Down the rabbit hole ━━ c.shuntarō.

2. the same kind of evil

i. The Beach...
Despite the many flaws she possessed, Ikeda Kyoufu was honest.

Her word proved to be irrevocable — a binding document. When it came to promises, she wasn't up for mind games. There were lines she was willing to cross, and maybe they were rather hypocritical. She had just judged Chishiya on his manipulative tendencies, when she was more than aware of her own talent for the skill. But, no matter what, she kept her integrity.

So, early the next morning, before she'd had time to recover from last night's game, she was up. Preparing for their journey to the Beach. Which she was too smart to think would be a harmless detour; the second those bracelets met their wrists, they were going to burn. It seemed inevitable.

Kyoufu was aware of the 3 rules that governed the Beach, and she'd made peace with 2 of them — to a certain extent. However, there was something about wearing a swimsuit that genuinely infuriated her. Because really, why? It wasn't out of insecurity; since arriving, her body had only improved. Sculpted art, thanks to the games and Omar's restless nature to train.

But, here's the dilemma. Weapons were banned, and with the lack of clothing permitted, she was rendered vulnerable. So, abandoning her top for a sports bra, she slipped her favourite knife, now covered by a sheath, into the pocket designed to hold a phone. It was the best she could do, providing her limitations.

If they were welcomed into the Beach (which was so improbable that Kyoufu struggled to humour herself), she would have to go on a supply run. She couldn't survive without a plethora of weapons; Omar had done this to her. They worked with so many now that she ached in their absence.

Later. They were ready to leave.

Kyoufu had spent an hour, maybe longer, observing the stitches that extended up Omar's arm. A couple weeks ago, he'd been stabbed during one of his games, and the wound had appeared too deep to heal naturally. So, Kyoufu had brought a needle and thread to his flesh, tieing him back together.

It's what they did for each other. A passive allegiance. It didn't need to be said, but they looked out for each other, no matter what.

"When we get there," Kyoufu declared, slipping into the drivers seat. They'd found a car (days prior) with a battery that was almost dead. It was their child. They knew it didn't have long left, but it would be enough to get them to Beach. And that was good enough.

Omar rolled his eyes, "You're not going to lecture me, are you?"

"Yes," she drove faster, not relenting until she could feel adrenaline pulsing in her chest. Even back home, she'd never payed attention to speed limits. The wind was slick against her skin. Better. She draped her arm out of the window and continued, "Don't fuck around."

"That was insightful. Poetic, really."

"I'm serious, Omar." she shot him a glare, "I can't deal with you like that. I don't have the strength to keep us both clean. We're not there to party."

"My only concern is Aoki."

"Right, and what do we do if he's dead?"

The silence was almost palpable. After a moment, Omar cleared his throat. He didn't want to explore that outcome, Kyoufu found it pathetic. He'd spent so much time grieving and pulling himself back together, and now, he was right back at square one. 

"Glad you've got it all figured out." she muttered when she couldn't take the tension anymore.

"Kyo," he turned to look at her, "I know you resent me for this. Okay? I get it. But I have to know. If he's been alive all this time, and I've just... abandoned him—" he hit his head against his seat, "Fuck, maybe I should hope he's dead."