A/N: this is the climax chapter. i planned on finishing up the whole story BEFORE i went on my trip but unfortunately this chapter was too long and demanding. i spent hours and hours and hours and somehow never got any closer to the finish until i was already in a completely different country. shout out to dublin, ireland. it's very lovely! i'll try to write more during my trip but it'll be tricky to find time to write. expect the final chapter by mid-october FOR SURE though.
in any case, this chapter is pretty violent. if that bothers you, then be careful proceeding.
xix: grow up weak or grow up tough.
Smoking was historically-for Natsume, at least-a pretty good way of inducing sleep.
He remembered the first time he tried a cigarette, back after his dad had died. He certainly hadn't started because he thought it would help him sleep. In fact, he was pretty sure it was supposed to have the opposite effect. In reality, he had just been tired of being tired, of going out on walks with nothing to do. Buying his first pack of cigarettes and a lighter and then smoking up in the middle of the parking lot was just an experiment, and not one he had imagined being successful. He had originally figured he'd hate it, but for some reason, when he inhaled and felt death cradle his lungs, it was the first time he'd felt really comforted since his father's funeral. It felt right, like the planets were aligning or similar bullshit.
This was how things were supposed to be: Natsume was always meant to die.
And sooner rather than later.
If he was supposed to believe in fate, or that everything happens for a reason, then all the signs pointed to that specific conclusion. All those beatings from school, all that pain and misery, the apathy and boredom, they were all telling him the same thing: that he wasn't supposed to be alive.
Why fight it?
But ever since that stupid kiss (or more accurately, kisses, plural), the cigarettes hadn't felt right or proper or helpful at all. They mostly felt like a waste of time, and that was the worst part.
They felt wrong before-like some sort of guilty pleasure-but ultimately, they helped. They did something, even if that something was just helping him die a little faster than he otherwise would.
He was so fucked at this point that not even cigarettes could ruin him anymore. He was tainted now. The stain Mikan had left on his lungs was embedded so deep in his tissues that he couldn't even smoke it out.
He was lying to himself, smoking these cigarettes under the guise of helping his feelings of failure. It did nothing. Not anymore. All the cigarettes did anymore was piss him off.
That didn't stop him from smoking, of course. He'd tell himself that he was just unaccustomed to them after such a long hiatus, that they'd kick in if he readjusted to them, if he could just unblock his mind somehow and let the smoke pull him under.
But it wouldn't work. It wasn't possible anymore. He met Mikan and all the cigarettes in the world lost their magic, like some sort of messed up curse.
He should just get over it. After all, the only thing she'd actually done was ruin his life and waste his time. She was worse than a cigarette. She had stalked him, right? Had harassed him? Why should he be concerned with her at this point?
But those were just words. Logic had no place in something as dark as his stained heart.
The next night after he'd resumed his sick habit, he returned once more to his and Lemonade Thief's favorite convenience store.
The one undoubtedly good thing to come of smoking was having an excuse to go out. There was always some extra pack to buy.
He did his usual routine of slowly trudging down the aisles and halfheartedly perusing the shelves. Then he went to the cash register, where the cashier was inexplicably missing. Natsume wasn't really surprised, because it was three in the morning and if it had been his job he certainly wouldn't be there either. It definitely wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, but it typically wouldn't bother him as much. Normally, he'd just take what he wanted and leave the cash by the register for the guy. But he wanted to buy the cigarettes behind the counter and he couldn't do that without the cashier.
He walked by the front a few times, opening and closing the door to signal the bell ringing, but nobody emerged from the back to give him his cigarettes.
He sighed in frustration. Honestly, he didn't even really want them, but he came here under the guise of buying cigarettes, and if he left without them, it would feel like he'd lied to himself (again).
Natsume tapped his fingers on the counter for a while. Then he leaned up against it. He even called out for somebody-"Helloooo?"-but it was a fruitless endeavor. Was he supposed to wait? Were they closed somehow?
He was getting more and more tired as the minutes slipped by. Time seemed to move at a simultaneously fast yet slow rate, as if just to annoy him. Not unusual, just irritating.
"Go to sleep," someone told him. He knew who was saying it, but she was dumb and didn't know what the fuck she was talking about.
"I can't." Not ever again, probably. "It's all your fault too. You should've thought of all this before you kissed me."
He wasn't aware of it at all, but he blinked and somehow found himself in the chips and snacks aisle, resting on the floor against the shelves in between the potato chips and the pretzels, his legs outstretched far enough to just barely touch the opposite shelf. The world was spinning, which also wasn't really unusual. It was just annoying.
"I wish you had cared enough about me to do something," Lemonade Thief said from beside him. She was grinning, like always, but it was still an odd look on her because the last time he'd seen her, she had been miserable. She was sitting right next to him, wearing the same old ratty hoodie as always. "You're honestly a failure."
Natsume wondered if he had the strength to get up off the floor and get himself a cup of coffee from the coffee station. He doubted it. If he had reached this state of delirium, where he was now seeing Mikan, then getting up was probably a waste of time. Ideally, this was all a sign that he was already asleep. He doubted it.
"You couldn't even chase after me," she chided. "It's like I meant nothing to you, honestly! And after I'd devoted so much of my time to you, too! I'm so disappointed."
"I was tired," Natsume grumbled. "I can't run. And I never asked you to devote anything to me. That was your own fault."
"And now you're talking to yourself too," she said. "It's pathetic!"
She didn't sound angry, though. That's why it wasn't very shocking when not-there-Mikan rested her head against his shoulder. It almost felt real. He wanted it to be real.
"But you do care about me, don't you?" she whispered. "That's why you're so miserable right now."
"I'm always miserable," Natsume pointed out.
He couldn't see her face but he knew she was smiling gently-that same look Aoi had on her face when she'd told him that "love doesn't ever die"-even if she said nothing. Like she knew something he didn't, like she felt sorry for him that he didn't understand.
"Do you love me too?" she asked.
"Neither of us knows what love is. We should stop pretending like it has anything to do with us."
She seemed to see where he was coming from-but of course she did; she was just a figment of his own imagination-and stayed silent after that. They rested against each other in that aisle and Natsume felt himself flit in that horrible place between sleep and consciousness. His eyes were open but they only half worked. His mind was endlessly refreshing, but nothing loaded properly.
It almost felt like sleep, except that it was terrible, just his body's way of taunting him without giving him anything. He wouldn't fall asleep tonight, not in this state.
"You know, dude, I was looking all over this place for you. I never expected to find you on the fucking floor."
Natsume blinked and his brain refreshed again. He waited for the image in front of him to load. The voice was familiar enough but he didn't feel like placing it. If he was in some sort of danger, it was all for the best if he got killed here. If he died and this fantasy-Mikan was beside him as he went, it wouldn't be the worst way to go.
"Get up, man. The floor cannot be comfortable."
Natsume just groaned unhappily. He'd never been less comfortable.
"I mean, if you like this, maybe you should've joined us after all. We've slept on plenty of floors." The guy laughed. "I'm just joking."
"Your shoulder is soft," fake-Mikan lied to him. "That makes it kinda comfortable, right?"
Natsume was sick of this. He gathered all his energy and lifted his head up just enough to let it smash against the shelf behind him.
"Whoa! Careful there! You're gonna hurt yourself!"
Maybe so, but at least now he could make out the person in front of him.
It was Tsubasa, the guy he'd only met once before he got dragged to that terrible house.
"You okay?" he asked with a concerned smile.
Natsume blinked rapidly, trying to trigger a more alert state. He clumsily pulled his heavy body to a standing position, despite every one of his cells begging him to drop dead. "What are you doing here?" he asked nervously. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why not?" Tsubasa asked. "Because Kuonji doesn't want me to be?" When Natsume shrugged, he just chuckled sadly. "I don't give a single shit what he wants. And neither do you."
"You figure that out yourself, genius?"
Tsubasa just sighed.
"Where's Mikan?"
"The house, probably," he replied easily. "I had to leave. I've been gone for a few days now. I forgot how easy life is when you're not worshiping a narcissist."
"Where have you been staying?"
Instead of answering, he said, "Anywhere's better than that house."
"So what are you doing here?"
"Because I know you helped Mikan. I know you care about her. That makes you the only person in the whole world who might be willing to help me take down Kuonji."
Natsume just raised an eyebrow. "Did it ever occur to you that there's no point in trying? The situation is a little hopeless, if you hadn't noticed."
"You're gonna tell me?" Tsubasa snapped. "I lived with that guy for almost a decade. I watched him hurt the people I care about and did nothing, thinking that was the way things ought to be. It seems hopeless because that's exactly what he wants. It's not hopeless. I know him. I know how his brain works. You've only known Mikan for-what?-a few months? If that? Don't you dare tell me what's hopeless."
"Fine, you're a shoe-in," Natsume replied sarcastically. "What makes you think I'd be willing to help you?"
"Because Mikan is in danger. Does there need to be more of a reason, Natsume?"
Natsume blinked in surprise to hear his name, not that silly nickname that Mikan had picked out for him. "How-"
"I don't know how you feel about her, but I know how she feels about you. They'll be moving on soon. I can feel it. When she leaves this place, you will never see her again. She'll never see you again, and it will destroy her. If you care about her at all-"
"Can people stop saying that to me?" Natsume cut off angrily. "Of course I care about her. But caring about people doesn't suddenly give me superpowers. It doesn't make me capable of accomplishing the impossible. I couldn't make her stay. If I do anything, she could end up hurt even worse. If you wanna be an idiot, and get her and every other person in that house killed, be my guest. But I know that's all for nothing. This isn't a fantasy or a Hollywood movie or a stupid fairytale. This is real life. And sometimes, in real life, there's nothing you can do. If you try, all you'll end up doing is killing her. So if you care about her at all, you'll leave it alone before you make it worse."
He summoned some energy he didn't even know he had and turned for the door. He didn't need the cigarettes. None of it would help anyway. Nothing ever helped. The whole world was doomed.
"Kuonji has killed fifteen people in the last three years," Tsubasa said from behind him, voice forceful. "And if I'm right, that includes a former member of his little family: Amane Rui, who disappeared a little after I joined. Rui started asking questions and acting out and pissing Kuonji off. I've already pissed off Kuonji, so I'm a dead man too. But I can't let him keep hurting the woman I love, or the friends I've made who are still in that house. You know who else is on thin ice? Partly because of your own clumsy actions? Mikan. If she slips up even one more time, she might get killed. This situation is a lot more dire than even you might think. It's a very fragile balance. Kuonji is a mad man. If even one thing goes against his way, he kills people. What makes you think there's a way to protect her by staying out of it? She'll probably end up dead either way, so why not fucking try?"
Natsume just stared blankly at the man. He looked a lot more boyish from afar. Up close you could see the wasted years in his eyes. His youthful appearance was a facade, maybe in the same way that Mikan's evergreen smile was nothing more than a mask.
"Come on, Natsume. She needs you right now."
A beat later, not-Mikan took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers together. "Please."
He sighed.
Tsubasa was much more impressed by Imai than Natsume had been. Natsume thought she was nothing more than a weirdo. Sure her weirdness could be useful, but she still gave him the creeps. Meanwhile, Tsubasa didn't seem to find any of her behavior off-putting.
"This is awesome!" he exclaimed when Natsume showed him their text exchange. "She's like a hacker!"
"Something like that," Natsume mumbled bitterly. He was personally disturbed by the thought of why exactly Imai had gotten into this hobby of hers, as well as the direct threats she'd made on his already worthless reputation and life.
Natsume had reluctantly led Tsubasa to his apartment. He let Tsubasa look through his phone at the table while he lay on his bed after quickly collapsing on it. He closed his eyes in an effort to quell his headache, but it did very little.
"So she's collecting information on Kuonji?" Tsubasa scrolled, fascinated. "Wow, she found a lot."
"Is it all accurate?" Natsume asked, but he already knew it was.
"Yeah," was the sad answer. He seemed to have gotten to the very bottom of the text exchange.
Amane Rui, Serio Rei, Harada Misaki, Tono Akira, Ando Tsubasa, Hijiri Youichi. These are all missing persons cases that match Kuonji's movements. I don't know if they're all related, but it seems like too much of a coincidence. Most of them were teenagers when they disappeared but the last one was just a toddler. Let me know if any of those names are familiar.
"These are all links," Tsubasa said slowly.
"Yup."
Tsubasa painstakingly went through each and every one of the links, reading aloud the interesting tidbits, even though Natsume insisted he'd already read them all a thousand times.
"Amane Rui never came home from his friend's house-"
"Later that evening, Serio's roommates would find that his entire room was cleared out of all belongings, much of which was found outside on the curb. The investigation was dropped as it pointed more to a case of a student dropout than a kidnapping-"
"Harada Misaki has been missing for eleven years… This composite picture below is what she might look like today…"
"Tono never arrived back home after leaving his shift at the movie theater. The records show he had clocked out, but there is no trace of him after that-"
"Ando went to soccer practice as usual but never came back home…" His voice came to a stop. Natsume knew what the next part of the article was. He didn't have to keep reading.
His parents have been campaigning for his safe return, moving all over Japan in the hopes that someone might have a clue about what happened to their son. They never gave up hope that he was still alive.
And Hijiri Youichi's story was perhaps the most disturbing, accounting the toddler's disappearance from a playground after he'd been spotted playing with an unkept young couple. He was never seen again… until Natsume walked into that house and saw him lounging on the gross pillows. Did he even remember his family, who had been searching endlessly for him since his disappearance?
"Mikan doesn't have a missing persons case filed for her," Natsume pointed out when Tsubasa was finally done. "According to Imai, that's because she'd gradually dropped contact with everyone after she… after she became homeless…"
"You knew all this and still thought it was hopeless?"
"What part of this is at all helpful? Most of you went with him willingly. Police don't usually take teenage runaway cases very seriously anyway. Kuonji could argue that he didn't know your ages, or that he was actually trying to help. You may be willing to speak against him, but the rest of your family will probably defend him and say that you're lying. Youichi's case is the only one that holds water and that would only land him about seven years, even if it goes our way. So, no, none of this really helped."
"Seven years is still better than nothing-I mean, I always thought Youichi was one of ours but-"
"Seven years is worse than nothing. He's going to get out angrier than ever and he'll go after the people who put him in there-"
"You think I don't know that?" Tsubasa spat. "That's why we scatter. We change our names if we have to. It's not ideal, but getting him out of that house is the most important thing we can do. After he's behind bars, we can do more research, find a way to connect him to those murders. We can campaign for a longer sentence. There's things we can do."
Tsubasa was certainly idealistic. His plans were all tied to an idea of some benevolent justice system that would fight for his family. Imai was pragmatic. She was looking into ways to involve the national press system by warning them that somebody was running around Japan killing politicians and kidnapping babies, the only part of this case that might alert the general public enough that they might call for an investigation.
Natsume knew better. None of that would lead to anything. They could change their names if they wanted, but so could Kuonji. He'd manage to evade justice this long, after all. What would stop him from trying again? If they really wanted something to change, one of them would have to be stupid enough to march into that house and kill Kuonji once and for all. That was the only way to resolve any of this.
Still, he let Tsubasa ramble on about his silly little schemes that wouldn't go anywhere.
He rambled into the early hours of the morning until Natsume insisted he had to go to work.
"Work?" Tsubasa echoed. "But you didn't get any sleep."
Natsume resisted the urge to ask, "And whose fault is that?" It wasn't accurate anyway; even if Tsubasa had kept to himself, he wouldn't have fallen asleep. Instead, he just shrugged.
He told Tsubasa that he didn't mind him crashing for a few days at his place. But Tsubasa insisted on moving on.
"I'm not gonna put you out like that, man. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
Natsume watched as Tsubasa left, closing the door behind him. He stayed put on his bed, vaguely aware of the fact that he could've hallucinated this whole encounter. He got up after a few minutes and started getting ready for work.
He didn't see Tsubasa again after that.
Or his cell phone.
The days after he saw Tsubasa were pretty repetitive. It was almost business as usual in that way, except that one added facet to his routine was the hour or so he spent on his drive from work, convincing himself not to be the idiot who walked into the house to kill Kuonji. It was the only way to solve things, but there was too good a chance he'd be stopped before he could even get through the doorway, shanked by Persona or somebody else.
And if he didn't finish Kuonji off, then Mikan would be in even worse danger than she was already in.
He had to convince himself that it was a bad plan, because otherwise he would've already done it. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep away. Tsubasa's words had only made him more concerned about Mikan and more guilty for letting her walk away that night. He didn't know how else to help her at this point, without getting himself killed.
Tsubasa didn't come back around either, almost as if he'd seen enough of Natsume to know he'd be of no help. Why exactly he'd swiped Natsume's phone was a mystery, but it wasn't really that big of a deal. Natsume made do with a cheap little flip phone from the convenience store that he bought two days after the robbery.
It was all pretty normal-in the worst way, but normal nonetheless-until one day, when he was leaving work as usual just to see a flash of black and a familiar grimace from the corner of his eye. He whipped around, certain he'd just seen Persona again, only to be met with the empty parking lot. He rushed to his car and locked the doors for the first time since he'd bought the thing. He pulled out, his wheels screeching against the asphalt, and sped out of the lot as fast as he could. When he was a few good miles away from the post office, he realized that he was still breathing heavily, that his heart was racing.
He exhaled and tried to steady himself again. This time he didn't drive to the house. Instead he drove in circles around the park, the water tower, his own stupid apartment.
"You're seeing things," he muttered to himself. "You're going crazy." Just like her.
After he settled down, an hour later, he finally parked in his spot and resigned to going home.
He trudged down the hall, already dreading tomorrow, when he saw that his apartment door was ajar.
"Ruka?" he called out, expecting his friend to poke his blond head out from behind the door and start yelling at him about communication.
He received no response except for the sound of clattering and rummaging from inside his apartment. He approached the door nervously. Well, it finally happened. After years of apathy, someone had finally decided to take advantage of the fact that he never locked his door to break in and steal his absolutely worthless belongings.
He had half a mind to waltz in and sit down at the table and watch the thieves scramble for something worthwhile to find. "Just ignore me," he might say. "Just do what you want to do. I'll eat dinner while you take whatever you find."
Instead, he inched his hand to the door, pushing it open a little, wincing at the loud creak it made as it slowly swung away from him.
His little fridge was open. He could see that right away. His food was spilled out all over the tiles, milk dribbling into a little puddle from the carton, cereal and rice sprinkled like confetti. It was all glistening in the bright fridge light. He looked past the kitchen to see the chairs were knocked over and even past that, his blankets and pillow were a mess, his mattress out of place on the bedframe. Natsume didn't doubt he'd left it that way, though.
He only had a second to take in the state of his apartment before a man, obviously signaled by the sound of the creaking door, appeared out of the bathroom, narrowing his eyes.
"Rumplestiltskin," Kuonji said, tracing a finger down the cheap paint job on the wall. "Hyuuga Natsume." He smiled, showing all his teeth. "It's been a while. I know that my Mikan has missed you a little. I appreciate you indulging her that night, comforting her. It must have been a real annoyance but you remained kind, even when she assaulted you."
Natsume didn't reply. He was frozen in place. How had this happened? Why now? None of it made sense.
Where was Persona?
He glanced around himself quickly in search of a dark figure, but he was alone in the hall. That wasn't reassuring, but for now he was safe.
"She's flighty," Kuonji explained. "Easily impressed. The way she would talk about you, and the obvious feelings she had for you-I don't know why, but I guess I just imagined you'd be more… Well, that you'd just be more, more than this." He gestured to Natsume, shaking his hand up and down dismissively. "But, looking at your… home… you're really nothing more than a lazy, lonely boy who works for the post office." He clicked his tongue. "I'm a little disappointed."
He took a step forward and Natsume instinctively jumped backward, prompting Kuonji to laugh.
"A cautious loser. That's good. And here I was, thinking you probably wouldn't mind at all if I showed up here. Now I know you've been good on your end, that you really couldn't care less about her, but the truth is, I love her. She's my wife, you know. My favorite. And she's been unfaithful. It's really not personal, but I can't have her going around the country with me, thinking about you. It's not fair to me!"
"Wife? She's not-"
"She is. She said 'I do,' to me, not you. She promised me that she would be mine, and here she is now, devoting herself to you." He shook his head, taking one more bold step towards Natsume. "And you don't love her, not like I do. You can't even offer her anything, judging by the state of this place. You're young, handsome, mysterious. I'm sure you have a lot of prospects. Mikan just got carried away by your appearance. You can have your pick of women. So why go after mine?"
Natsume didn't want to look away from Kuonji again, afraid that if he glanced away for even a second, he'd turn back to see him only an inch from his face.
"Promise me that you'll give up on her. Promise me that you'll leave it alone."
"Sure," Natsume answered, trying to sound casual. "I'm just impressed you came all this way to talk to me yourself. Very diligent. You could've just sent Mikan. I'm sure the two of us could've figured something out."
Kuonji's eyes flashed with anger, hinting that the charismatic smile was just for show. There was nothing peaceful about this visit. Natsume could see how this would end, clear as day.
"But your word means nothing to me. You're not like us. You're a liar. Your heart is-"
"You can cut the philosophy crap. Your family's not here so you can be honest for once."
"She's fucking mine," Kuonji growled. "She's not yours. It's time for you to stop."
"Stop?" Natsume repeated, trying to swallow his fear.
"In time, she will understand that I did this for her."
He pulled a knife out from his pocket-and Natsume recognized it as one of the knives he kept in his silverware drawer-and rushed forward.
Natsume jumped back again, slamming the door shut as he did. He swore under his breath, holding the door closed as Kuonji banged on it, calling out smoothly from the other side, still so casual, even with a knife in his hand.
Natsume planned out his next steps. He could try to stall, but he was doubtful he'd make it out of this alive. After all, he still hadn't found Persona.
He let go of the door and ran down the hall, stopping momentarily to bang on Shouda's door. "Don't come out, but please call for help!" he called, hoping desperately that she was home. He didn't wait for a response. He banged one more time and then ran again, narrowly missing the outstretched hand Kuonji had aiming for his arm. He went down the stairs in record time, jumping around the railing and skipping steps to get down faster. He could hear Kuonji's labored breaths from above in the stairwell, echoing off the dirty walls and cement staircase. He wasted no time swinging open the door and rushing into the lobby.
He almost felt like he'd escaped, but he was stopped short by a strong hand pushing him up against the mailboxes.
"Rumplestiltskin," Persona said. So that's where he'd been waiting, for Natsume to get his hopes up. How long had he been there? His hand was around his throat, strong enough to keep him in place but loose enough that he could breathe.
Kuonji threw open the door, his breath obviously strained despite his collected disposition. "Persona, you're a dear. Thank you for catching him." He fixed the sleeves of his shirt and then smoothed down his hair before turning his attention on Natsume. "You might not believe me, but I am God, Hyuuga. I have the powers of life and death in the palm of my hand." He turned the knife around in his fingers. "I control fate, I control people's hearts. I make the choices here. Nobody's beyond my power. Not celebrities, not politicians, and definitely not pathetic little boys like you. Your fate is decided. Why fight it?"
It was a valid question, even if every statement before it was bullshit. Natsume had been waiting for death for years. All he'd been doing before that was biding his time, letting the days pass by so that it could all eventually end. He didn't mind the death part, but dying at Kuonji's hands? Cursing Mikan to a similar fate? He didn't want that.
He didn't have a lot of time, or even much a chance at all, but he still took it. He took Persona by the elbows and swung his knee forward into his crotch with all his might. Persona dropped him, groaning in pain and falling to the floor. Natsume ran again, out the door, down the stairs. He only heard Kuonji click his tongue again, as if he was a parent scolding his child. "Naughty, naughty," he heard him say before the door closed shut.
He intended to cross the street to the convenience store, so he could alert the cashier and find some refuge, but for some reason the street was busy with traffic.
"You've been quite a pain in the ass," Kuonji said from behind him, just as he was about to say fuck it and run left instead. Natsume turned just in time for his kitchen knife to slide into his side. "Ahh. That's the easiest it's ever gone in. Like butter. No bones, just skin. Just organs. I think that might have been your intestines. Maybe your spleen. What do you think?" He kept talking, pulling the knife out and then running his finger across the blade before he popped the bloody tip into his mouth. "Blood is the human symbol of vitality. Yours tastes like dust. I think you might've been dead for years without knowing it. I'm just cleaning up a corpse, really."
Natsume ignored the pain and the sudden whoosh of nausea and exhaustion that overtook him all of a sudden. He didn't care about the speeding traffic. He couldn't be around Kuonji anymore. He still had a chance to fix this. He threw himself into the street and sprinted across the lanes. Cars honked and drivers screamed, but they all screeched to a halt for him anyway. He hobbled away from Kuonji until he was across the street. When he was finally on the other side, he let himself gasp in pain. His hand half his wound tight, trying to apply some pressure there to stop the bleeding, but it was so far unsuccessful. He was as far away from his would-be killer as he could get for now. Despite his apparent wound, no cars stopped for him. He lacked the energy to wave his bloody hands around and summon somebody to pull over or call an ambulance.
He made eye contact with Kuonji, who kept his knife at his side so as to not alert the passing cars. He smiled wide and hit the button to cross the street. The door to the apartment building swung open and Persona weakly stumbled down the stairs. Natsume watched the semaphore lights switch to yellow. Then he started moving again, as quickly down the street as he could, limping inelegantly until he was in the parking lot.
There were two of them, and only one of him. There was no way he'd be able to fight them off by himself, especially not with a knife wound in his side. The only thing he could do now was get to the convenience store and hope that it was early enough in the night for somebody to be awake and present behind the counter.
He didn't turn around but he could feel the light on the crosswalk turn green, could hear Kuonji and Persona's purposeful but steady steps as they crossed the street despite the hum of the cars stopped for them. They were in no rush because they knew as well as Natsume did that he didn't stand a chance. Not when things were like this, not when he was bleeding from his side.
He tried to rush his own pace, but every step he took drew out a new flash of white-hot pain from the wound, causing him to wince and grip the area even tighter. It took every ounce of resolution he had but he eventually made it to the doors, throwing them open so he could walk inside.
Just his luck, there wasn't a customer in sight and the counter was unmanned.
"Hello?" he called impatiently. He was sweating profusely. His body was preparing for death already, his skin clammy and cold in contrast to how burning hot his blood was. He collapsed against the counter, his blood staining the plastic lining. "This is the worst fucking timing," he wheezed. "I hope this store gets burned to the ground-"
The bell chimed from the front and Natsume glanced up to see Kuonji and Persona strolling into the store. Kuonji was all smiles, his knife still in his hand, Natsume's own blood still on the blade. "There you are," he said pleasantly. "You ran off so suddenly."
"There's cameras in here," Natsume pointed out from his position bent over the counter. "Do what you like to me, but they'll know it was you this time."
Kuonji grinned. "Cameras are nothing. I'm not traceable. They don't know who I am and they never will. Besides, the quality on those things is a joke. They'll find somebody who looks close enough and leave it at that. And that's only if they pursue a criminal case for you, which, let's face it, is unlikely. You aren't anybody worth missing."
There was no talking to him. There was no reasoning with him. His smile never wavered for even a moment, like he was used to this sort of situation, where everything fell perfectly in place for him, just because he made it so.
"So this is it," Kuonji said, holding his arms out grandly as he glanced around the store. "This is where my Mikan met you. Just as unimpressive as you."
"You wanna talk unimpressive?" Natsume gasped out, part of him surrendering. "You're squatting in a shitty abandoned house."
"Don't talk too much," Kuonji cooed gently. "You're losing a lot of blood. We don't want to rush things, do we?"
He readjusted the knife in his hand, twisting it around so it was pointing downward.
"We're not done, after all. We have yet to have our fun with you." He charged Natsume at a leisurely pace, so certain things would fall into place again. But Natsume didn't want that blade in his face so he moved on instinct, his body refusing to give in like his brain had. He somehow managed to propel himself across the store, down an aisle, into the refrigerator section. He leaned against the glass door for a second, letting the chill of it soothe his wound until he saw Kuonji gesture his head his way and suddenly Persona was stomping down the aisle toward him. Natsume took off again, barrelling to the corner and then up an aisle.
"Prolonging the inevitable," Kuonji said with disgust when they glimpsed each other again, crossing his arms by the counter. "People like you really piss me off."
"Stay still," Persona growled, so Natsume tried to pick up the pace.
He was going to die here, for sure. But whether that would be because Persona caught him and Kuonji dotted him with stabs or because he ran himself to death was still up in the air.
His lungs stung, his face was dripping with cold sweat, his shirt was soaked through with blood that kept trickling down onto the store's tiled floor and creating a helpful trail for Persona. He had never wanted to sleep so badly before but he knew that if he closed his eyes now they would never open again.
He and Persona ran for a few minutes, but it was almost as if Persona was toying with him. He shouldn't be this hard to catch, especially since he was on the verge of death. At some point, Kuonji hopped onto the counter, right next to the bloodstain, sitting there casually and watching the chase.
Natsume was losing strength at a quick rate. He was pretty sure that he'd been allowed to run around like this in order so that he fought weaker when Kuonji finally decided to attack him for real again. He lost his faith quicker than his last morsel of energy. He stopped short in the middle of the chips aisle, his hand reaching for the nearest shelf on instinct so he could hold himself up.
"You fucking idiot," Kuonji muttered disapprovingly from his perch on the counter.
"Kuonji, should I-"
Persona was cut short by his leader's annoyed groan. "Do what you want. But I'll draw the angry face. That's all I care to do."
Natsume was always meant to die. He'd been heading down that path for years, knowing what he was killing time for, knowing that his demise would set him free, allow him to finally catch some sleep.
Sleep was all he'd ever wanted.
Death was all he'd ever have the audacity to hope for.
This whole messy life of his would be over soon. The cigarette butts in his lungs rejoiced. They had worked so hard to make it to this moment after all. His teeth were still stained with the smoke, with the effort to speed things along. His eyes ached with exhaustion, eager to close for good. His side was bursting with pain. He was almost surprised that his guts hadn't yet jumped out of the open wound in an attempt to escape being part of the toxic trap that was his garbage body. His brain whispered, good.
But there was a little parasite inside of him, that had snuck into his mouth one night and inched down his throat and into his blood cells, mingling with the insulin and glucose there, making friends with his immune system, with the pathogens, with his antibodies. The parasite was too friendly and impossible to get rid of, a niggling eternal presence that he couldn't let go of. It was itching across the tissues of his heart, squirming up his esophagus and kissing each drop of blood before it dribbled out of him onto his shirt.
Please don't, the parasite begged.
But it was too late.
Persona had a knife of his own and in no time at all, the blade was raised, ready to swing down into whatever flesh it met first. Natsume was debating whether to flinch and hold his arm up in self defense or to simply let the blade fall into his throat.
The cameras would capture all of this. It wouldn't be in vain. Kuonji didn't know about Tsubasa or Imai. Whatever happened to Natsume here would help, since that's what Tsubasa had wanted so badly to begin with. They'd catch Kuonji and Persona for once and for all. Mikan would finally be free.
He could let it happen.
He let out one last shaky breath, giving up.
Sorry, he should have said to Ruka and Aoi. This is how it was always supposed to be.
He was simply meant to die.
The blade went down and Natsume gasped, not because of the sharp pain, but because he had acted against his own intentions.
His left arm was up in front of his face, Persona's knife sticking through it. Pure instinct? A last kernel of fight? A parasite, perhaps?
Persona grumbled under his breath and tried to yank the knife out of Natsume's arm, but it was stuck. Natsume stumbled backwards and Persona let go, only to shove him for good measure so that he collided gracelessly against the shelves of chips. He was on the floor, his dominant arm out of commission now.
"Give it back," Persona commanded. Kuonji laughed heartily from the counter.
"Just take it back," he suggested, unbothered by any part of the scene. "You don't have to say pretty please."
Natsume trembled involuntarily. Every bit of him was shaking, not because of fear but because he was losing too much blood.
Persona reached down again, his fingers firmly gripping the knife handle and then pulling upwards. "Give it ba-"
The bell chimed.
Natsume saw Kuonji jump in surprise, only to see his eyes narrow with rage. Both he and Persona kept their eyes to the front.
"Get off him," Mikan said, sounding out of breath, almost as much as Natsume felt.
Was she real?
Just another hallucination, courtesy of that kiss-transmitted parasite?
Or was she standing there, staring down Kuonji and Persona to stop them?
Probably.
"Persona," Kuonji said calmly. "Forget the knife. Just kill him."
"No!"
Persona didn't hesitate. He kicked Natsume right in his wounded side. He pressed his boot hard down and Natsume could feel his blood squeezing out of him. It only stopped when Persona suddenly gasped out, "Oof," and when Natsume opened his eyes again, he saw the man was missing from above him.
He looked over down the aisle to see Mikan straddling Persona, trying to hold down his arms and throwing in an occasional hit when she had a chance.
She was real. That was her.
He forced himself up onto his knees, making eye contact with Kuonji for a moment, who shrugged. He was grinning again, as though thoroughly amused. Let's let them play, shall we? his eyes seemed to suggest. He knew that eventually Persona would win. Then so would he.
But he wouldn't kill Mikan. Or rather, he wouldn't let Persona do it. He might bide his time before he did it, waiting for the perfect night. By then, Natsume would be dead.
Mikan had inserted herself into this situation and now Natsume had to adapt. He couldn't simply die and hope that it helped bring these men to justice. There was more at stake now. He crawled behind Mikan. He ignored every protesting cell in his body and gripped the handle of the knife buried in his arm. He clenched his teeth against the searing pain and pulled it out, keeping his scream locked in his throat.
He was getting colder by the second, his hands slick with sweat, but he managed it, grasping the knife. Mikan still wrestled with Persona on the ground, but he was quickly overtaking her, wrenching out of her hold and pulling his elbow back to slam into her face.
He never got the chance.
Natsume plunged the already bloody knife down into Persona's waiting throat. He quickly removed it, only for blood to spurt out onto his arms and into Mikan's face. She shrieked in shock and horror and fell backwards by Persona's boots.
"Natsume," she exhaled. She blinked at him with teary eyes and it almost made him want to apologize for doing this to her, but he couldn't. He didn't mean it.
Persona was gurgling and choking as he bled out, much faster than Natsume was right now. To save Mikan from having to watch, Natsume let himself crash down across Persona's flailing body, since he had been ready to collapse for a while now and was no longer able to fight it off anyway.
The peace only lasted a moment though before someone cleared their throat from the mouth of the aisle. Natsume blinked and saw Kuonji standing behind Mikan. Her own head was straining to watch him nervously.
He looked angry, obviously, but they both knew better than to think he was upset about Persona's death.
His body was stilling, after all, and it was safe to assume the man would be dead within the next few minutes if he wasn't already.
"Sunbeam," Kuonji started gently despite the glare he casted down on her. "My girl with the smile. This has nothing to do with you."
Mikan spun around and then leapt to her feet, her gaze never breaking away from his. "It has everything to do with me. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be trying to kill him now-"
Kuonji held up an impatient hand to shush her. "Yes, darling, as much as that's all true, you must understand as well that your interference here is unwelcome. And you're too late anyway." He gestured dismissively toward Natsume. He did feel weaker than ever, like he was on the precipice of a cliff and one unbalanced breath would be enough to send him falling to his death. He was dizzy and the world was spinning. He didn't think he'd be able to stand up again. No, probably not ever again. "As soon as he's gone from this world, it will be just you and me. The others don't matter. It's always been you and me."
Natsume watched helplessly as Kuonji grabbed Mikan's face and kissed her forcefully. She made a sound of protest but it didn't deter him. He only deepened the kiss until he had his full, pulling away with a satisfied grin. Natsume's stomach churned. He glanced down at the knife at Persona's side that he had dropped when he'd collapsed. He wanted to pick it up and stab Kuonji just like he'd stabbed Persona, to end all of this, but he lacked the strength to move at all anymore. He couldn't. He couldn't. He felt sicker.
"How about you and I leave this place alone?" Kuonji asked, voice suddenly high with excitement. "You're special to me. I'm sorry if you didn't understand that, if that's what sent you to the arms of another man. But I need you to know now that you're mine. Just mine. And I'm only yours."
Mikan shook her head. "I don't want you to be mine. I thought, once upon a time, that that's all I ever wanted, but it isn't. And I am not yours. I am mine. My heart is mine. I can give it to whoever I want and it hasn't been yours in a long time. It's been his."
Natsume's vision was failing. There were big bright spots everywhere he looked. Someone stupider than him might call it the "tunnel," but he knew it was just the result of his brain not getting enough blood. He was going to die soon.
That didn't stop his heart from fluttering.
"Fine, then. I see there's no winning with you anyway, no matter how hard I try."
"Exactly," Mikan stressed. "Please just let me get him help. Please."
Natsume blinked. Somehow, everything changed in that brief time it took for his eyes to close and open back up.
He jolted from his place on the floor.
Kuonji had stabbed Mikan in the gut.
Natsume could hear her grunt with the impact, could see a little string of bloody spit drip from her mouth.
He wanted to get up. He needed to get up. She needed help, much more than he did. She's going to die!
But he couldn't move.
All his useless body could do was spend the last vestiges of energy it had on summoning tears to his eyes, spilling down his face and onto Persona's dead body.
"Mi-" he tried to say.
"You've forgotten," Kuonji whispered to Mikan. "I'm God. I decide, not you. You are mine, like it or not. You've really disappointed me. But now you'll always be mine." He lifted the knife up to his mouth and licked up the blade. "Mmm. Tastes like sunshine."
Mikan looked up, still somewhat bent over to accommodate her new wound. Her eyes flashed with rage as she glared at Kuonji. "I'm not yours," she insisted.
"Sweetheart, look at yourself. You've never belonged to me more-"
He never finished his sentence because Mikan was charging him, forcing him backwards until they were both out of Natsume's sight. He heard their ruckus-the way they huffed heavily in the attempt to fight each other off, Kuonji's occasional swears, the products falling off the shelves and the crunch of them after their shoes stomped over them. He still couldn't get up, but he forced himself to roll over as the sound of their fight moved closer to the refrigerator section. He tried to pull himself closer to the end of the aisle, taking Persona's knife into his own hand with the intention of at the very least sending the blade over to Mikan if she needed it.
But they didn't appear again in front of him. They stayed in the next aisle over for a few long moments. Until he heard the now-familiar sound of slicing flesh and the resulting groan of pain. Natsume could hear someone thump to the floor, crunching some chips on the way down. Then the other person followed after and the knife went in again. And again. And again. Squish squish squish. More groaning until the victim could no longer be heard at all.
Mikan screamed all the while.
"I AM NOT YOURS! I WILL NEVER BE YOURS!"
Natsume held his breath as the person dropped the knife with a clatter. He saw her tumble backwards against the refrigerator-right below where the juices and lemonades were lined up, waiting to be plucked up and drunk down.
She met his gaze. Her face was stained with blood, even more than it had been after Persona's throat had sprayed them both. The sleeves of her ugly gray hoodie were crimson at the ends, her hands cut open and raw from the knife slipping in her hands. Her eyes were welled up with tears. Her hair was a mess, much of it escaping from the already loose braids on either side of her face. And of course her stomach was gushing a steady stream of blood.
She smiled at him.
He finally exhaled.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Natsume wanted to roll his eyes but he couldn't right then. "No."
Tears bubbled up in her eyes and fell past them down her face. "Please don't die."
"You…" He took a deep breath to prepare for a physically taxing sentence. "...should be worried about yourself."
"I should get to a phone," she started, voice high and short-breathed. "I should call somebody! You're bleeding out-" Of course, ignoring her own-probably fatal-wound. But she didn't get up, regardless of her yammering, naturally. The pain was probably too great.
"Why did you do that?" Natsume asked. His own tears had never stopped falling, much to his ashamed chagrin. "Why did you come here?"
"That's what people are supposed to do," she replied with a smile. "Take care of each other."
Natsume just glared at her. "You idiot."
"You've been taking care of me all this time. It was just my turn."
They stared at each other for a while, even as their vision blurred and their heads grew dizzier. They didn't hear when the store clerk entered and started screaming because of all the mess and blood covering every inch of the store.
When Mikan's eyes fluttered shut and her head rolled to the side, Natsume found himself saying her name, despite his lack of energy. "Mikan-"
Over and over again, because there was supposed to be power in a name. Because she wasn't supposed to go just yet, not when Kuonji was finally gone. Now was her chance to really live. So why were her eyes closed?
And because he knew he didn't want his last word to her to be "idiot." He didn't know what it should be, but he had to have another chance. Sometimes last words were important.
When his eyes followed hers, he could hear sirens in the distance and the vague sound of the clerk stammering nonsense into a phone.
It didn't matter though. They were all too late.