. “He’s playing solo, so I’d say he’s got a pretty good shot.”

“Unless the corpse is cheating.”

“Well, you’d know. That’s your strategy.”

“Shut up, Nerd.”

“Make me, Princess.”

Far across Japan’s jagged spine of mountains and forests, where cities once stood now long buried in green and time, the sea stretched out like melted glass—blue, eternal, endless.

And on its shores, life.

Not just the lurching, crawling, swimming kind.

But real life. Human life. Laughing, bickering, breathing life.

A village stood cradled by the cliffs and the sea, its huts of woven wood and polished stone clustered like barnacles near the cove. Smoke curled lazily from a cooking fire. Nets dripped dry over sun-bleached rocks. Children ran barefoot across sand so fine it glittered in the light, their laughter echoing off salt-worn stone.

Ishigami Village.

Named for the man they claimed as their founder. A name passed down like legend. A man from the stars.

The people here knew stories. They were carved into memory, etched in song, whispered into the ears of sleeping babies. Of a sky that turned green. Of a world that went quiet. Of six souls who fell to Earth like fireflies and built a new beginning with their bare hands.

They were the descendants. The ones who had never turned to stone.

And among them, weaving through the marketplace with bare feet and boundless energy, was a small girl wearing a helmet.

A helmet made from a hollowed melon.

“Out of the way, out of the waaaaay!” she cried as she barreled between two old men carrying fish baskets, barely avoiding a full head-on crash.

They grumbled after her, but didn’t stop her. She was a village oddball, sure—but a beloved one.

“Suika,” one woman called fondly, “if you trip again, we’ll be fishing you out of the sea!”

“I won’t trip!” the girl called back. “I’ve got hyper-melon-speed today!”

Her voice was small and high, the kind of voice that didn’t quite match the weight of the world she carried in her tiny body.

Suika ran to the far edge of the cliff path, where the sea wind lifted her oversized tunic and flapped it like a flag. She crouched low, peering through the eye-holes of her melon mask, scanning the horizon.

She always looked west.

Even though she didn’t know why.

She couldn’t really see much, but she still liked pretending. Pretending the fuzzy world she saw might shift into focus. That she might spot something impossible.

Something… new.

... Maybe a friend.

The melon wobbled slightly as she turned her head. Inside, the world was green-tinted and blurry, but it made the sunlight manageable. Without it, the brightness made her eyes sting and dance. Her “eye fuzzies,” as she called them, had made everything hard since she was small.

But Suika never complained. Not really. She had her melon. She had her games and stories and weird rock collection (don’t ask about the rock collection). And sometimes, if she squinted hard enough at the waves, she swore she could see something beyond.

Today, she saw nothing.

“I can’t find it!” a girls voice screeched-panicked.

Suika crouched behind the water barrels near the village center, her breath fogging up the inside of her melon helmet. She wiped it clean with a leaf she kept in her belt—standard issue for top-tier detectives.

“…I told you, I had it,” one of the older girls huffed nearby. “It must’ve slipped off when I was washing clothes...”

“Maybe the river took it,” another voice mumbled.

“No way! That was my favourite shell bracelet. It had the green one.”

Suika peeked through her helmet’s eye holes. Two girls, arms crossed. They didn’t see her. They never did.

Bingo.

Clue #1: Missing shell bracelet. Last seen near the river. Victim: Mai. Status: Mildly grumpy.

Detective Suika was on the case.

She didn’t tell them. Not yet. Not until she solved it. Then they’d smile at her. Maybe ask her to sit by the fire tonight. Maybe say her name.

Maybe stop calling her “melon girl” in that voice that made her cheeks burn.

She started at the riverbank, the same one where the kids washed clothes. Her small toes squelched in the warm mud. She scanned the shallows with narrowed eyes, the world filtered through greenish fog.

“…If it fell off, the current could’ve taken it downriver—but—"

She froze.

Tiny pawprints. Four-toed. Clawed. Scrambling and smeared. Dog tracks.

A few paces later, something glittered. A shell fragment. Then another. And another—half-crushed, with a bit of drool still on it.

“…A thief.”

She grinned behind her helmet. “Detective Suika has a suspect.”

The trail twisted through the underbrush, snaking through ferns and low-hanging vines. At the base of an old twisted tree, she found the den.

A small pile of odd treasures sat nestled in the roots—sticks, fish bones, berries, feathers... and half a shell bracelet, sticky with sap and dirt.

And beside it, curled like a ghost, was a scraggy white dog.

Its fur was a mess of thorns and burrs, ears uneven, ribs faintly showing. Both dark eyes fixed on Suika with wary curiosity.

She stopped, slowly lowering herself to a crouch.

“…Hi,” she said softly. “I’m Suika.”

The dog growled—not angry, just unsure.

“I don’t wanna take your stuff,” she explained. “But the bracelet… it belonged to someone.”

The dog sniffed at the bracelet, then at her hand. It didn’t run. It didn’t bark. It just looked tired.

“…You’re all by yourself too, huh?”

She sighed and gently picked up the broken shells. “I’ll fix it and bring it back.”

Suika returned to the village with the bracelet tied neatly back together using one of her own melon strings. She clutched it tight as she approached the group of girls.

“I—I found this…” she said, helmet slipping slightly as she held it out to Mai.

The girl blinked. “Oh… uh, thanks. But I already made a new one."

Suika blinked. “Oh.”

“It’s fine though. I didn’t really care that much. Shells are easy.”

The group turned back to their conversation, laughing at something Suika didn’t hear.

Suika stood there a second longer.

Then quietly turned around and walked away.

She didn’t notice Kohaku waving at her from across the fire. Didn’t see the way the golden warrior paused, hand mid-air, watching her go with a furrowed brow.

Suika sat down near the edge of the trees, behind the cooking hut where no one could see her. The light from the fire barely reached.

She stared down at the bracelet still in her hand. It hadn’t even mattered.

“…I just wanted to be useful,” she mumbled.

Something warm brushed against her side.

She turned.

The white dog—matted and muddy—had followed her. Its nose nudged the side of her arm. Then it curled up beside her, a low huff escaping its chest. Not a growl. Just breath. Like it was settling in.

“…You came back?”

She blinked, tears fogging up the melon helmet again. She wiped it clean fast.

“I—I don’t have a name for you yet. But you can stay. If you want.”

The dog rested its head on her leg.

Suika smiled. For the first time that day, it reached her eyes.

She rubbed a hand over his back, then pulled it away to look.

White fur, but smudged. Pale streaks across her fingers. Like powder.

“…Huh.”

She wiped her hand on her skirt. It didn’t come off easily.

“Your fur’s all dusty,” she said thoughtfully. “But underneath… you’re white.”

The dog nosed her hand gently, like he wanted her to keep going.

“It’s like… when you write on stone with a white stick and the dust gets all over your fingers. That pale, crumbly stuff... What did Ruri call it?” she paused to think.

Her eyes lit up, just a little.

“…Chalk.”

She tried it again, like a spell. “Chalk.”

The dog gave a bark and a tail wag. Almost like agreement.

Suika giggled, wiping her nose on her wrist.

“That’s your name now. Chalk.”

She leaned into him. He didn’t flinch.

“I’ve never named anything before. Not really. But you picked me. So…”

She grinned, small and crooked.

“You’re Assistant Chalk. Detective Suika’s first and only sidekick.”

The fire cracked in the distance. Someone called out for bedtime.

Neither of them moved.

In that quiet space, just the two of them, Suika rested her head on his side and whispered—

“…You’re my best clue yet.”

The fire continued to flicker quietly in the distance.

No one noticed her that night.

But someone chose her.

And that meant everything.

Chapter Text

It starts with a cramp—deep, twisting, like barbed wire pulled tight around your spine.

 You brush it off, used to ignoring pain. You always have. Pain means nothing when there’s firewood to collect, traps to check, water to haul, experiments to run.

But the cramps don’t stop.

By midday, you’re sweating cold, fingers trembling as you try to crush dried herbs with a smooth stone. Another sharp pang ripples through you, so harsh, you end up biting the inside of your cheek so hard you swear you can taste blood.

 Senku, bent over some kind of clay filtration setup, glances at you once, twice, then fully turns when the stone slips from your hands and clatters to the ground.

“You look like crap,” he says bluntly, but there’s no heat behind it—just surprise.

“I’m fine,” you manage between your teeth, wiping your face with your arm. “Just tired.”

Senku frowns. You’ve never been one to admit weakness, not even when you sprained your ankle last week and still limped all the way to the river and back.

You feel sick, deciding it’s time to drink something you stand, too quickly. The world tilts.

“Oi—”

Your vision narrows. A burst of heat flashes up your back, then white noise.

 You’re out before you even hit the ground.

Senku is at your side in seconds. He doesn’t panic—he calculates. Checks your pulse, your temperature, notes the clammy sweat, the shallow breathing. His eyes flick to the cattail pads drying in the corner and his jaw sets.

“…Menstruation,” he mutters. “Severe.”

He gently gathers you up in his arms, muttering calculations to himself as if it steadies him. “Drop in iron levels... fluid loss… possible endometriosis. Dammit, we need real medicine.”

He lays you down on furs in the warmer part of the lab, closest to the fire. He then sets about stoking the fire higher, and beginning a frantic but methodical search for ways to alleviate your pain. He boils willow bark. Crushes shiso. Brews teas and mashed up the few remaining pain-relief herbs you’d collected weeks ago.

When you stir hours later, it’s to find yourself bundled in every soft thing they own, wrapped in furs and tucked in tightly. You blink up at the soft firelight as everything comes back into focus. Your head pounds your body feels broken as the cramps continue to ravage your body.

What happened?

“Nerd?” your voice is a ghost as you call out. Senku appears from your right carrying various items. He settles beside you, the firelight dancing across his profile as he looks at you.

“You’re alive. Good.” He looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, hands stained with herb juice and clay. But he offers you a dry cattail pad and a steaming cup.

“Painkiller tea. And before you say anything, no, you’re not getting up. I already dragged your unconscious body once today. I 10 billion percent don’t want to do it again.”

You’re stunned to say the least. You stare at the steaming cup set next to you.

That’s going to taste like crap isn’t it?

Senku goes to assist you but you wave him off. Like hell were you going to act that weak. It’s a period, not something to be babied over.

You try to sit up and groan aloud as your back twinges and your stomach punches.

“See?” he snaps. Then softens. “Just… stop. Let someone take care of you for once.”

You flinch at that, almost hissing like a cat at the stab to your pride, “I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do,” he cuts in. “Everyone does. Even if they’ve built themselves up into this... unbreakable wall.”

Your voice trembles, something breaking loose. “I can’t. If I need someone, and they leave, then what? I just break apart? That’s stupid.”

Senku stares at you, and for once, there’s no smirk, no sarcasm—just something painfully honest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes, you’ll probably blame it on the pain later for the acid that spews from your mouth. “That’s what my mom said. Before she forgot I existed.”

Senku doesn’t have a response to that. Instead, he helps you sit up, setting the tea in your hands but instead of pulling away he wraps his fingers around yours, steady and warm.

“You’re not a burden,” he says after a long pause. It’s like he can see all your insecurities written across your face. “You’re the reason I’ve survived this long. You built me a lab. You’re smarter than half the scientists I’ve read about. You’re useful, yes, but also... you’re just you. That’s enough. That should be enough.”

Tears well unbidden to your will at his words. How long have you waited for someone to say that? but its that damn earnest and determined look he gives you that forces the crystal droplets to slip down your cheeks, uninvited, unwanted. You try to wipe them away, but Senku catches your wrist.

“You’re allowed to be weak sometimes. That doesn’t make you less.” You can’t look at him as your lip trembles, you’re going to break but he doesn’t care, squeezing your hand, leaning closer to catch your eyes. He delivers the final blow to your dam.

“You’re enough.”

The first sob rips out of your chest like a grieving child. The tears stream down your face, chest shuddering, finally letting go of the strength you’d been desperately gripping like a shield.

Senku let’s go of your wrist but doesn’t leave. He just stays beside you, your shoulders touching, firelight casting flickering on the wooden walls. Quietly, he lets you release the pain. Without judgement, without complaint.

The morning after you’d collapsed is... strange.

Not tense, exactly. But something lingers in the air between you and Senku—an awareness. You move a little too quickly around him. Don’t meet his eyes for too long. And when he hands you a cup of willow bark tea, or a hot stone wrapped in a fur pouch you take it without a word.

You admit you grumbled when he stopped you carrying anything heavy. “I’m not pregnant you know.” You jab and then immediately begin blushing at what that implies. Senku smirks amused, but wisely doesn’t comment on the blunder.

“Over exerting and carrying heavy objects can actually make your flow even heavier and then you’ll be in even more pain.” He informs you cracking his neck.

“Go rest or start on lunch Princess.” He shoos you away placing a log on a stump to split.

You then proceed to watch the boy try and cut up wood, missing repeatedly. You can’t help but snort when the log rolls away. Senku sticks his middle finger up at you as he places it down going to swing again.

“Wait, wait wait. Do a shorter swing first, just enough to lodge your axe in and then swing it.” You instruct him and after a few tries and you covering your amusement as best you can, he manages it. You smile at the way his eyes light up.

Why the fuck am I smiling at him like some love sick fool?!

You quickly shake your head, preparing dinner. Determined not to glance his way again.

Senku, for his part, acts normal—too normal. Back to rattling off science babble, making snide comments about your messy shelves, humming equations under his breath. Like nothing happened.

But you remember. You remember the feel of his steady hands over yours. The quiet warmth of his voice when he told you, you were enough. The way you’d crumbled and ugly cried in front of him.

And you hate that you needed him, that you suddenly craved the closeness, that your stupid heart saw him as something that wouldn’t hurt you in the end.

So when Senku suggests you split up to look for a rare mineral deposit he thinks might help with stabilizing nitric acid or synthesizing an artificial equivalent, you jump at the chance.

“I’ll head east,” you blurt quickly, grabbing your pack and slinging a spear over your shoulder. “You take the south ridge. Don’t fall into a hole or anything.”

Senku snorts. “Please. I’ve memorized the terrain down to the meter. You just don’t want to admit I’ll find the mineral before you.”

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming, brainiac.”

But the banter is mechanical. A mask. You cling to it instead of delving too deep.

You go your separate ways not once glancing back, ready to clear your head of the last week and get back on track.

You’ve got no chance at finding this mineral. In your haste to escape him for a while you’d never even asked what signs to look for...idiot.

 He’s definitely going to gloat in your face when you come up empty handed. You decide to go herb hunting again, especially as Senku had destroyed your poor shiso plant treating you.

He has no idea how long it took to find one that large.

You trudge over rocks and fallen trees stopping to carefully remove a small shiso plant lodged in between a trees root when you notice the lack of bird song....the lack of anything —Even the air is stagnant.

The forest is quiet. Too quiet.

Danger streaks through you like an alarm bell, you crouch low to the ground staying quiet. You wait. The forest remains silent.

You move cautiously, scanning the mossy ground and tree bark. For any signs of the reason for lack of life. Then you see them—deep, rough claw marks carved into a tree. Four lines. High up. Fresh. Far too high for a boar. Too wide for any kind of wild dog.

Your stomach drops.

Bear.

And big.

Your heart leaps into your throat. There’s only one direction it could’ve gone...

... South.

That’s where Senku is.

You bolt. Throwing caution to the wind as branches slash at your arms and legs. It barely registers. You only push harder, ignoring the burn in your lungs. He’s a lot of things—annoying, smug, impossible—but he’s also yours. Your rival, your tether, your one constant in this insane, lonely world.

And he’s out there ...with a bear.

Chapter Text

You find him by a rock outcrop, crouched over a glimmering mineral vein, completely oblivious.

“I knew it,” he mutters to himself, eyes sparkling. “This is it. If I can extract enough sodium nitrate—”

“Senku!” you hiss, skidding to a stop and grabbing his arm.

He jumps, but before he can say anything, your hand claps over his mouth. You shove him silently behind the thick trunk of an old cedar, pressing him flat against it, your chest to his chest, one arm curled protectively in front of him.

And that’s when he sees it.

The massive, shaggy shape moving silently through the underbrush. Brown fur. Black eyes. A scar across its snout. A freak accident of evolution—a descendant of some long-dead zoo escapee, bulked up on survival.

A bear.

Senku stiffens in front you. He tries to whisper, calculate, but you tighten your grip on his mouth.

“Don’t move,” you mouth.

The bear sniffs the air.

Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure it can hear it. You can feel Senku’s breath against your neck, shallow and rapid. He’s not panicking—but he is scared.

So are you.

But survival is louder than fear.

The bear’s head swings toward you.

It growls. Low. Deep.

It sees you.

Shit.

Without thinking, you shove him and turn—

Your eyes meet. Just for a second. Panic in his. Apology in yours.

 “Don’t,” he mouths.

But you’re already running drawing it’s attention and planting your feet in front of a large ditch. Spear raised. Every instinct screaming RUN, but your body refuses.

The bear charges. You dive out of the way just in the nick of time, sending the creature careening into the ditch. You don’t stick around knowing you’ve only bought you two a small amount of time, running to catch up to Senku.

You’re both running as fast as you can through the forest, with you soon taking the lead—legs burning, breath ragged, low branches whipping at your face. The forest blurs. Only one thing matters:

Keep Senku safe.

“You better be behind me!” you shout, ducking under a branch.

“Hard to miss you crashing through everything like a damn moose!” Senku fires back, breathless.

“Screw you! I saved your ass!”

“Yeah? Then don’t get eaten. I’m still calculating your debt!”

Typical Senku—turning a life-or-death chase into a math problem.

A flash of grin through panic. They’re still themselves—even now.

You glance back. No bear.

Your lungs ache as you finally slow, hands on your knees. That’s when you notice—

Silence.

No running behind you.

No sharp voice muttering formulas.

No Senku.

Your blood freezes.

You spin around. “Senku?” you call, panic rising. Nothing but wind.

Then—

A roar. Distant. Animal.

And not distant enough.

“No no no no—”

You turn and bolt back, retracing your steps, heart hammering.

Senku’s back is against a mossy boulder, foot caught in a tangle of roots and stones. The bear stands just meters away, pacing, snorting, circling like it knows he’s weak, like it’s playing with its food.

He breathes through his nose, too fast.

“This is it,” he mutters, furious with himself. “The world’s smartest idiot. Outmaneuvered by tree roots and a prehistoric freak of nature.”

“Think, damn it. THINK.” He clenches his jaw, heart pounding. “I’ve solved gravity equations in my sleep. But I can’t outthink a carnivore with paws bigger than my face?”

His fingers scrabble in the dirt, groping for a weapon—a stick, a rock, anything. But he’s pinned, immobile, and the bear is closing in.

Then—

“HEY!”

A sharp cry echoes through the forest.

The bear turns.

Senku’s head snaps up—

And there you are. Sweaty, covered in scrapes and leaves, eyes wild.

You run straight into view, arms wide, face grim with fear and resolve. You can’t think. Act.

“Come and get me, you overgrown rug!” you scream, hurling a rock. It strikes the bear’s flank with a sharp thud.

The beast roars, snarling at you and charges.

“Y/N, NO—”

But you’re already gone, leading the monster away.

Senku yanks at the root trapping his leg, teeth gritted. “Come on, come on...” One final twist—and he’s free.

He sprints, brain racing.

“Okay. Think. You can’t outpunch a bear. You have to outscience it.”

He flashes through possibilities—weak points, distraction, fire.

Fire.

He remembers the volcanic vent near the ridge. Sulfur. Resin from the pines. Dried moss.

If he can make a firebomb—or even just a strong enough flare—

“Resin, moss, powdered sulfur. Throw in a spark—basic combustion.” He wills his hands to steady under the onslaught of adrenaline as he crafts.

“Probability of blinding the bear: 70%. Probability of killing Y/N if I don’t try: 100%.”

You duck under a low branch, skidding down a slope. Your breath is ragged. The bear is gaining.

Your legs won’t hold much longer.

Shit. Come on...

You hit a clearing—and stop. Dead end. Cliffs on one side, dense bramble on the other.

Fuuuuck!

You turn as the bear crashes into the space, snarling, blood in its eyes.

You raise your spear. You hate the way it trembles in your hands as you point it towards your foe.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie.

Yes I am... Someone... Help me... You think desperately, legs shaking as it closes the gap fast.

But then—a whoosh.

Light explodes across your vision before the area fills with smoke.

The bear jerks back, blinded by the flare Senku throws from the ridge above. God. You’ve never been so happy to see that scrawny boy and his stupid hair.

“Y/N, DOWN!”

You hit the dirt as Senku tosses a second flare—right into the bear’s face. The creature rears back, swiping wildly.

Senku rushes in with a jagged spear of stone-tipped bamboo. You see your moment, scrambling up, and lunging from behind.

Together, you both strike—Senku stabbing under the bear’s shoulder, you drive your spear into its flank.

Again and again.

The huge bear roars—thrashes—then finally, collapses.

The forest falls silent.

You both stumble back, gasping, blood and dirt smeared across both parties. You’re shaking all over. Senku looks like he might pass out.

“You... used chemical compounds… to make flares,” you breathe.

He grins weakly. “Heh... Get excited.”

You want to yell at him. You want to cry. Instead, you just walk over and punch his arm—hard.

“Ow—what the hell—”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” You order breathless. 

“You were the one who—” Senku starts to protest.

But you hug him. Fiercely. Quietly.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper into his shoulder.

And for once, Senku doesn’t have a smartass reply. He just holds you in return, awkward-one armed but sincere.

“…You didn’t.”

A beat.

Then, dryly:

“Besides… you still owe me.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“For what?” you ask confused.

“That bear. That’s definitely worth a few favors. I’m still calculating your debt.”

You huff a shaky laugh—relief breaking through the adrenaline.

“Yeah? Add ‘saving your genius ass’ to my side of the ledger.”

He smirks. “Fine. Let’s call it… statistically even.”

Neither of you speak for a while, allowing the adrenaline to slowly drain, leaving behind nothing but aching limbs, pounding hearts, and the sheer absurdity of what just happened.

Finally, you break the silence with a groan.

“Okay... so... how the hell are we getting a literal bear carcass back to camp?”

Senku, still catching his breath, blinks at the massive heap of fur and muscle.

“Well,” he says, dusting off his hands like he just solved the problem, “you’re clearly the muscle of the operation, Princess.”

You glare, not impressed in the slightest. “I just outran, outsmarted, and helped kill a prehistoric murder-beast. I am done. You drag it.”

Senku gives the bear a dubious poke with his spear.

“…I would like to remind you that I’m built for brains, not brawn. My arms are made of uncooked soba noodles.”

“You said it, not me,” you mutter, already slumping to sit against a tree.

Senku sighs and crouches beside the bear. He attempts to grab one of its enormous paws and promptly falls over with a grunt.

“Wow. Look at that. Turns out ten billion percent of physics still applies to noodle-armed scientists.”

You snort, your head tipped back against the bark. “This is the least helpful rescue I’ve ever received.”

“You’re welcome for the flares. And the stabbing.”

“Stabbing with flair doesn’t count as muscle work.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “We can carve it here and take just what we need. Hide, meat, maybe some fat to render.”

“Yay,” you tell him flatly. “Bear stew and bear oil. My dream dinner.”

“You know bear meat is rich in calories and fat-soluble vitamins, right? You’ll be thanking me when you’re not dying of scurvy.”

“Mm. I’ll be sure to toast you with a nice glass of melted bear lard.”

“Appetizing,” he deadpans.

You both go quiet again. A breeze whistles through the trees.

Then:

“...I’m not carrying the liver,” you mutter.

“Deal,” Senku replies. “You get the legs, I’ll get the science."

You open one eye to look at him. “You mean label jars and supervise, right?”

He smirks. “Delegation is the cornerstone of efficiency.”

You groan and drop your head back. “I regret saving you.”

“No you don’t.”

Damn him.

“…Ugh. I really don’t.” You amend reluctantly.

By the time you both stumble back into camp, the stars are out—soft pinpricks above a world that feels far too real.

You two did bring the bear.

Barely.

It drags behind you both like a trophy neither of you wanted to win. Both dropping the idea of processing it hours ago. At this point, it’s just… there. A big, stupid, furry monument to a terrible day.

You’re both scratched, filthy, half-starved, and absolutely done. You collapse beside the fire pit with a dramatic groan.

“Official decision,” you mumble into the dirt. “No more bear fights. Ever.”

Senku flops down beside you, equally graceless. “Agreed. From now on, it’s only battles with things that can be reasoned with. Like wasps. Or volcanoes.”

You roll onto your back, stomach growling. “I’d murder someone for a potato.”

Senku tosses you a handful of slightly squashed berries and a sad-looking mushroom.

“Feast of champions,” he says.

 You hold up the mushroom that flops limply over your hand, “Are you sure these aren’t poisonous?”

“Seventy percent sure.” He tells you eyeing his own equally sad looking fungus.

You pause. Staring at him.

I’ve never seen these in any guide..

Your stomachs rumble in unison.

So you eat them anyway.

He does the same.

You chew in silence for a while, shoulders bumping now and then.

Then you mutter, “I can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s just your body initiating full shutdown to conserve energy,” Senku says. “You’ll either be fine by morning or dead.”

“Comforting.”

“Always.” You can hear the crack as he pops his neck.

You close your eyes.

“You better not die of mushroom poisoning before, I can yell at you properly tomorrow.” You tell him yawning.

“No promises,” he murmurs, already leaning back on his hands.

You glance over to the massive beast you’d both somehow managed to claim victory over.

Senku follows your line of sight. “Not bad for a couple of highschoolers, it’s exhilarating.”

You shake your head. “We’re not dealing with that tonight.” You tell him pointedly.

Senku doesn’t argue. He just stares at the bear’s hulking form, then at the shack up in the tree, then at you. “Ten billion percent agreement.”

“Good,” you yawn again, already pushing yourself off the floor and up the ladder with all the grace of a soggy breadstick.

 “Because if you’d argued, I was going to cry. Or punch you. Or cry while punching you.” You murmur with none of the bite.

Senku follows, slower than usual. Every joint aches. Every muscle protests.

Inside the shack, it’s cold. The fire outside flickers, forgotten. But the pile of furs—rough, worn, but warm—is waiting.

You both collapse into it without a word.

Shoulders touch. Then backs. Then the quiet slide of limbs finding the same rhythm under shared weight and fatigue.

It’s not planned. It’s not talked about.

It just is.

You shift slightly to make room for him, and he doesn’t pull away when your hand ends up resting lightly near his chest.

This has happened before. Once. Twice. Enough that neither of you flinch now.

Maybe it’s survival.

Maybe it’s something else.

He exhales, the breath soft against your temple.

You mumble, almost asleep, “Still not carrying the liver tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he whispers. “You can owe me.”

You huff one last a tired laugh, and then there’s only stillness.

No running.

No flares.

No bears.

Just warmth.

 Quiet.

Just… safety.

Chapter Text

Dawn light barely touches the forest floor when you hear it—the sound that turns your blood to ice.

Not the adorable oink-oink of some Disney-fied piglet. No. This is the battle cry of a creature forged in the depths of hell, trained in the art of war, and currently plotting your demise with the intensity of a Shakespearean villain.

You sprint back to camp like your skirts are on fire.

"Senku—” you wheeze, doubling over, hands on your knees. "Something's in the trap!"

He looks up from his latest "definitely not a death machine" invention, eyes gleaming with the unholy joy of a mad scientist. "Hell yeah! Finally! Operation Porkpocalypse was a success."

You freeze. "You named the trap?"

"Of course I did," he says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm a scientist, not a barbarian. We catalogue things."

He’s finally lost it. 

Together, you approach the pit like two people who know they’re about to regret this.

Inside, the boar glares up at you.

Correction—it seethes.

This isn’t just a pig. This is a monster—a bristle-backed, tusk-wielding nightmare the size of a compact sedan, with eyes that scream "I remember your face, and I will find you in your sleep."

Senku blinks. "...It's even better than I hoped."

You take a slow step back. "It's looking at me like I owe it money."

Already, Senku is scribbling notes on a scrap of bark like this is some kind of nature documentary. "Razor tusks. High muscle density. Likely a territorial male. This is excellent data."

You grab his sleeve. "Senku. Look at it." You point at the beast, which is now snorting like a chainsaw revving up. "This isn’t a pig. This is a murder pig."

Senku adjusts his neck, entirely unbothered. "Murder is a strong word."

The boar rams the pit wall. Dirt explodes.

"STRONG BUT ACCURATE," you shriek.

Senku adjusts his collar with the confidence of a man who has absolutely no survival instincts. ”We’ll use smoke to knock it out.”

You stare at him. ”You said that last time. You almost choked me out, the fire died, and we spent three hours coughing like tuberculosis patients.”

He waves a hand. ”Minor setbacks. The principle is sound.”

You just stare at him with the most unimpressed look.

Senku sighs like you’re the unreasonable one. ”Fine. Plan B.”

Plan B, it turns out, consists of:

1. A weighted net (which looks suspiciously like your weaved blanket with some extra vines)

2. A long, sharpened stick you’ve affectionately dubbed ”The Pokey Stick of Doom” (because if you’re going to die, you’re at least doing it with drama)

You heft the net, take aim, and—

FWAP.

It hits the boar’s back and bounces off like you just threw a sock at a tank.

The boar pauses.

Then it lifts its head and looks directly into your soul.

Why is it's eyes glinting like that? 

”Oh no,” you whisper.

The boar charges the pit wall.

Dirt explodes.

Senku’s eyes widen. ”SCIENCE EMERGENCY!”

You don’t wait for clarification. You run.

Senku sprints beside you, pelt boots slapping against the dirt like a panicked metronome. Behind you, the boar erupts from the pit like a wrathful forest god, tusks gleaming, fury incarnate.

You both trip over each other, limbs flailing, dignity abandoned. The boar doesn’t even bother chasing you further—it just snorts (which you swear sounds like laughter) and storms off into the woods, leaving you both in a heap of terror and poor life choices.

Panting, you lift your head from the dirt.

“...We should’ve just gathered berries.”

Senku, still facedown, raises a finger. ”But then we wouldn’t have data.”

You groan.

Somehow, this is only the beginning.

You collapse against a tree, lungs burning, legs screaming in protest. Senku flops down beside you, his hair sticking up in every direction like he just survived a lightning strike.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breathing—and the distant, mocking rustle of leaves where the boar disappeared.

Senku exhales, rubbing his temples. ”...Note to self. Reinforce trap walls.”

You nod solemnly. ”Note to self. Reinforce underwear. ”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—

You both lose it.

Laughter erupts like a dam breaking, raw and wheezing, the kind that leaves your ribs aching. Senku snorts mid-chuckle, which only makes it worse. You clutch your stomach, tears pricking your eyes as the absurdity of the last ten minutes finally catches up with you.

And then—

Bzzzt.

Gregory III—the demon mosquito with a personal vendetta—lands on Senku’s cheek like a tiny, bloodthirsty conqueror.

Chomp.

”GAH—“ Senku slaps himself with the force of a man trying to erase his own sins.

You immediately dissolve into a second round of hysterics, rolling onto your side, gasping for air.

Between breaths, you wipe a tear and whisper, voice trembling with mirth:

”Today... was a good day.”

The fire crackled weakly, casting flickering shadows across your pathetic dinner—a tuber so charred it could double as charcoal. You poked at it with a stick, watching as it crumbled into ash.

A deep, soul-weary sigh escaped you.

”I’d kill for some bacon.”

Senku didn’t even glance up from his makeshift beaker—a hollowed-out gourd filled with something that smelled suspiciously like regret. ”Salt-cured pork belly from a domesticated pig,” he recited, his voice taking on that dreamy, scientific tone that always meant trouble. ”Thinly sliced, crisped in rendered fat until the edges curl just slightly—“

Then it happened.

That look.

His head snapped up, eyes gleaming with the unholy fervor of a man who’d just discovered fire for the second time.

”Huh. Not impossible.”

You froze. ”What.”

”Wild boar,” he said, his grin widening into something downright demonic. ”Genetic predecessor of domestic pigs. They’re all over these forests. Catch one, smoke the meat—bam. Bacon.”

”No. No no no—“ You waved your hands like you could physically stop the madness. ”I just said I missed bacon. I didn’t say go full ‘bacon or death’ mode!”

Too late.

He was already scribbling on a flat rock with a piece of charcoal, muttering about ”selective breeding” and ”smokehouse efficiency.” The rock, you realized with dawning horror, was rapidly filling with what looked like blueprints for pork-based warfare.

You dropped your head into your hands.

There was no stopping him now.

The Porkpocalypse had begun.

The morning sun filtered through the trees as you wiped sweat from your brow, your muscles aching from hours of Senku’s constructive criticism (read: relentless nitpicking).

”No, no—the trigger mechanism needs to be sensitive, but not too sensitive—unless you want to spring it with your face again,” he’d said, for the third time.

But finally—finally—the trap was set.

Senku crouched beside it like a predator stalking prey, his gaze laser-focused. ”We bait it with fermented root. High sugar content. Irresistible.”

You squatted next to him, swatting away a gnat with more aggression than necessary. ”Why does it smell like sweaty feet?”

”That’s how you know it works,” he said, as if this was common knowledge.

Then—

Crunch.

Branches snapped.

The forest fell eerily silent.

Something massive stomped into the clearing.

Your mouth dropped open.

”...That is not bacon,” you whispered. ”That is a damn tank covered in fur.”

The wild boar snorted, its beady eyes locking onto you with terrifying clarity.

Then it charged.

”Senku?!” you yelped.

”PHASE THREE!!” he bellowed, hurling the net with the grace of a man who had definitely never played sports.

The boar leaped—clearing the net like an Olympic hurdler with a personal vendetta.

”WHAT THE HELL KIND OF FOREST NINJA—?!” you shrieked.

You ran.

Senku ran.

The boar gained.

”I thought they were supposed to root and snuffle!” you gasped, dodging a low-hanging branch.

”It’s running at 40 km/h—THIS IS FASTER THAN YOUR AVERAGE SCOOTER,” Senku yelled back, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

”THIS IS FASTER THAN ME!” you wailed, legs pumping like your life depended on it (because it did).

The boar let out a triumphant squeal—the sound of a predator who knew it had already won.

And as you crashed through the underbrush, one thought burned in your mind:

Bacon was never worth this.

You’re not sure how it happened.

One moment, you were cornered against a mossy boulder, staring death in its beady, pig-shaped eyes. The next—

You were riding the damn thing.

Somehow, through sheer dumb luck (or possibly divine punishment), you’d ended up clinging to the boar’s bristly back like a deranged jockey, your fingers tangled in fur that smelled like wet dog and bad decisions.

”WHY AM I ON IT?!” you shrieked, your voice hitting octaves previously unknown to mankind.

Senku, the absolute traitor, was doubled over laughing, tears streaming down his face. ”I DON’T KNOW BUT THIS IS THE BEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.”

The boar bucked violently, nearly sending you airborne. ”HELP ME!”

”You’re inventing prehistoric rodeo—!” he wheezed, clutching his stomach.

”I SWEAR TO GOD, SENKU—“

The boar chose that moment to execute a maneuver that would make a bull jealous. You sailed through the air with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, landing face-first in a bush that smelled suspiciously of urine.

As you spat out leaves, you heard an unmistakable sound—the boar snorting.

Not in anger.

IT'S DEFINITELY LAUGHING AT ME 

Then, with the smugness of a champion, it turned and rammed Senku straight into a tree before prancing off into the undergrowth, its tail held high in victory.

By sunset, you were both sprawled in the grass like discarded action figures—scratched, dirty, and thoroughly humiliated.

Silence stretched between you.

Senku’s hair looked like a bird’s nest constructed by a drunk squirrel. You were missing a sandal. The trap? Obliterated.

Somewhere in the forest, you could swear you heard triumphant squealing—probably your would-be dinner bragging to its friends about the two idiots who’d tried to mug it for meat.

You both groaned in unison.

Finally, you sat up, eyeing the darkening trees with newfound paranoia. ”...We should probably climb something before another one shows up.”

Senku didn’t argue. For once.

Its late. Both have you have retreated to a nearby tree. The branch beneath you might as well have been a torture device. Every knot in the wood pressed into your back with the precision of an acupuncturist gone rogue. Above you, Senku’s knee hovered dangerously close to your eye socket, his boot dangling precariously over your last shred of dignity.

”Could you not perform interpretive dance up there?” you hissed, swatting at a mosquito the size of a quarter.

”I’m optimizing spinal alignment,” Senku muttered, shifting again. The tree groaned like an old man standing up.

”You elbowed me in the boob. Twice.”

A pause. Then, far too casually: ”Didn’t hear any complaints the first time.”

You retaliated by kicking his branch hard enough to send a rain of twigs down on both of you.

Silence fell, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl that sounded suspiciously like it was laughing at you.

Then—

”...I hate bacon,” you announced to the night sky.

Senku sighed like a man who’d lost everything. ”I can make tofu.”

”I’d rather eat the tree.”

The branch creaked ominously as you shifted, sending a fresh wave of pine needles down your top. Somewhere below, a twig snapped. You both froze.

”Was that—?”

”Probably the wind,” Senku lied through his teeth.

You stared at your bruised legs, now decorated with enough scratches to qualify as modern art.

”This is all your fault,” you declared.

Through the darkness, you could hear his grin. ”Worth it.”

Dawn light filtered through the trees as you peeled yourself off the trunk, your spine making a sound like a bag of pretzels being crushed. Senku hung nearby like a failed piñata, his robe belt wedged in a vine, hair sticking up in seventeen different directions.

You rubbed sleep-crust from your eyes. ”You look like you lost a fight with a houseplant.”

He groaned, swinging slightly. ”I think I slept on my brain stem.”

A beat of silence. Then—

”...Still want bacon?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

Senku gave a weak thumbs-up, his face still smooshed against the bark. ”...Still want bacon.”

Back in the clearing, the remnants of yesterday’s failure mocked you both. Scuffed dirt. Broken branches. The distinct lack of pork products.

Senku rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking like a glowstick. ”Alright. New plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. ”If it’s just ‘you ride the pig again,’ I’m out.”

”Please,” he scoffed. ”That was Phase One. Phase Two is Science.”

Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees and began sketching in the dirt with a stick. The diagram grew increasingly elaborate—a Rube Goldberg machine of vines, logs, and what appeared to be a boulder suspended by what you hoped wasn’t your last good rope.

You stared. ”What the hell is that?”

”A remote-triggered deadfall trap with a counterweighted pulley system, tripwire tension snares, and a sliding cage door that locks using centrifugal force when the pig enters.” He sat back proudly. ”Classic.”

”...Classic for what? The boar Hunger Games?!”

Senku’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with the madness of a man who’d calculated exactly how much chaos he could cause. ”Oh, we’re winning this time.”

Somewhere in the forest, a boar snorted.

You had a bad feeling about this.

Five Hours of Swearing Later, the clearing had transformed into something out of a deranged survivalist’s fever dream. Vines formed a cat’s cradle of tripwires between trees, a suspiciously boulder-shaped shadow loomed overhead, and the pit trap now featured a ”gentle persuasion log” (your compromise after vetoing Senku’s original ”spikes of convincing” design).

You wiped sweat from your brow, surveying the carnage. ”...This isn’t a trap. This is overcompensating.”

Senku adjusts the last knot, grinning at his monstrosity. ”It’s science,” he corrected. ”We’re using primitive engineering to outwit a high-speed meat missile.”

You blinked. ”Did you just call the pig a meat missile?”

”I’m not wrong,” he said, tapping the latest addition—a counterweight system using your last good rope and what appeared to be a stolen beehive. How on earth did he- ”That thing accelerates like a projectile. Basic physics.”

A twig snapped in the distance.

Both of you froze.

Senku’s grin turned feral. ”Showtime.”

The forest held its breath.

Crunch. Rustle. SNORT.

The boar emerged like a furry tank, its beady eyes locked onto the fermented root bait with single-minded obsession. It sniffed. It snorted. It—

SNAP.

The tripwire fired.

What happened next was a thing of beauty—the pulley whirred, the counterweight swung, and with a mighty THUD, the cage slammed shut around Porky the First.

”YES!” you both roared in unison.

Senku attempted a high-five that turned into more of a nerdy palm-clap mid-stumble. You were already sprinting toward the cage when—

Earthquake.

No—bigger.

A second boar crashed through the underbrush, roughly the size of a minivan with anger issues.

”OH MY GOD,” you shrieked, ”IT BROUGHT ITS DAD!”

Senku adjusted his neck. ”...No. That’s a mother protecting her young.”

”WORSE!”

The mama boar charged, reducing Senku’s masterpiece trap to kindling in one hit. The first pig squealed in triumph as it burst free—

SPROING!

The tree trap fired.

Not at the pigs.

Oh no.

At Senku.

One second he was standing there. The next—

YOINK.

He hung upside down by one ankle, spinning gently like a sad, dress-wearing piñata.

”Are you SERIOUS?!” you screamed.

”This is not optimal!” Senku yelled back, his notes fluttering to the ground.

The mama boar wheeled toward you. You dove sideways just as it rammed headfirst into—

SLAM.

The second cage (the one Senku had “forgotten” to mention) snapped shut.

Silence.

You blinked.

Senku blinked back, still rotating slowly.

”...Did we just catch it?” you whispered.

”WE JUST CAUGHT IT!” Senku cheered, his voice wobbling from the blood rushing to his head.

The boar responded by headbutting the bars hard enough to make the trees shake.

You both screamed.

Then cheered again.

Then screamed while cheering, because that thing looked ready to eat the cage and you.

The cage rattled ominously as you and Senku sat in the aftermath of your latest disaster. The boar inside glared at you with the intensity of a thousand suns, its beady eyes promising vengeance in this life or the next.

Senku, still dangling upside down like some kind of deranged pendulum, sipped from his gourd with the calm of a man who’d accepted his fate. ”We’re geniuses,” he declared, the hollow reed turned straw still clenched between his teeth.

”You’re hanging like a fruit bat,” you pointed out.

He raised a finger. ”A victorious fruit bat.”

You sighed, resting your chin in your hand. ”Now what?”

Senku’s grin could have powered a small village. ”...We start building a pigpen.”

You groaned, flopping onto your back. ”I just wanted bacon, not a science pet.”

”You said bacon,” Senku countered, swinging slightly. ”I heard: ‘Let’s invent domestication.’”

You tossed a leaf at him. ”Congratulations, Dr. Doolittle. You married a warthog.”

The boar snorted violently, making the cage shudder.

You both glanced at it, then back at each other.

”...We should name it,” Senku muttered.

You didn’t hesitate. ”Baconator.”

Your stomach growled loudly, as if in agreement.

”But seriously,” you said, licking your lips, ”I wanna eat it. Crispy slices. Maybe simmered in soy and mirin if we can manage it. Oooh, if we can find daikon—“

”Absolutely not,” Senku cut in—just as the vine gave way, sending him face-first into the dirt with an ”Oof.”

You snickered as he pushed himself up, pointing at you accusingly. ”We’re domesticating it.”

You stared at him, then at the snarling, frothing creature currently trying to chew through the bars. ”You can’t be serious. That? That’s not a pig. That’s a demon in pork form.”

”All the better to breed it for future food security,” he said smugly. ”Short-term thinking like yours is how civilizations collapse.”

You were on your feet in an instant, jabbing a finger at him. ”Short-term thinking?! There’s only one pig! And this pig—“ you gestured wildly at the cage, ”—is what’s going to keep us warm and fed this winter. Or do you plan to teach it tricks? ‘Roll over, Piggy. Now defy the laws of thermodynamics!’”

He scoffed. ”Tch. You just want bacon. Primitive.”

”And you want a pet murder pig!” you shot back, gesturing at the cage. ”That things kid tried to eat your leg yesterday!”

”Only because you startled it,” he retorted, his voice rising. ”Honestly, if anyone here deserves to be on the spit—“

”Oh, don’t you even—NERD!”

”PRINCESS!"

”SCIENCE GOBLIN!”

”BUSHWITCH!”

The boar’s cage rattled violently as you shouted over each other—but neither of you noticed until a deafening roar echoed through the trees.

You both froze.

”...That wasn’t ours,” you murmured.

The underbrush exploded. A boar the size of a pickup truck barreled into the clearing, its tusks gleaming like scimitars.

Senku blinked. ”Uh-oh.”

”YOU SET A FOURTH TRAP, RIGHT?!” you shrieked.

”...I was going to.”

You grabbed his arm as the beast charged. In the chaos, the Baconator kicked its cage door open—whether through sheer adrenaline or divine intervention, you’d never know—and the two boars vanished into the forest, leaving behind only trampled grass and shattered dreams.

Silence.

Then you groaned. ”There goes breakfast.”

Senku dropped to his knees in the mud. ”There goes sustainable livestock.”

You sat there, covered in dirt and defeat, as the fire crackled mockingly between you. The “meal” on the rock plate—two charred mushrooms, half a boiled tuber, and something that might have been moss—looked more like a crime against nature than food.

You stabbed the tuber. It split in half with a dry, pathetic crack.

”...I hate it here,” you mumbled, chewing with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

Senku let his own tuber sit in his mouth like it had personally wronged him. ”We had pork. In a cage. We had victory in our hands.”

You glared. ”We had dinner. You wanted to start a pig dynasty.”

”Oh, I’m sorry—some of us think ahead more than twelve hours.”

”Some of us think with our stomachs,” you snapped. ”Which is currently empty!”

He gestured to the rock plate. ”You’re literally eating.”

”This is not food,” you said flatly. ”This is regret mulch.”

A distant pig squeal echoed through the trees—mocking, triumphant.

You muttered, ”That bastard’s probably eating acorns right now. Just living his best boar life.”

Senku sighed. ”He’s probably mocking us. Him and his demon girlfriend.”

You both took another bite of regret mulch.

”...I would’ve named him Tonkatsu,” you whispered.

Senku rubbed his face. ”I was gonna breed him with selective genetics to reduce aggression and increase meat-to-fat ratio—“

”I WAS GONNA GLAZE HIM IN HONEY,” you wailed.

Silence.

You both sniffed at the same time.

(You weren’t crying. It was the smoke. Definitely the smoke.)

Senku pushed the rock plate away. ”We’re going hunting again tomorrow.”

You nodded. ”No traps. Just a spear. One spear. Me versus bacon.”

”...Please don’t die.”

You flopped onto your back dramatically. ”If I do, bury me with barbecue sauce.”

Senku rolled his eyes. ”So dramatic, Princess.”

You heard it—and without missing a beat, whispered back:

”Always, Nerd.”

Chapter Text

The next morning...

The stench of blood still clung to the air, thick and metallic, but you ignored it as you crouched beside the hulking mass of bear carcass. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving only aching muscles, bruised skin, and the dull throb of yesterday’s chaos echoing behind your eyes.

Senku stood over the beast like it was a science fair project. He cracked his neck, then rubbed his hands together like a man about to dissect a frog.

“Alright,” he said with that maddening glint in his eye. “We’ve got enough fat here to render into at least two litres of tallow. That’s soap, oil, candles—hell, even waterproofing. The meat’s going to need drying, salting, maybe a little smoking if we can manage. And the bones?” He tapped his foot against the thick foreleg. “Tools, needles, arrowheads, bone glue—”

“I swear to god, if you even look at that pelt like it's going to be your next science coat—”

He turned slowly, smirking. “What, you don’t want to see me in a dramatic villain cloak made of bear fur? C’mon, Princess. Get excited.”

You gave him a flat look and tossed a bloody chunk of sinew at his face. “Get wrecked, you science cryptid.”

“Close,” he said, catching it with a twirl of his wrist and flinging it off to the side. “But not quite the catchphrase.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to carving. He started muttering to himself, probably calculating bear oil yields or how many femurs it would take to build a trebuchet or something equally stupid. You didn’t really listen. Your hands moved on autopilot.

But your eyes—your eyes kept flicking to the treeline.

Every time a branch snapped or a bird took off in the distance, you flinched. Tiny things. Barely noticeable, unless someone was watching you closely.

Senku was.

He kept talking at first, listing off plans for sinew cordage and speculative brain tanning techniques, but his words slowed the longer he watched you. You didn’t seem to notice. You were working fast, too fast, shoulders hunched like you were expecting something to lunge at you again.

He moved to crouch beside you, quietly.

“Hey.” His voice was calm, low—not teasing, not scientific. Just… soft. “You’re shaking.”

You blinked. “No, I’m not.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at your hands. Covered in blood, trembling slightly as you sawed through thick muscle.

You set the knife down like it was suddenly too heavy to hold. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said, still quiet. “You haven’t looked me in the eye once since we started. You keep checking the trees like the bear’s coming back from the dead to finish the job.”

You didn’t respond. Your jaw tightened.

He didn’t touch you. He knew better than to do that without asking. But he stayed beside you, a steady presence.

“We’re safe,” he said eventually. “You saved me. Remember?”

You tried to scoff, but it caught halfway in your throat. “Didn’t feel very heroic when it happened.”

“You kicked a bear in the face.” He tilted his head. “Pretty sure that meets the criteria.”

You exhaled shakily. “I thought you were going to die.”

“So did I,” he said bluntly, which earned him a weak glare. “But we didn’t.”

There was a long pause before you muttered, “I hate that it didn’t feel over. Even after it was.”

Senku nodded. “Yeah. That’s fear. Stupid, primal leftover garbage from our lizard brains. Can’t logic it away.”

“You would call fear garbage,” you muttered.

“Only because it gets in the way of proper chemical analysis.”

That pulled a small smile from you, even if it barely reached your eyes.

Then, quietly: “I didn’t want to sleep. I kept hearing it.”

Senku looked up at the trees. “We’ll hang some bones. Primitive noise traps. Enough to give us warning next time.”

You nodded, slowly.

“And tomorrow,” he added, standing up, “you’re not touching a damn thing. You’re resting.”

“Not happening.”

“Not a request.”

You blinked. “Wow. You’re bossy when you care.”

He raised a brow. “You’re observant when you’re traumatized.”

“…Touché.”

And for the first time since yesterday, the air between you both felt just a little lighter.

The bear carcass still loomed like a grotesque monument to your survival. The stench had only grown worse, thick and greasy, but neither of you commented on it. The work needed doing.

You sat beside Senku, methodically scraping sinew from bone. The rhythmic pull of the stone blade was the only thing keeping your hands steady. Every few seconds, you’d freeze—eyes snapping toward a rustling bush, a flapping bird wing, the crunch of a squirrel in dry leaves. You’d cover it up with a muttered, “Damn rodents are stalking us,” or “One more tweet and I’m eating the next bird that squeaks,” but Senku wasn’t fooled.

He never said anything, though. Just kept skinning and gutting, his knife moving with surgical precision.

But he was watching.

Noticing how your jaw clenched every time your back was to the trees.

How you flinched when a leaf fell onto your shoulder.

How the girl who once dove headfirst into a boar trap with zero hesitation now tensed up at the sound of wind whistling through tall grass.

It was wrong. It wasn’t you.

And Senku, for all his logical detachment and scientific aloofness, hated it.

So he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t explain or fix outright.

He turned it into an experiment.

The first “trial” was a distraction technique. He handed you a chunk of cartilage and declared, “We’re gonna test tensile strength against makeshift bone saws.” Which somehow devolved into a ten-minute debate about whether you were trying to sabotage his results by holding it “like a Neanderthal.”

I’ll show him who’s a neanderthal in a minute.

(Spoiler, still you but now the nerds sporting a bump on his head.)

The second “trial” involved exposure therapy. “Stand here. I’m gonna toss pinecones from behind that tree. Just yell the direction and duck.” You nearly punched him when the third one smacked your cheekbone. “For science!” he claimed, dodging your elbow.

Strangulation’s legal in the stone world right?

The third test was possibly a prank.

He said he was measuring your startle response. You said he was being a dick.

He dropped a cold frog down your top while recording your reaction time with a notched stick timer.

“Are you seriously logging this?!” you snapped, flinging the frog back at him.

“Yes,” he said. “We’re halfway through a very promising data set on overclocked adrenal responses. Also, that scream was—statistically—your loudest yet.”

You stomped off. He kept scribbling in his notebook with a smug grin.

I’m complaining to HR.

But then came the fourth experiment.

No warning. No sarcastic lead-in.

He just walked up to you as you were salting the bear meat and held something out.

A small, carefully carved bone whistle, smoothed by sand and time. Stone Age tech at its finest.

You blinked. “The hell is this? You trying to summon caveman pigeons?”

“It’s yours.” He dropped it into your hand, no teasing this time. “If something scares you. If you’re alone. If I’m down by the river and you hear something in the woods. Blow it.”

You stared at him.

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “It carries sound farther than your voice. High frequency. No squirrel in hell’ll miss it.”

Your fingers tightened around it. “So you are training me like a squirrel.”

“No,” he muttered. “I’m trying to make sure I find you before something else does.”

That shut you up.

Not because you didn’t have a comeback—god, you had five—but because for a second, just one, his voice cracked at the end of that sentence. Like the idea of losing you wasn’t part of his calculations.

You looked down at the whistle. Simple. Ugly. Life-saving.

“…You know this doesn’t fix me, right?” you said, voice quieter now. “I’m not—This isn’t something a bone whistle solves.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“But you still made it.”

He finally looked at you then. “I’d build a thousand if it kept you breathing.”

Error 404: Brain not found.

You didn’t say anything after that.

You just slipped the whistle around your neck… and kept scraping meat from bone.

You stared at the whistle dangling from your fingers, feeling the shape of it like it had weight beyond bone and breath.

“I’d build a thousand if it kept you breathing.”

Your chest tightened.

That wasn’t fair.

That wasn’t some dumb joke or snide comment. That was—God, that was borderline romantic, and now your heart was doing this stuttering, traitorous thing in your chest like it had no respect for the rules of friendship or sarcasm.

You swallowed thickly and glanced at him, trying to sound casual.

“…That was a weirdly sweet thing to say for someone who compared my scream to a dying warthog ten minutes ago.”

Senku blinked. And then, like clockwork, you watched him do the thing—the deflection, the shift into rationality. The safe place.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t misread it, Princess. It’s just easier to monitor an ongoing variable if it continues existing in the field. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re a consistent pain. Data loss would be annoying.”

You snorted, letting the tension bleed out in a shaky laugh. “Wow. Say that again, but slower and with more flowers next time.”

“I’ll etch it into your tombstone. ‘Here lies Y/N, beloved constant nuisance.’”

You smiled despite yourself, the fear settling into something less sharp, less loud.

After a moment, you stood and wandered away—toward the edge of the clearing. The forest loomed like it always did, shadows stretching long in the afternoon sun. Your fingers ghosted over the whistle again, hesitating.

You told yourself it was a test.

Just a test.

You brought it to your lips and blew.

It was sharp—shrill—so loud it sent a flock of birds exploding from the canopy in a frenzy of wings and leaves. Your ears rang.

You were still laughing about the ridiculous sound when—

“—Don’t move.”

Senku’s voice.

You turned, and there he was, rushing out of the woods at an actual jog, scanning the treeline with narrowed eyes. His pelt clung to his back with sweat; he must’ve been working on something far away—but he’d dropped it. Dropped everything.

“Are you okay? What was it?” he asked, breathless but serious.

You blinked. “It was a test.”

“A test?” He looked like he wanted to strangle you. “You scared the absolute hell out of me!”

“You told me to test it!”

“I meant not during peak heart failure hour!”

You grinned. “You said ‘if you’re scared, use it.’ I was scared you’d made a shitty whistle. Scientific anxiety.”

Senku groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You are—statistically speaking—the worst.”

“But you came,” you said softly, before you could stop yourself.

He looked at you then. And for once, he didn’t deflect.

“Of course I did.”

Your smile faltered just slightly. It almost hurt to be seen like this—rattled, cracked—but he never flinched. Not once.

So, you fought back with your favorite weapon: humor.

You sniffed. “Ugh. Don’t get all heroic now. Next thing I know, you’ll be declaring war on every forest rodent who breathes too loud.”

“Already did. The squirrels are public enemy number one.”

You laughed—a real laugh this time—and something loosened in your chest. The fear was still there, but it didn’t own you.

Senku nudged you with his shoulder. “We’ll rewire your brain. Bit by bit. Exposure, control, reinforcement.”

“Translation: You’re gonna keep throwing frogs at me, aren’t you?”

“…Probably.”

You looked at the whistle again. It wasn’t just a whistle anymore.

It was proof. That someone would come running.

Things eventually returned to normal.

Well—your version of normal.

Which meant the bear was now fully processed, the pelt strung up and drying on a crude rack despite your loud protests (Senku still claimed dibs on “villain cloak privileges”), and your hands constantly smelled faintly of tallow and smoked meat no matter how many times you washed them in the river.

You were moving again, laughing again. Still flinching now and then, sure, but the fear wasn’t sharp anymore—it was background static. Manageable.

But one thing had changed.

You were actually listening to Senku’s scientific rambling.

Not the usual sarcastic, “Wow, fascinating, please keep monologuing while I die of boredom,” kind of listening—but the real kind. With questions. With follow-ups. With your head tilted slightly and eyes narrowed, genuinely invested.

“…So if you had calcium carbonate, charcoal, and a heat source, that’s soap and quicklime?” you asked one afternoon, chewing on a berry stem while watching him stir a boiling pot of who-knows-what.

Senku blinked. “Yeah. Heat alters the carbonate structure—makes slaked lime possible once you add water. Useful for construction, agriculture, even early cement.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “So it’s like chemical Legos. Everything breaks down and builds something else.”

He turned to look at you.

You weren’t mocking. You were thinking.

And then—just like that—you asked another question. “What would you need to make something explosive again? Not like a ‘blow up the whole forest’ thing—just, like, a ‘scare away a bear’ thing.”

Senku stared at you.

“…Did you hit your head recently?” he asked slowly.

You smirked. “No, why?”

“You’re… keeping up.”

You raised a brow. “Wow. You sound almost offended.”

He turned back to the pot quickly, stirring with a little more force than necessary. “I’m not offended,” he muttered. “It’s just weird.”

Oh, I’m the weird one?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said dryly. “Should I go back to tuning you out while counting how many times you say ‘hydrocarbon chain’ per minute?”

“Statistically speaking, it’s only two. Three if I’m excited.”

You nudged him with your elbow, smiling. “It’s not that weird. I’ve always been curious. You just… made it tolerable.”

Senku raised a brow, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Tolerable? That’s high praise.”

You leaned in like you were sharing a secret. “Don’t get used to it.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just kept stirring his concoction, hiding the little smirk threatening to tug at his mouth. Because the truth was…

Even in the old world, people rarely kept up with him. They nodded, zoned out, changed the topic. Even the smart ones eventually hit a wall.

But you didn’t.

You asked.

You challenged.

You learned.

And something in him—something quiet and maybe even a little dangerous—loved it.

Late that night...

Senku didn’t sleep often, not deeply. His mind was always half-buzzing—calculating, remembering, listing tasks to complete before sunrise.

But tonight… he had drifted off. Until the sound jolted him upright.

Your breathing.

Not steady. Not calm.

Panicked.

He sat up slowly in the treehouse, blinking through the dark. The moon cast pale shadows through the woven leaves overhead. You were curled under the furs, shivering violently, your face contorted, whispering something—over and over. Words too low and ragged to catch at first.

He moved toward you instinctively, then paused. Hovered.

His hand lifted hesitantly above your shoulder.

He wasn’t used to touching people.

Not affectionately. Not even his old man—Byakuya—had been big on hugs. They’d shared theories and stargazing, not physical comfort. Not even when his father left him behind to float alone in space and grief.

So now, with you trembling and clearly drowning in some nightmare, Senku sat there, hand suspended, torn between doing something and not knowing how.

And then you spoke.

Soft. Strangled.

“Why don’t you love me, Mom…?”

Senku’s entire body locked up.

“Stop....it hurts.”

His brain immediately flung him backwards—years ago.

Middle school.

You’d walked in with a black eye.

Said you fell down the stairs.

Everyone asked. You smiled. Your voice was hoarse.

You wore a thick scarf for weeks, even when it was warm.

You never took it off. Not even once.

He knew. He knew.

And he’d done nothing. Said nothing. Just catalogued it, like data. A silent variable he didn’t know how to fix.

He remembered watching you draw suns on your notebook margins like you were trying to convince yourself the light still existed.

He hated that memory. Hated how helpless it made him feel.

Now, in the treehouse, he came back to himself just in time to see your body jolt violently awake.

You gasped like you were choking on air. Wild-eyed. Disoriented.

Senku snatched his hand back like it had burned him and flopped over, pretending to be asleep—breathing steady, eyes closed. Nothing to see here. Totally unconscious.

You didn’t even glance at him.

You threw the furs off and practically stumbled to the treehouse entrance, slipping out into the cold, moon-drenched night.

Senku waited five seconds.

Then sat up. Crawled silently to the window.

You were just outside, arms wrapped around yourself, standing barefoot in the grass like you didn’t feel the cold. Staring at nothing.

Then, you started to sing.

Broken. Beautiful.

“I used to float, now I just fall down,

I used to know but I’m not sure now...”

Your voice trembled, barely holding the notes together. Each word cracked like a fault line, but you kept going. And something about the fragility of it—about you singing to no one like the forest was your confessional—ripped something open in him.

“Think I forgot how to be happy,

Something I’m not, but something I can be...”

Then your voice faltered entirely.

“…It’s okay,” you whispered, like you were trying to convince yourself.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m—”

You crumbled to your knees.

The sob hit so hard it sounded like you’d been punched.

And all Senku could do was listen.

Listen to the sound of your breaking heart echoing into the night.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t fix it.

Because this wasn’t something science could fix.

So he sat in the treehouse above you, eyes burning, chest tight, nails digging into the wood floor, and listened.

Because that’s what you’d needed back then too.

Someone to just notice.

Chapter Text

The sun was an unrelenting bastard.

Even under the cover of trees, the air was thick and sluggish, like trying to breathe through wet cotton. Your shirt—what little there was of it—stuck to your skin. Sweat dripped down your spine, sliding along every curve and crevice. You didn’t even want to move, let alone think.

Senku looked half-cooked too, slouched against a rock with his deer hide robe—his dress, as you liked to call it—hanging loosely off one shoulder. Even his hair looked exhausted, if that was possible.

It was officially August.

Five months since you broke out of stone.

Five months of clawing your way back into survival. Of eating strange roots. Of sewing clothing from corpses. Of fighting off beasts and fighting off memories. Of collapsing into each other, then pretending it didn’t happen. Of boiling water and never boiling over.

And now it was simply too hot to feel anything.

“…Evaporation rates would be at a peak today,” Senku muttered, eyes half-lidded but still working.

You peeled your cheek off the dirt. “That science-speak for ‘I’m dying’?”

“No,” he replied without pause. “It’s science-speak for ‘perfect salt-making conditions.’ You want preserved meat? We need salt. You want clean skin and smoother soap than scrubbing with tree bark? We need seaweed and calcium-rich shells.”

You groaned. “So you want to go to the beach.”

“I want to survive,” he said dryly. “But if you happen to enjoy swimming like a feral sea otter, fine.”

“…Tomayto, tomahto.”

The journey to the coast was quiet but heavy. You wore your patchwork pelt skirt, long and swaying with each step, tied tight at the hip with twisted rope. Your top—a crude tube made from soft fur—stuck unpleasantly to your chest. Your legs itched. Senku walked beside you in his sleeveless robe, swatting at bugs with a stick like an angry old man in drag.

When the beach finally broke through the trees, you didn’t even hesitate.

You sprinted into the ocean.

Your feet kicked up hot sand as you bolted forward, pelts flying, and then—sweet, glorious relief. The waves hit your body in shivering bursts, dragging heat and exhaustion out of your bones. The salt stung your healing wounds, including the deep scratch on your side from the bear, but it felt clean. Like a reset.

Nothing beats the sea! 

You dunked your head, kicked to float, and came up grinning.

“Hey Senku!” you called, water glistening on your skin. “You seriously not even gonna pretend to have fun?”

Senku was crouched by a patch of flat rocks near the shore, setting out hollowed gourds and animal-hide slings to dry saltwater in the sun. No metal. Just stone, bone, leather, and brilliance.

“This is fun,” he called back. “Dehydration via solar evaporation. My kind of party.”

You pouted and splashed his way. “You’re a killjoy.”

“Get excited, right, princess?” he smirked.

You scooped a double handful of water and hurled it. It hit his knees.

“Get fucked, you science cryptid.”

You paddled and floated for nearly an hour, watching the clouds. When you finally trudged back onto shore, leaving a trail of seawater behind you, Senku was fiddling with broken shell shards, separating the ones with chalky white insides.

You dropped beside him, shaking your hair out like a dog. He flinched as drops hit his notes.

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

You grinned and said nothing. For a minute, you just watched him work, listening to the soft hiss of wind against the sea.

“Why don’t you ever swim?” you asked softly, tugging seaweed from your skirt.

“Because I’m working.”

“You always work. That’s not an answer.”

He didn’t look up.

“…It’s inefficient,” he said after a moment. “Swimming, floating, the human body lacks gills. Wading is one thing, but full immersion reduces mobility. In a survival setting, it’s functionally a risk.”

You blinked slowly. “That was a lot of words to say you don’t know how to swim.”

He stiffened.

“I didn’t say—”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” you cut in gently. “Just sounded like you were hiding something. I get it.”

His shoulders remained tense.

“…Drowning is a wasteful way to die,” He muttered.

You watched him. Quiet. Then smiled faintly.

“I’m afraid of heights,” you admitted.

That got his attention. His head turned.

“Seriously?”

You nodded, playing with a smooth shell.

“When I was nine, my after school club took us to this rope-climbing tower thing. You know, with the harnesses and all that. I panicked halfway up, couldn’t move. Started crying. Pissed myself in front of everyone.” You laughed weakly. “They had to get the fire brigade to get me down. Got called ‘pee princess’ for a year.”

Senku stared. For once, speechless.

“I never climbed anything taller than a stepstool again,” you said. “But now? Now we climb trees to survive. I still freeze sometimes. Still get dizzy. But I do it.”

He looked away, hands stilling on the shells.

“…You’re not mocking me.”

“Course not,” you said, brushing your wet hair back. “If anything, I respect you more. You’re scared but still showed up. Still boiled salt. Still protected me from a bear, by the way.”

He coughed. “Tch. That’s basic survival instinct. Nothing noble about it.”

“Maybe not. But it’s still kind of... badass.”

A beat passed.

“…You’d teach me?” he asked, so quietly you barely caught it.

You blinked.

“To swim?”

His eyes flicked toward the water. “Hypothetically.”

You grinned.

“I was a lifeguard for a whole summer. You wouldn’t be the first panicky noodle I taught.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine. Hypothetically, then. If I die, I’m haunting you with logic problems.”

You stood and offered your hand. “Deal.”

You didn’t even give him a chance to back out.

“C’mon,” you said, already standing, hand extended like a challenge and a promise. “Get up, science boy.”

Senku eyed your hand like it might explode. “I said hypothetically.”

You gave a wicked grin. “Exactly. And this is a hypothetical swim lesson. Now move.”

“I don’t need to—”

“You made four dodgy chairs and then stole my throne, Senku. Let’s not pretend you’re above indulging in human comfort.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Every second wasted shifting to get comfortable is a second I’m not accelerating humanity’s rebirth. A chair maximizes efficiency. Period.”

“And floating is efficient to not dying in the ocean.”

He stared at you. At the waves. At your dripping clothes, your pelt skirt clinging to your legs, your top sliding a little too low with the weight of saltwater. You were practically glowing under the sun—equal parts chaos and kindness.

“Physics makes water safer,” you added. “The salinity increases buoyancy. You’ll float easier here than in freshwater. Science, Senku.”

You saw the way his jaw clenched. Not fear exactly—but resistance. He didn’t want to show weakness. Didn’t want to lose control. And admitting he couldn’t do something?

That wasn’t in his nature.

So you softened.

“I won’t let go,” you said gently.

That hit harder than any teasing could have. His eyes flicked to your face. Searching. Calculating. Not for scientific evidence—just to see if you meant it.

Apparently, he decided you did.

“…You better not drown me.”

You beamed. “You couldn’t sink if you tried, genius. You’re made of stubborn and bone.”

You tugged him by the wrist. He followed, stiff-legged, as if the ocean itself was an enemy to be outwitted. You led him into the shallows first, waves brushing your thighs. He hesitated when the water touched his calves.

“You know,” he muttered, “it’s incredibly inefficient to submerge yourself in a liquid that ruins your insulation and exposes you to bacterial—”

You spun around, still holding his hand. “Senku?”

“What?”

“Shut up and float.”

He looked like he wanted to argue. But you were laughing. Not at him, but bright and wild like it was all just a game, like nothing could go wrong with you holding on.

“You’re going to have to let go at some point,” he warned.

You shook your head. “Not yet. We’ll go slow. Just follow my lead.”

You took another step. And another. And somehow, so did he.

His hand was cold, even in the sun. Bony. Rigid. But you didn’t let go.

“Try lifting your feet off the bottom a bit,” you said. “Let the water take your weight.”

“That’s how you die.”

“That’s how you float, oh god of science.”

He scowled but obeyed, wobbling awkwardly as you adjusted your grip to support his upper arms.

The moment his feet left the sand, his whole body tensed like a spring.

You immediately pulled him closer.

“Breathe. I’ve got you.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said sharply, panic bleeding through the sarcasm.

You didn’t tease him for it.

Instead, you steadied him. “You’re doing fine.”

“Statistically, humans aren’t designed for—”

“Senku,” you said softly. “You’re safe.”

That shut him up.

A long moment passed. The waves rocked gently around you, lifting and falling with the slow rhythm of the tide. He didn’t sink. He didn’t panic. He didn’t let go—but neither did you.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know,” you said after a minute.

Senku blinked, startled. “You’ve got salt in your brain.”

“I mean it. You act all superior, but you’re brave in a weird, quiet way. You trust science more than people… but you still trusted me. That means something.”

He stared at you. Really stared. Like he was seeing something for the first time and didn’t know what to do with it.

“…You’re not what I expected.”

You tilted your head. “Better or worse?”

He looked away, ears red. “…Undecided.”

You laughed.

Somehow—against all odds—you got him floating.

Senku Ishigami: kingdom builder, space-bound genius, absolute bastard of logic… was now stretched out on his back in the ocean like a pale, starfish-shaped science corpse.

His legs were stiff, arms held wide like he was being crucified by physics, but he was floating. You floated next to him, both your bodies bobbing gently in sync with the tide, your hand still gripped in his.

“Okay,” he muttered. “If I die, I want the following inscribed on my shell headstone: ‘He floated. Unwillingly.’”

You snorted. “You’re fine. Look at you, king of the sea.”

“I feel like a corpse in formaldehyde.”

“A decrepit corpse.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Senku didn’t move. Not a single twitch. You weren’t sure if it was terror, scientific curiosity, or sheer stubbornness keeping him afloat.

Then you gave his hand a gentle tug and pulled him upright.

He sputtered a little, kicking to find his footing again—and for the first time ever, his hair moved. Not just gravity-defying spikes, but actual, wet, clinging strands. It flopped forward into his face like normal hair, darkened from the water and swept into his eyes.

Dangerous. Way too dangerous.

His crimson eyes glinted through the strands as he pushed the hair back with one long-fingered hand, skin glistening under the afternoon sun. For a second—just a second—he looked more like some wild forest prince than the dorky scientist you’d spent months teasing.

Your jaw slackened without permission.

Oh no.

You snapped your gaze away, face burning. “Nope. Not happening. He’s annoying. He wears a dress for gods sake.”

Senku didn’t say anything, but he paused. You felt the moment. Like he noticed something. Like he almost caught you staring.

You looked down at the water. “We done floating or what?”

“…I’ve extracted the data I need.”

“Yeah? You gonna publish it in ‘Float Monthly?’”

He raised a brow, suspicious.

You started wading to shore before he could say anything else.

You both laid out your pelt clothes on a hot rock to dry, sunbathing beside them like lizards. The air smelled like salt and wet fur. Senku was inspecting shells again, separating thick ones from brittle ones.

“So,” you said lazily, arms behind your head, “how many of these do you think we’d need to crush to make cement for the hut?”

Senku didn’t even blink.

“A few hundred.”

You sat up. “What?”

“Calcium carbonate from crushed shells, plus heat and a water binder. Roughly half a cubic meter per wall section if we’re plastering. Multiply that by four, plus roof supports, reinforcement—yeah. Few hundred. At minimum.”

You stared at him.

He tilted his head. “Why are you twitching?”

You rolled onto your side, hand on your forehead like a melodramatic noblewoman. “I’m praying. To the gods of biceps and infinite stamina.”

“…Taiju.”

“Praise be.”

Senku actually cracked a grin, small but sharp.

“Alright,” you sighed, sitting up again, “when we’re done making science soup, we drag Taiju’s statue here and revive him. Deal?”

Senku nodded. “Deal.”

You bumped his shoulder with yours.

“Race you back?”

He side-eyed you. “You’ll cheat.”

You were already sprinting before he finished the sentence.

By the time you made it back to camp, your clothes were stiff with dried salt, your skin tasted like the ocean, and your legs felt like wet noodles.

You flopped face-down onto the grass outside the nitric acid cave—Taiju’s official residence. You’d positioned him ass-up weeks ago; infinitely better than being confronted by his front package every time you came to collect bat guano for acid. A fresh crust of the stuff now dripped down one of his stone cheeks.

“Hey buddy,” you said, patting his stone leg, “just hang in there a little longer. We’re getting the science soup ready.”

Senku was already digging through his notes, still half-damp, hair beginning to dry back into its gravity-defying shape.

Shame.

 That floppy-haired moment at the beach had done something to you, and now you couldn’t even look at him without remembering the way those red eyes had glinted through dripping bangs.

You shook your head violently.

“Stop that,” you muttered to yourself.

“What, lost in thought about chemistry?” Senku asked without looking up.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.”

I will take this to the grave.

He didn’t press—thank the gods—but his tone shifted just slightly into that too-casual, too-calculated place. Like he knew you were hiding something and was quietly collecting data on it.

Nope. Not falling into that trap.

“So,” you said, desperate to redirect, “we got the salt. What now?”

Senku grinned. “Now we cook.”

Your stomach growled.

“Not food,” he clarified. “Revival fluid.”

You groaned and threw yourself backwards. “No. Nope. I’m on strike.”

“You can’t strike.”

“Watch me.”

Senku loomed over you, casting a long shadow, his robe flaring slightly in the wind like some kind of mad scientist wizard. “Don’t you want to be part of history? Come on, we’re literally reawakening humanity here.”

“I already reawakened with you, and look how that turned out.”

He folded his arms. “If you help, I’ll name the formula after you.”

You cracked an eye open. “…You’re bribing me with naming rights? What am I, a Pokémon?”

“I’ll even write it on a rock tablet,” he said smugly. “Y/N-Fluid, Version 1.0.”

You sat up slowly, suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just mixing a few things. Testing. Smelling stuff that may or may not burn out your nose hairs.”

“Ah. There it is.”

You paused. Then grinned. “Make it two things.”

“Two?”

“One—you do the nose-burning part. And two…” You leaned in closer, mock-serious. “You owe me dessert.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I have dessert in the Stone World?”

“You have science. Make me a coconut marshmallow or something.”

Senku rolled his eyes but smirked. “Fine. You help me make the miracle fluid of life, and I’ll invent prehistoric pudding. Deal?”

“Deal.”

You bumped fists, officially binding yourselves in a contract of chemical chaos and imaginary dessert.

“Alright, science cryptid,” you said, standing and stretching. “Let’s get cooking.”

And so began the first of many rounds of primitive chemistry, bad smells, and not-so-accidental hand brushes over bubbling pots. But neither of you talked about those.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

It only took a week before Senku finally threw in the towel.

“What is that?” he demanded, pointing at the massive pot at your feet.

“You told me to pour it into a pot,” you said, as if the answer was obvious.

“Not that pot! That pot’s too big! How the hell are we supposed to submerge a petrified bird in that much liquid?” Senku raked both hands through his hair, like he was regretting every decision that had led him here.

“I didn’t know you wanted to submerge it! You never said!” you shot back.

“Yes, I did!”

“No, you didn’t! Your exact words were, ‘Pour that solution into a large jar for the next experiment.’” You crossed your arms with finality. “Nothing about submerging.”

Later, while Senku worked on another batch, he rattled off instructions without looking up. You both froze when your pot started fizzing ominously.

“Why is the solution fizzing?” you asked carefully.

Senku stalked over to inspect. “You put the sulfur in, right?”

The silence was deafening.

“…I thought you said salt.”

Senku exhaled slowly, as though mentally preparing to commit murder. “Measure me out a teaspoon of salt and put it in the basin.” He grabbed the now-warm pot to dispose of it before you could make things worse-

BANG.

“…That wasn’t salt, was it?” came your timid voice.

His stare told you everything. You sheepishly picked up the offending jar.

Reading the crudely carved label, you blinked. “Ahhh. Sugar. Wait—when did we get sugar?!”

Senku was already trying to salvage what he could of his equipment. “We need it for experiments, not your sweet tooth, princess.”

But you weren’t listening. You held the jar up like the holy grail. “I could put it in tea. Or make a fruit compote. Or jam—”

“Princess. Are you even listening—”

“Ooo! I could even—HEY!” You yelped as Senku snatched the jar from your hands before you could taste it.

That was the breaking point. “Nope. You’re fired. Out.” He jabbed a finger at the door.

Your shoulders slumped instantly. “…Does that mean I don’t get science pudding?”

He kept pointing.

You shuffled out of the lab like a kicked puppy.

And now you were bored. Again.

So you hunted. Cleaned. Made some very questionable jerky. Drew Senku on a rock and scrawled ASSHOLE over his forehead in big block letters.

That killed ten minutes.

“Huh,” you muttered, tapping the rock with your stick of charcoal. Idea. You could make books. Actual books. No more carving insults into rocks, no more smudging leaves, no more scribbling formulas in dirt. And goodbye to watching Senku chase his notes when the wind picked up—though, honestly, that was free entertainment you’d miss.

Grinning, you poked your head into the lab.

“Neeeeeerd~”

Senku didn’t even look up. “Nope.”

Your mouth fell open. “I haven’t even asked yet!”

“Busy,” he cut you off, hand waving dismissively. “My last assistant was deliberately contaminating my experiments.”

“I was not! You should’ve been more precise with your labelling! How was I supposed to tell the difference between three identical white powders?”

That earned you a slow, razor-edged stare.

“…Read the pot.”

You flinched, laughing weakly. “Yes, well, user error and all that…”

His stare didn’t budge.

“Fine! I’ll work it out myself.” You spun on your heel, muttering under your breath. “Stupid nerd. Who needs him anyway. I can make paper. How hard can it be?”

Turns out… VERY.

Your first attempt was sawdust and tree sap. You mashed everything together and spread it neatly on a flat rock. Seventeen hours later, it was still sticky. You could lift it, if you wanted your hands permanently glued shut.

Second attempt?

Boiling sawdust into pulp, just like you’d done for your homemade pads. Then you spread it out again. It actually looked promising... until you picked it up. The entire sheet disintegrated between your fingers like gritty sand.

Third attempt? Slivers of shaved wood.

Aha! , thin equals flexible. Perfect.

 Except thin also meant splinters. Every “page” stabbed you like a personal vendetta. And when you tried to stack them into a book? The thing snapped in half before you even tied it together.

Frustrated, you escalated. Grass. Yes, grass. A metric ton of it. Why? Who knows. But boiling it into mush seemed logical at the time. You squeezed the water out, spread it on a rock, and waited. To your surprise, it actually looked… vaguely paper-ish. If you ignored the fact it was warped, lumpy, and aggressively green.

Second problem? it fused itself to the rock like cement.

By the end of day four, you were staring at your disasters like a battlefield of failure. Sticky slabs. Crumbled dust. Splinter books. Grass pancakes.

Why was this so hard?! Paper was just wood, right?

You needed some sort of binding agent, but you had no clue what.

You dropped onto your back in the dirt with a groan. Maybe the universe was telling you to go back to drawing “ASSHOLE” on rocks. At least that worked.

You’d made the covers out of leather to protect the pages, you even made one for the nerd, mainly so you could shove it in his face but still...

I’d stitched his name on it and everything.

Dejected, you make dinner. It looks sad and the mushrooms are definitely as depressed as you are.

Senku didn’t comment, just ate with his usual black-hole intensity. But he noticed the state of you—hair sticking out like you’d been dragged through a hedge, clothes dotted with mystery stains, and that constant sighing every two minutes.

“What’s up with you?” he asked, casually picking at his ear.

You glowered at him. “Nothing.”

Senku raised a brow.

... Urgh, fine. 

You cracked first, exhaling like the weight of the Stone World had landed squarely on your shoulders. “I tried something. Multiple somethings. None of them worked...I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Science is all about trial and error,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like the miracle fluid. Frustrating as hell, but eventually it’ll yield results, and nothing beats that payoff.”

“Yeah, well, I’m more of an instant gratification type of girl.” You slumped further. “But… you’ve got a point. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“You’re referencing something again, aren’t you.”

“Probably,” you muttered, pushing yourself upright like your head was too heavy for your shoulders. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s not even dark yet,” he called after you, but you didn’t look back, just shut the door to the tree house behind you.

For a while, Senku watched the shack. When you didn’t re-emerge, he sighed and got to his feet.

The scene he found was… carnage. A battlefield of wood shavings, charred lumps, and suspiciously boiled piles of green mush.

“Why are the rocks painted?” he muttered, stepping around a splinter-riddled “book” that broke when he nudged it.

Then he found the two pieces of leather. He bent down, brushing bark fibers and charcoal dust off them.

Stitched in your handwriting with plant fibres was, Nerd’s Notes.

Senku froze.

Ah. You’d been trying to make paper.

Why hadn’t you just asked him? He could’ve—

…Ah. You had asked.

He slumped onto a rock, rubbing at his temple. That explained why you’d been so cagey about your “project.”

Almost without realizing it, a plan began sketching itself out in his head. The steps, the materials, the chemistry. All there, already waiting.

He stood up decisively—

And froze.

“Why is this rock so sticky?”

His hand was glued.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You groan as you roll over. Why is it when you sleep more you feel worse?

Senku’s side of the bed is cool. He must have gotten up a while ago, probably with some new experiment to try.

Orr, he didn’t sleep at all.

Because Senku is waiting for you when you come out looking far too bushy tailed for the horrendous bags under his eyes.

“Hope you’re ready princess, I’ve prepared everything-“

Greeaat.

“You went snooping didn’t you.”

“Yes.” He said without a shred of shame. “Your attempts at making paper were chaotic and awful—“

I’m gonna hit him.

“-Soo,” he continued smoothly, holding up two square wooden frames strung with mesh, “I thought I could help. I know exactly what to do. I’ll walk you through it, and then when you inevitably need more, you’ll at least know what you’re doing.”

You squinted at the frames. Sieves. He’d actually made special tools for this. Then your eyes drifted past him, towards the fire pit behind. His failed attempts were being used as kindling. 

He was up all night, doing this for me?

This Nerd.

“...Okay,” you sighed, trying not to smile. “I’ll bite. Let’s do this.”

 Turns out even Senku hadn’t actually made paper before. But between the two of you—smashing fibers, soaking pulp, layering thin sheets onto the mesh—it started to come together. Not perfectly. Some crumbled, some stuck, some tore when you tried to peel them off.

But others? Others actually held.

By the time the morning sun burned high, you had your first handful of rough, lumpy pages spread out to dry.

You couldn’t stop grinning. “Look at that, we’ve invented the world’s ugliest stationery.”

Senku huffed out a laugh, leaning back on his heels. “Ugly or not, it’ll work. Ten billion percent.”

And for once, you didn’t care if he was right. You were just proud.

By midday, Senku was yawning so hard you thought his jaw might unhinge.

“Go to bed,” you told him firmly, hands on your hips.

He waved you off, muttering something about “precious seconds” and “science waits for no one,” before staggering back to his workbench.

 Typical.

Once you got the hang of the pulp process, though, he let you take over. And by nightfall, you had a neat stack of trimmed, imperfect-but-passable pages bound carefully between leather covers.

You presented one to him with a bright smile. “For helping.”

Senku flipped through the pages, running a thumb over the rough texture. “Not bad.” He didn’t mention that he’d seen the leather cover set aside before he’d even decided to help.

“Does that mean I can help again? I promise to read the labels before adding anything,” you asked, hope slipping into your voice despite yourself.

He studied you for a moment, long enough that you started to squirm. Then, finally, a smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. I suppose you can be my assistant again.”

You let out a triumphant cheer, throwing your hands into the air. “Yeah! Back in business, baby!”

Senku rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Don’t make me regret it. I’ve only got so much patience for explosions that aren’t supposed to happen.”

“Oh please,” you shot back, grinning. “You love it. Admit it, your life would be boring without me.”

He made a show of sighing, crossing his arms. “Annoying, chaotic, liable to steal all my supplies…”

“And yet—” you leaned against the doorframe, lips curling into a wicked grin. “You still said yes.”

Senku’s smirk widened, sharp as always. “Don’t remind me. I might revoke the offer before you blow something up again.”

You wagged a finger at him. “Too late. Contract’s already signed. Can’t take it back now, science boy.”

“Contract?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Yep. A blood pact, sealed with… uh…” Your eyes flicked around dramatically before landing on the shelves. “…Sugar.”

His head snapped in your direction.

Leaning against the door frame, you shot him a smug smirk, “Soooo… about that sugar-”

“Nope.” Senku snatched the jar off the shelf before you even moved, clutching it to his chest like it was the crown jewels.

You gasped. “You thief! That was mine by birthright!”

“By birthright?” He scoffed. “Last I checked, you’ve contributed exactly zero percent to the sugar manufacturing process.”

“I provide moral support!”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does!” you argued, lunging for the jar. He sidestepped with infuriating ease, already heading for the door.

“You can’t protect it forever, nerd!” you shouted after him as he bolted across the camp, hair flashing silver in the firelight.

Senku’s laughter —sharp, villainous, like a mad scientist in his prime—echoed back.

You bared your teeth in a grin, your own laughter bubbling out, dark and triumphant, chasing him into the night. If anyone had heard, they wouldn’t have been able to tell which of you sounded more unhinged.

Chapter Text

The first thing you register is warmth. Soft fur blanket. Cool breeze. Birdsong. And then, something solid. Warm. Steady. Breathing.

Uh-oh.

Your eyes fly open.

No. No no no.

You’re not just beside Senku. You’re on him. One arm flung across his chest, leg tangled around his, and your head tucked beneath his chin like some kind of heat-seeking koala.

He’s awake. His hand is lazily resting on your waist. And worst of all—

He’s looking right at you.

You freeze like a startled animal, hoping maybe, maybe, if you don’t move, the sheer shame will kill you where you lie.

No such luck.

“Morning,” Senku says blandly, eyes half-lidded. “You’re drooling.”

You jolt back so violently that you nearly catapult yourself out of the bedroll, limbs flailing.

“I WAS NOT—!” you shout, then pause, wiping your face. “…Okay, maybe a little. But this is your fault!”

He stretches one arm behind his head with all the casual smugness of someone very pleased with himself.

“Right. I seduced you by being unconscious.”

“You—! I-I was cold! You were warm!” You scramble to your feet, yanking the blanket around yourself like armor. “This wasn’t intentional!”

“Mm. But you stayed.” His eyes were alight with deep, deep satisfaction at how embarrassed you were.

Your brain malfunctions. Steam might actually be coming out of your ears. You grab your satchel and storm toward the door.

“I-I’m going to the cave to collect more nitric acid!” you announce now completely unable to look at the smug scientist.

“It’s not even light out.” You hear him point out as you throw your bag onto your shoulder.

Crap, he’s right.

“Exactly! Perfect time for SCIENCE!” you hurriedly excuse, already half way down the ladder.

Just go go go!

“You’re literally sprinting.” He calls while propped up at the window, laughing.

“IT’S FOR SCIENCE, SENKU!” You scream running into the forest, maybe something will eat you on the way.

RETREAT!

The cave is mercifully quiet. Dark. Smells strongly of sulfur and bat droppings, it’s oddly comforting, honestly, compared to the full-body humiliation you just experienced.

You kneel beside the nitric acid flow, trying very hard not to think about how he definitely noticed the cuddling. Or how he didn’t push you away. Or how his voice was still sleepy, still warm, still—

“Focus,” you mutter, uncapping a jar to place on Taiju’s back.

What the...

That’s when you notice it.

The cloth you’d recently wrapped around Taiju’s statue was ripped. Loose. Abandoned at the foot of the cavern wall.

The stone shell is shattered all around you.

You go very, very still.

“…Oh no.”

Your gaze darts around. No footprints. No voice yelling about friendship or world peace to a random tree. No Taiju-shaped figure stumbling around like a human earthquake.

He’s gone.

Crap.

You sprint all the way back to camp, lungs burning, feet pounding, and nearly bowl Senku over as you barrel into the clearing.

He’s crouched beside a bubbling flask, looking up calmly when you skid to a stop.

“Taiju’s gone!” you gasp.

Senku blinks once, and then his whole expression shifts. Focused. Sharp.

“Statue?”

“Shattered. He’s not there. He must’ve revived on his own.”

Senku stands immediately. “If he’s not here, he’s going for Yuzuriha.”

He’s already grabbing his bag.

“Senku—!”

“Stay here,” he says without looking back. “If he circles back and we’ve both gone, we could miss him.”

“But—”

He pauses at the edge of the trees, glancing back.

“He’ll be loud. I’ll find him.”

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

You sigh, hands on your hips. Then your gaze drifts across camp… to the massive bear pelt you and Senku had skinned together after not dying.

“Well,” you mutter, dragging it closer, “guess I better make forest Tarzan some pants.”

You squat by the fire pit with a knife and start working, muttering to yourself as you go.

“If he rips these, I swear to god—” the pelt tears under the force of your stone knife.

“—Better not complain. Bear pelt couture is very in this season—” you try to think about how tall the guy is but come up short.

They can be ¾ lengths

“—If I make him a crop top, maybe he’ll shut up for five seconds—” You pause, needle halfway through a rough stitch, and glance toward the forest Senku ran into.

He’ll be fine.

You know that.

He always is.

Still…

“…Come back in one piece, science boy.”

You’re elbow-deep in rough stitching, trying to pretend you’re not watching the dense tree line like a paranoid meerkat every ten seconds.

The pelt is thick, and stubborn and still smells faintly of murder. You’re using a sharpened sliver of bone as a needle and cursing the lack of sewing kits every three minutes.

“This is karma for every time I said I didn’t need Home Ec.” You mutter tying a knot and chewing off the excess.

You hold up the pants. They’re—well. They’re something. Definitely bear-shaped. Definitely pants-shaped. Probably wearable. By someone with no shame and a very forgiving sense of style.

“This is the worst pair of pants in human history.” You groan sinking your head into them, Yuzuriha would be horrified.

“I’m so sorry for your future husband’s clothing, Yuzu. Please forgive me.” You plead to the brilliant sunny skies above.

You sigh and sit back against a rock, wiping your brow with the back of your hand. The heat hasn’t let up. Sweat beads down your spine. You’ve got fur stuck to your fingers and somehow, pine sap on your elbow.

And still… nothing. No footsteps. No shouting. No Senku.

Your chest tightens.

You shake it off.

“He’s fine, probably tripped and paused to invent a new branch of chemistry.” You convince yourself, smirking at the image of his childlike joy.

Still. You find yourself mumbling, “Please don’t be becoming a skeleton somewhere.”

A twig snaps behind you.

You whip around, heart jumping—but it’s not a bear this time. It’s—

“Y/N!!” comes a voice you haven’t heard in far too long.

Finally.

Your relief is evident as the crashing comes closer, you’re even smiling... that is, until you see him.

A very naked, very enthusiastic, very loud Taiju bursts out of the treeline, running full-speed in your direction wearing only a few strategically placed vines and the world’s most aggressive optimism.

“You’re okay!! I was so worried—!” he bawls his arms spread wide in greeting.

OH HELL NO.

“OH MY GOD STOP—!!” You squeal backpedalling.

You lunge for the bear pants like your life depends on it —which it does—, scrambling up and waving them at him like a weapon.

“CLOTHES! PUT THESE ON! BEFORE YOU ASSAULT MY EYEBALLS!” you order waving them blindly while keeping the other hand over your poor, poor eyes.

You hear familiar grumbling from your right as Senku walks out of the trees a moment later. Completely relaxed, even if he was definitely sweating.

“Tried to stop him.” He deadpans as you peer over to shoot a sharp look at him.

“YOU DID NOT TRY HARD ENOUGH.” You snap your cheeks aflame as you look anywhere but at Taiju.

Taiju skids to a stop, blinking at you. “Huh? But we’re all friends! I’m just happy to see you!”

“Great! Show your enthusiasm with a wave, not your entire prehistoric banana hammock!” you grumble.

Just take the god damn pants.

He blinks. Looks down. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He chuckles, his grin pure innocence. The guys giving pure golden retriever energy.

Senku’s already dropped into a squat by the fire pit, picking up a boiled flask like nothing’s happening.

“Nice stitching. You make those?” Taiju draws your attention back as he eyes the pants like they’re actually acceptable, and not horribly deformed.

What am I, a clothes hanger?

You toss the pants at Taiju’s head.

“Yes. Out of the bear that nearly killed us. Please don’t tear them, or I will use the leftovers to make you a muzzle.” You inform him as he scrambles to catch them.

It’s like your attitude goes straight over his big head.

Taiju beams, “You fought a bear?! That’s so cool!” he bounces in place like a little kid. Why does he look like he’s going to hug you again?

You point a warning finger.

“If you hug me while still vine-wrapped, I will throw your ass back into that cave.” You warn taking an extra few steps back in case he gets the urge again.

Senku smirks behind his flask, thoroughly amused.

“You missed the part where she tackled it to save me. Classic science shonen behaviour.” Senku encourages with a wildly out-of-context lie. You did tackle the bear, when it was already dead cause you thought it moved and Senku would’ve been one-punched out of existence.

Your face immediately flushes. “Shut up, Senku.”

The smirk is evil. “You cuddled me.”

Taiju gapes, looking between you both.

“DO NOT START.”

Why couldn’t we have Yuzuriha first...

It turns out bear pants are not a one-size-fits-all solution.

After an awkward moment involving Taiju hopping in place and accidentally splitting a seam—which you will bring up at his wedding one day—you sigh and push him onto a log with all the authority of someone who has seen too much thigh for one day.

“Okay. Plan B. You get a fur skirt.” You inform him, your eyebrow already twitching as you snag your failed attempt at clothing off his legs, nearly dragging the poor guy onto the ground.

“A skirt?” Taiju questions his face screwing up.

He’s probably picturing a schoolgirls skirt... And now, so am I.

 “A battle kilt, if it helps your ego.” You laugh as you wrap your remaining pelt round his hips before setting to work on round two.

You spend the next hour fashioning a wrap from what’s left of the pelt and lacing it up with vine cord. You even throw in a sleeveless tunic hacked from scraps—more functional than flattering, but it gets the job done. Somehow, Taiju makes it look like heroic cosplay anyway.

When you’re done, you step back, hands on your hips. “There. Modest. Functional. No danger to my eyeballs.” You nod, pleased.

Taiju beams. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re a genius!”

You snort. “No, he’s the genius.” You nod toward Senku. “I just know how to use a bone needle without sewing my fingers together.”

You expect Senku to toss back a snide remark, but he’s quiet.

You glance over and pause.

He’s crouched in front of a drawn-out plan sketched in charcoal on a large flat stone. Supply routes, revival fluid quantities, a timeline of seasons and full moons. Taiju is watching him with wide eyes, hanging on every word.

“I’m working on a revival fluid. We’ll start with people we know,” Senku says, voice calm but bright with fire underneath. “Then we work outward. Slowly. Precisely. Brick by brick. We build civilisation from scratch.”

Taiju grins. “Like a Kingdom of Science?”

Senku’s mouth twitches—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Exactly like that.”

You linger just out of sight, sitting back beside the fire. The flickering light dances across the clearing. The forest hums quietly in the background.

And for the first time in a long while, it’s not just you and him against the world anymore.

There’s someone else now. Loud, ridiculous, relentlessly hopeful Taiju. The human megaphone.

It should feel cramped, like the equation’s changed and thrown everything off.

But it doesn’t.

It just… feels less lonely.

You watch Senku as he gestures to a diagram, explaining everything with focused precision. There’s exhaustion in his shoulders, but there’s also something else now—something steadier than survival.

Purpose.

And for the first time, you realize how much of him has been moving on willpower alone.

How hard he’s pushed himself. How much weight he carries on those narrow shoulders, wrapped in sarcasm and caffeine-stained ambition.

And maybe… maybe you and Taiju can help with that.

Chapter Text

The meat is roasting over the fire, the scent drawing Taiju back from his river wash, with an ecstatic "WHOA! THAT SMELLS AMAZING!" He’s barefoot, still damp from washing off in the river, wearing the crude but surprisingly decent outfit you stitched from hide. He’s beaming, as if civilization itself was waiting just for him to return.

Senku glances over. “Quit drooling on the meat, dumbass. You're not the only one eating.”

You smirk. Taiju grins wider.

It’s hard not to feel the shift in energy.

Before it was just you and Senku, bound by necessity and a fragile something growing. Quiet moments. Deep looks. Nights under the same furs. But now, Taiju’s presence is like a dropped stone in still water—everything is moving again. And while you’re grateful he’s here, part of you... misses how still it was before.

The fire’s dimming. Taiju, still riding high from his meat feast, yawns so wide it cracks his jaw. “Whew! Been a hell of a day, huh?” He stretches going up into the tree house and looks around the room, eyes scanning the newly finished walls, the makeshift shelves, the clay jars of supplies, and then… the single, clearly-used, fur-lined bed.

You then hear a pause,

“Huh… wait.”

You freeze mid-sip from your gourd.

Senku doesn’t even look up from the fire. “Nope.”

Taiju pops his head out and points. “There’s only one bed.”

Senku: “Nope.”

Taiju blinks. “But—”

You stand so fast you trip over a basket. “HAHA okay look! Super observant, Taiju! But! What you don’t know is that actually… there are… three!”

He frowns. “I literally just counted—”

You’re already yanking vines and pelts out of the corner like a woman possessed. “We just haven’t gotten around to assembling them, because surviving is hard, and I’ve been, like, building shelters, and hunting bears, and preventing Senku from dying via stupidity so—yeah! Totally had plans. Just… not implemented yet.”

Senku sighs deeply. “We were conserving materials. Obviously.”

Taiju raises a brow. “So… you two haven’t been sleeping together every night?”

Nope. DON'T SAY IT SENKU 

Senku ponders, “Define ‘together.’”

You immediately slap a hand over his mouth, “NO. We sleep back to back. Like warriors.”

Taiju holds up a finger, “But there’s only one—”

AHHH. 

You slam a rock down next to your first pile of vines. “GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES.”

Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, three sleeping bags lie side by side. You’re sweating, your hair’s wild, and you’ve got dried grass in places no one should.

You gesture to them like you’re presenting prize-winning inventions at a survival expo. “There. Bam. Three sleeping bags. See? No cuddling. No shared body heat. No sexual tension—I MEAN SCIENTIFIC TENSION. SCIENCE.”

Senku mutters, “Dumbass, you just downgraded us from spine support to floor rocks.”

You hiss at him through gritted teeth, “Shut up and get in your scientifically tensionless bag, you walking chemistry set.”

Taiju, meanwhile, is delighted. “Wow, Y/N! These are awesome!” He immediately launches himself into the center one, getting tangled in his own limbs.

Senku rolls into the farthest one with the sound of a man giving up on comfort.

You crawl into yours and instantly realize two things:

1. It’s colder than you remember.

2. His side of the bed is empty now.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling. The fire crackles. The snoring starts. Senku’s not beside you. And you miss the warmth—his warmth—more than you’re willing to admit.

“…Dumb sleeping bags,” you whisper.

From across the room, Senku’s voice drifts back lazily.

“Temperature drop of 2.3C without you next to me, by the way.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Shut up, nerd.”

He chuckles under his breath.

There’s tossing and turning... And more tossing.

You sigh irritably at the ceiling. You can’t sleep. “So… The dynamic trio, huh?”

Senku doesn’t make a sound at first but then, “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“Well, I was gonna go with ‘Science Dad, The Himbo, and Me’… but yeah, sure. Dynamic trio.”

That finally gets a snort out of him. “Great. Can’t wait for the shōnen opening theme.”

You toss a pinecone at him from the other side of Snorlax. “I call dibs on the emotional backstory flashback episode.”

Senku throws the pinecone back at you. “Too late. You already live in it.”

The banter fades. You fiddle with the pinecone, sitting up to fluff your pillow. Senku’s thinking. Always thinking.

“So,” he says, quieter, “Still glad you built that lab for me?”

You meet his eyes. “You know I am.”

And for a moment, even with Taiju’s snoring, and the forest chirping—it’s quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels earned.

You wake up warm. Cozy. Breathing in that familiar scent of flint, pine, and smugness.

…Wait.

Your eyes blink open slowly.

Senku’s chest is in your face. His arm is slung over your waist. His leg is tangled with yours. And you are absolutely, undeniably in the same sleeping bag.

Your voice is a hoarse whisper of horror. “What the—”

Senku stirs. 

“No,” you whisper immediately.

He groans, eyes still closed. “Mmm… slept better than usual…”

His voice trails off. Then he goes rigid.

Eyes snap open.

You’re nose-to-nose.

Then you both explode in opposite directions, screaming over each other.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY SLEEPING BAG—”

“YOU INVADED MINE—”

“NO I DIDN’T, THIS IS MINE—”

“I’M 100 BILLION PERCENT SURE I SLEPT OVER THERE—”

“Uh…” Taiju sits up, hair a mess, blinking. “Did you guys fuse in the night or something?”

You and Senku stare at him in unison.

Senku:“Thermal drift.”

You: “Midnight bag migration.”

Senku tuts like this isn't his fault as well. “Scientific inevitability under sub-optimal insulation conditions.”

Flustered you wave your hands in Senku's direction to justify yourself, “He kicks in his sleep, that’s probably what—!”

Taiju sits between you not believing it for a second. “…Right. So you two accidentally crawled into the same bag like magnets in the night.”

Senku shrugs like it’s boring math. “Thermodynamics is ruthless.”

You look away and mumble, “Still should’ve installed a zipper…”

But the worst part?

You kinda slept really well.

You’re determined tonight. No drifting. No shame. No waking up with legs entwined like you’re lovers in a romance novel.

He better stay over there this time.

Three separate sleeping bags. Three separate humans.

You lay down with a huff, yanking the pelt over your shoulders. “This is fine. I like space.”

Senku grumbles across the room. “I’ve calculated the efficiency. My core temperature will remain within survivable range.”

“Good,” you snap, facing away.

Silence falls.

…

It lasts five minutes.

Then, 

Shuffle.

You roll onto your back. “Stop fidgeting.”

Senku groans. “I can’t get comfortable. This insulation is garbage.”

“You helped design it.”

“I was distracted by someone screaming about ‘platonic sleeping arrangements.’”

You turn your head. You can just make out the silhouette of his stupid spiky hair against the stars visible through the window gap. You sigh.

“…I miss the platform.”

“…It was optimal.”

Another pause.

Senku mutters, “My foot is cold.”

You grumble, “My entire soul is cold.”

“I’m 98% sure that’s melodrama.”

You hiss, “Wanna make it 100?”

A breeze rolls through the shack.

The cold creeps into your bones.

You shift.

He shifts.

Neither of you move toward each other.

Because you’re both stubborn as hell.

And completely miserable.

The sun creeps in, golden and gentle. Birds chirp. A light breeze stirs the leaves.

You?

You want to punch the sun in the throat.

Taiju wakes first, blinking the sleep from his eyes, arms stretched overhead. “Whew! Slept like a baby!”

On either side of him… you and Senku.

One of you is staring at the ceiling like it insulted your ancestors. The other is curled into a stiff, aching ball of regret and suppressed rage.

You’ve both slept like absolute garbage.

Again.

Senku’s hair is somehow frizzier than normal, he looks like he got electrocuted by resentment.

You drag yourself upright and mumble, “I’m gonna go… hit a rock.”

Senku stands and cracks his neck with a grimace. “Good. Maybe you’ll knock some logic into it.”

Taiju blinks between you both. “Are you guys okay? You seem kinda…”

“Nope.”

“Fine.”

“Nothing happened.”

Taiju tilts his head. “What do you mean—?”

“Nothing’s weird.”

“Why would something be weird?”

“This is normal.”

“This is science.”

“I don’t even like warmth.”

“Never have.”

“Never needed it.”

Silence abruptly consumes the room. 

Taiju stares.

You both stare back like cornered raccoons who absolutely did not knock over the garbage.

“Right…” he says slowly, clearly deciding to let you two die on that hill.

By afternoon, if one of you so much as breathes near the other its war.

Senku’s trying to build something. You’re foraging clay. But the vibes?

Immaculate garbage.

You drop a pail too hard and it shatters. Senku immediately mutters, “Real precise.”

You whip around. “Oh I’m sorry, was that not scientifically elegant enough for you, Your Majesty of Dirt?”

“Maybe if you slept, your hands would work.”

“Maybe if you shut up, my ears would stop bleeding.”

By now even the birds have stopped chirping. A squirrel in a tree is just watching.

Even Taiju’s nervous now. He sets down a pile of firewood and says, “So! I brought some extra leaves for insulation! For your, uh… totally separate and emotionally distant sleeping bags!"

You both say “Thanks” through gritted teeth.

The fire crackles low again. The sleeping bags are in their usual spots.

Far.

Apart.

You sit in yours, arms crossed. Senku’s lying on his back, eyes wide open, glaring at the roof.

Taiju, after returning late with berries and bruises, sets them down silently. He doesn’t even ask. He just eats, then lies down between you two like a child hoping his parents won’t argue during dinner.

“Night,” he says, voice small.

Silence.

You both lie there, pretending not to shiver. Pretending not to listen to each other breathing. Pretending your muscles aren’t sore from tension. Pretending the little part of you that used to feel safe and warm isn’t aching with absence.

Finally, Taiju sighs into the dark,

“…So when are you two gonna admit you’re miserable?”

You both freeze.

Then speak in perfect unison:

“I’M FINE.”

You wake up cold. Not from lack of furs, those are piled high, but from the sudden absence of body heat.

A particular brand of body heat you’ve grown used to, but will never, ever admit to seeking out.

Senku’s not next to you.

Not that he ever was.

Because that didn’t happen.

You definitely weren’t spooning him for warmth two nights ago.

That entire event has been mutually scrubbed from existence.

Still, you sit up fast—too fast.

The hut spins, but settles as you squint through the morning haze. Your head pounds with vengeance from the lack of sleep. 

Senku’s at his usual post by the lab setup, fiddling with his clay pots. 

His movements are stiff. Slower than normal.

You watch in silence from the bottom rung, he doesn't even seem to notice. 

Somethings not right. 

It’s subtle, expertly hidden, but the signs are there: the faint tremble in his hands, the stiffness in his neck, the way he exhales slightly longer like he’s trying to breathe through something.

Hes sick. 

Senku’s sick.

And of course he’s pretending he isn’t.

Taiju’s too busy wrestling with breakfast to notice. He dumps a bowl of suspicious mushrooms and some overly enthusiastic leaves on the ground with a hopeful smile.

“These ones probably aren’t poisonous!”

Senku grunts in vague approval without looking up.

You roll your eyes.

As soon as Taiju cheerfully announces he’s going out for “more wood and food” —you make him solemnly swear to not eat anything red, slimy, or covered in fur—, you watch him vanish into the trees.

You wait five seconds.

Then you stand, crack your neck, and walk straight over to Senku.

He doesn’t look up. “If this is a lecture about sleep—”

“Nope,” you cut in. “This is an intervention.”

“What?”

You grab a small bundle of foraged plants from your pouch. Carefully dried yarrow, ginger, mulberry bark. All the stuff the elderly woman downstairs once used to swear by for colds. You’ve been saving it. You hadn’t said what for.

Payback time.

Senku eyes the bundle warily.

“Oh no. No. If you think I’m going to ingest your backwoods—”

You shove a hot, steaming concoction of it into his hands.

He sniffs it and recoils.

“It smells like a rotting tree trunk and a bad decision.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll cure your rotting tree trunk of a body. Drink it.”

Senku squints up at you.

“Noticed, did you?”

You stare him down. “I noticed yesterday.”

His lips twitch in annoyance. Half pride, half irritation.

“Should’ve known. You watch me like I’m a volatile compound.”

“Only because you are one.” You cross your arms. “Now drink.”

He glares at the cup like it insulted his lab.

Eventually, he takes a slow sip. His face contorts.

“You are the devil,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You smirk. “Yeah, well, the devil keeps you alive.”

There’s a long pause. Neither of you speak. Outside, birds chirp. The fire pops.

He doesn’t hand the cup back.

You don’t move away.

There’s something unspoken between you both, an acknowledgment that you’re each too stubborn to say what you mean, but this—this kind of silent care—is as close as it gets right now.

Finally, Senku mutters, “…If I die, I’m blaming the tea.”

You snort. “If you die, I’m repurposing your corpse as a thermometer.”

Senku drinks the entire mug. Begrudgingly. Like it’s poison.

Which is rich, considering Taiju nearly did hand everyone poisonous mushrooms yesterday.

He doesn’t thank you. Of course not. That would imply weakness.

Instead, he drops the cup and mutters,

“If I vomit, I’m aiming for your shoes.”

“You’d miss,” you shoot back with a smirk.

You return to your furs and sit cross-legged with a half-stitched scrap of leather in your lap. Sewing. Busy hands keep your mind from unravelling.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him swaying slightly. Still trying to stand. Still trying to look composed.

And then, wordlessly. He walks over.

Drops down beside you.

And without hesitation or warning, he rests his head in your lap.

Your entire body goes still.

Eh? 

Senku’s hair brushes against your stomach. His breath warms the furs of your skirt. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask.

He just… gives in.

You could’ve shoved him off.

You should’ve.

He’s heavy. He’s in the way. Your needlework is now at a ridiculous angle.

But you don’t move.

Maybe it’s your endless generosity.

Maybe it’s that he’s clearly burning up and trusting you with a level of vulnerability he’s never shown.

Maybe it’s something else.

Maybe I’m catching what he has.

You sigh, adjust your legs slightly, and reach for the fur blanket.

It smells like forest and campfire and cedar.

You lay it gently over him.

He doesn’t even stir.

You glance down.

His hair is a mess, it’s sticking out in every direction, flattened awkwardly on one side. Somehow, it’s also still beautiful. Unfairly so. You tell yourself you’re only staring because you’re trying to figure out how his weird science mullet works structurally.

That lie lasts about ten seconds.

“…It’s so soft,” you whisper, horrified at yourself.

Your fingers reach for it. Just a quick touch. To satisfy the curiosity.

But then you start gently brushing your fingers through it. Untangling the knots. Smoothing down each lock with obsessive care. His scalp is warm. His hair catches the light in glints of copper and white gold.

You’re still running your hands through it long after every knot is gone.

Still touching. Still soft. Still careful.

Somewhere in the distance, birds call. The fire crackles low. You can just barely feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest against your thighs.

You don’t notice when your own eyelids drift closed.

Don’t notice your head nod.

Don’t notice when your hand slips slightly, still buried in his hair.

The days of bad sleep. The nights pretending not to want to be closer. The hours of tension since Taiju returned.

They all catch up with you at once.

You fall asleep.

Two stubborn people asleep in a heap of tangled blankets, shared warmth, and mutual denial.

The very picture of platonic distance.

Chapter Text

You’re warm.

Unreasonably warm.

There’s pressure against your thighs. A steady rhythm of breath. Something soft between your fingers.

Your eyes blink open slowly—and you freeze.

Senku.

Asleep.

In your lap.

Still.

His hair is still tangled around your fingers.

Your heart skips a beat and thunders through your ribcage like it’s trying to flee the scene.

Ohhhh, shit. NOT AGAIN.

You don’t even get the chance to move before Senku stirs.

His eyes crack open. Heavy-lidded. Groggy.

And then he freezes too.

There’s a full second—two—where neither of you say a word. Your hand is still in his hair. His head is still on your lap. The blanket is still halfway tangled around both of you. 

Then... 

“What the hell, you crawled into my personal space,” he croaks, sitting up abruptly, hair tousled, cheeks suspiciously red.

“Excuse me?!” you hiss, equally red, yanking your hand away like you touched fire. “You passed out in my lap!"

Senku glares, rubbing his temple. “Not my fault you’re a human furnace. I was optimizing thermal regulation under illness-induced stress.”

“Oh, so now I’m a 'thermodynamic solution?'” You even mimic the speech marks. 

“Better than a pillow made of rocks.” He snaps. 

“You chose my lap!”

“You didn’t push me off!”

“You didn’t ask!”

You’re both still flustered and tangled in furs when—

“GUYS!! GUYS!!!”

The shout echoes like a thunderclap across the clearing.

You and Senku launch apart like magnets reversing polarity.

Blankets fly. You knock over a basket. He flinches so hard he nearly clocks himself on the post.

“Taiju,” you both groan in unison.

Still out of view, his foghorn-level voice echoes again, 

“YOU AREN’T GONNA BELIEVE This! GET OUT HERE! IT’S HUGE!”

Your heart is still thumping. You glance at Senku.

He looks like he wants to dig a hole and crawl into it.

You push down your blush, get to your feet, and stomp toward the clearing. He follows a beat behind.

Taiju barrels through the trees grinning like a maniac, arms wide and proud.

Behind him, dragging slightly in the underbrush, is…

A deer.

A real deer.

Not breathing. Not twitching. Fully intact.

You gape.

Senku stares, deadpan. “You killed a deer?"

“I didn’t!” Taiju beams, wiping his hands on his shirt. “I found it like this! Just lying there under some branches!”

“You expect me to believe,” you say slowly, “that Bambi here just gave up in front of you?”

“I know, right?! It’s amazing! Must’ve died Recently! No smell! It’s like a sign! Nature’s gift!”

You and Senku exchange a skeptical glance.

No way this guy hunted anything larger than a squirrel, let alone took down a deer. His idea of an ambush is yelling “HELLO!”

“Anyway,” Taiju continues cheerfully, then stops mid-step. Squints at Senku. Blinks.

“…Hey. Senku. Your hair.”

Senku freezes. “What about it.”

“It’s like. Really… tame today. Like, almost normal-looking. Smooth, even. Did you do something?”

Silence.

You immediately take three steps backward.

Senku’s eyes narrow in betrayal. “She touched it.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you blurt.

Taiju looks between you both. Slowly. Grinning.

“Ohhhhhhhhh.”

You both speak at once.

“It wasn’t like that!”

“I was sick!"

“He fell asleep on me!”

“It was just for warmth!”

Taiju’s smile just widens. “You two are so weird.”

You and Senku glance at each other, immediately look away, and mutter in tandem,

“Let’s just focus on the damn deer.”

Senku crouches beside the deer, frowning deeply as he examines its body with ungloved hands. His nose wrinkles.

“No blood. No broken bones. No predator tracks nearby.” He lifts one of its limbs, watching the way it moves. “Rigour’s just starting. So it died recently. But of what…”

Taiju kneels beside him, beaming. “Looks fine to me!”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think everything looks fine. Last week you tried to feed us a mushroom that glowed in the dark.”

“Still tasted okay,” Taiju shrugs.

You sigh, arms crossed. “If this deer died of something contagious—like a brain infection, or wasting disease—it could spread to us if we eat it. Especially if it’s raw or undercooked.”

Senku actually pauses. Looks up at you.

And for a fleeting moment, you see it—the glimmer of appreciation in his eyes.

“Smart,” he mutters.

You bristle.

“I mean, duh. Obviously I know that,” you add quickly. “It’s not like I’ve been surviving without petrified encyclopedias for over half a year or anything.”

“Mmhm,” Senku hums, clearly biting back a grin.

You roll your eyes and walk off. “I’ll make dinner. Taiju will kill us, and Senku cooks like he thinks taste buds are a myth.”

Senku scoffs, “Excuse you, I am efficiency-focused—”

“Yeah, well, your porridge yesterday tasted like boiled socks,” you call over your shoulder.

Dinner is… phenomenal. Even Senku can’t argue.

You grind wild herbs, roast tubers, sear fish with hot stones, and whip up a berry reduction from foraged fruit. The stew is thick and hearty. The roasted meat is crispy at the edges, smoky, and perfectly seasoned.

Taiju takes one bite and gasps, “Y/N, this is amazing!”

You place a dramatic hand on your chest. “Why, Taiju, I didn’t think you noticed.”

Senku, chewing slowly beside you, glares half-heartedly at your smug face.

After dinner, you set to work skinning the deer. Your blade moves with practiced ease, slicing clean lines. The pelt begins to peel back, soft and thick beneath your fingers.

“Don’t ruin it,” Senku warns, sidling up beside you. “That hide’s perfect for thermal insulation in—”

“Mine,” you growl, shielding it with your whole body.

Senku blinks. “I need it.”

“No. You want it. I have plans for it.” You state, matter of factly. 

He turns to Taiju for support. “Back me up here.”

Taiju, reclined and lazily chewing on roasted tuber, shrugs. “She’s doing the technical stuff. You’re science. I’m… muscle?”

Senku stares, betrayed. “Et tu, Brute?”

Taiju grins.

Senku sighs. “Fine. But if I freeze to death it’s on you.”

You mutter under your breath, “Don’t tempt me.”

That night, Taiju passes out within minutes. He snores like a boulder rolling downhill. Somehow, he’s managed to starfish across his bedding like a bear in hibernation. How one man takes up so much room remains a mystery.

You and Senku, as always, lie stiffly apart.

Until he starts coughing.

It’s dry at first. Then deeper. Ragged. Muffled as he tries and fails to keep it quiet.

You grit your teeth. Your stomach knots every time his chest rattles.

Eventually you snap.

Fuck it.

Carefully—so carefully—you step over Taiju’s limbs and slide into the furs beside Senku. He startles instantly, eyes wide, back half-curled like he expects to be stabbed.

“What the hell are you—”

“Just for tonight,” you snap quietly. “You sound like you’re hacking up a lung. And it’s freezing. Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” he mutters.

“You’re giving me that look.”

“This is my normal look.”

“It’s smug.”

“It’s sick,” he huffs. “I’m not even capable of smug right now.”

“…Fine. Good.”

The silence settles.

You adjust the furs over both of you, careful not to touch him. Too much.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“You’ll be gone before Taiju wakes?” he murmurs.

“Obviously,” you mumble. “You think I want him asking questions?”

“…You’re warm again.”

“You’re lucky I’m nice.”

“Debatable.”

Another coughing fit shakes him. You scoot an inch closer without thinking.

It takes him a moment, but he shifts too—barely—and your shoulders brush. A little.

Not cuddling.

Just sharing warmth.

Just for tonight.

Just so he gets better.

That’s all.

It’s become a game.

Not that either of you would ever admit it.

It starts just before midnight, when the fire burns low and Taiju starts his nightly snoring like a foghorn wrapped in a drum.

Senku shifts first. A soft cough. A rustle of blankets.

You hear it—and don’t even open your eyes before sliding your hand to the side, making space.

Three seconds later, the fur lifts.

He slips in like he’s stealing heat and not making excuses.

Neither of you speak.

You settle shifting once, backs barely curved toward one another.

Not cuddling. Not even touching.

Maybe a thigh brush.

Maybe your fingers accidentally graze.

You fall asleep faster these days.

But the real challenge is in the morning.

Because Taiju, for all his volume, sleeps like a collapsed tree.

So you’ve both adopted a sacred pact: Be gone before sunrise.

It’s an art now—untangling without waking each other, stepping over Taiju’s limbs like a military operation. You time it perfectly, memorizing his sleep cycles.

You once rolled away from Senku so fast you gave yourself a friction burn on the inside of your calf. He laughed so hard he choked. Claimed it helped loosen phlegm.

The next night, you shoved your icy feet on him just to shut him up.

The next night… he didn’t complain.

Now it’s Day Five.

Senku’s cough is nearly gone.

He hasn’t said it, but you can tell—by the way his hands are steadier, his energy sharper, the way he didn’t lean into you as much last night.

You wake before the light touches the sky, curled under the shared furs with your nose nearly touching his collarbone.

You freeze.

Not that close. Not that warm. Not that real.

You should move.

But instead, you whisper, “You’re nearly better.”

He doesn’t open his eyes. “Statistically speaking, yeah.”

“So no more sneaking into my bedding like a cold, sarcastic raccoon.”

Senku smirks. Still not looking at you. “You were always the one who started leaving space.”

“And you were always the one coughing loud enough to guilt-trip me.”

“I’m a genius, not a martyr.”

You shift slightly. He doesn’t move away.

“Tomorrow,” you say, too casually, “you’ll probably sleep fine on your own again.”

“…Yeah.”

The silence stretches. The fire crackles faintly in the hearth.

Then, almost too quiet to hear—

“…I hate that.”

You blink. “What?”

He clears his throat, louder now. “I said I’ll take that as a yes—you do want to use me as a human hot water bottle again tonight.”

You scowl, blushing furiously in the dark. “Oh my god.”

He chuckles, the sound low and wrecked with sleep.

You whisper, “You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

You lie there for one more minute. Just one. Before untangling yourself and slipping silently out of the furs like a guilty thief.

He watches you go.

You know he’s watching. You feel it.

And tomorrow night?

He’ll cough just enough to justify sneaking in again.

Because he’s almost better.

But not yet.

The nights are cold in the trees.

Your shack—cleverly suspended above the fire pit—traps some of the warmth that rises with the smoke, but it’s never enough once the fire below dies out. The floorboards creak. The wind snakes in between the pelts covering the walls. You’ve resorted to warming stones during the day and wrapping them in moss-lined satchels to tuck into your bedding.

But nothing works like the heat of a living body. 

Or… a genius one.

The nightly ritual has settled into routine.

Taiju asleep within minutes, sprawled like a fallen statue; you and Senku pretending not to anticipate the shared silence that follows. At some point, one of you shifts. The other allows it. No words, no jokes lately. Just the quiet click of trust.

But tonight—it’s different.

You notice it immediately.

Senku doesn’t shift closer.

Instead, he curls tighter under his own furs. Separate. Still. Not even coughing anymore.

You frown. “You’re not sick anymore.”

“Nope,” he replies flatly, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

“So… that’s it?”

He turns his head slowly. In the dim light from the moon filtering through the hide-flaps, you catch the edge of something cold in his expression.

“You said it was just until I got better.”

Your heart stutters. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

The words land wrong. Heavy. Cold, even in the warm night air.

You push yourself up, heart in your throat. “Senku, are you okay?”

He turns back to the ceiling. “I’ve got work to do.”

“…It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m behind on the revival fluid. I need more data points if I’m going to scale it up. I can’t waste time.”

“Who said anything about wasting time?”

His voice sharpens. “This—whatever this was—it doesn’t advance the mission.”

Ouch.

You sit frozen, breath caught in your chest.

He doesn’t mean it like that. You know he doesn’t.

But maybe he does.

And it hits you—that all those stolen nights of warmth, all those near-silent mornings escaping before Taiju saw—they were never something Senku needed. Just something he allowed. And now they’re over.

“Fine,” you whisper, turning your face away. “Go be a scientist, then.”

You shift back under your own furs. Alone.

Neither of you sleep.

Senku’s up before dawn. Again.

But now it’s with purpose, not stealth.

You wake to find him crouched at the edge of the lab shack, scribbling something furiously into the notebook you made him by weak grey light. Strings of notes about nitric acid ratios, bat guano composition, and storage vessels cover the pages. He’s muttering to himself, the way he always does when he’s cutting off emotion in favor of calculation.

He doesn’t look up when you stir.

You sit up slowly, furs still clinging to your side from the cold.

Your stomach churns, but you say nothing.

Taiju yawns and stretches. “Whoa, you guys are up early! Breakfast?”

No response.

Senku turns a page. You turn away.

The warmth of last night is gone.

And for the first time since Taiju returned, the cold actually gets to you.

Chapter Text

Taiju crouched low in the underbrush, eyes narrowed, breath held. Leaves brushed against his hair as he inched forward on all fours, the gourd-and-vine contraption clutched reverently in both hands.

“Alright, Pidgey… no, wait… Stone-Pidgey… you’re mine!” he whispered dramatically. The unsuspecting sparrow pecking at seeds a few feet away flicked its head up, unimpressed.

Taiju’s heart thudded like a snare drum. The gourd “Pokéball”, painstakingly carved, polished with river water, and held together with braided vines, felt like destiny in his palm. Beside him, a slab of bark scratched full of doodles and tally marks leaned against a rock. His secret Pokédex.

He hummed the Pokémon theme under his breath—off-key but with soul—scanning the clearing for potential new recruits.

Squirrels were already logged as Pachirisu (electric-type, obviously).

Frogs? Mudkip, because what else could they be?

And the hulking boar he’d spotted yesterday? Clearly Lechonk, duh.

The sparrow flitted off before he could throw, but Taiju didn’t notice, he was already scribbling a new entry.

Meanwhile, on the other side of camp, you and Senku were elbows-deep in science. The pot on the fire hissed ominously as white vapour curled upward.

Senku leaned over it with that laser-focused scientist face, muttering about covalent bonds and reaction rates. You mostly nodded, trying not to stare too obviously at the way a strand of silver hair kept slipping over his forehead.

What would he do if I cut it? Would it turn green?

A rustle-crash-roar echoed faintly through the trees.

You froze, promptly snapped out of your musings. “Uh… was that—”

“Taiju,” Senku cut in without looking up. He adjusted the flame, utterly unbothered. “Being Taiju.”

“But what if he’s in trouble?” you pressed.

Senku’s mouth curled in a dry smirk. “If Taiju dies chasing squirrels, evolution’s making a statement.”

You stifled a laugh, but a prickle of unease settled in your stomach.

Why do I have a bad feeling?

Off in the woods, Taiju had escalated.

A lizard sat in a carefully arranged ring of stones, a “battle arena” that was really just a messy circle of rocks. Taiju crouched dramatically, holding out a handful of berries like they were rare candies.

“Come on, Charmander… eat these and evolve!” he coaxed.

The lizard darted forward, snatched a berry... And then lunged and sank its teeth into his thumb.

“CRITICAL HIT!” Taiju howled, hopping on one foot while cradling his hand. “Charmander’s super effective!”

The forest echoed with his triumphant laughter, completely oblivious to the chaos he’d just begun to unleash.

Morning sunlight dappled across your face as you stirred beneath the furs. Something tickled your arm. Then your neck.

What on earth?

Something stung your arm. You grabbed it keeping it between your finger and thumb.

Is that-? Oh no.

Your eyes blinked open to a horrifying sight. A black, wriggling parade of ANTS marching single-file across your blanket, your arm, and—oh gods—your hair.

“AAAAAAAAH!”

Your scream split the dawn like a gunshot. Furs flew. You scrambled backward, flailing and shaking your arms so violently you nearly somersaulted over the edge of the platform and into the firepit.

Senku jerked awake instantly, sitting bolt upright with his usual unnerving calm, though his hair was sticking out even wilder than usual. “What now?” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep.

Taiju sat up mid-snore, blinking owlishly. “Huh? Y/N? What’s—whoa, why’re you breakdancing at sunrise?”

“ANTS!” you shrieked. “They’re EVERYWHERE!” You frantically brushed another cluster off your skirt.

Senku reached for his boots, completely unfazed. “Insects exist. Not exactly shocking scientific news.”

“Not shocking—?!” You pointed a trembling finger at Taiju. “They’re in the treehouse! Why are they in the treehouse?!”

Taiju froze, eyes darting between you and the wriggling mass fleeing toward the tree trunk. Then he laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah… okay, so, funny story…”

Senku’s brow arched dangerously. “This better be Nobel-level funny.”

“I was trying to get them to fight!” Taiju blurted. “So they could evolve!”

There was a beat of silence. The breeze rustled leaves. Somewhere, a bird chirped.

You blinked. “You… wanted the ANTS to… evolve?”

Taiju nodded earnestly. “Yeah! Like Pokémon! Y’know—two weaker ones battle, then boom—stronger one!”

Senku pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about natural selection and idiocy not being mutually exclusive.

You groaned, dropping back onto your furs with a dramatic flop. “I almost died via ant apocalypse because you wanted a Bug-type gym badge.”

Taiju winced. “Okay, but… you gotta admit, if one had evolved, it would’ve been awesome.”

Senku deadpanned, “The only thing evolving here, is my headache.”

You were gathering herbs from your tiny garden under the treehouse when something odd caught your eye, an uneven stack of bark slabs leaning against a rock. Curiosity got the better of you. You crouched, lifted the top piece, and… froze.

What in the 2nd grade shit is this?

Crude doodles of squirrels, frogs, ants, and what looked like a very angry boar filled the surface. Next to each drawing were scrawled names like “PACHIRISU,” “MUDKIP,” and—because of course—“LECHONK.” At the bottom, a heroic stick-figure labelled “Trainer Taiju” posed with a gourd “Pokéball.”

“…Oh no,” you whispered.

Senku’s shadow fell across your shoulder. “What’s that?”

You held up the slab. “Evidence that Taiju’s lost his last two brain cells.”

Senku took the bark from you, adjusting the bark to the light to read. His smirk spread slow and sharp. “Interesting… he’s essentially cataloguing local fauna. Primitive, but not entirely useless.”

“Primitive? Senku, he thinks ants can evolve mid-battle.”

Before he could retort, movement in the trees caught your attention. You both turned.

Taiju was on all fours again, “Pokéball” at the ready, whispering battle commands at a group of very unimpressed squirrels.

“Pachirisu’s! Formation!” he hissed. “Remember your training—use Quick Attack!”

The squirrels scattered. Taiju yelped and charged after them like an overexcited retriever.

You groaned. “We should stop him before he breaks a leg.”

Senku, arms crossed, was grinning. “Heh, Interfering would ruin the natural experiment.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he said smugly, “I’m still the scientist you’re stuck with.”

Sighing, you went back to laying out your herbs to dry while Senku disappeared inside the lab. Moments later, the sound of actual giddy laughter drifted out. Senku laughing. That alone made your eyebrows shoot up.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Its kinda cute, in a—giant kid play—kind of way

A few hours later, while you sat cross-legged sorting leaves, a shadow loomed over you.

“Y/N!” Taiju’s voice boomed cheerfully.

You looked up, just in time for a wriggling clump of worms to drop straight into your lap.

You screamed so loud birds exploded from the trees. The worms wriggled indignantly across your skirt as you leapt up, flailing.

IT IS NO LONGER CUTE.

Inside the lab, something clattered to the floor. Senku’s sharp laugh followed. First a chuckle, then full-blown hysterics. When you stomped to the doorway, face red and eyes blazing, he was literally on the floor, one hand gripping his stomach, gasping between snickers.

“W-Worms—” he wheezed. “Dropped—in your—lap—like—a gift!” Another burst of laughter overtook him.

Taiju blinked, genuinely confused. “That’s… what cats do when they like you. Isn’t it… nice?”

You pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re lucky I don’t evolve into something that can kill you!”

That only made Senku laugh harder.

By late afternoon, the camp had settled into a deceptive calm. You were kneeling by your drying rack, humming softly while rearranging herbs, when a sharp clang echoed from inside the lab.

“Who left an unlabelled pot in my workspace?” Senku’s annoyed voice carried out. You smirked, expecting another lecture on scientific procedure.

He should know by now that Taiju will never listen—

“AAAAAAAAH!”

A high-pitched, utterly un-Senku-like scream shattered the forest’s peace.

You whipped around just in time to see the lab door-flap fly open. Senku shot out like a bullet, hair flaring behind him, his tan robe flapping wildly. A swarm of spiders clung to his hair and tumbled to the ground as he flailed.

“SPIDERS?! TA-JU—!” He practically tripped over a rock, shaking out his arms. “Why the—why—POTS—SPIDERS—IN MY LAB?!”

You blinked, then clapped a hand over your mouth. But the sight of the unflappable scientist reduced to a panicked mess was too much, your composure cracked. Laughter bubbled up, unstoppable, until you were doubled over beside the herb rack, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Senku whipped around to glare at you, face flushed. “Oh, you’re enjoying this?”

You wheezed between giggles. “The…great…Kingdom of Science—undone by a house spider!”

“Those weren’t house spiders,” Senku snapped, smacking his arms like they’d burned him. “Those were eight-legged death machines!”

From somewhere in the trees, Taiju called cheerfully, “They were my Bug-types! I was training them to evolve!”

Senku groaned, pointing an accusing finger toward the forest. “Taiju, you absolute moron—next time you unlabelled-pot me, I’ll build a flamethrower!”

You collapsed to the ground laughing, already plotting to etch “Spider Incident” into your mental log of priceless memories.

Senku leaned against the doorframe of the lab, still a little pale from the spider ambush but stubborn as ever. He adjusted his pouch with a nonchalance that didn’t quite hide the lingering tremor in his hands.

“It’s fine,” he said flatly, as though declaring it made it true. “Let him play Pokémon trainer. If it keeps him busy and out of the lab, it’s… acceptable.”

You arched a brow. “Really? After the ant invasion, the worm gift, and the arachnid apocalypse?”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Statistically speaking, Taiju’s brand of idiocy has a fifty-fifty chance of self-correcting.”

You snorted, going back to hanging up your herbs.

Somewhere off in the woods, Taiju’s voice rang out, “YES! GOT ONE!”

Senku didn’t even look up. “See? He’s happy. Nothing catastrophic yet.”

And then—famous last words—Taiju crashed back into camp, beaming ear to ear. A vine “leash” stretched between his hands and…

Your blood ran cold.

Standing there, snorting steam and pawing the ground, was Tonkatsu. Mr. Murder Pig. The boar you and Senku had barely escaped months ago after an ill-fated attempt to trap him for meat. A jagged scar over one ear told you he remembered exactly who you were.

“Look, guys!” Taiju puffed out his chest proudly. “I caught a Lechonk!”

Senku’s face paled ominously as his eyes widened. “You… what.”

“Lechonk!” Taiju repeated, patting Tonkatsu’s flank like it wasn’t a ticking time bomb. “He’s perfect for my Pokédex! I even—”

The vine leash snapped like a gunshot.

Tonkatsu’s small, dark eyes locked on you and Senku. Recognition flared. The boar’s ears flattened.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

“Oh, hell,” Senku corrected.

Tonkatsu let out a murderous squeal and charged.

“TREEHOUSE!” Senku barked.

You didn’t argue. The two of you bolted, feet pounding the packed dirt as the boar thundered after you. Taiju’s panicked shout faded behind you—something about “Come back, Lechonk!”—but you didn’t dare look.

The ladder to your treehouse lab swayed wildly as you scrambled up. Senku practically shoved you up the last few rungs before hauling himself up and inside. The two of you collapsed against the wall, gasping, as Tonkatsu rammed the tree trunk below, making the whole structure shudder.

Below, Taiju, ever the optimist. Was circling the boar again, hands outstretched like some kind of foolhardy Pokémon master.

“It’s okay, Lechonk!” he cooed. “Trainer Taiju believes in you!”

The treehouse shook again as Tonkatsu slammed into it, making your heart lurch.

You shot Senku a wide-eyed look. “Still fine, huh?

”

Senku exhaled through his teeth, rubbing his temple. “Shut up.”

Outside, Taiju’s voice rose over the chaos, “Pachirisu squad, assist! Quick Attack!”

A squirrel chittered somewhere. Tonkatsu ignored it. You buried your face in your hands as the treehouse rattled again, silently questioning every life choice that had led you here.

Why couldn’t I be stuck in the stone world with normal people!

Tonkatsu finally thundered off into the forest, the last echoes of his angry squeals fading. The treehouse creaked in the quiet. You and Senku clambered down the ladder, mud on your hands and hearts still hammering.

Taiju stood in the clearing looking like a scolded puppy, the snapped vine dangling from his hands. His usual booming voice was gone, replaced by a pitiful mumble.

“Lechonk just… didn’t understand…”

You and Senku rounded on him in perfect unison.

“No. More. Pets!”

Taiju flinched at the force of it. His shoulders slumped, and for once the big guy didn’t argue. He just nodded, eyes downcast. The silence that followed felt wrong, it was too quiet without Taiju’s usual laughter rattling the treetops.

The next few hours dragged. Taiju moped around camp like a deflated balloon, poking listlessly at the firewood pile. No humming, no dramatic declarations, just… silence.

Maybe we were too harsh.

You sat cross-legged near the herb rack, watching him. “He’s… really sad,” you whispered.

Senku, crouched by a low wood table sorting stone tools, glanced over. Without his usual smirk, his sharp red eyes looked almost guilty. “He’s annoyingly loud ninety-nine percent of the time,” he admitted quietly, “but… the silence is worse.”

You felt it too. The emptiness where Taiju’s ridiculous energy should have been. You caught Senku’s eye, and a shared grin spread between you, slow, conspiratorial.

“Okay,” you said softly. “We fix this.”

Senku’s deer-hide robe brushed his boots as he stood, and then crossed his arms with a theatrical sigh. “Fine. But if he tries to evolve spiders again, you’re cleaning the lab ceiling.”

You smirked. “Deal.”

From the corner of your eye, Taiju sat hunched by the fire, poking a stick into the dirt. The sight made your chest ache and your grin widen. Together, you and Senku started to whisper, already hatching the perfect plan to reignite the world’s loudest, happiest Pokémon trainer.

You spent the next day scouting the riverbank, searching for something hardy enough to survive Taiju’s well-meaning chaos. After turning over several rocks and rejecting a cranky turtle (“too fragile”), your eyes landed on a small but fierce-looking hermit crab trundling across the wet sand.

“Portable, self-armored, minimal upkeep,” you whispered, scooping it gently.

Senku, crouched beside you, eyed the crab critically. “Hardy exoskeleton, low metabolic demand… yeah, even Taiju can’t break this one.” His smirk returned at last.

You carved a tiny gourd shell into a “Pokéball” carrier and painted a crude lightning bolt across it. Senku, naturally, rigged a little strap from braided vines so Taiju could wear it like a belt accessory.

Taiju was back to sulking by the fire when you both approached.

“Hey, Trainer Taiju,” you said softly. “We, uh… found something.”

You placed the gourd carrier in his hands. The hermit crab poked out a claw and clicked.

Taiju’s eyes went wide, his whole face lighting up like the sunrise. “My own… Pokémon?!” He lifted the crab overhead like a sacred relic. “I’ll call you… CRABBY!”

The joy in his voice melted every ounce of guilt you’d been holding.

That evening, you and Senku prepped the forest clearing. Senku set up small chemical packets—safe mixtures that popped and smoked when triggered—while you arranged stones into a makeshift arena. You even stuck a few colorful leaves on sticks for “gym décor.”

When Taiju returned from a triumphant water-fetch mission, you and Senku were waiting.

“Trainer Taiju!” Senku announced in his most villainous lead-scientist voice, deer-hide robe fluttering dramatically. “The Stone World Gym challenges you!”

You cupped your hands around your mouth. “CRABBY, I choose you!”

Senku flicked a match onto one of the hidden chemical packs—

POOF!

A tiny column of smoke spiralled up, and a rock behind him seemed to “erupt.”

Taiju gasped, completely hooked. “Crabby! use… ROCK SLIDE!” He threw a small pebble, missing everything by a mile.

Senku retaliated by flicking another packet, sending a harmless puff of sparks into the air. “Foolish trainer! My Pokémon knows THUNDER WAVE!”

You whipped a leafy branch for dramatic effect. The three of you charged around the arena, shouting attack names, dodging smoke, and laughing until your sides hurt.

At one point, Taiju scooped Crabby up and spun in a triumphant circle. “Crabby is evolving!” he bellowed.

Senku rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When the “battle” ended in dramatic collapse, Taiju pretending to faint while Crabby—now, Kingler—waved a claw in victory. You and Senku exchanged a look of pure relief.

The forest was filled again with Taiju’s booming laughter. The world felt right.

Senku muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Guess even in the Stone World… silence really is a myth.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “I’m making that the title of my book.”

“Of course you are.”

Chapter Text

The weather had turned.

The wind howled more often now, threading its icy fingers through the cracks in the trees and the bark-lined seams of the treehouse. The air smelled sharper, damper, like the earth was bracing itself for the weight of winter. You were bracing too. Against the cold. Against the silence that had lingered since that raw, painful moment between you and Senku days ago.

But you didn’t talk about it. Of course you didn’t. Neither of you knew how.

Instead, you worked.

Senku buried himself in preservation techniques—smoking, drying, pickling, salt curing—shuffling jars and racks around like the world's last obsessive prepper. You didn’t miss the scratch marks in his notebook where he kept adjusting the ration system over and over, like if he could get the numbers just right, the reality of it all would cooperate.

You focused on furs, layering animal skins, stitching scraps, experimenting with thatching for insulation, and reinforcing the treehouse walls with fiber and dried moss stuffed into every gap. You didn’t bother mentioning how cold your hands got while stitching near the fireless side of the shack—he wouldn’t ask, and you wouldn’t say.

Taiju was the only one who made noise anymore.

Between stacking a new shelter for dry wood and helping you hang food high and safe from pests, he was the closest thing to a normal human presence you had. He still talked like nothing was wrong. Still smiled like the world hadn’t ended.

He’s a good guy.

You'd just finished the bear coat.

It was massive. Stitched from every leftover scrap of the pelt, the fur had a wild, rugged, pieced-together look, mottled with different tones of brown. Senku turned at the sound of you dragging it inside, his eyes flicking up from a row of pickling jars.

“You finally finished my evil villain cloak, huh?” He gave a smirk, trying to sound cocky, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked. “It’s for Taiju.”

Senku paused.

Taiju lit up like you’d offered him a puppy made of sunshine. “WHAT?! For real?! Are you serious?!” he practically shouted. Before you could brace, he swooped you into a full spin, lifting you clean off your feet and laughing, loud and infectious. The shock made you let out a surprised yelp and then… you laughed too.

Actually laughed.

“Put me down, you tank!” you barked, but it was without heat, the edge of your voice softened with a grin. “I still gotta make you pants again. Your big dumb legs busted the last pair.”

Taiju beamed. “They were great pants!”

“They were a disaster. One squat and your ass was out.”

Senku sulked behind a stack of drying mushrooms, pointedly not saying anything. His hands were still, not working. Just… still.

You smirked, eyes flicking his way. 

I see you science boy.

The next evening, when you flopped something over his head, he jolted so hard he almost dropped the jar he was labelling.

“What the hell—!?”

You let the weight settle across his shoulders, watching the moment realization dawned. It was the deer pelt you’d kept hidden for weeks now. But it wasn’t just rawhide anymore. It was a proper coat—sleek, fur-lined, the back weighted to balance, the hood trimmed in fluffy white rabbit. You’d even reinforced the seams with bone-needle cross-stitching and stitched a pocket inside.

“…This isn’t the bear pelt.”

“No. It’s not.”

Senku turned slowly, eyes scanning the edges. “You saved the good stuff for this.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t offer a reason.

You didn’t have to.

He ran his hands along the seams, brushing the white fur trim at the hood. “It’s… scientifically flawless.”

You snorted. “That the best you’ve got?”

He didn’t look at you, just slowly pulled the hood up and down like he was testing it for battle. “Get excited,” he murmured under his breath.

But you caught it and that smirk spread before you could stop it. You rolled your eyes. “Dork.”

Taiju’s injury happened the next morning.

He’d been moving firewood from the new shelter, slipping slightly and catching the whole weight of the load with one arm. He brushed it off, at first, claiming he was fine, but the tight way he held his shoulder and the way his face pinched when he moved wrong gave it away.

“Sit down,” you said sharply, motioning him over. “Let me look.”

“I’m fine, really! Just tweaked it a bit—”

“Sit down, Taiju.”

He obeyed, sheepish. Senku watched silently from the corner, arms crossed.

You carefully pressed around the muscle at his shoulder blade. He winced, then hissed.

Definitely a pull. Nothing torn, no dislocation... but it's gonna hurt for days.

“I said I’m fine,” he tried again.

You shook your head, already grabbing some oil you’d infused with dried herbs. “You won’t be if you keep using it. You’ve strained it. It needs rest.”

Then you gestured for him to lie on his stomach and straddled his back without ceremony. Your hands dug into the tight muscle, finding the knots and working them free, slow and firm. Taiju groaned in pain. Then relief. Then pain again.

“Holy crap, that’s amazing. Ow. OW. That’s... that’s black magic. How do you know how to—OW.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept working the muscle. You could feel Senku’s gaze behind you, quiet and heavy.

Your fingers paused just briefly.

No. He didn’t get to look at you like that. Not when he’d said nothing. Not when he’d retreated into science and salt and notes instead of saying anything that mattered.

Taiju groaned again. “You’re a genius.”

You smirked, letting your weight press in slightly deeper. “Tell that to Senku.”

Behind you, you heard the notebook close with a soft snap.

The next day, you insisted on going with Taiju to forage.

“I can still carry stuff!” he said for the fifth time, trying to lift a small bundle of moss only to wince immediately after.

You snatched it from him with a look. “You’re not impressing anyone, dumbass. Walk. Point at berries. Be useful without getting more injured.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, not even pretending to sulk.

You stayed close to the tree lines, pointing out edible roots, checking fungus patches, and collecting dried mosses to help insulate the treehouse further. You even spotted a few minty leaves, which you pocketed with glee.

Senku can whine all he wants, I’m going to make mint tea.

And then you saw them.

A burst of deep red caught your eye near the edge of a patch of brush. Clusters of small berries, almost grape-like. Tentatively, you knelt down to inspect them. The leaves were heart-shaped. The vines coiled delicately. You touched a berry, carefully checking the stem and surrounding plant for signs of danger.

Just as you were about to look for animal droppings or beak marks, which is a good sign birds had been eating them without issue—there was a crunch behind you.

You spun just in time to see Taiju happily chewing.

“What the—Did you just eat those?!”

“They taste weird,” he said, face scrunched, “kinda bitter, but not poison-y!”

You stared in horror. “That’s not a diagnostic method, Taiju!”

But... he seemed fine. No vomiting. No twitching. No immediate death. So, fine. Bitter. Likely wild grapes. Possibly fox grapes. You’d still dry them before trying much more.

Just to be safe.

You carefully picked two full handfuls and tucked them into your basket, already picturing what you could make. Dried fruit leather. Maybe—if Senku would show you how—some rudimentary sugar. You could make candy. Jam. Juice. Something sweet to lure him back into not looking at you like you were one of his damn calculations.

“I’ll take this stuff back first!” Taiju said, lifting the smaller basket of moss, nuts, and mushrooms you’d vetted. “You okay carrying the wood?”

You snorted, hiking the logs onto your back. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

By the time you returned to camp, your arms ached but your mood had lifted. A little sweetness felt like a victory. You imagined Senku’s face if you managed to make jam from scratch... maybe it’d finally break the weird, awkward fog between you two.

Except—

As soon as you stepped into the clearing, both Senku and Taiju snapped to attention.

Their eyes were locked on the basket in your hands.

Senku stood, like a wolf catching scent. “Are those Vitis coignetiae?”

You blinked. “...What?”

Taiju pointed, eyes wide. “The grape things! Those are them!”

You opened your mouth—“Yeah, I thought maybe—”—but it was already too late.

Senku snatched the basket. “Perfect. PERFECT. We’ll need ethanol for nital. This is huge.”

The grapes were gone before you’d even reached the fire pit.

Your arms sagged. “You didn’t even—? Seriously?!”

Senku didn’t even look up as he began mashing them, skin and all, into a clay pot with a makeshift pestle. “We need the nitric acid mixture to depetrify more people. This batch might let us create the catalyst we’ve been missing. Fermentation starts now.”

Taiju, at least, looked apologetic. “It is really important…”

“I know it’s important,” you muttered, dropping the wood with a heavy thud. “I just thought—maybe—you could spare a few for jam. Or literally anything that doesn’t taste like a chemistry experiment.”

No one answered.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

You watched your beautiful grapes die for science.

Goodbye, sugar.

Of course you couldn’t be mad. It was humanity on the line. You got it. Still... just a spoonful. A mouthful. Something sweet you could’ve shared, something simple.

But instead?

You turned away and muttered, “It’s fine. I’ll just go suck on some mint leaves or something.”

Behind you, Senku paused.

Just for a second.

Then the mashing resumed.

You weren’t sure what was more depressing. The way your grapes vanished, or how happy both idiots were to stomp them into pulp.

“More pressure, Taiju!” Senku called, adjusting a crude mesh strainer atop a clay basin.

Taiju cheerfully squelched his feet deeper into the grape vat, arms held out for balance as purple juice splattered up his legs. “This is awesome!”

“It’s like you want trench foot,” you muttered, scraping a crushed grape off the back of your hand with a scowl.

Between the two of them, every last grape had been plucked, mashed, and funneled into a sealed container for fermentation. The area stank of sour fruit and feet.

You left them to their alchemy and buried yourself in more practical things.

Drying herbs. Weaving new fibre ropes. Perfecting the world’s most primitive toothbrushes with stiffened bark and plant fibre. Mixing mint and charcoal together into a semi-effective powder to scrub the taste of preserved bear meat and mushroom stew out of your mouth.

It was rewarding. Quiet. Clean.

But God, you missed sweetness.

I just wanted dessert.

Your body definitely missed it. Especially now. You could feel it creeping up on you—bloated belly, aching lower back, that dragging fatigue that made lifting anything feel like a chore.

Senku noticed, of course.

He always noticed.

He didn’t say anything when you pressed a hand to your abdomen or moved slower than usual. Just shot you a sharp look across the fire. That look that said “Don’t be a hero.” The same one he used the last time you collapsed from pushing too hard.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. But you didn’t argue. You rationed your energy. You listened.

Meanwhile, Senku was inventing the Stone World’s first distillation setup using a sealed gourd, a hollow reed, and a stack of hot stones to help separate and concentrate the ethanol when the wine finished fermenting.

The smell of future booze hung in the air.

By day six, the grapes were nearly done. And Taiju—because he had the survival instinct of a potato—reinjured himself.

“Are you KIDDING ME?” you snapped, storming over as he held his shoulder with an expression halfway between guilt and pain.

“I just… lifted one log. Just one!”

You slapped his good arm. “And it was one too many! I told you to rest it!”

Even Senku gave him a rare look of disappointment, rubbing the back of his neck. “Congratulations. You played yourself.”

That night, you made Taiju lie flat again and gave him another massage. Firmer this time. No mercy. He hissed and groaned and called you evil at least four times. You didn’t even smile.

“Stay still this time,” you muttered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You had him asleep in minutes.

Afterward, you came and sat near the fire, twisting mint leaves between your fingers and listening to Senku’s neck pop as he leaned over his notes.

You didn’t look up when you said, “You’re next.”

“Hah?”

You stood slowly, brushing off your hands. “Neck. Shoulders. Back. You’ve been hunched over your mad scientist chemistry set for days. You keep cracking your spine like a glow stick.”

“I don’t need—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He stared for a long moment, lips twitching. Then with a theatrical sigh, he finally flopped down, sitting cross-legged with his back to you.

“I’ll allow it.”

“You’re so gracious.”

You started slow, fingers finding the stiff knots beneath his shoulder blades, thumbs dragging down the tension in his spine. His body was warmer than you expected, rigid at first, like even his muscles resisted being cared for. But he didn’t pull away. Just let out a long exhale through his nose.

It’s like I’m hiring myself out to the football team again.

“Your traps are wrecked,” you muttered, pressing just under the base of his neck. “All this posture—no wonder you’re always cracking something.”

Then your fingers hit something sharp. Hard.

You blinked and leaned closer.

There was something embedded just beneath the skin at the top of his neck. Smooth. Unmoving. Cold.

“…Senku?”

“Mm?”

“Are you aware you have a piece of stone still in your neck?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

“…And you haven’t tried to remove it because…?”

He shifted slightly, eyes still fixed on the fire. “It’s… still petrified. No blood vessels, no pain, no inflammation. It’s safe.”

You tilted your head. “So why not just pour a few drops of nitric acid on it?”

He was quiet.

Then, in quiet reluctance, “I want to keep it.”

You blinked again. “You what?”

He finally glanced back at you over his shoulder, something unreadable in his eyes. “It’s part of me. One of the only pieces of the old world that stayed with me. Science might’ve revived me, but that—” he tapped it lightly “—that’s proof I was ever stone to begin with.”

You stared at him.

He has literal cracks on his face.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mm. Probably.”

You kept massaging, gentler now.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

Then, almost too soft to hear—

“You’re still getting jam someday.”

You didn’t answer. Just pressed your forehead lightly to his back and let him keep looking at the fire.

... Dick. 

Chapter Text

The next day, you left alone.

“I can come! My shoulder’s feeling way better today—” Taiju had insisted with that sheepish, hopeful look.

You’d stared him down. “If you so much as touch a berry bush, I’ll throttle you.”

Senku hadn’t argued. Just made a noise that sounded like a laugh, but not quite, and turned back to adjusting his latest fermentation setup. Back to avoiding your eyes like the plague.

You pretend it doesn’t sting.

I knew getting close was a mistake.

So you went. You didn’t mind solitude. Especially now—when your body still ached, your nerves were frayed, and the sweet cravings from your cycle made you irritable and slow to forgive. You needed quiet. Needed space. Needed to feel useful again, and humming an old world song, you definitely knew all the words to.

You took the usual route, north-east through the thicket, where the ferns grew thickest and the air always smelled of damp earth and pine. You were just crossing the edge of the clearing when it hit.

The storm came from nowhere.

One minute, sunlight filtered between the leaves. The next? The world went black. Winds screamed through the trees, turning branches into whips and the air into knives. Rain followed like a wall—so hard and fast and cold it stole your breath, soaking you through before you could blink.

OH, COME ON.

You dropped your basket, already sprinting toward cover. But the wind was merciless, slicing through your thin layers, cutting down to your bones.

And you didn’t have a coat.

You’d made them for them. First Taiju, then Senku. Then Taiju got injured, and you took over his work and yours. Your own coat had never made it past the pattern stage.

You stumbled through the trees, trying to find shelter, a hollow, something, but the storm turned everything sideways. Vision blurred. The ground slipped beneath your feet.

You fell.

Hard.

The earth gave way, and you tumbled into a steep ditch, deep and narrow. Water was already pooling fast at the bottom, the muddy incline making any grip impossible. You gasped, hands shaking from cold, trying to scramble upward, only to slide down again, soaked and winded.

Panic clawed at your chest.

No one knew where you were.

No one could know—except maybe—

Your hand fumbled at your belt until you found it: the whistle.

The one Senku made you after the bear attack.

A sharp, three-toned burst that could carry far.

You slip it over your neck so it doesn’t drop in the quickly rising, murky water.

You press it to your lips and blow.

Again. And again. And again.

But the wind snatched the sound away like a toy.

You didn’t stop. Even when your lips went numb, even when you could barely feel your hands anymore. You just closed your eyes and kept trying.

Back at camp, the storm hit like a sledgehammer.

Taiju had barely gotten the fire covered before the downpour started.

“Whoa—! That’s coming in fast—!” he shouted, already reaching to tie windows closed.

Then Senku froze.

Just froze, mid-step, eyes going wide.

Taiju looked over. “Senku?”

He turned slowly, mouth set in a tight line. “She didn’t make herself a coat.”

“What?”

“She made ours. Took over your workload when you got hurt. Hers isn’t finished. It’s still hanging over the drying line—”

The temperature was rapidly dropping. The wind had shifted sharp. Too sharp.

“She’s not dressed for this.”

Taiju started to rise, alarmed. “Then we’ve got to—!”

Senku was already moving.

He flung his own coat over his shoulders, tightening the belt.

“I know her routes,” he snapped, not even sparing Taiju a glance. “Stay here. Keep the fire going. She’s gonna need warmth immediately if I find her.”

“When,” Taiju corrected.

Senku didn’t answer. Just plunged into the storm.

The coat held.

Better than he thought.

Rain rolled off it in sheets, wind couldn’t get through the tightly layered seams. Every step soaked his boots, and visibility was garbage—but he moved fast, head low, eyes focused close to the ground to catch broken branches, crushed plants. Your signs.

He knew you. Knew how you moved. Where you went when the weather shifted. Where the edible roots grew. Where you’d stop to pick herbs.

He checked each landmark in his mind—tracking. Estimating. Hoping like hell you’d followed your usual route.

Then, faint—

Whh—wheet—whhhht.

His head snapped toward the sound.

Another burst.

Senku ran.

The whistle cut again, sharp and desperate, and suddenly he was sprinting across a clearing, heart hammering.

And then—

He saw the water logged ditch.

“Y/N!”

You looked up, dazed, pale, soaked through.

The relief that cracked your face nearly broke him.

“Oh thank God,” you whispered, voice shaking as he dropped to his knees and reached for you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, already anchoring his boots into the edge. “You’ll slip again.”

You barely had the strength to argue. He leaned down, extending both arms.

“Grab on.”

You did.

He pulled.

You were heavy with water, chilled through. It took everything he had to haul you up and out, practically dragging you onto his chest as you both collapsed at the edge. His arms locked around you instantly.

You were shivering so violently it hurt.

He wrapped the coat around you without hesitation, tucking it tight, pressing your body flush against his and burying your frozen hands beneath his own.

You muttered something.

He leaned closer. “What?”

“…told you it’d hold up,” you rasped.

Senku let out a huff of air that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. You did.”

You sagged against him, nose buried in the curve of his neck, lips numb. “You found me.”

His voice was quiet. “Of course I did.”

The whistle clinked between you, soaked and hanging limp.

You hadn’t stopped shaking the entire way back.

Your teeth chattered, body trembling so hard it hurt your joints. You didn’t fight the way Senku held you—not this time. Too cold. Too tired. Too done. His coat was wrapped around you both, and you buried yourself against his chest, gripping the hide like it might anchor you to the living world.

“You’re wet too,” you mumbled into his neck, voice so thin it barely made a sound. “Dumb… you’re gonna get sick…”

Senku didn’t answer.

His arm only tightened around you.

He pushed harder through the undergrowth, navigating slick tree roots, nearly sliding once, but kept going. The whole way, you felt his breath, shallow and urgent, like he was calculating things he couldn’t say.

By the time camp came into view, your limbs were useless. You couldn’t even lift your head.

You heard Taiju’s voice first, panicked, stumbling toward you both. “Y/N?! Is she okay?! What happened?! Oh my god, her lips are blue—Senku, is she—?!”

“Help me get her inside!” Senku barked, for once not explaining anything.

Everything blurred. You were carried—no, half-dragged—into the treehouse, the fire burning strong now from below, its heat biting your skin like needles. You sagged forward as they knelt you down.

The coat peeled off with a wet shhhhk of soaked fur and leather. Your clothes clung to you like a second skin.

Senku’s fingers hesitated only a second before reaching for the laces of your top.

“What are you doing?!” Taiju yelped.

“She’s soaked to the bone. She was in cold water for way too long. We need to warm her up—fast.”

“You can’t just take off a girl’s clothes!”

“It’s not like that and you know it!”

“She’s gonna be mad!”

“She can be mad and alive!” Senku snapped, voice cracking for the first time. “I’m not risking hypothermia over modesty!”

Something clattered.

Then a door slammed.

Senku’s hands were shaking. You could feel it even through the numb fog pressing in around your skull. His fingers were clumsy on the sodden fabric.

“I promise I won’t look,” he muttered. “I mean—I’ve seen you naked before so…”

You let out a low sound. Maybe a laugh. Maybe not.

You wanted to protest. You really did.

But damn it, the nerd was right. He always was.

You just sagged forward, letting your head fall against his shoulder as he carefully peeled away the fabric, working fast and with trembling hands. The cold was beyond pain now. It was sinking. Deep. Like stone.

“You’re freezing,” he breathed. “Way too cold for October…”

You could barely nod.

Then warmth. Blankets, layered hide and woven reed and fur, wrapped around you both. He pulled you close, pressed you to his chest, wrapped himself around you in a cocoon of heat. You felt his breath against your temple, fast and uneven.

“You can’t go quiet on me,” he whispered. “Stay awake. Just a little longer.”

Your body didn’t respond. Everything was heavy. Too warm now. Your head spun.

But Senku didn’t stop.

His voice wavered as he muttered fragments—temperature guesses, calculations, warnings. He shifted the hides tighter. His hand smoothed down your back, fingers in your soaked hair, trying anything, everything.

“Come on, don’t make me get emotional. You hate it when I get emotional.”

But you didn’t hate it.

Not now.

You just wanted to sleep.

You breathed out against his chest, his warmth surrounding you like the only thing tethering you to the waking world.

You go limp in his arms and his panic skyrockets.

“Shit—no, no, no—come on.” His voice is sharp and shaking.

Taiju rushes back in, wide-eyed and breathless. But before he can even ask, Senku’s already barking orders.

“More dry furs! Heat the stones—NOW!”

“She’s not even—Senku, she’s not—”

“Move it, Taiju!”

You don’t stir. Your skin is ice-cold to the touch, tinged a terrifying shade of blue.

“She’s not even shivering anymore,” Taiju says, voice small. “Isn’t that a good sign?”

Senku doesn’t answer.

Because it’s not. It’s not.

He knows the science. If your body stops trying to fight the cold—it means it’s giving up. And he can’t let that happen.

But he can’t warm you too fast either. The shock could kill you. Still, he’s already undoing his robe, tugging you against him.

Your skin against his is so cold it makes him swear aloud.

“Goddammit—don’t you dare.”

You’re barely breathing. Pulse like a ghost under his fingertips. He wraps every blanket around the both of you, tucking the furs high around your shoulders, your head nestled to his chest.

“I swear, if you die right now—” His voice breaks. He presses his mouth to your temple. “—I will find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself.”

The storm eventually dies. The wind slows. The shack is still.

Then—finally—the sun breaks through the clouds.

Your lips pinken. Your fingers twitch. And then—thank god—your body starts to shiver.

It’s a good sign. A damn good sign.

Senku exhales a shaky laugh, still holding you like you might vanish if he lets go.

He doesn’t. Not even when the sun is high and Taiju finally dares to speak.

He just keeps you close. Alive. Warm. Safe.

Senku only leaves you once—and that’s only when he physically can’t hold it anymore. He’s back within minutes, tugging you carefully back against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he takes too long.

Taiju offers to make lunch. Senku doesn’t even look up.

“No.”

Just that. No.

He stays right where he is, pressed to your back, your pulse fluttering beneath his fingers like a fragile moth.

Taiju watches from across the room. He’s never seen Senku like this.

The old Senku cared—sure—but from a distance. In his own way. Coldly, logically.

He’d avoid hugs like the plague, ducking away from touch like it burned him.

And yet—here he is.

Wrapped around you like ivy, arms tight, jaw clenched against the fear he won’t voice. You—the girl he’d pick fights with at every opportunity back in the old world.

Taiju eventually sleeps, curled in a corner nearest the door. But Senku doesn’t. Can’t.

His brain won’t shut off, not while your breath remains uneven, not while your body still twitches involuntarily as it tries to regulate again.

Every time your breathing shifts, he startles, fingers finding your neck or your wrist to check—again and again and again—that you’re still with him.

And finally, when the fire’s burned low and Taiju’s soft snoring fills the quiet, your eyes blink open.

A slow, groggy return. Confused. Tired.

But awake.

Senku feels it before he sees it, your body tensing slightly under his arms.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs instantly. His voice is hoarse from lack of sleep, his relief sharp enough to cut.

“You’re okay.”

You’re confused.

Where am I?

Why does everything hurt like you’ve been rock climbing barefoot with a backpack full of bricks?

And—

Whose arms are around me?

Senku?

You barely register the sound of his voice—muffled, distant, like you’re underwater. Whatever he’s saying slips past you.

All you know is that he’s warm. So warm.

“I have to get up soon,” you mumble, turning, face pressed against his skin. “I have to iron Yumi’s skirts or she’ll flip, and I need to clean before Mom gets home. She’s got a new guy... she’ll be embarrassed if it’s not clean...”

Senku freezes.

That’s not now. That’s not this time, this place.

You’re clearly not fully back, still caught in the fog of cold and confusion.

He shifts, trying to look at your eyes, scan for responsiveness, but you misread him.

You grab him tighter. Cling like he’s about to vanish.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, ragged. “Don’t leave me too.”

His chest clenches.

You bury your face in his neck.

“Thought I was gonna die.”

“Not gonna happen,” he says quietly. Like a promise.

Eventually, you drift into real sleep, Senku lets out a sigh of relief.

Senku’s body aches from holding you so long, but he doesn’t move. Not once.

He closes his eyes just for a moment.

A scream tears through the air.

Senku bolts upright, disoriented, only to be slapped by a wave of fur and panic as you fling yourself away from him.

“NERD!”

“YOU PERVERT!”

You’re red-faced, wrapped in the furs like a burrito with a grudge, glaring at him like he invented nudity.

Senku runs a hand over his face, still half-asleep.

“Not how I wanted to be woken up,” he mutters.

Another pillow-to-the-head might be incoming.

Footsteps.

Then a mortified voice from the entrance,

“Told you she’d be mad.”

Taiju blinks wide-eyed at the scene—the scattered furs, the flushed faces, the way you’re clutching one around yourself like it’s your last defense.

You round on Senku again before Taiju can say anything else.

“Perverted science lizard! Cold-blooded creep! Math-stained molester!”

Senku, completely unbothered and half-lidded from lack of sleep, shrugs.

“It was a totally non-sexual, heat-conservation cuddle strategy. Your dramatic morning meltdown is doing wonders for my eardrums, by the way.”

“You spooned me!”

“You were hypothermic.”

“You were shirtless!”

“So were you.”

“That doesn’t help your case, nerd!”

“I literally used surface area conduction. It’s called physics. Look it up.”

Taiju is slowly turning pink. “Uhh... do you guys want me to... go back outside?”

“No!” you both snap.

You’re not done yelling names. Senku’s not done being sarcastically deadpan.

But somewhere beneath the yelling, the headache starts to pound. Your body trembles again, and not just from fury. You feel shaky. Cold. Spent.

Senku notices immediately.

“Lie down.”

“I said I’m fine—”

“You’re not. You’re still feverish. You probably have minor myopathy and you’ve definitely got brain fog if you think yelling will help.”

You try to push yourself up. He’s there, catching your arm.

“You need to rest.”

“But winter’s coming! And we still haven’t preserved all the—”

“I’ll do it.”

You blink. “You don’t even know how—”

“Then I’ll learn. Just this once,” Senku mutters. “Yours is more vital to our food stores. Mine can wait a few days.”

You squint at him. “You’re serious?”

He folds his arms. “Yeah, princess. Even if you think I’m a secret pervert.”

“…You are a secret pervert.”

“Rest,” he says, tossing a blanket at your face like a ceasefire flag. “Or I’m confiscating all your flint knives.”

You glare. But you don’t argue again.

That night, you doze in and out, until you hear a whisper from nearby.

“Honestly… I thought you were gonna die.”

Taiju’s voice is soft. He thinks you’re asleep.

“I’ve never seen Senku like that before. He wasn’t even talking science. He just kept… muttering your name. Over and over. Shaking.”

You barely breathe. Your chest squeezes.

It matches the flashes you do remember, his hands trembling. Eyes blown wide. That desperate, breaking whisper.

“I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes tighter.

Taiju’s snoring rattles the treehouse when Senku finally sneaks back in. His steps are careful but not silent. You hear him mutter something about idiotic long legs and Taiju taking up all the space.

You shift, just enough to let him know you’re awake. He pauses.

“…You feeling less like death?”

“…I’m sorry I screamed.”

Senku blinks. “That was your apology?”

“I still think you’re a pervert.”

He snorts, folding himself down beside you with exaggerated fatigue. “Sure. Because my dream goal was to get pneumonia and hear you accuse me of having a caveman cuddle kink. You got me.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. Tired. Soft.

“…Thanks for not leaving me.”

He goes quiet. Then,

“Not gonna happen.”

Chapter Text

The wind howled through the trees like it was trying to claw its way into the Kingdom of Science itself. Inside the treehouse, insulated walls of thatch and fur barely muffled the on coming winters fury. You lay curled in bed, a stubborn fever still clinging to your body, lungs rattling with each breath.

Senku, for once, was not in his lab.

He was in the camp’s makeshift kitchen you’d made, coat sleeves rolled up, a glint of focus in his eye—and an unmistakable note of sheer panic underneath.

He’d taken over everything. Drying fish, salting meats, insulating the home, checking and double-checking every storage jar of pickled vegetables. The experiments were on pause. Science could wait.

You couldn’t.

But cooking… Cooking was an entirely different battlefield.

He tried to fish the way you did, ankle-deep in freezing river water with a spear he definitely made too short. The fish laughed at him. Mocked him. Taunted him with their shiny scales and Olympic-level evasive manoeuvres.

He missed you. The way you hummed while working. The way you didn’t complain when the work was endless, just did it, made jokes, made him eat.

And dammit, you tried to teach him this.

Later that night, Taiju stepped carefully into the central firepit, arms full of chopped firewood. “Hey, I brought more—” He paused, sniffing the air. “…Is something burning?”

Senku didn’t look up from the pot over the fire. “It’s called the Maillard reaction. Completely intentional. Don’t question genius.”

Taiju peeked over his shoulder. “…What is that?”

“…Soup,” Senku said grimly.

“…What kind of soup?”

Senku hesitated. “…The ‘I-forgot-whether-myoga-goes-with-wild-rabbit-or-mushrooms-and-added-both’ kind.”

Taiju took a cautious sip.

And immediately choked.

“Mmm! So—so warming!” Taiju said with watery eyes and a positively green face. “Warming like a fire. Inside my stomach. It’s fine! Really! I feel alive!”

Senku looked at him, unimpressed. “You gagged twice and I saw your soul try to leave your body.”

Meanwhile upstairs, and under every fur you could get hold of—you coughed hard, chest aching. Your head throbbed and your body begged you to stay still, but the smell wafting up through the treehouse wasn’t right.

What IS that?

“…Senku?” you called weakly.

No answer.

You groaned, moving to your knees while reaching for more blankets, prepared to shuffle to the exit, only to stop when the door creaked open. Senku appeared with a tray in hand and a face full of guilt.

“…Hey,” he muttered, setting the tray beside you. “Soup.”

You eyed it. Then eyed him.

“…Did you make this?”

“Affirmative.”

You sniffed it. Your nose wrinkled. “…Is that… mugwort? With rabbit and myoga?”

He paused. “…Possibly.”

You didn’t even taste it. Instead, you held out a hand. “Notebook.”

“What?” he looked at the outstretched hand like it was an alien life form.

“Your field notebook. Now.”

Senku hesitated. Then, sighing, he handed it over.

You cracked it open, flipped a few pages, and scribbled something in large, angry letters. After a beat, you shoved it back at him.

Scrawled in crooked script across the next recipe page:

“Next time, just ASK me. Or ya know... just use a PINCH OF SALT.”

Senku stared.

Then, to your surprise, he laughed. Loud and sharp and unfiltered.

“…Yeah. Okay. Noted.”

You leaned back against the furs. “Leave science to the scientist. But leave soup to the woman with tastebuds.”

“Touché.” He stood, stretching. “Also, you’re not allowed to die. You’re the only one who doesn’t mistake wolfsbane for parsley.”

“…Wait, who did that?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Was it Taiju?”

“…Don’t eat the mushrooms either.”

After Senku climbed down the ladder for the third time in ten minutes, the tray balanced in one hand and a scowl etched so deep into his face it might’ve been permanent. “Just stay in bed,” he muttered under his breath. “Like a normal, cooperative, half-dead patient—”

A rustling.

Then a flump.

He looked up just in time to see an entire mountain of furs, pelts, and blankets shifting slowly, awkwardly down the ladder like some sort of mythological beast.

“…Are you kidding me?” he snapped.

Your head poked out of the fluffy mass—hair tousled, eyes bleary, nose red, and expression done. “Shhhh.”

“Shhh nothing, what the hell do you think you’re doing—!”

You reached the ground and immediately lifted one hand, muffled in fur, and pressed a finger directly to his lips.

He froze.

You blinked slowly at him, face flushed and voice hoarse. “My head hurts too much for you to lecture me at full volume right now, Senku. I’m serious.”

His mouth opened slightly, only for your finger to press firmer.

“I came down because it’s warmer down here. That’s it. No heroic act. No rebellion. No need for your nerd ego to get bruised.”

Good boy. 

You let the finger drop.

He squinted at you. “…You’re wrapped in five blankets. You look like a malfunctioning woolly mammoth.”

You plonked yourself down beside the fire with a dramatic groan. “Then consider this an evolutionary advantage and hand me that spoon, Neanderthal. We’re fixing whatever mess you call ‘soup.’”

Ten minutes later, you had him slicing, stirring, and measuring correctly. You were too exhausted to do it all yourself, so instead you propped yourself up near the fire and barked instructions like a half-dead head chef.

“No. Senku. That is not a teaspoon, that is your ego again. Stop eyeballing things!”

I thought scientists were meant to be precise?

“It is a teaspoon, it’s just... you know... a little generous.”

“It’s a war crime.”

He grumbled but obeyed, glancing over every so often to make sure you weren’t slumping too far forward. You weren’t. Just barely.

Then came Taiju.

He crashed through the clearing like a freight train with arms. “I GOT MORE WOOD! I—oh hey!! You’re up! You look—uh…”

You were already halfway back up the ladder.

Senku didn’t stop stirring the pot. “That’s your voice. She’s allergic to it.”

“Aw man, sorry!” Taiju stage-whispered, which still registered as yelling.

Later, after the sun sets, you’re asleep again, curled back in the treehouse in your nest of warmth. Senku stood near the fire, running his hands over the pelt you’d left earlier.

“…Too cold, huh?” he murmured, glancing toward the ladder.

His eyes flicked to your “coat” draped over a branch nearby. It was more a pile of stitched-together hopes and scrap fabric than an actual coat.

“I made my robe. Can’t be that hard.”

He muttered to himself as he gathered supplies, mind already engineering the pattern. Your height, arm span, shoulder width, how your hands always disappeared into sleeves if they weren’t fitted just right.

He remembered your baggy hoodie collection—everyday a different colour. He smirked.

Yeah, he could do this.

He worked until deep into the night, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in thought, every stitch a silent protest to the winter and your stubborn cold body.

When it was done, he folded it neatly.

And for once?

Didn’t try to wake you up to gloat.

The ladder creaked behind him as he climbed with measured steps, a bundle tucked under one arm, his breath fogging in the chilly air. The fire crackled weakly below, but up in the treehouse, the cold still bit through the walls, it was a thin protection, no matter how well they’d insulated it.

You were buried in your fortress of furs, a suspiciously quiet lump near the far corner, only a dishevelled tuft of hair visible. Still breathing, but still very much sick.

Senku crouched near the edge of your bedding and cleared his throat. “Before you start accusing me of ulterior motives, no, this isn’t a bribe to make you stay put. And no, it’s not some secret project stitched with nanothreads or something. Just… take it.”

He placed the folded coat gently atop the nearest pelt and stepped back, fully prepared for:

—Some dry sarcasm.

—A slow, skeptical squint.

—A grunt of reluctant approval.

—Maybe even a “Wow, you finally noticed I was freezing to death?”

What he got?

Hands shot out of the furs like an excited red panda, snatching the coat with startling speed. The whole blanket pile shifted, rustled, squirmed, like something had been absorbed into it entirely.

Senku stared.

There was a long pause.

And then—

From within the mass of bedding and pelts, a pair of glassy, watery eyes emerged. Your cheeks flushed pink from both the cold and fever, and a smile—small, earnest, devastatingly sweet—lit your face.

“Thank you,” you chirped.

Like a cartoon woodland creature receiving its favourite snack.

Senku forgot how air worked for a second.

You tucked the coat in tighter around yourself, looking more content than he’d seen you since before the fever hit. A soft sigh escaped you as you snuggled down, clearly unaware that you had just broken something in his brain.

He stood there, stunned, staring at where your face had disappeared again.

What the hell was that?

Where was the sass? The eye-roll? The dramatic groan of “finally”?

Where was the fierce, chaotic wildfire of a human who once threatened to push him into the river over burnt fish?

Why was sick you this… adorable?

Senku frowned.

That wasn’t fair.

He was supposed to be above distractions. He was supposed to be above… whatever the hell that reaction was.

His face twitched.

Taiju’s voice drifted up from below, cheerful and far too loud. “Hey! I brought more firewood! Is Y/N still—WHOA, Senku?!”

The scientist twitched hard enough to nearly slip down the ladder.

Taiju stared up at him, then frowned.

“…Are you okay? You look kinda… pink. Are you getting sick again?”

“I’m not sick,” Senku snapped, adjusting his coat and scowling at absolutely nothing.

“You sure? You’ve got that same look you had when you were feverish. All flushed and weird and twitchy.”

“I’m fine. Go stoke the fire.”

“Your ears are red.”

Senku muttered something about “neanderthals” and “mind-your-own-damn-business” before climbing down, not realizing he was still holding a needle and thread.

The sky was pale steel, and the wind carried a sharpness that promised a brutal winter. But for once, you weren’t shivering.

You stepped out of the treehouse in your new coat, the fox fur trim brushing your cheeks and catching the light like a crown. The shape was almost identical to Senku’s robe, the same thick weave, same smart cut for manoeuvrability—but yours… yours looked strong. The fur-lined hood framed your braided hair like a war maiden from another age. Not just a survivor now. A soldier of the cold.

Taiju practically dropped a log. “WHOA! Y/N—you’re up?! You look awesome! That coat! And your hair—! You look like… like a warrior queen!”

You laughed, spinning once so the skirt of the coat flared. “Takes more than pneumonia to keep me down.”

Senku barely glanced up from the diagram he was sketching in the dirt. “Huh. Viking raccoon-chic. Interesting fashion evolution.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment, nerd?”

But he was already back to scribbling. Typical. No smug follow-up. No teasing, but he couldn’t hide the small smile on his face.

That alone told you how deeply he’d missed your presence. How he needed to bury it again now that you were back.

You took back food patrol.

The forest was dying. Every day, you saw it more clearly. The bare branches, yellowing moss, roots frozen to the touch. But you knew how to spot what was left. Nuts still buried under frost. Mushrooms clinging to fallen logs. Bitter berries birds had missed.

Taiju kept the firewood stacked high and moved huge pots of smoked fish and root vegetables to the storehouse.

Senku rotated between chemical trials and insulation checks, fixing gaps in the treehouse floor and occasionally muttering about “thermal conductivity” like he was personally offended by heat loss.

It felt like balance again.

Not perfect.

But stable.

Until you came back from a long day of foraging and found them laughing.

Never a good sign. 

Inside the lab, two crude clay cups in hand, Senku and Taiju sat cross-legged beside a large sealed pot. Your nose caught the sharp, sour scent of fermentation immediately.

Taiju spotted you first. “Hey! You’re just in time! We’re testing our first batch of wine!”

“Technically a berry-based wild fermentation, but sure, let’s call it wine,” Senku added smugly, sipping his cup like some haughty revolutionary on the cusp of insulting a monarch. “We’re all a little over 3700 years old, so it’s not like there’s a legal drinking age.”

He sipped again.

Smirked.

The kind of smirk that made you want to throw him into the wine pot.

Taiju extended a hand. “Wanna try some?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Not if it came from a crock you stomped with your big-ass feet.”

They laughed, but you didn’t join in. You kept your smile just tight enough to hide the way your stomach clenched.

It wasn’t until later, after dinner, that you sat with your back to the fire, fur hood down, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood stump, and Senku sat nearby doing calculations in the dim glow.

You broke the silence.

“My mom used to drink. A lot.”

Senku didn’t look up.

But he didn’t write either.

“And her boyfriends too. Every last one of them. First it was beer. Then it was the stuff that smelled like nail polish remover. Then it was just… rage. And fists. And slurred apologies.”

You shrugged, as if it were ancient history, not something that still echoed in your bones.

“I’ve seen what alcohol does to people. What it turns them into. I don’t ever want to be like that. I don’t care how old I am.”

There was a long pause.

Then Senku set his notebook down, slowly. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp with honesty.

“…That makes a hell of a lot more sense than bacteria from Taiju’s feet.”

You huffed a laugh, eyes stinging slightly.

He didn’t press. Didn’t pry. Just added softly, “You don’t have to explain it. Not to me.”

You nodded, once, grateful.

Then he stretched his arms above his head and announced with a yawn, “Anyway, I’m done getting sentimental. Time to make nital. That’s way more fun.”

You chuckled. “Ah, the romance of science.”

“Get excited.”

You groaned. “Stop making that a thing—”

But when you looked over, you caught him watching you for just a second too long, just a little too soft.

Then it was gone. Buried behind equations and fumes and a thousand-year mission.

But you’d seen it.

And he knew you had.

Chapter Text

The new coat was a masterpiece of survivalist engineering, its layers snug and impenetrable. Your hair, tightly braided in a practical, Viking-warrior style of two French braids. It felt like you were prepared against the rapidly cooling world. You were, physically, perfectly equipped. Emotionally, you were a exposed nerve.

Things had been… twitchy.

Ever since the hypothermia incident—a phrase that would never, ever be spoken aloud—you and Senku couldn't occupy the same three-meter radius without the air curdling. Averted eyes, sudden and intense interest in unrelated tasks, and hastily invented reasons to be literally anywhere else had become the norm.

You’d had enough. This was worse than the bickering. This silent, skittish dance was unsustainable, and you weren't about to let it devolve into Bed Wars 2.0 of sleep-stealing and passive-aggressive remarks. You were adults—ish.

You needed to talk.

Senku, of course, seemed to possess a sixth sense for your intent. The moment you even thought about broaching the subject, he’d become a ghost.

How can one scrawny scientist be so good at evasion?

Your first attempt was direct. You cornered him in his lab, a space usually buzzing with manic energy.

“Hey, we need to t—”

BANG.

His current experiment—a precarious-looking distillation setup—chose that exact moment to violently decompromise. A cloud of acrid smoke and shattered pottery shrapnel flew across the room. You ducked behind a large pot, heart hammering for a wholly different reason than the conversation.

When the dust settled and you stood up, coughing, the room was empty save for the lingering smell of sulfur and failure.

He was gone. Vanished. Like he’d been teleported by the force of his own inconvenient timing.

The next attempt came during a rare, quiet moment by the fire pit. Taiju, exhausted from a day of hauling logs and shouting at wildlife, yawned so wide you feared for his jaw, mumbled a goodnight, and stumbled into the shack.

Finally. Alone.

You turned, drawing a steadying breath. “Senku—”

The log he’d been sitting on was vacant.

What... The...

You scanned the clearing. Nothing. You checked the lab, the storage shack, even the designated toilet area—thankfully, he wasn’t there. You went to bed that night, teeth gritted, completely and utterly miffed.

.

Your suspicion was confirmed the following afternoon.

You spotted him near the stream, fiddling with a batch of soap. A perfect opportunity. You approached from behind, silent as a cat, ready to pounce.

He didn’t even look up. “Took you long enough.”

Before you could react, he upended a bucket of water across the dirt in front of him. You lunged—

—and immediately went skidding across the slick ground, arms flailing like a malfunctioning windmill. You slid past him in a spectacular display of zero dignity, crashing into a log with a thump.

Senku didn’t even move. Just watched you sail by and muttered, smug as sin, “Coefficient of friction says hi.”

You sat up still not ready to give up, twigs in your hair, fists clenched. “Do NOT run this time, Ishigami.”

He tilted his head, lips quirking. “Hey, Taiju, catch.”

Before you could stop him, he tossed a rock sample over your shoulder.

“Wha—?!” Taiju, who had just wandered into the clearing, scrambled to catch it. He didn’t. Instead, he tripped, flailed, and plowed into you like a human battering ram, knocking the air clean out of your lungs.

By the time you wrestled free of Taiju’s panicked apologies, Senku was gone. Again.

He is SOO dead when I get hold of him. 

By the fourth day, you’d entered open warfare.

You saw him returning from a mineral run, his satchel heavy with rocks. You moved with the quiet precision of a hunter, positioning yourself at the entrance to his lab, arms crossed.

He froze mid-step, his eyes snapping to you. You saw the calculation in his gaze—a rapid assessment of escape vectors.

He quickly glanced left and right, his body tensing for flight.

“Don’t,” you warned, your voice low and steady.

He had the audacity to flash a sharp, sideways grin. “Oops.”

In one fluid motion, he pulled a small pouch from his belt and tossed it into the nearby fire pit.

WOOSH.

The fire erupted in a blinding, magnesium-bright burst of white light. You flinched, throwing a hand up against the sudden glare.

When your vision cleared, he was gone. Yet again, leaving only the smell of scorched eyebrows and a faint, mocking “heh” still echoing in the breeze.

“ISHIGAMI!!!” you roared into the empty air, your voice echoing tauntingly back at you.

Birds scattered from the canopy. A squirrel fell out of a tree with a thump. Somewhere in the distance, Taiju called, “Bless you?”

It was impossible. Infuriating. Like you were the only adult in a world populated by a genius man-child and a lovable oaf.

You got it. You really did. Senku had the emotional expressiveness of a petri dish and communicated in facts, formulas, and sarcasm. You weren't much better, your first instinct being to throttle feelings into submission rather than talk about them.

But this was ridiculous. You weren't some love-sick middle schooler trying to confess your feelings behind the gym.

You just… wanted to clear the air. To return to the easy, insult-laden camaraderie that had, against all odds, made you feel comfortable. He was transparent, brutally blunt, and happily filled the silence with the hum of science. He was, in his own bizarre way, pure. And his current avoidance felt like a contamination of that.

Why can’t we just calk it up to Stockholm syndrome and move on?

Fine. If he wanted to play it that way, you’d stop chasing. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction. But as you stood there, the phantom smell of sulfur and the after-image of a chemical flash burned into your eyes, you had to admit—the scrawny vegetable was winning.

That night, the nightmare doesn’t feel like a memory, it feels like a relapse. You are small again, drowning in the fabric of a threadbare t-shirt.

Slam

The front door hits the wall with a crack of splintering wood. The entire property shudders, a glass on the counter teetering and falling, shattering on the lino. The sound is a starting pistol. Your heart jackhammers against your ribs, a frantic bird in a bony cage.

 He’s finally gone—for now.

The silence that follows is somehow louder, thick with the promise of his return. You shuffle out of your room, your bare feet cold on the gritty floor. The scene in the living room is a still life of devastation.

Your mother is a crumpled marionette against the wall. Not sobbing.

Just… empty.

 Her eyes are fixed on the static snow of the dead television, reflecting nothing. A thin, dark line of blood drips from a split in her chin, tracing a path down her neck to stain the collar of her dress. The coppery smell of it mixes with the stale reek of alcohol.

You grasp your chest through the thin cotton of your nightshirt, a feeble attempt to calm the frantic creature trapped inside.

Why?

The question isn’t a thought. It’s a rhythm in your blood, a beat you’ve known your whole life.

You pad into the kitchen, your small hands moving with practiced efficiency. The cloth is rough, the water from the tap shockingly cold. You wring it out before going to your mother, dabbing away the blood quietly.

Why?

“He’ll be back.” Her voice is a dry rustle, a dead leaf skittering on pavement. She says it like it’s a comfort, and not the ongoing horror that it is. “I forgot his whiskey. Had to drink sake instead. It always makes him… angry.”

You don’t correct her. There is no point. The litany of her excuses is a scripture written in bruises. You’ve long since stopped begging her to leave. Those words only ever ended with more pain for you.

Why?

Her hand comes up and you flinch violently, she's patting your head. It’s not a caress; it’s a heavy, unsteady thump that makes your neck ache.

 “You’ll understand one day,” she slurs, her breath a toxic cloud. “When you have a man of your own.”

I won’t.

The vow is silent, iron-hard, and forged in the pit of your stomach.

You disappear back into the kitchen to rinse the blood from the cloth. The water in the basin blooms a cloudy, sinister red. You reach for the next part automatically, your small fingers searching for the familiar, hidden shape behind the microwave.

Your medical bag. Your secret stash of bandages, antiseptic, and stolen dignity.

It’s gone.

A cold dread, sharper than any fear of his return, lances through you.

 You know where it will be.

You push open your sister Yumi’s door. The air is thick with the sweet, cloying scent of cheap perfume and something else, something chemical and wrong.

She’s slumped in a chair, head lolled back. A tourniquet, one of your bandages—is tied tight around her bicep. The needle, glinting in the dim light, is still hanging from the crook of her arm like a vile, metallic insect.

For a heart-stopping second, you think she’s dead.

A choked sound escapes you as you rush forward, your small fingers pressing against her throat, searching for a pulse. It’s there, a sluggish, dragging rhythm under her cold skin. Her eyes roll towards you, the pupils blown wide, black holes swallowing the irises.

“W-why?” you croak, your voice cracking. “Why would you take drugs?”

A slow, syrupy smile spreads across her face. It’s a grotesque mask. “Feels good, stupid.”

“You never took drugs before Kai!” The name of her latest boyfriend is a curse on your tongue.

 Your hands, trained by desperation and medical textbooks, check her vitals with a frantic, clinical precision. The books are your only comfort, their cold facts a shield against this hot, living nightmare. She’s not dying. Just high. Just throwing herself into another abyss.

You get her water, forcing the glass to her lips. She shoves you, a sudden, wiry strength in her limb. “I don’t need it, brat!”

Your head cracks against the sharp corner of her dresser. White light explodes behind your eyes. You gasp, seeing stars, but the pain is a familiar companion. You grab your medical bag from the floor where she dropped it, clutching it to your chest like a holy relic, and scamper to the door.

Before you can escape, her voice slurs out again, thick and final.

“Love makes you do stupid things.”

The phrase hangs in the toxic air. It’s the same one your mother uses. A curse they both wear like a brand. A justification for every broken bone, every shattered plate, every night spent huddled in fear or out in the cold.

You patch up your now unconscious mother, your hands steady despite the tremor in your soul. The blood is tacky, the cut clean. You wipe it away, erasing the evidence, unknowingly participating in the lie.

Back in your bed, you curl into the smallest possible ball, hugging the ragged teddy bear your dad left behind. Its stitching is coming loose, one button eye hanging by a thread.

If that’s love, I don’t want it.

Then, the sound you’ve been waiting for, dreading, knowing it was inevitable.

SLAM

The front door crashes open again. His voice booms through the flat, a thunderous, slurred rage. He’s shouting her name. Then yours.

Why?

The footsteps are heavy, deliberate, coming down the hall. Towards your door.

Why?

You squeeze the bear so tight you fear it might burst. You make yourself small, smaller, trying to disappear into the mattress, to become nothing.

The steps stop at your door.

The handle turns—

No ones coming to save you.

Why?!

You gasp awake. The treehouse creaks in a gentle breeze. It’s silent, unnervingly so, without even Taiju’s seismic snoring to anchor you.

You shuffle quietly down the ladder, sitting next to the cold, dark fire pit. You don’t bother to light it. Your pulse still thunders in your ears, and you hide your face in the thick layers of your new coat from the frigid air. You don’t need another dream to remember what happened next.

Your fingers come up, timidly tracing the smooth skin at the back of your head where a ridge of scar tissue used to be. The petrification had erased the physical proof, but the memory was etched deeper than any wound.

The vow echoed, as clear as the night it was made:

If that’s love, I don’t want it.

A soft rustle comes from above. You know who it is without looking.

Senku sits next to you, leaving a careful, scientific inch of space between you. You half-expect a lecture on thermal dynamics and the foolishness of sitting in the cold so soon after a near-fatal hypothermic event.

He doesn’t. He just sits, staring at the star-charted sky, but you see him suppress a full-body shiver.

You smile, a broken but fond thing, into your collar. He was so much like Byakuya.

I miss you.

You’re surge to your feet, gathering tinder and flint before he can form a single, sarcastic query. The fire sparks to life, and you nurse it until flames dance healthily, pushing back the deep-night chill. Only then do you settle back beside him. He watches the stars; you watch the fire. Neither moves.

You don’t mention his avoidance. You don’t speak of the past it claws up inside you. You offer a treaty, spoken in a language he can’t misinterpret.

“We’re friends.”

Senku’s head whips around, crimson eyes wide with surprise at the sudden, firm declaration.

You push on, your gaze fixed on the flames. “I’m going to touch you when you don’t want me to, hug you without asking, shout at you, complain about you, argue with you.”

You finally meet his eyes, holding them. “But—I’ll never push you towards something you’re not ready for. I’ll never judge you for needing space. And I’ll never leave.”

You look back at the night sky, a lopsided grin pulling at your mouth. “You’re officially stuck with me, nerd. Get excited.”

His stunned, slack-jawed expression lingers on your profile for a moment before dissolving into a sharp, brilliant grin. “Ten billion percent clear. So, what I’m getting from that speech is you’re formally requesting permission to harass me under the guise of platonic friendship.”

You choke on air, shoving him off the log as your face ignites. “That is NOT what I said, you science freak!”

“Should’ve added ‘will cause me undue physical harm’ to your list of friendship benefits,” he snickers, dusting himself off as he sits back down.

“Fuck off, you cryptid. You make me violent,” you mutter, the words devoid of any real heat.

The fire crackles between you, a comfortable silence settling for a moment.

“So…” Senku starts, a familiar, plotting edge to his voice. “As my officially designated ‘friend,’ does that mean you’ll help me hide a body?”

You humor him with a dead-serious look. “Why? Did you finally poison Taiju with one of your ‘culinary experiments’?”

He lets out a short, genuine laugh. “Pfft. I’m sticking to salt-curing fish. The worst you’ll get is mild dehydration from the sodium. It’s a perfectly calculated risk.”

You sigh dramatically. “Just leave the cooking to me. For the sake of all our digestive tracts.”

Slowly, you let your head rest against his shoulder. He freezes, every muscle locking up at the unfamiliar contact. For a long second, he’s as rigid as stone. Then, slowly, he relaxes, his posture softening just enough to accept the weight.

“Didn’t realize being a human pillow was part of the friendship contract,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t shift away.

“Every friendship has its own unique parameters. You’ll adapt. Or you won’t. The data’s inconclusive,” you yawn, settling in.

“...So? About the body?”

You huff a laugh against the fabric of his coat. “Depends. Is it blatantly obvious you’re the culprit?”

He actually pauses to consider it. “Oh, ten billion percent. It’d be a closed case.”

You think for a moment, a slow, wicked grin spreading across your face. “Yeah, alright. But you’re catching the pigs.”

You can feel his confusion without looking. “Pigs?”

“Yeah. You already killed our hypothetical victim,” you explain matter-of-factly. “So, I’d chop the body up by the river and feed it to the pigs—they’ll even eat the bones. No waste, no evidence. It’s the ecosystem-friendly option.”

Instead of horror, his response is pure, clinical curiosity. “What about the murder weapon?”

How did we go from clarifying our friendship to optimizing body disposal?

“I’d melt it down and recast it as a necklace. A memento.”

It’s silent for a moment before Senku lets out a low whistle. “You’re terrifying.”

You don’t break character. “You’re welcome. You should’ve consulted me first. If you’d frozen the blade in a block of ice before using it, the ice would have shattered and melted, leaving no tool marks on the bone. It would’ve saved us the smelting step.”

Senku tilts his head, considering. “Valid. Ice works as a temporary weapon, though the brittleness under torsion limits effectiveness.”

You gape at him. “You’re arguing the science of the murder weapon?”

He shrugs, processing the efficiency of your method. “I suppose you already have a cover story prepared.”

“Of course,” you yawn again, your voice growing heavy with sleep. “When questioned, I’d act evasive, then ‘break down’ and confess we’d been sleeping together. The sheer, unimaginable shock of that confession would completely throw them off the trail.”