Notes:
｢ ｣ = Kumagawa talking
｢｢ ｣｣ = Kumgawa's unvoiced words
｢｢ ｣｣ = Kumagawa's actual thoughts
( ) = Subconscious/stream of consciousness thoughts

Warnings for very weird writing format.

Resonant

(he laid there [dying] and everything he felt was 'pain' mind numbing gut wrenching heart shaking pain like that time [those times] he was attacked [for no reason at all] and bled always there dying dying dying was dying an art? and oh who was he kidding he died all the damn time [and if dying was an art he sure had it figured out] it wasn't anything new except that each time she'd grow more powerful more more more the more he saw her [because he got so scared!] which seemed to be a common occurrence there never passed a day when someone new wasn't there glaring down at him calling him out laughing in his face and [since no one liked him] they would challenge him [and it was okay] because he was the villain—

wasn't that right?)

~.

Through the fog, through the mindless, endless stupor of a madman on the verge of complete dementia, Kumagawa felt a shadow fall over his collapsed form.
Confused indigo eyes—beautiful eyes, fierce and hateful and proud, better-suited-when-they-were-open eyes—blinked down at him.
From the top of the stairway, half past five since classes had let out, the halls void and silent except for the two of them, a familiar, indefinitely hated, and hotheaded kouhai raised his eyebrow.
The kid had the audacity to look concerned.

"I don't know what the hell happened here..."

The words were left hanging; a sudden coolness touched him then—pain, pain, pain, it hurts!—and his own eyes widened in shock at the movement that almost went completely undetected.
Zenkichi—probably without even fully thinking about it—had reached to lift his head from its slumped position on the ground and against the wall instead.
Somehow, the blond was now leaning over him with an odd air of … gentleness.
It was all too surreal.

"...But are you okay, Kumagawa-senpai?"

Everything began to grow numb.
Where were his limbs?; they must be detached from his body, with the way he struggled to bring back sensation to his arms, his legs; his neck loosening...
Thick trails of murky blood continued to make their way down the stairway steps, attempting to stream over and out like a cackling waterfall.
Misogi watched the maroon lines racing each other, smiling even while struggling to remain conscious.
His eyes fluttered; he felt the cool hand switch to the back of his head, soothingly.

｢｢What the hell are you doing?｣｣

｢Oh, were you... worried about me, Zenkichi-chan?｣

The words came out more garbled than anything.
Up, down, up, down, the steady cadence of a weak chest struggling to breathe.
Specks of blood flew from his still-grinning lips; splattered like a mess of cherub freckles on Zenkichi's face.
Outside, unbeknownst to them, the clouds had parted way quietly, as if to give them the privacy they needed.
From the window above him, dim rays of evening sunlight streamed through to illuminate the blond's surprisingly stoic expression.

"To be honest?"

The face came down closer, so close that he could make out the sapphire in those solemn indigo orbs; the grim press of lips set in unexpected concern; the soft glow of sympathy beneath a cool and brash exterior. Sympathy and ... affection.

For some reason, a fresh wave of dizziness swam behind his lids, and it had nothing to do with his lacerating injuries.

"Yeah, I really was."

Misogi almost chortled aloud.

｢Ah~ha~ What silly reason could you possibly possess for caring?｣

There wasn't much left of his heart to feel.
It felt crushed, empty, nonexistent, as it always had.
Years of reopening bloody, bleeding, scabbing wounds; enduring constant mental and physical pummeling from strangers and 'friends' alike; listening to their colorful insults meant to tear his will and soul to pieces; all the while stewing in the negativity of a Minus-Minus-Minus psycho-maniac mind had nullified any sort of response from that pathetic little organ.
So it was utterly baffling when Kumagawa felt something well deep in his chest at Zenkichi's rueful smile.
Something naively ... warm.

"Because it looks like it hurts, you know."

｢｢That couldn't be his heart, could it?｣｣

"It looks like it hurts a lot, every time."

｢｢Why now though?｣｣

Zenkichi seemed almost embarrassed as he—no doubt unconsciously—ran his hand through Misogi's hair, toward the back of his head and downward, as if to soothe him, comfort him.
As if to feel the multiple wounds laced like intricate stitchings down the length of his neck and his spine and his body, decorated with scars of all sizes and colors: gaping scars, invisible scars, erased scars, scars that had never existed in the first place...
Scars which resonate forever.

"Even though you make them all go away in the end—"

Zenkichi said quietly, eyes lowering to stare at the cuts running jagged down his senpai's face, at the bloody tears falling from his eyes and grinning lips.

"—Don't they still hurt when you receive them?"
At that moment, at that instant, it must have hurt so much, right?

｢｢Yes.｣｣

"Don't they hurt, because you can still remember them?"
Because All-Fiction can't erase your memories, your nightmares, can it?

｢｢I remember every single thing.｣｣

But it wasn't anything to worry about.
He was a Minus; his motto (did he even care to have one anymore?) was a losing one; one wrought in pain, suffering, and hardship; such was the life of someone like him, destined to be … less than nothing.
A Zero like Zenkichi, a Zero with a life of possibilities—the possibility of becoming something much, much more than a "Zero" (something completely inconceivable for a Minus)—why should he care?

Instead of saying any of those things, he said nothing.
Misogi could only stare back, dazed, as the blond trailed off, looking suddenly uncertain and abashed.
The forwardness wasn't anything new when it came to Zenkichi—the kid was more than slightly overbearing when it came to his emotions—but this… this here, the strange approach, the lingering hand and now arm, looping back to curl around his waist, pushing them closer than ever together, the body reaching to envelop him in something too intimate to be considered a normal hug…
Now that was something new.

It was a bit frightening—having someone notice in such a peculiar fashion.
Though it didn't stop the flush of happiness from spreading across his battered cheeks.

No one, not even Medaka, had ever cared to notice before.

｢｢How refreshing.｣｣

Outside, the sun gradually stole behind a curtain of inky black, as if to signal the end—or perhaps start—of another arc.
Inside, the echos of a deserted hallway stood on hushed tiptoe as two figures came lumbering down the stairway, the bruised, fatally injured, and incomplete body of one unreliable senpai clinging close to the back of his headstrong kouhai.
His legs had been crushed, his neck had been snapped like a wilted flower, and his split eyeballs continued to loll in their sockets like deranged cerulean marbles.
But Kumagawa's smile—brief and sincere over his exhausted expression, head pressed against Zenkichi's shoulder—was content.
Happy.

｢It was my fault... but thank you for caring anyway, Zenkichi-chan.｣

~.

(he laid there [breathing] and everything he felt was 'peace' mind numbing gut wrenching heart shaking peace like that time [those times] he was surrounded [for no reason at all] by smiles laughter exclamations of his name always there living living living was living a sin? and oh who was he kidding he wanted to live always wanted to live this whole damn time [and if living was a sin he sure was screwed wasn't he] it wasn't anything new except that each time he'd grow more confident more more more the more he saw him [because he got so happy!] which seemed to be a common occurrence there never passed a day when he didn't realize just how lucky how fortunate how insanely grateful he was [since they cared for him] they would challenge him [and it was okay] because he was the hero—

wasn't that right?)

Fin.

A/N: I truly adore Kumagawa (very very very much *-*) and throughout the manga, my heart broke every time he got beat up like almost literally to death by every single person he met. It was hilarious but also extremely sad and ;`;-inducing at the same time. And because I somehow wackily ship him with Zenkichi (in both a platonic and nonplatonic way), I thought I'd do a small tribute for these two very interesting, lovable characters. C: The fandom definitely needs a lot more fanfics for them/between them (or in general, actually!).

Hopefully it was enjoyable to read (even though I went weird with this one's format), and critiques/comments are as always welcomed! 3/19/14 [1:38 AM] Up for future edits.