I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.
Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.
When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs.
Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off.
He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone.
If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.
Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts.
He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.
Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken…
Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones.
He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down.
He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?
A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead.
He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?
Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”
As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.
Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!”
Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?
He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?
The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.
—
“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed.
He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.
She didn’t.
Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said, “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“But--”
“-- But I’m better, yeah.”
Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing.
“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.
She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”
“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.
After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts.
“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.
“They almost killed me. You saved me.”
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Texting habits per judging function
No one asked, but here are some observations I've made in my personal life.
*Note that this probably differs by age, gender, and culture (for instance, I have been told by several Americans that I use an insane amount of emojis, whereas it's not considered weird at all here in Germany).
FJ:
Generally very good at texting, will respond to absolutely every point you make. If you send them a long voice message, they can be found taking notes while listening so that they will not forget to answer any point you made.
Have a very hard time leaving someone on read and if they do, either something happened and they forgot, or they simply don't like you very much. If they open the message, they answer. If they don't have time to answer you right now, they simply will not open the message yet.
If the text conversation is done (i.e. you wrote something like "bye, see you tomorrow!" that does not require another response), they will still at the very least send you an emoji back for no reason other than letting you know that "Yes! I read your message! I'm not ignoring you! I love you!" (Literally every FJ I have ever known does this. Every single one, including myself.)
They will adapt to your style of texting. If you are the kind of person that likes to send a bunch of heart emojis to friends and the FJ friend is not, they will still pepper in a heart here and there. If you generally don't use emojis, they will use them only occasionally. If you reply in wallpaper long messages, so will they. If you break up your messages into several texts one after the other, so will they.
FPs:
Also generally quite good at texting and can actually appear a lot warmer in writing than in person (there have been several instances where I received really lovely messages from FPs who I used to think hated my guts whenever we met in person).
Prepare for emojis. Seriously.
You can have infinitely long text conversations with them. If you are willing to commit, the conversation between the two of you will never end. With NFPs, the conversations usually end up spiralling into nonsense scenarios, while SFPs keep telling you about their day and keep answering you about your day every day.
TPs:
(my texting experience with TPs is unfortunately very limited, so feel free to fill in my blanks)
Fe is very noticeable in the extroverts, i.e. they tend to go the FJ route described above, but in a more nonchalant and more relaxed way. Like with FJs, the focus of the conversation is on you and their dynamic with you.
The introverts (i.e. my dad, i.e. my only point of reference) are bad at texting and prefer to call, so almost all text conversations go something like this:
TP: "Hi, I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I hope everything is alright with you?" You: "Yes, sorry. Everything's good here, how about you, everything okay?" --- end of conversation ---
TJs:
Generally bad at texting. Also don't really like it and see no point in it, so they usually prefer calling or talking in person.
Will appear colder in writing than in person, especially the STJs. Their answers will be straight to the point. No beating around the bush and no needless extension of a conversation in form of jokes/questions/anecdotes for a bonding experience. If they want to tell you something, they will tell you in person.
Have absolutely zero problem leaving people on read and usually don't mean anything by it.
STJs rarely use emojis, NTJs do but not excessively
If their answer requires them to type anything more than two sentences, they will send you a voice message instead. (Literally every single TJ I know does this, except my INTJ brother who is a complete maniac and calls instead.)
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