DRAWN TO YOU. || s. ishigami
Rebuilding the world takes time. So does love.But gravity doesn't ask for permission. The tides don't apologize.You've always been drawn to him.And him, to you.
| fic masterlist. | song of the chapter.
viii. sweet dreams | 10.7k words
Good things always came with a price.
They ended too quickly, most of the time—dissolving into a fickle memory before you ever truly had the chance to savor them. The stone world was merciless in that regard. It did not allow for softness, nor did it grant space for lingering emotions. Everything demanded urgency: survival, progress, preparation. There was always something to be done, something to be fixed, someone who needed tending. And so moments of peace became fleeting luxuries; borrowed rather than owned.
Still, the ache in your chest as you stepped away from Senku’s side was hard to ignore.
It was absurd, you told yourself. Pathetic, even—to feel this hollow after only a handful of hours reunited. As if the fragile comfort of his presence had already rewired something inside you, reshaped old wounds that had never truly healed. You scolded yourself for it, quietly and relentlessly, reminding yourself that attachment was dangerous in a world so eager to take. But logic did little to dull the pull. You had lost him once. Then left him another. That was enough to make every second beside him feel precarious, like borrowed time ticking down.
You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself.
What mattered now was duty.
Call it responsibility. Call it obligation. Call it a coping mechanism dressed in altruism. Whatever name it carried, it kept your feet moving forward instead of rooted to longing. It gave you purpose beyond grief, beyond fear. And if tending to others allowed you to momentarily forget your own fragile heart, then so be it.
You found Mirai where Tsukasa lingered, his attention never fully leaving her even as others moved around them. She looked impossibly small now that the stone no longer encased her—narrow shoulders hunched, hands curled uncertainly in her lap, lashes still dusted with pale residue like the last traces of a bad dream. The revival fluid had done its job flawlessly, almost cruelly so. It restored the body without preparing the mind for the weight of waking into a world that had long since moved on. You recognized that look in her eyes: the quiet overwhelm, the fragile attempt at composure. You’d seen it in mirrors before.
You slowed your approach instinctively, careful not to crowd her. “Hey,” you said softly, lowering yourself into a crouch so you were eye-level with her. Your voice was quiet, careful, as though anything louder might shatter the fragile calm. “how are you feeling?”
Mirai hesitated, eyes darting briefly toward Tsukasa, who stood nearby, posture taut with vigilance. Only after she seemed to confirm he was still there did she look back at you.
“I… think I’m okay,” she said softly. “Just tired. And kind of dizzy.”
You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “That’s normal. You’ve been asleep for a very long time.”
“Do you mind if I check you over?” you asked. “Just to make sure everything’s settling properly.”
She hesitated— not out of fear, but uncertainty— then gave a small nod. “Okay.”
You worked carefully, narrating each movement before making it, asking permission before touching her wrist, her shoulder, her forehead. Her pulse was quick but steady, her breathing shallow but even.
“Everything looks good so far,” you said softly. “You’re doing amazing.”
A shy smile flickered across her lips.
It was then that you noticed the stone fragments still tangled in her hair, dusting her skin, stubborn and uneven. You frowned slightly, reaching up but stopping just short of touching her.
“There’s still some residual stone fragments left,” you said gently. “It won’t hurt you, but it might irritate your scalp if we leave it too long. Would you like help washing it out?”
Mirai lifted a tentative hand, brushing at one of the flecks. “It feels itchy.”
You smiled faintly. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Before she could respond, a voice slipped smoothly into the space beside you.
“There’s a river not far from here,” Hyoga said calmly. “That would be the most efficient way to remove it.”
You glanced up at him.
His tone was measured, almost polite, and the faint crinkle of his eyes suggested a smile beneath the cloth mask. And yet — something about the way his gaze lingered made unease stir faintly in your gut. A prickle along your spine. You dismissed it as lingering tension, as exhaustion, as paranoia born from living too long in survival mode.
“That would work,” you agreed after a moment.
Turning back to Mirai, you softened your expression. “Would that be okay with you?”
She looked uncertain for only a second before nodding.
The walk that followed was subdued, wrapped in a fragile quiet that felt too deliberate to be comfortable.
Mirai stayed close to your side, her steps cautious, tentative, as though she didn’t quite trust the ground beneath her feet yet. You matched her pace without thinking, your body unconsciously shifting into something protective. Tsukasa followed just behind, close enough that his presence felt solid and grounding. Hyoga lingered farther back, unhurried, silent, observant.
You told yourself not to read into it.
The river revealed itself gradually, the sound of water reaching you before the sight of it did. Sunlight fractured across the surface, glinting softly as it slipped over smooth stones worn down by time far more patient than any of you. It looked peaceful—almost offensively so.
You knelt first, dipping your fingers into the water. Cool. Refreshing.
“Alright,” you murmured, cupping water in your hands. “Let me know if it’s too cold.”
Mirai inhaled, bracing herself and nodded.
You worked slowly, carefully rinsing the stone fragments from her hair and skin, watching them dissolve into pale streaks as the current carried them away.
To keep her from focusing on the sensation—and maybe to keep yourself from thinking too much—you spoke again.
“So,” you said lightly, “what kinds of things do you like?”
Mirai blinked, surprised, then thought for a moment. “I like The Little Mermaid,” she said. “Tsukasa used to read it to me when I couldn’t sleep.”
The words landed softly—and still managed to hit you straight in the chest.
Oh, you thought distantly. You sweet summer child. You could almost tear up from how cute she was.
Your hands stilled for half a second before you forced them to keep moving, water slipping through your fingers as you blinked away the sudden sting behind your eyes. There was something unbearably tender about the way she said it, like the memory itself was a lifeline she’d carried through centuries of silence.
“That’s a good one,” you said gently.
Mirai watched you for a moment, studying your face with open curiosity, before tilting her head. “Do you have a favorite princess?”
The question caught you off guard.
You huffed a quiet laugh, thoughtful. “I didn’t really watch Disney princess movies all that much,” you admitted. “But if I had to pick… probably Merida.”
You glanced back at her, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “The one with the bow.”
Mirai’s face lit up instantly. “Oh! When she turned her mom into a bear!”
“Yeah,” you laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything. “That one.”
For just a second, the world felt still.
Then the explosion tore through it.
The sound cracked through the air, sharp and violent, sending birds scattering from the trees. Your body moved before your mind caught up, arm snapping out to pull Mirai close, heart slamming painfully against your ribs. She gasped, fingers clutching into your sleeve.
“An explosion?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”
Tsukasa was already moving, his hand squeezing her shoulder briefly—reassuring, resolute. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll check it out.”
You barely had time to register him turning away before unease surged in your chest, thick and suffocating. Hyoga had been facing Tsukasa, watching him retreat up the hill. When he turned back to you, his gaze felt sharper—stripped of its earlier politeness.
His posture hadn’t changed. His voice, when he spoke, remained even. But the air around him felt tighter now, sharpened. The faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes was still there, as if he were smiling beneath the mask—but it no longer reached anywhere human.
A prickle crept along your spine.
“Hyoga?” you asked, confusion edging into your voice.
He stared down at you wordlessly for a moment, gaze unreadable, unsettling in its stillness.
“It’s a shame it has to be like this,” he said at last.
The words didn’t make sense. Not here. Not now.
“…Huh?” was all you managed, your grip tightening around Mirai without you realizing it.
Then—footsteps.
Fast. Desperate.
You looked up just as Senku burst through the trees, Ukyo close behind him. Senku wasn’t jogging. He wasn’t complaining or shouting for attention. He was sprinting, full force, like his life depended on it.
Your stomach dropped.
His eyes locked onto you, wide and frantic, and he didn’t slow as he shouted—
“Get away from him—now!”
The warning came too late.
Hyoga’s gaze sharpened, something cold and predatory flashing through it as he surged forward, spear snapping up in a single, practiced motion.
You didn’t think.
You didn’t hesitate.
You moved.
You twisted instinctively, pulling Mirai behind you and stepping into the space between her and the incoming blade, your body shielding hers without hesitation. Not because you were brave. Not because you thought you’d survive.
But because in a million lifetimes, there was no version of you willing to watch a child be killed.
You weren’t looking for a death wish.
But if luck demanded payment, you’d rather it be you.
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for pain. For impact.
It never came.
Instead, something cool splattered against your cheek.
You flinched, breath hitching, and slowly opened your eyes.
Red.
So much red.
It took a moment for your mind to catch up—to translate what your eyes were seeing into something comprehensible. The spear wasn’t buried in you.
It was buried in Tsukasa.
Driven clean through his left side, metal punched through flesh and muscle with brutal precision, the tip protruding from the other end—slick, dark, unmistakable. Blood dripped steadily from it, each drop heavy, obscene, hitting the ground… hitting you… splashing across Mirai’s trembling hands.
You had never thought the sight of blood would make you sick.
In the old world, you’d scraped your knees and split your skin without blinking, patched yourself up in bathroom mirrors and kept going. You still did. You’d treated others, too—deep gashes, ragged wounds you weren’t sure you could fix, hands steady even when the outcome wasn’t. You’d watched autopsy videos, studied anatomy until veins and organs became familiar shapes instead of horrors. You’d seen your father come home streaked in it after hunts, smiling like it was nothing more than proof of success.
You wanted to be a doctor.
You’d known the requirements long before the stone ever took the world.
But God—this—
The sight in front of you tore straight through all of that.
Hyoga’s spear had penetrated Tsukasa’s left hypochondriac region, pierced clean through. Your brain tried to latch onto the terminology, to ground itself in anatomy, in reason—but it fell apart under the weight of horror clawing up your throat. Slipping through your fingers like water.
Mirai screamed.
You covered her eyes instantly, pressing her face into your shoulder as if you could shield her from the image, from the sound, from the reality that had just shattered in front of her.
“Don’t look,” you breathed, voice cracking. “Please—don’t look.”
Your hands shook violently as you held her, your palms slick and warm and useless. Your mind tried—tried—to catalog it the way it always did. Location. Severity. Damage. Internal bleeding. Shock. Prognosis.
All of it was useless.
This wasn’t a diagram. This wasn’t a case study.
Hyoga spoke again, voice steady, almost reverent, as if narrating something sacred.
You barely heard him.
Your ears rang. Your vision tunneled. All you could feel was Mirai shaking against you, all you could see was red, red, red.
Hyoga used the spear to lever Tsukasa’s body upward, dragging him toward the cliff’s edge with sickening ease. Tsukasa’s feet scraped uselessly against the ground, blood smearing in their wake.
Senku was still running.
He came out of nowhere—sliding, stumbling, desperate—hands reaching just as Hyoga shoved Tsukasa forward, wrenching the spear free long enough to send him tipping over the edge. Senku caught him. Fingers locked. Muscles straining. Hope flared so sharp it hurt.
Then Hyoga moved again.
You didn’t even register your own scream when the spear struck Senku next—not piercing, just enough force to send him off balance. Off the cliff, taking Tsukasa with him. And then Hyoga followed, disappearing after them like gravity had been waiting patiently for its turn.
The sound that tore out of you was unbridled. Animalistic. Panic and fury collapsed into one seamless, suffocating thing that clawed its way up your chest and out of your throat. You didn’t hear Kohaku scream. Didn’t hear Chrome. Didn’t hear anyone. The world narrowed to the empty space beyond the ledge and the certainty that something irreplaceable had just been taken from you.
You surged forward, half out of your body, half ready to throw yourself after them. Logic was gone. Self-preservation was gone. You knew—knew—that jumping wouldn’t save anyone, that it wouldn’t change the outcome, but none of that mattered. If the world was going to keep taking, then you wanted to chase it down and demand answers.
Hands yanked you back.
Ukyo’s grip was firm, unyielding, his voice sharp with urgency as he dragged you away from the edge. He was talking about the current—how fast it was, how deep, how there’d be nothing left to find underwater.
Paying attention to your surrounds, it seems you were teh oly reckless one. you coudk hear Kohaku and her father were shouting about the same thing, their voices cracking with grief and desperation.
But truthflly, you didn’t care.
All you could think about was how often this kept happening. How the world seemed to dangle people you loved just within reach—long enough for you to relax, to hope—before ripping them away again. How cruel it felt. How personal. Like the gods were laughing, playing some long, elaborate joke at your expense.
They’d given you Senku back.
And then taken him again, not even hours later.
The thought hollowed you out. Your chest ached like something inside had collapsed, like all the air had been knocked from your lungs and never returned. You told yourself you should’ve known better. That you should never have believed you were allowed to keep him. That somehow this was your fault too.
But then, beneath the panic, beneath the grief, something steadier began to surface. Bitter. Reluctant. Familiar.
Senku wouldn’t want you throwing yourself into the abyss. He wouldn’t want you losing your head, letting emotion drown out reason. He’d probably call you an idiot for not thinking sooner.
So you swallowed hard, teeth digging into your lip until you tasted blood, and forced yourself to do the one thing you should’ve done from the start.
Think.
You shoved Ukyo’s hands away.
He stiffened immediately, clearly ready to grab you again, worry written plain across his face. “Hey—” he started.
“I’m not jumping,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you meant, edged with something close to desperation. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, to stay still. “I promise. I won’t.”
He hesitated, searching your face like he was bracing for you to break again. Slowly, reluctantly, he let go.
The moment his hands were off you, you turned—not toward the cliff, but toward the others. They were all there, stunned and hollow-eyed, the same grief echoing in different shapes across their faces. Your chest tightened again, but you didn’t let it stop you.
“We need to search for them downstream,” you said.
Your voice wavered on the first word. You cleared your throat and kept going, clinging to the rhythm of logic like a lifeline. “The current’s fast. If they’re alive—if there’s any chance—they’ll wash up somewhere below. We need to be ready when they do.”
You started listing things before anyone could interrupt you, before doubt could creep in.
“A stretcher,” you said, hands clenching at your sides. “Or something we can turn into one. Rope. Bandages—clean ones, not the reused scraps. Splints. If Tsukasa’s still breathing, he’ll be in critical condition. Internal bleeding, organ damage—he can’t be moved around carelessly.”
Your voice cracked on the last word. You hated that it did. You hated that everyone could hear it.
And yet—no one questioned you.
They just moved.
That, more than anything, almost broke you. The way people scattered instantly, gathering supplies, tearing fabric, snapping branches, listening like your words mattered. Like you mattered. You didn’t have time to unpack that feeling—not when every second pressed heavier than the last.
It took nearly an hour.
The sun had begun its slow descent by the time you saw them.
Your heart slammed violently against your ribs as you broke into a run, breath hitching painfully in your chest. Senku was upright—bloodied, scuffed, bruised to hell and back, but standing. Talking. Acting irritatingly alive. Relief flared so sharp it almost made you dizzy.
You ignored him completely.
Tsukasa was on the ground.
The sight of him stopped you short.
His chest rose shallowly, each breath thin and strained, like his body was arguing with itself over whether it wanted to keep going. His skin was pale beneath the grime and blood, lips tinged faintly blue—but his eyes were open. Focused. Conscious.
Thank god.
You dropped to your knees beside him without thinking, hands already moving, assessing, counting breaths, checking the pressure of the bandages like you hadn’t just watched him get run through with a spear.
“Senku, are you okay?” Kinro asked somewhere nearby, his voice tight.
“Yeah,” Senku replied, breathy but cocky as ever. “Actually—ten billion percent okay.”
A weak laugh rippled through the group, brittle with leftover adrenaline. Magma’s voice cut through it a second later, loud and sharp, asking whether now was a good time to just murder Hyoga already.
Taiju shut that down instantly, hand firm on Magma’s shoulder. “No! Killing people is wrong, and we don’t do that!”
The question lingered anyway—unspoken but heavy.
Chrome finally voiced it. “So… what do we do with them?”
Senku let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing at his face with a grimy hand. “That’s easy,” he said. “We keep them captive until society’s back up and running. Once we’ve got a scientific civilization, Hyoga won’t be the strongest anything anymore. People can put him on trial. Do whatever they need to do.”
His eyes were sharp despite the exhaustion, focus unwavering even now. “I don’t care about that. I’m just a scientist.”
You barely registered the rest.
Strong hands lifted Tsukasa carefully onto the stretcher you’d insisted on, every movement slow, deliberate. You hovered uselessly close, correcting grips, snapping orders when someone moved too fast. You followed all the way back to camp, eyes never leaving the faint rise and fall of his chest.
You didn’t sleep that night.
You sat by Tsukasa’s side, changing bandages with trembling hands, replacing the cool cloth on his forehead whenever it warmed. You checked pulses. You whispered quiet instructions to yourself just to stay grounded.
You knew how this ended.
You hated that you knew.
Internal bleeding like this wasn’t kind. It didn’t announce itself loudly. It waited. It stole time while pretending to give it. You kept that knowledge locked away deep inside of you, wearing a practiced mask of composure even as dread coiled tighter and tighter.
Senku would think of something. He had to.
Because you didn’t know how you’d ever be able to look Mirai in the eyes if he didn’t.
⏾𖤓
By morning, you were exhausted down to your bones.
The cave was dim and cold, the air heavy with the weight of what everyone was pretending not to think about. You were still at Tsukasa’s side, fingers stained red and brown from dried blood, carefully rewrapping his torso.
Minami sat close. Too close.
You bit back your irritation as your elbow brushed her shoulder for the third time, forcing yourself to stay focused. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was worried. You understood that. You just wished—selfishly—that you had more room to breathe.
Ukyo sat on the other side, quietly writing as Tsukasa spoke.
The words came slow, strained, each sentence pulled from him like it cost something physical. He paused often, swallowing hard, breath catching in his chest.
Minami finally cut in, voice firm but gentle. “That’s enough talking for now, Tsukasa. You need to rest.”
You nodded without looking up. “As the closest thing to a professional here, I agree,” you said quietly. “You’re only worsening your condition. And you know that.”
Tsukasa huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Not yet,” he said, voice rough. “I have to say this before the end.”
Your hands stilled for just a second.
“The war is over,” he continued. “The Kingdom of Science won. So the statues I destroyed—those people—were just meaningless sacrifices.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
Taiju, standing at the mouth of the cave, straightened immediately. “Don’t you worry at all!” he said brightly, like sheer optimism could rewrite reality. “If you need someone to do the grunt work, then I’m your man!”
He turned and left before anyone could stop him, already calling out plans to search for the statues.
Ukyo’s pen paused.
“…Tsukasa,” he asked carefully. “Do you really remember every single one? Every statue you’ve broken since the beginning?”
Tsukasa didn’t hesitate.
“Of course I do.”
You barely heard what came next.
Their voices kept going, but they started to melt together, words losing shape as if they were being spoken underwater. You nodded when expected, shifted when needed, hands moving on instinct alone.
Gauze. Pressure. Breathe.
You focused on what you could control: the rise and fall of Tsukasa’s chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the steady rhythm you clung to like proof that he was still here.
You kept working because stopping would mean thinking, and thinking meant spiraling, and spiraling meant facing the truth.
You could stabilize him. Slow the bleeding. Buy time.
But time wasn’t the same thing as saving someone.
You adjusted the towel on his forehead, cool against skin gone too warm, and forced your voice to stay level. Professional. Detached. Like that would make it hurt less when—
“Hey.”
You looked up.
Senku was watching you.
Not Tsukasa. You.
His expression was carefully neutral, but you knew him too well—knew the signs. The tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes kept flicking back to Tsukasa’s chest, counting breaths even if he pretended not to be.
“Can I steal the doc for a second?”
You hesitated.
Everything in you resisted stepping away—like if you took your eyes off Tsukasa for even a moment, something irreversible might happen. But Tsukasa’s gaze flicked toward you, steady despite the pain carved into every breath.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “Go.”
Reluctantly, you rose to your feet and followed Senku a short distance away, just far enough that voices dropped and the cave swallowed the sound. The moment you stopped, the exhaustion hit you full-force—settling into your bones, dragging at your shoulders, making your head feel too heavy for your neck.
Senku turned to face you.
Up close, he looked worse than you’d let yourself acknowledge earlier. Dirt streaked across his cheekbone, eyes rimmed red and shadowed by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and relentless strain. You were under no illusion that you looked any better—but somehow, he still seemed closer to the edge.
If you had any energy left, maybe you would’ve joked about it. Thrown some snark at him, deflected like you always did. But you couldn’t will yourself to do it now.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he said, “I made superglue.”
You stared at him.
“…Seriously?” Your voice came out thin. “Senku, if you dragged me out here to tell me about a new craft project, I swear I’m going to—”
“It’s not a craft,” he cut in, sharper now. “It’s medical-grade adhesive. Or as close as we can get right now.”
Your stomach dropped.
“It’s for Tsukasa,” he continued, words tumbling faster. “His wounds. We need to close them up. Bandages won’t hold, and he’s bleeding too much internally—we don’t do something soon, he won’t make it through the night.”
You let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
“Yes,” you said. “I’m well aware.”
Silence stretched between you again, heavier this time.
Then it hit you.
“…Wait,” you said slowly. “You’re not suggesting—”
“I am,” Senku said. “We stitch him up.”
Your pulse spiked.
“No. No, no, no—” The words spilled out before you could stop them. “I’ve never stitched anyone before. Not seriously.”
“Oh please,” Senku shot back. “I’ve seen you practice on your own arm.”
“Yeah,” you snapped, “which—might I remind you—you lectured me on for being wildly unsafe.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“You weren’t bleeding out from a spear wound.”
You dragged a hand down your face, fingers trembling despite your effort to steady them. “Senku,” you said, quieter now, “this guy tried to kill you. Twice.”
“And this is relevant, how?”
You scoffed softly, the sound sharp and humorless. “You don’t get to ask that like it doesn’t matter.”
Senku frowned. “I’m asking because it doesn’t.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” you shot back, heat creeping into your voice despite your attempt to keep it down. “You’re not the one who had to watch him do it. You’re not the one who stood there and—” Your words caught, lodged somewhere painful in your throat. You swallowed hard and tried again. “He killed you, Senku. Right in front of me. And he would’ve done it again if you hadn’t won.”
Senku exhaled and slid his pinky into his ear, the other hand settling on his hip.
“I know what he did.”
“Yeah?” You laughed again, breathless, brittle. “Because I don’t think you get it. Do you?” Your voice wavered despite yourself. “Sometimes it feels like you file everything away under ‘necessary casualties’ and just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Never mind.”
For a moment, Senku didn’t say anything.
Then he sighed—long, tired—and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t expect you to forgive him,” he said. “Hell, I’m not asking you to like him.”
“Good,” you muttered.
“But this isn’t about that,” he continued. “This is about whether we let someone die when we have the means—however crude—to stop it.”
You looked away, jaw clenched.
“That goes against your morals,” Senku said quietly. “And you know it.”
You stayed silent.
You were still grumbling about it internally—about him, about Tsukasa, about the universe for even putting this decision in your hands—but the anger felt thin now. Exhausted. Like everything else. And buried beneath it was the part of you that knew the truth: even if Senku hadn’t asked, even if he’d never brought it up at all, you would’ve suggested it eventually. You always did. You always tried to fix things. Even when they hurt you.
Your jaw clenched.
“…You know this isn’t going to save him, right?” you said at last.
Senku looked at you.
You didn’t let him interrupt.
“Sure,” you continued, voice low, tight, “it’ll buy time. We can close the wounds, slow the bleeding, keep him stable for a bit.” You shook your head. “But that’s all it is. Time. A couple days at most.”
You finally met his eyes.
“What then?”
The question hung there, heavy and unanswered. Not accusatory. Just honest.
For a second, Senku didn’t say anything.
Then he exhaled through his nose, short and controlled.
“I have a plan,” he said.
You searched his face for more—details, certainty, anything—but he didn’t give it. Just that. Just the implication that his brain was already running ten steps ahead, even if the path wasn’t clear yet.
Your shoulders sagged slightly.
“Well then genius,” you joked lightly.
“Lets get to work.”
⏾𖤓
Yuzuriha came into view at the edge of the cave, jogging carefully over uneven stone with her arms full of baskets—yarn, string, thin cords she’d twisted together on the move. She startled when you called her name, eyes snapping up, already halfway through an apology
“Hey—sorry, I was just—”
“Yuzu,” you cut in, stepping into her path before she could slip past you.
She stopped.
Her breathing was still uneven from running, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. For a moment she smiled reflexively—until she really looked at you. The tension in your shoulders. The way your hands were clenched like you were holding yourself together by force alone.
Her smile faded.
“…Are you okay?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Then tried again.
“Tsukasa’s injuries are bad,” you said quietly. “Worse than I thought. The bandages aren’t enough anymore.” You gestured vaguely back toward the cave, like pointing too directly might make it real. “He’s bleeding internally. We can slow it down, but we can’t stop it unless we close the wounds.”
Yuzuriha’s eyes widened just slightly.
“…Close them,” she repeated.
You nodded. “Stitch them. Or—” Your throat tightened, and you let out a heavy sigh. “…either way. It has to be done by hand.”
Her gaze softened immediately, understanding dawning before you even finished. She set the baskets down and stepped closer, hands lifting to cup your face. Her thumbs brushed gently against your cheeks—warm, grounding.
“You can do this,” she said, voice steady and unwavering. “I know you. You’re strong. Stronger than you even let yourself see. You’ve got the skills—the hands, the mind—just like always.”
She smiled at you, small and sweet, and it was enough to steady your nerves.
“I’ll always be there for you,” Yuzuriha continued quietly. “So if you need me to help, then I’ll help. Just tell me what to do and I’ve got you. You’re not alone. I’m right here. Every step of the way.”
You drew a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. Her certainty—her trust—wrapped around you like a lifeline.
Then Kaseki’s voice cut through the quiet. “Hey, you two, over here!”
You and Yuzuriha exchanged a glance and followed him, stepping toward the makeshift treatment area. Senku and Kaseki were already dressed in makeshift masks, gloves, and aprons, surrounding Tsukasa, who lay tense but still on the table.
Senku’s eyes narrowed as he gave both of you a sharp, almost scary look. “We’ve got some needle work that needs doing. It’s a job for a true crafts club member.”
You rolled your eyes but stepped back, mentally bracing yourself for what was coming.
From the side, Gen piped up, voice a little shaky. “Uh… we don’t have any anesthetic. Are you sure? otally-Tay?”
Senku let out a short chuckle. “Don’t underestimate history’s strongest primate,” he said, glancing at Tsukasa. “You don’t need anesthetic, do you?”
Tsukasa’s low, dark chuckle rumbled through the cave. “Of course not.”
“Well,” you muttered under your breath, tying your gloves snugly and adjusting your mask, “it’s not like it matters anyway,”
“I hope you’re ready Tsukasa, cause this is gonna hurt like hell. But I promise, I’ll do my very best.”
⏾𖤓
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
You tried not to think about how familiar the sight of blood had become. How your hands no longer hesitated the way they used to. You weren’t sure when that happened—when revulsion had quietly turned into tolerance, when fear had been replaced with necessity—but you supposed this was what medicine demanded of you. Adapt or break.
And breaking wasn’t an option.
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
Tsukasa was… surprisingly easy to work with. No screaming. No flinching. No sharp intakes of breath that might throw your hand off course. Just a clenched jaw and a faint crease between his brows, pain that was acknowledged but never indulged.
So easy, in fact, you had long since let Yuzuriha rest after such a taxing day.
You wondered, briefly, if this was how he’d always been—enduring rather than reacting. Carrying things silently until they nearly killed him.
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
“Still with me?” you asked quietly, eyes never leaving the wound.
A low huff escaped him. “Unfortunately.”
You exhaled through your nose—something almost like a laugh.
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
The cave was hushed, the kind of quiet that pressed in on your ears. Tsukasa’s shallow breaths filled the space between movements, between thoughts. You focused on the repetition, on the simple, brutal logic of it: close the wound. Stop the bleeding. Buy time.
Time. Always time. Never enough of it.
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
Your fingers ached. Your shoulders burned. Sweat gathered at your temples beneath the mask, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
For a while, there was only the sound of your work—the faint rasp of thread sliding through flesh, the soft clink of metal, the steady, unforgiving rhythm of keeping someone alive. Each stitch felt like a small defiance against the inevitable. You wondered, distantly, if this was what absolution felt like—slow, methodical, earned one painful inch at a time.
Then Tsukasa spoke again.
“I never blamed you,” he said quietly. “For hating me.”
Your hands stilled for half a second. Not long enough for anyone else to notice—just a hitch, a momentary pause—but it was hesitation nonetheless. A crack in the careful wall you’d built around yourself.
“I never hated you,” you replied, just as quietly.
There was a breath. Then—
“You and I both know that isn’t true.”
The thread trembled between your fingers before you drew it tight.
“I hated what you did,” you said, voice steady even as something twisted low in your chest. “What you chose.” A pause, deliberate. Honest. “But you?” Your jaw tightened. “No. I don’t think I ever did.”
Pierce. Pull. Knot. Snip.
Tsukasa exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for a very long time. Like he hadn’t realized until now that he was allowed to let it go.
“I thought,” he said, eyes fixed on the rough stone ceiling above, “that if I could stop it early—stop the world from becoming what it was again—then it would be worth it.”
You worked in silence, listening.
“I saw what people did when they had power,” he continued. “How easily they justified it. How they crushed anyone weaker and called it progress.” His fingers curled faintly against the table. “When the world reset… I thought we were being given permission. A chance to choose better.”
Your chest tightened. Not in anger, nor in grief.
But in recognition.
“I thought if I carried the burden alone,” he said, his voice rougher now, stripped of its earlier certainty, “then no one else would have to.”
Your hands slowed as you finished the last stitch. You tied it off carefully. Reverently. Like rushing would be a kind of disrespect. When you reached for fresh bandages, your movements were gentler now—no longer urgent, just tired.
“Yeah well,” you muttered, breaking the quiet, “see where that got you.”
A breath that might’ve been a laugh escaped him. “Never one to sugarcoat it, huh?”
“I don’t see the point.”
You straightened and turned away from him, focusing on cleaning your hands. On the water. On the red swirling briefly before disappearing down the basin. Anything that wasn’t the weight of a man who had tried to reshape the world and was now bleeding out because of it.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done in your place,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I would’ve been better.”
Tsukasa turned his head just enough to look at you.
“But,” you continued, voice steadier now, “playing God doesn’t spare anyone. It just moves the blood onto your hands.”
Footsteps echoed from the mouth of the cave before anything else could be said.
You didn’t turn right away, but you felt it the moment Senku stepped back into the space. The air shifted. Tightened. He stopped short when he saw the finished stitches, the clean bandages wrapped carefully around Tsukasa’s torso. Gen hovered a step behind him, eyes flicking between the three of you, uncertain.
The cave felt smaller with Senku in it. Like the walls had crept inward.
You could tell immediately this was affecting him more than he wanted to admit. The sharpness he usually carried—easy confidence, biting wit—was gone. When he spoke, his voice sounded thinner. Hollowed out.
Tsukasa broke the silence before anyone else could.
“I know my own body,” he said calmly, staring up at the stone ceiling. “So I’m aware of what’s going on. The surgery was only to buy some time.” His fingers curled faintly against the table. “In a few days, I’ll have died from sepsis.”
Senku didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. He adjusted his stance instead, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he needed something to anchor himself.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “The only way to save you is to petrify you.”
Gen blinked, posture stiffening. “Huh? Petrify him… to save him?”
Senku exhaled through his nose, gaze fixed somewhere past Tsukasa’s shoulder. “We’re gonna take advantage of the regenerative effects of coming out of petrification. That’s what’ll ultimately heal him.”
Gen rubbed the back of his neck, unease written plainly across his face. “Yeah… I get the rationale. But, Senku—” He hesitated. “Can you actually petrify him?”
“Calm down,” Senku said, though there wasn’t much bite behind it. “You’re like an eager little kid. We’re gonna have to figure that part out.”
Then he looked up.
Really looked at Tsukasa.
“Although,” Senku continued, voice quieter now, “we have no clue how long that’ll take. And I do know there’s a ten-billion-percent chance he’ll be dead by then.”
The cave went silent.
“So before that happens…” Senku swallowed. His jaw tightened. “…Tsukasa. I’m going to have to kill you with my own hands.”
The pause that followed was long. Dense. The kind that pressed against your ears until it felt hard to breathe.
Gen was the first to crack under it.
“What are… you saying?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m gonna freeze you to death,” Senku replied. “Cold sleep. Meanwhile, we’ll find a way to petrify you.” His fist clenched at his side, knuckles whitening. “But I’m gonna bring you back. No matter what it takes. That’s the only way.”
He didn’t look away this time.
“Put your trust in me,” Senku said quietly. “…and die.”
Tsukasa stared at the ceiling for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he turned his head, meeting Senku’s gaze.
“’Course I trust you.” His voice was calm. Certain. “’Cause if I gotta die, I’d rather you kill me.” A faint, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s only fair. I killed you once before, so I owe you one.”
Senku let out a hollow chuckle, Oh yeah… you’re totally right.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s perfect. Guess it’ll be my revenge.”
“So I’ve gotta kill ya.”
⏾𖤓
You didn’t remember falling asleep.
Only that at some point, the cave had gone dark, conversation thinning until it disappeared entirely, and then—
Noise. and lot’s of it
A sharp, relentless clatter tore through the quiet. Metal striking stone. Wood cracking under pressure. Voices overlapping in short, purposeful bursts. A steady bang—bang—bang that echoed through your skull and settled there.
You stared up at the cave ceiling for a long moment, unmoving, as if willing the sound to stop on its own.
It didn’t.
With a quiet groan, you rolled onto your side. The bedding beneath you was stiff and unforgiving, doing nothing to ease the dull ache behind your eyes. Your arm slid across empty space.
Yuzuriha was gone.
That realization cut through the fog faster than the noise ever could. You pushed yourself upright, running a hand down your face.
“Great,” you muttered. Overslept. What a way to start the day.
You tugged yourself out of the tent, still half-asleep, blinking against the daylight as the clamor grew louder with every step. Whatever was happening, it clearly wasn’t subtle.
Ukyo, Nikki, and Yo stood just beyond the tents, all three frozen in place like they’d stumbled onto something unbelievable. You shuffled over, rubbing at your eyes, following their line of sight.
Senku and the others—Suika, Kaseki, Chrome—were tearing apart old creations without hesitation. Devices you recognized were reduced to scattered parts, frames pulled loose, wires yanked free.
What’s got everyone so worked up…?” you asked distantly, voice still thick with sleep.
“Oh wow,” Yo whistled, hands on his hips. “Look at those cavemen go!”
Nikki nudged him hard in the side without looking away. “Shut up, will ya? We’re the ones who’ve been living like cavemen this whole time.”
Ukyo tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he tracked Senku’s movements. “Incredible,” he said. “What are you guys making, anyway?”
At that, Senku turned.
If yesterday he’d been stripped of his usual spark, today it had found its way back—at least enough to pass for normal. Close enough, anyway. The dark circles under his eyes told a different story.
“Oh,” he said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “A refrigerator.”
Yo, Ukyo, and Nikki all froze.
“Well,” Senku added, already turning back toward the pile of dismantled parts, “more like a freezer.”
Ukyo stared at him. “A Stone World refrigerator?!”
Honestly, you would’ve been more shocked if you hadn’t grown up with him.
“Trust me,” you said, rubbing at your temple, fatigue settling back in now that the adrenaline of waking up had worn off, “you’ll get used to whatever crazy shit he says soon enough.”
⏾𖤓
By the time you made it back to the cave, the noise from the village had dulled into a distant hum. Stone walls swallowed sound easily. The air inside was cooler, still carrying the faint metallic tang of blood and antiseptic from the night before.
Tsukasa lay where he’d been left, eyes closed, chest rising slow and steady beneath the fresh bandages. He looked worse in daylight. Dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes, skin drawn tight—but there was something almost peaceful about him now
“Chugga-chugga-chugga, goes the two pumps.” he said, mimicking the motion with sharp gestures. “Pushing and pulling air through the part with the gold wire. That transfers the heat away.”
He snapped his fingers. “Freezing stuff.”
Chrome leaned forward instantly, eyes lit up like he’d just been handed the secrets of the universe. “So bad! I’m not entirely sure how it all works, but it sounds awesome!”
Gen tilted his head, one brow lifting. “Hold on a sec. Are freezers really that simple?”
“Well,” Senku shrugged, adjusting his grip on one of the components, “modern ones are a little more complicated.”
Kohaku crossed her arms thoughtfully. “I do know things don’t spoil when they’re frozen.”
“Exactly,” Senku said. “And if this works, there’s a ten-billion-percent chance we’ve got a perfect way to preserve our food supply.”
He grinned. “The petri-beam!”
A few gasps rippled through the cave.
“Add a splash of revival fluid,” Senku continued, already moving on, “and we get fresh sashimi whenever we want.”
That earned full, collective disbelief—but Senku barely noticed.
“Plus,” he added, more quietly, “the regeneration effect wipes out germs and bad bacteria too.”
You barely registered the rest.
Your brain, the traitor that it was, latched onto a far more pressing dilemma: what, exactly, were you going to do today?
Sleep sounded incredible. Mandatory, even. The image formed unprompted—stretching out on a sun-bathed rock, warmth sinking into your bones, the world quiet for once. Somewhere open and peaceful. An open field, maybe?
Except open fields came with wild animals. Low chance, sure, but not zero. And you really weren’t in the mood to wake up being eaten.
You sighed faintly.
Yeah. Maybe the tent was safer.
He hadn’t moved. Still resting where he’d been laid, eyes closed, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. The bags under his eyes were worse than before—deep, unmistakable—but there was a small smile there too.
God, this really isn;t the time for you to have an epiphany about him. Your chest tightened, just a little.
The refrigerator—freezer, you corrected absently—came together faster than you expected. The village folk really were something else when it counted.
And then, gradually, people began to leave.
One by one, they filtered out of the cave, offering Senku space, offering Tsukasa dignity. Chiefs of their own tribes. Two boys who had carried the weight of the world in wildly different ways.
And now, somehow, here they were—standing at the edge of death, trusting science to pull them back.
⏾𖤓
It was supposed to be quick.
That was the lie, at least. Senku had texted you something annoyingly vague—meteor shower peaks tonight—and that was more than enough to drag you over after dinner, backpack slung over one shoulder, sneakers half-tied because you were already running late.
You knocked, shifting your weight from foot to foot.
The door swung open almost immediately.
“Well hey there, kiddo!”
“Hi, Mr. Byakuya!”
Byakuya beamed like you’d just made his entire week. He ruffled your hair without warning, ignoring your half-hearted protest as he leaned down to look at you properly.
What brings you by tonight?” he asked, already stepping aside to let you in.
“Senku said something about a meteor shower.”
You slipped out of your shoes by instinct, toes brushing the cool tile before sliding into the slippers waiting neatly by the door. Slightly too big, but comfortable in that way things only get after being used for a long time.
You still remember standing in the store aisle, holding them up while Senku pretended not to care.
You’re always over anyway, he’d said with a shrug. Might as well get your own pair
Down the hall, Senku’s voice cut in flatly.
“You planning on standing in the entryway all night or what?”
You looked up to find him leaning in his doorway, arms crossed, hair a mess like usual. He was staring at you like you were an inconvenience—except you knew better. He always looked like that.
You grinned. “Wow. What a warm welcome.”
“You’re late,” he said, eyes flicking back to whatever he’d been working on.
“You said seven,” you shot back, dropping your bag and plopping down on the floor beside his bed. “It’s—” you checked your phone. “Seven-thirty. Close enough.”
He scoffed. “That’s not how time works.”
From the kitchen, Byakuya laughed. “I’ll leave you kids to it,” he called, already retreating. “Try not to stay up too late.”
“Old man,” Senku muttered under his breath.
The night air was cool by the time you ended up in the backyard, blankets spread out across the grass. The house glowed softly behind you, porch light casting long shadows across the fence.
Somewhere in the shuffle of things, Byakuya had insisted Senku lend you something to sleep in later—because absolutely not were you sleeping in jeans—and you hadn’t missed the way Senku’s ears went red as he shoved a folded shirt into your hands without looking at you.
You unfold it, wondering why he was acting so uncharacteristically flustered.
Ah.
Doraemon.
Cute, you think to yourself.
Later, you found yourself sitting out in the yard, blanket bunched beneath you, staring up at the sky. The grass was cool through the fabric, the air carrying that quiet nighttime hum that only ever existed when the world slowed down enough to notice itself.
Stars scattered overhead—faint pinpricks at first, then sharper as your eyes adjusted, constellations slowly stitching themselves together.
Senku started talking, as he always did. Something about trajectories, atmospheric interference, how lucky the timing was. He gestured vaguely with one hand, eyes bright, voice quickening as he spoke.
You weren’t really listening.
Not when his face looked like that.
The excitement stripped him down to something unguarded, something honest. Pure, unfiltered joy written all over him. And for some reason you couldn’t name—wouldn’t dare name—it made your chest feel light and strange.
You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin against them, watching him with a softness you didn’t quite recognize yet.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “They’re pretty…”
“What?”
You froze, realizing too late you’d spoken out loud. Senku turned toward you, brows knitting together in confusion.
Before he could catch you staring, you snapped your gaze back to the sky.
“…Cool,” you added quickly. “Geez, Senku, let me finish my sentence first.”
He squinted at you. “You weren’t gonna say that.”
“Yes I was.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“…Yes.”
“No—wait…. You tricked me!”
Eventually, the sky thinned out, stars blurring at the edges as your eyelids grew heavy. The cold crept in once the excitement faded, and somehow that turned into an argument about blankets, which then turned into an argument about beds.
“Absolutely not,” Senku said flatly, already halfway under the covers. “You kick in your sleep.”
“That was one time,” you protested, shoving at his shoulder. “And you elbow.”
“That was defensive.”
“You elbowed me in the ribs!”
“Reflex.”
You snorted, climbing onto the mattress anyway. The bed was barely big enough for one person to sprawl comfortably, let alone two stubborn middle schoolers who refused to concede ground. You ended up at opposite ends, heads flipped, feet nearly brushing each other’s faces.
“This is dumb,” you muttered, tugging the blanket up to your chin.
“You’re the one who insisted,” Senku shot back, already rolling onto his side.
You shifted. Your heel nudged his stomach.
He stiffened immediately. “Hey—watch it.”
“Then don’t put your organs in my foot’s personal space.”
“That’s not how anatomy works.”
You kicked again, lighter this time, more absentminded than malicious. He groaned, hand shooting out to grab your ankle.
“Get your foot off me.”
“Make me.”
He shoved it away. You retaliated by scooting closer, accidentally-on-purpose tangling your legs. The blanket twisted between you, pulled too far one way, then the other.
“Quit hogging it!”
“You’re literally wrapped in it like a burrito!”
“That’s a skill issue.”
There was a pause.
Then you laughed. Soft but obviously tired, it slipped out before you could stop it.
Senku huffed, turning onto his back. “Unbelievable.”
You shifted again, finally settling, your foot resting lightly against his side—not kicking this time. Just there. He went still, then sighed, the tension bleeding out of him like he’d decided it wasn’t worth fighting anymore.
The room felt different once the lights were off. Smaller. Warmer. Familiar in a way you didn’t have words for yet.
Your eyes closed without asking permission.
Senku stared at the ceiling for a while longer, listening to your breathing even out. At some point, your foot slipped fully onto his stomach again, warmer now, heavier with sleep.
He grimaced, then stopped himself from moving it.
“…Idiot,” he muttered quietly, tugging the blanket back over both of you.
⏾𖤓
You don’t tell anyone where you’re going.
Your body moves on autopilot, guided by a single, overwhelming need: stillness. Somewhere the sun hasn’t stopped touching yet. Somewhere warm.
You find it at the edge of the clearing—a broad, flat stone half-sunk into the earth, its surface smooth from years of weathering. Sunlight pools there, unbroken, soaking into the rock like it’s been saving the heat just for this moment. You press your palm against it first, testing its temperature.
It was warm… Perfect.
You lower yourself onto it with a careful sigh, stretching out until the tension in your spine finally eases. The sky above is wide and painfully blue, thick clouds slowly
Grass shifts quietly around you, stirred by a lazy breeze. For the first time all day, nothing is asking anything of you.
Your eyes close.
You’re just starting to sink—thoughts blurring at the edges, breath slowing—when a familiar shadow cuts across the light.
“Y’know,” Senku says, voice dry as ever, “if this was an attempt to disappear, you’re doing a pretty lousy job.”
Your eyes crack open.
He’s standing a few steps away, hands on his hips, posture loose but not relaxed. He looks… tired. Not in the dramatic, half-dead way everyone’s been wearing exhaustion lately, but the quieter kind—the kind that settles into the shoulders and never quite leaves. The sun catches the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the shadows under his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.
You groan softly and roll onto your side.
“Are you gaining the habit of following vulnerable women into the woods,” you mumble, voice dull with sleep, “or am I just special?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
You’re not looking at him, but you can hear the eye roll anyway. It’s baked into his voice—flat, dry, and automatic.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
You know you should. You know this is probably the only chance you’ll get—no crowds, no emergencies, no one hovering close enough to overhear. The words sit heavy on your tongue, rehearsed and reshaped a thousand times over the past year.
“I’m sor—”
“Save it,” he cuts in, quicker than you expect. “We already got over that.”
You scowl faintly, muttering something under your breath about how he’s probably a robot incapable of processing normal human emotion. He ignores it, because of course he does.
You don’t have the energy to fight him.
Not today.
You sigh instead, staring up at the sky. “You interrupted my nap,” you say flatly. “So you’re obligated to keep me entertained.”
“Tch. Demanding.”
Senku says it the way he always does—automatic, reflexive—but it doesn’t stop him from sitting down beside you. He doesn’t touch you, but hes close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of the space between you. Or the lack of it. Still, his presence settles in immediately, familiar as gravity.
You squint at him through half-lidded eyes. “Talk.”
“About what?”
“Anything,” you say, already closing your eyes again. “I’ll listen.”
He hesitates. You can tell—feel it in the way his presence tightens, like he’s weighing the cost of letting himself relax. Then he exhales, slow and measured, and starts talking anyway.
He tells you about Ishigami Village.
About what they built. What failed. What almost worked. What finally did. His voice slips into that familiar cadence—quick, precise, threaded with dry commentary—but there’s something different underneath it now. Less bravado and more weight. Like every invention carries the memory of why it had to exist in the first place.
You hum occasionally. Murmur complaints when your jaw stretches too wide in a yawn. Something about being overworked. Something about how healing people nonstop makes your hands ache in ways you don’t like to think about.
You’re not sure how much of it he actually understands through your sleep-heavy voice. But he doesn’t interrupt you. He never does when you’re like this. He just listens, same as you are now.
The conversation settles into an easy rhythm—back and forth without effort. Familiar. Comfortable. The kind that only exists when two people know each other well enough to leave things unfinished.
Still, there’s something off.
You catch it in the spaces between his words. In the way he doesn’t joke as much. In how his voice stays steady even when the subject shouldn’t allow it. You’ve seen him like this before—working through something by refusing to acknowledge it.
Compartmentalizing. Filing grief away so it doesn’t get in the way.
You crack one eye open, turning your head just enough to look at him. “You know,” you say quietly, “it’s normal to feel weird after… all that. Tsukasa, I mean.”
He scoffs softly. “I’m fine.”
You huff. “Yeah. Sure.”
You let it linger for a second, then add, lighter, “When my dad died, it took me forever to realize I wasn’t ‘over it.’”
That’s when it happens.
Senku’s gaze slips away from you, focus breaking, eyes settling somewhere else entirely. Not on the trees. Not on the sky. Somewhere internal. Somewhere closed off. It’s brief—blink and you’d miss it—but you don’t. You never do. Senku has never been good at hiding things from you. He’s just very good at pretending he doesn’t need to.
You push yourself up a little, enough to really look at him now. Your eyes trace the familiar lines of his posture and catch what’s changed—the way his shoulders have drawn inward, the subtle distance in the way he holds himself.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
For a moment, you think he won’t answer. The world hums around you—the rustle of grass, the warmth of the stone beneath your palm, the sun dipping lower without asking permission. Everything keeps moving.
Then he speaks.
“Byakuya is dead.”
The words don’t hit you all at once. They seep. It’s almost funny, in a distant, hollow way, how three simple words can strip you of all function—how they sink past thought and logic, burrowing deep into bone, unraveling something essential inside you. Whatever was holding you together loosens its grip.
You don’t say anything. You can’t. Your thoughts stall, snagged on the impossible math of it—Byakuya, dead. The sentence refuses to balance, refuses to make sense no matter how many times your mind turns it over.
Senku takes your silence as permission.
“The people who established Ishigami Village,” he continues, voice steady in a way that feels practiced, “they were the same astronauts Byakuya was with. They avoided the petrification.”
His words reach you like they’re traveling through water—muffled, distorted. Your thoughts drift loose from their edges. You become acutely aware of yourself instead: aware of your breathing. Of your hands. Of the dull, rhythmic banging in your head like something knocking from the inside.
“They died. A long time ago.”
Something in your chest collapses in on itself.
Byakuya’s laugh flashes through your mind without warning—too loud, too earnest. The way he always made room for you at the table. How he never questioned why you were over so often. Sleepovers that turned into weekends, weekends that turned into routines. Museums. Parks. Late-night ramen runs when neither of you were technically supposed to be out.
A second father.
Gone.
“Oh.”
The word slips out before you can stop it. Small. Useless. It feels stupid the moment it leaves your mouth, thin and inadequate in the face of something this large.
You catch the glance Senku throws your way, and you cringe, heat creeping up your neck. Of all the things you could have said, all the ways you could have met him in this moment, that’s what you offered.
“I’m sorry,” you start, scrambling, heart tripping over itself. “It’s just—”
“Stop doing that.”
The interruption is quiet but firm enough to make you pause.
“What?” you ask, blinking.
“Apologizing,” he says, brows knitting faintly. “You don’t have a reason to.”
“Sor—” You cut yourself off when he gives you a halfhearted glare, the kind that doesn’t have any real bite behind it.
There’s a beat of silence. Heavy, but not hostile. You shift slightly on the stone, fingers curling against the warm surface, searching for something—anything—that might ease the weight sitting between you. You know he’s grieving, even if he won’t call it that. You know him well enough to recognize the signs he refuses to name. Senku doesn’t collapse under sorrow. He files it away. Turns it into fuel. Keeps moving because stopping and that would be, in his words, ineffecient.
You guess the both of you are similar in that way.
So you try to meet him where he is.
“Well,” you say carefully, forcing a weak lift into your voice, “guess we’re in the same boat.”
He looks at you again, sharper this time. You rush to clarify, waving a hand lazily, already regretting it. “Y’know. Dead dads and all…” You hesitate, then add, quieter, “Was that too soon?”
The joke—if it even deserves to be called that—hangs there, thin and precarious. It’s not funny. Not really. But it’s familiar. The kind of ill-timed, poorly delivered honesty that only you ever risk with him. The kind only he would ever tolerate.
For a moment, you think he might snap back with something dry and dismissive. A deflection. A wall. That would be easier, somehow.
Instead, his shoulders slump just a fraction, like the tension slipped without asking permission. He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled.
“Tch,” he mutters. “You’ve got a terrible sense of humor.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself. Not quite a smile—just the ghost of one.
Senku starts talking again.
You don’t catch every word. You don’t need to. His voice settles into something steady and familiar, less sharp around the edges. It fills the quiet without demanding anything from you, the way it always has—background noise to your shared existence, constant and grounding. The cadence alone is enough.
Your eyelids grow heavy before you realize it.
You fight it at first, stubborn in that way you always are. You answer when you can. A hum. A scoff. A half-formed comment that trails off into nothing. But exhaustion has been patient all day, waiting its turn, and now that nothing is asking anything of you, it takes what it’s owed.
Your head tips.
You correct it once, shifting, resettling against the stone. The warmth seeps into your shoulder, your spine, your palms. Senku keeps talking, uninterrupted.
Then it happens again—slower this time. Your balance gives in without resistance. Gravity does the rest.
Your head comes to rest against his shoulder.
Senku freezes.
He looks down at you out of reflex, eyes narrowing slightly—not in irritation, but assessment. You’re out. Fully. Your brow smooth, jaw slackened just enough to tell him you’re not pretending. He notes the angle of your neck, the way your weight leans into him without resistance, the shallow, even rhythm of your breathing.
You’d wake if he moved you. That’s the immediate conclusion. Even a minor adjustment would disrupt whatever fragile equilibrium you’ve slipped into. He exhales quietly, running through the options anyway.
Unnecessary. Counterproductive.
Fine.
He shifts instead—barely. Just enough to brace himself better against the stone. His shoulder takes more of your weight. It’s not comfortable, but he supposes it’s fine, so long as it’s for you.
He resumes talking.
Lower now—absentmindedly Like he’s narrating for himself rather than for you—observations, half-formed thoughts, things he doesn’t bother organizing because no one’s listening anyway. The words taper off eventually, replaced by silence he doesn’t rush to fill.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer.
When the sun dips far enough to cool the stone, Senku notices. But still, he doesn’t move.
He clicks his tongue under his breath.
“Stop overworking yourself,” he mutters, not unkind. “Idiot.”
You don’t respond. Not that he expected you to.
Your breathing stays even, steady against his shoulder, a quiet constant. Senku lets his gaze drift forward instead of down, fixing on nothing in particular. If he looks at you for too long, he knows he’ll start recalculating things that don’t need solving.
Sleep tugs at him eventually. A dull pull at the edges of his focus. He shakes it off easily enough—redirects the energy, runs numbers instead.
Time passes anyway.
Even when his shoulder starts to ache. Even when the light fades further than he meant to let it. Even when it would be easier to stand, to break the spell, to put distance back where it belongs.
He stays until you wake.
Because some things—no matter how inefficient—are worth the time
an: kinda hate this chapter but oh well...
either tell me this is ass or glaze me like a doughnut.
honestly this is just 10+k of rubbish and i'll probably review and delete this as soon as I wake up so enjoy it for the time being...
i'll probably be back with an update in 30 years... we'll see.
taglist: @tiramisu2662 @iamapotatoe @gingerthorns @jinu-x-rumiii @altumsomnum @vic12752 @justsomereaderwholikesanime @hyperl0gic @megururus @justanotherweeb666 @night-shadowblood-writes2 @yayyjezii @zomstiiizh @illusory-segurity @h3art-l3ss-blog1
if your tag doesn't workplease update your settings or you will be removed!
