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wkngsnds · 3 years

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So remember when I published “Whether You Fail or Fly”? I rewrote it! Well, some parts of it; I tried my best to reach the dark tone I was aiming for, fixed some things I thought were awkward, and so and so forth. I hope y’all enjoy it all the same.

I’ll post it on here too under a read more.

Title: Your Side

RATING: Teen and older audience

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful to his hitwoman.

Fuyuhiko had not been the type to black out during his fights; in fact, he savored every cut and bruise that he could take before Peko eventually intervened. He exists in a constant state of irritation with his anger never falling far behind. Despite being a yakuza, or perhaps that is exactly why, his anger was his weak point— almost as blinding and fervent as Kabukicho during the night. Just like his parents, he got hot under the collar relatively quickly and chose to focus all his energy on his victim, so he’s an extremist in his own right too. Fuyuhiko preferred to handle things “a man’s way”: being direct as possible instead of exhibiting a passive aggressive attitude. He believed he could smash his way through his opponents as he refused to lose sight of his goal.

Tonight was no different.

Peko never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. However, it would be more accurate to say that she couldn’t afford to get hit; a thousandth second too slow, a single hair strand out of place, and it would all be over. She exists in a hypervigilant state even within the confines of the Kuzuryuu manor. It is not that she lacks trust in her “coworkers'', per say, but protecting Fuyuhiko is the only thing she finds herself capable of doing. Truth be told, even with a small army of guards roaming the grounds it does not guarantee his safety, but by acting as his shield he’s all the more safer. It’s why she keeps her mind blank, but never loses focus; that is not to say she does not think at all— if anything, she is the type to overthink matters more than someone in her position should. These constraints both forced upon her and self practiced are why her rage is restrained. She’s not the type to anger easily, but when the emotion visits her it must be leashed and kept within bounds.

Tonight was no different.

An ocean of alarm and disquietude drowned the underground of Tokyo, and nearly flooded the overground the day after Fuyuhiko confirmed Natsumi’s corpse. It had not been long until civilians heard of the misfortunate incident, and they took it upon themselves to go home earlier than usual as a precautionary measure. Even if they did not know Natsumi, her surname carried all the weight it needed to: it was not just a member of the clan who died, but someone with a direct relation to the leader. This action of avoidance, of course, did nothing to deter the Kuzuryu clan from their own private investigations; they were a 24/7 kind of business, after all. Each family belonging to the Kuzuryu-gumi had crawled out of their own holes-- those who supported Natsumi above Fuyuhiko worked especially hard to find their princess’s murderer. Then there were those, in their true yakuza nature, who wanted to take advantage of her death to strip the Ultimate of his inheritance. For them, it had not been a simple preference of the younger sibling, but instead a dissatisfaction and disfavor for their patriarch’s son. By extension, Peko received the same condemnation if not to a worse degree. Those in Natsumi’s faction who were slightly sympathetic to the heir blamed the bodyguard for his physical weakness and lack of will; her entire presence caused his spoiled and rotten nature. Put simply her existence, they thought, hindered his bloodlust. Others argued that the main family was not meant to kill as they were an ‘invisible hand’ which directed them all. A minority thought Peko to be a better yakuza than him, but they were smarter than to voice that opinion. There were also a few who thought him cursed— a way of karma for all the blood the clan spilled since its early days, and that blood most certainly flowed like a river. Nevertheless subsidiary matriarchs and patriarchs respected him as their heir at best, but they would not hold their breath for him either.

The funeral service would bring out the worst in the family.

Nastumi died in less than a week of attending the academy, so the two knew their investigation was limited to this timeframe. After confirming her corpse’s identity, the next step was to speak with the custodian who found her; if he had decided to keep information from the police Fuyuhiko had no qualms in using extensive methods of extraction. Meanwhile, Peko worked to address the rumors of a supposed pervert who was thought by the students to be the perpetrator. The mysterious figure had stolen one girl’s swimsuit, and then planned to violate the young mistress (the disgusted rage she felt momentarily dulled the pain in her wrist as her hand formed into a tight fist). Peko knew she needed to focus, so she took a deep breath and went to look for the first girl whose swimsuit had been taken; if the two were both victims to the degenerate, then it was important to establish a possible connection or a pattern. On the hand, if the attacks were random, it would have been hard to track down a possible suspect with the incredibly vague information. They also did not allow Fuyuhiko, understandably, to enter the crime scene, so her chances of success in that area were virtually zero. On the other hand, if this were a targeted attack, then there was a greater problem to be dealt with, and this girl might be connected.

She could not recall any subsidiaries with the name Sato, but it was also possible her mother married out of the respective family. Furthermore, Peko had not been ignorant to the clan’s...favoritism, but she would not be convinced by the apparent blind adoration; it could have been the start of a coup d’etat, and her young master would be the next target. Peko already failed both Fuyuhiko and Natsumi by not protecting the latter, failure to aid him in apprehending her killer or letting him die meant she truly was useless. Therefore, finding this girl and ‘speaking’ to her took over all her priorities. The kendo athlete scans the morning cafeteria until she spots her suspect (someone had kindly described her appearance) sitting at an empty table near the large windows. Like a tiger, she moves carefully to disappear from the girl’s direct line of sight and peripheral vision; she intended to take her by surprise— using that confusion to assert dominance in the conversation and as momentum for a potential confession. However, before Peko could get any closer Mikan had unfortunately bumped into her; like always, the nurse made a scene whenever she apologized to someone, and blew Peko’s cover. To make matters worse, she spotted the injured wrist she acquired from punching the wall yesterday, and became shockingly insistent on treating the wound. Mikan did not yield to any of her protest, and all but dragged her out of the cafeteria to the nurse’s office. For a weak willed clumsy girl, the kendo athlete did not expect her to be as firm in her handling.

True to her sensitive nature, Mikan noticed Peko’s state of irate despite the latter having a stoic face, and began to apologize once again. Stuttering throughout her explanation, it appeared as though she hardly slept the prior night. Mistaking the red eyed girl’s neutral, if not apathetic, question for sympathy the super high school level nurse rambled on about doing an emergency shift at a nearby clinic. Yet, even for Peko who was only half listening something felt off.

‘What you just said...was a lie, wasn’t it?’ A tit for tat question.

‘H-Huh?! You w-were able t-to tell?’ She focused on the splinting for a moment, ‘U-Um...Pekoyama would it be too presumptuous to ask...if I could c-confide in you with s-something? I-It feels like my chest is going to explode if I can’t g-g-get it out.’

She’s weary of agreeing, but slowly nods her head nevertheless.

‘I...I saw the body. Kuzuryu’s little sister...W-We found her in the music room l-last night.’

‘What did you say?!’

‘Eek! I..I’m sorry!’

‘Tsumiki, you need to explain to me exactly what happened. What do you mean ‘we’?’

At 7:30 pm, both yakuza convened at the heir’s off campus apartment to consolidate all the information they gathered. After deeming that he had nothing left to hide, Fuyuhiko “convinced” the custodian to allow him into the music room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the white tape— he had seen it plenty of time, but knowing it was his sister’s outline made him lightheaded. However, he knew there was no time to be distracted by his grief; he needed to devote all his energy on finding her murderer. Fuyuhiko mentioned to Peko that he saw the broken glass from where, according to the police report, the criminal had escaped.

‘It also said a nearby guard heard the sound of the glass breakin’ but never saw or heard anyone runnin’.’

‘That’s suspicious.’

‘Yeah, and there ain’t any security video footage of a shady person walkin’ ‘round campus. Not to mention, that hole in the window don’t look big enough for someone to jump through. None of this fucking shit adds up!’ He viciously kicks the low table before falling onto the couch behind it, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he did, ‘Either this sick bastard is crafty as hell or...or someone who knows this fuckin’ school’s layout did it.’

She assumes a pensive position, ‘So, someone within the school is the culprit...? I believe that is an accurate deduction. There are even suspects to support your theory.’

‘W-What? Suspects?!’

‘Tsumiki, Koizumi, Hiyoko, Mioda, and a person by the name of Sato were at the crime scene. As it were, those five were the first to encounter the young mistress, and most likely—’

‘The ones who started the rumor of a pervert going around.’ His fists tightened to the point where his fingernails cut his skin and he began to bleed, ‘Those cunts...those goddamn fucking cunts...if it turns one of them killed Natsumi...I will never fucking forgive them. If all five of them were in on it...I don’t care how much blood is on my hands I’ll slaughter them all.’

Peko could not bring herself to calm him down; she shared his sentiments, after all.

The next day went by in a blur. For the first time in a long while, the two yakuza were on the same wavelength: Peko advised him to avoid confronting any of the suspected girls without enough proof less he scared them away losing their only lead. Conceding to her counseling, he keeps his distance from them and their own classmates in general. However, he did not stand by, and instead went to question a few of the students in 77A. In return, he asked her to monitor the behavior of those four— they were citizens who, more than likely, had never dealt with corpses or killings in their life which he thought gave Peko a great advantage. Bluntly put, it takes a killer to know a killer.

At the end of the day, when all was said and done their respective tasks were successful enough to narrow down their suspect list quite considerably. Fuyuhiko learned that not only was Sato with his sister on the day of the incident, but the two often bumped heads with one another. Concurrently, Peko overheard an anxious Mahiru mumble about needing to meet with the same Sato during their lunch break, so she messaged him those details when Koizumi had left the classroom. Although he didn’t find them in time to eavesdrop on their conversation, he had caught a glimpse of someone (he assumed to be Sato) throwing away what looked like paper into the garbage. At first he made sure to stay out of sight, but as soon as the coast was clear he made a beeline for the trash bin.

And just like that the number of suspects dropped from five to two to one.

In hindsight, investigating Sato and Koizumi should have been their first thought, but both were neglectful towards Natsumi’s own complaints and scheming. They had not noticed the particular animosity she held towards the photographer, and instead considered it yet another part of her antics. With Fuyuhiko constantly running away from all criticism and Peko mindlessly chasing after him, they never once considered looking behind them to see if she needed help. However, why would they need to? She was strong, probably stronger than the both of them combined and more than they’ll ever be. It is why she had been so reverend throughout the clan-- the reincarnation of a legend or perhaps something even greater than that. Where they both lacked brutality, bloodlust, and pride Natsumi made up for it a thousand times over. Fuyuhiko could still remember the day his father scolded him right after Peko rescued him from the man’s chokehold; it was a heated argument over something senseless the teenager had done earlier that week which left the patriarch a mess to clean up.

‘This is why you need a fucking tool and your sister doesn’t. Maybe if you had your act more together like her, you would be half the fucking yakuza she is!’

Whether or not they moved forward is debatable, but they left her behind to fend for herself. Natsumi was a tough girl in a league beyond their own, and they were too wrapped up in their selfish problems. Truthfully, Fuyuhiko and Peko knew they were as responsible for her murder as Sato was.

‘I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU!’

When the two finally returned to Fuyuhiko’s apartment they sloppily kicked off their shoes, and collapsed from exhaustion in the seats of the sleek black dining table. True to their upbringing, they had chosen a seclusive section of the nearby riverbank as the dumping ground. The route from the school to the river was relatively light, but the combined weight of the corpse, adrenaline, and guilt made it all the more treacherous to walk. Initially, Peko suggested contacting one of the nearby families who worked in construction to place the cadaver in concrete, and then toss it into the river. After a few moments, however, he refused. Fuyuhiko did not want to hide the body; he wanted her to rot for as long as possible before she was found— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Normally, he wasn’t the morbidity type, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone. Again, it was the first time in a very long while that they were on the same wavelength.

Fuyuhiko could only watch as Peko stood, unsurprisingly, before he did; she had greater stamina and...experience than he did in all of this. She left his direct line of sight, but kept herself in his peripherals. For him, once the adrenaline of killing passed, the soreness dropped upon him like a ton of bricks, his muscles were tense, and it felt as though the slightest movement made his joints crack. He could feel the phantom force from swinging the corpse back and forth before throwing it down the bank. He rested his forehead on crossed fingers as his eyes briefly crossed over; part of him felt ashamed for feeling so weak-- what did that say about his future as a patriarch? He only did the killing, but Peko, like always, ended up cleaning his dirty work. In this case, she was the one who quite literally carried dead weight on their walk to the river. He did not argue when she picked up the corpse like a sack of rice and arranged it to fit in her kendo. The angles were awkward, but after breaking some joints here and a few bones there the corpse fit perfectly. All he could do was watch her. What could he say that would not end with him being in her way? He knows he can trust her to handle this, but what gave him the right to sit back and do nothing? He can do with expressing gratitude towards her or, at the very least, express a greater sense of gratification at avenging his sister.

But all he felt was exhaustion.

“You need to bathe.” It is rare for her to speak with a semblance of authority in her tone towards him, so she captures his attention quickly. On any other day, he might have told her kick rocks for treating him like a child, but he can only put up half a fight tonight.

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He heard her reach into a separate duffel bag she left in his apartment earlier this morning, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately. I am sure the doorman noticed, but kept his mouth shut.”

From the bag, she first pulled out a loofah and an antibacterial wash set. Next, there was a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals for the bat, and a cardboard box. He handed over the baseball cap at her request; she placed them in one of the aforementioned black bags along with her own and instructed him to throw his personal trash in there as well since she would burn everything later. He could also hear the crinkling of the paper that was used to wrap the corpse being stuffed into the bag. Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (as if doing everything from muscle memory, which was most likely the case) that causes all his hairs to stand. This...this was her true speciality, wasn’t it?

Still not being able to raise his head, he asked if his own clothes needed to be burned as well, but the kendo athlete reminded him of the suit’s hefty price tag, thus intended to send it back home to be thoroughly cleaned. However, in all her fretting of his needs the realization hits him,

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.”

“You just said we have to get rid of the stench, so do you have clothes of your own--”

“Young master. Please go bathe.” Her voice initially sounded strained, then slowed down as if she were controlling her breathing. Not only was this a part of her speciality, but it was clear she had a method for her work that she hadn’t been too keen on straying from-- it was the same inflexibility (one not so different from the blond) that would get her killed on Jabberwock Island. For all the exhaustion Fuyuhiko felt, Peko silently masked her oncoming mental fatigue whilst also trying to ignore the ton of guilt weighing on her. From her perspective, she had just failed for the second time in a row: first, by allowing Natsumi to die and second, by allowing Fuyuhiko to kill by himself. It was not as though she could rid herself of any culpability, because she has disobeyed him in the past for the “sake” of his protection. So why didn’t she refuse him now? He had instructed her to act as if they were fellow high school students, so she would have been well within her orders to randomly check on her-- if not as the young master’s sister, then as a member of the Kuzuryu family she was owed the respect of being welcomed. What made his order so particular this time around that she found herself unable to deny? To make matters even worse, she allowed him to sully his hands with death while she stood and watched the bat crack Sato’s skull open. If she were forced to make an excuse, then it was as if some external power prevented her from interfering. Maybe it was a part of her, the human part, that understood it had not been her place to interject-- that she knew him well enough to know this revenge and avenge was to quench his heart from the sorrow plaguing him. No, perhaps this humanity of hers knew from the very beginning that he would not have been satisfied if Sato died by anyone's hands but his own, so she took the extra precautions to protect him throughout the conspiracy. Taking this into account, it was only natural that the tool she considered herself to be would come into conflict with the meddlesome human she actually was.

As per usual, his movements drew her out of her spiraling thoughts; his stumbling did not go unnoticed, but before she could reach him to help stand, he had already taken the wash set, grabbed his nightwear, and headed towards the bathroom.

“There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.” The door shut promptly behind him

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father.

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he had not been such a damn child. Would she have come to him for her personal problems if he was? If he had convinced their father that she needed a bodyguard if only to keep her out of trouble would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she? He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. He only rolled his eyes at this; she did this every once in a while when they were at home, and he grew tired of chastising her to let the maids do their jobs. Fuyuhiko could not begin to understand why Peko did these silent and small acts for him-- her only “job” was to follow his commands; going beyond that just seemed unecessary. It only dumbfounded him more when he realized, at some point, that she’d done more for him in a single week than he’d seen his parents do for each other since he was born. Of course, it was twice as aggravating when she opposed him returning those small acts every once in a blue moon.

He exited the bathroom with his pajamas on and towel over his head as he found her meditating in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been prepared: the box of his clothes was closed ready to be sent home, the ‘burn bag’ was placed into her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her.

Truly, that was what a professional looked like.

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.”

“Thank you.” Her weakened voice does not go unnoticed by him-- in fact, much of her behavior and mannerisms are more observed than she thinks. Though Peko believed herself to have spoken in perfect monotone, Fuyuhiko was able to hear the falter in the middle syllables*. It had been easier for him to count the days they were separate than together, so it would be highly alarming if he couldn’t pick out some difference in her attitude. Of course, recognizing the problem and doing something about it were two different objectives; furthermore, doing the obvious by asking her what was wrong didn’t seem like the right answer either. How many times has she asked him, and he’d brush her off at best and yell at her ‘to leave him alone’ at worst. What right did he have to interrogate her when he wasn’t the talkative type himself**?

Besides, the yakuza heir knew the kendo athlete well enough to sense that she would also brush him off in return just so that he would not worry about her. In this regard, he understood how she felt: just like him, she hated when people fussed about her or gave her any more attention than what she could tolerate. Peko was simply better at masking her disdain than he was; not that Fuyuhiko tried, of course, but still better nevertheless. In fact, this had been one of the many traits they had in common; regardless of surface level differences, Peko and Fuyuhiko were more similar at heart and at will than other people, or themselves for that matter, tended to realize. It’s why they were able to coordinate manslaughter so well.

She cleared her throat which snapped him back to reality; it’s clear he had been staring at her for far too long causing her to become both concerned and uncomfortable. She tried not to express the latter, but, again, he’s well versed in her micro expressions.

“Is there something you need, sir?” Now it’s her turn to watch his movements as he made his way to his bedroom, hands fumbling with the towel still on his head as he slid it down to his neck.

“It’s nothing. Go bathe while the bathroom is still warm.” And with that she disappeared, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Fuyuhiko released a tense sigh as he sat heavily on his bed. He could feel the conflicting twitch of his nerves; his muscles ached now that the adrenaline passed, but the near state of silence save for the hum of the shower relaxed him. If he has access to a mass fortune (legality of said money’s source notwithstanding), he might as well spend it on a condo away from the loudmouths that inhabited the Hope’s Peak Academy student dorms. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid down on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed.

Shuffling was heard in the background.

2:36 AM

Fuyuhiko was half asleep when Peko finished showering, and caught her trying to leave quietly. He slowly got up and made his way to lean on the doorframe, hand lazily stuck in his jinbei, and watched her. Despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough-- the blond was trying to discern whether it was her plain one or one that he bought her. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, and all but screamed at her in an attempt to convince her to keep them.

He speaks up “That’s the birthday one, right? Your yukata.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you greatly once again.” With a towel in hand, she continuously wrung out the excess water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.”

Recognizing his semi consciousness, Peko seemed more relaxed under his watch; though it wasn’t her place to understand, she remembered him doing this when they were children. On the worst days (i.e the patriarch and matriarch endangering his life during their fights), he would not fall asleep despite being put to bed first by the maids. Instead, he would watch her nestle into her spot beside him, and only then could he fall asleep. She just like then, she told him to put his worries aside, sleep for the rest of the night, and advised him to take today off as no one would dare pester him over his absence. Though, for as long and as well as she knew him, it was ironic how concerned Peko was for Fuyuhiko yet remained oblivious to his deeper troubles. It’s why she mistook the worry in his apprehension at her leaving for a sense of weariness and exhaustion to which she promised she’d quickly leave him to rest. Of course, her words only inflamed the expression on his face (that was not ironic, but instead typical) while his arms crossed in a defensive position.

Even if she knew her heart to be kind, she could not comprehend why that kindness would be extended to herself, a tool, and therefore she could not understand why he protested her leaving.

“I-It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo; there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming out, no doubt.”

“I will avoid confrontation.”

“Didn’t you say the lock at the girls dormitory is super loud? Wouldn’t you cause a scene entering this late?”

“I can move quickly before I am spotted.”

“Gh-- Your hair is still wet, and then you’ll get sick dumbass!”

At this she looks at him directly with a raised brow, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. Her hand rested on the string of her sword bag, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

He seemed to have no more arguments.

“Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” Just as she headed to the door and reached for the handle, Peko paused. Perhaps what he needed now was...comfort, though the bodyguard is not confident enough in doing such a thing-- at least, not in the way he may need it, if at all. Who could fault her hesitation? The last time she tried to ease his worries she let too much of her own weakness show and it worsened the situation.

But if she could provide him some closure...

“What?”

Her posture straightens to face him, “Sato deserved to die-- no, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” She stabilizes her breath and unclenches her hand, “I digress. You did it: with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now personally on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.”

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. Please forgive my impudence, young master. Sleep well.”

Just like that she messed up again; she wonders when she’ll learn to just keep her mouth shut instead of trying to comfort him...or whatever that pathetic display of encouragement-- if one could call it that. Peko reckons that life would be easier for the both of them if she were a simple yes man. As per usual, being so wrapped in her worries of offending him she failed to perceive the true problem he was facing at hand. When the yakuza heir said there would be more bloodshed, he did not intend to brush her off, but meant that the responsibility and weight of killing was something he needed to adjust to sooner rather than later. Of course, his usual poor communication which fought with a trepidation he tried to hide from her did nothing to help her understanding.

Sometimes, Fuyuhiko forgets that Peko isn’t a mind reader, so there’s no possible way she would know he feared losing her the same way he lost Natsumi if she walked out the door this instance unless he spoke bluntly.

“Stay with me.”

The blond wasn’t sure if the words even left his mouth, and if they did he had not been sure if she heard him. Even though he had always been told to command her, he could never bring himself to do it-- there schools lives notwithstanding as he convinced himself it was for both of their sakes. It wasn’t like Peko’s...circumstances were unique to her; in fact, there were plenty of subordinates throughout the gang who shared her position, her ‘status’ as an object. The self-justified feudal system the clan upheld made bile rise to his throat each time he thought about it. Fuyuhiko has witnessed firsthand the horrid treatment of those people (tools, as they were denoted): the fear in their eyes, the way their bodies are thrown like rag dolls, and the absolute aura despair surrounding them. He doesn’t want that for Peko, he doesn’t want her to be his victim anymore than she already is.

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but not in the way he expected when she kneels with her back to the door placing her shinai on her lap.

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to spend the night with me.”

So much for speaking bluntly.

“Young master...?”

“Fucking hell-- look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small, and I had those shit fucking nightmares? How I wouldn’t sleep until you climbed into bed next to me?”

He relaxed when he saw her relax.

“I understand.”

He speaks slowly hoping to regain some composure, “I know this kind of thing is inappropriate even if we’ve done it already. I-I mean, we’re high school students now, ya know? Even if it’s just sharing the same bed space, this isn’t something teenagers should be doing. But I...I just--”

“It’s fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

“So you’re okay with doing it? Sh-Sharing the bed, I mean. And don’t say just yes because I asked you, got it?!”

For the third time, “I understand.”

Now it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to overthink their conversation; he knew neither of them were the ‘heart on the sleeve’ types, but he wonders how much exactly she keeps to herself. Whether she thinks him pathetic or weak, but wouldn’t dare tell him directly to his face. Whether she truly hated his existence, and put on a front because she had no other choice. Theoretically speaking, it was a silly thought to worry about. He knew she all but worshiped the floor he walked on-- excused his behavior when it shouldn’t have been excused, took all the cursing he threw at her without blinking, and so on and so forth. But knowing all this and hearing her curt responses did nothing to ease the tension of his nerves.

If Peko thought him incompetent, was there truly any hope for him?

It doesn’t take him long to set up a makeshift divide on his queen size mattress with an extra pair of flat sheets. Fuyuhiko was in bed before Peko as the latter made sure to lock the door; just like earlier, all he could do was watch her move about doing her own security check. He doesn’t think he’d ever find a justifiable reason for all his starring-- perhaps hypnotism would be the closest explanation. She does everything from opening and closing the window (checking it’s bullet resistance and angles for assassins, no doubt) to leaving the room to make sure the front door and balcony door were properly locked. When she returned, Peko looked over the bedroom; with a small sigh, it seemed her rigid inspection was finally finished.

Seconds after this, the lights were turned off as now the soft glow of his bedside lamps filled their portion of the room. The mattress dipped when she sat down, and Fuyuhiko heard the faint sound of the silver haired girl fixing her bamboo sword between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a sudden jolt that even caught her off guard. The yakuza heir reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different high schools; if she were to be separated from him, then at least he could use it to defend himself. Obviously, there were no qualms of ‘packing’ in the estate, but no one bothered to give him a weapon in the first place-- he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with her by his side she was the only weapon he would use. Nevertheless, there had been a sense of satisfaction for Peko that he had kept it with him for the past two years. She had selected the knife from her collection based on what she assessed of his skills and strength. Once he placed the weapon beneath his pillow, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh. It was the kind of exhaustion that made it impossible to sleep despite a long day of physical labor. Neither of them could be bothered to switch off the lamps, so they laid in silence for a few moments, eyes facing the smooth ceiling above them.

“Hey, Peko. My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

Peko was never sure how to take his apologies; she was not the type to hold grudges, and she had never done so with him. They were unnecessary, as she thinks she would forgive him no matter what he does (to her or otherwise). Therefore, she took a moment to choose her words carefully; perhaps if their relationship were better, she would be able to speak more comfortably around him.

“You needn’t apologize. You are correct: once you ascend to your role as the patriarch, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

“I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling, “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply...that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well. If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko eyes darted across the roof above them as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She was a child the last time she gave too much thought into her first assassination; she’s more ashamed for allowing her emotions to seep through than the killing itself.

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

How could she forget, “When Mr.Hiromitsu notified Lord Raiden that his team identified our kidnappers, I was instructed to dispose of them.”

He could only stare horrified at her. How does one respond to that? To be told that the person laying next to you, who you grew up with and were closer to anyone else in this world, had been turned into a murder at the age of six. He knew his father wasn’t a saint and in fact might have been the devil himself, but there was something particularly putrid about involving children with his bloodthirst. What was the point of having a code if the boundaries were blurred altogether? Sure, Peko had stained her hands with blood now, but what was his father hoping to accomplish by sending her out to do something so dangerous at the age of six? What if Peko failed and died? Did his father, or his mother for that matter, think they could just replace her without him noticing or caring? His parents should be smarter than that. His parents should know...

He might have been foolish enough to fear her as children, but they should have known how worse everything would have turned out if they let her die.

“Young master, I am sorry for my failures on that day.” Her voice brought him back before he spiralled into an abyss.

“Huh?! Peko, what the hell are you talking about? We’re both still alive ‘cause you were the only one who had any sense left.”

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself. Again.

“My inability to control my emotions worsened our predicament. If I had controlled myself as I was supposed to,” Her fingers gripped the yukata, red eyes dulled and downcasted, “Then perhaps we would have returned to the manor sooner. If I kept my head clear…it is my fault we were lost in those woods for so long.”

He quickly sat up, “Peko, we were six! I’m pretty fuckin’ sure any normal six year old-- hell, any normal person would have also been scared out their fuckin’ wits. Weren’t you just on my case about letting shit go?”

“That is…” What he didn’t expect was for her to turn to him with a pained expression; somewhere along the lines of pleading, regret, and shame all bundled into eyes that once, unwillingly, struck fear into him, “I’m...not...a normal person, I’m-- I am my young master’s tool, a tool to protect you and to kill for you. That is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt your safety. This also means that I must protect what is precious to you, and Lady Natsumi...if I were not so useless she would still be alive and you would not have dirtied your hands.”

It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest that was filled with remorse and his self-loathing. He knew she was right, but not in the way she thought. How many times had he pushed for her to be independent of him, to express her opinions and insight? Then, the one time she did as he asked he proceeded to not only dismiss her altogether, but brushed off her rightful concerns for Natsumi’s adjustment into Hope’s Peak. He knew his sister better than anyone, knew the type of trouble she would get into in a normal high school; sure she could throw her weight around ordinary bastards, but this school had its fair share of freaks and superhumans. He also knew that she had Peko run her a few favors (both normal and yakuza related), so it would only be natural for the swordswoman to investigate her transfer even if had no desire of doing so.

“You...you can’t blame yourself; you were just following my orders. Natsumi was my responsibility and mine alone, and I fucked it up by not checking in on her.”

But Peko, as stubborn as Fuyuhiko, would not hear it.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different.”

“Why don’t you get it already? Out of everyone in this world, you’re the only person I can trust. Everyone else is willing to kill me without a second thought.” It felt like he was suffocating, “You’re always putting my life first with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko!”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am a corpse at your feet.”

“Goddamnit, we are done with that crap!” He’s grateful that the room was sound proof, “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in you’d die!”

“I-I wouldn’t let that happen, I assure--!”

Peko’s eyes widened when he suddenly gripped her shoulders; shaking her not violently, but almost desperately as if she would have disappeared into thin air if he didn’t cling onto her that very moment. She had not realized the full look of anxiety and fear on his face until she fully met his stare for the first time that night.

“But you can’t know that,” His voice broke, “You can’t possibly fucking know that! What the hell’s the point if you’re dead?! Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to cremate her.”

Finally, his guard breaks and he rests his forehead on her shoulder,

“So, please...stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die. I don’t...you can’t expect to keep going with whatever life you give me. It’s not worth it, because if I have to bury you too—”

“...Young master?” Peko remained as still as she could; his voice was so weak that she feared he’d fade away from existence if she made any sudden movements. He was so close to her she was sure he could hear, if not feel, her erratic heartbeat-- not that he fared any better than her at the moment, of course. Since neither were the hugging type (at least not openly), the silver haired girl thought to support him through a light touch on his arms.

“Please don’t leave me. I’m so afraid. I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you.”

Suddenly, his confession sparked a fundamental shift within the two. From her shoulders, Fuyuhiko’s hands now clung onto the fabric of her back leaning into her more, and Peko welcomed him without a second thought. Relying more on her instincts, one arm supported his weight while her other hand rested below the nape of his neck. An outsider looking in may think it a fond scene: two high school sweethearts expressing their love for another in the middle of the night. However, that sort of naivety could only last so long. What the outsider misunderstood was their embrace had not stemmed from affection or intimacy, but possession and obsession as they clung to one another.

In other words

“I will never leave your side, young master. There is no other place for me than by your side. If you wish for me to stay next to you for all eternity then that is where I shall stay no matter what. Even if the world turns upside down, I will stay beside you.”

“Good.” He pries away from shoulder just to meet her ever intensive stare; it doesn’t affect him anymore (he welcomes it), “Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Finally, they laid down embracing each other and fell asleep.

———

#kuzupeko #peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #pekoyama peko #kuzuryu fuyuhiko #kuzupeko fanfic #danganronpa #danganronpa 3 #danganronpa anime

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araxiis · 5 years

Text

The Art Of Anaesthesia- Kuzupeko

For @let-it-be-canon ♡

Words: 2547 (jesus)

Based on the song The Art Of Anaesthesia by SayWeCanFly (video above)

Read on Wattpad

A/N: I had an idea for an AMV but I can't draw so I wrote it out :) it's really long and the format screwed up and I'm sorry

Bold italics are lyrics

---------------------------------------------------

Sometimes I think about who I should believe,

The people who are dead or the people who are free.

Sometimes I hear them as they whisper to me.

I try to stay awake so I won't die in my sleep.

The game was over. The Neo World Program had been destroyed, the students freed from their false reality. The 5 survivors woke up in a hospital, fashioned with everything they needed to recover from their stasis. Luckily for them, it was a rather quick process to get them back on their feet. When they could walk steadily on their own, they were permitted to go to the wing where the 'dead' students resided.

Sonia found Gundham's room first, with Kazuichi trailing behind her like a lost puppy. She tested the handle, but found the door to be locked. Akane did the same to Nekomaru's door, and received the same result. It seemed all the doors were deadbolted, impassable. Hajime lingered behind the rest, quietly coming to terms with the fact that there was no door with Chiaki's name written on it.

Fuyuhiko walked slowly through the wing, reading each nameplate carefully until he found the one he was looking for. He put his fingers on the edge of the door's small window and peered inside. She was there.

Lying unconscious, facing away from the window, glasses missing, but she was there. And according to the doctors, she would be okay. Fuyuhiko fumbled for the doorknob, but came up disappointed as he remembered the boundaries set. He heard Sonia's bright voice from behind him.

"Don't worry Fuyuhiko, it should not take too long for everyone to return to us."

She was wrong.

And I was quick to take a second look through

The window on the door of the operating room,

And the adrenaline, it threw my eyes

To the table on the floor where the patients lie.

I saw his face and I could not speak,

As the anesthetic kissed his cheek,

I felt my lips go cold and my limbs go weak

Because the body on the table where the patients die was me.

It was me.

It should have been him.

He should've been the one that got executed, not her. The whole thing was his stupid fucking idea anyways. He leaned his head back, resting it on the cold steel of Peko's room. Ever since the wing was opened six months ago, he spent every day sitting in front of her door. He would stay there all night if he could, but the staff weren't too fond of that idea. Sometimes he would talk to her, about how everyone was doing, about the final trial, whatever he was thinking about. He knew she couldn't possibly hear him, but it made him feel better either way. He saw Sonia down the hall, crying in front of Gundham's room, Kazuichi trying desperately to comfort her. Fuyuhiko closed his eyes tight, on the verge of tears but refusing to cry. It was gonna be okay. Just a little fucking longer.

Give me back my oxygen mask,

Cause I don't want to feel the walls of my heart collapse,

So put me under.

I would sooner die on this table

Than face what causes me to be so unstable.

The five of them sat in a small lobby in the hospital, waiting for the patient's wing to be open. They were talking normally, trying to distract one another from the harsh reality they were living. At seven precisely, a tired-looking doctor opened the door to the wing and addressed the classmates.

"Good news. The first of your classmates has woken up."

The doctor continued talking, but was unheard. The group sprinted past him and frantically started testing the doorknobs on the rooms. Fuyuhiko ran to Peko's door and clumsily reached for the handle.

It didn't move.

Something in his chest dropped. He couldn't contain his disappointment, but was distracted when he heard crying down the wing. Blinking his eyes clear, he continued to run until he reached the open door. Upon entering, he saw Sonia, crying, arms thrown around Gundham's shoulders. He looked like absolute hell, but there was no denying he was alive. Akane and Hajime were smiling politely, and Kazuichi was in the corner of the room, face as pink as his hair. Fuyuhiko half-smiled, nodded to Gundham, and left. He walked towards the room he was staying in, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was happy for Sonia, and Gundham, obviously, but he couldn't help but wish it had been Peko. He stopped by her door and placed his hand on the thin, wired window.

"Cone back to me soon, okay?"

There was a lie between my demons and me,

And a body made of paper in the passenger seat.

As I open my eyes, I could not see.

I felt the stitches come loose and the blood run free.

Six months after Gundham had woken up, almost all of their classmates had returned to them. There was no structure to their recovery. Two days after Gundham, Mikan woke up. About a week after, it was Mahiru. (That was a rather uncomfortable reunion for Fuyuhiko.)

Twelve of them were awake, but three remained asleep.

Nagito, Ibuki, and Peko.

Fuyuhiko sat in one of the poorly-upholstered chairs in the lobby, staring down at his hands. It had been two weeks since Teruteru woke up, the next person had to wake up soon, right?

Just then, he heard shouting down the patient's wing. His heart filled with hope. Someone woke up. It had to be Peko, right?

Yeah, it had to.

He ran towards the sound of voices, anxious and hopeful, but was stopped short when he found the source. The class was gathered in the room across from Peko's, door propped open, talking to Ibuki.

Ibuki...

Fuck.

Fuyuhiko's body began to shake. Why the fuck wasn't Peko waking up? It was his fault, wasn't it? He felt anger, worry, hate, building up inside of him, and he punched the wall at full force. The walls were sturdy and solid brick, but he couldn't feel anything but his blood boiling. He kept punching, yelling, until his fist was bloody and mangled. One punch hit a nerve that shot sparks up his arm, and he dropped his hand to his side. Sweating and overwhelmed, Fuyuhiko looked down at his broken, bloody hand, the pain of his actions finally setting in. His head went light as the pain started to spread, he felt his knees give out below him. He heard Hajime distantly call his name, and everything went dark.

And as my thoughts began to shake,

I felt the hand of the darkness kiss my face.

And then the devil woke up and he grabbed my throat.

He pulled me down to the place where the silence grows.

He looks at me with hollow eyes,

And he whispered my name as the flowers died.

I felt my heart go cold as I sank between

The ocean I am and the river I'm meant to be.

I'm meant to be...

Fuyuhiko opened his eyes to find himself lying in a hospital bed of his own. His clothes were still dusty and stained with blood, but his hand had been stitched up and wrapped in gauze. Running his good hand through his hair, he leaned back onto the paper-covered pillow.

"What the fuck happened?" He mumbled towards the ceiling.

"You passed out," a voice replied.

He was talking to himself, so he was rather startled when he heard the response. His head snapped towards the door, where he saw Hajime leaning against the doorframe.

"It was either shock or blood loss," he continued. "Twogami and I got you here, and Mikan helped the doctors fix you up. We're just across the hall from everyone else. You should be fine to walk around now, just be careful." Hajime turned to leave, but paused outside the door.

"Don't take too long though," he said over his shoulder. "There's.. something you should see."

With that he left, leaving only Fuyuhiko, considering his words. Something he needed to see? What the fuck was..

Holy shit.

Give me back my oxygen mask,

He practically fell out of the bed in his panic to get out of the room.

Cause I don't want to feel the walls of my heart collapse,

So put me under.

He ran faster than he ever had before, shouting breathless profanities at the nurses that tried to stop him.

I would sooner die on this table

He sprinted through the lobby, down the blank white halls, to the door he had spent so much time talking to. He forced his way through the group of his classmates gathered outside of it and-

Than face what causes me to be so unstable.

She had been looking for him too.

As soon as he burst into her room, their eyes locked. They stayed frozen like that for a while, Peko sitting perfectly straight in her bed, Fuyuhiko struggling to catch his breath in the middle of the room, eyes never leaving each other's. Eventually, Fuyuhiko slowly crossed the room to Peko's bed, and perched himself on the edge. Peko had so much she wanted to say to him, but for once, she wasn't able to find the right words. He rested his good hand gently on her leg and started the conversation himself.

"You look like hell."

Peko smiled weakly. "So do you," she retaliated, noticing the bandages on his arm. She reached out to take his hand in hers, but pulled her hands quickly to her chest when she realized what she was doing.

"Forgive me, Young Master, I wasn't-"

Fuyuhiko leaned forward and took her clasped hands in both of his, startling her into silence. He held their hands between them, even though the rest of the class was only feet away.

"Forget that shit, Peko. I'm just so damn happy you're okay."

Peko felt her face go warm as the reality of his words set in. She could remember their last moments together on the island, but that hadn't been real.

This was real. They were real.

Fuyuhiko let go of her hands, which saddened her for a moment, until his hands came to rest on either side of her face. She felt her heartbeat quicken as he rested his forehead against hers. He stroked her cheekbone gently with his thumb, able to feel the corner of her mouth twitching up. Cautiously, Peko rested her shaking hand on his side, just to see what would happen. His smile grew wider, almost splitting his face in two, and he whispered something she could hardly hear. She couldn't be sure, and it could've been wishful thinking, but she could've sworn he said 'I love you'.

She slid her other arm around his waist and locked her hands behind his back. They could hear the quiet words of their classmates, as well as Kazuichi scoffing "fucking finally" and getting shushed by Sonia. They were both smiling wide, eyes closed, beyond thankful to be together again.

Now I'm standing by the window on a Sunday.

And I can't quite recall

Why I cannot move at all

Neither one of them wanted to leave the other's side, but Fuyuhiko insisted Peko start the recovery process as soon as possible. Her body was weak from being immobile for so long, so, much to her dismay, she was bound to a wheelchair. Most days she sat with her back to the room, staring vacantly out the window.

And I feel so tired and wounded,

Like the stitches on my soul came apart.

I'm standing here in the dark.

Despite his protests, the doctors refused to let Fuyuhiko stay with Peko at night while she recovered. During the day, however, you would never find him anywhere else. He stood by her side when she stared out the window. She would admire the view, he would admire her.

Well, maybe it's from the drinks we had last night,

But good god, I love those friends of mine.

The best that alcohol can buy.

Sometimes they talked, but mostly they enjoyed the silence. It was that special kind of silence, where you don't have to talk to enjoy each other's company. On this day in particular, though, Peko's voice cut through the quiet.

"I could hear you. While I was asleep."

Fuyuhiko raised his eyebrow slightly, but said nothing. Peko was still staring out the window, but her eyes seemed less vacant than they were before.

Or maybe it's from the lack of sleep,

But all those secrets I've kept, trying to be so sweet to you.

It's dark, my dear,

But it got me through,

It got me through.

"Most of the time, it was just dark. Dark and quiet," she continued. "Sometimes, though, I heard you talking. It was difficult to tell what you were saying, but I am certain it was your voice. I was unsure what it meant, but," she paused. "But I had reason to believe you were okay. And it was.. very relieving. Before I woke up, I remember hearing you yelling. You sounded hurt, but it got suddenly silent a moment later. I believe-" she looked down at her knees. "I believe my concern for you in that moment was the reason I was able to wake up."

Fuyuhiko stayed silent, causing Peko to fear that the words she chose were the wrong ones. She searched for the right words to apologize with, but her panic was cut short by the feeling of his lips on hers.

So give me back my oxygen mask,

She would be lying if she said she had never imagined this moment before, but never in a million years did she think it would actually happen.

Cause I don't want to feel the walls of my heart collapse,

So put me under.

It wasn't just their professional relationship that wavered her hope; she knew him well enough to know he wasn't exactly the sentimental type. She was unaware at the time, but losing her had been the thing to change him.

I would sooner die on this table

She wasn't complaining though, quite the opposite. She was rather inexperienced though, so she was unsure what she was meant to do. Luckily, she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

Then face what causes me to be so unstable.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, their kiss growing more intense.

Causes me to be so unstable.

He rested one hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

Causes me to be so unstable.

They could worry about consequences later. For now, they were the happiest they had ever been.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm only a ghost,

Wearing human skin I never chose.

I listen to the devil as he spoke

Because he tempted me with a beautiful rose.

#kuzupeko fanfic #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #kuzupeko #fuyuhiko x peko #peko pekoyama #araxi's rambling #araxi's writing #this is long #fuyupeko #danganronpa fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #please don't let this flop #otp: i heard your voice

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dotwrites · 5 years

Text

Meetings Chapter 2- Despair

Summary: Peko struggles with despair and goes searching for her sword. Fuyuhiko isn't happy about it.

Read on AO3

The next day was hard. Peko had been warned about the possibility of experiencing a relapse of sorts, where she might feel herself falling back into despair. It was common amongst the remnants, each one having experienced it a handful of times. She was lucky to have been able to avoid it for the first month after awakening, but it seemed that her luck had run out.

It started early in the day, when Mahiru was suffering a headache at breakfast. It was just a headache, but Peko felt an inkling of guilt in the back of her mind, telling her it was her fault. She tried to avoid talking to Mahiru that day, but she caught a glimpse of the photographer glaring in her general direction that made the inkling grow larger and harder to ignore.

Soon she found herself going to the store room, looking for the bamboo sword that had been kept away from her. The others insisted it was for her own safety, but in that moment Peko found that she didn’t believe them. Part of her knew it was irrational, that she had no reason to use it anymore, but she couldn’t shake the desire to hold the weapon in her hand.

She remembered feeling a similar desire, when she was filled with despair.

Sonia found her just as she found her sword, and on instinct Peko went into a fighting stance, ferocity in her eyes that startled the princess into jumping back.

“What are you doing, Peko?” Sonia asked, hands up in a sign of surrender, “You aren’t supposed to have that.”

Peko blinked, standing up straight when she realized it was just Sonia. She kept her grip on her sword, still unwilling to give it up.

“I apologize for frightening you. I simply want my sword,” she explained, walking towards the door.

“I understand, but I must request that you leave it here!” Sonia insisted, blocking the only entrance to the room with her body.

Peko paused, slightly raising the sword to threaten Sonia before thinking better on it, “I do not understand. I will not attack anybody with it, I simply want to have it with me.”

Sonia frowned, disappointment in her eyes, but Peko didn’t care. Sonia wasn’t a Kuzuryuu, so her opinion did not matter.

“It isn’t that we think you’ll attack somebody, we know you won’t. We just...fear that it might be harmful to your recovery.”

“It will not be, now please get out of my way,” Peko insisted.

“Please be honest with me, Peko,” Sonia requested as she stood her ground, “Are you struggling with despair?”

“I can handle it,” Peko answered immediately, repeating her phrase from the night before.

“I see. Then…” Sonia paused, biting her lip as she thought about the best course of action, “leave the sword, ask Fuyuhiko if you may take it.”

Peko thought for a moment, then turned to gently place her sword back on a shelf. Sonia was right, she decided. He had been part of the group that decided she shouldn’t have her sword, so to take it now would be directly disobeying him. She was certain, though, that she could get his permission to take it back. She turned back to Sonia and nodded, and only then did the other girl move from the doorway, motioning for Peko to take her leave.

The two went their separate ways, Peko searching for the man she was struggling to not refer to as her master. She knew it was wrong, to think of him like that, but it didn’t make it any easier on her in that moment. Part of her thought she would always feel like a tool with a master who didn’t want her, and it only fed into her struggle.

She looked for Fuyuhiko in the dining hall first, then the lobby of the hotel. When she didn’t find him in either of those locations, she headed towards the cottages. She found him talking with Sonia in hushed tones outside of his door, and Peko felt her heart sink. Sonia was probably requesting that Fuyuhiko deny Peko’s plea, she decided.

She approached the pair as Fuyuhiko glanced up, feeling like an arrow was shot through her heart at the pity in his eye.

“Peko,” he said, cutting off whatever Sonia was whispering.

Sonia looked back at Peko, eyes widening when she realized she’d been caught.

“Fuyuhiko,” Peko answered, bowing her head slightly out of habit. She quickly picked it back up, but her eyes remained downcast.

Sonia took a step away from them, but she didn’t walk away like Peko had hoped.

“Uh...I heard you were…” Fuyuhiko struggled, unsure how to phrase whatever Sonia had been telling him.

“In the store room, yes,” Peko glanced at Sonia, who looked at her apologetically, then looked back at Fuyuhiko, “I would like my sword back.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to have it,” Fuyuhiko said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why do you want it, anyway?”

“I…” in truth, it would make her feel more useful. If anything were to happen, she would have a better chance of protecting Fuyuhiko if she had her sword with her. That was the wrong answer, though, so she tried to find one that was suitable, “it would help bring me comfort.”

“How?” He pushed, and Peko found herself starting to regret asking.

“It is familiar,” she decided to answer, hoping that it would convince him to stop looking at her like she might break any moment.

“Okay...and why did you feel the need to ask me?” He continued his line of questioning, not giving into her request so easily.

“That is my fault,” Sonia piped in, “I told her to ask you if she could take it. I apologize for putting you in an awkward position, but do you see what I mean?”

“Yeah, but...Peko, I want you to tell me the truth. Are you just asking me because Sonia told you to?”

Peko almost gulped, feeling guilt overwhelm her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to see him as her master, but here she was, asking him for her sword.

“No. I thought it made sense that I should get your permission.”

Fuyuhiko sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Then I’m not giving it to you.”

“But young--Fuyuhiko, please--”

“No. I don’t want to see you with that stupid fucking sword, okay?” He insisted, voice raising as he spoke. Peko remained silent, hands grasped in front of her as he continued, “I’m not your master and I don’t want to be. You’re a person, and I want us to be equals, but if me telling you no is the only thing that will stop you from taking your sword, then I’m telling you no.”

Tears stung her eyes as Peko bowed her head. Accepting his scolding was always the hardest part of her job when they were growing up, and for some reason he seemed even angrier than usual. She had made so many mistakes, she should’ve known better than to ask for her sword. Of course he was upset with her, he had every right to be.

A small part of her seemed to enjoy the stinging pain of Fuyuhiko’s anger.

“Fuyuhiko, please don’t be too upset with her,” Sonia interjected, “Please remember how hard it can be to relapse, she is struggling very much right now.”

“I know,” he snapped, then taking a deep breath to try to calm himself down, “I know. It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“We talked about this. You knew she was likely going to act like this when she relapsed,” Sonia tried again, “This is passing, she will get better. Remember how Mahiru was, at first?”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffed, turning his attention back to Peko, “I’m sorry for losing my temper at you.”

“It is alright. I shouldn’t have asked for my sword, it is my fault.”

“It isn’t your fault, and it isn’t alright,” Fuyuhiko sighed, “just...go on a walk or something.”

“Understood.”

With that, Peko turned and left. She spent her walk feeling guilty, like a failure for relapsing into despair at all. She was causing Fuyuhiko pain, and that made her own pain grow even stronger. She didn’t return to the hotel until lunch time, after a good hour spent walking around the island they were trapped on.

During the meal, everyone gave her the same frightened look, walking on their toes around her in the way that drove her mad. She couldn’t stand them acting as though she was about to fall apart, even when she did feel so fragile.

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